then tip us a double gill of your best; you whey-faced, liverdrenched,
pence-griping, belly-griping, paupercheating, sleepy-souled Arismanes of
bad spirits. Come, gentlemen, if you have nothing better to do, I'll take
you to my club; we are a rare knot of us, there--all choice spirits; some
of them are a little uncouth, it is true, but we are not all born
Chesterfields. Sir, allow me to ask the favour of your name?"

"Dartmore."

"Mr. Dartmore, you are a gentleman. Hollo! you Liquorpond-street of a
scoundrel--having nothing of liquor but the name, you narrow, nasty,
pitiful alley of a fellow, with a kennel for a body, and a sink for a
soul; give me my change and my gin, you scoundrel! Humph, is that all
right, you Procrustes of the counter, chopping our lawful appetites down
to your rascally standard of seven-pence half-penny? Why don't you take a
motto, you Paynim dog? Here's one for you--'Measure for measure, and the
devil to pay!' Humph, you pitiful toadstool of a trader, you have no more
spirit than an empty water-bottle; and when you go to h--ll, they'll use
you to cool the bellows. I say, you rascal, why are you worse off than
the devil in a hip bath of brimstone?--because, you knave, the devil then
would only be half d--d, and you are d--d all over! Come, gentlemen, I am
at your service."




CHAPTER L.

The history of a philosophical vagabond,
pursuing novelty, and losing content.