But of course I soon considered that I must not take tears where I was going, after all that had been done for me. Therefore, of course, I made myself sob less, and persuaded myself to be quiet, by saying very often, "Esther! now, you really must! This _will not_ do!" I cheered myself up pretty well at last, though I am afraid I was longer about it than I ought to have been; and when I had cooled my eyes with lavender water, it was time to watch for London. I was quite persuaded that we were there, when we were ten miles off; and when we really were there, that we should never get there. However, when we began to jolt upon a stone pavement, and particularly when every other conveyance seemed to be running into us and we seemed to be running into every other conveyance, I began to believe that we really were approaching the end of our journey. Very soon afterward we stopped. A young gentleman who had inked himself by accident, addressed me from the pavement, and said, "I am from Kenge and Carboy's, miss, of Lincoln's Inn." "If you please, sir," said I. He was very obliging; and as he handed me into a fly, after superintending the removal of my boxes, I asked him whether there was a great fire any where? For the streets were so full of dense brown smoke that scarcely any thing was to be seen. "O dear no, miss," he said. "This is a London particular." I had never heard of such a thing. "A fog, miss," said the young gentleman. "O indeed!" said I. We drove slowly through the dirtiest and darkest streets that ever were seen in the world (I thought), and in such a distracting state of confusion that I wondered how the people kept their senses, until we passed into sudden quietude under an old gateway, and drove on through a silent square, until we came to an odd nook in a corner, where there was an entrance up a steep broad flight of stairs, like an entrance to a church. And there really was a church-yard outside under some cloisters, for I saw the grave-stones from the staircase window. This was Kenge and Carboy's. The young gentleman showed me through an outer office into Mr. Kenge's room--there was no one in it--and politely put an arm-chair for me by the fire. He then called my attention to a little looking-glass, hanging from a nail on one side, of the chimney-piece. "In case you should wish to look at yourself, miss, after the journey, as you're going before the Chancellor. Not that it's necessary, I am sure," said the young gentleman, civilly. "Going before the Chancellor?" I said, startled for a moment. "Only a matter of form, miss," returned the young gentleman. "Mr. Kenge is in court now. He left his compliments, and would you partake of some refreshment;" there were biscuits and a decanter of wine on a small table; "and look over the paper;" which the young gentleman gave me as he spoke. He then stirred the fire, and left me.