une left him, Mr. Archer?
He's in black still, I see."

"Eighteen hundred a year in land, and twenty-two thousand five hundred
in the Three-and-a-half per Cents; that's about it," said Mr. Archer.

"Law! why, you know everything, Mr. A.!" cried the lady of Paternoster
Row.

"I happen to know, because I was called in about poor Mrs. Pendennis's
will," Mr. Archer replied. "Pendennis's uncle, the Major, seldom does
anything without me; and as he is likely to be extravagant we've tied
up the property, so that he can't make ducks and drakes with it.--How do
you do, my lord?--Do you know that gentleman, ladies? You have read his
speeches in the House; it is Lord Rochester."

"Lord Fiddlestick," cried out Finucane, from the box. "Sure it's Tom
Staples, of the Morning Advertiser, Archer."

"Is it?" Archer said, simply. "Well I'm very short-sighted, and upon
my word I thought it was Rochester. That gentleman with the double
opera-glass (another nod) is Lord John; and the tall man with him, don't
you know him? is Sir James."

"You know 'em because you see 'em in the House," growled Finucane.

"I know them because they are kind enough to allow me to call them
my most intimate friends," Archer continued. "Look at the Duke of
Hampshire; what a pattern of a fine old English gentleman! He never
misses 'the Derby.' 'Archer,' he said to me only yesterday, 'I have been
at sixty-five Derbies! appeared on the field for the first time on a
piebald pony when I was seven years old, with my father, the Prince of
Wales, and Colonel Hanger; and only missing two races--one when I had
the measles at Eton, and one in the Waterloo year, when I was with my
friend Wellington in Flanders."

"And who is that yellow carriage, with the pink and yellow parasols,
that Mr. Pendennis is talking to, and ever so many gentlemen?" asked
Mrs. Bungay.

"That is Lady Clavering, of Clavering Park, next estate to my friend
Pendennis. That is the young son and heir upon the box; he's awfully
tipsy, the little scamp! and the young lady is Miss Amory, Lady
Clavering's daughter by a first marriage, and uncommonly sweet upon
my friend Pendennis; but I've reason to think he has his heart fixed
elsewhere. You have heard of young Mr. Foker--the great brewer, Foker,
you know--he was going to hang himself in consequence of a fatal passion
for Miss Amory who refused him, but was cut down just in time by his
valet, and is now abroad, under a keeper."

"How happy that