ing Mr. Pen would stroll in the direction of his
club, and take up Warrington there for a constitutional walk. This
exercise freed the lungs, and gave an appetite for dinner, after which
Pen had the privilege to make his bow at some very pleasant houses which
were opened to him; or the town before him for amusement. There was the
Opera; or the Eagle Tavern; or a ball to go to in Mayfair; or a quiet
night with a cigar and a book and a long talk with Warrington; or a
wonderful new song at the Back Kitchen;--at this time of his life Mr.
Pen beheld all sorts of places and men; and very likely did not know
how much he enjoyed himself until long after, when balls gave him no
pleasure, neither did farces make him laugh; nor did the tavern joke
produce the least excitement in him; nor did the loveliest dancer that
ever showed her ankles cause him to stir from his chair after dinner. At
his present mature age all these pleasures are over: and the times have
passed away too. It is but a very very few years since--but the time is
gone, and most of the men. Bludyer will no more bully authors or cheat
landlords of their score. Shandon, the learned and thriftless, the witty
and unwise, sleeps his last sleep. They buried honest Doolan the other
day: never will he cringe or flatter, never pull long-bow or empty
whisky-noggin any more.

The London season was now blooming in its full vigour, and the
fashionable newspapers abounded with information regarding the grand
banquets, routs, and balls which were enlivening the polite world. Our
gracious Sovereign was holding levees and drawing-rooms at St. James's:
the bow-windows of the clubs were crowded with the heads of respectable
red-faced newspaper-reading gentlemen: along the Serpentine trailed
thousands of carriages: squadrons of dandy horsemen trampled over
Rotten Row, everybody was in town, in a word; and of course Major Arthur
Pendennis, who was somebody, was not absent.

With his head tied up in a smart bandana handkerchief and his meagre
carcass enveloped in a brilliant Turkish dressing-gown, the worthy
gentleman sate on a certain morning by his fireside letting his feet
gently simmer in a bath, whilst he took his early cup of tea, and
perused his Morning Post. He could not have faced the day without his
two hours' toilet, without his early cup of tea, without his Morning
Post. I suppose nobody in the world except Morgan, not even Morgan's
master himself, knew how feeble and ancie