For did not the old fox always go into the Lane by Lincoln's-inn, where such a trade was done in chops that the butcher must have bought his sheep nearly all loin, and that, too, of the primest, for the legal gentlemen of the district were rather particular. As to distance Matt never studied that when he was bent upon any delicacy, being ready to visit Saint Martin's-lane for hot black-puddings, Leadenhall-market for cocks'-heads or giblets, Billingsgate for cockles or mussels; but all to oblige friends. Now, although old Matt made great shifts over his dinners, he revelled in his tea; that is to say, his evening coffee--coffee-shop tea being a decoction, as the tea is carefully boiled to the extraction of all its strength, but to the destruction of all flavour, and Matt foolishly preferred the simple infusion of everyday life. So Matt enjoyed his evening coffee--a half-pint cup for a penny, and three large greasy slices of bread-and-butter for the same coin--the butter being always the best Dorset, slightly rank in the eating, and prepared by some peculiar Dutch process without the assistance of cows. Old Matt never missed his tea if his funds would at all hold out; for at this delectable coffee-house there were newspapers and, better still, magazines of so tempting a nature that they often made the old man late back to his duties. The real enjoyment that he felt over his book must have flavoured the repast, for he always seemed to relish these meals immensely. Generally speaking, men of his trade--haunters of his haunts--are rabid politicians; but not so Matt: missing a glance at the morning or evening paper never troubled him; but still there were times when the old printer took an interest in questions current; and if "the poor man" happened to be on the _tapis_, Matt digested the leading articles most carefully.