Thomas and Wilson, their well-thumbed novels, to partake this evening repast; and when I saw the rapidity with which muffin after muffin disappeared, and cup after cup was replenished, I no longer felt surprised at the copious supply provided by the indefatigable Kitty. At halfpast ten o'clock, the party retired to their separate chambers, but not before Mrs. Chatterton reminded me, that at five minutes after nine, breakfast would be on the table.

29

CHAPTER III.

WHEN I awoke the next morning, I was surprised to find, on opening my window, that a dense yellow fog precluded the possibility of seeing any object from it, save a few tall chimnies crowned by lurid-coloured, conical-shaped pots, rising from the mis-shapen roofs of the adjacent houses. Nothing could be more gloomy than the prospect of this "darkness visible," offering a dreary contrast to the wide-stretching domain of Oak Park, with its huge old trees, beneath which the deer loved to nestle, and the sleek cows and snowy fleeced sheep cropped their daily food. The density of the atmosphere impeded the freedom of my respiration, and damped the natural tone of cheerfulness of my mind, but I soon reasoned myself into better spirits; and when I entered the

eating-room, received the matinal greetings of Mrs. Chatterton, with assumed if not real cheerfulness.

"What weather! there never was any thing like it," said Mr. Murdoch.

"So you have said every similar day for the last thirty-five years, and we have had many such days," replied Mr. Burton.

"Would you believe it, I was obliged to pay a link-boy to light me home last night?" observed Mr. Bingly; "and in the theatre, the fog was so thick that one could not see across the house."

"You are finding fault with the butter again, Mr. Bingly," said Mrs. Chatterton; "but it's no use, there is no better to be had at present, I can tell you."

"Not I," answered Mr. Bingly, "I'm tired of finding fault. I really believe the old woman's nose is as blunt to the sense of smelling as her ears are to that of hearing; for if she could smell, we should not have such stuff as this," pointing to the pat of butter to which he had helped himself.

Messrs. Thomas and Wilson were too busily occupied in discussing the toast, and washing it down with large cups of tea, to join in the

remarks, rather than conversation, of the other clerks.

At length, the morning meal being concluded, and Mr. Murdoch having looked at his huge silver watch (which resembled a turnip in form and size), he announced that the moment was arrived for entering the office, to which he led the way. The apartment was of considerable dimensions, and along it was ranged a long line of counters, with desks, before which stood high stools, waiting their daily occupants. Mr. Murdoch pointed out the one designed for me, and I seated myself before a huge ledger open on the desk, while that grave functionary explained to me the duties I was expected to discharge. Lamps were lighted through the apartment, but even with the aid supplied by them, it was still gloomy and dingy, the lurid flame casting its dull light over the countenances of the clerks seated at the desks, and on those who kept continually making their entries and exits, as well as on the heaps of golden coin, which the cashier was serving out with a sort of shovel, to meet the demands of the several busy-looking men, who presented checks to him. Every one appeared intent on business; even Bingly seemed to forget the pleasures of half-price

attendance at the theatre; Thomas and Wilson looked as if they never had devoted an evening to a novel; and Murdoch and Burton forgot the fascination of chess, while, with spectacles on nose, they looked over unwieldy books, and made entries in them.

At ten o'clock the partners, or the firm, as Mrs. Chatterton loved to designate them, took their station in an inner room, each seated before a desk, and deeply interested in the perusal of the morning papers. Into this sanctum only the privileged customers of the house were admitted; and a tolerably accurate guess of the state of his banking-book might be made, from the coldness or cordiality with which each visitor was greeted, as well as by the politeness, or brusquerie, of the individual himself.

Though a novice, I was soon enabled to form a conclusion that the civilest, best dressed, and most gentlemanlike-looking men, were not those who received the most attention from the Messrs. Allison and Finsbury; and that these gentlemen, in turn, were treated with much less politeness by certain plainly dressed, stern-looking men, chiefly of the ages of from fifty to sixty, who walked unceremoniously into the sanctum, excluded the view of the fire from the partners,