eager warmth of the young man's recognition of Costigan. He now began to play an air, which Pen instantly remembered as one which used to be sung by the chorus of villagers in "The Stranger," just before Mrs. Haller came in. It shook Pen as he heard it. He remembered how his heart used to beat as that air was played, and before the divine Emily made her entry. Nobody, save Arthur, took any notice of old Bows's playing: it was scarcely heard amidst the clatter of knives and forks, the calls for poached eggs and kidneys, and the tramp of guests and waiters.

Pen went up and kindly shook the player by the hand at the end of his performance; and Bows greeted Arthur with great respect and cordiality. "What, you have n't forgot the old tune, Mr. Pendennis?" he said; "I thought you'd remember it. I take it, it was the first tune of that sort you ever heard played was n't it, sir? You were quite a young chap then. I fear the Captain's very bad tonight. He breaks out on a pay-day; and I shall have the deuce's own trouble in getting him home. We live together. We still hang on, sir, in partnership, though Miss Em - though my Lady Mirabel has left the firm. And so you remember old times, do you? Was n't she a beauty, sir? - Your health and my service to you," — and he took a sip at the pewter measure of porter which stood by his side as he played.

Pen had many opportunities of seeing his early acquaintances afterwards, and of renewing his relations with Costigan and the old musician.

As they sat thus in friendly colloquy, men of all sorts and conditions entered and quitted the house of entertainment; and Pen had the pleasure of seeing

as many different persons of his race, as the most eager observer need desire to inspect. Healthy country tradesmen and farmers, in London for their business, came and recreated themselves with the jolly singing and suppers of the Back Kitchen, squads of young apprentices and assistants, the shutters being closed over the scene of their labors, came hither, for fresh air doubtless, rakish young medical students, gallant, dashing, what is called "loudly" dressed, and (must it be owned ?) somewhat dirty, were here smoking and drinking, and vociferously applauding the songs; - young university bucks were to be found here, too, with that indescribable genteel simper which is only learned at the knees of Alma Mater; and handsome young guardsmen, and florid bucks from the St. James's Street Clubs; nay, senators English and Irish: and even members of the House of Peers.

The bass singer had made an immense hit with his song of "The Body Snatcher," and the town rushed to listen to it. A curtain drew aside, and Mr. Hodgen appeared in the character of the Snatcher, sitting on a coffin, with a flask of gin before him, with a spade, and a candle stuck in a skull. The song was sung with a really admirable terrific humor. The singer's voice went down so low, that its grumbles rumbled into the hearer's awe-stricken soul; and in the chorus he clamped with his spade, and gave a demoniac "Ha! ha!" which caused the very glasses to quiver on the table, as with terror. None of the other singers, not even Cutts himself, as that high-minded man owned, could stand up before the Snatcher, and he commonly used to retire to Mrs. Cutts's private apartments, or into the bar, before that fatal song extinguished him. Poor Cos's ditty,

"The Little Doodeen," which Bows accompanied charmingly on the piano, was sung but to a few admirers, who might choose to remain after the tremendous resurrectionist chant. The room was commonly emptied after that, or only left in possession of a very few and persevering votaries of pleasure.

Whilst Pen and his friend were sitting here together one night, or rather morning, two habitués of the house entered almost together. "Mr. Hoolan and Mr. Doolan," whispered Warrington to Pen, saluting these gentlemen, and in the latter Pen recog nized his friend of the "Alacrity" coach, who could not dine with Pen on the day on which the latter had invited him, being compelled by his professional duties to decline dinner-engagements on Fridays, he had stated, with his compliments to Mr. Pendennis.

Doolan's paper, the "Dawn," was lying on the table much bestained by porter, and cheek-by-jowl with Hoolan's paper, which we shall call the "Day;" the "Dawn" was liberal the "Day" was ultra conservative. Many of our Journals are officered by Irish gentlemen, and their gallant brigade does the penning among us, as their ancestors used to transact the fighting in Europe; and engage under many a flag, to be good friends when the battle is over.

"Kidneys, John, and a glass of stout," says Hoolan. "How are you, Morgan? how 's Mrs. Doolan ?"

"Doing pretty well, thank ye, Mick, my boy — faith she's accustomed to it," said Doolan. "How's the lady that owns ye? Maybe I'll step down Sunday, and have a glass of punch, Kilburn way."

"Don't bring Patsey with you, Morgan, for our Georgy's got the measles," said the friendly Mick, and they straightway fell to talk about matters connected with their trade about the foreign mails

about who was correspondent at Paris, and who wrote from Madrid about the expense the "Morning Journal" was at in sending couriers, about the circulation of the "Evening Star," and so forth.

Warrington, laughing, took the "Dawn," which was lying before him, and pointed to one of the leading articles in that journal, which commenced thus:

"As rogues of note in former days who had some wicked work to perform, an enemy to put out of the way, a quantity of false coin to be passed, a lie to be told or a murder to be done, - employed a professional perjurer or assassin to do the work, which they were themselves too notorious or too cowardly to execute; our notorious contemporary, the 'Day,' engages smashers out of doors to utter forgeries against individuals, and calls in auxiliary cut-throats to murder the reputation of those who offend him. A black vizarded ruffian (whom we will unmask), who signs the forged name of Trefoil, is at present one of the chief bravoes and bullies in our contemporary's establishment. He is the eunuch who brings the bowstring, and strangles at the order of the Day.' We can convict this cowardly slave, and propose to do so. The charge which he has brought against Lord Bangbanagher, because he is a liberal Irish peer, and against the Board of Poor Law Guardians of the Bangbanagher Union, is," etc.

"How did they like the article at your place, Mick?" asked Morgan; "when the Captain puts his hand to it he's a tremendous hand at a smasher. He wrote the article in two hours . in whewyou know where, while the boy was waiting." "Our governor thinks the public don't straw about these newspaper rows, and has Docther to stop answering," said the other.

mind a told the

"Them

two talked it out together in my room. The Docther would have liked a turn, for he says it's such easy writing, and requires no reading up of a subject: but the governor put a stopper on him."

"The taste for eloquence is going out, Mick," said Morgan.

"Deed then it is, Morgan," said Mick. "That was fine writing when the Docther wrote in the Phaynix,' and he and Condy Rooney blazed away at each other day after day."

"And with powder and shot, too, as well as paper," said Morgan. "Faith, the Docther was out twice, and Condy Rooney winged his man."

"They are talking about Doctor Boyne and Captain Shandon," Warrington said, "who are the two Irish controversialists of the 'Dawn' and the 'Day,' Dr. Boyne being the Protestant champion, and Captain Shandon the liberal orator. They are the best friends in the world, I believe, in spite of their newspaper controversies; and though they cry out against the English for abusing their country, by Jove they abuse it themselves more in a single article than we should take the pains to do in a dozen volumes. How are you, Doolan ??

"Your servant, Mr. Warrington - Mr. Pendennis, I am delighted to have the honor of seeing ye again. The night's journey on the top of the 'Alacrity' was one of the most agreeable I ever enjoyed in my life, and it was your liveliness and urbanity that made the trip so charming. I have often thought over that happy night, sir, and talked over it to Mrs. Doolan. I have seen your elegant young friend, Mr. Foker, too, here, sir, not unfrequently. He is an occasional frequenter of this hostelry, and a right good one it is. Mr. Pendennis, when I saw you I was on the 'Tom and Jerry' Weekly Paper; I have now the honor to