Old Matt turned his back stolidly upon the luxuries of the cook-shop, strolled into the big street, and began to nibble his small German, in company with the dusty, fluey slice of bread he brought out of his pocket. There was a parish pump there, with its swinging copper handle; and regardless of medical reports, and chemical analyses, and cholera germs contained in the clear, sparkling fluid, old Matt had a hearty draught, and smacked his lips after as if he enjoyed it--and doubtless he did. There was the prospect of a murky old inn down a gateway, and the busy throng of people passing him; but Matt noticed nothing, for his thoughts were upon matters in Bennett's-rents--though, for all that, he was enjoying his simple meal, which was eaten without a thought of the prime veal and bacon, or his sad complaint, which had now fled till next dinner-time, as, by way of amusement, he turned down Castle-street to witness the performance of a gentleman in tights and spangles--a gentleman evidently high in his profession, but blessed with a nose of the Whitechapel mould, black, greasy, tucked-under hair, confined by a blue ribbon, slightly oiled; a pimply face, and a body apparently furnished with gristle in the place of bones. As Matt came up, the gentleman was balancing a peacock's feather upon the tip of his nose, to the accompaniment of a popular air performed by a partner upon drum and pan-pipes--the arrangement of the air apparently necessitating more muscular action with the arms than from the lungs; for though now and then a shrill and piercing note was heard from the pipes, it was not often, while the rumble of the beaten drum was incessant. The next performance was the balancing and twirling of a barrel on the acrobat's feet, he all that time lying down upon a cushion in a very uncomfortable, determination-of-the-blood-to-the-head position, what time the band, tucking his pipes inside his coat and setting his drum on end, came round the attentive circle, shaking the performer's greasy, private-life cap in the observers' faces, after the fashion of zealous deacons in churches of high proclivities--save that in this case the cap was of very common cloth, while in the other the little bags would probably be of red velvet, lined with white satin. The band stopped opposite old Matt, who had loudly applauded the performance, for he had felt so at peace with the world at large, that he was in the humour to be pleased with any and everything. So the old man thrust a willing hand into his pocket, and the band smiled expectant; but the next moment Matt's face turned very serious, and with the loud taunt of the band ringing in his ears, he shuffled down Castle-street and into Cursitor-street, in the direction of the office where he had a job; far more piercing than the shrillest note of the pipes, and more impressive than the heaviest bang of the drum, came the words of the musician:--