# REAL LIFE IN LONDON

OR, THE RAMBLES AND ADVENTURES OF BOB TALLYHO, ESQ.,
AND HIS COUSIN, THE HON. TOM DASHALL,
THROUGH THE METROPOLIS;
EXHIBITING A LIVING PICTURE OF FASHIONABLE CHARACTERS,
MANNERS, AND AMUSEMENTS IN HIGH AND LOW LIFE
By an AMATEUR [Pierce Egan]
"'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd."
—Cowper
EMBELLISHED AND ILLUSTRATED WITH A SERIES OF
COLOURED PRINTS, DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED
BY MESSRS. HEATH, AIKEN, DIGHTON,
ROWLANDSON, ETC.
VOLUME I.
Part 1
A NEW EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LONDON
NOTE
This Issue, first published in 1905, is founded on the Edition
printed for Jones & Co. in the year 1821

Main Index
Volume I. Part 2
Volume II. Part 1
Volume II. Part 2

## Contents

## List of Illustrations

         CONTENTS:

         Chapter I.

         Seduction from rural simplicity, page 2. Pleasures of the
         table, 3. Overpowering oratory, 4. A warm dispute, 5.
         Amicable arrangement, 6.

         Chapter II.

         Philosophical reflections, 7. A great master, 8. Modern
         jehuism, 9. A coach race, 10. A wood-nymph, 11. Improvements
         of the age, 12. An amateur of fashion, 13. Theatrical
         criticism, 14. Reflections, 15.

         Chapter III.

         Hyde Park, and its various characters, 16. Sir F——s B——
         tt, 22, Delightful reverie, 23.

         Chapter IV.

         Fresh game sprung, 24. Lord C——e, alias Coal-hole George,
         25. Rot at Carlton Palace, 28. Once-a-week man, 29. Sunday
         promenader, 30. How to raise the wind, 31. Lord Cripplegate
         and his Cupid, 32. Live fish, 33. Delicacy, 34. A breathless
         visitor, 35.

         Chapter V.

         A fashionable introduction, 36. A sparkling subject, 37. The
         true spur to genius, 38. An agreeable surprise, 39. A
         serious subject, 40. A pleasant fellow, 41. Lively gossip,
         42. Living in style, 43. Modern good breeding, 45. Going to
         see "you know who," 46.

         Chapter VI.

         Early morning amusements, 47. Frightening to death, 48.
         Improvements of the age, 49. Preparing for a swell, 50. The
         acmé of barberism, 51. A fine specimen of the art, 52. Duels
         by Cupid and Apollo, 53. Fashionable news continued, 54. Low
         niggardly notions, 55. Scenes from Barber-Ross-a, 56. A snip
         of the superfine, 59. The enraged Managers, 60. Cutting out,
         and cutting up, 61. The whipstitch mercury, 62. All in the
         wrong again, 63. A Venus de Medicis, 64. Delicacy alarmed,
         65.

         Chapter VII.

         Preparing for a ramble, 66. A man of the town, 67. Bond
         Street, 68. A hanger on, 70. A man of science, 71. Dandyism,
         72. Dandy heroism, 74. Inebriety reproved, 75. My uncle's
         card, 76. St. James's Palace, 77. Pall Mall-Waterloo Place,
         etc., 79. An Irish Paddy, 80. Incorrigible prigs, 81. A hue
         and cry, 82. A capture, 83. A wake, with an Irish howl, 84.
         Vocabulary of the new school, 85. Additional company, 87.

         Chapter VIII.

         Public Office, Bow Street, 88. Irish generosity, 89. A bit
         of gig, 90. "I loves fun," 91. A row with the Charleys, 92.
         Judicial sagacity, 93. Watch-house scenes, 94. A rummish
         piece of business, 95. The Brown Bear well baited, 96.
         Somerset House, 97. An importunate customer, 99.
         Peregrinations proposed, 100.

         Chapter IX.

         The Bonassus, 101. A Knight of the New Order, 102. Medical
         quacks, 103. Medical (not Tailors') Boards, 105. Superlative
         modesty, 106. Hard pulling and blowing, 107. Knightly
         medicals, 108. Buffers and Duffers, 109. Extremes of
         fortune, 110. Signs of the Times, 111. Expensive spree, 112.
         The young Cit, 113. All in confusion, 115. Losses and
         crosses, 116. Rum customers, 117. A genteel hop, 118. Max
         and music, 119. Amateurs and actors, 120. A well-known
         character, 121. Championship, 122. A grand spectacle, 123.
         Adulterations, 124. More important discoveries, 125. Wonders
         of cast-iron and steam, 126. Shops of the new school, 127.
         Irish paper-hanging, 128.

         Chapter X.

         Heterogeneous mass, 129. Attractions of the theatre, 130.
         Tragedy talk, 131. Authors and actors, 132. Chancery
         injunctions, 133. Olympic music, 134. Dandy larks and
         sprees, 135. The Theatre, 136. Its splendid establishment,
         137. Nymphs of the saloon, 138. Torments of love and gout,
         139. Prostitution, 140. A shameful business, 141. Be gone,
         dull care, 142. Convenient refreshment, 143. A lushy cove,
         144. The sleeper awake, 145. All on lire, 146. A short
         parley, 147.

         Chapter XI.

         Fire, confusion and alarm, 148. Snuffy tabbies and boosy
         kids, 149. A cooler for hot disputes, 150. An overturned
         Charley, 151. Resurrection rigs, 152. Studies from life,
         154. An agreeable situation, 155. A nocturnal visit to a
         lady, 156. Sharp's the word, 157. Frolicsome fellows, 158.
         Retirement, 159.

         Chapter XII.

         Tattersall's, 160. Friendly dealings, 161. Laudable company,
         162. The Sportsman's exchange, 163. An unlimited order, 164.
         How to ease heavy pockets, 165. Body-snatchers and Bum-
         traps, 166. The Sharps and the Flats, 167. A secret
         expedition, 168. A pleasant rencontre, 169. Accommodating
         friends, 170. The female banker, 171. A buck of the first
         cut, 172. A highly finished youth, 173. An addition to the
         party, 174.

         Chapter XIII.

         A promenade, 175. Something the matter, 176. Quizzical hits,
         177. London friendship, 178. Fashion versus Reason, 179.
         Dinners of the Ton, 180. Brilliant mob of a ball-room, 181.
         What can the matter be? 182. Something-A-Miss, 183.

         Chapter XIV.

         The centre of attraction, 185. The circulating library, 186.
         Library wit, 187. Fitting on the cap, 188. Breaking up, 189.
         Gaming, 190. Hells-Greeks-Black-legs, 191. How to become a
         Greek, 192. Valuable instructions, 193. Gambling-house à la
         Française, 194. Visitors' cards, 195. Opening scene, 196.
         List of Nocturnal Hells, 197. Rouge et Noir Tables, 198.
         Noon-day Hells, 199. Hell broke up, and the devil to pay,
         200. A story, 202. Swindling Jews, 205. Ups and downs, 206.
         High fellows, 207. Mingled company, 208. Severe studies,
         209.

         Chapter XV.

         Newspaper recreations, 210. Value of Newspapers, 211. Power
         of imagination, 212. Rich bill of fare, 213. Proposed Review
         of the Arts, 214. Demireps and Cyprians, 215. Dashing
         characters, 216. Female accommodations, 217. Rump and dozen,
         218. Maggot race for a hundred, 219. Prime gig, larks and
         sprees, 220. Female jockeyship, 221. Delicate amusements for
         the fair sex, 222. Female life in London, 224. Ciphers in
         society, 225. Ciphers of all sorts, 226. Hydraulics, 227.
         Watery humours, 228. General street engagement, 229. Harmony
         restored, 230.

         Chapter XVI.

         The double disappointment, 231. Heading made easy, 232.
         Exhibition of Engravings, 233. How to cut a dash, 235.
         Dashing attitude, costume, etc., 236. A Dasher-Street-
         walking, etc., 237. Dancing—"all the go," 238. Exhibition,
         Somerset House, 239. Royal Academy, Somerset House, 240. The
         Sister Arts, 241. Character-Caricature, etc., 242. Moral
         tendency of the Arts, 243. Fresh game sprung, 244. Law and
         Lawyers, 245. Law qualifications, 247. Benchers, 248. Temple
         Libraries-Church, 249. St. Dunstan's Bell-thumpers, 250.
         Political Cobbler, 251. Coffee-houses, 252. Metropolitan
         accommodations, 253. Chop-house delights and recreations,
         254. Daffy's Elixir, Blue Ruin, etc., 256. The Queen's gin-
         shop, 257.

         Chapter XVII.

         Globe Coffee-house, 258. A humorous sort of fellow, 259. A
         Punster, 260. Signals and Signs, 261. Disconcerted
         Professors, 262. A learned Butcher, 263. A successful
         stratagem, 264. A misconception, 265. A picture of London,
         266. All in high glee, 268.

         Chapter XVIII.

         A Slap at Slop, 269. A Nondescript, 270. Romanis, 271. Bow
         steeple-Sir Chris. Wren, 272. The Temple of Apollo, 273.
         Caricatures, 274. Rich stores of literature, 275. Pulpit
         oratory, 276. Seven reasons, 277. Street impostors and
         impositions, 278. Impudent beggars, 280. Wise men of the
         East, 281. A Royal Visitor and Courtier reproved, 282.
         Confusion of tongues, 284. Smoking and drinking, 285.
         Knights of the Round Table, 286. The joys of milling, 287.
         Noses and nosegays, 288. A Bumpkin in town, 289. Piggish
         propensities, 2907 Joys of the bowl, 291.

         Chapter XIX.

         Jolly boys, 292. Dark-house Lane, 293. A breeze sprung up,
         294. Business done in a crack, 295. Billingsgate, 296.
         Refinements in language, 297. Real Life at Billingsgate,
         298. The Female Fancy, 299. The Custom House, Long Room,
         etc., 300. Greeting mine host, 302. A valuable customer,
         303. A public character, 304.

         Chapter xx.

         The Tower of London, 305. Confusion of titles, 306. Interior
         of the Trinity House, 307. Rag Fair commerce, 308. Itinerant
         Jews and Depredators, 309. Lamentable state of the Jews,
         310. Duke's Place and Synagogue, 311. Portuguese Jews, 312.
         Bank of England, 313. An eccentric character, 314.
         Lamentable effects of forgery, 315. Singular alteration of
         mind, 316. Imaginary wealth, 317. Joint Stock Companies,
         318. Auction Mart-Courtois, 319. Irresistible arguments,
         320. Wealth without pride, 321. Royal Exchange, 322. A
         prophecy fulfilled, 323. Lloyd's-Gresham Lecture, etc., 324.
         The essential requisite, 325. Egress by storm, 326.

         Chapter XXI.

         Incident "ad infinitum," 327. A distressed Poet, 328.
         Interesting calculations, 329. Ingenuity in puffing, 330.
         Blacking maker's Lauréat, 331. Miseries of literary
         pursuits, 332. Suttling house, Horse Guards, 333. Merits of
         two heroes, 334. Hibernian eloquence, 335. A pertinacious
         Disputant, 336. Peace restored-Horse Guards, 337. Old
         habits-The Miller's horse, 338. Covent Garden-Modern Drury,
         339 A more than Herculean labour, 340. Police Office scene,
         341. Bartholomew Fair, 342. A Knight of the Needle, 343.
         Variance of opinion, 344. A visit to the Poet, 345. Produce
         of literary pursuits, 346. Quantum versus Quality, 347.
         Publishing by subscription, 348. Wealth and ignorance, 349.
         Mutual gratification, 350.

         Chapter XXII.

         Symptoms of alarm, 351. Parties missing, 352. A strange
         world, 353. Wanted, and must come, 354. Expectation alive,
         355. A cure for melancholy, 356. Real Life a game, 357. The
         game over, 358. Money-dropping arts, 359. Dividing a prize,
         360. The Holy Alliance broke up, 361. New method of Hat
         catching, 362. Dispatching a customer, 363. Laconic
         colloquy, 364. Barkers, 365. A mistake corrected, 366.
         Pawnbrokers, 367. The biter bit, 368. Miseries of
         prostitution, 369. Wardrobe accommodations, 370. New species
         of depredation, 371.

         Chapter XXIII.

         The Lock-up House, 372. Real Life with John Doe, etc., 373.
         Every thing done by proxy, 374. Lottery of marriage, 375.
         Sharp-shooting and skirmishing, 376. A fancy sketch, 377.
         The universal talisman, 378. Living within bounds, 379. How
         to live for ten years, 380. An accommodating host, 381. Life
         in a lock-up house, 382.

         Chapter XXIV.

         A successful election, 383. Patriotic intentions, 384.
         Political dinner, 385. Another bear-garden, 386. Charley's
         theatre, 387. Bear-baiting sports, 388. The coronation, 389.
         Coronation splendour, 390.

         Chapter XXV.

         Fancy sports, 392. Road to a fight, 393. New sentimental
         journey, 394. Travelling chaff, 395. Humours of the road,
         396. Lads of the fancy, 397. Centre of attraction, 398. A
         force march, 399. Getting to work, 400. True game, 401. The
         sublime and beautiful, 402. All's well-good night, 403.

         Chapter XXVI.

         Promenading reflections, 404. Anticipation, 405. Preliminary
         observations, 406. Characters in masquerade, 407. Irish
         sympathy, 408. Whimsicalities of character, 409. Masquerade
         characters, 410. The watchman, 411. New characters, 412. The
         sport alive, 413. Multifarious amusements, 414. Doctors
         disagree, 415. Israelitish honesty, 416.

         Chapter XXVII.

         Ideal enjoyments, 417. A glance at new objects, 418. Street-
         walking nuisances, 419. Cries of London-Mud-larks, etc.,
         420. The Monument, 421. London Stone, 422. General Post-
         Office, 423. Preparations for returning, 424. So endeth the
         volume, 425.

## REAL LIFE IN LONDON

## CHAPTER I

              Triumphant returning at night with the spoil,
              Like Bachanals, shouting and gay:
              How sweet with a bottle and song to refresh,
              And lose the fatigues of the day.
              With sport, wit, and wine, fickle fortune defy,
              Dull 'wisdom all happiness sours;
              Since Life is no more than a passage at best,
              Let's strew the way over with flowers.

[1]"THEY order these things better in London," replied the Hon. Tom Dashall, to an old weather-beaten sportsman, who would fain have made a convert of our London Sprig of Fashion to the sports and delights of rural life. The party were regaling themselves after the dangers and fatigues of a very hard day's fox-chace; and, while the sparkling glass circulated, each, anxious to impress on the minds of the company the value of the exploits and amusements in which he felt most delight, became more animated and boisterous in his oratory—forgetting that excellent regulation which forms an article in some of the rules and orders of our "Free and Easies" in London, "that no more than three gentlemen shall be allowed to speak at the same time." The whole party, consisting of fourteen, like a pack in full cry, had, with the kind assistance of the "rosy god," become at the same moment most animated, not to say vociferous, orators. The young squire, Bob Tally ho, (as he was called) of Belville Hall, who had recently come into possession of this fine and extensive domain, was far from feeling indifferent to the pleasures of a sporting life, and, in the chace, had even acquired the reputation of being a "keen sportsman:" but the regular intercourse which took place between him and his cousin, the Hon. Tom Dashall, of Bond Street notoriety, had in [2]some measure led to an indecision of character, and often when perusing the lively and fascinating descriptions which the latter drew of the passing scenes in the gay metropolis, Bob would break out into an involuntary exclamation of—"Curse me, but after all, this only is Real Life; "—while, for the moment, horses, dogs, and gun, with the whole paraphernalia of sporting, were annihilated. Indeed, to do justice to his elegant and highly-finished friend, these pictures were the production of a master-hand, and might have made a dangerous impression on minds more stoical and determined than that of Bob's. The opera, theatres, fashionable pursuits, characters, objects, &c. all became in succession the subjects of his pen; and if lively description, blended with irresistible humour and sarcastic wit, possessed any power of seduction, these certainly belonged to Bob's honourable friend and relative, as an epistolary correspondent. The following Stanzas were often recited by him with great feeling and animation:—

         Parent of Pleasure and of many a groan,
         I should be loath to part with thee, I own,
         Dear Life!
         To tell the truth, I'd rather lose a wife,
         Should Heav'n e'er deem me worthy of possessing
         That best, that most invaluable blessing.
         I thank thee, that thou brought'st me into being;
         The things of this our world are well worth seeing;
         And let me add, moreover, well worth feeling;
         Then what the Devil would people have?
         These gloomy hunters of the grave,
         For ever sighing, groaning, canting, kneeling.
         Some wish they never had been born, how odd!
         To see the handy works of God,
         In sun and moon, and starry sky;
         Though last, not least, to see sweet Woman's charms,—
         Nay, more, to clasp them in our arms,
         And pour the soul in love's delicious sigh,
         Is well worth coming for, I'm sure,
         Supposing that thou gav'st us nothing more.
         Yet, thus surrounded, Life, dear Life, I'm thine,
         And, could I always call thee mine,
         I would not quickly bid this world farewell;
         But whether here, or long or short my stay,
         I'll keep in mind for ev'ry day
         An old French motto, "Vive la bagatelle!"
         Misfortunes are this lottery-world's sad blanks;
         Presents, in my opinion, not worth thanks.
         The pleasures are the twenty thousand prizes,
         Which nothing but a downright ass despises.

It was not, however, the mere representations of Bob's friend, with which, (in consequence of the important result,) we commenced our chapter, that produced the powerful effect of fixing the wavering mind of Bob—No, it was the air—the manner—the je ne sais quoi, by which these representations were accompanied: the curled lip of contempt, and the eye, measuring as he spoke, from top to toe, his companions, with the cool elegant sang froid and self-possession displayed in his own person and manner, which became a fiat with Bob, and which effected the object so long courted by his cousin.

After the manner of Yorick (though, by the bye, no sentimentalist) Bob thus reasoned with himself:—"If an acquaintance with London is to give a man these airs of superiority—this ascendancy—elegance of manners, and command of enjoyments—why, London for me; and if pleasure is the game in view, there will I instantly pursue the sport."

[3]The song and toast, in unison with the sparkling glass, followed each other in rapid succession. During which, our elegant London visitor favoured the company with the following effusion, sung in a style equal to (though unaccompanied with the affected airs and self-importance of) a first-rate professor:—

         SONG.

         If to form and distinction, in town you would bow,
         Let appearance of wealth be your care:
         If your friends see you live, not a creature cares how,
         The question will only be, Where?
         A circus, a polygon, crescent, or place,
         With ideas of magnificence tally;
         Squares are common, streets queer, but a lane's a disgrace;
         And we've no such thing as an alley.
         A first floor's pretty well, and a parlour so so;
         But, pray, who can give themselves airs,
         Or mix with high folks, if so vulgarly low
         To live up in a two pair of stairs?
         The garret, excuse me, I mean attic floor,
         (That's the name, and it's right you should know it,)
         Would he tenantless often; but genius will soar,
         And it does very well for a poet.

These amusements of the table were succeeded by a most stormy and lengthened debate, (to use a parliamentary phrase) during which, Bob's London friend had with daring heroism opposed the whole of the party, in supporting the superiority of Life in London over every pleasure the country could afford. After copious libations to Bacchus, whose influence at length effected what oratory had in vain essayed, and silenced these contending and jarring elements, "grey-eyed Morn" peeped intrusively amid the jovial crew, and Somnus, (with the cart before the horse) stepping softly on tip-toe after his companion, led, if not by, at least accompanied with, the music of the nose, each to his snoring pillow.[4]

——"Glorious resolve!" exclaimed Tom, as soon as his friend had next morning intimated his intention,—"nobly resolved indeed!—"What! shall he whom Nature has formed to shine in the dance and sparkle in the ring—to fascinate the fair—lead and control the fashions—attract the gaze and admiration of the surrounding crowd!—shall he pass a life, or rather a torpid existence, amid country bumpkins and Johnny-raws? Forbid it all ye powers that rule with despotic sway where Life alone is to be found,—forbid it cards—dice—balls—fashion, and ye gay et coteras,—forbid"——"Pon my soul," interrupted Bob, "you have frightened me to death! I thought you were beginning an Epic,—a thing I abominate of all others. I had rather at any time follow the pack on a foundered horse than read ten lines of Homer; so, my dear fellow, descend for God's sake from the Heroics."

              Calmly let me, at least, begin Life's chapter,
              Not panting for a hurricane of rapture;
              Calm let me step—not riotous and jumping:
              With due decorum, let my heart
              Try to perform a sober part,
              Not at the ribs be ever bumping—bumping.
              Rapture's a charger—often breaks his girt,
              Runs oft", and flings his rider in the dirt.

[5]"However, it shall be so: adieu, my dear little roan filly,—Snow-ball, good by,—my new patent double-barrelled percussion—ah, I give you all up!—Order the tandem, my dear Tom, whenever you please; whisk me up to the fairy scenes you have so often and admirably described; and, above all things, take me as an humble and docile pupil under your august auspices and tuition." Says Tom, "thou reasonest well."

The rapidity with which great characters execute their determinations has been often remarked by authors. The dashing tandem, with its beautiful high-bred bits of blood, accompanied by two grooms on horsebaek in splendid liveries, stood at the lodge-gate, and our heroes had only to bid adieu to relatives and friends, and commence their rapid career.

Before we start on this long journey of one hundred and eighty miles, with the celerity which is unavoidable in modern travelling, it may be prudent to ascertain that our readers are still in company, and that we all start fairly together; otherwise, there is but little probability of our ever meeting again on the journey;—so now to satisfy queries, remarks, and animadversions.

"Why, Sir, I must say it is a new way of introducing a story, and appears to me very irregular.—What! tumble your hero neck and heels into the midst of a drunken fox-hunting party, and then carry him off from his paternal estate, without even noticing his ancestors, relatives, friends, connexions, or prospects—without any description of romantic scenery on the estate—without so much as an allusion to the female who first kindled in his breast the tender passion, or a detail of those incidents with which it is usually connected!—a strange, very strange way indeed this of commencing."

"My dear Sir, I agree with you as to the deviation from customary rules: but allow me to ask,—is not one common object—amusement, all we have in view? Suppose then, by way of illustration, you were desirous of arriving at a given place or object, to which there were several roads, and having traversed one of these till the monotony of the scene had rendered every object upon it dull and wearisome, would you quarrel with the traveller who pointed out another road, merely because it was a new one? Considering the impatience of our young friends, the one to return to scenes in which alone he can [6]live, and the other to realize ideal dreams of happiness, painted in all the glowing tints that a warm imagination and youthful fancy can pourtray, it will be impossible longer to continue the argument. Let me, therefore, entreat you to cut it short—accompany us in our rapid pursuit after Life in London; nor risk for the sake of a little peevish criticism, the cruel reflection, that by a refusal, you would, probably, be in at the death of the Author—by Starvation."

## CHAPTER II

         "The panting steed the hero's empire feel,
         Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel,
         And as he guides it through th' admiring throng,
         With what an air he holds the reins, and smacks the silken thong!"

ORDINARY minds, in viewing distant objects, first see the obstacles that intervene, magnify the difficulty of surmounting them, and sit down in despair. The man of genius with his mind's-eye pointed steadfastly, like the needle towards the pole, on the object of his ambition, meets and conquers every difficulty in detail, and the mass dissolves before him as the mountain snow yields, drop by drop, to the progressive but invincible operation of the solar beam. Our honourable friend was well aware that a perfect knowledge of the art of driving, and the character of a "first-rate whip," were objects worthy his ambition; and that, to hold four-in-hand—turn a corner in style—handle the reins in form—take a fly off the tip of his leader's ear—square the elbows, and keep the wrists pliant, were matters as essential to the formation of a man of fashion as dice or milling: it was a principle he had long laid down and strictly adhered to, that whatever tended to the completion of that character, should be acquired to the very acmé of perfection, without regard to ulterior consequences, or minor pursuits.

In an early stage, therefore, of his fashionable course of studies, the whip became an object of careful solicitude; and after some private tuition, he first exhibited his prowess about twice a week, on the box of a Windsor stage, tipping coachy a crown for the indulgence and improvement it afforded. Few could boast of being more fortunate during a noviciate: two overturns only occurred in the whole course of practice, and except the trifling accident of an old lady being killed, a shoulder or two dislocated, and about half a dozen legs and arms [8]broken, belonging to people who were not at all known in high life, nothing worthy of notice may be said to have happened on these occasions. 'Tis true, some ill-natured remarks appeared in one of the public papers, on the "conduct of coachmen entrusting the reins to young practitioners, and thus endangering the lives of his majesty's subjects;" but these passed off like other philanthropic suggestions of the day, unheeded and forgotten.

The next advance of our hero was an important step. The mail-coach is considered the school; its driver, the great master of the art—the Phidias of the statuary—the Claude of the landscape-painter. To approach him without preparatory instruction and study, would be like an attempt to copy the former without a knowledge of anatomy, or the latter, while ignorant of perspective. The standard of excellence—the model of perfection, all that the highest ambition can attain, is to approach as near as possible the original; to attempt a deviation, would be to bolt out of the course, snap the curb, and run riot. Sensible of the importance of his character, accustomed to hold the reins of arbitrary power; and seated where will is law, the mail-whip carries in his appearance all that may be expected from his elevated situation. Stern and sedate in his manner, and given to taciturnity, he speaks sententiously, or in monosyllables. If he passes on the road even an humble follower of the profession, with four tidy ones in hand, he views him with ineffable contempt, and would consider it an irreparable disgrace to appear conscious of the proximity. Should it be a country gentleman of large property and influence, and he held the reins, and handled the whip with a knowledge of the art, so to "get over the ground," coachy might, perhaps, notice him "en passant," by a slight and familiar nod; but it is only the peer, or man of first-rate sporting celebrity, that is honoured with any thing like a familiar mark of approbation and acquaintance; and these, justly appreciating the proud distinction, feel higher gratification by it than any thing the monarch could bestow: it is an inclination of the head, not forward, in the manner of a nod, but towards the off shoulder, accompanied with a certain jerk and elevation from the opposite side. But here neither pen nor pencil can depict; it belongs to him alone whose individual powers can nightly keep the house [9]in a roar, to catch the living manner and present it to the eye.

              "——A merrier man

              Within the limit of becoming mirth,
              I never spent an hour's talk withall:
              His eye begets occasion for his wit;
              For every object that the one doth catch
              The other turns to a mirth-moving jest."

And now, gentle reader, if the epithet means any thing, you cannot but feel disposed to good humour and indulgence: Instead of rattling you off, as was proposed at our last interview, and whirling you at the rate of twelve miles an hour, exhausted with fatigue, and half dead in pursuit of Life, we have proceeded gently along the road, amusing ourselves by the way, rather with drawing than driving. 'Tis high time, however, we made some little progress in our journey: "Come Bob, take the reins—push on—keep moving—touch up the leader into a hand-gallop—give Snarler his head—that's it my tight one, keep out of the ruts—mind your quartering—not a gig, buggy, tandem, or tilbury, have we yet seen on the road—what an infernal place for a human being to inhabit!—curse me if I had not as lief emigrate to the back settlements of America: one might find some novelty and amusement there—I'd have the woods cleared—cut out some turnpike-roads, and, like Palmer, start the first mail"——"Stop, Tom, don't set off yet to the Illinois—here's something ahead, but what the devil it is I cant guess—why it's a barge on wheels, and drove four-in-hand."—"Ha, ha—barge indeed, Bob, you seem to know as much about coaches as Snarler does of Back-gammon: I suppose you never see any thing in this quarter but the old heavy Bridgewater—why we have half a dozen new launches every week, and as great a variety of names, shape, size, and colour, as there are ships in the navy—we have the heavy coach, light coach, Caterpillar, and Mail—the Balloon, Comet, Fly, Dart, Regulator, Telegraph, Courier, Times, High-flyer, Hope, with as many others as would fill a list as long as my tandem-whip. What you now see is one of the new patent safety-coaches—you can't have an overturn if you're ever so disposed for a spree. The old city cormorants, after a gorge of mock-turtle, turn into them for a journey, and drop off in a [10]nap, with as much confidence of security to their neck and limbs as if they had mounted a rocking-horse, or drop't into an arm-chair."—"Ah! come, the scene improves, and becomes a little like Life—here's a dasher making up to the Safety—why its—no, impossible—can't be—gad it is tho'—the Dart, by all that's good! and drove by Hell-fire Dick!—there's a fellow would do honour to any box—drove the Cambridge Fly three months—pass'd every thing on the road, and because he overturned in three or four hard matches, the stupid rascals of proprietors moved him off the ground. Joe Spinum, who's at Corpus Christi, matched Dick once for 50, when he carried five inside and thirteen at top, besides heavy luggage, against the other Cambridge—never was a prettier race seen at Newmarket—Dick must have beat hollow, but a d——d fat alderman who was inside, and felt alarmed at the velocity of the vehicle, moved to the other end of the seat: this destroyed the equilibrium—over they went, into a four-feet ditch, and Joe lost his match. However, he had the satisfaction of hearing afterwards, that the old cormorant who occasioned his loss, had nearly burst himself by the concussion."

"See, see!—Dick's got up to, and wants to give the Safety the go by—gad, its a race—go it Dick—now Safety—d——d good cattle both—lay it in to 'em Dick—leaders neck and neck—pretty race by G——! Ah, its of no use Safety—Dick wont stand it—a dead beat—there she goes—all up—over by Jove "——"I can't see for that tree—what do you say Tom, is the race over?"—"Race, ah! and the coach too—knew Dick would beat him—would have betted the long odds the moment I saw it was him."

The tandem had by this time reached the race-course, and the disaster which Tom had hardly thought worth noticing in his lively description of the sport, sure enough had befallen the new 'patent Safety, which was about mid way between an upright and a side position, supported by the high and very strong quicksett-hedge against which it hath fallen. Our heroes dismounted, left Flip at the leader's head, and with Ned, the other groom, proceeded to offer their services. Whilst engaged in extricating the horses, which had become entangled in their harness, and were kicking and plunging, their attention was arrested by the screams and outrageous vociferations of a very fat, middle-aged woman, who had [11]been jerked from her seat on the box to one not quite so smooth—the top of the hedge, which, with the assistance of an old alder tree, supported the coach. Tom found it impossible to resist the violent impulse to risibility which the ludicrous appearance of the old lady excited, and as no serious injury was sustained, determined to enjoy the fun.

              "If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view,
              At once o'er hedge and ditch away he flew,
              Nor left the game till he had run it down."

Approaching her with all the gravity of countenance he was master of—"Madam," says he, "are we to consider you as one of the Sylvan Deities who preside over these scenes, or connected in any way with the vehicle?"—"Wehicle, indeed, you hunhuman-brutes, instead of assisting a poor distressed female who has been chuck'd from top of that there safety-thing, as they calls it, into such a dangerous pisition, you must be chuckling and grinning, must you? I only wish my husband, Mr. Giblet, was here, he should soon wring your necks, and pluck some of your fine feathers for you, and make you look as foolish as a peacock without his tail." Mrs. Giblet's ire at length having subsided, she was handed down in safety on terra firma, and our heroes transferred their assistance to the other passengers. The violence of the concussion had burst open the coach-door on one side, and a London Dandy, of the exquisite genus, lay in danger of being pressed to a jelly beneath the weight of an infirm and very stout old farmer, whom they had pick'd up on the road; and it was impossible to get at, so as to afford relief to the sufferers, till the coach was raised in a perpendicular position. The farmer was no sooner on his legs, than clapping his hand with anxious concern into an immense large pocket, he discovered that a bottle of brandy it contained was crack'd, and the contents beginning to escape: "I ax pardon, young gentleman," says he, seizing a hat that the latter held with great care in his hand, and applying it to catch the liquor—"I ax pardon for making so free, but I see the hat is a little out of order, and can't be much hurt; and its a pity to waste the liquor, such a price as it is now-a-days."—"Sir, what do you mean, shouldn't have thought of your taking such liberties indeed, but makes good the old saying—impudence and [12]ignorance go together: my hat out of order, hey! I'd have you to know, Sir, that that there hat was bought of Lloyd, in Newgate-street,{1} only last Thursday,-and cost eighteen shillings; and if you look at the book in his vindow on hats, dedicated to the head, you'll find that this here hat is a real exquisite; so much for what you know about hats, my old fellow—I burst my stays all to pieces in saving it from being squeezed out of shape, and now this old brute has made a brandy-bottle of it."—"Oh! oh! my young Miss in disguise," replied the farmer, "I thought I smelt a rat when the Captain left the coach, under pretence of walking up the hill—what, I suppose vou are bound for Gretna, both of vou, hev young Lady?"

Every thing appertaining to the coach being now righted, our young friends left the company to adjust their quarrels and pursue their journey at discretion, anxious to reach the next town as expeditiously as possible, where they purposed sleeping for the night. They mounted the tandem, smack went the whip, and in a few minutes the stage-coach and its motley group had disappeared.

Having reached their destination, and passed the night comfortably, they next morning determined to kill an hour or two in the town; and were taking a stroll arm in arm, when perceiving by a playbill, that an amateur of fashion from the theatres royal, Drury Lane and Haymarket, was just come in, and would shortly come out,

         1 It would be injustice to great talents, not to notice,
         among other important discoveries and improvements of the
         age, the labours of Lloyd, who has classified and arranged
         whatever relates to that necessary article of personal
         elegance, the Hat. He has given the world a volume on the
         subject of Hats, dedicated to their great patron, the Head,
         in which all the endless varieties of shape, dependent
         before on mere whim and caprice, are reduced to fixed
         principles, and designated after the great characters by
         which each particular fashion was first introduced. The
         advantages to gentlemen residing in the country must be
         incalculable: they have only to refer to the engravings in
         Mr. Lloyd's work, where every possible variety is clearly
         defined, and to order such as may suit the rank or character
         in life they either possess, or wish to assume. The
         following enumeration comprises a few of the latest fashions:
         —The Wellington—The Regent—The Caroline—The
         Bashful—The Dandy—The Shallow—The Exquisite—The Marquis
         —The New Dash—The Clerieus—The Tally-ho—The Noble Lord—
         The Taedum—The Bang-up—The Irresistible—The Bon Ton—The
         Paris Beau—The Baronet—The Eccentric—The Bit of Blood,
         &c.

[13]in a favourite character, they immediately directed their steps towards a barn, with the hope of witnessing a rehearsal. Chance introduced them to the country manager, and Tom having asked several questions about this candidate, was assured by Mr. Mist:

"Oh! he is a gentleman-performer, and very useful to us managers, for he not only finds his own dresses and properties, but 'struts and frets his hour on the stage without any emoluments. His aversion to salary recommended him to the lessee of Drury-lane theatre, though his services had been previously rejected by the sub-committee."

"Can it be that game-cock, the gay Lothario," said Tom, "who sports an immensity of diamonds?"—

Of Coates's frolics he of course well knew, Rare pastime for the ragamuffin crew! Who welcome with the crowing of a cock, This hero of the buskin and sock.

"Oh! no," rejoined Mr. Mist, "that cock don't crow now: this gentleman, I assure you, has been at a theatrical school; he was instructed by the person who made Master Bettv a young Roscius."

Tom shook his head, as if he doubted the abilities of this instructed actor. To be a performer, he thought as arduous as to be a poet; and if poeta nascitur, non fit—consequently an actor must have natural abilities.

"And pray what character did this gentleman enact at Drury-lane Theatre?"

"Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," answered Mr. Mist—"Shakespeare is his favourite author."

"And what said the critics—'to be, or not to be'—I suppose he repeated the character?"

"Oh! Sir, it was stated in the play-bill, that he met with great applause, and he was announced for the character again; but, as the Free List was not suspended, and our amateur dreaded some hostility from that quarter, he performed the character by proxy, and repeated it at the Little Theatre in the Haymarket."

"Then the gentlemen of the Free List," remarked Bob, "are free and easy?"

"Yes—yes—they laugh and cough whenever they please: indeed, they are generally excluded whenever a [14]full house is expected, as ready money is an object to the poor manager of Drury-lane Theatre. The British Press, however, is always excepted."

"The British press!—Oh! you mean the newspapers," exclaimed Tom—"then I dare say they were very favourable to this Amateur of Fashion?"

"No—not very—indeed; they don't join the manager in his puffs, notwithstanding his marked civility to them: one said he was a methodist preacher, and sermonized the character—another assimilated him to a school-boy saying his lesson—in short, they were very ill-natured—but hush—here he is—walk in, gentlemen, and you shall hear him rehearse some of King Richard"—

"King Richard!" What ambition! thought Bob to himself—"late a Prince, and now—a king!"

"I assure you," continued Mr. Mist, "that all his readings are new; but according to my humble observation, his action does not always suit the word—for when he exclaims—' may Hell make crook'd my mind,' he looks up to Heaven"—

"Looks up to Heaven!" exclaimed Tom; "then this London star makes a solecism with his eyes."

Our heroes now went into the barn, and took a private corner, when they remained invisible. Their patience was soon exhausted, and Bob and his honourable cousin were both on the fidgits, when the representative of King Richard exclaimed—

"Give me a horse——"

"—Whip!" added Tom with stunning vociferation, before King Richard could bind up his wounds. The amateur started, and betrayed consummate embarrassment, as if the horsewhip had actually made its entrance. Tom and his companion stole away, and left the astounded monarch with the words—"twas all a dream."

    While returning to the inn, our heroes mutually commented on the
    ambition and folly of those amateurs of fashion, who not only sacrifice
    time and property, but absolutely take abundant pains to render
    themselves ridiculous. "Certainly," says Tom, "this cacoethes ludendi
    has made fools of several: this infatuated youth though not possessed
    of a single requisite for the stage, no doubt flatters himself he is
    a second Kean; and, regardless [15]of his birth and family, he will
    continue his strolling life

         Till the broad shame comes staring in his face,
         And critics hoot the blockhead as he struts."

Having now reached the inn, and finding every thing adjusted for their procedure, our heroes mounted their vehicle, and went in full gallop for Real Life in London.

