sufficient of these evanescent specs afloat for
appointments to be made between dingy men;
for pots of beer to be called for on the strength
of; for letters to be written (on the first sheet
of the half quire of sleeky post, purchased with
borrowed halfpence from the cheap stationer
—he who also sells greengrocery and penny
blacking—in Stag's Head Court); for the pot
boy to be importuned for wafers; for a Post-office
Directory of the year before last to be
in immense request; for postage-stamps to
be desired with a mad unquenchable (ofttimes
hopeless) longing; for pipes to be lit, and the
unwonted extravagance of another screw indulged
in; for uncombed heads to be brought
in close contact; for pens to be anxiously
bitten, gnawed, and sucked; for the thick
black mud at the bottom of the greasy,
battered inkstand to be patiently scraped
up, as if there were indeed a Pactolus
at the bottom; for intricate calculations
to be made with scraps of chalk, or wet
fingers on the dinted table—the old, old, flatteringly
fallacious calculations that prove
with such lying accuracy that where there
are no proceeds the profits must be necessarily
very large: that two and two infallibly
make five, and that from a capital of nothing,
interest of at least seventy per centum per
annum must immediately accrue; for those
worn, tattered, disreputable old pocket books
at whose existence I have already hinted to be
unbuckled and disembowelled; for the old
dog's-eared bundles of foolscap to be dug up
from the recesses of the old scarecrow hat with
the crape round it—the hat that certainly holds,
in addition, the lamentable ninepenny cotton
pocket-handkerchief full of holes, and perhaps
the one black worsted glove without
finger-tops; and not impossibly the three-pen'north
of boiled beef for to-night's supper;
for, finally the "party" to be waited for—the
party who has money, and believes in the
scheme; the party who is seldom punctual,
and sometimes fails altogether in keeping his
appointment—but when he does come produces
a pleasurable sensation in Hades by
the sight of his clean shirt, unpatched boots,
nappy hat and watchchain:—who cries out
with a loud confident voice, "What are you
drinking, gentlemen? Beer! Psha—have
something warm;" and orders the something
warm; and throws down the broad, brave
five shilling piece to pay for it; and, with his
creaking boots, his shilling jewellery, and
big cigar-case (to say nothing of that new
silk umbrella, which did it belong to the
speculator in the blue goggles and check
trousers opposite would be in less than half
an hour safe in the Times office in Printing
House Square, in the shape at least, of a
five and sixpenny advertisement of the
"Putative nephews and Cousins-german
Tontine and Mutual Assurance Company,"
provisionally registered), infuses unutterable
envy of gold into ragged hunger yonder,
who whispers to unquenched thirst his
neighbour, that Tom Lotts has got hold
of another good card, and what a lucky
fellow he is!

Moons and stars, can anything equal the
possessed state of mind of a man with a
scheme! A man walks about, pulls his hair,
talks folly, writes nonsense, makes a fool of
himself about a fair woman. He falls enamoured
of a picture, an opera tune, a poem
with a new thought in it. A friend's goodness
moves him quite to forget his own, till
the friend turns out a rascal. A new country,
city, house may engross all his admiration,
observation, appreciation, till he become immensely
bored; but give him a scheme—a
project, that he thinks he can make his
fortune by. Set up that Golden Calf on the
altar of his heart, and you will never find
him writing letters to the Times to complain
of the length of Mammon's liturgy, as some
short-breathed Christians do of that of the
Church of England. Twenty full services a
day will not be too much for him. As he walks
the streets, his scheme precedes him as the pillar
of cloud and fire went before the Israelites
of old. When he reads the share list in the
newspapers, the market prices of his company
stand out in highest altitude of relief,
and quote themselves in letters of burnished
gold. It is a fine day in November when his
scheme is at premium; it freezes in July
when it is at discount. There are no names
in the Court Guide so aristocratic as those
in his committee (with power to add to their
number). He envies no one. Nor dukes
their gilded chariots, nor bucks in the parks
their hundred guinea horses, nor members of
clubs their Pall Mall palaces, nor M.P.'s
their seats in the House; nor peers their
robes, nor earls their yachts, nor mayors
their chains, nor aldermen their turtle, nor
squires their broad lands, parks, and deer;
nor judges their old port; nor college dons
their claret and red mullet; nor bankers
their parlours; nor old ladies their dividends.
All these things and more will belong
to him when his scheme pays. The
rainbow waistcoats in the shops are ticketed
expressly for his eye, to fix themselves on
his remembrance till the project succeeds,
and he can buy them. Mr. Bennett is now
manufacturing gold watches, Mr. Hoby boots,
Mr. Sangster jewelled walking-sticks; Mr.
Hart is new painting the Trafalgar at Greenwich,
redecorating the Collingwood room,
and bottling milk punch by the thousand
dozen; Messrs. Hedges and Butler are laying
down Brunart's champagne, and Johannisberger;
Messrs. Fortnum and Mason are
importing truffles, pâté-de-foie-gras, Narbonne
honey, Belgian ortolans, edible birds'-nests,
and Russian caviare; Messrs. Laurie are building
carriages with silver axle-boxes, and
emblazoned hammer-cloths; Messrs. Day
and Scott are training two year-olds at Newmarket;
all expressly for him when his
scheme comes into its property, and he has