I had come, though somewhat in want of consolation myself, to offer any consolation which was at my command to my acquaintance Catchpole, and perhaps like many other people who go to a house with "drops of compassion trembling on their eyelids," I felt rather disappointed at finding that no compassion was necessary.

The house was thronged with company, and cries for ale and porter, hot brandy and water, cold gin and water, were numerous; moreover, no desire to receive and not to pay for the landlord's liquids was manifested--on the contrary, everybody seemed disposed to play the most honourable part: "Landlord, here's the money for this glass of brandy and water--do me the favour to take it; all right, remember I have paid you." "Landlord, here's the money for the pint of half-and-half-fourpence halfpenny, ain't it ?--here's sixpence; keep the change--confound the change!" The landlord, assisted by his niece, bustled about; his brow erect, his cheeks plumped out, and all his features exhibiting a kind of surly satisfaction.

Wherever he moved, marks of the most cordial amity were shown him, hands were thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of respect, admiration, nay, almost of adoration, wanting.

I observed one fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out of his mouth, and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder, probably much the same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of old, put on when he saw his idol Thur, dressed in a new kirtle.

To avoid the press, I got into a corner, where on a couple of chairs sat two respectable-looking individuals, whether farmers or sow- gelders, I know not, but highly respectable-looking, who were discoursing about the landlord.