tantly, to and from the Steam Packet
Wharf, to the astonishment of the clerks, and the great emolument of the
Holborn cabmen. Tuesday arrived, and the anxiety of Mr. Percy Noakes
knew no bounds. He was every instant running to the window, to look out
for clouds; and Mr. Hardy astonished the whole square by practising a new
comic song for the occasion, in the chairman's chambers.

Uneasy were the slumbers of Mr. Percy Noakes that night; he tossed and
tumbled about, and had confused dreams of steamers starting off, and
gigantic clocks with the hands pointing to a quarter-past nine, and the
ugly face of Mr. Alexander Briggs looking over the boat's side, and
grinning, as if in derision of his fruitless attempts to move. He made a
violent effort to get on board, and awoke. The bright sun was shining
cheerfully into the bedroom, and Mr. Percy Noakes started up for his
watch, in the dreadful expectation of finding his worst dreams realised.

It was just five o'clock. He calculated the time--he should be a good
half-hour dressing himself; and as it was a lovely morning, and the tide
would be then running down, he would walk leisurely to Strand-lane, and
have a boat to the Custom-house.

He dressed himself, took a hasty apology for a breakfast, and sallied
forth. The streets looked as lonely and deserted as if they had been
crowded, overnight, for the last time. Here and there, an early
apprentice, with quenched-looking sleepy eyes, was taking down the
shutters of a shop; and a policeman or milkwoman might occasionally be
seen pacing slowly along; but the servants had not yet begun to clean the
doors, or light the kitchen fires, and London looked the picture of
desolation. At the corner of a by-street, near Temple-bar, was stationed
a 'street-breakfast.' The coffee was boiling over a charcoal fire, and
large slices of bread and butter were piled one upon the other, like
deals in a timber-yard. The company were seated on a form, which, with a
view both to security and comfort, was placed against a neighbouring
wall. Two young men, whose uproarious mirth and disordered dress bespoke
the conviviality of the preceding evening, were treating three 'ladies'
and an Irish labourer. A little sweep was standing at a short distance,
casting a longing eye at the tempting delicacies; and a policeman was
watching the group from the opposite side of the street. The wan looks
and gaudy finery of the thinly-clad women contrasted as