## CHAPTER III

              "Round, round, and round-about, they whiz, they fly,
              With eager worrying, whirling here and there,
              They know, nor whence, nor whither, where, nor why.
              In utter hurry-scurry, going, coming,
              Maddening the summer air with ceaseless humming."

[16]OUR travellers now approached at a rapid rate, the desideratim of their eager hopes and wishes: to one all was novel, wonderful, and fascinating; to the other, it was the welcome return to an old and beloved friend, the separation from whom had but increased the ardour of attachment.—"We, now," says Dashall, "are approaching Hyde-Park, and being Sunday, a scene will at once burst upon you, far surpassing in reality any thing I have been able to pourtray, notwithstanding the flattering compliments you have so often paid to my talents for description."

They had scarcely entered the Park-gate, when Lady Jane Townley's carriage crossed them, and Tom immediately approached it, to pay his respects to an old acquaintance. Her lady-ship congratulated him on his return to town, lamented the serious loss the beau-monde had sustained by his absence, and smiling archly at his young friend, was happy to find he had not returned empty-handed, but with a recruit, whose appearance promised a valuable accession to their select circle. "You would not have seen me here," continued her ladyship, "but I vow and protest it is utterly impossible to make a prisoner of one's self, such a day as this, merely because it is Sunday—for my own part, I wish there was no such thing as a Sunday in the whole year—there's no knowing what to do with one's self. When fine, it draws out as many insects as a hot sun and a shower of rain can produce in the middle of June. The vulgar plebeians flock so, that you can scarcely get into your barouche without being hustled by the men-milliners, linen-drapers, and shop-boys, who [17]have been serving you all the previous part of the week; and wet, or dry, there's no bearing it. For my part, I am ennuyée, beyond measure, on that day, and find no little difficulty in getting through it without a fit of the horrors.

"What a legion of counter-coxcombs!" exclaimed she, as we passed Grosvenor-gate. "Upon the plunder of the till, or by overcharging some particular article sold on the previous day, it is easy for these once-a-week beaux to hire a tilbury, and an awkward groom in a pepper and salt, or drab coat, like the incog. of the royal family, to mix with their betters and sport their persons in the drive of fashion: some of the monsters, too, have the impudence of bowing to ladies whom they do not know, merely to give them an air, or pass off their customers for their acquaintance: its very distressing. There!" continued she, "there goes my plumassier, with gilt spurs like a field-officer, and riding as importantly as if he were one of the Lords of the Treasury; or—ah! there, again, is my banker's clerk, so stiff and so laced up, that he might pass for an Egyptian mummy—the self-importance of these puppies is insufferable! What impudence! he has picked up some groom out of place, with a cockade in his hat, by way of imposing on the world for a beau militaire. What will the world come to! I really have not common patience with these creatures. I have long since left off going to the play on a Saturday night, because, independently of my preference for the Opera, these insects from Cornhill or Whitechapel, shut up their shops, cheat their masters, and commence their airs of importance about nine o'clock. Then again you have the same party crowding the Park on a Sunday; but on the following day, return, like school boys, to their work, and you see them with their pen behind their ear, calculating how to make up for their late extravagances, pestering you with lies, and urging you to buy twice as much as you want, then officiously offering their arm at your carriage-door."

Capt. Bergamotte at this moment came up to the carriage, perfumed like a milliner, his colour much heightened by some vegetable dye, and resolved neither to "blush unseen," nor "waste his sweetness on the desert air." Two false teeth in front, shamed the others a little in their ivory polish, and his breath savoured of myrrh like a heathen sacrifice, or the incense burned in [18]one of their temples. He thrust his horse's head into the carriage, rather abruptly and indecorously, (as one not accustomed to the haut-ton might suppose) but it gave no offence. He smiled affectedly, adjusted his hat, pulled a lock of hair across his forehead, with a view of shewing the whiteness of the latter, and next, that the glossiness of the former must have owed its lustre to at least two hours brushing, arranging, and perfuming; used his quizzing-glass, and took snuff with a flourish. Lady Townley condescended to caress the horse, and to display her lovely white arm ungloved, with which she patted the horse's neck, and drew a hundred admiring eyes.

The exquisite all this time brushed the animal gently with a highly-scented silk handkerchief, after which he displayed a cambric one, and went through a thousand little playful airs and affectations, which Bob thought would have suited a fine lady better than a lieutenant in his Majesty's brigade of guards. Applying the lines of an inimitable satire, (The Age of Frivolity) to the figure before him, he concluded:

              "That gaudy dress and decorations gay,
              The tinsel-trappings of a vain array.
              The spruce trimm'd jacket, and the waving plume,
              The powder'd head emitting soft perfume;
              These may make fops, but never can impart
              The soldier's hardy frame, or daring heart;
              May in Hyde-Park present a splendid train,
              But are not weapons for a dread campaign;
              May please the fair, who like a tawdry beau,
              But are not fit to check an active foe;
              Such heroes may acquire sufficient skill
              To march erect, and labour through a drill;
              In some sham-fight may manfully hold out,
              But must not hope an enemy to rout."

Although he talked a great deal, the whole amount of his discourse was to inform her Ladyship that (Stilletto) meaning his horse, (who in truth appeared to possess more fire and spirit than his rider could either boast of or command,) had cost him only 700 guineas, and was prime blood; that the horse his groom rode, was nothing but a good one, and had run at the Craven—that he had been prodigiously fortunate that season on the turf—that he was a bold rider, and could not bear himself without a fine high spirited animal—and, that being engaged to dine at [19]three places that day, he was desperately at a loss to know how he should act; but that if her Ladyship dined at any one of the three, he would certainly join that party, and cut the other two.

At this moment, a mad-brained ruffian of quality, with a splendid equipage, came driving by with four in hand, and exclaimed as he flew past, in an affected tone,—"All! Tom, my dear fellow,—why where the devil have you hid yourself of late?" The speed of his cattle prevented the possibility of reply. "Although you see him in such excellent trim," observed Tom to Lady Jane, "though his cattle and equipage are so well appointed, would you suppose, it, he has but just made his appearance from the Bench after white-washing? But he is a noble spirited fellow," remarked the exquisite, "drives the best horses, and is one of the first whips in town; always gallant and gay, full of life and good humour; and, I am happy to say, he has now a dozen of as fine horses as any in Christendom, bien entendu, kept in my name." After this explanation of the characters of his friend and his horses, he kissed his hand to her Ladyship, and was out of sight in an instant, "Adieu, adieu, thou dear, delightful sprig of fashion!" said Lady Jane, as he left the side of the carriage.—"Fashion and folly," said Tom, half whispering, and recalling to his mind the following lines:—

              "Oh! Fashion, to thy wiles, thy votaries owe
              Unnumber'd pangs of sharp domestic woe.
              What broken tradesmen and abandon'd wives
              Curse thy delusion through their wretched lives;
              What pale-faced spinsters vent on thee their rage,
              And youths decrepid e're they come of age."

His moralizing reverie was however interrupted by her Ladyship, who perceiving a group of females decked in the extreme of Parisian fashions, "there," said she, "there is all that taffeta, feathers, flowers, and lace can do; and yet you see by their loud talking, their being unattended by a servant, and by the bit of straw adhering to the pettycoat of one of them, that they come all the way from Fish Street Hill, or the Borough, in a hackney-coach, and are now trying to play off the airs of women of fashion."

Mrs. Marvellous now drew up close to the party. "My dear Lady Jane," said she, "1 am positively suffocated with dust, and sickened with vulgarity; but to be sure we [20]have every thing in London here, from the House of Peers to Waterloo House. I must tell you about the trial, and Lady Barbara's mortification, and about poor Mr. R.'s being arrested, and the midnight flight to the Continent of our poor friend W——."

With this brief, but at the same time comprehensive introduction, she lacerated the reputation of almost all her acquaintance, and excited great attention from the party, which had been joined by several during her truly interesting intelligence. Every other topic in a moment gave way to this delightful amusement, and each with volubility contributed his or her share to the general stock of slander.

Scandal is at all times the sauce piquante that currys incident in every situation; and where is the fashionable circle that can sit down to table without made dishes?—Character is the good old-fashioned roast beef of the table, which no one touches but to mangle and destroy.

              "Lord! who'd have thought our cousin D
              Could think of marrying Mrs. E.
              True I don't like such things to tell;
              But, faith, I pity Mrs. L,
              And was I her, the bride to vex,
              I would engage with Mrs. X.
              But they do say that Charlotte U,
              With Fanny M, and we know who,
              Occasioned all, for you must know
              They set their caps at Mr. O.
              And as he courted Mrs. E,
              They thought, if she'd have cousin D,
              That things might be by Colonel A
              Just brought about in their own way."

Our heroes now took leave, and proceeded through the Park. "Who is that fat, fair, and forty-looking dame, in the landau?" says Bob.—"Your description shews," rejoined his friend, "you are but a novice in the world of fashion—you are deceived, that lady is as much made up as a wax-doll. She has been such as she now appears to be for these last five and twenty years; her figure as you see, rather en-bon point, is friendly to the ravages of time, and every lineament of age is artfully filled up by an expert fille de chambre, whose time has been employed at the toilette of a celebrated devotee in Paris. She drives through the Park as a matter of course, merely to furnish an opportunity for saying that she has been there: but the more important business of the morning will be transacted [21]at her boudoir, in the King's Road, where every luxury is provided to influence the senses; and where, by daily appointment, she is expected to meet a sturdy gallant. She is a perfect Messalina in her enjoyments; but her rank in society protects her from sustaining any injury by her sentimental wanderings.

"Do you see that tall handsome man on horseback, who has just taken off his hat to her, he is a knight of the ... ribbon; and a well-known flutterer among the ladies, as well as a vast composer of pretty little nothings."—"Indeed! and pray, cousin, do you see that lady of quality, just driving in at the gate in a superb yellow vis-à-vis,—as you seem to know every body, who is she?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" replied Tom, almost bursting with laughter, yet endeavouring to conceal it, "that Lady of Quality, as you are inclined to think her, a very few years since, was nothing more than a pot-girl to a publican in Marj'-le-bone; but an old debauchee (upon the look out for defenceless beauty) admiring the fineness of her form, the brilliancy of her eye, and the symmetry of her features, became the possessor of her person, and took her into keeping, as one of the indispensable appendages of fashionable life, after a month's ablution at Margate, where he gave her masters of every description. Her understanding was ready, and at his death, which happened, luckily for her, before satiety had extinguished appetite, she was left with an annuity of twelve hundred pounds—improved beauty—superficial accomplishments—and an immoderate share of caprice, insolence, and vanity. As a proof of this, I must tell you that at an elegant entertainment lately given by this dashing cyprian, she demolished a desert service of glass and china that cost five hundred guineas, in a fit of passionate ill-humour; and when her paramour intreated her to be more composed, she became indignant—called for her writing-desk in a rage—committed a settlement of four hundred a year, which he had made but a short time previously, to the flames, and asked him, with, a self-important air, whether he dared to suppose that paltry parchment gave him an authority to direct her actions?"

"And what said the lover to this severe remonstrance?"

"Say,—why he very sensibly made her a low bow, thanked her for her kindness, in releasing him from his bond, and took his leave of her, determined to return no more."

[22]"Turn to the right," says Tom, "and yonder you will see on horseback, that staunch patriot, and friend of the people, Sir——, of whom you must have heard so much."

"He has just come out of the K——B——, having completed last week the term of imprisonment, to which he was sentenced for a libel on Government, contained in his address to his constituents on the subject of the memorable Manchester Meeting."

"Ah! indeed, and is that the red-hot patriot?—well, I must say I have often regretted he should have gone to such extremes in one or two instances, although I ever admired his general character for firmness, manly intrepidity, and disinterested conduct."

"You are right, Bob, perfectly right; but you know, 'to err is human, to forgive divine,' and however he may err, he does so from principle. In his private character, as father, husband, friend, and polished gentleman, he has very few equals—no superior.

"He is a branch of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom, and can trace his ancestors without interruption, from the days of William the Conqueror. His political career has been eventful, and perhaps has cost him more, both in pocket and person, than any Member of Parliament now existing. He took his seat in the House of Commons at an early age, and first rendered himself popular by his strenuous opposition to a bill purporting to regulate the publication of newspapers.

"The next object of his determined reprehension, was the Cold-Bath-Fields Prison, and the treatment of the unfortunates therein confined. The uniformly bold and energetic language made use of by the honourable Baronet upon that occasion, breathed the true spirit of British liberty. He reprobated the unconstitutional measure of erecting what he termed a Bastile in the very heart of a free country, as one that could neither have its foundation in national policy, nor eventually be productive of private good. He remarked that prisons, at which private punishments, cruel as they were illegal, were exercised, at the mercy of an unprincipled gaoler—cells in which human beings were exposed to the horrors of heart-sickening solitude, and depressed in spirit by their restriction to a scanty and exclusive allowance of bread and water, were not only incompatible with the spirit of the constitution, but were likely to prove injurious to the spirit of the [23]people of this happy country; for as Goldsmith admirably remarks,

              "Princes and Lords may nourish or may fade,
              A breath can make them as a breath hath made,
              But a bold peasantry their country's pride,
              When once destroyed can never be supplied."

"And if this be not tyranny" continued the philanthropic orator, "it is impossible to define the term. I promise you here that I will persevere to the last in unmasking this wanton abuse of justice and humanity." His invincible fortitude in favour of the people, has rendered him a distinguished favourite among them: and though by some he is termed a visionary, an enthusiast, and a tool of party, his adherence to the rights of the subject, and his perseverance to uphold the principles of the constitution, are deserving the admiration of every Englishman; and although his fortune is princely, and has been at his command ever since an early age, he has never had his name registered among the fashionable gamesters at the clubs in St. James's-street, Newmarket, or elsewhere. He labours in the vineyard of utility rather than in the more luxuriant garden of folly; and, according to general conception, may emphatically be called an honest man. "But come," said Tom, "it is time for us to move homeward—the company are drawing off I see, we must shape our course towards Piccadilly."

They dashed through the Park, not however without being saluted by many of his fashionable friends, who rejoiced to see that the Honourable Tom Dashall was again to be numbered among the votaries of Real Life in London; while the young squire, whose visionary orbs appeared to be in perpetual motion, dazzled with the splendid equipages of the moving panorama, was absorbed in reflections somewhat similar to the following:

              "No spot on earth to me is half so fair
              As Hyde-Park Corner, or St. James's Square;
              And Happiness has surely fix'd her seat
              In Palace Yard, Pall Mall, or Downing Street:
              Are hills, and dales, and valleys half so gay
              As bright St. James's on a levee day?
              What fierce ecstatic transports fire my soul,
              To hear the drivers swear, the coaches roll;
              The Courtier's compliment, the Ladies' clack,
              The satins rustle, and the whalebone crack!"

## CHAPTER IV

              "Together let us beat this ample field
              Try what the open, what the covert yield:
              The latent tracts, the giddy heights explore
              Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar;
              Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies,
              And catch the manners living as they rise."

[24]IT was half past five when the Hon. Tom Dashall, and his enraptured cousin, reached the habitation of the former, who had taken care to dispatch a groom, apprizing Mrs. Watson, the house-keeper, of his intention to be at home by half past six to dinner; consequently all was prepared for their reception. The style of elegance in which Tom appeared to move, struck Tallyho at once with delight and astonishment, as they entered the drawing-room; which was superbly and tastefully fitted up, and commanded a cheerful view of Piccadilly. "Welcome, my dear Bob!" said Tom to his cousin, "to all the delights of Town—come, tell me what you think of its first appearance, only remember you commence your studies of Life in London on a dull day; to-morrow you will have more enlivening prospects before you." "'Why in truth," replied Bob, "the rapidity of attraction is such, as at present to leave no distinct impressions on my mind; all appears like enchantment, and I am completely bewildered in a labyrinth of wonders, to which there appears to be no end; but under your kind guidance and tuition I may prove myself an apt scholar, in unravelling its intricacies." By this time they had approached the window.

"Aye, aye," says Dashall, "we shall not be long, I see, without some object to exercise your mind upon, and dispel the horrors.

              "Oh for that Muse of fire, whose burning pen
              Records the God-like deeds of valiant men!
              Then might our humble, yet aspiring verse,
              Our matchless hero's matchless deeds rehearse."

[25]Bob was surprised at this sudden exclamation of his cousin, and from the introduction naturally expected something extraordinary, though he looked around him without discovering his object.

    "That," continued Tom, "is a Peer"—pointing to a gig just turning the
    corner, "of whom it may be said:

              To many a jovial club that Peer was known,
              With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone,
              Choice spirit, grave freemason, buck and blood,
              Would crowd his stories and bon mots to hear,
              And none a disappointment e'er need fear
              His humour flow'd in such a copious flood."

"It is Lord C——, who was formerly well known as the celebrated Major H——, the companion of the now most distinguished personage in the British dominions! and who not long since became possessed of his lordly honours. Some particulars of him are worth knowing. He was early introduced into life, and often kept both good and bad company, associating with men and women of every description and of every rank, from the highest to the lowest—from St. James's to St. Giles's, in palaces and night-cellars—from the drawing-room to the dust-cart. He can drink, swear, tell stories, cudgel, box, and smoke with any one; having by his intercourse with society fitted himself for all companies. His education has been more practical than theoretical, though he was brought up at Eton, where, notwithstanding he made considerable progress in his studies, he took such an aversion to Greek that he never would learn it. Previous to his arrival at his present title, he used to be called Honest George, and so unalterable is his nature, that to this hour he likes it, and it fits him better than his title. But he has often been sadly put to his shifts under various circumstances: he was a courtier, but was too honest for that; he tried gaming, but he was too honest for that; he got into prison, and might have wiped off, but he was too honest for that; he got into the coal trade, but he found it a black business, and he was too honest for that. At drawing the long bow, so much perhaps cannot be said—but that you know is habit, not principle; his courage is undoubted, having fought three duels before he was twenty years of age.

Being disappointed in his hope of promotion in the army, he resolved, in spite of the remonstrances of his [26]friends, to quit the guards, and solicited an appointment in one of the Hessian corps, at that time raising for the British service in America, where the war of the revolution was then commencing, and obtained from the Landgrave of Hesse a captain's commission in his corps of Jagers.

Previous to his departure for America, finding he had involved himself in difficulties by a profuse expenditure, too extensive for his income, and an indulgence in the pleasures of the turf to a very great extent, he felt himself under the necessity of mortgaging an estate of about 11,000L. per annum, left him by his aunt, and which proved unequal to the liquidation of his debts. He remained in America till the end of the war, where he distinguished himself for bravery, and suffered much with the yellow fever. On his return, he obtained an introduction to the Prince of Wales, who by that time had lanched into public life, and became one of the jovial characters whom he selected for his associates; and many are the amusing anecdotes related of him. The Prince conferred on him the appointment of equerry, with a salary of 300L. a year; this, however, he lost on the retrenchments that were afterwards made in the household of His Royal Highness. He continued, however, to be one of his constant companions, and while in his favour they were accustomed to practice strange vagaries. The Major was always a wag, ripe and ready for a spree or a lark.

              "To him a frolic was a high delight,
              A frolic he would hunt for, day and night,
              Careless how prudence on the sport might frown."

At one time, when the favourite's finances were rather low, and the mopusses ran taper, it was remarked among the 60 vivants of the party, that the Major had not for some time given them an invitation. This, however, he promised to do, and fixed the day—the Prince having engaged to make one. Upon this occasion he took lodgings in Tottenham-court Road—went to a wine-merchant—promised to introduce him to the royal presence, upon his engaging to find wine for the party, which was readily acceded to; and a dinner of three courses was served up. Three such courses, perhaps, were never before seen; when the company were seated, two large dishes appeared; one was placed at the top of the table, and one at the bottom; all was anxious expectation: [27]the covers being removed, exhibited to view, a baked shoulder of mutton at top, and baked potatoes at the bottom. They all looked around with astonishment, but, knowing the general eccentricity of their host, they readily fell into his humour, and partook of his fare; not doubting but the second course would make ample amends for the first. The wine was good, and the Major apologized for his accommodations, being, as he said, a family sort of man, and the dinner, though somewhat uncommon, was not such an one as is described by Goldsmith:

              "At the top, a fried liver and bacon were seen;
              At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen;
              At the sides there were spinach and pudding made hot;
              In the middle a place where the pasty—was not."

At length the second course appeared; when lo and behold, another baked shoulder of mutton and baked potatoes! Surprise followed surprise—but

              "Another and another still succeeds."

The third course consisted of the same fare, clearly proving that he had in his catering studied quantity more than variety; however, they enjoyed the joke, eat as much as they pleased, laughed heartily at the dinner, and after bumpering till a late hour, took their departure: it is said, however, that he introduced the wine-merchant to his Highness, who afterwards profited by his orders.{1}

         1 This remarkable dinner reminds us of a laughable
         caricature which made its appearance some time ago upon the
         marriage of a Jew attorney, in Jewry-street, Aldgate, to the
         daughter of a well-known fishmonger, of St. Peter's-alley,
         Cornhill, when a certain Baronet, Alderman, Colonel, and
         then Lord Mayor, opened the ball at the London Tavern, as
         the partner of the bride; a circum-stance which excited
         considerable curiosity and surprise at the time. We know the
         worthy Baronet had been a hunter for a seat in Parliament,
         but what he could be hunting among the children of Israel
         is, perhaps, not so easily ascertained. We, however, are not
         speaking of the character, but the caricature, which
         represented the bride, not resting on Abraham's bosom, but
         seated on his knee, surrounded by their guests at the
         marriage-feast; while to a panel just behind them, appears
         to be affixed a bill of fare, which runs thus:

         First course, Fish!

         Second course, Fish!!

         Third course, Fish!!!

         Perhaps the idea of the artist originated in  the anecdote
         above recorded.

[28]It is reported that the Prince gave him a commission, under an express promise that when he could not shew it, he was no longer to enjoy his royal favour. This commission was afterwards lost by the improvident possessor, and going to call on the donor one morning, who espying him on his way, he threw up the sash and called out, "Well, George, commission or no commission?" "No commission, by G——, your Highness?" was the reply.

"Then you cannot enter here," rejoined the prince, closing the window and the connection at the same time.

"His Lordship now resides in the Regent's Park, and may almost nightly be seen at a public-house in the neighbourhood, where he takes his grog and smokes his pipe, amusing the company around him with anecdotes of his former days; we may, perhaps, fall in with him some night in our travels, and you will find him a very amusing and sometimes very sensible sort of fellow, till he gets his grog on board, when he can be as boisterous and blustering as a coal-heaver or a bully. His present fortune is impaired by his former imprudence, but he still mingles with the sporting world, and a short time back had his pocket picked, at a milling match, of a valuable gold repeater. He has favoured the world with several literary productions, among which are Memoirs of his own Life, embellished with a view of the author, suspended from (to use the phrase of a late celebrated auctioneer) a hanging wood; and a very elaborate treatise on the Art of Rat-catching. In the advertisement of the latter work, the author engages it will enable the reader to "clear any house of these noxious vermin, however much infested, excepting only a certain great House in the neighbourhood of St. Stephen's, Westminster."{1}

         1 It appears by the newspapers, that the foundation of a
         certain great house in Pall Mall is rotten, and giving-way.
         The cause is not stated; but as it cannot arise from being
         top-heavy, we may presume that the rats have been at work
         there. Query, would not an early application of the Major's
         recipe have remedied the evil, and prevented the necessity
         of a removal of a very heavy body, which of course, must be
         attended with a very heavy expense? 'Tis a pity an old
         friend should have been overlooked on such an occasion.

[29]"Do you," said Tom, pointing to a person on the other side of the way, "see that young man, walking with a half-smothered air of indifference, affecting to whistle as he walks, and twirling his stick? He is a once-a-week man, or, in other words, a Sunday promenader—Harry Hairbrain was born of a good family, and, at the decease of his father, became possessed of ten thousand pounds, which he sported with more zeal than discretion, so much so, that having been introduced to the gaming table by a pretended friend, and fluctuated between poverty and affluence for four years, he found himself considerably in debt, and was compelled to seek refuge in an obscure lodging, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Kilburn, in order to avoid the traps; for, as he observes, he has been among the Greeks and pigeons, who have completely rook'd him, and now want to crow over him: he has been at hide and seek for the last two months, and, depending on the death of a rich old maiden aunt who has no other heir, he eventually hopes to 'diddle 'em.'"

This narrative of Hairbrain was like Hebrew ta Tallyho, who requested his interesting cousin, as he found himself at falt, to try back, and put him on the right scent.

"Ha! ha! ha!" said Tom, "we must find a new London vocabulary, I see, before we shall be able to converse intelligibly; but as you are now solely under my tuition, I will endeavour to throw a little light upon the subject.

"Your once-a-week man, or Sunday promenader, is one who confines himself, to avoid confinement, lodging in remote quarters in the vicinity of the Metropolis, within a mile or two of the Bridges, Oxford Street, or Hyde-Park Corner, and is constrained to waste six uncomfortable and useless days in the week, in order to secure the enjoyment of the seventh, when he fearlessly ventures forth, to recruit his ideas—to give a little variety to the sombre picture of life, unmolested, to transact his business, or to call on some old friend, and keep up those relations with the world which would otherwise be completely neglected or broken.

"Among characters of this description, may frequently be recognised the remnant of fashion, and, perhaps, the impression of nobility not wholly destroyed by adversity and seclusion—the air and manners of a man who has [30]outlived his century, with an assumption of sans souci pourtrayed in his agreeable smile, murmur'd through a low whistle of 'Begone dull care,' or 'No more by sorrow chased, my heart,' or played off by the flourishing of a whip, or the rapping of a boot that has a spur attached to it, which perhaps has not crossed a horse for many months; and occasionally by a judicious glance at another man's carriage, horses, or appointments, which indicates taste, and the former possession of such valuable things. These form a part of the votaries of Real Life in London. This however," said he (observing his cousin in mute attention) "is but a gloomy part of the scene; vet, perhaps, not altogether uninteresting or unprofitable."

"I can assure you," replied Tallyho, "I am delighted with the accurate knowledge you appear to have of society in general, while I regret the situation of the actors in scenes so glowingly described, and am only astonished at the appearance of such persons."

"You must not be astonished at appearances," rejoined Dashall, "for appearance is every thing in London; and I must particularly warn you not to found your judgment upon it. There is an old adage, which says 'To be poor, and seem poor, is the Devil all over.' Why, if you meet one of these Sunday-men, he will accost you with urbanity and affected cheerfulness, endeavouring to inspire you with an idea that he is one of the happiest of mortals; while, perhaps, the worm of sorrow is secretly gnawing his heart, and preying upon his constitution. Honourable sentiment, struggling with untoward circumstances, is destroying his vitals; not having the courage to pollute his character by a jail-delivery, or to condescend to white-washing, or some low bankrupt trick, to extricate himself from difficulty, in order to stand upright again.

"A once-a-week man, or Sunday promenader, frequently takes his way through bye streets and short cuts, through courts and alleys, as it were between retirement and a desire to see what is going on in the scenes of his former splendour, to take a sly peep at that world from which he seems to be excluded."

"And for all such men," replied Bob, "expelled from high and from good society, (even though I were compelled to allow by their own imprudence and folly) I [31]should always like to have a spare hundred, to send them in an anonymous cover."

"You are right," rejoined Tom, catching him ardently by the hand, "the sentiment does honour to your head and heart; for to such men, in general, is attached a heart-broken wife, withering by their side in the shade, as the leaves and the blossom cling together at all seasons, in sickness or in health, in affluence or in poverty, until the storm beats too roughly on them, and prematurely destroys the weakest. But I must warn you not to let your liberality get the better of your discretion, for there are active and artful spirits abroad, and even these necessities and miseries are made a handle for deception, to entrap the unwary; and you yet have much to learn—Puff lived two years on sickness and misfortune, by advertisements in the newspapers."

"How?" enquired Bob.

"You shall have it in his own words," said Dashall.

         "I suppose never man went through such a series of
         "calamities in the same space of time! Sir, I was five
         "times made a bankrupt and reduced from a state of
         "affluence, by a train of unavoidable misfortunes! then
         "Sir, though a very industrious tradesman, I was twice
         "burnt out, and lost my little all both times! I lived
         "upon those fires a month. I soon after was confined by a
         "most excruciating disorder, and lost the use of my limbs!
         "That told very well; for I had the case strongly attested,
         "and went about col—called on you, a close prisoner
         "in the Marshalsea, for a debt benevolently contracted
         "to serve a friend. I was afterwards twice tapped
         "for a dropsy, which declined into a very profitable
         "consumption! I was then reduced to—0—no—then,
         "I became a widow with six helpless children—after
         "having had eleven husbands pressed, and being left
         "every time eight months gone with child, and without
         "money to get me into an hospital!"

"Astonishing!" cried Bob, "and are such things possible?"

"A month's residence in the metropolis," said Dashall, "will satisfy your enquiries. One ingenious villain, a short time back, had artifice enough to defraud the public, at different periods of his life, of upwards of one hundred thousand pounds, and actually carried on his fraudulent schemes to the last moment of his existence, for he [32]defrauded Jack Ketch of his fee by hanging himself in his cell after condemnation."{1}

Just as a tilbury was passing, "Observe," said Tom, "the driver of that tilbury is the celebrated Lord Cripplegate with his usual equipage—his blue cloak with a scarlet lining, hanging loosely over the vehicle, gives an air of importance to his appearance, and he is always attended by that boy, who has been denominated his cupid; he is a nobleman by birth, a gentleman by courtesy, and a gamester by profession. He exhausted a large estate upon odd and even, sevens the main, &c. till having lost sight of the main chance, he found it necessary to curtail his establishment and enliven his prospects, by exchanging a first floor for a second, without an opportunity of ascertaining whether or not these alterations were best suited to his high notions or exalted taste; from which in a short time he was induced, either by inclination or necessity, to take a small lodging in an obscure street, and to sport a gig and one horse, instead of a curricle and pair; though in former times he used to drive four in hand, and was acknowledged to be an excellent whip. He still, however, possessed money enough to collect together a large quantity of halfpence, which in his hours of relaxation he managed to turn to good account, by the following stratagem:—He distributed his halfpence on the floor of his little parlour in straight lines, and ascertained how many it would require to cover it; having thus prepared himself, he invited some wealthy spendthrifts (with whom he still had the power of associating) to sup with him, and he welcomed them to his habitation with much cordiality. The glass circulated freely, and each recounted his gaming or amorous adventures till a late hour, when the effects of the bottle becoming visible, he proposed, as a momentary suggestion, to name how many halfpence laid side by side would carpet the floor; and offered to lay a large

         1 Charles Price, the well-known impostor, whose extensive
         forgeries on the Bank of England rendered him notorious, may
         serve as a practical illustration of Puff, for he, at
         several periods of his life, carried on his system of fraud
         by advertisements, and by personating the character of a
         clergyman collecting subscriptions under various pretences.
         His whole life is marked with determined and systematic
         depravity. He hanged himself in Tothil-fields Bridewell,
         where he was confined, at the age of fifty-five.

[33]wager, that he would guess the nearest. Done! done! was echoed round the room. Every one made a deposit of 100L. and every one made a guess equally certain of success; and his lordship declaring he had a large lot of halfpence by him, though, perhaps, not enough, the experiment was to be tried immediately—'twas an excellent hit! The room was cleared, to it they went, the halfpence were arranged rank and file in military order, when it appeared that his lordship had certainly guessed (as well he might) nearest to the number: the consequence was, an immediate alteration of his lordship's residence and appearance: he got one step in the world by it, he gave up his second-hand gig for one warranted new; and a change in his vehicle may pretty generally be considered as the barometer of his pocket.

"Do you mark, he is learing at that pretty girl on the other side of the way? he is fond of the wenches, and has been a true votary of fashion. Perhaps there is not a more perfect model of Real Life in London than might be furnished from the memoirs of his lordship! He is rather a good looking man, as he sits, and prides himself on being a striking likeness of his present majesty; but, unfortunately, has a lameness which impedes him in the ardour of his pursuit of game, although it must be acknowledged he has been a game one in his time. The boy you see with him is reported to be his own son, who is now employed by him as an assistant in all his amorous adventures."

"His own son!" exclaimed Bob.

"Aye, and (if so) a merrily begotten one, I'll be bound for it," continued Tom; "such things will happen, and his lordship has kept a very pretty assortment of servant girls. But the introduction of this youth to public notice was somewhat curious. It is said, that having a large party of bon vivants to dine with him, on sitting down to table, and taking the cover off one of the dishes, a plump and smiling infant appeared. A sweet little Cupid by

——! (exclaimed his lordship) I'll be his father!—I'll

take care of him!—call Rose, and tell her to look out for a nurse for him. Thus taking upon himself the character of parent and protector as well as parson. Young Cupid was christened in libations of claret, and furnished a fund of amusement for the evening. How young Cupid [34]came there, I believe has not yet been satisfactorily ascertained:

              Who seeks a friend, should come disposed
              T' exhibit, in full bloom disclosed,
              The graces and the beauties
              That form the character he seeks;
              For 'tis an union that bespeaks
              Reciprocated duties.

And thus it has proved with Cupid, himself the offspring of an illicit amour, is now constantly engaged in promoting others.

"His lordship had three brothers, Billingsgate! Hellgate! and Newgate! whose names are adorned with a similarity of perfections in the Temple of Fame; but they are consigned to the tomb of the Capulets, and we will not rake up the ashes of the dead."{1}

At this moment a loud knocking was heard at the door, and Mr. Sparkle was ushered into the drawing-room, which he entered, as it were, with a hop, step, and jump, and had Tom Dashall by the hand almost before they could turn round to see who it was.

"My dear fellow!" exclaimed Sparkle, almost out of breath, "where have you been to? Time has been standing still since your departure!—there has been a complete void in nature—how do you do?—I beg pardon, (turning to Bob) you will excuse my rapture at meeting my old friend, whom I have lost so long, that I have almost lost myself—egad, I have run myself out of breath—cursed unlucky I was not in the Park this morning to see you first, but I have just heard all about you from Lady Jane, and lost no time in paying my respects—what are you going to do with yourself?"

         1 There was a delicate propriety in this conduct of the Hon.
         Tom Dashall which cannot but be admired; for although they
         were alone, and speaking to each other in perfect
         confidence, it was always his desire to avoid as much as
         possible making bad worse; he had a heart to feel, as well
         as a head to think; and would rather lend a hand to raise a
         fellow-creature from the mud than walk deliberately over
         him; besides, he foresaw other opportunities would arise in
         which, from circumstances, he would almost be compelled to
         draw his Cousin's attention again to the persons in
         question, and he was always unwilling to ex-haust a subject
         of an interesting nature without sonic leading occurrence to
         warrant it.

[35]At this moment dinner was announced. "Come," said Tom, "let us refresh a bit, and after dinner I will tell you all about it. We are travellers, you know, and feel a little fatigued. Allons, allons." And so saying, he led the way to the dinner-room.

"Nothing could be more apropos," said Sparkle, "for although I have two engagements beforehand, and have promised a visit to you know who in the evening, they appear like icicles that must melt before the sun of your re-appearance: so I am your's." And to it they went. Tom always kept a liberal table, and gave his friends a hearty welcome. But here it will be necessary, while they are regaling themselves, to make our readers a little acquainted with Charles Sparkle, Esq.; for which purpose we must request his patience till the next chapter.

## CHAPTER V

              "Place me, thou great Supreme, in that blest state,
              Unknown to those the silly world call Great,
              Where all my wants may be with ease supply'd,
              Yet nought superfluous to pamper pride."

[36]IT will be seen in the previous chapter, that the formal ceremony of a fashionable introduction, such as—"Mr. Sparkle, my friend Mr. Robert Tallyho, of Belville Hall; Mr. Tallyho, Mr. Charles Sparkle," was altogether omitted; indeed, the abrupt entrance of the latter rendered it utterly impossible, for although Sparkle was really a well-bred man, he had heard from Lady Jane of Tom's arrival with his young friend from the country. Etiquette between themselves, was at all times completely unnecessary, an air of gaiety and freedom, as the friend of Dashall, was introduction enough to Bob, and consequently this point of good breeding was wholly unnoticed by all the party; but we are not yet sufficiently acquainted with our readers to expect a similar mode of proceeding will be overlooked; we shall therefore lose no time in giving our promised account of Mr. Sparkle, and beg to introduce him accordingly.

Mr. Reader, Mr. Sparkle; Mr. Sparkle, Mr. Reader.

Hold, Sir, what are you about? You have bewildered yourself with etiquette, and seem to know as little about Life in London as the novice you have already introduced—By the way, that introduction was one of the most extraordinary I ever met with; this may be equally so for ought I know; and I really begin to suspect you are an extraordinary fellow yourself. How can you introduce me, of whom you know nothing?

Egad, I believe you have me there—"a palpable hit, my Lord," (or my Lady, for I certainly cannot say which;) I was getting myself into an awkward dilemma, but I hate suspicion—

              "Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind."

[37]Methinks I see a frown, but I meant no offence, and if you throw down my book in a rage, you will perhaps not only remain ignorant of Mr. Sparkle, but, what is more important, of those other numerous fashionable characters in high and low life—of those manners—incidents—amusements—follies—vices, &c. which, combined together, form the true picture of Real Life in the Metropolis.

              "He who hath trod th' intricate maze,
              Exploring every devious way,
              Can best direct th' enquiring gaze,
              And all the varied scenes display."

Mr. Author, you are a strange rambler.

Admitted, Sir, or Ma'am, I am a rambler, who, with your permission, would willingly not be impeded in my progress, and under such expectations I shall proceed.

Charles Sparkle was the son and only child of a Right Hon. Member of Parliament, now no more, whose mother dying soon after his birth, was left destitute of that maternal kindness and solicitude which frequently has so much influence in forming the character of the future man.

His father, a man of eccentric turn of mind, being appointed soon afterwards to a diplomatic situation abroad, left the care of his son's education to an elderly friend of his, who held a situation of some importance under the then existing government, with an injunction to conceal from the boy the knowledge of his real parent, and to bring him up as his own child.

