he
insults of the idle loiterers who made a sport of incensing him.

At length the tedium of this weary space was broken by the entrance of a
dirty-looking serving-wench, who made some preparations for dinner by
laying a half-dirty cloth upon a whole-dirty deal table. A knife and
fork, which had not been worn out by overcleaning, flanked a cracked delf
plate; a nearly empty mustard-pot, placed on one side of the table,
balanced a salt-cellar, containing an article of a greyish, or rather a
blackish, mixture, upon the other, both of stoneware, and bearing too
obvious marks of recent service. Shortly after, the same Hebe brought up
a plate of beef-collops, done in the frying-pan, with a huge allowance of
grease floating in an ocean of lukewarm water; and, having added a coarse
loaf to these savoury viands, she requested to know what liquors the
gentleman chose to order. The appearance of this fare was not very
inviting; but Bertram endeavoured to mend his commons by ordering wine,
which he found tolerably good, and, with the assistance of some
indifferent cheese, made his dinner chiefly off the brown loaf. When his
meal was over the girl presented her master's compliments, and, if
agreeable to the gentleman, he would help him to spend the evening.
Bertram desired to be excused, and begged, instead of this gracious
society, that he might be furnished with paper, pen, ink, and candles.
The light appeared in the shape of one long broken tallow-candle,
inclining over a tin candlestick coated with grease; as for the writing
materials, the prisoner was informed that he might have them the next day
if he chose to send out to buy them. Bertram next desired the maid to
procure him a book, and enforced his request with a shilling; in
consequence of which, after long absence, she reappeared with two odd
volumes of the 'Newgate Calendar,' which she had borrowed from Sam
Silverquill, an idle apprentice, who was imprisoned under a charge of
forgery. Having laid the books on the table she retired, and left Bertram
to studies which were not ill adapted to his present melancholy
situation.

CHAPTER XVI
But if thou shouldst be dragg'd in scorn
To yonder ignominious tree,
Thou shall not want one faithful friend
To share the cruel fates' decree.

SHENSTONE.

Plunged in the gloomy reflections which were naturally excited by his
dismal reading and disconsolate situation, Bertram for the first