briskly on.

"A pretty young spark that St. John! A look of his father, but
handsomer, and less affected. I like him. Fine shop that, very! London
wonderfully improved. A hookah in that window,--God bless me!--a real
hookah! This is all very good news about that poor boy, very. After all,
he is not to blame if his mother was such a damnable--I must contrive to
see and judge of him myself as soon as possible. Can't trust to others;
too sharp for that. What an ugly dog that is, looking after me! It is
certainly a bailiff. Hang it, what do I care for bailiffs? Hem, hem!"
And the gentleman thrust his hands into his pockets, and laughed, as the
jingle of coin reached his ear through the din without. "Well, I must
make haste to decide; for really there is a very troublesome piece of
business before me. Plague take her, what can have become of the woman?
I shall have to hunt out a sharp lawyer. But John's a lawyer himself.
No, attorneys, I suppose, are the men. Gad! they were sharp enough when
they had to hunt me. What's that great bill on the wall about? 'Down
with the Lords!' Pooh, pooh! Master John Bull, you love lords a great
deal too much for that. A prettyish girl! English women are very
good-looking, certainly. That Lucretia, what shall I do, if ---- Ah,
time enough to think of her when I have got over that mighty stiff if!"

In such cogitations and mental remarks our traveller whiled away the
time till he found himself in Piccadilly. There, a publisher's shop (and
he had that keen eye for shops which betrays the stranger in London),
with its new publications exposed at the window, attracted his notice.
Conspicuous amongst the rest was the open title-page of a book, at the
foot of which was placed a placard with the enticing words, "FOURTH
EDITION; JUST OUT," in red capitals. The title of the work struck his
irritable, curious fancy; he walked into the shop, asked for the volume,
and while looking over the contents with muttered ejaculations, "Good!
capital! Why, this reminds one of Horne Tooke! What's the price? Very
dear; must have it though,--must. Ha, ha! home-thrust there!"--while
thus turning over the leaves, and rending them asunder with his
forefinger, regardless of the paper cutter extended to him by the
shopman, a gentleman, pushing by him, asked if the publisher was at
home; and as the shopman, bowing very low, answered "Yes," the new-comer
darted into a little recess behind the shop. Mr. Tomkins, who had lo