This important trust was executed with tenderness and fidelity; the boy grew in strength, and ripened in intelligence, and being accustomed to consider his protector as his parent, the father, upon returning to England, determined not to undeceive him, until he should arrive at years of discretion; and with this view Mr. Orford was instructed at a proper age to send him to Oxford.

Charles, however had contracted before this period, habits and acquaintances in London, that were completely in opposition to the dictates and inclinations of his supposed father. He became passionately fond of literary amusements, music, and drawing, which served to occupy his morning hours: but his evenings were devoted to the company of vitiated associates, who did [38]not fail to exercise their influence over his youthful passions, and he frequently engaged himself in unlucky and improvident adventures, which involved him in pecuniary difficulties far beyond his stipulated income. These circumstances were no sooner made known to the supposed parent, than they excited his displeasure, and being carried to an unpardonable extent, he was, at the age of eighteen, literally banished the house of his protector, and compelled to take an obscure lodging in the vicinity of London; the rent of which was paid for him, and a scanty allowance of one guinea sent to him regularly every Saturday night. Thus secluded from his old associates, it will not be wondered at that he contrived to form new ones, and having purchased an old harpsicord, turned the musical instruction he had received to occasional account; he also wrote some political pamphlets which were well received. But this solitary and dependent life was wholly unsuited to the gaiety in which he had hitherto moved. It had, however, the effect of drawing forth talent, which perhaps would never, but for this circumstance, have been discovered; for

              "Many a gem, of purest ray serene,
              The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
              Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
              And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

His writings, &c. under the name of Oribrd, were recognised by the real father, as the productions of a promising son: at his instigation, and upon a promise of reform, he was again restored to his former home, and shortly after entered as a gentleman commoner of St. Mary's, Oxford; but not till he had, by some means or other, made the discovery that Orford was not his real name. Congenial spirits are naturally fond of associating, and it was here that he first became acquainted with the Hon. Tom Dashall: they were constant companions and mutual assistants to each other, in all their exercises as well as all their vagaries; so as to cement a friendship and interest in each other's fate, up to the moment of which we are now speaking.

Orford, however, was at that time more impetuous and less discreet in the pursuit of his pleasures than his honourable friend, and after obtaining the distinction of Bachelor of Arts, was in consequence of his imprudence and [39]irregularities, after frequently hair-breadth escapes, expelled the college. This circumstance, however, appeared of little consequence to him. He hired a gig at Oxford, promising to return in a few days, and came up to London, but had not effrontery enough to venture into the presence of his reputed father. On arrival in town, he put up at an inn in the Borough, where he resided till all the money he had was exhausted, and till, as he emphatically observes, he had actually eaten his horse and chaise.

In the mean time, the people at Oxford found he was expelled; and as he had not returned according to appointment, he was pursued, and eventually found: they had no doubt of obtaining their demand from his friends, and he was arrested at the suit of the lender; which was immediately followed by a retainer from the inn-keeper where he had resided in town. Application was made to Mr. Orford for his liberation, without effect; in consequence of which he became a resident in the rules of the King's Bench, as his friends conceived by this means his habits would be corrected and his future conduct be amended, his real father still keeping in the back ground.

While in this confinement, he again resorted to the produce of his pen and his talent for musical composition, and his friend Tom, at the first vacation, did not fail to visit him. During this time, in the shape of donation, from Mr. Orford he received occasional supplies more than equal to his necessities, though not to his wishes. While here, he fished out some further clue to the real parent, who visited him in disguise during his confinement as a friend of Mr. Orford: still, however, he had no chance of liberation, till, being one day called on by Mr. Orford, he was informed he was at perfect liberty to leave his present abode, and was directed to go with him immediately; a coach was called, and he heard the direction given to drive to Bedford Square, where they arrived just time enough to learn that the Right Hon. S. S. had breathed his last, after a lingering illness.

Upon alighting from the coach, and receiving this information, they were ushered into the drawing-room, and presently joined by a clergyman who had been the chaplain of the deceased, who acquainted our adventurer of the death of his parent—that by will he was entitled [40]to 10,000L. per annum, and a handsome estate in Wiltshire. This sudden reverse of fortune to Sparkle—the change from confinement to liberty, from indigence to affluence—awakened sensations more easily to be conceived than described. He wept, (perhaps the first tears of sincerity in his life; ) his heart was subdued by an overwhelming flood of affection for that unknown being, whom he now found had been his constant guardian angel, alternately taking Orford and the reverend Divine by the hand, and hiding his head in the bosom of his reputed father. At length they led him to the room in which were the remains of his lamented parent.

There are perhaps few circumstances better calculated to impress awe on the youthful mind than the contemplation of those features in death which have been respected and revered while living. Such respect had ever been entertained by Charles Sparkle for the supposed friend of Mr. Orford, from whom he had several times received the most kind and affectionate advice; and his sensations upon discovering that friend to be no other than his own father, may be more easily conceived than described—he was at once exalted and humbled, delighted and afflicted. He threw himself in an agony of feeling by the bed-side, fell on his knees, in which he was joined by the clergyman and Orford, where he remained some time.

After the first paroxysms of grief had subsided, young Sparkle, who had already felt the strongest impression that could possibly be made on a naturally good heart, gave orders for the funeral of his deceased father, and then proceeded to make other arrangements suitable to the character he was hereafter to sustain through life, went down to Wiltshire, and took possession of his estate, where for a time he secluded himself, and devoted his attention to the perusal of the best authors in the English, French, and Italian language, under the superintendence of the reverend Divine, who had been a resident for many years with his father.

But a life in the country could not long have superior charms for a young man who had already seen much to admire, as well as much to avoid, in the metropolis. The combination however of theoretical information he had derived from books, as well as the practical observations he had made during his residence in London, fitted him at once for the gayest and most distinguished circles of [41]metropolitan society. He therefore arranged with Mr. Orford, who had formerly acted as his parent, to continue with him in the capacity of steward, and for the last two years of his life had been almost a constant resident at "Long's Hotel", in Bond Street, not choosing to have the charge of an establishment in town; and the early friendship and attachment which had been cultivated at Oxford being again renewed, appeared to grow with their growth, and strengthen with their strength.

Sparkle had still a large portion of that vivacity for which he was so remarkable in his younger days. His motives and intentions were at all times good, and if he indulged himself in the pursuits of frolic and fun, it was never at the expence of creating an unpleasant feeling to an honest or honourable mind. His fortune was ample. He had a hand to give, and a heart to forgive; no "malice or hatred were there to be found:" but of these qualifications, and the exercise of them, sufficient traits will be given in the ensuing pages. No man was better up to the rigs of the town; no one better down to the manoeuvres of the flats, and sharps. He had mingled with life in all companies; he was at once an elegant and interesting companion; his views were extensive upon all subjects; his conversation lively, and his manners polished.

Such, gentle reader, is the brief sketch of Charles Sparkle, the esteemed friend of the Hon. Tom Dashall, and with such recommendations it will not be wondered at if he should become also the friend of Tally-ho; for, although living in the height of fashionable splendour, his mind was at all times in consonance with the lines which precede this chapter; yet none could be more ready to lend a hand in any pleasant party in pursuit of a bit of gig. A mill at Moulsey Hurst—a badger-bait, or bear-bait—a main at the Cock-pit—a smock-race—or a scamper to the Tipping hunt, ultimately claimed his attention; while upon all occasions he was an acute observer of life and character.

              "His years but young, but his experience old,
              His heart unmellow'd, though his judgment ripe,
              And in a word, (for far behind his worth
              Come all the praises that we now bestow)
              He is complete in conduct and in mind,
              With all good grace, to grace a gentleman."

[42]But dinner is over, and we must now accompany our triumvirate to the drawing-room, where we find them seated with bottles, glasses, &c. determined to make a quiet evening after the fatigues of the journey, and with a view to prepare themselves for the more arduous, and to Tally-ho more interesting, pursuits in the new world, for such he almost considered London.

"Yes," said Sparkle, addressing himself to Bob, with whom a little previous conversation had almost rendered him familiar, "London is a world within itself; it is, indeed, the only place to see life—it is the "multum in parvo," as the old song says,

              "Would you see the world in little,
              Ye curious here repair;"

it is the acmé of perfection, the "summum bonum" of style—-indeed, there is a certain affectation of style from the highest to the lowest individual."

"You are a merry and stylish fellow," said Tom; we should have been hipp'd without you, there is a fund of amusement in you at all times."

"You are a bit of a wag," replied Sparkle, "but I am up to your gossip, and can serve you out in your own style."

"Every body," says Tallyho, "appears to live in style."

"Yes," continued Sparkle, "living in style is one of the most essential requisites for a residence in London; but I'll give you my idea of living in style, which, by many, is literally nothing more than keeping up appearances at other people's expence: for instance, a Duchess conceives it to consist in taking her breakfast at three o'clock in the afternoon—dining at eight—playing at Faro till four the next morning—supping at five, and going to bed at six—and to eat green peas and peaches in January—in making a half-curtsey at the creed, and a whole one to a scoundrel—in giving fifty guineas to an exotic capon for a pit-ticket—and treating the deserved claims of a parental actor with contempt—to lisp for the mere purpose of appearing singular, and to seem completely ignorant of the Mosaic law—to be in the reverse of extremes—to laugh when she could weep, and weep when she could .dance and be merry—to leave her compliment cards with her acquaintance, whom at the same moment she wishes she may never see again—to speak of the community [43]with marked disrespect, and to consider the sacrament a bore!"

"Admirable!" said Tom.

"Wonderful, indeed!" exclaimed Tallyho.

"Aye, aye, London is full of wonders—there is a general and insatiate appetite for the marvellous; but let us proceed: Now we'll take the reverse of the picture. The Duke thinks he does things in style, by paying his debts of honour contracted at the gaming-table, and but very few honourable debts—by being harsh and severe to a private supplicant, while he is publicly a liberal subscriber to a person he never saw—by leaving his vis-a-vis at the door of a well-known courtesan, in order to have the credit of an intrigue—in making use of an optical glass for personal inspection, though he can ascertain the horizon without any—by being or seeming to be, every thing that is in opposition to nature and virtue—in counting the lines in the Red Book, and carefully watching the importation of figurantes from the Continent—in roundly declaring that a man of fashion is a being of a superior order, and ought to be amenable only to himself—in jumbling ethics and physics together, so as to make them destroy each other—in walking arm in arm with a sneering jockey—talking loudly any thing but sense—and in burning long letters without once looking at their contents;... and so much for my Lord Duke."

"Go along Bob!" exclaimed Tom.

Tallyho conceiving himself addressed by this, looked up with an air of surprise and enquiry, which excited the risibility of Dashall and Sparkle, till it was explained to him as a common phrase in London, with which he would soon become more familiar. Sparkle continued.

"The gay young Peerling, who is scarcely entitled to the honours and immunities of manhood, is satisfied he is doing things in style, by raising large sums of money on post-obit bonds, at the very moderate premium of 40 per cent.—in queering the clergyman at his father's table, and leaving the marks of his finger and thumb on the article of matrimony in his aunt's prayer-book—in kicking up a row at the theatre, when he knows he has some roaring bullies at his elbow, though humble and dastardly when alone—in keeping a dashing impure, who publicly squanders away his money, and privately laughs at his follies—in buying a phaeton as high as a two pair of stairs [44]window, and a dozen of spanking bays at Tattersall's, and in dashing through St. James's Street, Pall Mall, Piccadilly, and Hyde Park, thus accompanied and accoutred, amidst the contumelies of the coxcombs and the sighs of the worthy. And these are pictures of high life, of which the originals are to be seen daily.

"The haberdasher of Cheapside, whose father, by adherence to the most rigid economy, had amassed a competence, and who transmitted his property, without his prudence, to his darling son, is determined to shew his spirit, by buying a bit of blood, keeping his gig, his girl, and a thatched cottage on the skirts of Epping Forest, or Sydenham Common; but as keeping a girl and a gig would be a nothing unless all the world were up to it, he regularly drives her to all the boxing-matches, the Epping hunt, and all the races at Barnet, Epsom, Egham, and Ascot Heath, where he places himself in one of the most conspicuous situations; and as he knows his racing, &c. must eventually distinguish his name in the Gazette with a whereas! he rejoices in the progress and acceleration of his own ruin, and, placing his arms akimbo, he laughs, sings, swears, swaggers, and vociferates—'What d'ye think o' that now,—is'nt this doing it in stile, eh?'

"Prime of life to go it, where's a place like London? Four in hand to-day, the next you may be undone."

"Well, Sir, the mercer's wife, from Watling Street, thinks living in style is evinced by going once a year to a masquerade at the new Museodeum, or Argyle Rooms; having her daughters taught French, dancing, and music—dancing a minuet at Prewterers' Hall, or Mr. Wilson's{1} annual benefit—in getting a good situation in the green boxes—going to Hampstead or Copenhagen House in a glass coach on a Sunday—having card-parties at home

         1 Mr. Wilson's flaming bills of "Dancing at the Old Bailey,"
         which are so profusely stuck up about the city, are said to
         have occasioned several awkward jokes and blunders; among
         others related, is that of a great unintellectual Yorkshire
         booby, who, after staring at the bills with his mouth open,
         and his saucer eyes nearly starting out of his head with
         astonishment, exclaimed, "Dang the buttons on't, I zee'd urn
         dangling all of a row last Wednesday at t' Ould Bailey, but
         didn't know as how they call'd that danzing,—by gum there
         be no understanding these here Lunnun folk!"

[45]during Lent, declaring she never drinks any thing else but the most bestest gunpowder tea, that she has a most screwciating cold, and that the country air is always salubrus, and sure to do her good.

"So much for living in style, and good breeding."

              "That's your true breeding—that's your sort my boys—
              Fun, fire, and pathos—metre, mirth, and noise;
              To make you die with laughter, or the hiccups,
              Tickle your favourites, or smash your tea-cups."

"By the way, in former times the term good-breeding meant a combination of all that was amiable and excellent; and a well-bred person would shrink from an action or expression that could possibly wound the feelings of another; its foundation was laid in truth, and its supporting pillars were justice and integrity, sensibility and philanthropy; but

              "In this gay age—in Taste's enlighten'd times,
              When Fashion sanctifies the basest crimes;
              E'en not to swear and game were impolite,
              Since he who sins in style must sure be right."

A well-bred person must learn to smile when he is angry, and to laugh even when he is vexed to the very soul.

"It would be the height of mauvaise honte for a wellbred person to blush upon any occasions whatever; no young lady blushes after eleven years of age; to study the expression of the countenance of others, in order to govern your own, is indispensably necessary.

"In former times, no well-bred person would have uttered a falsehood; but now such ideas are completely exploded, and such conduct would now be termed a bore. My Lord Portly remarks, 'It is a cold day.' 'Yes, my Lord, it is a very cold day,' replies Major Punt. In two minutes after, meeting Lord Lounge, who observes he thinks the weather very warm—'Yes, very warm, my Lord,' is the reply—thus contradicting himself almost in the same breath. It would be perfectly inconsistent in a well-bred man to think, for fear of being absent. When he enters or leaves a drawing-room, he should round his shoulders, drop his head, and imitate a clown or a coachman. This has the effect of the best ruse de guerre—for it serves to astonish the ladies, when they afterwards [46]discover, by the familiarity of his address, and his unrestrained manners, what a well-bred man he is; for he will address every fair one in the room in the most enchanting terms, except her to whom in the same party he had previously paid the most particular attention; and on her he will contrive to turn his back for the whole evening, and if he is a man of fashion, he will thus cause triumph to the other ladies, and save the neglected fair one from envious and slanderous whisperings."

"An admirable picture of living in style, and good breeding, indeed!" cried Tom. "The game is in view and well worth pursuit; so hark forward! hark forward! my boys."

Sparkle, now recollecting his engagement—with "you know who" as he significantly observed in the last Chapter, withdrew, after promising to take a stroll by way of killing an hour or two with them in the morning; and Tom and his Cousin soon after retired to rest—

              "Perchance to sleep, perchance to dream."

## CHAPTER VI

              "The alarm was so strong.
              So loud and so long,
              'Twas surely some robber, or sprite,
              Who without any doubt
              Was prowling about
              To fill ev'ry heart with affright."

[47]THE smiles of a May morning, bedecked with the splendid rays of a rising sun, awakened Tallyho about five o'clock, and being accustomed to rise early in the country, he left the downy couch of soft repose, and sought his way down stairs. Not a sound of any kind was to be heard in the house, but the rattling of the carts and the coaches in the streets, with the deep-toned accompaniment of a dustman's bell, and an occasional ab libitum of "Clothes—clothes sale," gave Bob an idea that all the world was moving. However he could find nobody up; he walked into the drawing-room, amused himself for some time by looking out of the window, indulging his observations and remarks, without knowing what to make of the moving mass of incongruities which met his eye, and wondering what time the servants of the house would wake: he tried the street-door, but found it locked, bolted, and chained; and if he had known where to have found his friend Tom, he would have aroused him with the View halloo.

"It is strange," thought he to himself, "all the world seems abroad, and yet not a soul stirring here!" Then checking the current of his reflections, "But this," said he, "is Life in London. Egad! I must not make a noise, because it will not be good breeding." In this wray he sauntered about the house for near two hours, till at last espying his portmanteau, which had been left in the passage by the servants the previous evening—"I'll carry this up stairs," said he, "by way of amusement;" and carelessly shouldering the portmanteau, he was walking [48]deliberately up stairs, when his ears were suddenly attracted by a loud cry of "Murder, murder, thieves, murder!" and the violent ringing of a bell. Alarmed at these extraordinary sounds, which appeared to be near him at a moment when he conceived no soul was stirring, he dropped his portmanteau over the banisters, which fell, (demolishing in its way an elegant Grecian patent lamp with glass shades, drops, &c.) into the passage below with a hideous crash, while the cry of Murder, thieves, murder, was repeated by many voices, and rendered him almost immoveable. In the next moment, the butler, the cook, the groom, and indeed every person in the house, appeared on the stair-case, some almost in a state of nudity, and shrinking from each other's gaze, and all armed with such weapons as chance had thrown in their way, to attack the supposed depredator.

Among the rest, fortunately for Tallyho, (who stood balancing himself against the banisters in a state of indecision whether he should ascend or descend) Tom Dashall in his night-gown burst out of his room in alarm at the noise, with a brace of pistols, one in his hand in the very act of cocking it, and the other placed in convenient readiness under his left arm. "Why, what the devil is the matter?" vociferated he, and at that moment his eye caught the agitated figure of his Cousin Bob, on the half-landing place below him. At the sound of his well-known voice, the innocent and unsuspecting cause of this confusion and alarm looked up at his friend, as if half afraid and half ashamed of the occurrence, and stammered out, "Where is the thief?—Who is murdered?—I'll swear there is something broke somewhere—tell me which way to go!" Tom looked around him at the group of half-clad nymphs and swains, (who were now huddling together, conceiving their security lay in combination, and finding all eyes were placed with astonishment and wonder on Bob) began to see through what had happened, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; which relieved the frightened damsels, but so confounded poor Tallyho, that he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels. "Why," said Tom, addressing himself to his Cousin, "you will get yourself murdered if you go wandering about people's houses at the dead of the night in this manner—are you asleep or awake?—who have you made an assignation with—or [49]where are you going to—what are you up to, Master Bobby, eh?—These tricks won't do here!"

              "Is't Love's unhallow'd flame invites to roam,
              And bids you from your pillow creep?
              Or say, why thus disturb my peaceful home,
              Like Macbeth, who doth murder sleep."

Tallyho was unable to reply: he looked down over the banister—he looked up at the risible features of Tom Dashall, who was almost bursting at the ludicrous situation in which he found his friend and his servants. "Come," said Tom, "there are no thieves—all's right"—to the servants, "you may quiet your minds and go to business. Bob, I'll be down with you presently." Upon this, the stair-case was cleared in an instant of all but the unfortunate Tallyho; and peace appeared to be restored in the family, but not to Bob's mind, conceiving he had committed a gross violation of good breeding, and shewn but a bad specimen of his aptitude to become a learner of London manners. It must be confessed, it was rather an awkward commencement; however, in a few minutes, recovering himself from the fright, he crawled gently down the stairs, and took a survey of the devastation he had made—cursed the lamp, d——d the portmanteau—then snatching it from the ruin before him, and again placing his luggage on his shoulder, he quietly walked up stairs to his bed-room.

It is much to be lamented in this wonderful age of discovery and continual improvement, that our philosophers have not yet found out a mode of supplying the place of glass (as almost every thing else) with cast-iron. The substitution of gas for oil has long been talked of, as one of national importance, even so much so, that one man, whose ideas were as brilliant as his own experiments, has endeavoured to shew that its produce would in a short time pay off the national debt!{1}

"A consummation devoutly to be wished;" and experience has taught the world at large there is nothing impossible, nor is there any one in existence more credulous than honest John Bull. But we are

         1 Mr. Winsor, the original lecturer on the powers of gas, in
         Pall Mall.

[50]digressing from the adventure of the lamp, however it was occasioned, by clearly proving it was not a patent safety-lamp: and that among the luxuries of the Hon. Tom Dashall's habitation, gas had not yet been introduced, will speedily be discovered.

Upon arriving in his bed-room, wondering within himself how he should repair the blundering mistake, of which he had so unluckily been the unwilling and unconscious author, he found himself in a new dilemma, as the receptacle of the oil had fallen with the lamp, and plentifully bedewed the portmanteau with its contents, so that he had now transferred the savoury fluid to his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. What was to be done in such a case? He could not make his appearance in that state; but his mortifications were not yet at an end—

              "Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arise."

The key of his portmanteau was missing; he rummaged all his pockets in vain—he turned them inside out—it was not here—it was not there; enraged at the multiplicity of disappointments to which he was subjected, he cut open the leathern carriage of his wardrobe with a penknife; undressed, and re-dressed himself; by which time it was half-past eight o'clock. His Cousin Tom, who had hurried down according to promise, had in the mean time been making enquiry after him, and now entered the room, singing,

              "And all with attention would eagerly mark:
              When he cheer'd up the pack—Hark! to Rockwood hark! hark!"

At the sight of Dashall, he recovered himself from his embarrassment, and descended with him to the breakfast-parlour.

"Did you send to Robinson's?" enquired Tom of one of the servants, as they entered the room. "Yes, Sir," was the reply; "and Weston's too?" continued he; being answered in the affirmative, "then let us have breakfast directly." Then turning to Bob, "Sparkle," said he, "promised to be with us about eleven, for the purpose of taking a stroll; in the mean time we must dress and make ready."—"Dress," said Bob, "Egad! I have dressed and made ready twice already this morning." He then [51]recounted the adventures above recorded; at which Dashall repeatedly burst into fits of immoderate laughter. Breakfast being over, a person from Mr. Robinson's was announced, and ushered into the room.

A more prepossessing appearance had scarcely met Bob's eye—a tall, elegant young man, dressed in black, cut in the extreme of fashion, whose features bespoke intelligence, and whose air and manner were indicative of a something which to him was quite new. He arose upon his entrance, and made a formal bow; which was returned by the youth. "Good morning, gentlemen."—"Good morning, Mr. R——," said Tom, mentioning a name celebrated by

Pope in the following lines:

              "But all my praises, why should lords engross?
              Bise, honest Muse, and sing the man of Boss."

"I am happy to have the honour of seeing you in town again, Sir! The fashionables are mustering very strong, and the prospect of the approaching coronation appears to be very attractive." During this time he was occupied in opening a leathern case, which contained combs, brushes, &c.; then taking off his coat, he appeared in a jacket with an apron, which, like a fashionable pinafore of the present day, nearly concealed his person, from his chin to his toes. "Yes," replied Dashall, "the coronation is a subject of deep importance just now in the circles of fashion," seating himself in his chair, in readiness for the operator,{1} who, Bob now discovered, was no other than the Peruquier.

         1 The progress of taste and refinement is visible in all
         situations, and the language of putting has become so well
         understood by all ranks of society, that it is made use of
         by the most humble and obscure tradesmen of the metropolis.
         One remarkable instance ought not to be omitted here. In a
         narrow dirty street, leading from the Temple towards
         Blackfriars, over a small triangular-fronted shop, scarcely
         big enough to hold three persons at a time, the eye of the
         passing traveller is greeted with the following welcome
         information, painted in large and legible characters, the
         letters being each nearly a foot in size:—

                       HAIR CUT AND MODERNIZED!!!

         This is the true "Multum in parvo "—a combination of
         the "Utile et dulce," the very acme of perfection.
         Surely, after this, to Robinson, Vickery, Boss, and Cryer, we
         may say—"Ye lesser stars, hide your diminished heads."

         The art of puffing may be further illustrated by the
         following specimen of the Sublime, which is inserted here
         for the information of such persons as, residing in the
         country, have had no opportunity of seeing the original.
         "R—— makes gentlemen's and ladies' perukes on an entire
         new system; which for lightness, taste, and ease, are
         superior to any other in Europe. He has exerted the genius
         and abilities of the first artists to complete his
         exhibition of ornamental hair, in all its luxuriant
         varieties, where the elegance of nature and convenience of
         art are so blended, as at once to rival and ameliorate each
         other. Here his fair patrons may uninterruptedly examine the
         effects of artificial tresses, or toupees of all
         complexions, and, in a trial on themselves, blend the
         different tints with their own!"

         The strife for pre-eminence in this art is not however
         confined to this country; for we find an instance recorded
         in an American newspaper, which may perhaps be equally
         amusing and acceptable:—

         "A. C. D. La vigne, having heard of the envious expressions
         uttered by certain common barbers, miserable chin-scrapers,
         and frizulary quacks, tending to depreciate that superiority
         which genius is entitled to, and talents will invariably
         command, hereby puts them and their vulgar arts at defiance;
         and, scorning to hold parley with such sneaking imps,
         proposes to any gentleman to defend and maintain, at his
         shop, the head quarters of fashion, No. 6, South Gay Street,
         against all persons whomsoever, his title to supremacy in
         curlery, wiggery, and razory, to the amount of one hundred
         dollars and upwards. As hostile as he is to that low style
         of puffery adopted by a certain adventurer, 'yclept Higgins,
         Lavigne cannot avoid declaring, in the face of the world,
         that his education has been scientifical; that after having
         finished his studies at Paris, he took the tour of the
         universe, having had the rare fortune of regulating the
         heads of Catherine the Second, and the Grand Turk; the King
         of Prussia, and the Emperor of China; the Mamelukes of
         Egypt, and the Dey of Algiers; together with all the ladies
         of their respective Courts. He has visited the Cape of Good
         Hope, India, Java, Madagascar, Tartary, and Kamschatka,
         whence he reached the United States by the way of Cape Horn.
         In England he had previously tarried, where he delivered
         Lectures on Heads in great style. He has at last settled in
         Baltimore, determined to devote the remainder of his days to
         the high profession to which his des-tiny has called him;
         inviting all the literati, the lovers of the arts and
         sciences, to visit him at his laboratory of beauty, where he
         has separate rooms for accommodating ladies and gentlemen,
         who desire to adorn their heads with hairudition. "Can
         France, England—nay, the world itself, produce such
         another specimen of puffing and barberism?

[53]"And pray," continued Tom, "what is there new in the haut ton? Has there been any thing of importance to attract attention since my absence? "Nothing very particular," was the reply—"all very dull and flat. Rumour however, as usual, has not been inactive; two or three trifling faux pas, and—oh!—yes—two duels—one in the literary world: two authors, who, after attacking each other with the quill, chose to decide their quarrel with the pistol, and poor Scot lost his life! But how should authors understand such things? The other has made a great noise in the world—You like the Corinthian cut, I believe, Sir?"

"I believe so too," said Tom—"but don't you cut the duel so short—who were the parties?"

"Oh! aye, why one, Sir, was a celebrated leader of ton, no other than Lord Shampêtre, and the other Mr. Webb, a gentleman well known: it was a sort of family affair. His lordship's gallantry and courage, however, were put to the test, and the result bids fair to increase his popularity. The cause was nothing very extraordinary, but the effect had nearly proved fatal to his Lordship."

"What, was he wounded?" enquired Tom.

"It was thought so at first," replied the Peruquier, "but it was afterwards discovered that his Lordship had only fainted at the report of his opponent's pistol."

"Ha! ha! ha!" said Tom, "then it was a bloodless battle—but I should like to know more of the particulars."

"Hold your head a little more this way, Sir, if you please—that will do, I thank you, Sir;—why, it appears, that in attempting to fulfil an assignation with Mr. Webb's wife, the husband, who had got scent of the appointment, as to place and time, lustily cudgelled the dandy Lord Whiskerphiz, and rescued his own brows from certain other fashionable appendages, for which he had no relish. His Lordship's whiskers were injured, by which circumstance some people might conceive his features and appearance must have been improved, however that was not his opinion; his bones were sore, and his mind (that is to say, as the public supposed) hurt. The subject became a general theme of conversation, a Commoner had thrashed a Lord!—flesh and blood could not bear it—but then such flesh and blood could as little bear the thought of a duel—Lord Polly was made the bearer of a challenge—a meeting took place, and at the first fire his Lordship fell. A fine subject for the caricaturists, and they have not failed to make a good use of it. The fire of his Lordship's features [54]was so completely obscured by his whiskers and mustachios, that it was immediately concluded the shot had proved mortal, till Lord Polly (who had taken refuge for safety behind a neighbouring tree) advancing, drew a bottle from his pocket, which, upon application to his nose, had the desired effect of restoring the half-dead duellist to life and light. The Seconds interfered, and succeeded in bringing the matter to a conclusion, and preventing the expected dissolution of Shampetre, who, report says, has determined not to place himself in such a perilous situation again. The fright caused him a severe illness, from which he has scarcely yet recovered sufficiently to appear in public—I believe that will do, Sir; will you look in the glass—can I make any alteration?"

"Perhaps not in your story," replied Tom; "and as to my head, so as you do not make it like the one you have been speaking of, I rely solely on your taste and judgment."

The Peruquier made his bow—"Sir, your politeness is well known!" then turning to Tallyho, "Will you allow me the honour of officiating for you, Sir?"

"Certainly," replied Bob, who by this time had seen the alteration made in his Cousin's appearance, as well as been delighted with the account of the duel, at which they all laughed during the narration—and immediately prepared for action, while Dashall continued his enquiries as to the fashionable occurrences during his absence.

"There have been some other circumstances, of minor importance," continued the Peruquier—"it is said that a certain Lord, of high military character, has lost considerable sums of money, and seriously impaired his fortune—Lord —— and a friend are completely ruined at hazard—there was a most excellent mill at Moulsey Hurst on Thursday last, between the Gas-light man, who appears to be a game chicken, and a prime hammerer—he can give and take with any man—and Oliver—Gas beat him hollow, it was all Lombard-street to a china orange. The Masked Festival on the 18th is a subject of considerable attraction, and wigs of every nature, style, and fashion, are in high request for the occasion—The Bob, the Tye, the Natural Scratch, the Full Bottom, the Queue, the Curl, the Clerical, the Narcissus, the Auricula, the Capital, the Corinthian, the Roman, the Spanish, the French, the Dutch—oh! we are full of business just now. Speaking of the art, by the by, reminds me of a circumstance which occurred a very [55]short time back, and which shows such a striking contrast between the low-bred citizens, and the True Blues of the West!—have the kindness to hold your head a little on one side, Sir, if you please—a little more towards the light, if you please—that will do excellently—why you'll look quite another thing!—From the country, I presume?" "You are right," said Bob, "but I don't want a wig just yet."

"Shall be happy to fit you upon all occasions—masquerade, ball, or supper, Sir: you may perhaps wish to go out, as we say in the West, in coy.—happy to receive your commands at any time, prompt attention and dispatch."

"Zounds! you are clipping the wig too close," said Tom, impatient to hear the story, "and if you go on at this rate, you won't leave us even the tail (tale)."

"Right, Sir, I take—'and thereby hangs a tale.' The observation is in point, verbum sat, as the latinist would say. Well, Sir, as I was saying, a citizen, with a design to outdo his neighbours, called at one of the first shops in London a very short time since, and gave particular orders to have his pericranium fitted with a wig of the true royal cut. The dimensions of his upper story were taken—the order executed to the very letter of the instructions—it fitted like wax—it was nature—nay it soared beyond nature—it was the perfection of art—the very acmé of science! Conception was outdone, and there is no power in language to describe it. He was delighted; his wife was charmed with the idea of a new husband, and he with his new wig; but

         "Now comes the pleasant joke of all,
         'Tis when too close attack'd we fall."

The account was produced—-would you believe it, he refused to have it—he objected to the price."

"The devil take it!" said Tom, "object to pay for the acme of perfection; this unnaturally natural wig would have fetched any money among the collectors of curiosities."

"What was the price?" enquired Bob.

"Trifling, Sir, very trifling, to an artist 'of the first water,' as a jeweller would say by his diamonds—only thirty guineas!!!"

"Thirty guineas!" exclaimed Bob, starting from his seat, and almost overturning the modernizer of his head.

[56]Then, recollecting Sparkle's account of Living in Style, and Good Breeding, falling gently into his seat again.

"Did I hurt you, Sir?" exclaimed the Peruquier.

Dashall bit his lip, and smiled at the surprise of his Cousin, which was now so visibly depicted in his countenance.

"Not at all," replied Tallyho.

"In two minutes more, Sir, your head will be a grace to; Bond Street or St. James's; it cuts well, and looks well; and if you will allow me to attend you once a month, it will continue so."

Tom hummed a tune, and looked out of the window; the other two were silent till Bob was released. Tom tip'd the blunt, and the interesting young man made his congé, and departed.

"A very interesting and amusing sort of person," said Bob.

"Yes," replied Tom, "he is a walking volume of information: he knows something of every thing, and almost of every body. He has been in better circumstances, and seen a great deal of life; his history is somewhat remarkable, and some particulars, not generally known, have excited a considerable portion of interest in his fate among those who are acquainted with them. He is the son, before marriage, of a respectable and worthy tradesman, a celebrated vender of bear's grease,{1} lately deceased, who

         1 The infallibility of this specimen cannot possibly be
         doubted, after reading the following

              Advertisement:
              "Bear's grease has virtues, many, great and rare;
              To hair decay'd, life, health, and vigour giving;

              'Tis sold by——, fam'd for cutting hair,

              At ——-.—————————————————- living.

              Who then would lose a head of hair for trying?
              A thousand tongues are heard 'I won't,' replying;

              T——r no doubt with bear's grease can supply
              A thousand more, when they're dispos'd to buy.

         No deception!—Seven Bears publicly exhibited in seven
         months, and not an agent on the globe's surface.—Sold upon
         oath, from 1L. to 10s. 6d.   The smallest child will direct
         to ——, near the church—a real Bear over the door,
         where a good peruke is charged 1L.. 10s. equal to those
         produced by Mr. T., at B——ss's, for 2L. 12s. 6d.—Scalp
         10s. 6d. and 6d. only for hair-cutting—never refusing one
         shilling.

         N. B. Bear's-grease effects wonders for the knees &c. of
         horses."

[57]resided in the vicinity of Cornhill, and was for many years brought up under his roof as his nephew; in which situation, the elegance of his person, the vivacity of his disposition, and the general information he acquired, became subjects of attraction. His education was respectable for his situation, and his allowance liberal. His father however marrying a young lady of some property, and he, 'gay, light, and airy,' falling into bad hands, found his finances not sufficient to support the company he kept, and by these means involved himself in pecuniary difficulties, which, however, (if report say true) were more than once or twice averted by the indulgent parent. In the course of time, the family was increased by two sons, but he continued the flower of the flock. At length it was intended by his father to retire, in part, from business, and leave its management to this young man, and another who had been many years in his service, and whose successful endeavours in promoting his interest were well deserving his consideration; and the writings for this purpose were actually drawn up. Previous however to their execution, he was dispatched to Edinburgh, to superintend an extensive concern of his father's in that city, where, meeting with an amiable young lady with some expectations, he married without the consent of his parent, a circumstance which drew down upon him the good man's displeasure.

"Not at all dismayed at this, he almost immediately left his father's shop, and set up business for himself in the same neighbourhood, where he continued for two or three years, living, as it was supposed, upon the produce of his matrimonial connexion. At length, however, it was discovered that he was insolvent, and bankruptcy became the consequence. Here he remained till affairs were arranged, and then returned to London with his wife and two children.

"In the mean time, the legitimate family of his father had become useful in the business, and acquainted with his former indiscretions, which, consequently, were not likely to be obliterated from the old gentleman's recollection. Without money and without prospect, he arrived in London, where, for some unliquidated debt, he was arrested and became a resident in the King's Bench, from which he was liberated by the Insolvent Debtor's Act. Emancipated from this, he took small shops, or rather rooms, in various parts of the city, vainly endeavouring to [58]support the character he had formerly maintained. These however proved abortive. Appeals to his father were found fruitless, and he has consequently, after a series of vicissitudes, been compelled to act as a journeyman.

In the career of his youth, he distinguished himself as a dashing, high-spirited fellow. He was selected as fuegel man to a regiment of Volunteers, and made himself conspicuous at the celebrated O. P. row, at the opening of Covent Garden Theatre, on which occasion he attracted the notice of the Caricaturists,{1} and was generally known in the circles of High Life, by his attendance on the first families on behalf of his father.

But perhaps the most remarkable circumstance took place at his deceased parent's funeral. Being so reduced at that time as to have no power even of providing the necessary apparel to manifest the respect, gratitude, and affection, he had ever entertained for the author of his being; and as a natural son has no legal claims upon his father, so naturally nothing was left for him; he applied by letter to the legitimates for a suit of mourning, and permission to attend the remains of their common father to the last receptacle of mortality, which being peremptorily refused, he raised a subscription, obtained clothing, with a gown and hatband, and, as the melancholy procession was moving to the parish church, which was but a few yards distance, he rushed from his hiding-place, stationed himself immediately in the front of the other attendants upon the occasion, and actually accompanied the corpse as chief mourner, having previously concerted with his own mother to be upon the spot. When the body was deposited in the vault, he took her by the hand, led her down the steps, and gave some directions to the bearers as to the situation of the coffin, while the other mourners, panic-struck at the extraordinary circumstances in which they found themselves, turned about and walked in mournful silence back, ruminating on the past with amazement, and full of conjecture for the future.

