aid the military gentleman turning to Mrs Jarley--''pon
my soul and honour I hardly know what I came here for. It would
puzzle me to tell you, it would by Gad. I wanted a little inspiration,
a little freshening up, a little change of ideas, and-- 'Pon my soul
and honour,' said the military gentleman, checking himself and looking
round the room, 'what a devilish classical thing this is! by Gad, it's
quite Minervian.'

'It'll look well enough when it comes to be finished,' observed Mrs
Jarley.

'Well enough!' said Mr Slum. 'Will you believe me when I say it's the
delight of my life to have dabbled in poetry, when I think I've
exercised my pen upon this charming theme? By the way--any orders? Is
there any little thing I can do for you?'

'It comes so very expensive, sir,' replied Mrs Jarley, 'and I really
don't think it does much good.'

'Hush! No, no!' returned Mr Slum, elevating his hand. 'No fibs. I'll
not hear it. Don't say it don't do good. Don't say it. I know
better!'

'I don't think it does,' said Mrs Jarley.

'Ha, ha!' cried Mr Slum, 'you're giving way, you're coming down. Ask
the perfumers, ask the blacking-makers, ask the hatters, ask the old
lottery-office-keepers--ask any man among 'em what my poetry has done
for him, and mark my words, he blesses the name of Slum. If he's an
honest man, he raises his eyes to heaven, and blesses the name of
Slum--mark that! You are acquainted with Westminster Abbey, Mrs
Jarley?'

'Yes, surely.'

'Then upon my soul and honour, ma'am, you'll find in a certain angle of
that dreary pile, called Poets' Corner, a few smaller names than Slum,'
retorted that gentleman, tapping himself expressively on the forehead
to imply that there was some slight quantity of brain behind it. 'I've
got a little trifle here, now,' said Mr Slum, taking off his hat which
was full of scraps of paper, 'a little trifle here, thrown off in the
heat of the moment, which I should say was exactly the thing you wanted
to set this place on fire with. It's an acrostic--the name at this
moment is Warren, and the idea's a convertible one, and a positive
inspiration for Jarley. Have the acrostic.'

'I suppose it's very dear,' said Mrs Jarley.

'Five shillings,' returned Mr Slum, using his pencil as a toothpick.
'Cheaper than any prose.'

'I couldn't give more than three,' said Mrs Jarley.

'--And six,' retorted Slum. 'Come. Three-and-six.'

Mrs Jarley was not proof against the po