Accordingly Mr. Chewkle, one evening, directed his steps to the chambers of the remarkable little saffronfaced dwarf. Mr. Chewkle had no favourable opinion of the individual he was about to visit; he had an uncomfortable sense that the satellites of Satan were, on certain conditions, permitted to visit the earth, to lure men to perdition, and that Nathan was one of the demoniacal crew. He pshaw’d the notion with a grim laugh every time it presented itself, but he could not drive the impression away. In one of the dreariest bye-lanes in the city of London there is a narrow passage leading into what may be termed a duodecimo square. It contains twelve houses, the floors of which are let out in chambers; that is to say, they would be if tenants were rife; but only a few can boast of being occupied. To one of the largest, gloomiest and dustiest, Mr. Chewkle advanced. Upon the door-post, in faded black letters, he saw, painted by the hands of a writer in his noviciate, the words--“Second Floor. Mr. N. Gomer.” The hour was so far advanced, that lamps, in the streets, and in shop windows, were lighted; and, by contrast, the square was dark. Still Chewlde was able to decipher the words upon the door-post; but the staircase was uncomfortably obscure. However, he mounted the stairs. He went up gently, as though, plunder being his object, he had no wish to arouse the attention of any inmate. He felt, he scarcely knew why, a strange apprehension that one of the closed doors he had to pass would; as he reached it; burst open; and some frantic individual; in a fit of wild frenzy; dash upon him, and seize him by the throat; on the assumption that he, Chewkle; had no business to be anywhere but in the station-house or at Dartmoor. He paused; without any such event happening; before the door upon the second floor. It was awfully dark here. He groped for a door, and found an outer one open. The inner door was closed; but it yielded to the pressure of his hand; and opened inwardly. The room within was intensely dark. Mr. Chewkle gave a short dry cough; but it was not responded to. “Gomer is out,” he thought to himself; “out; and has forgotten to lock his door.” Mr. Chewkle paused to take breath; for his thoughts oppressed him. His ideas, his speculations and impressions; respecting Nathan Gomer were interwoven with bank-notes and sovereigns; with gold-dust and diamonds; with Indian riches; with; in truth; wealth inexhaustible. Mr. Gomer was an individual; in his estimation; who trusted none of his valuables to other people’s care; save such moneys as he advanced on undeniable security; and; consequently; the room in which he, Mr. Chewkle, was then standing must be the storehouse of fabulous wealth.