         1 A caricature of a similar nature to the one alluded to by
         Dashall in this description, was certainly exhibited at the
         time of the memorable 0. P. row, which exhibited a young man
         of genteel appearance in the pit of Covent Garden Theatre,
         addressing the audience.    It had inscribed at the bottom
         of it,

              Is this Barber-Ross-a?

         in allusion (no doubt) to the tragedy of Barbarossa.

[59]"It was an extraordinary situation for all parties," said Bob; "but hold, who have we here?—Egad! there is an elegant carriage drawn up to the door; some Lord, or Nobleman, I'll be bound for it—We can't be seen in this deshabille, I shall make my escape." And saying this, he was hastening out of the room.

"Ha! ha! ha!" exclaimed Tom, "you need not be so speedy in your flight. This is one of the fashionable requisites of London, with whom you must also become acquainted; there is no such thing as doing without them—dress and address are indispensables. This is no other than one of the decorators."

"Decorators!" continued Bob, not exactly comprehending him.

"Monsieur le Tailleur—'Tin Mr. W——, from Cork Street, come to exhibit his Spring patterns, and turn us out with the new cut—so pray remain where you are."

"Tailor—decorator," said Bob—"Egad! the idea is almost as ridiculous as the representation of the taylor riding to Brentford."

By this time the door was opened, and Mr. W. entered, making his bow with the precision of a dancing-master, and was followed by a servant with pattern-books, the other apparatus of his trade. The first salutations over, large pattern-books were displayed upon the table, exhibiting to view a variety of fancy-coloured cloths, and measures taken accordingly. During which time, Tom, as on the former occasion, continued his enquiries relative to the occurrences in the fashionable world.

"Rather tame, Sir, at present: the Queen's unexpected visit to the two theatres was for a time a matter of surprise—the backwardness of Drury Lane managers to produce 'God Save the King,' has been construed into disloyalty to the Sovereign—and a laughable circumstance took place on his going to the same house a few nights back, which has already been made the subject of much merriment, both in conversation and caricature. It appears that Mr. Gloss'em, who is a shining character in the theatrical world, at least among the minors of the metropolis; and whose father was for many years a wax-chandler in the neighbourhood of Soho, holds a situation as clerk of the cheque to the Gentlemen Pensioners of his Majesty's household, as well as that of Major Domo, manager and proprietor of a certain theatre, not half a mile from Waterloo Bridge.

[60]A part of his duty in the former capacity is to attend occasionally upon the person of the King, as one of the appendages of Royalty; in which character he appeared on the night in question. The servants of the attendants who were in waiting for their masters, had a room appropriated to their use. One of these latter gentry, no other than Gloss'em's servant, being anxious to have as near a view of the sacred person of his Majesty as his employer, had placed himself in a good situation at the door, in order to witness his departure, when a Mr. Winpebble, of mismanaging notoriety, and also a ponderous puff, assuming managerial authority, espying him, desired the police-officers and guards in attendance to turn out the lamp-lighter's boy, pointing to Gloss'em's servant. This, it seems, was no sooner said than done, at the point of the bayonet. Some little scuffle ensued—His Majesty and suite departed—Hold up your arm, Sir."

"But did the matter end there?" enquired Dashall.

"O dear, no—not exactly."

"Because if it did," continued Tom, "in my opinion, it began with a wax taper, and ended in the smoke of a farthing rushlight. You have made it appear to be a gas-receiver without supplies."

"I beg pardon," said Mr. W.; "the pipes are full, but the gas is not yet turned on."

This created a laugh, and Mr. W. proceeded:—

"The next day, the servant having informed his Master of the treatment he had received, a gentleman was dispatched from Gloss'em to Winpebble, to demand an apology: which being refused, the former, with a large horsewhip under his arm, accosted the latter, and handsomely belaboured his shoulders with lusty stripes. That, you see, Sir, sets the gas all in a blaze.—That will do, Sir.—Now, Sir, at your service," addressing himself to Tallyho.

"Yes," said Tom, "the taper's alight again now; and pray what was the consequence?"

"Winpebble called for assistance, which was soon obtained, and away they went to Bow-street. Manager Taper, and Manager Vapour—the one blazing with fire, and the other exhausted with thrashing;—'twas a laughing scene. Manager Strutt, and Manager Butt, were strutting and butting each other. The magistrate heard the case, and recommended peace and quietness between [61]them, by an amicable adjustment. The irritated minds of the now two enraged managers could not be brought to consent to this. Gloss'em declared the piece should be repeated, having been received with the most rapturous applause. Winpebble roundly swore that the piece was ill got up, badly represented, and damn'd to all intents and purposes—that the author had more strength than wit—and though not a friend to injunctions himself, he moved for an injunction against Gloss'em; who was at length something like the renowned John Astley with his imitator Rees:

"This great John Astley, and this little Tommy Rees, Were both bound over to keep the King's Peas."

Gloss'em was bound to keep the peace, and compelled to find security in the sum of twenty pounds. Thus ended the farce of The Enraged Managers—Drury Lane in a Blaze, or Bow Street bewildered."

"Ha! ha! ha! an animated sort of vehicle for public amusement truly," said Tom, "and of course produced with new scenery, music, dresses, and decorations; forming a combination of attractions superior to any ever exhibited at any theatre—egad! it would make a most excellent scene in a new pantomime."

"Ha! ha! ha!" said Mr. W. "true, Sir, true; and the duel of Lord Shampetre would have also its due portion of effect; but as his Lordship is a good customer of mine, you must excuse any remarks on that circumstance."

"We have already heard of his Lordship's undaunted courage and firmness, as well as the correctness of his aim."

"He! he! he!" chuckled W.; "then I fancy your information is not very correct, for it appears his lordship displayed a want of every one of those qualities that you impute to him; however, I venture to hope no unpleasant measures will result from the occurrence, as I made the very pantaloons he wore upon the occasion. It seems he is considerably cut up; but you must know that, previous to the duel, I was consulted upon the best mode of securing his sacred person from the effects of a bullet: I recommended a very high waistband lined with whale-bone, and well padded with horse-hair, to serve as a breast-plate, and calculated at once to produce warmth, and resist [62]penetration. The pantaloons were accordingly made, thickly overlaid with extremely rich and expensive gold lace, and considered to be stiff enough for any thing—aye, even to keep his Lordship erect. But what do you suppose was the effect of all my care? I should not like to make a common talk of it, but so it certainly was: his Lordship had no objection to the whalebone, buckram, &c. outside of him, but was fearful that if his antagonist's fire should be well-directed, his tender body might be additionally hurt by the splinters of the whalebone being carried along with it, and actually proposed to take them off before the dreadful hour of appointment came on. In this however he was fortunately overruled by his Second, who, by the by, was but a goose in the affair, and managed it altogether very badly, except in the instance of being prompt with the smelling-bottle, which certainly was well-timed; and it would have been a hissing hot business, but for the judicious interference of the other Second."

A loud laugh succeeded this additional piece of information relative to the affair of honour; and Snip having finished his measurement, colours were fixed upon, and he departed, promising to be punctual in the delivery of the new habiliments on the next day.

"I am now convinced," said Bob, "of the great importance and utility of a London tradesman, and the speed of their execution is wonderful!"

"Yes," replied Tom, "it is only to be equalled by the avidity with which they obtain information, and the rapidity with which they circulate it—why, in another half hour your personal appearance, the cut of your country coat, your complexion and character, as far as so short an interview would allow for obtaining it, will be known to all his customers—they are generally quick and acute discerners. But come, we must be making ready for our walk, it is now half-past ten o'clock—Sparkle will be here presently. It is time to be dressing, as I mean to have a complete ramble during the day, take a chop somewhere on the road, and in the evening, my boy, we'll take a peep into the theatre. Lord Byron's tragedy of Marino Faliero is to be performed to-night, and I can, I think, promise you a treat of the highest kind."

Tallyho, who had no idea of dressing again, having already been obliged to dress twice, seemed a little surprised at the proposition, but supposing it to be the [63]custom of London, nodded assent, and proceeded to the dressing-room. As he walked up stairs he could not help casting his visual orbs over the banisters, just to take a bird's eye view of the scene of his morning disasters, of which, to his great astonishment and surprise, not a vestige remained—a new lamp had been procured, which seemed to have arisen like a phoenix from its ashes, and the stone passage and stairs appeared as he termed it, "as white as a cauliflower." At the sight of all this, he was gratified and delighted, for he expected to find a heap of ruins to reproach him. He skipped, or rather vaulted up the stairs, three or four at a stride, with all the gaiety of a race-horse when first brought to the starting-post. The rapid movements of a Life in London at once astonished and enraptured him; nor did he delay his steps, or his delight, until he had reached the topmost story, when bursting open the door, lie marched boldly into the room. Here again he was at fault; a female shriek assailed his ear, which stopped his course, and looking around him, he could not find from whence the voice proceeded. "Good God!" continued the same voice, "what can be the meaning of this intrusion?—Begone, rash man." In the mean time, Tom, who was in a room just under the one into which he had unfortunately made so sudden an entrance, appeared at the door.

"What the devil is the matter now?" said Tom; when spying his cousin in the centre of the room, without seeming to know whether to return or remain, he could not restrain his laughter. Tallyho looked up, like one in a dream—then down—then casting his eyes around him, he perceived in the corner, peeping out from the bed-curtains in which she had endeavoured to hide her almost naked person, the head of the old Housekeeper. The picture was moving, and at the same time laughable. The confusion of Bob—the fright of the Housekeeper, and the laughter of Tom, were subjects for the pencil of a Hogarth!

"So," said Tom, "you are for springing game in all parts of the house, and at all times too. How came you here?"—"Not by my appointment, Sir," replied the old lady, who still remained rolled up in the curtain. "I never did such a thing in all my born days: I'm an honest woman, and mean to remain so. I never was so ashamed in all my life."

[64]"I believe the house is enchanted," cried Bob; "d—— me, I never seem to step without being on a barrel of gunpowder, ready to ignite with the touch of my foot. I have made some cursed blunder again, and don't seem to know where I am."

"Come, come," said Dashall, "that won't do—I'm sure you had some design upon my Housekeeper, who you hear by her own account is a good woman, and won't listen to your advances."

By this time the servants had arrived at the door, and were alternately peeping in, wondering to see the two gentlemen in such a situation, and secretly giggling and enjoying the embarrassment of the old woman, whose wig lay on the table, and who was displaying her bald pate and shrivelled features from the bed-curtains, enveloped in fringe and tassels, which only served to render them still more ludicrous.

Bob affected to laugh; said it was very odd—he could not account for it at all—stammered out something like an apology—begg'd pardon—it was—a mistake—he really took it for his own room—he never was so bewildered in his life—was very sorry he should cause so much alarm—but really had no sort of intention whatever.

"Well," said Dashall, "the best reparation you can now make for your intrusion is a speedy retreat. Time is escaping, so come along;" and taking him by the arm, they walked down the stairs together, and then proceeded to re-fit without further obstruction, in order to be ready for Sparkle, who was expected every minute.

The first day of Bob's residence in London had already been productive of some curious adventures, in which he, unfortunately as he considered, had sustained the principal character—a character not altogether suitable to is inclinations or wishes, though productive of much merriment to his ever gay and sprightly Cousin, who had witnessed the embarrassment of his pupil upon his first entrance into Life with ungovernable laughter. It was to him excellent sport, while it furnished a good subject of speculation and conversation among the servants below, but was not so well relished by the affrighted old house-keeper. Indeed, the abrupt entrance of a man into her bed-chamber had so deranged her ideas, that she was longer than usual in decking her person previous to her [65]re-appearance. The tender frame of the old lady had been subjected to serious agitations at the bare idea of such a visit, and the probable imputations that might in consequence be thrown upon her sacred and unspotted character; nor could she for some time recover her usual serenity.

Such was the situation of the parties at the moment we are now describing; but as our Heroes are preparing for an extensive, actual survey of men, manners, and tilings, we shall for the present leave them in peace and quietness, while we proceed to the next chapter.

## CHAPTER VII

              What shows! and what sights! what a round of delights
              You'll meet in the gay scene of London;
              How charming to view" amusements still new,
              Twenty others you'll find soon as one's done.
              At the gay scene at Court—Peers and gentry resort,
              In pleasure you'll never miss one day:
              There's the Opera treat, the parade in Bond Street,
              And the crowd in Hyde Park on a Sunday.

[66]TOM, whose wardrobe was extensive, found no difficulty, and lost no time in preparing for the promenade; while, on the other hand, Tallyho was perplexed to know how to tog himself out in a way suitable to make his appearance in the gay world of fashion. Dashall had therefore rapidly equipped himself, when, perceiving it was half-past eleven, he was the more perplexed to account for the absence of Sparkle; for although it was an early hour, yet, upon such an occasion as that of initiating a new recruit, it was very extraordinary that he should not have been prompt. However, he entered Tallyho's room, and found him looking out of the window in a posture of rumination, probably revolving in his mind the events of the morning.

"Come," said Tom, as he entered, "'tis time to be on the move, and if Sparkle don't show in a few minutes, we'll set sail and call in upon him at Long's, in Bond Street. Perhaps he is not well, or something prevents his appearance—we'll make it in our way, and we have a fine day before us."

"I am at your service," replied Bob, who could not help viewing the elegance of his Cousin's appearance: the style of his dress, and the neatness with which his garments fitted him, were all subjects of admiration, and formed so strong a contrast with his own as almost to excite envy. He had however attired himself in a way that befits a fashionable country gentleman: a green coat, white waistcoat, buckskin breeches, and boots, over [67]which a pair of leggings appeared, which extended below the calf of the leg and half up the thigh, surmounted with a Lily Shallow. Such was the costume in which he was destined to show off; and thus equipped, after a few minutes they emerged from the house in Piccadilly on the proposed ramble, and proceeded towards Bond Street.

The first object that took their particular attention was the Burlington Arcade. "Come," said Tom, "we may as well go this way," and immediately they passed the man in the gold-laced hat, who guards the entrance to prevent the admission of boys and improper persons. The display of the shops, with the sun shining through the windows above, afforded much for observation, and attracted Bob from side to side—to look, to wonder and admire. But Tom, who was intent upon finding his friend Sparkle, urged the necessity of moving onward with more celerity, lest he should be gone out, and consequently kept drawing his Cousin forward. "Another and a better opportunity will be afforded for explanation than the present, and as speed is the order of the day, I hope you will not prove disorderly; we shall soon reach Long's, and when we have Sparkle with us, we have one of the most intelligent and entertaining fellows in the world. He is a sort of index to every thing, and every body; his knowledge of life and character, together with a facetiousness of whim and manner, which he has in delineating them, are what we call in London—Prime and bang up to the mark. There is scarcely a Lane, Court, Alley, or Street, in the Metropolis, but what he knows, from the remotest corners of Rag-Fair, to the open and elegant Squares of the West, even to Hyde Park Corner. Memory, mirth, and magic, seem at all times to animate his tongue, and, as the Song says,

              "He is the hoy for bewitching 'em,
              Whether good-humour'd or coy."

Indeed, he is the admiration of all who know him; wit, whim, frolic, and fun, are constant companions with him, and I really believe, in a dungeon or a palace, he would always appear the same."

By this time they had reached Bond Street, in their way to which, each step they had taken, the streets and avenues of every description appeared to Bob to be crowded to an excess; the mingling cries which were [68]vociferated around them produced in his mind uncommon sensations. The rattling of the carriages, the brilliance of the shops, and the continual hum of the passengers, contributed to heighten the scene.

"Bond Street," said Dashall, "is not one of the most elegant streets in the vicinity of London, but is the resort of the most fashionable people, and from about two o'clock till five, it is all bustle—all life—every species of fashionable vehicle is to be seen dashing along in gay and gallant pride. From two to five are the fashionable shopping-hours, for which purpose the first families resort to this well-known street—others, to shew their equipage, make an assignation, or kill a little time; which is as much a business with some, as is the more careful endeavours of others to seize him in his flight, and make the most of his presence. The throng is already increasing; the variety, richness, and gaiety of the shops in this street, will always be attractive, and make it a popular rendezvous of both sexes. It will shortly be as crowded as Rag Fair, or the Royal Exchange; and the magic splendour has very peculiar properties.

"It makes the tradesman forget—while he is cheating a lovely and smiling Duchess—that in all probability her ladyship is endeavouring to cheat him. It makes the gay and airy, the furbelowed and painted lady of the town, forget that she must pay a visit to her uncle,{1} in order to raise the wind before she can make her appearance at the theatre at half-price. It makes the dashing prisoner forget, that while "he is sporting his figure in the bang-up style of appearance, he is only taking his ride on a day-rule from the King's Bench. It makes the Lord who drives four-in-hand forget his losses of the night before at some of the fashionable gaming-houses. It makes one adventurer forget that the clothes in which he expects to obtain respect and attention, are more than likely to be paid for in Newgate; another for a time forgets that John Doe and Richard Roe have expelled him from his

         1 My Uncle is a very convenient and accommodating sort of
         friend, who lives at the sign of the Three Balls, indicative
         of his willingness to lend money upon good security, for the
         payment of enormous interest. The original meaning of the
         sign has puzzled the curious and antiquarians, and the only
         probable meaning they can discover is, that it implies the
         chances are two to one against any property being redeemed
         after being once committed to the keeping of this tender
         hearted and affectionate relative.

[69]lodgings; and a third that all his worldly possessions are not equal to the purchase of a dinner. It is an ignis fatuus—a sort of magic lantern replete with delusive appearances—of momentary duration—an escape to the regions of noise, tumult, vanity, and frivolity, where the realities of Life, the circumstances and the situation of the observer, are not suffered to intrude.

"But to be seen in this street at a certain hour, is one of the essentials to the existence of haut-ton—it is the point of attraction for greetings in splendid equipages, from the haughty bend or familiar nod of arrogance, to the humble bow of servility. Here mimicry without money assumes the consequential air of independence: while modest merit creeps along unheeded through the glittering crowd. Here all the senses are tantalized with profusion, and the eye is dazzled with temptation, for no other reason than because it is the constant business of a fashionable life—not to live in, but out of self, to imitate the luxuries of the affluent without a tithe of their income, and to sacrifice morality at the altar of notoriety."

"Your description of this celebrated street, of which I have heard so much," said Tallyho, "is truly lively."

"But it is strictly true," continued Tom.

They had now arrived at Long's, and found a barouche and four waiting at the door. Upon entering, the first person they met was Lord Cripplegate, whom they passed, and proceeded to the coffee-room; in one of the boxes of which Tom immediately directed his Cousin's attention to a well-dressed young man, who was reading the newspaper, and sipping his coffee—"Take notice of him," said Tom.

Bob looked at him for a moment, marked his features, and his dress, which was in the extreme of fashion; while Tom, turning to one of the Waiters, enquired for his friend Sparkle.

"He has not been here since yesterday morning!" said the Waiter.

"I have been waiting for him these two hours!" exclaimed the young Sprig of Fashion, laying down the newspaper almost at the same moment, "and must wait till he comes—Ah! Mr. Dashall, how d'ye do?—-very glad to see you—left all well in the country, I hope!—Mr. Sparkle was to have met me this morning at eleven precisely, I should judge he is gone into the country."

"It must have been late last night, then," said Dashall, [70]"for he left us about half-past ten, and promised also to meet us again this morning at eleven; I can't think what can have become of him—but come," said he, taking Bob by the arm, "we must keep moving—Good morning—good morning." And thus saying, walked directly out of the house, turning to the right again towards Piccadilly.

"There is a remark made, I think by Goldsmith," said Tom, "that one half of the world don't know how the other half lives; and the man I spoke to in the coffee-room, whose name I am unacquainted with, though his person is recognized by almost every body, while his true character, residence, and means of subsistence, remain completely in obscurity, from what I have seen of him, I judge is what may be termed a hanger on."

"A hanger on," said Bob—"what can that mean? I took him for a man of property and high birth—but I saw you take so little notice of him."

"Ah! my good fellow, I have already cautioned you not to be duped by appearances. A hanger on is a sort of sycophant, or toad-eater, and, in the coffee-houses and hotels of London, many such are to be found—men who can spin out a long yarn, tell a tough story, and tip you a rum chant—who invite themselves by a freedom of address bordering on impudence to the tables and the parties of persons they know, by pretending to call in by mere accident, just at the appointed time: by assuming great confidence, great haste, little appetite, and much business; but, at the same time, requiring but little pressure to forego them all for the pleasure of the company present. What he can have to do with Sparkle I am at a loss to conceive; but he is an insinuating and an intriguing sort of fellow, whom I by no means like, so I cut him."

Bob did not exactly understand the meaning of the word cut, and therefore begged his Cousin to explain.

"The cut," said Tom, "is a fashionable word for getting rid, by rude or any means, of any person whose company is not agreeable. The art of cutting is reduced to a system in London; and an explanatory treatise has been written on the subject for the edification of the natives.{1} But I am so bewildered to think what can have detained Sparkle, and deprived us of his company, that I scarcely know how to think for a moment on any other subject at present."

         1 Vide a small volume entitled "The Cutter."

[71]"It is somewhat strange!" cried Bob, "that he was not with you this morning."

"There is some mystery in it," said Tom, "which time alone can unravel; but however, we will not be deprived of our intended ramble." At this moment they entered Piccadilly, and were crossing the road in their way to St. James's Street, when Dashall nodded to a gentleman passing by on the opposite side, and received a sort of half bow in return. "That," said Tom, "is a curious fellow, and a devilish clever fellow too—for although he has but one arm, he is a man of science."

"In what way?" enquired Bob.

"He is a pugilist," said Tom—"one of those courageous gentlemen who can queer the daylights, tap the claret, prevent telling fibs, and pop the noddle into chancery; and a devilish good hand he is, I can assure you, among those who

         ——"can combat with ferocious strife,
         And beat an eye out, or thump out a life;
         Can bang the ribs in, or bruise out the brains,
         And die, like noble blockheads, for their pains."

"Having but one arm, of course he is unable to figure in the ring—though he attends the mills, and is a constant visitor at the Fives Court exhibitions, and generally appears a la Belcher. He prides himself upon flooring a novice, and hits devilish hard with the glove. I have had some lessons from this amateur of the old English science, and felt the force of his fist; but it is a very customary thing to commence in a friendly way, till the knowing one finds an opportunity which he cannot resist, of shewing the superiority he possesses. So it was with Harry and me, when he put on his glove. I use the singular number, because he has but one hand whereon to place a glove withal. Come, said he, it shall only be a little innocent spar. I also put on a glove, for it would not be fair to attack a one-armed man with two, and no one ought to take the odds in combat. To it we went, and I shewed first blood, for he tapped the claret in no time.

"Neat milling we had, what with clouts on the nob, Home hits in the bread-basket, clicks in the gob, And plumps in the daylights, a prettier treat Between two Johnny Raws 'tis not easy to meet."

[72]"I profited however by Harry's lessons, and after a short time was enabled to return the compliment with interest, by sewing up one of his glimmers.

"This is St. James's Street," continued he, as they turned the corner rather short; in doing which, somewhat animated by the description he had just been giving, Tom's foot caught the toe of a gentleman, who was mincing along the pathway with all the care and precision of a dancing-master, which had the effect of bringing him to the ground in an instant as effectually as a blow from one of the fancy. Tom, who had no intention of giving offence wantonly, apologized for the misfortune, by—"I beg pardon, Sir," while Bob, who perceived the poor creature was unable to rise again, and apprehending some broken bones, assisted him to regain his erect position. The poor animal, or nondescript, yclept Dandy, however had only been prevented the exercise of its limbs by the stiffness of certain appendages, without which its person could not be complete—the stays, lined with whalebone, were the obstacles to its rising. Being however placed in its natural position, he began in an affected blustering tone of voice to complain that it was d——d odd a gentleman could not walk along the streets without being incommoded by puppies—pulled out his quizzing glass, and surveyed our heroes from head to foot—then taking from his pocket a smelling bottle, which, by application to the nose, appeared to revive him, Tom declared he was sorry for the accident, had no intention, and hoped he was not hurt. This, however, did not appear to satisfy the offended Dandy, who turned upon his heel muttering to himself the necessity there was of preventing drunken fellows from rambling the streets to the annoyance of sober and genteel people in the day-time.

Dashall, who overheard the substance of his ejaculation, broke from the arm of Bob, and stepping after him without ceremony, by a sudden wheel placed himself in the front of him, so as to impede his progress a second time; a circumstance which filled Mr. Fribble with additional alarm, and his agitation became visibly' depicted on his countenance.

"What do you mean?" cried Dashall, with indignation, taking the imputation of drunkenness at that early hour in dudgeon. "Who, and what are you, [73]Sir?{1} Explain instantly, or by the honour of a gentleman, I'll chastise this insolence."

         1 "What are you?" is a formidable question to a dandy of the
         present day, for

              "Dandy's a gender of the doubtful kind;
              A something, nothing, not to be defined;
              'Twould puzzle worlds its sex to ascertain,
              So very empty, and so very vain."

         It is a fact that the following examination of three of
         these non-descripts took place at Bow Street a very short
         time back, in consequence of a nocturnal fracas. The report
         was thus given:

         "Three young sprigs of fashion, in full dress, somewhat
         damaged and discoloured by a night's lodging in the cell of
         a watch-house, were yesterday brought before Mr. Birnie,
         charged with disorderly conduct in the streets, and with
         beating a watchman named Lloyd.

         "Lloyd stated that his beat was near the Piazza, and at a
         very late hour on Thursday night, the three defendants came
         through Covent Garden, singing, and conducting themselves in
         the most riotous manner possible. They were running, and
         were followed by three others, all in a most uproarious
         state of intoxication, and he thought proper to stop them;
         upon which he was floored san-ceremonie, and when he
         recovered his legs, he was again struck, and called 'a b——y
         Charley,' and other ungenteel names.    He called for
         the assistance of some of his brethren, and the defendants
         were with some trouble taken to the watch-house. They were
         very jolly on the way, and when lodged in durance, amused
         themselves with abusing the Constable of the night, and took
         especial care that no one within hearing of the watch-house
         should get a wink of sleep for the remainder of the night.

         Mr. Birnie.—"Well young gentleman, what have you to say to
         this?" The one who undertook to be spokesman, threw himself
         in the most familiar manner possible across the table, and
         having fixed himself perfectly at his ease, he said, "The
         fact was, they had been dining at a tavern, and were rather
         drunk, and on their way through the Piazza, they endeavoured
         by running away to give the slip to their three companions,
         who were still worse than themselves. The others, however
         called out Stop thief! and the watchman stopped them;
         whereat they naturally felt irritated, and certainly gave
         the watchman a bit of a thrashing."

         Mr. Birnie.—"How was he to know you were not the thieves?
         He did quite right to stop you, and I am very glad he has
         brought you here—Pray, Sir, what are you?" Defendant.—"I
         am nothing, Sir." Mr. Birnie (to another).—"And what are
         you?" Defendant.—"Why, Sir, I am—I am, Sir, nothing." Mr.
         Birnie.—"Well, this is very fine.   Pray, Sir, (turning to
         the third, who stood twirling his hat) will you do me the
         favour to tell what you are?"

         This gentleman answered in the same way. "I am, as my
         friends observed, nothing."

         Mr. Birnie.—"Well, gentlemen, I must endeavour to make
         something of you. Here, gaoler, let them he locked up, and I
         shall not part with them until I have some better account of
         their occupations."

         We have heard it asserted, that Nine tailors make a man. How
         many Dandies, professing to be Nothing, may be required to
         accomplish the proposed intention of making Something, may
         (perhaps by this time) be discovered by the worthy
         Magistrate. We however suspect he has had severe work of it.

[74]"Leave me alone," exclaimed the almost petrified Dandy.

"Not till you have given me the satisfaction I have a right to demand," cried Tom. "I insist upon an explanation and apology—or demand your card—who are you, Sir? That's my address," instantly handing him a card. "I am not to be played with, nor will I suffer your escape, after the insulting manner in which you have spoken, with impunity."

Though not prepared for such a rencontre, the Dandy, who now perceived the inflexible temper of Tom's mind—and a crowd of people gathering round him—determined at least to put on as much of the character of a man as possible, and fumbled in his pocket for a card; at length finding one, he slipped it into Tom's hand. "Oh, Sir," said he, "if that's the case, I'm your man, demmee,—how, when, or where you please, 'pon honor." Then beckoning to a hackney coach, he hobbled to the door, and was pushed in by coachee, who, immediately mounted the box and flourishing his whip, soon rescued him from his perilous situation, and the jeers of the surrounding multitude.

Tom, who in the bustle of the crowd had slipped the card of his antagonist into his pocket, now took Bob's arm, and they pursued their way down St. James's Street, and could not help laughing at the affair: but Tallyho, who had a great aversion to duelling, and was thinking of the consequences, bit his lips, and expressed his sorrow at what had occurred; he ascribed the hasty imputation of drunkenness to the irritating effects of the poor creature's accident, and expressed his hope that his cousin would take no further notice of it. Tom, however, on the other [75]hand, ridiculed Bob's fears—told him it was a point of honour not to suffer an insult in the street from any man—nor would he—besides, the charge of drunkenness from such a thing as that, is not to be borne. "D——n it, man, drunkenness in the early part of the day is a thing I abhor, it is at all times what I would avoid if possible, but at night there may be many apologies for it; nay in some cases even to avoid it is impossible. The pleasures of society are enhanced by it—the joys of love are increased by the circulation of the glass—harmony, conviviality and friendship are produced by it—though I am no advocate for inebriety, and detest the idea of the beast—

              "Who clouds his reason by the light of day,
              And falls to drink, an early and an easy prey."

"Well," said Bob, "I cannot help thinking this poor fellow, who has already betrayed his fears, will be inclined to make any apology for his rudeness to-morrow."

"If he does not," said Tom, "I'll wing him, to a certainty—a jackanapes—a puppy—a man-milliner; perhaps a thing of shreds and patches—he shall not go unpunished, I promise you; so come along, we will just step in here, and I'll dispatch this business at once: I'll write a challenge, and then it will be off my hands." And so saying, they entered a Coffee-house, where, calling for pen, ink and paper, Tom immediately began his epistle, shrewdly hinting to his Cousin, that he expected he would act as his Second. "It will be a fine opportunity for introducing your name to the gay world—the newspapers will record your name as a man of ton. Let us see now how it will appear:—On —— last, the Honourable Tom Dashall, attended by his Cousin, Robert Tallyho, Esq. of Belleville Hall, met—ah, by the bye, let us see who he is," here he felt in his pocket for the card.

Bob, however, declared his wish to decline obtaining popularity by being present upon such an occasion, and suggested the idea of his calling upon the offender, and endeavouring to effect an amicable arrangement between them.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Tom with surprise, as he drew the card from his pocket, and threw it on the table—"Ha, ha, ha,—look at that."

Tallyho looked at the card without understanding it. "What does it mean?" said he.

[76]"Mean," replied Tom, "why it is a Pawnbroker's duplicate for a Hunting Watch, deposited with his uncle this morning in St. Martin's Lane, for two pounds—laughable enough—well, you may dismiss your fears for the present; but I'll try if I can't find my man by this means—if he is worth finding—at all events we have found a watch."

Bob now joined in the laugh, and, having satisfied the Waiter, they sallied forth again.

Just as they left the Coffee-house, "Do you see that Gentleman in the blue great coat, arm in arm with another? that is no other than the ——. You would scarcely conceive, by his present appearance, that he has commanded armies, and led them on to victory; and that having retired under the shade of his laurels, he is withering them away, leaf by leaf, by attendance at the hells{1} of the metropolis; his unconquerable spirit still actuating him in his hours of relaxation. It is said that the immense sum awarded to him for his prowess in war, has been so materially reduced by his inordinate passion for play, that although he appears at Court, and is a favourite, the demon Poverty stares him in the face. But this is a vile world, and half one hears is not to be believed. He is certainly extravagant, fond of women, and fond of wine; but all these foibles are overshadowed with so much glory as scarcely to remain perceptible. Here is the Palace," said Tom, directing his Cousin's attention to the bottom of the street.

Bob was evidently struck at this piece of information, as he could discover no mark of grandeur in its appearance to entitle it to the dignity of a royal residence.

"It is true," said Tom, "the outside appearance is not much in its favour; but it is venerable for its antiquity, and for its being till lately the place at which the Kings of this happy Island have held their Courts. On the site of that palace originally stood an hospital, founded before the conquest, for fourteen leprous females, to whom eight brethren were afterwards added, to assist in the performance of divine service."

"Very necessary," said Bob, "and yet scarcely sufficient."

         1 Hells—The abode or resort of black-legs or gamblers,
         where they assemble to commit their depredations on the
         unwary. But of these we shall have occasion to enlarge
         elsewhere.

[77]"You seem to quiz this Palace, and are inclined to indulge your wit upon old age. In 1532, it was surrendered to Henry viii. and he erected the present Palace, and enclosed St. James's Park, to serve as a place of amusement and exercise, both to this Palace and Whitehall. But it does not appear to have been the Court of the English Sovereigns, during their residence in town, till the reign of Queen Ann, from which time it has been uniformly used as such.

"It is built of brick; and that part which contains the state apartments, being only one story high, gives it a regular appearance outside. The State-rooms are commodious and handsome, although there is nothing very superb or grand in the decorations or furniture.

"The entrance to these rooms is by a stair-case which opens into the principal court, which you now see. At the top of the stair-case are two rooms; one on the left, called the Queen's, and the other the King's Guard-room, leading to the State-apartments. Immediately beyond the King's Guard-room is the Presence-chamber, which contains a canopy, and is hung with tapestry; and which is now used as a passage to the principal rooms.

"There is a suite of five rooms opening into each other successively, fronting the Park. The Presence-chamber opens into the centre room, which is denominated the Privy-chamber, in which is a canopy of flowered-crimson velvet, generally made use of for the King to receive the Quakers.

"On the right are two drawing-rooms, one within the other. At the upper end of the further one, is a throne with a splendid canopy, on which the Kings have been accustomed to receive certain addresses. This is called the Grand Drawing-room, and is used by the King and Queen on certain state occasions, the nearer room being appropriated as a kind of ante-chamber, in which the nobility, &c. are permitted to remain while their Majesties are present in the further room, and is furnished with stools, sofas, &c. for the purpose. There are two levee-rooms on the left of the privy-chamber, on entering from the King's guard-room and presence-chamber, the nearer one serving as an ante-chamber to the other. They were all of them, formerly, meanly furnished, but at the time of the marriage of our present King, they were elegantly fitted up. The walls are now covered with tapestry, very beautiful, and of rich colours—tapestry which, although it [73]was made for Charles II. had never been used, having by some accident lain unnoticed in a chest, till it was discovered a short time before the marriage of the Prince.

"The canopy of the throne was made for the late-Queen's birth-day, the first which happened after the union of Great Britain and Ireland. It is made of crimson velvet, with very broad gold lace, embroidered with crowns set with fine and rich pearls. The shamrock, emblematical of the Irish nation, forms a part of the decorations of the British crown, and is executed with great taste and accuracy.

"The grand drawing-room contains a large, magnificent chandelier of silver, gilt, but I believe it has not been lighted for some years; and in the grand levee-room is a very noble bed, the furniture of which is of Spitalfields manufacture, in crimson velvet. It was first put up with the tapestry, on the marriage of the present King, then Prince of Wales.

"It is upon the whole an irregular building, chiefly consisting of several courts and alleys, which lead into the Park. This, however, is the age of improvement, and it is said that the Palace will shortly be pulled down, and in the front of St. James's Street a magnificent triumphal arch is to be erected, to commemorate the glorious victories of the late war, and to form a grand entrance to the Park.

"The Duke of York, the Duke of Clarence, the King's servants, and many other dignified persons, live in the Stable-yard."

"In the Stable-yard!" said Bob, "dignified persons reside in a Stable-yard, you astonish me!"

"It is quite true," said Tom, "and remember it is the Stable-yard of a King."

"I forgot that circumstance," said Bob, "and that circumstances alter cases. But whose carriage is this driving with so much rapidity?"

"That is His Highness the Duke of York, most likely going to pay a visit to his royal brother, the King, who resides in a Palace a little further on: which will be in our way, for it is yet too early to see much in the Park: so let us proceed, I am anxious to make some inquiry about my antagonist, and therefore mean to take St. Martin's Lane as we go along."

With this they pursued their way along Pall Mall. The rapidity of Tom's movements however afforded little opportunity for observation or remark, till they [79]arrived opposite Carlton House, when he called his Cousin's attention to the elegance of the new streets opposite to it.

"That," said he, "is Waterloo Place, which, as well as the memorable battle after which it is named, has already cost the nation an immense sum of money, and must cost much more before the proposed improvements are completed: it is however, the most elegant street in London. The want of uniformity of the buildings has a striking effect, and gives it the appearance of a number of palaces. In the time of Queen Elizabeth there were no such places as Pall Mall, St. James's-street, Piccadilly, nor any of the streets or fine squares in this part of the town. That building at the farther end is now the British Fire-office, and has a pleasing effect at this distance. The cupola on the left belongs to a chapel, the interior of which for elegant simplicity is unrivalled. To the left of the centre building is a Circus, and a serpentine street, not yet finished, which runs to Swallow Street, and thence directly to Oxford Road, where another circus is forming, and is intended to communicate with Portland Place; by which means a line of street, composed of all new buildings, will be completed. Of this dull looking place (turning to Carlton House) although it is the town-residence of our King, I shall say nothing at present, as I intend devoting a morning, along with you, to its inspection. The exterior has not the most lively appearance, but the interior is magnificent."—During this conversation they had kept moving gently on.

Bob was charmed with the view down Waterloo Place.

"That," said his Cousin, pointing to the Arcade at the opposite corner of Pall Mall, "is the Italian Opera-house, which has recently assumed its present superb appearance, and may be ranked among the finest buildings in London. It is devoted to the performance of Italian operas and French ballets, is generally open from December to July, and is attended by the most distinguished and fashionable persons. The improvements in this part are great. That church, which you see in the distance over the tops of the houses, is St. Martin's in the fields."

