Mr. Micawber, under pretence of showing me a nearer way than that by which I had come, accompanied me to the corner of the street; being anxious (he explained to me) to say a few words to an old friend, in confidence.

“My dear Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, “I need hardly tell you that to have beneath our roof, under existing circumstances, a mind like that which gleams⁠—if I may be allowed the expression⁠—which gleams⁠—in your friend Traddles, is an unspeakable comfort. With a washerwoman, who exposes hard-bake for sale in her parlour-window, dwelling next door, and a Bow-street officer residing over the way, you may imagine that his society is a source of consolation to myself and to Mrs. Micawber. I am at present, my dear Copperfield, engaged in the sale of corn upon commission. It is not an avocation of a remunerative description⁠—in other words, it does not