little deformed gentleman in iron-gray is reading the Morning Chronicle
newspaper by the fire, while a divine, with a broad brogue and a shovel
hat and cassock, is talking freely with a gentleman, whose star and
ribbon, as well as the unmistakable beauty of his Phidian countenance,
proclaims him to be a member of Britain's aristocracy.

Two ragged youths, the one tall, gaunt, clumsy and scrofulous, the other
with a wild, careless, beautiful look, evidently indicating Race, are
gazing in at the window, not merely at the crowd in the celebrated Club,
but at Timothy the waiter, who is removing a plate of that exquisite
dish, the muffin (then newly invented), at the desire of some of the
revellers within.

"I would, Sam," said the wild youth to his companion, "that I had some
of my mother Macclesfield's gold, to enable us to eat of those cates and
mingle with yon springalds and beaux."

"To vaunt a knowledge of the stoical philosophy," said the youth
addressed as Sam, "might elicit a smile of incredulity upon the cheek
of the parasite of pleasure; but there are moments in life when History
fortifies endurance: and past study renders present deprivation more
bearable. If our pecuniary resources be exiguous, let our resolution,
Dick, supply the deficiencies of Fortune. The muffin we desire to-day
would little benefit us to-morrow. Poor and hungry as we are, are we
less happy, Dick, than yon listless voluptuary who banquets on the food
which you covet?"

And the two lads turned away up Waterloo Place, and past the "Parthenon"
Club-house, and disappeared to take a meal of cow-heel at a neighboring
cook's shop. Their names were Samuel Johnson and Richard Savage.