as Old, that day. The patient Year had lived through the
reproaches and misuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed its
work. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had labored through the
destined round, and now laid down its weary head to die.

Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the New Year or the Old.

"Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Facts and Figures, Facts and Figures! Good
old Times, Good old Times! Put 'em down, Put 'em down!"--his trot went
to that measure, and would fit itself to nothing else.

But, even that one, melancholy as it was, brought him, in due time, to
the end of his journey. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley, Member of
Parliament.

The door was opened by a Porter. Such a Porter! Not of Toby's order.
Quite another thing. His place was the ticket, though; not Toby's.

This Porter underwent some hard panting before he could speak; having
breathed himself by coming incautiously out of his chair, without first
taking time to think about it and compose his mind. When he had found
his voice--which it took him some time to do, for it was a long way off
and hidden under a load of meat--he said in a fat whisper:

"Who's it from?"

Toby told him.

"You're to take it in yourself," said the Porter, pointing to a room at
the end of a long passage, opening from the hall. "Everything goes
straight in, on this day of the year. You're not a bit too soon; for the
carriage is at the door now, and they have only come to town for a
couple of hours, a'purpose."

Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry already) with great care, and
took the way pointed out to him, observing as he went that it was an
awfully grand house, but hushed and covered up, as if the family were in
the country. Knocking at the room door, he was told to enter from
within; and doing so found himself in a spacious library, where, at a
table strewn with files and papers, were a stately lady in a bonnet, and
a not very stately gentleman in black, who wrote from her dictation;
while another, and an older, and a much statelier gentleman, whose hat
and cane were on the table, walked up and down, with one hand in his
breast, and looked complacently from time to time at his own picture--a
full length; a very full length--hanging over the fire-place.

"What is this?" said the last-named gentleman. "Mr. Fish, will you have
the goodness to attend?"

Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the letter from Toby, handed it, with
great respect.