 was by this time, by his own merits and his uncle's introductions, pretty
well introduced into London, and known both in literary and polite circles.
Amongst the former his fashionable reputation stood him in no little stead; he
was considered to be a gentleman of good present means and better expectations,
who wrote for his pleasure, than which there cannot be a greater recommendation
to a young literary aspirant. Bacon, Bungay, and Co., were proud to accept his
articles; Mr. Wenham asked him to dinner; Mr. Wagg looked upon him with a
favourable eye; and they reported how they met him at the houses of persons of
fashion, amongst whom he was pretty welcome, as they did not trouble themselves
about his means, present or future, as his appearance and address were good, and
as he had got a character for being a clever fellow. Finally, he was asked to
one house, because he was seen at another house. And thus no small varieties of
London life were presented to the young man. He was made familiar with all sorts
of people from Paternoster Row to Pimlico, and was as much at home at Mayfair
dining-tables as at those tavern boards where some of his companions of the pen
were accustomed to assemble.
    Full of high spirits and curiosity, easily adapting himself to all whom he
met, the young fellow pleased himself in this strange variety and jumble of men,
and made himself welcome, or at ease at least, wherever he went. He would
breakfast, for instance, at Mr. Plover's of a morning, in company with a peer, a
bishop, a parliamentary orator, two blue ladies of fashion, a popular preacher,
the author of the last new novel, and the very latest lion imported from Egypt
or from America; and would quit this distinguished society for the back room at
the newspaper office, where pens and ink and the wet proof-sheets were awaiting
him. Here would be Finucane, the sub-editor, with the last news from the Row;
and Shandon would come in presently, and giving a nod to Pen, would begin
scribbling his leading article at the other end of the table, flanked by the
pint of sherry, which, when the attendant boy beheld him, was always silently
brought for the Captain; or Mr. Bludyer's roaring voice would be heard in the
front room, where that truculent critic would impound the books on the counter
in spite of the timid remonstrances of Mr. Midge, the publisher, and after
looking through the volumes would sell them
