arried with the manufacture of my master, and paid over twenty of the
shillings to his _protege_. Of this twenty, _I_ was one. As I passed
into the youth's hand I could feel it tremble, as I own mine would have
done had I been possessed of that appendage.

My new master then quitted the house in company with Mr. Blinks, whom he
left at the corner of the street--an obscure thoroughfare in
Westminster. His rapid steps speedily brought him to the southern bank
of the "fair and silvery Thames," as a poet who once possessed me (only
for half an hour) described that uncleanly river, in some verses which I
met in the pocket of his pantaloons. Diving into a narrow street,
obviously, from the steepness of its descent, built upon arches, he
knocked at a house of all the unpromising rest the least promising in
aspect. A wretched hag opened the door, past whom the youth glided, in
an absent and agitated manner; and, having ascended several flights of a
narrow and precipitate staircase, opened the door of an apartment on the
top story.

The room was low, and ill-ventilated. A fire burnt in the grate, and a
small candle flickered on the table. Beside the grate, sat an old man
sleeping on a chair; beside the table, and bending over the flickering
light, sat a young girl engaged in sewing. My master was welcomed, for
he had been absent, it seemed, for two months. During that time he had,
he said, earned some money; and he had come to share it with his father
and sister.

I led a quiet life with my companions, in my master's pocket, for more
than a week. At the end of that time, the stock of good money was nearly
exhausted, although it had on more than one occasion been judiciously
mixed with a neighbor or two of mine. Want, however, did not leave us
long at rest. Under pretence of going away again to get "work," my
master--leaving several of my friends to take their chance, in
administering to the necessities of his father and sister--went away. I
remained to be "smashed" (passed) by my master.

"Where are you going so fast, that you don't recognize old friends" were
the words addressed to the youth by a passer-by, as he was crossing, at
a violent pace, the nearest bridge, in the direction of the Middlesex
bank.

The speaker was a young gentleman, aged about twenty, not ill-looking,
but with features exhibiting that peculiar expression of cunning, which
is popularly described as "knowing." He was arrayed in what the police
report