The things we do!

I owe you a
shake of the hand for last night, Mr. Pendennis." And, so saying, he was
kind enough to give me his hand a second time.
"And this is the abode of the Muses, is it, sir?" our guest went on. "I
know your writings very well. Clive here used to send me the Pall Mall
Gazette every month."
"We took it at Smiffle, regular," says Clive. "Always patronise Grey
Friars men." "Smiffle," it must be explained, is a fond abbreviation for
Smithfield, near to which great mart of mutton and oxen our school is
situated, and old Cistercians often playfully designate their place of
education by the name of the neighbouring market.
"Clive sent me the Gazette every month; and I read your romance of Walter
Lorraine in my boat as I was coming down the river to Calcutta."
"Have Pen's immortal productions made their appearance on board Bengalee
budgerows; and are their leaves floating on the yellow banks of Jumna?"
asks Warrington, that sceptic, who respects no work of modern genius.


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