At the edge of the causeway, which had never been paved, and directly opposite the entrance to Mr. Veriquear's establishment, was placed a board elevated on a moveable pole, on which was painted, in attractive letters, “Wholesale and retail Rag, Bone, and Bottle Warehouse.” Into this miserable den Colin permanently introduced himself for the first time one night between eight and nine o'clock. Some portion of that evening he had spent with Miss Wintle-bury, and had taken his adieu of her and the habitation she was in together, only after he had prevailed upon her to accept one of three sovereigns which alone he had retained out of the larger sum brought for his use by Fanny. It was dusk when he arrived at his new abode. There was no light in the shop, save what little found its way thither from the fading heavens, which now were scantily spotted with half-seen stars. Peter Veriquear stood solemnly against the door-post, staring into the gloom, and blowing through his teeth a doleful noise, compounded both of singing and whistling, but resembling neither, either in tone or loudness. Colin felt low-spirited, though he strove to seem joyful. “It grows dark very fast, sir,” said he, addressing Mr. Veriquear as he entered. “Yes,” replied that gentleman, “it does; but I can't help that. What Nature chooses to do is no businesss of ours.” “Certainly,” rejoined Colin; “but I said so only because it is customary to express some kind of opinion.” “Well, that, of course, is your own concern; but, for my part, I never make it my business either to damn or praise the weather. Nature knows her own affairs, and manages them just the same without my meddling.” As Peter said this, he turned and led into the shop his new assistant. Groping his way along in the direction of a distant inner doorway, through which the dim remains of a fire were visible, Colin first jostled against a stand, which rattled with the concussion as though all the bottles in the United Kingdom had been jingled together; and then, in his endeavour to steer clearer on the contrary side, fell prostrate on to a prodigious heap of tailors' ends, strongly resembling in size a juvenile Primrose Hill. “I think it's my business to get a light,” observed Veriquear. “Stop where you are till I come again.” Colin wisely maintained his position, in accordance with the sensible advice given him, lest, by making another endeavour in the dark, he should fall foul of a stack of bones, and thus exchange for a less comfortable anchorage. In cases of this kind, he well knew that a soft bottom is the best.