py-souled Arismanes of bad spirits. Come, gentlemen, if you have
nothing better to do, I'll take you to my club; we are a rare knot of
us, there--all choice spirits; some of them are a little uncouth, it is
true, but we are not all born Chesterfields. Sir, allow me to ask the
favour of your name?"

"Dartmore."

"Mr. Dartmore, you are a gentleman. Hollo! you Liquorpond-street of a
scoundrel--having nothing of liquor but the name, you narrow, nasty,
pitiful alley of a fellow, with a kennel for a body, and a sink for a
soul; give me my change and my gin, you scoundrel! Humph, is that all
right, you Procrustes of the counter, chopping our lawful appetites down
to your rascally standard of seven-pence half-penny? Why don't you take
a motto, you Paynim dog? Here's one for you--'Measure for measure, and
the devil to pay!' Humph, you pitiful toadstool of a trader, you have
no more spirit than an empty water-bottle; and when you go to h--ll,
they'll use you to cool the bellows. I say, you rascal, why are you
worse off than the devil in a hip bath of brimstone?--because, you
knave, the devil then would only be half d--d, and you are d--d all
over! Come, gentlemen, I am at your service."

CHAPTER L.

The history of a philosophical vagabond, pursuing novelty, and losing
content.--Vicar of Wakefield.

We followed our strange friend through the crowd at the door, which he
elbowed on either side with the most aristocratic disdain, perfectly
regardless of their jokes at his dress and manner; he no sooner got
through the throng, than he stopped short (though in the midst of the
kennel) and offered us his arm. This was an honour of which we were by
no means desirous; for, to say nothing of the shabbiness of Mr. Gordon's
exterior, there was a certain odour in his garments which was possibly
less displeasing to the wearer than to his acquaintance. Accordingly,
we pretended not to notice this invitation, and merely said, we would
follow his guidance.

He turned up a narrow street, and after passing some of the most ill
favoured alleys I ever had the happiness of beholding, he stopped at
a low door; here he knocked twice, and was at last admitted by a
slip-shod, yawning wench, with red arms, and a profusion of sandy hair.
This Hebe, Mr. Gordon greeted with a loving kiss, which the kissee
resented in a very unequivocal strain of disgustful reproach.

"Hush! my Queen of Clubs; my Sultana Sootina!" said Mr. Gordon; "hush!
or thes