"What! old Rowley?" cried the dwarf--"often. I was page to his favourite mistress, the Duchess of Cleveland, and I have seen him a hundred times with a pack of dogs of that description at his heels." "Old Rowley wos a king arter my own 'art," said Ginger, rising and lighting a pipe at the fire. "He loved the femi-_nine_ specious as well as the ca-_nine_ specious. Can you tell us anythin' more about him?" "Not now," replied Old Parr. "I've seen so much, and heard so much, that my brain is quite addled. My memory sometimes deserts me altogether, and my past life appears like a dream. Imagine what my feelings must be, to walk through streets, still called by the old names, but in other respects wholly changed. Oh! if you could but have a glimpse of Old London, you would not be able to endure the modern city. The very atmosphere was different from that which we now breathe, charged with the smoke of myriads of sea-coal fires; and the old picturesque houses had a charm about them, which the present habitations, however commodious, altogether want." "You talk like one o' them smart chaps they calls, and werry properly, penny-a-liars," observed Ginger. "But you make me long to ha' lived i' those times." "If you _had_ lived in them, you would have belonged to Paris Garden, or the bull-baiting and bear-baiting houses in Southwark," replied Old Parr. "I've seen fellows just like you at each of those places. Strange, though times and fashions change, men continue the same. I often meet a face that I can remember in James the First's time. But the old places are gone--clean gone!" "Accordin' to your own showin', my wenerable friend, you must ha' lived uppards o' two hundred and seventy year," said Ginger, assuming a consequential manner. "Now, doorin' all that time, have you never felt inclined to kick the bucket?" "Not the least," replied Old Parr. "My bodily health has been excellent. But, as I have just said, my intellects are a little impaired." "Not a little, I should think," replied Ginger, hemming significantly. "I don't know vether you're a deceivin' of us or yourself, my wenerable; but von thing's quite clear--you _can't_ have lived all that time. It's not in nater." "Very well, then--I haven't," said Old Parr. And he finished his rum-and-water, and set down the glass, which was instantly filled again by the drowsy youth. "You've seen some picters o' Old Lunnon, and they've haanted you in your dreams, till you've begun to fancy you lived in those times," said Ginger. "Very likely," replied Old Parr--"very likely." There was something, however, in his manner calculated to pique the dog-fancier's curiosity. "How comes it," he said, stretching out his legs, and arranging his neckcloth,--"how comes it, if you've lived so long, that you ain't higher up in the stirrups--better off, as folks say?"