form fast asleep; the arm propped on the hard stone supporting the head, and the limbs uneasily strewn over the stairs. The dress of the slumberer was travel-stained, tattered, yet with the remains of a certain pretence: an air of faded, shabby, penniless gentility made poverty more painful; because it seemed to indicate unfitness to grapple with it. The face of this person was hollow and pale, but its expression, even in sleep, was fierce and hard. I drew near and nearer; I recognised the countenance, the regular features, the raven hair, even a peculiar gracefulness of posture: the young man whom I had met at the inn by the way-side, and who had left me alone with the Savoyard and his mice in the churchyard, was before me. I remained behind the shadow of one of the columns of the porch, leaning against the area rails, and irresolute whether or not so slight an acquaintance justified me in waking the sleeper--when a policeman, suddenly emerging from an angle in the street, terminated my deliberations with the decision of his practical profession; for he laid hold of the young man's arm and shook it roughly,--"You must not lie here, get up and go home!" The sleeper woke with a quick start, rubbed his eyes, looked round, and fixed them upon the policeman so haughtily that that discriminating functionary probably thought that it was not from sheer necessity that so improper a couch had been selected, and with an air of greater respect he said, "You have been drinking, young man,--can you find your way home?" "Yes," said the youth, resettling himself--"you see I have found it!" "By the Lord Harry!" muttered the policeman, "if he ben't going to sleep again! Come, come! walk on, or I must walk you off." My old acquaintance turned round. "Policeman," said he, with a strange sort of smile, "what do you think this lodging is worth?--I don't say for the night, for you see that is over, but for the next two hours? The lodging is primitive, but it suits me; I should think a shilling would be a fair price for it, eh?" "You love your joke, sir," said the policeman, with a brow much relaxed, and opening his hand mechanically. "Say a shilling, then--it is a bargain! I hire it of you upon credit. Good-night, and call me at six o'clock." With that the young man settled himself so resolutely, and the policeman's face exhibited such bewilderment, that I burst out laughing, and came from my hiding-place. The policeman looked at me. "Do you know this--this"-- "This gentleman?" said I, gravely. "Yes, you may leave him to me;" and I slipped the price of the lodging into the policeman's hand. He looked at the shilling--he looked at me--he looked up the street and down the street--shook his head, and walked off. I then approached the youth, touched him, and said--"Can you remember me, sir; and what have you done with Mr Peacock?" STRANGER (_after a pause_.)--I remember you; your name is CAXTON. PISISTRATUS.--And yours?