morning bringing her charms and carrots to Covent Garden Market?"

"The latter," cried Dartmore and Tringle, "without doubt."

"Come, then," said I, "let us investigate Holborn, and dip into St.
Giles's, and then find our way into some more known corner of the globe."

"Amen!" said Dartmore, and accordingly we renewed our march. We wound
along a narrow lane, tolerably well known, I imagine, to the gentlemen of
the quill, and entered Holborn. There was a beautiful still moon above
us, which cast its light over a drowsy stand of hackney coaches, and shed
a 'silver sadness' over the thin visages and sombre vestments of two
guardians of the night, who regarded us, we thought, with a very ominous
aspect of suspicion.

We strolled along, leisurely enough, till we were interrupted by a
miserable-looking crowd, assembled round a dull, dingy, melancholy shop,
from which gleamed a solitary candle, whose long, spinster-like wick was
flirting away with an east wind, at a most unconscionable rate. Upon the
haggard and worn countenances of the by-standers, was depicted one
general and sympathizing expression of eager, envious, wistful anxiety,
which predominated so far over the various characters of each, as to
communicate something of a likeness to all. It was an impress of such a
seal as you might imagine, not the arch-fiend, but one of his subordinate
shepherds, would have set upon each of his flock.

Amid this crowd, I recognized more than one face which I had often seen
in my equestrian lounges through town, peering from the shoulders of some
intrusive, ragamuffin, wagesless lackey, and squealing out of its
wretched, unpampered mouth, the everlasting query of "Want your oss held,