"In the fields," inquired Bob; "what then, are we come to the end of the town?"

[80]"Ha! ha! ha!" cried Tom—"the end—no, no,—I was going to say there is no end to it—no, we have not reached any thing like the centre."

"Blood an owns, boderation and blarney," (said an Irishman, at that moment passing them with a hod of mortar on his shoulder, towards the new buildings, and leaving an ornamental patch as he went along on Bob's shoulder) "but I'll be a'ter tipping turnups{l} to any b——dy rogue that's tip to saying—Black's the white of the blue part of Pat Murphy's eye; and for that there matter," dropping the hod of mortar almost on their toes at the same time, and turning round to Bob—"By the powers! I ax the Jontleman's pardon—tho' he's not the first Jontleman that has carried mortar—where is that big, bully-faced blackguard that I'm looking after?" During this he brushed the mortar off Tallyho's coat with a snap of his fingers, regardless of where or on whom he distributed it.

The offender, it seemed, had taken flight while Pat was apologizing, and was no where to be found.

"Why what's the matter?" inquired Tom; "you seem in a passion."

"Och! not in the least bit, your honour! I'm only in a d——d rage. By the mug of my mother—arn't it a great shame that a Jontleman of Ireland can't walk the streets of London without having poratees and butter-milk throw'd in his gums?"—Hitching up the waistband of his breeches—"It won't do at all at all for Pat: its a reflection on my own native land, where—

              "Is hospitality,
              All reality,
              No formality
              There you ever see;
              The free and easy
              Would so amaze ye,
              You'd think us all crazy,
              For dull we never be."

These lines sung with an Irish accent, to the tune of "Morgan Rattler," accompanied with a snapping of his fingers, and concluded with a something in imitation of

         1 Tipping Turnups—This is a phrase made use of among the
         prigging fraternity, to signify a turn-up—which is to
         knock down.

[81]an Irish jilt, were altogether so truly characteristic of the nation to which he belonged, as to afford our Heroes considerable amusement. Tom threw him a half-crown, which he picked up with more haste than he had thrown down the mortar in his rage.

"Long life and good luck to the Jontleman!" said Pat. "Sure enough, I won't be after drinking health and success to your Honour's pretty picture, and the devil pitch into his own cabin the fellow that would be after picking a hole or clapping a dirty patch on the coat of St. Patrick—whiskey for ever, your Honour, huzza—

              "A drop of good whiskey
              Would make a man frisky."

By this time a crowd was gathering round them, and Tom cautioned Bob in a whisper to beware of his pockets. This piece of advice however came too late, for his blue bird's eye wipe{l} had taken flight.

"What," said Bob, "is this done in open day?" "Are you all right and tight elsewhere?" said Tom—"if you are, toddle on and say nothing about it.—Open day!" continued he, "aye, the system of frigging{2}

         1  Blue bird's eye wipe—A blue pocket handkerchief with
         white spots.

         2 A cant term for all sorts of thieving. The Life of the
         celebrated George Barrington, of Old Bailey notoriety, is
         admirably illustrative of this art; which by a more recent
         development of Hardy Vaux, appears to be almost reduced to
         a system, notwithstanding the wholesomeness of our laws and
         the vigilance of our police in their administration. However
         incredible it may appear, such is the force of habit and
         association, the latter, notwithstanding he was detected and
         transported, contrived to continue his depredations during
         his captivity, returned, at the expiration of his term, to
         his native land and his old pursuits, was transported a
         second time, suffered floggings and imprison-ments, without
         correcting what cannot but be termed the vicious
         propensities of his nature. He generally spent his mornings
         in visiting the shops of jewellers, watch-makers,
         pawnbrokers, &c. depending upon his address and appearance,
         and determining to make the whole circuit of the metropolis
         and not to omit a single shop in either of those branches.
         This scheme he actually executed so fully, that he believes
         he did not leave ten untried in London; for he made a point
         of commencing early every day, and went regularly through
         it, taking both sides of the way. His practice on entering a
         shop was to request to look at gold seals,   chains,
         brooches,  rings,  or   any other   small articles of value,
         and while examining them, and looking the shopkeeper in the
         face, he contrived by sleight of hand to conceal two or
         three, sometimes more, as opportunities offered, in the
         sleeve of his coat, which was purposely made wide. In this
         practice he succeeded to a very great extent, and in the
         course of his career was never once detected in the fact,
         though on two or three occa-sions so much suspicion arose
         that he was obliged to exert all his effrontery, and to use
         very high language, in order, as the cant phrase is, to
         bounce the tradesman out of it; his fashionable appearance,
         and affected anger at his insinuations, always had the
         effect of inducing an apology; and in many such cases he has
         actually carried away the spoil, notwithstanding what passed
         between them, and even gone so far as to visit the same shop
         again a second and a third time with as good success as at
         first. This, with his nightly attendance at the Theatres and
         places of public resort, where he picked pockets of watches,
         snuff-boxes, &c. was for a length of time the sole business
         of his life. He was however secured, after secreting himself
         for a time, convicted, and is now transported for life—as
         he conceives, sold by another cele-brated Prig, whose real
         name was Bill White, but better known by the title of Conky
         Beau.

[82]will be acted on sometimes by the very party you are speaking to—the expertness with which it is done is almost beyond belief."

Bob having ascertained that his handkerchief was the extent of his loss, they pursued their way towards Charing Cross.

"A line of street is intended," continued Tom, "to be made from the Opera House to terminate with that church; and here is the King's Mews, which is now turned into barracks."

"Stop thief! Stop thief!" was at this moment vociferated in their ears by a variety of voices, and turning round, they perceived a well-dressed man at full speed, followed pretty closely by a concourse of people. In a moment the whole neighbourhood appeared to be in alarm. The up-stairs windows were crowded with females—the tradesmen were at their shop-doors—the passengers were huddled together in groups, inquiring of each other—"What is the matter?—who is it?—which is him?—what has he done?" while the pursuers were increasing in numbers as they went. The bustle of the scene was new to Bob—Charing Cross and its vicinity was all in motion.

"Come," said Tom, "let us see the end of this—they are sure to nab{l} my gentleman before he gets much

         1 Nabbed or nibbled—Secured or taken.

[83]farther, so let us brush{1} on." Then pulling his Cousin by the arm, they moved forward to the scene of action.

As they approached St. Martin's Lane, the gathering of the crowd, which was now immense, indicated to Tom a capture.

"Button up," said he, "and let us see what's the matter."

"Arrah be easy" cried a voice which they instantly recognized to be no other than Pat Murphy's. "I'll hold you, my dear, till the night after Doomsday, though I can't tell what day of the year that is. Where's the man wid the gould-laced skull-cap? Sure enough I tought I'd be up wi' you, and so now you see I'm down upon you."

At this moment a Street-keeper made way through the crowd, and Tom and Bob keeping close in his rear, came directly up to the principal performers in this interesting scene, and found honest Pat Murphy holding the man by his collar, while he was twisting and writhing to get released from the strong and determined grasp of the athletic Hibernian.

Pat no sooner saw our Heroes, than he burst out with a lusty "Arroo! arroo! there's the sweet-looking jontleman that's been robbed by a dirty spalpeen that's not worth the tail of a rotten red-herring. I'll give charge of dis here pick'd bladebone of a dead donkey that walks about in God's own daylight, dirting his fingers wid what don't belong to him at all at all. So sure as the devil's in his own house, and that's London, you've had your pocket pick'd, my darling, and that's news well worth hearing"—addressing himself to Dashall.

By this harangue it was pretty clearly understood that Murphy had been in pursuit of the pickpocket, and Tom immediately gave charge.

The man, however, continued to declare he was not the right person—"That, so help him G——d, the Irishman had got the wrong bull by the tail—that he was a b——dy snitch{2} and that he would sarve him out{3}—that he wished

         1 Brush—Be off.

         2 Snitch—A term made use of by the light-fingered tribe,
         to signify an informer, by whom they have been impeached or
         betrayed—So a person who turns king's evidence against his
         accomplices is called a Snitch.

         3 Serve him out—To punish, or be revenged upon any person
         for any real or supposed injury.

[84]he might meet him out of St. Giles's, and he would wake{ 1} him with an Irish howl."

         1 Wake with an Irish howl—An Irish Wake, which is no
         unfrequent occurrence in the neighbourhood of St. Giles's
         and Saffron Hill, is one of the most comically serious
         ceremonies which can well be conceived, and certainly
         baffles all powers of description. It is, however,
         considered indispensable to wake the body of a de-ceased
         native of the sister kingdom, which is, by a sort of mock
         lying in state, to which all the friends, relatives, and
         fellow countrymen and women, of the dead person, are
         indiscriminately admitted; and among the low Irish this duty
         is frequently performed in a cellar, upon which occasions
         the motley group of assembled Hibernians would form a
         subject for the pencil of the most able satirist.

         Upon one of these occasions, when Murtoch Mulrooney, who had
         suffered the sentence of the law by the common hangman, for
         a footpad robbery, an Englishman was induced by a friend of
         the deceased to accompany him, and has left on record the
         following account of his entertainment:—

         "When we had descended (says he) about a dozen steps, we
         found ourselves in a subterraneous region, but fortunately
         not uninhabited. On the right sat three old bawds, drinking
         whiskey and smoking tobacco out of pipes about two inches
         long, (by which means, I conceive, their noses had become
         red,) and swearing and blasting between each puff. I was
         immediately saluted by one of the most sober of the ladies,
         and invited to take a glass of the enlivening nectar, and
         led to the bed exactly opposite the door, where Murtoch was
         laid out, and begged to pray for the repose of his precious
         shoul. This, however, I declined, alleging that as the
         parsons were paid for praying, it was their proper business.
         At this moment a coarse female voice exclaimed, in a sort of
         yell or Irish howl, 'Arrah! by Jasus, and why did you die,
         honey?—Sure enough it was not for the want of milk, meal,
         or tatoes.'

         "In a remote corner of the room, or rather cellar, sat three
         draymen, five of his majesty's body guards, four sailors,
         six haymakers, eight chairmen, and six evidence makers,
         together with three bailiffs' followers, who came by turns
         to view the body, and take a drop of the cratur to drink
         repose to the shoul of their countryman; and to complete the
         group, they were at-tended by the journeyman Jack Ketch. The
         noise and confusion were almost stupefying—there were
         praying—swearing—crying-howling—smoking—and drinking.

         "At the head of the bed where the remains of Murtoch were
         laid, was the picture of the Virgin Mary on one side, and
         that of St. Patrick on the other; and at the feet was
         depicted the devil and some of his angels, with the blood
         running down their backs, from the flagellations which they
         had received from the disciples of Ketigern. Whether the
         blue devils were flying around or not, I could not exactly
         discover, but the whiskey and blue ruin were evidently
         powerful in their effects.

         "One was swearing—a second   counting  his   beads—a
         third descanting on the good qualities of his departed
         friend, and about to try those of the whiskey—a fourth
         evacuating that load with which he had already overloaded
         himself—a fifth, declaring he could carry a fare, hear
         mass, knock down a member of parliament, murder a peace
         officer, and after all receive a pension: and while the
         priest was making an assignation with a sprightly female
         sprig of Shelalah, another was jonteelly picking his pocket.
         I had seen enough, and having no desire to continue in such
         company, made my escape with as much speed as I could from
         this animated group of persons, assembled as they were upon
         so solemn an occasion."

[85]With conversation of this kind, the party were amused up St. Martin's lane, and on the remainder of the road to Bow-street, followed by many persons, some of whom pretended to have seen a part of the proceedings, and promised to give their evidence before the magistrate, who was then sitting.

On arriving in Bow Street, they entered the Brown Bear,{1} a public-house, much frequented by the officers, and in which is a strong-room for the safe custody of prisoners, where they were shewn into a dark back-parlour, as they termed it, and the officer proceeded to search the man in custody, when lo and behold! the handkerchief was not to be found about him.

Pat d——d the devil and all his works—swore "by the fiery furnace of Beelzebub, and that's the devil's own bed-chamber, that was the man that nibbled the Jontleman's dive,{2} and must have ding'd away the wipe,{3} or else what should he bolt{4} for?—that he was up to the rum slum,{5}

         1 A former landlord of the house facetiously christened it
         the Russian Hotel, and had the words painted under the sign
         of Bruin.

         2 Nibbled the Jontleman's dive—Picked the gentleman's
         pocket.

         3 Ding'd away the wipe—Passed away the handkerchief to
         another, to escape detection. This is a very common practice
         in London: two or three in a party will be near, without
         appearing to have the least knowledge of, or connexion with
         each other, and the moment a depredation is committed by
         one, he transfers the property to one of his pals, by whom
         it is conveyed perhaps to the third, who decamps with it to
         some receiver, who will immediately advance money upon it;
         while, if any suspicion should fall upon the first, the
         second will perhaps busy himself in his endeavours to secure
         the offender, well knowing no proof of possession can be
         brought against him.

         4 Bolt—Run away; try to make an escape.

         5 Rum slum—Gammon—queer talk or action, in which some
         fraudulent intentions are discoverable or suspected.

[86]and down upon the kiddies{1}—and sure enough you're boned,{2} my dear boy."

Some of the officers came in, and appeared to know the prisoner well, as if they had been acquainted with each other upon former official business; but as the lost property was not found upon him, it was the general opinion that nothing could be done, and the accused began to exercise his wit upon Murphy, which roused Pat's blood:

"For the least thing, you know, makes an Irishman roar."

At length, upon charging him with having been caught blue-pigeon flying,{3} Pat gave him the lie in his teeth—swore he'd fight him for all the blunt{4} he had about him, "which to be sure," said he, "is but a sweet pretty half-a-crown, and be d——d to you—good luck to it! Here goes," throwing the half-crown upon the floor, which the prisoner attempted to pick up, but was prevented by Pat's stamping his foot upon it, while he was doffing his jacket,{5} exclaiming—

"Arrah, be after putting your dirty fingers in your pocket, and don't spoil the King's picture by touching it—devil burn me, but I'll mill your mug to muffin dust{6} before I'll give up that beautiful looking bit; so tip us your mauley,{7} and no more blarney."

         1 Down upon the Kiddies—To understand the arts and
         manouvres of thieves and sharpers.

         2 Boned—Taken or secured.

         s Blue pigeon flying—The practice of stealing lead from
         houses, churches, or other buildings. A species of
         depredation very prevalent in London and its vicinity, and
         which is but too much encouraged by the readiness with which
         it can be disposed of to the plumbers in general.

         4 Blunt—A flash term for money.

         5 Doffing his Jacket—Taking off his jacket.

         6 Mill your mug to muffin dust—The peculiarity of the Irish
         character for overstrained metaphor, may perhaps, in some
         degree, account for the Hibernian's idea of beating his head
         to flour, though he was afterwards inclined to commence his
         operations in the true style and character of the prize
         ring, where

         "Men shake hands before they box, Then give each other
         plaguy knocks, With all the love and kindness of a brother."

         7 Tip us your mauley—Give me your hand. Honour is so sacred
         a thing with the Irish, that the rapid transition from a
         violent expression to the point of honour, is no uncommon
         thing amongst them; and in this instance it is quite clear
         that although he meant to mill the mug of his opponent to
         muffin dust, he had a notion of the thing, and intended to
         do it in an honourable way.

[87]During this conversation, the spectators, who were numerous, were employed in endeavouring to pacify the indignant Hibernian, who by this time had buffid it, or, in other words, peeled in prime twig,{1} for a regular turn to.{2} All was noise and confusion, when a new group of persons entered the room—another capture had been made, and another charge given. It was however with some difficulty that honest Pat Murphy was prevailed upon to remain a little quiet, while one of the officers beckoned Dashall out of the room, and gave him to understand that the man in custody, just brought in, was a well-known pal{3} of the one first suspected, though they took not the least notice of each other upon meeting. In the mean time, another officer in the room had been searching the person of the last captured, from whose bosom he drew the identical handkerchief of Bob; and the Irishman recollected seeing him in the crowd opposite the Opera House.

This cleared up the mystery in some degree, though the two culprits affected a total ignorance of each other. The property of the person who had given the last charge was also discovered, and it was deemed absolutely necessary to take them before the Magistrate. But as some new incidents will arise on their introduction to the office, we shall reserve them for the next Chapter.

         1 Buff'd it, or peeled in prime twig—Stripped to the skin
         in good order. The expressions are well known, and
         frequently in use, among the sporting characters and lovers
         of the fancy.

         2 Turn to, or set to—The commencement of a battle.

         3 Pal—A partner or confederate.

## CHAPTER VIII

              Houses, churches, mixt together,
              Streets unpleasant in all weather;
              Prisons, palaces contiguous,
              Gates, a bridge—the Thames irriguous;
              Gaudy things, enough to tempt ye,
              Showy outsides, insides empty;
              Bubbles, trades, mechanic arts,
              Coaches, wheelbarrows, and carts;
              Warrants, bailiffs, bills unpaid,
              Lords of laundresses afraid;
              Rogues, that nightly rob and shoot men,
              Hangmen, aldermen, and footmen;
              Lawyers, poets, priests, physicians,
              Noble, simple, all conditions;
              Worth beneath a thread-bare cover,
              Villainy bedaubed all over;
              Women, black, red, fair, and grey,
              Prudes, and such as never pray;
              Handsome, ugly, noisy still,
              Some that will not, some that will;
              Many a beau without a shilling,
              Many a widow not unwilling;
              Many a bargain, if you strike it:—
              This is London—How d'ye like it?

[88]ON entering the Public Office, Bow-street, we must leave our readers to guess at the surprise and astonishment with which the Hon. Tom Dashall and his Cousin beheld their lost friend, Charles Sparkle, who it appeared had been kindly accommodated with a lodging gratis in a neighbouring watch-house, not, as it may readily be supposed, exactly suitable to his taste or inclination. Nor was wonder less excited in the mind of Sparkle at this unexpected meeting, as unlooked for as it was fortunate to all parties. There was however no opportunity at the present moment for an explanation, as the worthy Magistrate immediately proceeded to an investigation of the case just brought before him, upon which there was no difficulty in deciding. The charge was made, the handkerchief sworn to, and the men, who [89]were well known as old hands upon the town, committed for trial. The most remarkable feature in the examination being the evidence of Pat Murphy, who by this time had recollected that the man who was taken with the property about his person, was the very identical aggressor who had offended him while the hod of mortar was on his shoulder, before the conversation commenced between himself and Tom opposite the Opera-house.

"Sure enough, your Honour," said he, "its a true bill. I'm an Irishman, and I don't care who knows it—I don't fight under false colours, but love the land of potatoes, and honour St. Patrick. That there man with the blue toggery{1} tipp'd me a bit of blarney, what did not suit my stomach. I dropp'd my load, which he took for an order to quit, and so mizzled{2} out of my way, or by the big bull of Ballynafad, I'd have powdered his wig with brick-dust, and bothered his bread-basket with a little human kindness in the shape of an Irishman's fist; and then that there other dirty end of a shelalah, while the Jontleman—long life to your Honour, (bowing to Tom Dashall)—was houlding a bit of conversation with Pat Murphy, grabb'd{3} his pocket-handkerchief, and was after shewing a leg,{4} when a little boy that kept his oglers upon 'em, let me into the secret, and let the cat out of the bag by bawling—Stop thief! He darted off like a cow at the sound of the bagpipes, and I boulted a'ter him like a good'un; so when I came up to him, Down you go, says I, and down he was; and that's all I know about the matter."

As the prisoners were being taken out of court, the Hibernian followed them. "Arrah," said he, "my lads, as I have procured you a lodging for nothing, here's the half-a-crown, what the good-looking Jontleman gave me; it may sarve you in time of need, so take it along with you, perhaps you may want it more than I do; and if you know the pleasure of spending money that is honestly come by, it may teach you a lesson that may keep you out of the clutches of Jock Ketch, and save

         1 Blue toggery—Toggery is a flash term for clothing in
         general, but is made use of to describe a blue coat.

         2 Mizzled—Ran away.

         3 Grabb'd—Took, or stole.

         4 Shewing a leg—or, as it is sometimes called, giving leg-
         bail—making the best use of legs to escape detection.

[90]you from dying in a horse's night-cap{1}—there, be off wid you."

The Hon. Tom Dashall, who had carefully watched the proceedings of Pat, could not help moralizing upon this last act of the Irishman, and the advice which accompanied it. "Here," said he to himself, "is a genuine display of national character. Here is the heat, the fire, the effervescence, blended with the generosity and open-heartedness, so much boasted of by the sons of Erin, and so much eulogized by travellers who have visited the Emerald Isle." And slipping a sovereign into his hand, after the execution of a bond to prosecute the offenders, each of them taking an arm of Sparkle, they passed down Bow-street, conversing on the occurrences in which they had been engaged, of which the extraordinary appearance of Sparkle was the most prominent and interesting.

"How in the name of wonder came you in such a scrape?" said Tom.

"Innocently enough, I can assure you," replied Sparkle—"with my usual luck—a bit of gig, a lark, and a turn up.{2}

              "... 'Twas waxing rather late,
              And reeling bucks the street began to scour,
              While guardian watchmen, with a tottering gait,
              Cried every thing quite clear, except the hour."

         1  Horse's night-cap—A halter.

         2 A bit of gig—a lark—a turn up—are terms made use of to
         signify a bit of fun of any kind, though the latter more
         generally means a fight. Among the bucks and bloods of the
         Metropolis, a bit of fun or a lark, as they term it, ending
         in a milling match, a night's lodging in the watch-house,
         and a composition with the Charleys in the morning, to avoid
         exposure before the Magistrate, is a proof of high spirit—a
         prime delight, and serves in many cases to stamp a man's
         character. Some, however, who have not courage enough to
         brave a street-row and its consequences, are fond of fun of
         other kinds, heedless of the consequences to others. "Go it,
         my boys," says one of the latter description, "keep it up,
         huzza! I loves fun—for I made such a fool of my father last
         April day:—but what do you think I did now, eh?—Ha! ha!
         ha!—I will tell you what makes me laugh so: we were
         keeping it up in prime twig, faith, so about four o'clock in
         the morning 1 went down into the kitchen, and there was Dick
         the waiter snoring like a pig before a blazing fire—done
         up, for the fellow can't keep it up as we jolly boys do: So
         thinks 1, I'll have you, my boy—and what does I do, but I
         goes softly and takes the tongs, and gets a red hot coal as
         big as my head, and plumpt it upon the fellow's foot and run
         away, because I loves fun, you know: So it has lamed him,
         and that makes me laugh so—Ha! ha! ha!—it was what I call
         better than your rappartees and your bobinâtes. I'll
         tell you more too: you must know I was in high tip-top
         spirits, faith, so I stole a dog from a blind man—for I do
         loves fun: so then the blind man cried for his dog, and that
         made me laugh heartily: So says I to the blind man—Hallo,
         Master, what a you a'ter, what is you up to? does you want
         your dog?—Yes, Sir, says he. Now only you mark what I said
         to the blind man—Then go and look for him, old chap, says
         I—Ha! ha! ha!—that's your sort, my boy, keep it up, keep
         it up, d—— me.    That's the worst of it, I always turn
         sick when I think of a Parson—I always do; and my brother
         he is a parson too, and he hates to hear any body swear: so
         you know I always swear like a trooper when I am near him,
         on purpose to roast him. I went to dine with him one day
         last week, and there was my sisters, and two or three more
         of what you call your modest women; but I sent 'em all from
         the table, and then laugh'd at 'em, for I loves fun, and
         that was fun alive 0. And so there was nobody in the room
         but my brother and me, and I begun to swear most sweetly: I
         never swore so well in all my life—I swore all my new
         oaths; it would have done you good to have heard me swear;
         till at last my brother looked frightened, and d—— me that
         was good fun.    At last, he lifted up his hands and eyes to
         Heaven, and calls out O tempora, O mores! But I was not to
         be done so. Oh! oh! Brother, says I, what you think to
         frighten me by calling all your family about you; but I
         don't care for you, nor your family neither—so stow it—
         I'll mill the whole troop—Only bring your Tempora and Mores
         here, that's all—let us have fair play, I'll tip 'em the
         Gas in a flash of lightning—I'll box 'em for five pounds,
         d—— me:  here, where's Tempora and Mores, where are they?
         My eyes, how he did stare when he see me ready for a set to—
         I never laugh'd so in my life—he made but two steps out of
         the room, and left me master of the field.    What d'ye
         think of that for a lark, eh?—Keep it up—keep it up, d——
         me, says I—so I sets down to the table, drank as much as I
         could—then I mix'd the heel-taps all in one bottle, and
         broke all the empty ones—then bid adieu to Tempora and
         Mores, and rolled home in a hackney-coach in prime and
         plummy order, d—— me."

"Coming along Piccadilly last night after leaving you, I was overtaken at the corner of Rupert-street by our old college-companion Harry Hartwell, pursuing his way to the Hummums, where it seems he has taken up his abode. Harry, you remember, never was exactly one of us; he studies too much, and pores everlastingly over musty old volumes of Law Cases, Blackstone's Commentaries, and other black books, to qualify himself for the black art, and as fit and proper person to appear at the Bar. The length of time that had elapsed since our last meeting was sufficient inducement for us to crack a bottle together; [92]so taking his arm, we proceeded to the place of destination, where we sat talking over past times, and indulging our humour till half-past one o'clock, when I sallied forth on my return to Long's, having altogether abandoned my original intention of calling in Golden-square. At the corner of Leicester-square, my ears were assailed with a little of the night music—the rattles were in full chorus, and the Charleys, in prime twig,{1} were mustering from all quarters.

"The street was all alive, and I made my way through the crowd to the immediate scene of action, which was rendered peculiarly interesting by the discovery of a dainty bit of female beauty shewing fight with half a dozen watchmen, in order to extricate herself from the grasp of these guardians of our peace. She was evidently under the influence of the Bacchanalian god, which invigorated her arm, without imparting discretion to her head, and she laid about her with such dexterity, that the old files{2} were fearful of losing their prey; but the odds were fearfully against her, and never did I feel my indignation more aroused, than when I beheld a sturdy ruffian aim a desperate blow at her head with his rattle, which in all probability, had it taken the intended effect, would have sent her in search of that peace in the other world, of which she was experiencing so little in this. It was not possible for me to stand by, an idle spectator of the destruction of a female who appeared to have no defender, whatever might be the nature of the offence alleged or committed. I therefore warded off the blow with my left arm, and with my right gave him a well-planted blow on the conk,{3} which sent him piping into the kennel. In a moment I was surrounded and charged with a violent assault upon the charley,{4} and interfering with the guardians of the night in the execution of their duty. A complete diversion took place from the original object of their fury, and in the bustle to secure me, the unfortunate girl made her escape, where to, or how, heaven

         1 Prime twig—Any thing accomplished in good order, or with
         dexterity: a person well dressed, or in high spirits, is
         considered to be in prime twig.

         2 Old Jiles—A person who has had a long course of
         experience in the arts of fraud, so as to become an adept in
         the manouvres of the town, is termed a deep file—a rum
         file, or an old file.

         3 Conk—The nose.

         4 Charley—A watchman.

[93]only knows. Upon finding this, I made no resistance, but marched boldly along with the scouts{1} to St. Martin's watch-house, where we arrived just as a hackney coach drew up to the door.

"Take her in, d——n her eyes, she shall stump up the rubbish{2} before I leave her, or give me the address of her flash covey,{3} and so here goes." By this time we had entered the watch-house, where I perceived the awful representative of justice seated in an arm chair, with a good blazing fire, smoking his pipe in consequential ease. A crowd of Charleys, with broken lanterns, broken heads, and other symptoms of a row, together with several casual spectators, had gained admittance, when Jarvis entered, declaring—By G——he wouldn't be choused by any wh——re or cull in Christendom, and he would make 'em come down pretty handsomely, or he'd know the reason why: "And so please your Worship, Sir"—then turning round, "hallo," said he, "Sam, what's becom'd of that there voman—eh—vhat, you've been playing booty eh, and let her escape." The man to whom this was intended to be addressed did not appear to be present, as no reply was made. However, the case was briefly explained.

"But, by G——, I von't put any thing in Sam's vay again," cried Jarvey.{4} For my own part, as I knew nothing of the occurrences adverted to, I was as much in the dark as if I had gone home without interruption. The representations of the Charleys proved decisive against me—in vain I urged the cause of humanity, and the necessity I felt of protecting a defenceless female from the violence of accumulating numbers, and that I had done no more than every man ought to have done upon such an occasion. Old puff and swill, the lord of the night, declared that I must have acted with malice afore-thought—that I was a pal in the concern, and that I had been instrumental in the design of effecting a rescue; and, after a very short deliberation, he concluded that I must be a notorious rascal, and desired me to make up my mind to remain with him for the remainder of the night. Not relishing this, I proposed to send for bail, assuring him of my

         1 Scouts—Watchmen.

         3 Stump up the rubbish—Meaning she (or he) shall pay, or
         find money.

         3 Flash covey—A fancy man, partner or protector

         4 Jarvey—A coachman.

[94]attendance in the morning; but was informed it could not be accepted of, as it was clearly made out against me that I had committed a violent breach of the peace, and nothing at that time could be produced that would prove satisfactory. Under these circumstances, and partly induced by a desire to avoid being troublesome in other quarters, I submitted to a restraint which it appeared I could not very well avoid, and, taking my seat in an arm-chair by the fire-side, I soon fell fast asleep, from which I was only aroused by the occasional entrances and exits of the guardians, until between four and five o'clock, when a sort of general muster of the Charleys took place, and each one depositing his nightly paraphernalia, proceeded to his own habitation. Finding the liberation of others from their duties would not have the effect of emancipating me from my confinement, which was likely to be prolonged to eleven, or perhaps twelve o'clock, I began to feel my situation as a truly uncomfortable one, when I was informed by the watch-house keeper, who resides upon the spot, that he was going to turn in,{1} that there was fire enough to last till his wife turn'd out, which would be about six o'clock, and, as I had the appearance of a gentleman, if there was any thing I wanted, she would endeavour to make herself useful in obtaining it. "But Lord," said he, "there is no such thing as believing any body now-a-days—there was such sets out, and such manouvering, that nobody knew nothing of nobody."

"I am obliged to you, my friend," said I, "for this piece of information, and in order that you may understand something of the person you are speaking to beyond the mere exterior view, here is half-a-crown for your communication."

"Why, Sir," said he, laying on at the same moment a shovel of coals, "this here makes out what I said—Don't you see, said I, that 'are Gentleman is a gentleman every inch of him, says I—as don't want nothing at all no more nor what is right, and if so be as how he's got himself in a bit of a hobble, I knows very well as how he's got the tip{2} in his pocket, and does'nt want for spirit to pull it out—Perhaps you might like some breakfast, sir?"

         1  Turn in—Going to bed. This is a term most in use among
         seafaring men.

         2 Tip is synonymous with blunt, and means money.

[95]"Why yes," said I—for I began to feel a little inclined that way.

"O my wife, Sir," said he, "will do all you want, when she rouses herself."

"I suppose," continued I, "you frequently have occasion to accommodate persons in similar situations?"

"Lord bless you! yes, sir, and a strange set of rum customers we have too sometimes—why it was but a few nights ago we had 'em stowed here as thick as three in a bed. We had 'em all upon the hop{1}—you never see'd such fun in all your life, and this here place was as full of curiosities as Pidcock's at Exeter Change, or Bartlemy-fair—Show 'em up here, all alive alive O!"

"Indeed!" said I, feeling a little inquisitive on the subject; "and how did this happen?"

"Why it was a rummish piece of business altogether. There was a large party of dancing fashionables all met together for a little jig in St. Martin's lane, and a very pretty medley there was of them. The fiddlers wagg'd their elbows, and the lads and lasses their trotters, till about one o'clock, when, just as they were in the midst of a quadrille, in burst the officers, and quickly changed the tune. The appearance of these gentlemen had an instantaneous effect upon all parties present: the cause of their visit was explained, and the whole squad taken into custody, to give an account of themselves, and was brought here in hackney-coaches. The delicate Miss and her assiduous partner, who, a short time before had been all spirits and animation, were now sunk in gloomy reflections upon the awkwardness of their situation; and many of our inhabitants would have fainted when they were informed they would have to appear before the Magistrate in the morning, but for the well-timed introduction of a little drap of the cratur, which an Irish lady ax'd me to fetch for her. But the best of the fun was, that in the group we had a Lord and a Parson! For the dignity of the one, and the honour of the other, they were admitted to bail—Lord have mercy upon us! said the Parson—Amen, said the Lord; and this had the desired effect upon the Constable of the night, for he let them off on the sly, you understand: But my eyes what work there was in the morning! sixteen Jarveys, full of live lumber,

         1 Hop—A dance.

[96]were taken to Bow-street, in a nice pickle you may be sure, dancing-pumps and silk-stockings, after setting in the watch-house all night, and surrounded by lots of people that hooted and howled, as the procession passed along, in good style. They were safely landed at the Brown Bear, from which they were handed over in groups to be examined by the Magistrate, when the men were discharged upon giving satisfactory accounts, and the women after some questions being put to them. You see all this took place because they were dancing in an unlicensed room. It was altogether a laughable set-out as ever you see'd—the Dandys and the Dandyzettes—the Exquisites—the Shopmen—the Ladies' maid and the Prentice Boys—my Lord and his Reverence—mingled up higgledy-piggledy, pigs in the straw, with Bow-street Officers, Runners and Watchmen—Ladies squalling and fainting, Men swearing and almost fighting. It would have been a pleasure to have kick'd up a row that night, a purpose to get admission—you would have been highly amused, I'll assure you—good morning, Sir." And thus saying, he turned the lock upon me, and left me to my meditations. In about a couple of hours the old woman made her appearance, and prepared me some coffee; and at eleven o'clock came the Constable of the night, to accompany me before the Magistrate.

"Aware that the circumstances were rather against me, and that I had no right to interfere in other persons' business or quarrels, I consulted him upon the best mode of making up the matter; for although I had really done no more than becomes a man in protecting a female, I had certainly infringed upon the law, in effecting the escape of a person in custody, and consequently was liable to the penalty or penalties in such cases made and provided. On our arrival at the Brown Bear, I was met by a genteel-looking man, who delivered me a letter, and immediately disappeared. Upon breaking the seal, I found its contents as follows:

Dear Sir, Although unknown to me, I have learned enough of your character to pronounce you a trump, a prime cock, and nothing but a good one. I am detained by John Doe and Richard Roe with their d——d fieri facias, or I should be with you. However, I trust you will excuse the liberty I take in requesting you will make use of the enclosed for the purpose of shaking yourself out of the [97]hands of the scouts and their pals. We shall have some opportunities of meeting, when I will explain: in the mean time, believe me I am

Your's truly,

Tom.

"With this advice, so consonant with my own opinion, I immediately complied; and having satisfied the broken-headed Charley, and paid all expences incurred, I was induced to walk into the office merely to give a look around me, when by a lucky chance I saw you enter. And thus you have a full, true, and particular account of the peregrinations of your humble servant."

Listening with close attention to this narrative of Sparkle's, all other subjects had escaped observation, till they found themselves in the Strand.

"Whither are we bound?" inquired Sparkle.

"On a voyage of discoveries," replied Dashall, "and we just wanted you to act as pilot."

"What place is this?" inquired Bob.

"That," continued Sparkle, "is Somerset-house. It is a fine old building; it stands on the banks of the Thames, raised on piers and arches, and is now appropriated to various public offices, and houses belonging to the various offices of the Government."

"The terrace, which lies on the river, is very fine, and may be well viewed from Waterloo Bridge. The front in the Strand, you perceive, has a noble aspect, being composed of a rustic basement, supporting a Corinthian order of columns crowned with an attic in the centre, and at the extremities with a balustrade. The south front, which looks into the court, is very elegant in its composition.

"The basement consists of nine large arches; and three in the centre open, forming the principal entrance; and three at each end, filled with windows of the Doric order, are adorned with pilasters, entablatures, and pediments. On the key-stones of the nine arches are carved, in alto relievo, nine colossal masks, representing the Ocean, and the eight main Rivers of England, viz. Thames, Humber, Mersey, Dee, Medway, Tweed, Tyne, and Severn, with appropriate emblems to denote their various characters.

"Over the basement the Corinthian order consists of ten columns upon pedestals, having their regular entablature. It comprehends two floors, and the attic in the centre of the front extends over three intercolomniations, and is divided into three parts by four colossal statues placed on [98]the columns of the order. It terminates with a group consisting of the arms of the British empire, supported on one side by the Genius of England, and by Fame, sounding the trumpet, on the other. These three open arches in the front form the principal entrance to the whole of the structure, and lead to an elegant vestibule decorated with Doric columns.

"The terrace, which fronts the Thames, is spacious, and commands a beautiful view of part of the river, including Blackfriars, Waterloo, and Westminster Bridges. It is reared on a grand rustic basement, having thirty-two spacious arches. The arcade thus formed is judiciously relieved by projections ornamented with rusticated columns, and the effect of the whole of the terrace from the water is truly grand and noble. There is however, at present, no admission for the public to it; but, in all probability, it will be open to all when the edifice is completed, which would form one of the finest promenades in the world, and prove to be one of the first luxuries of the metropolis.

"That statue in the centre is a representation of our late King, George the Third, with the Thames at his feet, pouring wealth and plenty from a large Cornucopia. It is executed by Bacon, and has his characteristic cast of expression. It is in a most ludicrous situation, being placed behind, and on the brink of a deep area.

"In the vestibule are the rooms of the Royal Society, the Society of Antiquarians, and the Royal Academy of Arts, all in a very grand and beautiful style. Over the door of the Royal Academy is a bust of Michael Angelo; and over the door leading to the Royal Society and Society of Antiquarians, you will find the bust of Sir Isaac Newton.

"The Government-offices, to which this building is devoted, are objects of great astonishment to strangers, being at once commodious and elegant, and worthy the wealth of the nation to which they belong. The hall of the Navy office is a fine room with two fronts, one facing the terrace and river, and the other facing the court. On the right is the Stamp-office: it consists of a multitude of apartments: the room in which the stamping is executed is very interesting to the curious. On the left you see the Pay-office of the Navy.

