Seen from the outside, his little pleasures and extravagances seem more pathetic than his grief. Once the solemn little figure went into a public-house in Parliament Street, and addressed the man behind the bar in the following terms--“What is your very best--the VERY _best_ ale a glass?” The man replied, “Twopence.” “Then,” said the infant, “just draw me a glass of that, if you please, with a good head to it.” “The landlord,” says Dickens, in telling the story, “looked at me in return over the bar from head to foot with a strange smile on his face; instead of drawing the beer looked round the screen and said something to his wife, who came out from behind it with her work in her hand and joined him in surveying me.... They asked me a good many questions as to what my name was, how old I was, where I lived, how I was employed, etc., etc. To all of which, that I might commit nobody, I invented appropriate answers. They served me with the ale, though I suspect it was not the strongest on the premises; and the landlord’s wife, opening the little half-door, and bending down, gave me a kiss.” Here he touches that other side of common life which he was chiefly to champion; he was to show that there is no ale like the ale of a poor man’s festival, and no pleasures like the pleasures of the poor. At other places of refreshment he was yet more majestic. “I remember,” he says, “tucking my own bread (which I had brought from home in the morning) under my arm, wrapt up in a piece of paper like a book, and going into the best dining-room in Johnson’s Alamode Beef House in Clare Court, Drury Lane, and magnificently ordering a small plate of _à-la-mode_ beef to eat with it. What the waiter thought of such a strange little apparition coming in all alone I don’t know; but I can see him now staring at me as I ate my dinner, and bringing up the other waiter to look. I gave him a halfpenny, and I wish, now, that he hadn’t taken it.”