hey soon entered
a tobacconist's shop, and passing through it were admitted into a
capacious saloon, well lit and fitted up with low, broad sofas, fixed
against the walls, and on which were seated, or reclining, many persons,
chiefly smoking cigars, but some few practising with the hookah and
other oriental modes. In the centre of the room was a table covered with
newspapers and publications of that class. The companions from Joe's
became separated after their entrance, and St. Barbe, addressing
Endymion, said, "I am not inclined to smoke to-day. We will order some
coffee, and you will find some amusement in this;" and he placed in his
hands a number of "SCARAMOUCH."

"I hope you will like your new life," said St. Barbe, throwing down a
review on the Divan, and leaning back sipping his coffee. "One thing may
be said in favour of it: you will work with a body of as true-hearted
comrades as ever existed. They are always ready to assist one. Thorough
good-natured fellows, that I will say for them. I suppose it is
adversity," he continued, "that develops the kindly qualities of our
nature. I believe the sense of common degradation has a tendency to make
the degraded amiable--at least among themselves. I am told it is found
so in the plantations in slave-gangs."

"But I hope we are not a slave-gang," said Endymion.

"It is horrible to think of gentlemen, and men of education, and perhaps
first-rate talents--who knows?--reduced to our straits," said St. Barbe.
"I do not follow Jawett in all his views, for I hate political economy,
and never could understand it; and he gives it you pure and simple, eh?
eh?--but, I say, it is something awful to think of the incomes that some
men are making, who could no more write an article in 'SCARAMOUCH' than
fly."

"But our incomes may improve," said Endymion. "I was told to-day that
promotion was even rapid in our office."

"Our incomes may improve when we are bent and grey," said St. Barbe,
"and we may even retire on a pension about as good as a nobleman
leaves to his valet. Oh, it is a horrid world! Your father is a privy
councillor, is not he?"

"Yes, and so was my grandfather, but I do not think I shall ever be
one."

"It is a great thing to have a father a privy councillor," said St.
Barbe, with a glance of envy. "If I were the son of a privy councillor,
those demons, Shuffle and Screw, would give me 500 pounds for my novel,
which now they put in their beastly magazine and pr