ch Pen had his packet ready, in the shape of 'Lines to Thyrza,' but
poor Pen did not like to put the letter into the editor's box while
walking in company with such a fine gentleman as Mr. Foker. They met
heavy dragoons of the regiment always quartered at Chatteris; and
stopped and talked about the Baymouth balls, and what a pretty girl was
Miss Brown, and what a dem fine woman Mrs. Jones was. It was in vain
that Pen recalled to his own mind what a stupid ass Foker used to be
at school--how he could scarcely read, how he was not cleanly in his
person, and notorious for his blunders and dulness. Mr. Foker was no
more like a gentleman now than in his school days: and yet Pen felt a
secret pride in strutting down High Street with a young fellow who
owned tandems, talked to officers, and ordered turtle and champagne for
dinner. He listened, and with respect too, to Mr. Foker's accounts of
what the men did at the University of which Mr. F. was an ornament, and
encountered a long series of stories about boat-racing, bumping, College
grass-plats, and milk-punch--and began to wish to go up himself to
College to a place where there were such manly pleasures and enjoyments.
Farmer Gurnett, who lives close by Fairoaks, riding by at this minute
and touching his hat to Pen, the latter stopped him, and sent a message
to his mother to say that he had met with an old schoolfellow, and
should dine in Chatteris.

The two young gentlemen continued their walk, and were passing round the
Cathedral Yard, where they could hear the music of the afternoon service
(a music which always exceedingly impressed and affected Pen), but
whither Mr. Foker came for the purpose of inspecting the nursery-maids
who frequent the Elms Walk there, and who are uncommonly pretty at
Chatteris, and here they strolled until with a final burst of music the
small congregation was played out.

Old Doctor Portman was one of the few who came from the venerable gate.
Spying Pen, he came and shook him by the hand, and eyed with wonder
Pen's friend, from whose mouth and cigar clouds of fragrance issued,
which curled round the Doctor's honest face and shovel hat.

"An old schoolfellow of mine, Mr. Foker," said Pen. The Doctor said
"H'm": and scowled at the cigar. He did not mind a pipe in his study,
but the cigar was an abomination to the worthy gentleman.

"I came up on Bishop's business," the Doctor said. "We'll ride home,
Arthur, if you like?"

"I--I'm engaged to my