Whitecross Street Prison in 1820, he was a very young-looking person
considering his age. His figure was active and slim, his leg neat,
and he had not in his whiskers a single white hair.

It must, however, be owned that he used Mr. Eglantine's Regenerative
Unction (which will make your whiskers as black as your boot), and,
in fact, he was a pretty constant visitor at that gentleman's
emporium; dealing with him largely for soaps and articles of
perfumery, which he had at an exceedingly low rate. Indeed, he was
never known to pay Mr. Eglantine one single shilling for those
objects of luxury, and, having them on such moderate terms, was
enabled to indulge in them pretty copiously. Thus Mr. Walker was
almost as great a nosegay as Mr. Eglantine himself: his
handkerchief was scented with verbena, his hair with jessamine, and
his coat had usually a fine perfume of cigars, which rendered his
presence in a small room almost instantaneously remarkable. I have
described Mr. Walker thus accurately, because, in truth, it is more
with characters than with astounding events that this little history
deals, and Mr. Walker is one of the principal of our dramatis
personae.

And so, having introduced Mr. W., we will walk over with him to Mr.
Eglantine's emporium, where that gentleman is in waiting, too, to
have his likeness taken.

There is about an acre of plate glass under the Royal arms on Mr.
Eglantine's shop-window; and at night, when the gas is lighted, and
the washballs are illuminated, and the lambent flame plays fitfully
over numberless bottles of vari-coloured perfumes--now flashes on a
case of razors, and now lightens up a crystal vase, containing a