“Mustard” (and here Mr. Brown addressed himself to Clarence) “is a very wonderful assistance to the digestion. By the by, sir, if you want any curiously fine mustard, I can procure you some pots quite capital,--a great favour, though,--they were smuggled from France, especially for the use of the late Lady Waddilove.” “Thank you,” said Linden, dryly; “I shall be very happy to accept anything you may wish to offer me.” Mr. Brown took a pocket-book from his pouch. “Six pots of mustard, sir,--shall I say six?” “As many as you please,” replied Clarence; and Mr. Brown wrote down “Six pots of French mustard.” “You are a very young gentleman, sir,” said Mr. Brown, “probably intended for some profession: I don’t mean to be impertinent, but if I can be of any assistance--” “You can, sir,” replied Linden, “and immediately--have the kindness to ring the bell.” Mr. Brown, with a grave smile, did as he was desired; the waiter re-entered, and, receiving a whispered order from Clarence, again disappeared. “What profession did you say, sir?” renewed Mr. Brown, artfully. “None!” replied Linden. “Oh, very well,--very well indeed. Then as an idle, independent gentleman, you will of course be a bit of a beau; want some shirts, possibly; fine cravats, too; gentlemen wear a particular pattern now; gloves, gold, or shall I say gilt chain, watch and seals, a ring or two, and a snuff-box?” “Sir, you are vastly obliging,” said Clarence, in undisguised surprise. “Not at all, I would do anything for a relation of Mrs. Minden.” The waiter re-entered; “Sir,” said he to Linden, “your room is quite ready.” “I am glad to hear it,” said Clarence, rising. “Mr. Brown, I have the honour of wishing you a good evening.” “Stay, sir--stay; you have not looked into these things belonging to the late Lady Waddilove.” “Another time,” said Clarence, hastily. “To-morrow, at ten o’clock,” muttered Mr. Brown. “I am exceedingly glad I have got rid of that fellow,” said Linden to himself, as he stretched his limbs in his easy-chair, and drank off the last glass of his pint of port. “If I have not already seen, I have already guessed, enough of the world, to know that you are to look to your pockets when a man offers you a present; they who ‘give,’ also ‘take away.’ So here I am in London, with an order for 1000 pounds in my purse, the wisdom of Dr. Latinas in my head, and the health of eighteen in my veins; will it not be my own fault if I do not both enjoy and make myself--” And then, yielding to meditations of future success, partaking strongly of the inexperienced and sanguine temperament of the soliloquist, Clarence passed the hours till his pillow summoned him to dreams no less ardent and perhaps no less unreal. CHAPTER VIII. “Oh, how I long to be employed!”--Every Man in his Humour.