"The principal thing to attract notice in this edifice is [99]the solidity and completeness of the workmanship in the masonry, and indeed in every other part."

After taking a rather prolonged view of this elegant edifice, they again sallied forth into the Strand, mingling with all the noise and bustle of a crowded street, where by turns were to be discovered, justling each other, parsons, lawyers, apothecaries, projectors, excisemen, organists, picture-sellers, bear and monkey-leaders, fiddlers and bailiffs. The barber and the chimney-sweeper were however always observed to be careful in avoiding the touch of each other, as if contamination must be the inevitable consequence.

"My dear fellow!" exclaimed a tall and well-dressed person, who dragged the Honourable Tom Dashall on one side—"you are the very person I wanted—I'm very glad to see you in town again—but I have not a moment to spare—the blood-hounds are in pursuit—this term will be ended in two days, then comes the long vacation—liberty without hiring a horse—you understand—was devilishly afraid of being nabb'd just now—should have been dished if I had—lend me five shillings—come, make haste."

"Five shillings, Diddler, when am I to be paid? you remember—' When I grow rich' was the reply."

"Know—yes, I know all about it—but no matter, I'm not going to settle accounts just now, so don't detain me, I hate Debtor and Creditor. Fine sport to-morrow, eh—shall be at the Ring—in cog.—take no notice—disguised as a Quaker—Obadiah Lankloaks—d——d large beaver hat, and hide my physog.—Lend me what silver you have, and be quick about it, for I can't stay—thank you, you're a d——a good fellow, Tom, a trump—shall now pop into a hack, and drive into another county—thank ye—good day—by by."

During this harangue, while Tost was counting his silver, the ingenious Mr. Diddler seized all he had, and whipping it speedily into his pocket, in a few minutes was out of his sight.

Sparkle observing Dashall looking earnestly after Diddler, approached, and giving him a lusty slap on the shoulder—"Ha! ha! ha!" exclaimed he, "what are you done again?"

"I suppose so," said Dashall; "confound the fellow, he is always borrowing: I never met him in my life but [100]he had some immediate necessity or other to require a loan of a little temporary supply, as he calls it."

"I wonder," said Sparkle, "that you are so ready to lend, after such frequent experience—how much does he owe you?"

"Heaven only knows," continued Tom, "for I do not keep account against him, I must even trust to his honour—so it is useless to stand here losing our time—Come, let us forward."

"With all my heart,", said Sparkle, "and with permission I propose a visit to the Bonassus, a peep at St. Paul's, and a chop at Dolly's."

This proposition being highly approved of, they continued their walk along the Strand, towards Temple Bar, and in a few minutes were attracted by the appearance of men dressed in the garb of the Yeomen of the Guards, who appeared active in the distribution of hand-bills, and surrounded a house on the front of which appeared a long string of high and distinguished names, as patrons and patronesses of the celebrated animal called the Bonassus. Crossing the road in their approach to the door, Tallyho could not help admiring the simple elegance of a shop-front belonging to a grocer, whose name is Peck.

"Very handsome and tasty, indeed," replied Sparkle; "that combination of marble and brass has a light and elegant effect: it has no appearance of being laboured at. The inhabitant of the house I believe is a foreigner, I think an Italian; but London boasts of some of the most elegant shops in the world." And by this time they entered the opposite house.

## CHAPTER IX

              "In London my life is a ring of delight,
              In frolics I keep up the day and the night;
              I snooze at the Hummums till twelve, perhaps later,
              I rattle the bell, and I roar up the Waiter;
              'Your Honour,' says he, and he makes me a leg;
              He brings me my tea, but I swallow an egg;
              For tea in a morning's a slop I renounce,
              So I down with a glass of good right cherry-bounce.
              With—swearing, tearing—ranting, jaunting—slashing,
              smashing—smacking, cracking—rumbling, tumbling
              —laughing, quaffing—smoking, joking—swaggering,
              Staggering:
              So thoughtless, so knowing, so green and so mellow,
              This, this is the life of a frolicsome fellow."

[101]UPON entering the house, and depositing their shilling each to view this newly discovered animal from the Apalachian mountains of America, and being supplied with immense long bills descriptive of his form and powers—"Come along (said Sparkle,) let us have a look at the most wonderful production of nature—only seventeen months old, five feet ten inches high, and one of the most fashionable fellows in the metropolis."

"It should seem so," said Tallyho, "by the long list of friends and visitors that are detailed in the commencement of the bill of fare."

"Perhaps," said Tom, "there are more Bon asses than one."

"Very likely (continued Sparkle;) but let me tell you the allusion in this case does not apply, for this animal has nothing of the donkey about him, and makes no noise, as you will infer from the following lines in the Bill:

              "As the Bonassus does not roar,
              His fame is widely known,
              For no dumb animal before
              Has made such noise in town."

[102]At this moment the barking of a dog assailed their ears, and suspended the conversation. Passing onward to the den of the Bonassus, they found a dark-featured gentleman of middling stature, with his hair, whiskers, and ears, so bewhitened with powder as to form a complete contrast with his complexion and a black silk handkerchief which he wore round his neck, holding a large brown-coloured dog by the collar, in order to prevent annoyance to the visitors.

"D——n the dog, (exclaimed he) although he is the best tempered creature in the world, he don't seem to like the appearance of the Bonassus "—and espying Sparkle, "Ha, my dear fellow! how are you?—I have not seen you for a long while."

"Why, Sir D—n—ll, I am happy to say I never was better in my life—allow me to introduce you to my two friends, the Hon. Mr. Dashall, and Robert Tallyho—Sir D—n—ll Harlequin."

The mutual accompaniments of such an introduction having passed among them, the Knight, who was upon the moment of departure as they entered, expressed his approbation of the animal he had been viewing, and, lugging his puppy by one hand, and his cudgel in the other, wished them a good morning.

"There is an eccentric man of Title," continued Sparkle.

"I should judge," said Bob, "there was a considerable portion of eccentricity about him, by his appearance. Is he a Baronet?"

"A Baronet," (replied Sparkle) "no, no, he is no other than a Quack Doctor."{1}

         1 Of all the subjects that afford opportunities for the
         satiric pen in the Metropolis, perhaps there is none more
         abundant or prolific than that of Quackery. Dr. Johnson
         observes, that "cheats can seldom stand long against
         laughter." But if a judgment is really to be formed from
         existing facts, it may be supposed that times are so
         materially changed since the residence of that able writer
         in this sublunary sphere, that the reverse of the position
         may with greater propriety be asserted. For such is the
         prevailing practice of the present day, that, according to
         the opinion of thousands, there is nothing to be done
         without a vast deal more of profession and pretence than
         actual power, and he who is the best able to bear laughing
         at, is the most likely to realize the hopes he entertains of
         obtaining celebrity, and of having his labours crowned with
         success. Nothing can be more evident than this in the
         Medical profession, though there are successful Quacks of
         all kinds, and in all situations, to be found in London.
         This may truly be called the age of Quackery, from the
         abundance of impostors of every kind that prey upon society;
         and such as cannot or will not think for themselves, ought
         to be guarded in a publication of this nature, against the
         fraudulent acts of those persons who make it their business
         and profit to deteriorate the health, morals, and amusements
         of the public. But, in the present instance, we are speaking
         of the Medical Quack only, than which perhaps there is none
         more remarkable.

         The race of Bossys, Brodrums, Solomons, Perkins, Chamants,
         &c. is filled by others of equal notoriety, and no doubt of
         equal utility. The Cerfs, the Curries, the Lamerts, the
         Ruspinis, the Coopers, and Munroes, are all equally entitled
         to public approbation, particularly if we may credit the
         letters from the various persons who authenticate the
         miraculous cures they have performed in the most inveterate,
         we hail almost said, the most impossible, cases. If those
         persons are really in existence (and who can doubt it?) they
         certainly have occasion to be thankful for their escapes,
         and we congratulate them; for in our estimation Quack
         Doctors seem to consider the human frame merely as a subject
         for experiments, which if successful will secure the
         reputation of the practitioner. The acquisition of fame and
         fortune is, in the estimation of these philosophers, cheaply
         purchased by sacrificing the lives of a few of the vulgar,
         to whom they prescribe gratis; and the slavish obedience of
         some patients to the Doctor, is really astonishing. It is
         said that a convalescent at Bath wrote to his Physician in
         London, to know whether he might eat sauce with his pork;
         but we have not been able to discover whether he expected an
         answer gratis; that would perhaps have been an experiment
         not altogether grateful to the Doctor's feelings.

         The practice of advertising and billing the town has become
         so common, that a man scarcely opens a coal-shed, or a
         potatoe-stall, without giving due notice of it in the
         newspapers, and distributing hand-bills: and frequently with
         great success. But our Doctors, who make no show of their
         commodities, have no mode of making themselves known without
         it. Hence the quantity of bills thrust into the hand of the
         passenger through the streets of London, which divulge the
         almost incredible performances of their publishers. A high-
         sounding name, such as The Chevalier de diamant, the
         Chevalier de Ruspini, or The Medical Board, well bored behind
         and before, are perhaps more necessary, with a few paper
         puffs—as "palpable hits, my Lord," than either skill or
         practice, to obtain notice and secure fame.

         The Chevalier de Chamant, who was originally a box-maker,
         and a man of genius, considering box-making a plebeian
         occupation, was for deducing a logical position, not exactly
         perhaps by fair argument, but at all events through the
         teeth, and was determined, although he could not, like Dr.
         Pangloss, mend the cacology of his friends, at least to give
         them an opportunity for plenty of jaw-work. With this
         laudable object in view, he obtained a patent for making
         artificial teeth of mineral paste; and in his advertisements
         condescended not to prove their utility as substitutes for
         the real teeth, when decayed or wanting, (this was beneath
         his notice, and would have been a piece of mere plebeian
         Quackery unworthy of his great genius,) but absolutely
         assured the world that his mineral teeth were infinitely
         superior to any production of nature, both for mastication
         and beauty! How this was relished we know not; but he
         declared (and he certainly ought to know) that none but
         silly and timid persons would hesitate for one moment to
         have their teeth drawn, and substitute his minerals: and it
         is wonderful to relate, that although his charges were
         enormous, and the operation (as may be supposed) not the
         most pleasant, yet people could not resist the ingenious
         Chevalier's fascinating and drawing puffs; in consequence of
         which he soon became possessed of a large surplus of
         capital, with which he determined to speculate in the Funds.

         For this purpose he employed old Tom Bish, the Stockbroker,
         to purchase stock for the amount; but owing to a sudden
         fluctuation in the market, a considerable depreciation took
         place between the time of purchase and that of payment; a
         circumstance which made the Chevalier grin and show his
         teeth: Determining however, not to become a victim to the
         fangs of Bulls and Bears, but rather to dive like a duck, he
         declared the bargain was not legal, and that he would not be
         bound by it. Bish upon this occasion proved a hard-mouthed
         customer to the man of teeth, and was not a quiet subject to
         be drawn, but brought an action against the mineral monger,
         and recovered the debt. Tom's counsel, in stating the case,
         observed, that the Defendant would find the law could bite
         sharper aud hold tighter than any teeth he could make; and
         so it turned out.

         The Chevalier de R—sp—ni is another character who has cut
         no small figure in this line, but has recently made his
         appearance in the Gazette, not exactly on so happy an
         occasion as such a circumstance would be to his brother
         chip, Dr. D—n—ll, now (we suppose) Sir Francis—though
         perhaps equally entitled to the honour of knighthood. The
         Chevalier has for some years looked Royalty in the face by
         residing opposite Carlton House, and taken every precaution
         to let the public know that such an important public
         character was there to be found, by displaying his name as
         conspicuously as possible on brass plates, &c. so that the
         visitors to Carlton House could hardly fail to notice him as
         the second greatest Character of that great neighbourhood.
         But what could induce so great a man to sport his figure in
         the Gazette, is as unaccountable as the means by which he
         obtained such happy celebrity. Had it occurred immediately
         after the war, it might have been concluded without much
         stretch of imagination, that the Chevalier, who prides
         himself on his intimacy with all the great men of the day,
         had, through the friendship of the Duke of Wellington, made
         a contract for the teeth and jaw-bones of all who fell at
         the battle of Waterloo, and that by bringing to market so
         great a stock at one time, the article had fallen in value,
         and left the speculating Chevalier so great a loser as to
         cause his bankruptcy. Whether such is the real cause or not,
         it is difficult to ascertain what could induce the Chevalier
         to descend from his dealings with the head to dabble with
         lower commodities.

         Among other modes of obtaining notoriety, usually resorted
         to by Empirics, the Chevalier used to job a very genteel
         carriage and pair, but his management was so excellent, that
         the expenses of his equipage were very trifling; for as it
         was not intended to run, but merely to stand at the door
         like a barker at a broker's shop, or a direction-post, he
         had the loan on very moderate terms, the job-master taking
         into account that the wind of the cattle was not likely to
         be injured, or the wheels rattled to pieces by velocity, or
         smashed by any violent concussion.

         The Chevalier had a Son, who unfortunately was not endowed
         by nature with so much ambition or information as his
         father; for, frequently when the carriage has been standing
         at the door, he has been seen drinking gin most cordially
         with Coachee, without once thinking of the evils of example,
         or recollecting that he was one of the family. Papa used to
         be very angry on these occasions, because, as he said, it
         was letting people know that Coachee was only hired as &job,
         and not as a family domestic.

         For the great benefit and advantage of the community,
         Medical Boards have recently been announced in various parts
         of the Metropolis, where, according to the assertions of the
         Principals, in their advertisements, every disease incident
         to human nature is treated by men of skilful practice; and
         among these truly useful establishments, those of Drs.
         Cooper, Munro, and Co. of Charlotte house, Blackfriars, and
         Woodstock-house, Oxford-road, are not the least conspicuous.
         Who these worthies are, it   is   perhaps  difficult  to
         ascertain.      One   thing  however  is certain, that Sir
         F——s C——e D—n—ll, M.D. is announced as Treasurer,
         therefore there can be no doubt but that all is fair above
         board, for

              "Brutus is an honourable man,
              So are they all—all honourable men."

         And where so much skill derived from experience is
         exercised, it cannot be doubted but great and important
         benefits may result to a liberal and enlightened people. Of
         the establishment itself we are informed by a friend, that
         having occasion to call on the Treasurer, upon some
         business, the door was opened by a copper-coloured servant,
         a good-looking young Indian—not a fuscus Hydaspes, but a
         serving man of good appearance, who ushered him up stairs,
         and introduced him to the front room on the first floor,
         where all was quackery, bronze and brass, an electrical
         machine, images, pictures and diplomas framed and glazed,
         and a table covered with books and papers. In a short time,
         a person of very imposing appearance entered the room, with
         his hair profusely powdered, and his person, from his chin
         to his toes, enveloped in a sort of plaid roquelaure, who,
         apologizing for the absence of the Doctor, began to assure
         him of his being in the entire confidence of the Board, and
         in all probability would have proceeded to the operation of
         feeling the pulse in a very short time, had not the visitor
         discovered in the features of this disciple of Esculapius a
         person he had known in former times. 'Why, good God!'
         cried he, 'is that you?—What have you done with the Magic-
         lantern, and the Lecture on Heads?—am I right, or am I in
         fairy-land?' calling him by his name.    It was in vain to
         hesitate, it was impossible to escape, the discovery was
         complete. It was plain however that the dealer in magical
         delusions had not altogether given up the art of
         legerdemain, which, perhaps, he finds the most profitable of
         the two.

         Of the worthy Knight himself, (and perhaps the Coopers and
         Munros have been consumed by the electrical fluid of their
         own Board) much might be said. He is the inventor of a life-
         preserver, with which it may be fairly presumed he has
         effected valuable services to his country by the
         preservation of Royalty, as a proof of deserving the honour
         he has obtained. He is patriotic and independent, masonic
         and benevolent, a great admirer of fancy horses and fancy
         ladies, a curer of incurables, and has recently published
         one of the most extraordinary Memoirs that has ever been
         laid before the public, embellished with two portraits:
         which of the two is most interesting must be left to the
         discrimination of those who view them. It must however be
         acknowledged, that after reading the following extract,
         ingratitude is not yet eradicated from our nature, since,
         notwithstanding he has obtained the dignified appellation of
         Sir Francis, the Gazette says, that "in future no improper
         person shall be admitted to the honour of knighthood, in
         consequence of two surreptitious presentations lately"—the
         one an M.D. the other F.R.C. Surgeons, particularly if it
         were possible that this Gentleman may be one of the persons
         alluded to.    For, what says the Memoir?

         "The utility of Sir Francis's invention being thus fully
         established, and its ingenuity universally admired, it
         excited the interest of the first characters among the
         nobility, and an introduction to Court was repeatedly
         offered to Sir Francis on this account. After a previous
         communication with one of the Royal Family, and also with
         the Secretary of State, on the 14th June last, he had the
         honour of being presented to His Majesty, who, justly
         appreciating the merit of the discovery, was pleased to
         confer upon him the honour of knighthood.

         "Thus it is pleasing, in the distribution of honours by the
         hand of the Sovereign, to mark where they are conferred on
         real merit. This is the true intention of their origin; but
         it has been too often departed from, and they have been
         given where no other title existed than being the friend of
         those who had influence to gain the Royal ear.    From the
         above statement, it will be seen this honour was conferred
         on Sir Francis by his Majesty for an invention, which has
         saved since its discovery the lives of many hundreds, and
         which may be considered as having given the original idea to
         the similar inventions that have been attempted since that
         time. Its utility and importance we have also seen
         acknowledged and rewarded by the two leading Societies in
         this country, and perhaps in Europe, viz. the Royal Humane,
         and the Society of Arts. The Sovereign therefore was only
         recognizing merit which had been previously established; and
         the honour of knighthood, to the credit of the individual,
         was conferred by his Majesty in the most liberal and
         handsome manner, without any other influence being used by
         Sir Francis than simply preferring the claim."

         Thus the subject of Knighthood is to be nursed; and as the
         Doctor and the Nurse are generally to be recognized
         together, no one can read this part of the Memoir without
         exclaiming—Well done, Nussey. But why not Gazetted, after
         this liberal and hand-some manner of being rewarded? or why
         an allusion to two surreptitious presentations, the names of
         which two persons, so pointedly omitted, cannot well be
         misunderstood? This is but doing things by halves, though no
         such an observation can be applied to the proceedings of
         Charlotte-house, where Cooper, Munro, and Co. (being well
         explained) means two or three persons, viz. a black, a white
         man, and a mahogany-coloured Knight—a barber by trade, and
         a skinner by company—a dealer in mercurials—a puff by
         practice and an advertiser well versed in all the arts of
         his prototype—a practitioner in panygyric—the puff direct—
         the puff preliminary—the puff collateral—the puff
         collusive—and the puff oblique, or puff by implication.
         Whether this will apply to Sir Charles Althis or not, is
         perhaps not so easy to ascertain; but as birds of a feather
         like to flock together, so these medical Knights in
         misfortune deserve to be noticed in the same column,
         although the one is said to be a Shaver, and the other a
         Quaker. It seems they have both been moved by the same
         spirit, and both follow (a good way off) the profession of
         medicine.

         Among the various improvements of these improving times, for
         we are still improving, notwithstanding complaint, a learned
         little Devil, inflated with gas, has suggested a plan for
         the establishment of a Medical Assurance-office, where
         person and property might be insured at so much per annum,
         and the advantages to be derived from such an Institution
         would be, that instead of the insurance increasing with
         years, it would grow less and less. How many thousand
         grateful patients would it relieve annually! but we fear it
         would be a daily source of sorrow to these knightly
         medicals, and would by them be considered a devilish hard
         case.

But hush, here is other company, and I will give you an account of him as we go along."

They now attended the Keeper, who explained the age, height, weight, species, size, power, and propensities of the animal, and then departed on their road towards Temple Bar,—on passing through which, they were overtaken again by Sir Francis, in a gig drawn by a dun-coloured horse, with his puppy between his legs, and a servant by his side, and immediately renewed the previous conversation.

"There he goes again," said Sparkle, "and a rare fellow he is too."

"I should think so," said Bob; "he must have quacked to some good purpose, to obtain the honour of knighthood."

[108]"Not positively that," continued Sparkle; "for to obtain and to deserve are not synonymous, and, if report say true, there is not much honour attached to his obtaining it.

"——In the modesty of fearful duty,

              I read as much as from the rattling tongue
              Of saucy and audacious eloquence:
              Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
              At least speak most to my capacity."

And, according to my humble conception, he who talks much about himself, or pays others to talk or write about him, is generally most likely to be least deserving of public patronage; for if a man possesses real and evident abilities in any line of profession, the public will not be long in making a discovery of its existence, and the bounty, as is most usually the case, would quickly follow upon the heels of approbation. But many a meritorious man in the Metropolis is pining away his miserable existence, too proud to beg, and too honest to steal, while others, with scarcely more brains than a sparrow, by persevering in a determination to leave no stone unturned to make themselves appear ridiculous, as a first step to popularity; and having once excited attention, even though it is merely to be laughed at by the thinking part of mankind, he finds it no great difficulty to draw the money out of their pockets while their eyes are riveted on a contemplation of his person or conduct. And there are not wanting instances of effrontery that have elevated men of little or no capacity to dignified situations. If report say true, the present Secretary of the Admiralty, who is admirable for his poetry also, was originally a hair-dresser, residing somewhere in Blackfriar's or Westminster-road; but then you must recollect he was a man who knew it was useless to lose a single opportunity; and probably such has been the case with Sir Daniel Harlequin, who, from keeping a small shop in Wapping, making a blaze upon the water about his Life-preserver, marrying a wife with a red face and a full pocket, retired to a small cottage at Mile End, and afterwards establishing a Medical Board, has got himself dubbed a Knight. To be sure he has had a deal of puffing and blowing work to get through in his progress, which probably accounts for his black looks, not a little increased by the quantity of powder he wears. But what have we here?" finding the bustle of the streets considerably increased after passing Temple Bar.

"Some political Bookseller or other, in all probability," said Tom—"I'll step forward and see." And in passing through the numerous body of persons that crowded on every side, the whole party was separated. Bob, who had hung a little back while his two friends rushed forward, was lingering near the corner of the Temple: he was beckoned by a man across the way, to whom he immediately went.

"Do you happen to want a piece of fine India silk handkerchiefs, Sir? I have some in my pocket that I can recommend and sell cheap—for money must be had; but only keep it to yourself, because they are smuggled goods, of the best quality and richest pattern." During this opening speech, he was endeavouring to draw Tallyho under the archway of Bell-yard, when Sparkle espying him, ran across to him, and taking him by the arm—"Come along (said he;) and if you don't take yourself off instantly, I'll put you in custody," shaking his stick at the other.

All this was like Hebrew to Bob, who, for his part, really conceived the poor fellow, as he termed him, might be in want of money, and compelled to dispose of his article for subsistence.

"Ha, ha, ha," cried Sparkle, "I see you know nothing about them: these are the locusts of the town." At this moment they were joined by the Hon. Tom Dashall.

"Egad!" continued Sparkle, "I just saved your Cousin from being trepanned, and sent for a soldier."

Tallyho appeared all amazement.

"What," cried Tom, "in the wars of Venus then, I suppose I know he has a fancy for astronomy, and probably he was desirous of taking a peep into Shire-lane, where he might easily find the Sun, Moon, and Seven Stars."

"Ha! ha! ha!" replied Sparkle, "not exactly so; but I rescued him from the hands of a Buffer,{1} who would

         1 Buffers miscalled Duffers—Persons who adopt a species of
         swindling which is rather difficult of detection, though it
         is daily practised in London. The term Buffer takes its
         derivation from a custom which at one time prevailed of
         carrying Bandanas, sarsnets, French stockings, and silk of
         various kinds, next the shirts of the sellers; so that upon
         making a sale, they were obliged to undress in order to come
         at the goods, or in other words, to strip to the skin, or
         buff it; by which means they obtained the title of Buffers.
         This trade (if it may be so termed) is carried on in a
         genteel manner. The parties go about from house to house,
         and attend public-houses, inns, and fairs, pretending to
         sell smuggled goods, such as those already mentioned; and by
         offering their goods for sale, they are enabled by practice
         to discover the proper objects for their arts.

         Buffers, or Duffers, who are not rogues in the strict sense
         of the word, only offer to sell their goods to the best
         advantage, and by this means evade the detection of the
         police, but are equally subversive or destructive of common
         honesty under a cloak or disguise; for if they can persuade
         any person that the article offered is actually better or
         cheaper than any other person's, they are doing no more than
         every tradesman does; but then as they pay no rent or taxes
         to the State, the principal objection to them lies in the
         mode of operation, and an overstrained recommendation of
         their goods, which are always, according to their account,
         of the most superior quality; and they have a peculiar
         facility of discovering the novice or the silly, to whom
         walking up with a serious countenance and interesting air,
         they broach the pleasing intelligence, that they have on
         sale an excellent article well worth their attention, giving
         a caution at the same time, that honour and secrecy must be
         implicitly observed, or it may lead to unpleasantness to
         both parties. By these means persons from the country are
         frequently enticed into public-houses to look at their
         goods; and if they do not succeed in one way, they are
         almost sure in another, by having an accomplice, who will
         not fail to praise the articles for sale, and propose some
         gambling scheme, by which the party is plundered of his
         money by passing forged Bank-notes, base silver or copper,
         in the course of their dealings.

[110]doubtless have fleeced him in good style, if he could only have induced him to attend to his story."

"The mob you see collected there," said the Hon. Tom Dashalll, "is attracted by two circumstances—Money's new Coronation Crop, just lanched—and a broken image of a Highlander, at the door of a snuff-shop; each of them truly important and interesting of course, the elevation of one man, and the destruction of another. The poor Scotchman seems dreadfully bruised, and I suppose is now under the Doctor's hands, for he has two or three plasters on his face."

"Yes," continued Sparkle, "he has been out on a spree,{1} had a bit of a turn-up, and been knock'd down."

Upon hearing this conversation, Tallyho could not help inquiring into the particulars.

"Why the facts are simply as follows," continued

         1 Spree—A bit of fun, or a frolicsome lark.

[111]Sparkle—"in London, as you perceive, tradesmen are in the habit of exhibiting signs of the business or profession in which they are engaged. The Pawnbroker decorates his door with three gold balls—the Barber, in some places, (though it is a practice almost out of date) hangs out a long pole—the Gold-beater, an arm with a hammer in the act of striking—the Chemist, a head of Glauber, or Esculapius—the Tobacconist, a roll of tobacco, and of late it has become customary for these venders of pulverised atoms called snuff, to station a wooden figure of a Highlander, in the act of taking a pinch of Hardham's, or High-dried, as a sort of inviting introduction to their counters; and a few nights back, a Scotchman, returning from his enjoyments at a neighbouring tavern, stopped to have a little friendly chat with this gentleman's Highlander, and by some means or other, I suppose, a quarrel ensued, upon which the animated young Scotchman took advantage of his countryman—floored him, broke both his arms, and otherwise did him considerable bodily injury, the effects of which are still visible; and Johnny Bull, who is fond of a little gape-seed, is endeavouring to console him under his sufferings."

"Very kind of him, indeed," replied Bob.

"At any rate," said Tom, "the Tobacconist will have occasion to be grateful to the Highlander{1} for some portion of his popularity."

         1 It is matter of astonishment to some, but not less true,
         that many tradesmen in the Metropolis have to ascribe both
         fame and fortune to adventitious circumstances. It is said
         that Hardham, of Fleet Street, had to thank the celebrated
         Comedian, Foote, who, in one of his popular characters,
         introducing his snuffbox, offered a pinch to the person he
         was in conversation with on the stage, who spoke well of it,
         and inquired where he obtained it?—"Why, at Hardham's, to
         be sure." And to this apparently trifling circumstance,
         Hardham was indebted for his fortune.

         The importance of a Highlander to a snuff-shop will appear
         by a perusal of the following fact:—

         A very respectable young man, a Clerk in the office of an
         eminent Solicitor, was recently brought before Mr. Alderman
         Atkins, upon the charge of being disorderly. The prisoner,
         it seemed, on his return home from a social party, where he
         had been sacrificing rather too freely to the jolly god, was
         struck with the appearance of a showy wooden figure of a
         Highlander, at the door of Mr. Micklan's snuff-shop, No. 12,
         Fleet Street. The young Attorney, who is himself a
         Scotchman, must needs claim acquaintance with his
         countryman. He chucked him familiarly under the chin, called
         him a very pretty fellow, and,  in the vehemence of his
         affection, embraced him with so much violence, as to force
         him from his station. Mr. Micklan ran to the assistance of
         his servant, and in the scuffle the unfortunate Highlander
         had both his arms dislocated, the frill that adorned his
         neck damaged, besides other personal injuries, which his
         living countryman not being in the humour to atone for, Mr.
         Micklau gave him in charge to the watchman. Before the
         Magistrate in the morning, the young man appeared heartily
         sick of his folly, and perfectly willing to make every
         reparation, but complained of the excessive demand, which he
         stated to be no less than thirteen guineas. Mr. Micklan
         produced the remains of the unfortunate Highlander, who
         excited a compound fracture of both arms, with a mutilation
         of three or four fingers, and such other bodily wounds, as
         to render his perfect recovery, so as to resume his
         functions at Mr. Micklan's door, altogether hopeless. The
         Highlander, the complainant stated, cost him thirteen
         guineas, and was entirely new. The sum might seem large for
         the young gentleman to pay for such a frolic, but it would
         not compensate him for the injury he should sustain by the
         absence of the figure; for, however strange it might appear,
         he did not hesitate to say, that without it he should not
         have more than half his business. Since he had stationed it
         at his door, he had taken on an average thirty shillings a
         day more than he had done previous to exhibiting his
         attractions.

         There being no proof of a breach of the peace, Mr. Alderman
         Atkins advised the gentleman to settle the matter upon the
         best terms he could. They withdrew together, and on their
         return the complainant reported that the gentleman had
         agreed to take the figure, and furnish him with a new one.

         Mr. Alderman Atkins, in discharging the prisoner,
         recommended to him to get the figure repaired, and make a
         niche for him in his office, where, by using it as a proper
         memorial, it would probably save him more than it cost him.

         The broken figure has since been exhibited in his old
         station, and excited considerable notice; but we apprehend
         he is not yet able to afford all the attractions of his
         occupation, for he has formerly been seen inviting his
         friends to a pinch of snuff gratis, by holding a box
         actually containing that recreating powder in his hand, in
         the most obliging and condescending manner—a mark of
         politeness and good breeding well worthy of respectful
         attention.

"Come," said Sparkle, "we are now in one of the principal thoroughfares of the Metropolis, Fleet Street, of which you have already heard much, and is at all times thronged with multitudes of active and industrious persons, in pursuit of their various avocations, like a hive of bees, and keeping up, like them, a ceaseless hum. Nor is it less a scene of Real Life worth viewing, than the more refined haunts of the noble, the rich, and the great, many of whom leave their splendid habitations in the West in the morning, to attend the money-getting, [113]commercial men of the City, and transact their business.—The dashing young spendthrift, to borrow at any interest; and the more prudent, to buy or to sell. The plodding tradesman, the ingenious mechanic, are exhausting their time in endeavours to realize property, perhaps to be left for the benefit of a Son, who as ardently sets about, after his Father's decease, to get rid of it—nay, perhaps, pants for an opportunity of doing this before he can take possession; for the young Citizen, having lived just long enough to conceive himself superior to his father, in violation of filial duty and natural authority, affects an aversion to every thing that is not novel, expensive, and singular. He is a lad of high spirit; he calls the city a poor dull prison, in which he cannot bear to be confined; and though he may not intend to mount his nag, stiffens his cravat, whistles a sonata, to which his whip applied to the boot forms an accompaniment; while his spurs wage war with the flounces of a fashionably-dressed belle, or come occasionally in painful contact with the full-stretched stockings of a gouty old gentleman; by all which he fancies he is keeping" up the dignity and importance of his character. He does not slip the white kid glove from his hand without convincing the spectator that; his hand is the whiter skin; nor twist his fingers for the introduction of a pinch of Maccaba, without displaying to the best advantage his beautifully chased ring and elegantly painted snuff-box lid; nor can the hour of the day be ascertained without discovering his engine-turned repeater, and hearing its fascinating music: then the fanciful chain, the precious stones in golden robes, and last of all, the family pride described in true heraldic taste and naïveté. Of Peter Pindar's opinion, that

              "Care to our coffin adds a nail,
              But every grin so merry draws one out,"

he thinks it an admirable piece of politeness and true breeding to give correct specimens of the turkey or the goose in the serious scenes of a dramatic representation, or while witnessing her Ladyship's confusion in a crowd of carriages combating for precedence in order to obtain an early appearance at Court. Reading he considers quite a bore, but attends the reading-room, which he enters, not to know what is worth reading and add a little knowledge to his slender stock from the labours and experience of [114]men of letters—no, but to quiz the cognoscenti, and throw the incense over its learned atmosphere from his strongly perfumed cambric handkerchief, which also implies what is most in use for the indulgence of one of the five senses. When he enters a coffee-room, it is not for the purpose of meeting an old friend, and to enjoy with him a little rational conversation over his viands, but to ask for every newspaper, and throw them aside without looking at them—to call the Waiter loudly by his name, and shew his authority—to contradict an unknown speaker who is in debate with others, and declare, upon the honour of a gentleman and the veracity of a scholar, that Pope never understood Greek, nor translated Homer with tolerable justice. He considers it a high privilege to meet a celebrated pugilist at an appointed place, to floor him for a quid,{1} a fall, and a high delight to talk of it afterwards for the edification of his friends—to pick up a Cyprian at mid-day—to stare modest women out of countenance—to bluster at a hackney-coachman—or to upset a waterman in the river, in order to gain the fame of a Leander, and prove himself a Hero.

"He rejects all his father's proposed arrangements for his domestic comforts and matrimonial alliance. He wanders in his own capricious fancy, like a fly in summer, over the fields of feminine beauty and loveliness; yet he declares there is so much versatility and instability about the fair sex, that they are unworthy his professions of regard; and, perhaps, in his whole composition, there is nothing deserving of serious notice but his good-nature. Thus you have a short sketch of a young Citizen."

"Upon my word, friend Sparkle, you are an admirable delineator of Society," said Dashall.

"My drawings are made from nature," continued Sparkle.

"Aye, and very naturally executed too," replied Tom. Having kept walking on towards St. Paul's, they were by this time near the end of Shoe Lane, at the corner of which sat an elderly woman with a basket of mackerel for sale; and as they approached they saw several persons rush from thence into the main street in evident alarm.

"Come up, d——n your eyes," said an ill-favoured fellow with an immense cudgel in his fist, driving an ass laden

         1 Quid—A. Guinea.

[115]with brick-dust, with which he was belabouring him most unmercifully. The poor beast, with an endeavour to escape if possible the cudgelling which awaited him, made a sudden turn round the post, rubbing his side against it as he went along, and thereby relieving himself of his load, which he safely deposited, with a cloud of brick-dust that almost blinded the old woman and those who were near her, in the basket of fish. Neddy then made the best of his way towards Fleet-market, and an over-drove bullock, which had terrified many persons, issued almost at the same moment from Shoe Lane, and took the direction for Temple-bar. The whistling, the hooting, the hallooing, and the running of the drovers in pursuit—men, women, and children, scampering to get out of the way of the infuriated beast—the noise and rattling of carriages, the lamentations of the poor fish-fag, and the vociferations of the donkey-driver to recover his neddy—together with a combination of undistinguishable sounds from a variety of voices, crying their articles for sale, or announcing their several occupations—formed a contrast of characters, situations, and circumstances, not easily to be described. Here, a poor half-starved and almost frightened-to-death brat of a Chimney-sweeper, in haste to escape, had run against a lady whose garments were as white as snow—there, a Barber had run against a Parson, and falling along with him, had dropped a pot of pomatum from his apron-pocket on the reverend gentleman's eye, and left a mark in perfect unison with the colour of his garments before the disaster, but which were now of a piebald nature, neither black nor white. A barrow of nuts, overturned in one place, afforded fine amusement for the scrambling boys and girls—a Jew old clothes-man swore upon his conscience he had losht the pest pargain vhat he ever had offered to him in all his lifetime, by dem tam'd bears of bull-drivers—a Sailor called him a gallows half-hung ould crimp,{1} d——d his

         1 Crimp—Kidnappers, Trappers, or Procurers of men for the
         Merchant Service; and the East-India company contract with
         them for a supply of sailors to navigate their ships out and
         home. These are for the most part Jews, who have made
         advances to the sailors of money, clothes, victuals, and
         lodgings, generally to a very small amount, taking care to
         charge an enormous price for every article. The poor
         fellows, by these means, are placed under a sort of
         espionage, if not close confinement, till the ship is ready
         to receive them; and then they are conducted on board at
         Gravesend by the Crimp and his assistants, and  a receipt
         taken  for them.

         In this process there is nothing very reprehensible—the men
         want births, and have no money—the Crimp keeps a lodging-
         house, and wishes to be certain of his man: he therefore
         takes him into the house, and after a very small supply of
         cash, the grand do, is to persuade him to buy watches,
         buckles, hats, and jackets, to be paid for on his receiving
         his advance previous to sailing. By this means and the
         introduction of grog, the most barefaced and unblushing
         robberies have been committed.

         With the same view of fleecing the unwary poor fellows, who

              "... at sea earn their money like horses,
              To squander it idly like asses on shore,"

         they watch their arrival after the voyage, and advance small
         sums of money upon their tickets, or perhaps buy them out
         and out, getting rid at the same time of watches, jewellery,
         and such stuff, at more than treble their real value. Not
         only is this the case in London, but at all the out-ports it
         is practised to a very great extent, particularly in war
         time.

