I then asked, if he could recommend us a lodging.

He really gave us a line to one of his acquaintance who kept a chandler's shop not far from St.
Martin's Lane; there we hired a bed-room, up two pair of stairs, at the rate of two shillings per week, so very small, that when the bed was let down, we were obliged to carry out every other piece of furniture that belonged to the apartment, and use the bedstead by way of chairs.
About dinner-time, our landlord asked how we proposed to live?
to which interrogation we answered, that we would be directed by him.

"Well, then," says he, "there are two ways of eating in this town for people of your condition--the one more creditable and expensive than the other: the first is to dine at an eating-house frequented by well-dressed people only; and the other is called diving, practised by those who are either obliged or inclined to live frugally." I gave him to understand that, provided the last was not infamous, it would suit much better with our circumstances than the other.

"Infamous!" cried he, "not at all; there are many creditable people, rich people, ay, and fine people, that dive every day.

I have seen many a pretty gentleman with a laced waistcoat dine in that manner very comfortably for three pence halfpenny, and go afterwards to the coffee-house, where he made a figure with the best lord in the land; but your own eyes shall bear witness--I will go along with you to-day and introduce you." He accordingly conducted us to a certain lane, where stopping, he bade us observe him, and do as he did, and, walking a few paces, dived into a cellar and disappeared in an instant.