EVENINGS AT OWEN SWIFTS. 179 



The uncle himself was a character in his way. He 

 was a man of great constitutional strength, and, as such 

 men often are, a hard liver. He would not have his 

 clothes off, except occasionally to change them, for a 

 week at a time, seldom getting into bed at all during 

 that period, except on Sunday. He used to dine out, 

 and after partaking liberally of wine and spirits, would 

 return home about three in the morning, and retire to 

 his cellar, and there finish a bottle of gin palatably 

 diluted with water. Then, after a refreshing wash, he 

 would betake himself to business. This kind of life 

 he carried on with little variation for several years; 

 though he did not live very long, thus fully confirm- 

 ing the adage that ' it is the pace that kills.' 



In the later part of his life the nephew often went 

 with him, and thus no doubt acquired a taste for 

 good living, fast life, and late hours, which he retained 

 until he left business altogether. In his time, Owen 

 Swift was in his heyday at the Horse Shoe, Tich- 

 borne Street, which, like other familiar places, has 

 since been improved off the face of the earth. This 

 was Mr. Parker's nightly resort, where he had his 

 brandy and soda or other stimulant with his old 

 chums. Here he would meet Tass Parker (one of the 

 fancy, and no relative) ; Mr. Dale, a very good 

 fellow; Dick Forester, in the police force; and about 

 a score of the same sort. They would break-up about 

 two o'clock in the morning; and it was a rare occur- 

 rence if they left without having a fight. And yet 



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