         Happy would it be for poor Jack were this all; he is some-
         times brought in indebted to the Crimp to a large nominal
         amount, by what is called a long-shore attorney, or more
         appropriately, a black shark, and thrown into jail!!! There
         he lies until his body is wanted, and then the incarcerator
         négociâtes with him for his liberty, to be permitted to
         enter on board again.

[116]eyes if he was not glad of it, and, with a sling of his arm, deposited an enormous quid he had in his mouth directly in the chaps of the Israelite, then joined the throng in pursuit; while the Jew, endeavouring to call Stop thief, took more of the second-hand quid than agreed with the delicacy of his stomach, and commenced a vomit, ejaculating with woful lamentations, that he had lost his bag mit all his propertish.

The old mackarel-woman, seeing her fish covered with brick-dust, set off in pursuit of the limping donkey-driver, and catching him by the neck, swore he should pay her for the fish, and brought him back to the scene of action; but, in the mean time, the Street-keeper had seized and carried off the basket with all its contents—misfortune upon misfortune!

"D——n your ass, and you too," said the Fish-woman, "if you doesn't pay me for my fish, I'll quod{1} you—that there's all vat I ar got to say."

"Here's a bit of b——dy gammon—don't you see as how I am lost both my ass and his cargo, and if you von't leave

         1 Quod—A Jail—to quod a person is to send him to jail.

[117]me alone, and give me my bags again, I'll sarve you out—there now, that's all—bl——st me! fair play's a jewel—let go my hair, and don't kick up no rows about it—see vhat a mob you're a making here—can't you sell your mackarel ready sauced, and let me go ater Neddy?"

"Vhat, you thinks you are a flat-catching,{1} do you, Limping Billy—but eh, who has run away with my basket offish?"

"Ha, ha, ha," cried Limping Billy, bursting into a horse-laugh at the additional distress of the old woman, in which he was joined by many of the surrounding spectators; and which so enraged her, that she let go her hold, and bursting through the crowd with an irresistible strength, increased almost to the fury of madness by her additional loss, she ran some paces distance in search of, not only her stock in trade, but her shop, shop-board, and working-tools; while the donkey-driver boisterously vociferated after her—"Here they are six a shilling, live mackarel O."

This taunt of the brick-dust merchant was too much to be borne, and brought her back again with a determination to chastise him, which she did in a summary way, by knocking him backwards into the kennel. Billy was not pleased at this unexpected salute, called her a drunken ——, and endeavoured to get out of her way—"for," said he, "I know she is a b——dy rum customer when she gets lushy."{2} At this moment, a sturdy youth, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, was seen at a short distance riding the runaway-ass back again. Billy perceiving this, became a little more reconciled to his rough usage—swore he never would strike a voman, so help him G——d, for that he was a man every inch of him; and as for Mother Mapps, he'd be d——nd-if he vouldn't treat her with all the pleasure of life; and now he had got his own ass, he vould go along with her for to find her mackarel. Then shaking a cloud of brick-dust from the dry parts of his apparel, with sundry portions of mud from those parts which had most easily reached the kennel, he took the bridle of his donkey, and bidding her come along, they toddled{3} together to a gin-shop in Shoe Lane.

         1 Flat-catching—Is an expression of very common use, and
         seems almost to explain itself, being the act of taking
         advantage of any person who appears ignorant and
         unsuspicious.

         2 Lushy—Drunk.

         3  Toddle—To toddle is to walk slowly, either from
         infirmity or choice—"Come, let us toddle," is a very
         familiar phrase, signifying let us be going.

[118]Desirous of seeing an end to this bit of gig—"Come along," said Sparkle, "they'll all be in prime twig presently, and we shall have some fun.

              "I'm the boy for a bit of a bobbery,
              Nabbing a lantern, or milling a pane;
              A jolly good lark is not murder or robbery,
              Let us be ready and nimble."

Hark, (said he) there's a fiddle-scraper in the house—here goes;" and immediately they entered.

They had no occasion to repent of their movements; for in one corner of the tap-room sat Billy Waters, a well-known character about town, a Black Man with a wooden leg was fiddling to a Slaughterman from Fleet-market, in wooden shoes, who, deck'd with all the paraphernalia of his occupation, a greasy jacket and night-cap, an apron besmeared with mud, blood, and grease, nearly an inch thick, and a leathern girdle, from which was suspended a case to hold his knives, and his sleeves tuck'd up as if he had but just left the slaughter-house, was dancing in the centre to the infinite amusement of the company, which consisted of an old woman with periwinkles and crabs for sale in a basket—a porter with his knot upon the table—a dustman with his broad-flapped hat, and his bell by his side—an Irish hodman—and two poor girls, who appeared to be greatly taken with the black fiddler, whose head was decorated with an oil-skinned cock'd hat, and a profusion of many coloured feathers: on the other side of the room sat a young man of shabby-genteel appearance, reading the newspaper with close attention, and purring forth volumes of smoke. Limping Billy and Mother Mapps were immediately known, and room was made for their accommodation, while the fiddler's elbow and the slaughterman's wooden shoes were kept in motion.

Max{l} was the order of the day, and the sluicery{2} in good request. Mother Mapps was made easy by being informed the Street-keeper had her valuables in charge, which Limping Billy promised he would redeem. "Bring us a

         1 Max—A very common term for gin.

         2 Sluicery—A gin-shop or public-house: so denominated from
         the lower orders of society sluicing their throats as it
         were with gin, and probably derived from the old song
         entitled "The Christening of Little Joey,"   formerly sung
         by Jemmy Dodd, of facetious memory.

              "And when they had sluiced their gobs
              With striving to excel wit,
              The lads began to hang their nobs,*

              * Nobs—Heads.

              ** Frows—Originally a Dutch word, meaning wives, or girls.

              *** Velvet—The tongue.

[119]noggin of white tape,{1} and fill me a pipe," said he—"d——n my eyes, I knowed as how it vou'd be all right enough, I never gets in no rows whatever without getting myself out again—come, ould chap,{2} vet your vistle, and tip it us rum—go it my kiddy, that are's just vat I likes."

"Vat's the reason I an't to have a pipe?" said Mother Mapps.

"Lord bless your heart," said the Donkey-driver, "if I did'nt forget you, never trust me—here, Landlord, a pipe for this here Lady."

"Which way did the bull run?" said the Irishman.

"Bl——st me if I know," replied Limping Billy, "for I was a looking out for my own ass—let's have the Sprig of Shelalah, ould Blackymoor—come, tune up."

The old woman being supplied with a pipe, and the fiddler having rosined his nerves with a glass of blue ruin{3} to it they went, some singing, some whistling, and others drumming with their hands upon the table; while Tom, Bob, and Sparkle, taking a seat at the other side of the room, ordered a glass of brandy and water each, and enjoyed the merriment of the scene before them, perhaps more than those actually engaged in it. Bob was alive to every movement and every character, for it was new, and truly interesting: and kept growing more so, for in a few minutes Limping Billy and Mother Mapps joined the Slaughterman in the dance, when nothing could be more grotesque and amusing. Their pipes in their mouths—clapping of hands and snapping of fingers, formed a curious accompaniment to the squeaking of the fiddle—the broad grin of the Dustman, and the preposterous laugh of the

         1 White Tape—Also a common term for gin, particularly among
         the Ladies.

         2 Ould Chap, or Ould Boy—Familiar terms of address among
         flash lads, being a sort of contraction of old acquaintance,
         or old friend.

         3 Blue Ruin—Gin.

[120]Irishman at the reelers in the centre, heightened the picture—more gin—more music, and more tobacco, soon ad a visible effect upon the party, and reeling became unavoidable. The young man reading the paper, found it impossible to understand what he was perusing, and having finished his pipe and his pint, made his exit, appearing to have no relish for the entertainment, and perhaps heartily cursing both the cause and the effect. Still, however, the party was not reduced in number, for as one went out another came in.

This new customer was a young-looking man, bearing a large board on a high pole, announcing the residence of a Bug-destroyer in the Strand. His appearance was grotesque in the extreme, and could only be equalled by the eccentricities of his manners and conversation. He was dressed in a brown coat, close buttoned, over which he had a red camlet or stuff surtout, apparently the off-cast of some theatrical performer, but with a determination to appear fashionable; for

              "Folks might as well be dead—nay buried too,
              As not to dress and act as others do."

He wore mustachios, a pair of green spectacles, and his whole figure was surmounted with a fur-cap. Taking a seat directly opposite our party at the same table—"Bring me a pint," said he; and then deliberately searching his pockets, he produced a short pipe and some tobacco, with which he filled it—"You see," said he, "I am obliged to smoke according to the Doctor's orders, for an asthma—so I always smokes three pipes a day, that's my allowance; but I can eat more than any man in the room, and can dance, sing, and act—nothing conies amiss to me, all the players takes their characters from me."

After this introduction—"You are a clever fellow, I'll be bound for it," said Dashall.

"O yes, I acts Richard the Third sometimes—sometimes Macbeth and Tom Thumb. I have played before Mr. Kean: then I acted Richard the Third—'Give me a horse! '—(starting into the middle of the room)—'no, stop, not so—let me see, let me see, how is it?—ah, this is the way—Give me a horse—Oh! Oh! Oh!—then you know I dies."—And down he fell on the floor, which created a general roar of laughter; while Billy Waters [121]struck up, "See the conquering Hero conies!" to the inexpressible delight of all around him—their feet and hands all going at the same time.

Mother Mapps dropp'd her pipe, and d——d the weed, it made her sick, she said.

Limping Billy was also evidently in queer-street.

"Come," said Sparkle, "won't you have a drop more?"

"Thank ye, Sir," was the reply; and Sparkle, intent upon having his gig out, ordered a fresh supply, which soon revived the fallen hero of Bosworth-field, and Richard was himself again.

"Now," said he, "I'll sing you a song," and immediately commenced as follows:—

             "My name's Hookey Walker, I'm known very well,
             In acting and eating I others excel;
             The player-folks all take their patterns from me,
             And a nice pattern too!—Don't you see? don't you see?
             Oh! [glancing at his fingers] It will do—it will do.

             At Chippenham born, I was left quite forlorn,
             When my father was dead and my mother was gone;
             So I came up to London, a nice little he,
             And a nice pattern too!—Don't you see? don't you see?
             Oh! it will do—it will do.

             A courting I went to a girl in our court,
             She laugh'd at my figure, and made me her sport;
             I was cut to the soul,—so said I on my knee,
             I'm a victim of love!—Don't you see? don't you see?
             Oh! it won't do—it won't do.

             Now all day I march to and fro in the street,
             And a candle sometimes on my journey I eat;
             So I'll set you a pattern, if you'll but agree,
             And a nice pattern too! you shall see—you shall see.
             Oh! it will do—it will do."

This Song, which he declared was all made out of his own head, was sung with grotesque action and ridiculous grimace, intended no doubt in imitation of Mr. Wilkinson in his inimitable performance of this strange piece of whimsicality. The dancing party was knock'd up and were lobbing their lollys,{1} half asleep and half awake, on the table, bowing as it were to the magnanimous influence

         1 Lobbing their lollys—Laying their heads.

[122]of Old Tom.{1} The Dustman and the Irishman laugh'd heartily; and Das hall, Tallyho, and Sparkle, could not resist the impulse to risibility when they contemplated the group before them. The Bug-destroyer munched{2} a candle and sluiced{3} his greasy chops{4} with Jacky{5} almost as fast as they could supply him with it, when Sparkle perceiving the boy was still at the door with the runaway ass,

"Come," said he, "we'll start 'em off home in high style—here, you Mr. Bugman, can you ride?"

"Ride, aye to be sure I can, any of Mr. Astley's horses as well as the Champion of England,"{6} was the reply.

         1  Old Tom—It is customary in public-houses and gin-shops
         in London and its vicinity to exhibit a cask inscribed with
         large letters—OLD TOM, intended to indicate the best gin in
         the house.

         2 Munched—Eat.

         3 Sluiced—Washed.    See Sluicery.

         4  Chops—The mouth.

         5 Jacky—A vulgar term for gin.

         6 Any person would almost suspect that Hookey had been
         reading the newspapers by this allusion; but that certainly
         could not be the case, for, spurning all education in early
         life, this representative of the immortal bard—this
         character of characters from Shakespeare, could neither read
         nor write, but made all he acted, as he said, from his own
         head: however, it may fairly be presumed, that in the course
         of his travels during the day he had heard something of the
         Champion intended to appear at the approaching Coronation,
         of whom the following account has recently been circulated
         through the daily press, and, with his usual consistency,
         conceived his own innate abilities equal to those which
         might be acquired by Mr. Dymocke, though his claims were not
         equally honourable or advantageous.

         Mr. Dymocke, the nephew of the gentleman (who is a
         Clergyman) entitled by hereditary right to do the service of
         the Champion to his Majesty, is still in hopes he may be
         permitted to act under his Uncle's nomination, although he
         wants a few months of being of age. A petition is before the
         King on the subject; and Mr. Dymocke, by constant practice
         at Astley's Hiding-school, is endeavouring to qualify
         himself for the due fulfilment of the office. On Thursday
         lie went through his exercise in a heavy suit of armour with
         great celerity. The horse which will be rode by the Champion
         has been selected from Mr. Astley's troop. It is a fine
         animal, pieballed black and white, and is regularly
         exercised in the part he will have to perform.

"Walk in—walk in, Ladies and Gentlemen, just going to begin—come, Mr. Merryman, all ready—Ladies and Gentlemen, please to observe, this here horse is not that there horse."

"So we laugh at John Bull a little."

[123]"Come, then," continued Sparkle, "another glass—half-a-crown to ride to the bottom of the lane and up Holboru-hill on that donkey at the door, and you shall be our Champion."

"A bargain—a bargain," said the assumed Hookey Walker, rubbing the tallow from his gills.{1}

"Here goes then," said Sparkle; then slipping half-a-crown into the boy's hand, desiring him to run as far as the Traveller-office, in Fleet-street, and get him a newspaper, promising to take care of his ass till his return. The lad nibbled the bait, and was off in a pig's whisper{2} Sparkle called to Tom and Bob, and putting them up to his scheme, Hookey was quickly mounted, while Dashall and his Cousin, assisted by the Hibernian and Dust-ho, succeeded in getting Mother Mapps out, who was placed in the front of the Champion, astride, with her face towards him and Limping Billy, who though beat to a stand still,{3} was after some difficulty lifted up behind. Hookey was then supplied with his board, the pole of which he placed on his foot, in the manner of a spear or lance. Then giving the Irishman and the Dustman some silver, to act as Supporters or Esquires, one on each side, they proceeded along Shoe-lane, preceded by Billy Waters flourishing his wooden-leg and feathers, and fiddling as he went—the Irishman roaring out with Stentorian lungs,

              "Sure won't you hear
              What roaring cheer
              Was spread at Paddy's wedding O,
              And how so gay
              They spent the day,
              From the churching to the bedding O.
              First book in hand came Father Quipes,
              With the Bride's dadda, the Bailey O,
              While all the way to church the pipes
              Struck up a jilt so gaily O.

"Kim ap—be after sitting fast in the front there, old Mapps, or you'll make a mud-lark of yourself." The Dustman rang his bell; and thus accompanied with an immense assemblage of boys, girls, men, women, and

         1 Gills—The mouth.

         2 Pig's Whisper—A very common term for speed.

         3 Beat to a dead stand still—Means completely unable to
         assist himself.

[124]children, collected from all the courts and alleys in the neighbourhood, joining in a chorus of shouts that rent the air, poor Balaam continued to bear his load; while our party, after watching them till nearly out of sight, passed down Harp-alley into Fleet-market," and turning to the right, very soon regained Fleet-Street, laughing heartily at the bull's cookery of mackarel buttered with brick-dust, and very well satisfied with their spree.

Engaged in conversation upon this adventure, they found nothing of interest' or amusement to attract their notice till they arrived at the warehouse of the London Genuine Tea Company, except merely remarking the grand appearance of St. Paul's, from that situation.

"Genuine tea" said Bob; "what can that mean—Is tea any thing but tea?"

"To be sure it is," said Sparkle, "or has been—anything but tea,"{l} strongly marking the latter part of the

         1 Tea and Coffee—The adulteration of articles of human food
         is a practice of the most nefarious description, and cannot
         be too strongly deprecated, although it has been carried to
         an alarming extent. There is scarcely an article of ordinary
         consumption but has been unlawfully adulterated, and in many
         cases rendered injurious by the infamous and fraudulent
         practice of interested persons. Bread, which is considered
         to be the staff of life, and beer and ale the universal
         beverage of the people of this country, are known to be
         frequently mixed with drugs of the most pernicious quality.
         Gin, that favourite and heart-inspiring cordial of the lower
         orders of society, that it may have the grip, or the
         appearance of being particularly strong, is frequently
         adulterated with the decoction of long pepper, or a small
         quantity of aqua-fortis, a deadly poison. Sugar has been
         known to be mixed with sand; and tobacco, for the public-
         houses, undergoes a process for making it strong and
         intoxicating; but the recent discovery of the nefarious
         practice of adulterating tea and coffee, articles of the
         most universal and extensive consumption, deserves
         particular reprehension.

         Tea has been adulterated by the introduction of dried sloe
         leaves; the practice is not very new, but its extensive
         adoption, and the deleterious properties ascribed to them by
         physicians, have been, at length, successfully exposed by
         the conviction of many of the venders, so, it is hoped, as
         to prevent a repetition of the crime. The sloe leaf, though
         a spurious commodity when sold as tea, might afford a
         harmless vegetable infusion, and be recommended to the poor
         and frugal as a cheap succedaneum for the Chinese vegetable.
         The establishment of the Genuine Tea Company on Ludgate-hill
         originated in the recent discoveries, promising to sell
         nothing but the Unadulterated Tea, and it is sincerely to be
         hoped has done some good.

[125]sentence as he spoke it: "horse-beans have been converted to coffee, and sloe-leaves have been transformed into tea; hog's lard has been manufactured for butter; an ingenious gentleman wishes to persuade us Periwinkles{1} are young Lobsters; and another has proposed to extract sugar, and some say brandy, out of pea-shells! London is the mart for inventions and discoveries of all kinds, and every one of its inhabitants appears to have studied something of the art of Legerdemain, to catch the eye and deceive the senses."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Bob.

"Not more wonderful than true," continued Sparkle; "invention is always on the stretch in London. Here we have cast-iron Bridges{2}—a cast-iron Sugar-house—

         1 Sparkle appears to have been rather sceptical on the
         subject of Periwinkles being young Lobsters, though the
         opinion is not very new. A gentleman, whose indefatigable
         research appears to be deserving of encouragement and
         support, has recently issued the following advertisement,
         inviting the curious and the learned to inspect the result
         of his discoveries, which seems, at least, to warrant
         something more than conjecture.

         "J. Cleghorne having in his possession some specimens which
         prove, in his opinion, a circumstance before suggested, but
         treated by the scientific as a vulgar error, any known
         naturalist willing to view them, by noticing by letter,
         within a week, may have J. C. attend with his specimens. The
         subject is a curious change in the formation of Lobsters
         from various species of the Winkle, the Winkle being
         considered the larva;.

         The only advantage J. C. desires from the communication is,
         the credit of advancing his proofs, and the stimulating
         further enquiry.—A line addressed to J. Cleghorne,
         Architectural Engraver, No. 19, Chapman-street, Black-road,
         Islington, will have immediate attention."

         It is sincerely to be hoped that proper notice will be taken
         of this advertisement, for in times of general scarcity like
         the present, such a discovery might be turned to great
         national advantage, by the establishment of proper depots
         for the cultivation of lobsters, as we have preserves for
         game, &c.

         2 Cast-iron has become an object of general utility. The
         Southwark or New London Bridge consists of three arches, the
         centre of which is a span of 240 feet, and the other two 210
         feet each; the Vauxhall Bridge consists of nine arches, over
         a width of 809 feet; and it is a fact, that a Sugar-house is
         building with cast-iron floors, window-frames, and rafters,
         to prevent fire. Cast-iron holds fire and resists fire; but
         it is probable that all its properties and powers are not
         yet discovered, and that we may some day or other witness
         the ascension of a cast-iron balloon inflated with steam!

[126]coaches running, and barges, packets, and sailing-boats navigated, by Steam{1}—St. Paul's, as you perceive, without its ball—smoke burning itself, and money burning men's consciences."

"Well done, Sparkle!" cried Tom; "your ideas seem to flow like gas, touch but the valve and off you go; and you are equally diffusive, for you throw a light upon all subjects."

Bob was now suddenly attracted by a full view of himself and his friends at the further end of Everington's{2}

         1 Steam—Here is a subject that evaporates as we approach;
         it soars beyond finite comprehension, and appears to be
         inexhaustible—every thing is done by it—machinery of every
         kind is set in motion by it—a newspaper of the most
         extensive circulation in the kingdom is printed by it, and
         the paper supplied sheet by sheet to receive the impression.
         Tobacco is manufactured, and sausage-meat cut, by steam—
         nay, a celebrated Vender of the latter article had asserted,
         that his machinery was in such a state of progressive
         improvement, that he had little doubt before long of making
         it supply the demands of his customers, and thereby save the
         expense of a Shopman; but, it is much to be regretted, his
         apparatus made sausage-meat of him before the accomplishment
         of his project.

         Considering the increasing, and by some Philosophers almost
         overwhelming population of the country at the present
         moment, it is certainly an alarming circumstance, that when
         employment is so much required, mechanical science should so
         completely supersede it to the injury of thousands,
         independent of the many who have lost their lives by the
         blowing up of steam-engines. It is a malady however which
         must be left to our political economists, who will
         doubtless at the same time determine which would prove the
         most effectual remedy—the recommendation of Mr. Malthus to
         condemn the lower orders to celibacy—the Jack Tars to a
         good war—or the Ministers to emigration.

         2  If an estimate of the wealth or poverty of the nation
         were to lie formed from the appearance of the houses in the
         Metropolis, no one could be induced to believe that the
         latter had any existence among us. The splendour and taste
         of our streets is indescribable, and the vast improvements
         in the West are equally indicative of the former.

         The enormous increase of rents for Shops, particularly in
         the leading thoroughfares of London, may in a great measure
         be attributed to the Linen-drapers. The usual method
         practised by some of these gentry, is to take a shop in the
         first-rate situation, pull down the old front, and erect a
         new one, regardless of expense, a good outside being
         considered the first and indispensable requisite. This is
         often effected, either upon credit with a builder, or, if
         they have a capital of a few hundreds, it is all exhausted
         in external decorations. Goods are obtained upon credit, and
         customers procured by puffing advertisements, and exciting
         astonishment at the splendid appearance of the front. Thus
         the concern is generally carried on till the credit obtained
         has expired, and the wonder and novelty of the concern has
         evaporated; when the stock is sold off at 30 per cent,
         under prime cost for the benefit of the creditors! This is
         so common an occurrence, that it is scarcely possible to
         walk through London any day in the year, without being
         attracted by numerous Linen-drapers' shops, whose windows
         are decorated with bills, indicating that they are actually
         selling off under prime cost, as the premises must be
         cleared in a few days.

         The most elegant Shop of this description in the Metropolis
         is supposed to be one not a hundred miles from Ludgate-hill,
         the front and fitting up of which alone is said to have cost
         several thousand pounds. The interior is nearly all of
         looking-glass, with gilt mouldings; even the ceiling is
         looking-glass, from which is appended splendid cut-glass
         chandeliers, which when lighted give to the whole the
         brilliance of enchantment; however it is not very easy to
         form an idea of what is sold, for, with the exception of a
         shawl or two carelessly thrown into the window, there is
         nothing to be seen, (the stock being all concealed in
         drawers, cupboards, &c. ) except the decorations and the
         Dandy Shopmen, who parade up and down in a state of ecstasy
         at the reflection of their own pretty persons from every
         part of the premises!

         This concealment of the stock has occasioned some laughable
         occurrences. It is said that a gentleman from the country
         accidentally passing, took it for a looking-glass
         manufactory, and went in to inquire the price of a glass.
         The Shopmen gathered round him with evident surprise,
         assured him of his mistake, and directed him to go to
         Blades,{1} lower down the Hill. The Countryman was not
         disconcerted, but, after surveying them somewhat minutely,
         informed them it was glass he wanted, not cutlery; but as
         for blades, he thought there were enow there for one street,
         at least.

         Another is said to have been so pleased with a row of
         grotesque Indian-China jars, which embellish one side of the
         entrance, and which he mistook for pots de chambre, that
         after returning home and consulting his rib, he sent an
         order per post for one of the most elegant pattern to be
         forwarded to him!

         There is a similar Shop to this, though on a smaller scale,
         to be seen in a great leading thoroughfare at the West end
         of the Town; the owner of which, from his swarthy complexion
         and extravagant mode of dress, has been denominated The
         Black Prince, a name by which he is well known in his own
         neighbourhood, and among the gentlemen of the cloth. This
         dandy gentleman, who affects the dress and air of a military
         officer, has the egregious vanity to boast that the numerous
         families of rank and fashion who frequent his shop, are
         principally attracted to view his elegant person, and seems
         to consider that upon this principally depends the success
         of his trade.

              1 A large Glass-manufacturer.

128—shop, and without observing the other persons about him, saw himself surrounded with spectators, unconscious of being in their company. He look'd up—he look'd down—he gazed around him, and all was inconceivable light. Tom's allusion to the gas flashed upon him in a moment—"What—what is this?" said he—"where, in the name of wonder, am I?" A flash of lightning could not have operated more suddenly upon him. "Why," said Sparkle, "don't you see?

"You are not here, for you are there,"

pointing to his reflection, in the looking-glass.

"Egad," said Bob, under evident surprise, and perhaps not without some apprehension they were playing tricks with him—"I wish you would explain—is this a Drawing-room, or is it the Phantasmagoria we have heard so much of in the country?"

"No, no, it is not the Phantasmagoria, but it forms a part of metropolitan magic, which you shall be better acquainted with before we part. That is no other than a Linen-draper's shop, 'papered,' as an Irishman one day remarked, 'vvid nothing at all at all but looking-glass, my dear '—one of the most superb things of the kind that perhaps ever was seen—But come, I perceive it is getting late, let us proceed directly to Dolly's, take our chop, then a rattler,{1} and hey for the Spell."{2}

Bob appeared almost to be spell-bound at the moment, and, as they moved onward, could not help casting

"One longing, lingering look behind."

         1 Rattler—A coach.

         2 Spell—The Play-house; so denominated from its variety of
         attractions, both before and behind the curtain.

## CHAPTER X

              "What various swains our motley walls contain!
              Fashion from Moorfields, honour from Chick-lane;
              Bankers from Paper-buildings here resort,
              Bankrupts from Golden-square and Riches-court;
              From the Haymarket canting rogues in grain,
              Gulls from the Poultry, sots from Water-lane;
              The lottery cormorant, the auction shark,
              The full-price master, and the half-price clerk;
              Boys, who long linger at the gallery-door,
              With pence twice live, they want but twopence more,
              Till some Samaritan the twopence spares,
              And sends them jumping up the gallery-stairs.
              Critics we boast, who ne'er their malice baulk,
              But talk their minds—we wish they'd mind their talk;
              Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live,
              Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give;
              Jews from St. Mary-Axe, for jobs so wary,
              That for old clothes they'd even axe St. Mary;
              And Bucks with pockets empty as their pate,
              Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.
              Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues?
              Who's that calls "Silence" with such leathern lungs?
              He, who, in quest of quiet, "Silence" hoots,
              Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes."

IN a few minutes they entered Dolly's, from whence, after partaking of a cheerful repast and an exhilarating glass of wine, a coach conveyed them to Drury-lane. ',

"Now," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "I shall introduce you to a new scene in Real Life, well worth your close observation. We have already taken a promiscuous ramble from the West towards the East, and it has afforded some amusement; but our stock is abundant, and many objects of curiosity are still in view."

"Yes, yes," continued Sparkle, "every day produces novelty; for although London itself is always the same, the inhabitants assume various forms, as inclination or necessity may induce or compel. The Charioteer of [130]to-day, dashing along with four in hand, may be an inhabitant of the King's-bench to-morrow, and—but here we are, and Marino Faliero is the order of the night. The character of its author is so well known, as to require no observation; but you will be introduced to a great variety of other characters, both in High and Low Life, of an interesting nature."

By this time they had alighted, and were entering the House. The rapid succession of carriages arriving with the company, the splendour of the equipages, the general elegance of the dresses, and the blazing of the lamps, alternately became objects of attraction to Bob, whose eyes were kept in constant motion—while "A Bill of the Play for Covent Garden or Drury Lane," still resounded in their ears.

On arriving at the Box-lobby, Tom, who was well known, was immediately shewn into the centre box with great politeness by the Box-keeper,{1} the second scene of the Tragedy being just over. The appearance of the House was a delicious treat to Bob, whose visual orbs wandered more among the delighted and delightful faces which surrounded him, than to the plot or the progress of the performances before him. It was a scene of splendour of which lie had not the least conception; and Sparkle perceiving the principal objects of attraction, could not resist the impulse to deliver, in a sort of half-whisper, the following lines:—

              "When Woman's soft smile all our senses bewilders,
              And gilds while it carves her dear form on the heart,
              What need has new Drury of carvers and gilders?
              With nature so bounteous, why call upon art?

         1 The Box-keeper to a public Theatre has many duties to
         perform to the public, his employer, and himself; but,
         perhaps, in order to be strictly correct, we ought to have
         reversed the order in which we have noticed them, since of
         the three, the latter appears to be the most important, (at
         least) in his consideration; for he takes care before the
         commencement of the performance to place one of his
         automaton figures on the second row of every box, which
         commands a good view of the House, who are merely intended
         to sit with their hats off, and to signify that the two
         first seats are taken, till the conclusion of the second
         act; and so in point of fact they are taken by himself, for
         the accommodation of such friends as he is quite aware are
         willing to accommodate him with a quid pro quo.

              How well would our Actors attend to their duties,
              Our House save in oil, and our Authors in wit,

              In lieu of yon lamps, if a row of young Beauties
              Glanc'd light from their eyes between us and the Pit.

              The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
              By Woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize,

              To tempt us in Theatre, Senate, or College—
              I mean the Love-apples that bloom in the eyes.

              There too is the lash which, all statutes controlling,
              Still governs the slaves that are made by the Fair,

              For Man is the pupil who, while her eye's rolling,
              Is lifted to rapture, or sunk in despair."

[131]Tallyho eagerly listened to his friend's recitation of lines so consonant with his own enraptured feelings; while his Cousin Dashall was holding a conversation in dumb-show with some person at a distance, who was presently recognized by Sparkle to be Mrs. G——den,{1} a well-known frequenter of the House.

"Come," said he, "I see how it is with Tom—you may rely upon it he will not stop long where he is, there is other game in view—he has but little taste for Tragedy fiction, the Realities of Life are the objects of his regard.

"Tis a fine Tragedy," continued he, addressing himself to Tom.

"Yes—yes," replied the other, "I dare say it is, but, upon my soul, I know nothing about it—that is—I have seen it before, and I mean to read it."

"Bless my heart!" said a fat lady in a back seat, "what a noise them 'are gentlemen does make—they talk so loud there 'ant no such thing as seeing what is said—I wonder they don't make these here boxes more bigger, for I declare I'm so scrouged I'm all in a—Fanny, did you bring the rumperella for fear it should rain as we goes home?"

"Hush, Mother," said a plump-faced little girl, who sat along side of her—"don't talk so loud, or otherwise every body will hear you instead of the Performers, and that would be quite preposterous."

"Don't call me posterous Miss; because you have been to school, and learnt some edification, you thinks you are to do as you please with me."

         1 Mrs. G——den, a dashing Cyprian of the first order, well
         known in the House, a fine, well-made woman, always ready
         for a lark, and generally well togged.

[132]This interesting conversation was interrupted by loud vociferations of Bravo, Bravo, from all parts of the House, as the drop-scene fell upon the conclusion of the second act. The clapping of hands, the whistling and noise that ensued for a few minutes, appeared to astonish Tallyho. "I don't much like my seat," said Dashall. "No," said Sparkle, "I did not much expect you would remain long—you are a mighty ambitious sort of fellow, and I perceive you have a desire to be exalted."

"I confess the situation, is too confined," replied Tom—"come, it is excessively warm here, let us take a turn and catch a little air."

The House was crowded in every part; for the announcement of a new Tragedy from the pen of Lord Byron, particularly under the circumstances of its introduction to the Stage, against the expressed inclination of its Author, the

         1 At an early hour on the evening this Tragedy was first
         pro-duced at Drury Lane, Hand-bills were plentifully
         distributed through the Theatre, of which the following is a
         copy:

         "The public are respectfully informed, that the
         representation of Lord Byron's Tragedy, The Doge of Venice,
         this evening, takes place in defiance of the injunction from
         the Lord Chancellor, which was not applied for until the
         remonstrance of the Publisher, at the earnest desire of the
         noble Author, had failed in protecting that Drama from its
         intrusion on the Stage, for which it was never intended."

         This announcement had the effect of exciting public
         expectation beyond its usual pitch upon such occasions. The
         circumstances were somewhat new in the history of the Drama:
         the question being, whether a published Flay could be
         legally brought on the Stage without the consent, or rather
         we should say, in defiance of the Author. "We are not aware
         whether this question has been absolutely decided, but this
         we do know, that the Piece was performed several nights, and
         underwent all the puffing of the adventurous Manager, as
         well as all the severity of the Critics. The newspapers of
         the day were filled with histories and observations upon it.
         No subject engrossed the conversation of the polite and
         play-going part of the community but Lord Byron, The Doge of
         Venice, and Mr. Elliston. They were all bepraised and
         beplastered—exalted and debased—acquitted and condemned;
         but it was generally allowed on all hands, that the printed
         Tragedy contained many striking beauties, notwithstanding
         its alleged resemblance to Venice Preserved. We are,
         however, speaking of the acted Tragedy, and the magnanimous
         Manager, who with such promptitude produced it in an altered
         shape; and having already alluded to the theatrical puffing
         so constantly resorted to upon all occasions, we shall drop
         the curtain upon the subject, after merely remarking, that
         the Times of the same day has been known to contain the
         Manager's puff, declaring the piece to have been
         received with  rapturous applause,   in  direct  opposition
         to the  Editor's critique, which as unequivocally pronounced
         its complete failure!

[133]will of its publisher, and the injunction{1} of the Lord Chancellor, were attractions of no ordinary nature; and

         1 Injunction—The word injunction implies a great deal, and
         has in its sound so much of the terrific, as in many
         instances to paralyze exertion on the part of the supposed
         offending person or persons. It has been made the instrument
         of artful, designing, and malicious persons, aided by
         pettifogging or pretended attorneys, to obtain money for
         themselves and clients by way of compromise; and in numerous
         instances it is well known that fear has been construed into
         actual guilt. Injunctions are become so common, that even
         penny printsellers have lately issued threats, and promised
         actual proceedings, against the venders of articles said to
         be copies from their original drawings, and even carried it
         so far as to withhold (kind souls!) the execution of their
         promises, upon the payment of a 5L. from those who were
         easily to be duped, having no inclination to encounter the
         glorious uncertainty of the law, or no time to spare for
         litigation. We have recently been furnished with a curious
         case which occurred in Utopia, where it appears by our
         informant, that the laws hold great similarity with our own.
         A certain house of considerable respectability had imported
         a large quantity of Welsh cheese, which were packed in
         wooden boxes, and offered them for sale (a great rarity in
         Eutopia) as double Gloucester.

         It is said that two of a trade seldom agree; how far the
         adage may apply to Eutopia, will be seen in the sequel. A
         tradesman, residing in the next street, a short time after,
         received an importation from Gloucester, of the favourite
         double production of that place, packed in a similar way,
         and (as was very natural for a tradesman to do, at least we
         know it is so here,) the latter immediately began to vend
         his cheese as the real Double Gloucester. This was an
         offence beyond bearing. The High Court of Equity was moved,
         similar we suppose to our High Court of Chancery, to
         suppress the sale of the latter; but as no proof of
         deception could be produced, it was not granted. This only
         increased the flame already excited in the breasts of the
         first importers; every effort was made use of to find a good
         and sufficient excuse to petition the Court again, and at
         length they found out one of the craft to swear, that as the
         real Gloucester had been imported in boxes of a similar
         shape, make, and wood, it was quite evident that the
         possessor must have bought similar cheeses, and was imposing
         on the public to their great disadvantage, notwithstanding
         they could not find a similarity either of taste, smell, or
         appearance. In the mean time the real Gloucester cheese
         became a general favourite with the inhabit-ants of Utopia,
         and upon this, though slender ground, the innocent tradesman
         was served with a process, enjoining him not to do that,
         which, poor man, he never intended to do; and besides if he
         had, the people of that country were not such ignoramuses as
         to be so deceived; it was merely to restrain him from
         selling his own real double Gloucester as their Welsh
         cheeses, purporting, as they did, to be double Gloucester,
         or of mixing them together (than which nothing could be
         further from his thoughts,) and charging him at the same
         time with having sold his cheeses under their name. But the
         most curious part of the business was, the real cheeseman
         brought the investigation before the Court, cheeses in boxes
         were produced, and evidence was brought forward, when, as
         the charges alleged could not be substantiated, the
         restraint was removed, and the three importers of Welsh
         cheese hung their heads, and retired in dudgeon.

[134]the Hon. Tom availed himself of the circumstance to leave the Box, though the truth was, there were other attractions of a more enlivening cast in his view.

"Come," said he, "we shall have a better opportunity of seeing the House, and its decorations, by getting nearer to the curtain; besides, Ave shall have a bird's-eye view of the company in all quarters, from the seat of the Gods to the Pit."

