You should have seen the Strand then--a line of noblemen's
houses--and as to Lombard Street and Gracechurch Street, with their
wealthy goldsmiths' shops--but I don't like to think of 'em." "Vell, I'm content vith Lunnun as it is," replied the Tinker,
"'specially as there ain't much chance o' the ould city bein' rewived." "Not much," replied the dwarf, finishing his glass, which was
replenished at a sign from the Tinker. "I s'pose, my wenerable, you've seen the king as bequeathed his name to
these pretty creaters," said Ginger, raising his coat-pockets, so as to
exhibit the heads of the two little black-and-tan spaniels. "What! old Rowley?" cried the dwarf--"often. I was page to his favourite
mistress, the Duchess of Cleveland, and I have seen him a hundred times
with a pack of dogs of that description at his heels." "Old Rowley wos a king arter my own 'art," said Ginger, rising and
lighting a pipe at the fire. "He loved the femi-_nine_ specious as well
as the ca-_nine_ specious. Can you tell us anythin' more about him?" "Not now," replied Old Parr. "I've seen so much, and heard so much, that
my brain is quite addled. My memory sometimes deserts me altogether,
and my past life appears like a dream. Imagine what my feelings must be,
to walk through streets, still called by the old names, but in other
respects wholly changed. Oh! if you could but have a glimpse of Old
London, you would not be able to endure the modern city. The very
atmosphere was different from that which we now breathe, charged with
the smoke of myriads of sea-coal fires; and the old picturesque houses
had a charm about them, which the present habitations, however
commodious, altogether want." "You talk like one o' them smart chaps they calls, and werry properly,
penny-a-liars," observed Ginger. "But you make me long to ha' lived i'
those times." "If you _had_ lived in them, you would have belonged to Paris Garden, or
the bull-baiting and bear-baiting houses in Southwark," replied Old
Parr. "I've seen fellows just like you at each of those places. Strange,
though times and fashions change, men continue the same. I often meet a
face that I can remember in James the First's time. But the old places
are gone--clean gone!" "Accordin' to your own showin', my wenerable friend, you must ha' lived
uppards o' two hundred and seventy year," said Ginger, assuming a
consequential manner. "Now, doorin' all that time, have you never felt
inclined to kick the bucket?" "Not the least," replied Old Parr. "My bodily health has been excellent. But, as I have just said, my intellects are a little impaired." "Not a little, I should think," replied Ginger, hemming significantly. "I don't know vether you're a deceivin' of us or yourself, my wenerable;
but von thing's quite clear--you _can't_ have lived all that time. It's
not in nater." "Very well, then--I haven't," said Old Parr. And he finished his rum-and-water, and set down the glass, which was
instantly filled again by the drowsy youth. "You've seen some picters o' Old Lunnon, and they've haanted you in your
dreams, till you've begun to fancy you lived in those times," said
Ginger. "Very likely," replied Old Parr--"very likely." There was something, however, in his manner calculated to pique the
dog-fancier's curiosity. "How comes it," he said, stretching out his legs, and arranging his
neckcloth,--"how comes it, if you've lived so long, that you ain't
higher up in the stirrups--better off, as folks say?" The dwarf made no reply, but covering his face with his hands, seemed a
prey to deep emotion. After a few moments' pause, Ginger repeated the
question. "If you won't believe what I tell you, it's useless to give an answer,"
said Old Parr, somewhat gruffly. "Oh yes, _I_ believe you, deputy," observed the Tinker, "and so does the
Sandman." "Well, then," replied the dwarf, "I'll tell you how it comes to pass. Fate has been against me. I've had plenty of chances, but I never could
get on. I've been in a hundred different walks of life, but they always
led down hill. It's my destiny." "That's hard," rejoined the Tinker--"werry hard. But how d'ye account
for livin' so long?" he added, winking as he spoke to the others. "I've already given you an explanation," replied the dwarf. "Av, but it's a cur'ous story, and I vants my friends to hear it," said
the Tinker, in a coaxing tone. "Well then, to oblige you, I'll go through it again," rejoined the
dwarf. "You must know I was for some time servant to Doctor Lamb, an old
alchemist, who lived during the reign of good Queen Bess, and who used
to pass all his time in trying to find out the secret of changing lead
and copper into gold." "I've known several indiwiduals as has found out that secret,
wenerable," observed Ginger. "And ve calls 'em smashers, nowadays--not
halchemists." "Doctor Lamb's object was actually to turn base metal into gold,"
rejoined Old Parr, in a tone of slight contempt. "But his chief aim was
to produce the elixir of long life. Night and day he worked at the
operation;--night and day I laboured with him, until at last we were
both brought to the verge of the grave in our search after immortality. One night--I remember it well,--it was the last night of the sixteenth
century,--a young man, severely wounded, was brought to my master's
dwelling on London Bridge. I helped to convey him to the laboratory,
where I left him with the doctor, who was busy with his experiments. My
curiosity being aroused, I listened at the door, and though I could not
distinguish much that passed inside, I heard sufficient to convince me
that Doctor Lamb had made the grand discovery, and succeeded in
distilling the elixir. Having learnt this, I went down-stairs,
wondering what would next ensue. Half-an-hour elapsed, and while the
bells were ringing in the new year joyfully, the young man whom I had
assisted to carry up-stairs, and whom I supposed at death's door,
marched down as firmly as if nothing had happened, passed by me, and
disappeared, before I could shake off my astonishment. I saw at once he
had drunk the elixir." "Ah!--ah!" exclaimed the Tinker, with a knowing glance at his
companions, who returned it with gestures of equal significance. "As soon as he was gone," pursued the dwarf, "I flew to the laboratory,
and there, extended on the floor, I found the dead body of Doctor Lamb. I debated with myself what to do--whether to pursue his murderer, for
such I accounted the young man; but, on reflection, I thought the course
useless. I next looked round to see whether the precious elixir was
gone. On the table stood a phial, from which a strong spirituous odour
exhaled; but it was empty. I then turned my attention to a receiver,
connected by a worm with an alembic on the furnace. On examining it, I
found it contained a small quantity of a bright transparent liquid,
which, poured forth into a glass, emitted precisely the same odour as
the phial.