who was the occupant of his bedroom, how proud he would have
been of that apartment:--what poems he would have written about Laura!
(several of his things have appeared in the annuals, and in manuscript
in the nobility's albums)--he was a Camford man and very nearly got the
English Prize Poem, it was said--Sibwright, however, was absent and his
bed given up to Miss Bell. It was the prettiest little brass bed in the
world, with chintz curtains lined with pink--he had a mignonette-box in
his bedroom window, and the mere sight of his little exhibition of shiny
boots, arranged in trim rows over his wardrobe, was a gratification to
the beholder. He had a museum of scent, pomatum, and bear's-grease pots,
quite curious to examine, too; and a choice selection of portraits
of females, almost always in sadness and generally in disguise or
deshabille, glittered round the neat walls of his elegant little bower
of repose. Medora with dishevelled hair was consoling herself over her
banjo for the absence of her Conrad--the Princesse Fleur de Marie (of
Rudolstein and the Mysteres de Paris) was sadly ogling out of the bars
of her convent cage, in which, poor prisoned bird, she was moulting
away,--Dorothea of Don Quixote was washing her eternal feet:--in fine,
it was such an elegant gallery as became a gallant lover of the sex.
And in Sibwright's sitting-room, while there was quite an infantine
law library clad in skins of fresh new-born calf, there was a tolerably
large collection of classical books which he could not read, and of
English and French works of poetry and fiction which he read a great
deal too much. His invitation cards of the past season still decorated
his looking-glass: and scarce anything told of the lawyer but the
wig-box beside the Venus upon the middle shelf of the bookcase, on which
the name of P. Sibwright, Esquire, was gilded.

With Sibwright in chambers was Mr. Bangham. Mr. Bangham was a sporting
man married to a rich widow. Mr. Bangham had no practice--did not
come to chambers thrice in a term: went a circuit for those mysterious
reasons which make men go circuit,--and his room served as a great
convenience to Sibwright when that young gentleman gave his little
dinners. It must be confessed that these two gentlemen have nothing
to do with our history, will never appear in it again probably, but we
cannot help glancing through their doors as they happen to be open to
us, and as we pass to Pen's rooms; as in the p