The influx of company, (it being the time of half-price), and the rush and confusion which took place in all parts at this moment, were indescribable. Jumping over boxes and obtaining seats by any means, regardless of politeness or even of decorum—Bucks and Bloods warm from the pleasures of the bottle—dashing Belles and flaming Beaux, squabbling and almost fighting—rendered the amusements before the curtain of a momentary interest, which appeared to obliterate the recollection of what they had previously witnessed. In the mean time, the Gods in the Gallery issued forth an abundant variety of discordant sounds, from their elevated situation. Growling of bears, grunting of hogs, braying of donkeys, gobbling of turkeys, hissing of geese, the catcall, and the loud shrill whistle, were heard in one mingling concatenation of excellent imitation and undistinguished variety: During which, Tom led the way to the upper Boxes, where upon arriving, he was evidently disappointed at not meeting the party who had been seen occupying a seat on the left side of the House, besides having sacrificed a front seat, to be now compelled to take one at the very back part of a side Box, an exchange by no means advantageous for a view of the performance. However, this was compensated in some degree by a more extensive prospect round the House; and his eyes were seen moving in all directions, without seeming to know where to fix, while Sparkle and Bob were attracted by a fight in the Gallery, between a Soldier and a Gentleman's Servant in livery, for some supposed [135]insult offered to the companion of the latter, and which promised serious results from the repeated vociferations of those around them, of "Throw 'em over—throw 'em over;" while the gifts of the Gods were plentifully showered down upon the inhabitants of the lower regions in the shape of orange-peelings, apples, &c. The drawing up of the curtain however seemed to have some little effect upon the audience, and in a moment the Babel of tongues was changed into a pretty general cry of "Down—down in the front—hats off—silence, &c. which at length subsided in every quarter but the Gallery, where still some mutterings and murmurings were at intervals to be heard.

              "——one fiddle will
              Produce a tiny flourish still."

Sparkle could neither see nor hear the performance—Tom was wholly engaged in observing the company, and Bob alternately straining his neck to get a view of the Stage, and then towards the noisy inhabitants of the upper regions. "We dined at the Hummums," said a finicking little Gentleman just below him—"Bill, and I, and Harry—drank claret like fishes—Harry was half-sprung—fell out with a Parson about chopping logic; you know Harry's father was a butcher, and used to chopping, so it was all prime—the Parson would'n't be convinced, though Harry knock'd down his argument with his knuckles on the table, almost hard enough to split it—it was a bang-up lark—Harry got in a passion, doff'd his toggery, and was going to show fight—so then the Parson sneak'd off—Such a bit of gig.'"

"Silence there, behind."

"So then," continued the Dandy, "we went to the Billiard-rooms, in Fleet Street, played three games, diddled the Flats, bilk'd the Marker, and bolted—I say, when did you see Dolly?"{1}

         1 To the frequenters of Drury-lane Theatre, who occasionally
         lounge away a little of their time between the acts in
         sipping soda-water, negus, &c. the party here alluded to
         cannot but be well known—we mean particularly the laffing-
         boys and the lads of the village. We are aware that
         fictitious names are assumed or given to the Ladies of
         Saloon notoriety, originating in particular circum-stances,
         and we have reason to believe that Dolly K——lly has been
         so denominated from the propensity she almost invariably
         manifests of painting, as remarked particularly by one of
         the parties in conversation.

[136]"Last night," replied the other—"she'll be here presently—d——nd fine girl, arn't she?"

"Very well," said the first; "a nice plump face, but then she paints so d—n—bly, I hate your painted Dollys, give me natural flesh and blood—Polly H—ward for me."

"Gallows Tom{1} will speak to you in plain terms if you trespass there, my boy; you know he has out-general'd the Captain in that quarter, and came off victorious, so——"

"Come," said Sparkle, "let us adjourn into the Saloon, for, Heaven knows, it is useless staying here." And taking their arms, they immediately left the Box.

"The theatre," continued he, "is a sort of enchanted island, where nothing appears as it really is, nor what it should be. In London, it is a sort of time-killer, or exchange of looks and smiles. It is frequented by persons of all degrees and qualities whatsoever. Here Lords come to laugh and be laughed at—Knights to learn the amorous smirk and a-la-mode grin, the newest fashion in the cut of his garments, the twist of his body, and the adjustment of his phiz.

"This House{2} was built upon a grand and extensive scale, designed and executed under the inspection of Mr. Benj. Wyatt, the architect, whose skill was powerfully and liberally aided by an intelligent and public spirited Committee, of which the late Mr. Whitbread was the Chairman. It is altogether a master-piece of art, and an ornament to the Metropolis. You perceive the interior is truly delightful, and the exterior presents the idea of solidity and security: it affords sitting room for 2810 persons, that is, 1200 in the Boxes, 850 in the Pit, 480

         1 It appears that the adoption of fictitious names is not
         wholly confined to the female visitors of these regions of
         fashion and folly. Gallows Tom is a character well known,
         and is a sort of general friend, at all times full of fun,
         fire, and spirit. We have not been able to discover whether
         he holds any official situation under government, though it
         is generally believed he is safely anchored under the croum,
         a stanch friend to the British constitution—probably more
         so than to his own. And we should judge from what is to be
         inferred from the conversation overheard, that he is the
         acknowledged friend of Miss H——d.   Capt. T——pe is
         supposed to hold a Commission in the Navy, a gay and gallant
         frequenter of the Saloon, and, till a short time back, the
         chere ami of Miss H——d.

         2 The building of this Theatre was completed for 112,000L.
         Including lamps, furniture, &c. 125,000L.; and including
         scent ry, wardrobe, properties, &c. 150,000L.

[137]in the Lower Gallery, and 280 in the Upper Gallery. The talents of the celebrated Mr. Kean (who has recently left us for the shores of the Atlantic) first blazed forth to astonish the world beneath this roof. Old Drury immortalized the name of Garrick, and has also established the fame of Mr. Kean; and the House at the present moment has to boast of a combination of histrionic{1} talent, rich and excellent."

"Come along, come along," said Tom, interrupting him, "leave these explanations for another opportunity—here is the Saloon. Now for a peep at old particulars. There is no seeing nor hearing the Play—I have no inclination for histories, I am just alive for a bit of gig."

On entering the Saloon, Bob was additionally gratified at viewing the splendour of its decorations. The arched ceiling, the two massy Corinthian columns of vera antique, and the ten corresponding pilasters on each side, struck him as particularly beautiful, and he was for some moments lost in contemplation, while his friends Sparkle and Tom were in immediate request to receive the congratulations of their acquaintance.

"Where the d——l have you been to?" was the first question addressed to Dashall—"rusticating, I suppose, to the serious loss of all polished society."

"You are right in the first part of your reply," said Tom; "but, as I conceive, not exactly so in the inference you draw from it."

"Modesty, by Jove! well done Dashall, this travelling appears to improve your manners wonderfully; and I dare say if you had staid away another month, your old friends would not have known you."

This created a laugh among the party, which roused Bob from his reverie, who, turning round rather hastily, trod with considerable force upon the gouty toe of an old debauchee in spectacles, who, in the height of ecstasy, was at that moment entering into a treaty of amity with a pretty rosy-faced little girl, and chucking her under the

         1 The names of Elliston, Pope, Johnston, Powell, Dowton,
         Munden, Holland, Wallack, Knight, T. Cooke, Oxberry, Smith,
         Bromley, &c. are to be found on the male list of Performers,
         and it is sincerely to be hoped that of Mr. Kean will not
         long be absent. The females are, Mrs. Davison, Mrs. Glover,
         Miss Kelly, Mrs. Bland, Mrs. Orger, Mrs. Sparks, Miss
         Wilson, Miss Byrne, Miss Cubitt, &c.

[138]chin, as a sort of preliminary, to be succeeded by a ratification; for in all probability gratification was out of the question. However this might be, the pain occasioned by the sudden movement of Tallyho, who had not yet learned to trip it lightly along the mutton walk,{1} induced the sufferer to roar out most lustily, a circumstance which immediately attracted the attention of every one in the room, and in a moment they were surrounded by a group of lads and lasses.

"Upon my soul, Sir," stammer'd out Bob, "I beg your pardon, I—I—did not mean—"

"Oh! oh! oh!" continued the gouty Amoroso. Mother K——p{2} came running like lightning with a glass of water; the frail sisterhood were laughing, nodding, whispering, and winking at each other; while St——ns,{3} who pick'd up the spectacles the unfortunate victim of the gout had dropp'd, swore that fellow in the green coat and white hat ought to be sent to some dancing-school, to learn to step without kicking people's shins.

Another declared he was a Johnny-raw,{4} just catched, and what could be expected.

Tom, who, however, kept himself alive to the passing occurrences, stepping up to Bob, was immediately recognized by all around him, and passing a significant wink, declared it was an accident, and begged to assist the Old Buck to a seat, which being accomplished, he declared he had not had his shoe on for a week, but as he found himself able to walk, he could not resist the temptation of taking a look around him.

Over a bottle of wine the unpleasant impressions made by this unfortunate occurrence appeared to be removed. In the mean time, Tom received a hundred congratulations and salutations; while Sparkle, after a glass or two, was missing.

Dashall informed the friends around him, that his Cousin was a pupil of his, and begged to introduce him

         1 Mutton Walk—A flash term recently adopted to denominate
         the Saloon.

         2 A well known fruit-woman, who is in constant attendance,
         well acquainted with the girls and their protectors, and
         ready upon all occasions to give or convey information for
         the benefit of both parties.

         3 St——ns—A very pretty round-faced young lady-bird, of
         rather small figure, inclining to be lusty.

         4 Johnny Raw—A country bumpkin.

[139]as a future visitor to this gay scene. This had an instantaneous effect upon the trading fair ones, who began immediately to throw out their lures. One declared he had a sweet pretty brooch; another, that she knew he was a trump by the cut of his jib; a third, that he look'd like a gentleman, for she liked the make of his mug; a fourth, that his hat was a very pretty shaped one, although it was of a radical colour; and while Tom and the ladybird{l} were soothing the pains of the grey-headed wanton, Bob was as busily employed in handing about the contents of the bottle. A second and a third succeeded, and it was not a little astonishing to him that every bottle improved his appearance; for, though not one of his admirers remained long with him, yet the absence of one only brought another, equally attracted by his look and manner: every one declared he was really a gentleman in every respect, and in the course of their short parley, did not fail to slip a card into his hand. By this time he began to grow chatty, and was enabled to rally in turn the observations they made. He swore he lov'd them all round, and once or twice hummed over,

              "Dear creatures, we can't do without them,
              They're all that is sweet and seducing to man,
              Looking, sighing about, and about them,
              We doat on them—do for them, all that we can."

The play being over, brought a considerable influx of company into the Saloon. The regular covies paired off with their covesses, and the moving panorama of elegance and fashion presented a scene that was truly delightful to Bob.

The Ladybird, who had been so attentive to the gouty customer, now wished him a good night, for, said she, "There is my friend,{2} and so I am off." This seemed only to increase the agony of his already agonized toe, notwithstanding which he presently toddled off, and was seen no more for the evening.

"What's become of Sparkle," enquired Tom. "Stole away," was the reply.

"Tipp'd us the double, has he," said Dashall. "Well, what think you of Drury-lane?"

         1 Lady-bird—A dashing Cyprian.

         2 The term friend is in constant use among accessible
         ladies, and signifies their protector or keeper.

[140]"'Tis a very delightful tragedy indeed, but performed in the most comical manner I ever witnessed in my life."

"Pshaw!" said Bob, "very few indeed, except the critics and the plebs, come here to look at the play; they come to see and be seen."

"Egad then," said Bob, "a great many have been gratified to-night, and perhaps I have been highly honoured, for every person that has passed me has complimented me with a stare."

"Which of course you did not fail to return?"

"Certainly not; and upon my soul you have a choice show of fruit here."

"Yes," continued Tom, "London is a sort of hot-house, where fruit is forced into ripeness by the fostering and liberal sun of Folly, sooner than it would be, if left to its natural growth. Here however, you observe nothing but joyful and animated features, while perhaps the vulture of misery is gnawing at the heart. I could give you histories of several of these unfortunates,{1}

         1 A life of prostitution is a life fraught with too many
         miseries to be collected in any moderate compass. The mode
         in which they are treated, by parties who live upon the
         produce of their infamy, the rude and boisterous, nay, often
         brutal manner in which they are used by those with whom they
         occasionally associate, and the horrible reflections of
         their own minds, are too frequently and too fatally
         attempted to be obliterated by recourse to the Bacchanalian
         fount. Reason becomes obscured, and all decency and
         propriety abandoned. Passion rules predominantly until it
         extinguishes itself, and leaves the wretched victim of early
         delusion, vitiated both in body and mind, to drag on a
         miserable existence, without character, without friends, and
         almost without hope. There is unfortunately, however, no
         occasion for the exercise of imagination on this subject.
         The annals of our police occurrences, furnish too many
         examples of actual circumstances, deeply to be deplored; and
         we have selected one of a most atrocious kind which recently
         took place, and is recorded as follows:—

                        Prostitution.

         "An unfortunate girl, apparently about eighteen years of
         age, and of the most interesting and handsome person, but
         whose attire indicated extreme poverty and distress, applied
         to the sitting magistrate, Richard Bimie, Esq. under the
         following circum-stances:—It appeared from the statement,
         that she had for the last three weeks been living at a house
         of ill fame in Exeter-street, Strand, kept by a man named
         James Locke: this wretch had exacted the enormous sum of
         three guineas per week for her board and lodging, and in
         consequence of her not being able to pay the sum due for the
         last week, he threatened to strip her of her cloaths, and
         turn her naked into the street. This threat he deferred
         executing until yesterday morning (having in the mean time
         kept her locked up in a dark room, without any covering
         whatever,) when in lieu of her cloaths, he gave her the
         tattered and loathsome garments she then appeared in, which
         were barely sufficient to preserve common decency, and then
         brutally turned her into the street. Being thus plunged into
         the most abject wretchedness, without money or friends, to
         whom she could apply in her present situation, her bodily
         strength exhausted by the dissipated life she had led, and
         rendered more so by a long abstinence from food; her spirits
         broken and overcome by the bitter and humiliating
         reflection, that her own guilty conduct debarred her from
         flying to the fostering arms of affectionate parents, whom
         she had loaded with disgrace and misery; and the now
         inevitable exposure of her infamy, it was some time ere her
         wandering senses were sufficiently composed to determine
         what course she should pursue in the present emergency, when
         she thought she could not do better than have recourse to
         the justice of her country against the villain Lock, who had
         so basely treated her; and after extreme pain and
         difficulty, she succeeded in dragging her enfeebled limbs to
         the Office. During the detail of the foregoing particulars,
         she seemed overwhelmed with shame and remorse, and at times
         sobbed so violently as to render her voice inarticulate. Her
         piteous case excited the attention and sympathy of all
         present; and it was much to the general satisfaction that
         Mr. Bimie ordered Humphries, one of the conductors of the
         Patrol, to fetch Lock to the Office. On being brought there,
         the necessary proceedings were gone into for the purpose of
         indicting the house as a common brothel.

         "It was afterwards discovered that this unhappy girl was of
         the most respectable parents, and for the last six years had
         been residing with her Aunt. About three months ago, some
         difference having arisen between them, she absconded, taking
         with her only a few shillings, and the clothes she then
         wore. The first night of her remaining from home she went to
         Drury-lane Theatre, and was there pick'd up by a genteel
         woman dressed in black, who having learned her situation,
         enticed her to a house in Hart-street, Covent-garden, where
         the ruin of the poor girl was finally effected. It was not
         until she had immersed herself in vice and folly that she
         reflected on her situation, and it was then too late to
         retract; and after suffering unheard of miseries, was, in
         the short space of three months, reduced to her present
         state of wretchedness.

         "The worthy Magistrate ordered that proper care should be
         taken of the girl, which was readily undertaken on the part
         of the parish.

         "The Prisoner set up a defence, in which he said, a friend
         of the girl's owed him 14L. and that he detained her clothes
         for it—but was stopped by Mr. Bimie.

         "He at first treated the matter very lightly; but on
         perceiving the determination on the part of the parish to
         proceed, he offered to give up the things. This however he
         was not allowed to do."

(who are exercising all their arts to entrap customers) apparently full of life and vivacity, who perhaps dare not approach [142]their homes without the produce of their successful blandishments. But this is not a place for moralizing—a truce to Old Care and the Blue Devils—Come on, my boy, let us take a turn in the Lobby—

              "Banish sorrow, griefs a folly;
              Saturn, bend thy wrinkled brow;
              Get thee hence, dull Melancholy,
              Mirth and wine invite us now.

              Love displays his mine of treasure,
              Comus brings us mirth and song!;
              Follow, follow, follow pleasure,
              Let us join the jovial throng."

Upon this they adjourned to the Lobby, where a repetition of similar circumstances took place, with only this difference, that Tally ho having already been seen in the Saloon, and now introduced, leaning upon the arm of his Cousin, the enticing goddesses of pleasure hung around them at every step, every one anxious to be foremost in their assiduities to catch the new-comer's smile; and the odds were almost a cornucopia to a cabbage-net that Bob would be hook'd.

Tom was still evidently disappointed, and after pacing the Lobby once or twice, and whispering Bob to make his observations the subject of future inquiry, they returned to the Saloon, where Sparkle met them almost out of breath, declaring he had been hunting them in all parts of the House for the last half hour.

Tom laugh'd heartily at this, and complimented Sparkle on the ingenuity with which he managed his affairs. "But I see how it is," said he, "and I naturally suppose you are engaged."

"'Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind,' and I perceive clearly that you are only disappointed that you are not engaged—where are all your golden{1} dreams now?"

"Pshaw! there is no such thing as speaking to you," said Tom, rather peevishly, "without feeling a lash like a cart-whip."

         1 This was a touch of the satirical which it appears did not
         exactly suit the taste of Dashall, as it applied to the
         Ladybird who had attracted his attention on entering the
         house.

[143]"Merely in return," continued Sparkle, "for the genteel, not to say gentle manner, in which you handle the horse-whip."

"There is something very mulish in all this," said Bob, interrupting the conversation, "I don't understand it."

"Nor I neither," said Tom, leaving the arm of his Cousin, and stepping forward.

This hasty dismissal of the subject under debate had been occasioned by the appearance of a Lady, whose arm Tom immediately took upon leaving that of his cousin, a circumstance which seemed to restore harmony to all parties. Tallyho and Sparkle soon joined them, and after a few turns for the purpose of seeing, and being seen, it was proposed to adjourn to the Oyster-shop directly opposite the front of the Theatre; and with that view they in a short time departed, but not without an addition of two other ladies, selected from the numerous frequenters of the Saloon, most of whom appeared to be well known both to Tom and Sparkle.

The appearance of the outside was very pleasing—the brilliance of the lights—the neat and cleanly style in which its contents were displayed seemed inviting to appetite, and in a very short time a cheerful repast was served up; while the room was progressively filling with company, and Mother P——was kept in constant activity.

Bob was highly gratified with the company, and the manner in which they were entertained.

A vast crowd of dashing young Beaux and elegantly dressed Belles, calling about them for oysters, lobsters, salmon, shrimps, bread and butter, soda-water, ginger-beer, &c. kept up a sort of running accompaniment to the general conversation in which they were engaged; when the mirth and hilarity of the room was for a moment delayed upon the appearance of a dashing Blade, who seemed as he entered to say to himself,

"Plebeians, avaunt! I have altered my plan, Metamorphosed completely, behold a Fine Man! That is, throughout town I am grown quite the rage, The meteor of fashion, the Buck of the age."

He was dressed in the extreme of fashion, and seemed desirous of imparting the idea of his great importance to all around him: he had a light-coloured great-coat with immense mother o' pearl buttons and double [144]capes, Buff or Petersham breeches, and coat of sky-blue,{1} his hat cocked on one side, and stout ground-ashen stick in his hand. It was plain to be seen that the juice of the grape had been operative upon the upper story, as he reeled to the further end of the room, and, calling the attendant, desired her to bring him a bottle of soda-water, for he was lushy,{2} by G——d; then throwing himself into a box, which he alone occupied, he stretched himself at length on the seat, and seemed as if he would go to sleep.

"That (said Sparkle) is a distinguished Member of the Tilbury Club, and is denominated a Ruffian, a kind of character that gains ground, as to numbers, over the Exquisite, but he is very different in polish.

         1  A partiality to these coloured habits is undoubtedly
         intended to impress upon the minds of plebeian beholders an
         exalted idea of their own consequence, or to prove, perhaps,
         that their conceptions are as superior to common ones as the
         sky is to the earth.

         2  The variety of denominations that have at different times
         been given to drunkenness forms an admirable specimen of
         ingenuity well worthy of remark. The derivation of Lushy, we
         believe, is from a very common expression, that a drunken
         man votes for Lushington; but perhaps it would be rather
         difficult to discover the origin of many terms made use of
         to express a jolly good fellow, and no flincher under the
         effects of good fellowship. It is said—that he is drunk,
         intoxicated, fuddled, muddled, flustered, rocky, reely,
         tipsy, merry, half-boosy, top-heavy, chuck-full, cup-sprung,
         pot-valiant, maudlin, a little how came you so, groggy,
         jolly, rather mightitity, in drink, in his cups, high, in
         uubibus, under the table, slew'd, cut, merry, queer, quisby,
         sew'd up, over-taken, elevated, cast away, concerned, half-
         coek'd, exhilarated, on a merry pin, a little in the suds,
         in a quandary, wing'd as wise as Solomon.

It is also said, that he has business on both sides of the way, got his little hat on, bung'd his eye, been in the sun, got a spur in his head, (this is frequently used by brother Jockeys to each other) got a crumb in his beard, had a little, had enough, got more than he can carry, been among the Philistines, lost his legs, been in a storm, got his night-cap on, got his skin full, had a cup too much, had his cold tea, a red eye, got his dose, a pinch of snuff in his wig, overdone it, taken draps, taking a lunar, sugar in his eye, had his wig oil'd, that he is diddled, dish'd and done up.

He clips the King's English, sees double, reels, heels a little, heels and sets, shews his hob-nails, looks as if he couldn't help it, takes an observation, chases geese, loves a drap, and cannot sport a right line, can't walk a chalk.

He is as drunk as a piper, drunk as an owl, drunk as David's sow, drunk as a lord, fuddled as an ape, merry as a grig, happy as a king.

[145]"In the higher circles, a Ruffian is one of the many mushroom-productions which the sun of prosperity brings to life. Stout in general is his appearance, but Dame Nature has done little for him, and Fortune has spoilt even that little. To resemble his groom and his coachman is his highest ambition. He is a perfect horseman, a perfect whip, but takes care never to be a perfect gentleman. His principal accomplishments are sporting, swaggering, milling, drawing, and greeking.{1} He takes the ribands in his hands, mounts his box, with Missus by his side—"All right, ya hip, my hearties"—drives his empty mail with four prime tits—cuts out a Johnny-raw—shakes his head, and lolls out his tongue at him; and if he don't break his own neck, gets safe home after his morning's drive.

"He is always accompanied by a brace at least of dogs in his morning visits; and it is not easy to determine on these occasions which is the most troublesome animal of the two, the biped or the quadruped."

This description caused a laugh among the Ladybirds, who thought it vastly amusing, while it was also listened to with great attention by Tallyho.

The Hon. Tom Dashall in the mean time was in close conversation with his mott{2} in the corner of the Box, and was getting, as Sparkle observed, "rather nutty{3} in that quarter of the globe."

The laugh which concluded Sparkle's account of the Tilbury-club man roused him from his sleep, and also attracted the attention of Tom and his inamorata.

"D——n my eyes," said the fancy cove, as he rubbed open his peepers,{4}" am I awake or asleep?—what a h——ll of a light there is!"

         1 Greeking—An epithet generally applied to gambling and
         gamblers, among the polished hells of society, principally
         to be found in and near St. James's: but of this more
         hereafter.

         2 Mott—A blowen, or woman of the town. We know not from
         whom or whence the word originated, but we recollect some
         lines of an old song in which the term is made use of, viz.

              "When first I saw this flaming Mutt,
              'Twas at the sign of the Pewter Pot;
              We call'd for some Purl, and we had it hot,
              With Gin and Bitters too."

         3 Nutty—Amorous.

         4 An elegant and expressive term for the eyes.

[146]This was followed immediately by the rattling of an engine with two torches, accompanied by an immense concourse of people following it at full speed past the window.

"It is well lit, by Jove," said the sleeper awake, "where ever it is;" and with that he tipp'd the slavey{1}1 a tanner,{2} and mizzled.

The noise and confusion outside of the House completely put a stop to all harmony and comfort within.

"It must be near us," said Tom.

"It is Covent Garden Theatre, in my opinion," said Sparkle.

Bob said nothing, but kept looking about him in a sort

of wild surprise.

"However," said Tom, "wherever it is, we must go and have a peep."

"You are a very gallant fellow, truly," said one of the bewitchers—"I thought—"

"And so did I," said Tom—"but 'rest the babe—the time it shall come'—never mind, we won't be disappointed; but here, (said he) as I belong to the Tip and Toddle Club, I don't mean to disgrace my calling, by forgetting my duty." And slipping a something into her hand, her note was immediately changed into,

"Well, I always thought you was a trump, and I likes a man that behaves like a gentleman."

Something of the same kind was going on between the other two, which proved completely satisfactory.

"So then, Mr. Author, it seems you have raised a fire to stew the oysters, and leave your Readers to feast upon the blaze."

"Hold for a moment, and be not so testy, and for your satisfaction I can solemnly promise, that if the oysters are stewed, you shall have good and sufficient notice of the moment they are to be on table—But, bless my heart, how the fire rages!—I can neither spare time nor wind to parley a moment longer—Tom and Bob have already started off with the velocity of a race-horse, and if I lose them, I should cut but a poor figure with my Readers afterward.

"Pray, Sir, can you tell me where the fire is?" 'Really, Sir, I don't know, but I am told it is somewhere by Whitechapel.'

         1 Slaveys—Servants of either sex.

         2 Tanner—A flash term for a sixpence.

[147]"Could you inform me Madam, whereabouts the fire is?"

'Westminster Road, Sir, as I am informed.' "Westminster, and Whitechapel—some little difference of opinion I find as usual—however, I have just caught sight of Tom, and he's sure to be on the right scent; so adieu, Mr. Reader, for the present, and have no doubt but I shall soon be able to throw further light on the subject."

## CHAPTER XI

              "Some folks in the streets, by the Lord, made me stare,
              So comical, droll, is the dress that they wear,
              For the Gentlemen's waists are atop of their backs,
              And their large cassock trowsers they tit just like sacks.
              Then the Ladies—their dresses are equally queer,
              They wear such large bonnets, no face can appear:
              It puts me in mind, now don't think I'm a joker,
              Of a coal-scuttle stuck on the head of a poker.
              In their bonnets they wear of green leaves such a power,
              It puts me in mind of a great cauliflower;
              And their legs, 1 am sure, must be ready to freeze,
              For they wear all their petticoats up to their knees.
              They carry large bags full of trinkets and lockets,
              'Cause the fashion is now not to wear any pockets;
              "While to keep off the flies, and to hide from beholders,
              A large cabbage-net is thrown over their shoulders."

[148]IN a moment all was consternation, confusion, and alarm. The brilliant light that illuminated the surrounding buildings presented a scene of dazzling splendour, mingled with sensations of horror not easily to be described. The rattling of engines, the flashing of torches, and the shouting of thousands, by whom they were followed and surrounded, all combined to give lively interest to the circumstance.

It was quickly ascertained that the dreadful conflagration had taken place at an extensive Timber-yard, within a very short distance of the Theatres, situated as it were nearly in the centre, between Covent Garden and Drury Lane. Men, women, and children, were seen running in all directions; and report, with his ten thousand tongues, here found an opportunity for the exercise of them all; assertion and denial followed each other in rapid succession, while the flames continued to increase. Our party being thus abruptly disturbed in their anticipated enjoyments, bade adieu to their Doxies,{1}

         1 Doxies—A flash term frequently made use of to denominate
         ladies of easy virtue.

[149]and rushed forward to the spot, where they witnessed the devouring ravages of the yet unquenched element, consuming with resistless force all that came in its way.

"Button up," said Tom, "and let us keep together, for upon these occasions,

"The Scamps,{1} the Pads,{2} the Divers,{3} are all upon the lay."{4}

The Flash Molishers,{5} in the vicinity of Drury Lane, were out in parties, and it was reasonable to suppose, that where there was so much heat, considerable thirst must also prevail; consequently the Sluiceries were all in high request, every one of those in the neighbourhood being able to boast of overflowing Houses, without any imputation upon their veracity. We say nothing of elegant genteel, or enlightened audiences, so frequently introduced in the Bills from other houses in the neighbourhood; even the door-ways were block'd up with the collectors and imparters of information. Prognostications as to how and where it began, how it would end, and the property that would be consumed, were to be met at every corner—Snuffy Tabbies, and Boosy Kids, some giving way to jocularity, and others indulging in lamentations.

"Hot, hot, hot, all hot," said a Black man, as he pushed in and out among the crowd; with "Hoot awa', the de'il tak your soul, mon, don't you think we are all hot eneugh?—gin ye bring more hot here I'll crack your croon—I've been roasting alive for the last half hoor, an' want to be ganging, but I can't get out."

"Hot, hot, hot, all hot, Ladies and Gentlemen," said the dingy dealer in delicacies, and almost as soon disappeared among the crowd, where he found better opportunities for vending his rarities.

"Lumps of pudding," said Tom, jerking Tallyho by the arm, "what do you think of a slice? here's accommodation for you—all hot, ready dress'd, and well done."

"Egad!" said Bob, "I think we shall be well done ourselves presently."

"Keep your hands out of my pockets, you lousy beggar,"

         1 Scamps—Highwaymen.

         2 Pads—Foot-pads.

         3 Divers—Pickpockets.

         4  The Lay—Upon the look-out for opportunities for the
         exercise of their profession.

         5 Flash Molishers—a term given to low Prostitutes.

[150]said a tall man standing near them, "or b—— me if I don't mill you."

"You mill me, vhy you don't know how to go about it, Mr. Bully Brag, and I doesn't care half a farden for you—you go for to say as how I—"

"Take that, then," said the other, and gave him a floorer; but he was prevented from falling by those around him.

The salute was returned in good earnest, and a random sort of fight ensued. The accompaniments of this exhibition were the shrieks of the women, and the shouts of the partisans of each of the Bruisers—the cries of "Go it, little one—stick to it—tip it him—sarve him out—ring, ring—give 'em room—foul, foul—fair, fair," &c." At this moment the Firemen, who had been actively engaged in endeavours to subdue the devouring flames, obtained a supply of water: the engines were set to work, and the Foreman directed the pipe so as to throw the water completely into the mob which had collected round them. This had the desired effect of putting an end to the squabble, and dispersing a large portion of the multitude, at least to some distance, so as to leave good and sufficient room for their operations.

"The Devil take it," cried Sparkle, "I am drench'd."

"Ditto repeated," said Tom.

"Curse the fellow," cried Bob, "I am sopp'd."

"Never mind," continued Tom,

              .  .  .  "By fellowship in woe,
              Scarce half our pain we know."

"Since we are all in it, there is no laughing allowed."

In a short time, the water flowed through the street in torrents; the pumping of the engines, and the calls of the Firemen, were all the noises that could be heard, except now and then the arrival of additional assistance.

Bob watched minutely the skill and activity of those robust and hardy men, who were seen in all directions upon the tops of houses, &c. near the calamitous scene, giving information to those below; and he was astonished to see the rapidity with which they effected their object.

Having ascertained as far as they could the extent of the damage, and that no lives were lost, Tom proposed a move, and Sparkle gladly seconded the motion—"for," said he, "I am so wet, though I cannot complain of being [151]cold, that I think I resemble the fat man who seemed something like two single gentlemen roll'd into one,' and 'who after half a year's baking declared he had been so cursed hot, he was sure he'd caught cold;' so come along."

"Past twelve o'clock," said a Charley, about three parts sprung, and who appeared to have more light in his head than he could shew from his lantern.

"Stop thief, stop thief," was vociferated behind them; and the night music, the rattles, were in immediate use in several quarters—a rush of the crowd almost knock'd Bob off his pins, and he would certainly have fell to the ground, but his nob{l} came with so much force against the bread-basket{2} of the groggy guardian of the night, that he was turn'd keel upwards,{3} and rolled with his lantern, staff, and rattle, into the overflowing kennel; a circumstance which perhaps had really no bad effect, for in all probability it brought the sober senses of the Charley a little more into action than the juice of the juniper had previously allowed. He was dragged from his birth, and his coat, which was of the blanket kind, brought with it a plentiful supply of the moistening fluid, being literally sous'd from head to foot.

Bob fished for the darkey{4}—the musical instrument{5}—and the post of honour, alias the supporter of peace;{6} but he was not yet complete, for he had dropped his canister-cap,{7} which was at length found by a flash molisher, and drawn from the pool, full of water, who appeared to know him, and swore he was one of the best fellows on any of the beats round about; and that they had got hold of a Fire-prigger,{8} and bundled{9} him off to St. Giles's watch-house, because he was bolting with a bag of togs.

         1 Nob—The head.

         2 Bread-basket—The stomach.

         3 Keel upwards—Originally a sea phrase, and most in use
         among sailors, &c.

         4 Darkey—Generally made use of to signify a dark lantern.

         5 Musical instrument—a rattle.

         6 Post of honour, or supporter of his peace—Stick, or
         cudgel.

         7 "Canister-cap—& hat.

         8 Fire-prigger—No beast of prey can be more noxious to
         society or destitute of feeling than those who plunder the
         unfortunate sufferers under that dreadful and destructive
         calamity, fire. The tiger who leaps on the unguarded
         passenger will fly from the fire, and the traveller shall be
         protected by it; while these wretches, who attend on  fires,
         and rob the unfortunate  sufferers   under pretence of
         coming to give assistance, and assuming the style and manner
         of neighbours, take advantage of distress and confusion.
         Such wretches have a more eminent claim to the detestation
         of society, than almost any other of those who prey upon it.

         9 Bundled—Took, or conveyed.

[152]The feeble old scout shook his dripping wardrobe, d——d the water and the boosy kid that wallof'd him into it, but without appearing to know which was him; till Bob stepped up, and passing some silver into his mawley, told him he hoped he was not hurt. And our party then, moved on in the direction for Russel-street, Covent-garden, when Sparkle again mentioned his wet condition, and particularly recommended a glass of Cogniac by way of preventive from taking cold. "A good motion well made (said Tom;) and here we are just by the Harp, where we can be fitted to a shaving; so come along."

Having taken this, as Sparkle observed, very necessary precaution, they pursued their way towards Piccadilly, taking their route under the Piazzas of Covent-garden, and thence up James-street into Long-acre, where they were amused by a circumstance of no very uncommon kind in London, but perfectly new to Tallyho. Two Charleys had in close custody a sturdy young man (who was surrounded by several others,) and was taking him to the neighbouring watch-house "What is the matter?" said Tom.

"Oh, 'tis only a little bit of a dead body-snatcher," said one of the guardians. "He has been up to the resurrection rig.{1} Here," continued he, "I've got the bone-basket,"

         1 Resurrection rig—This subject, though a grave one, has
         been treated by many with a degree of comicality calculated
         to excite considerable risibility. A late well known
         humorist has related the following anecdote:

         Some young men, who had been out upon the spree, returning
         home pretty well primed after drinking plentifully, found
         themselves so dry as they passed a public house where they
         were well known, they could not resist the desire they had
         of calling on their old friend, and taking a glass of brandy
         with him by way of finish, as they termed it; and finding
         the door open, though it was late, were tempted to walk in.
         But their old friend was out of temper. "What is the
         matter?"—"Matter enough," replied Boniface; "here have I
         got an old fool of a fellow occupying my parlour dead drunk,
         and what the devil to do with him I don't know. He can
         neither walk nor speak."

         "Oh," said one of the party, who knew that a resurrection
         Doctor resided in the next street, "I'll remove that
         nuisance, if that's all you have to complain of; only lend
         me a sack, and I'll sell him."

         A sack  was   produced,  and   the   Bacchanalian,  who
         almost appeared void of animation, was without much
         difficulty thrust into it. "Give me a lift," said the
         frolicsome blade, and away he went with the load. On
         arriving at the doctor's door, he pulled the night bell,
         when the Assistant made his appearance, not un-accustomed to
         this sort of nocturnal visitant.

[153]holding up a bag, "and it was taken off his shoulder as he went along Mercer-street, so he can't say nothing at all.

"I have brought you a subject—all right."

"Come in. What is it, a man or a woman?"

"A man."

"Down with him—that corner. D——n it, I was fast asleep.

"Call for the sack in the morning, will you, for I want to get to bed."

"With all my heart."

Then going to a drawer, and bringing the customary fee, "Here, (said he) be quick and be off." This was exactly what the other wanted; and having secured the rubbish,{1} the door was shut upon him. This, however, was no sooner done, than the Boosy Kid in the sack, feeling a sudden internal turn of the contents of his stomach, which brought with it a heaving, fell, from the upright situation in which he had been placed, on the floor. This so alarmed the young Doctor, that he ran with all speed after the vender, and just coming up to him at the corner of the street.

"Why, (said he) you have left me a living man!"

"Never mind, (replied the other;) kill him when you want him." And making good use of his heels he quickly disappeared.

A Comedian of some celebrity, but who is now too old for theatrical service, relates a circumstance which occurred to him upon his first arrival in town:—

Having entered into an engagement to appear upon the boards of one of the London Theatres, he sought the metropolis some short time before the opening of the House; and conceiving it necessary to his profession to study life—real life as it is,—he was accustomed to mingle promiscuously in almost all society. With this view he frequently entered the tap rooms of the lowest public houses, to enjoy his pipe and his pint, keeping the main object always in view—

"To catch the manners living as they rise."

Calling one evening at one of these houses, not far from Drury Lane, he found some strapping fellows engaged in conversation, interlarded with much flash and low slang; but decently dressed, he mingled in a sort of general dialogue with them on the state of the weather, politics, &c. After sitting some time in their company, and particularly noticing their persons and apparent character—

         "Come, Bill, it is time to be off, it is getting rather
         darkish." "Ah, very well (replied the other,) let us have
         another quart, and then I am your man for a bit of a lark."
         By this time they had learned that the Comedian was but
         newly arrived in town; and he on the other hand was desirous
         of seeing what they meant to be up to. After another quart
         they were about to move, when, said one to the other, "As we
         are only going to have a stroll and a bit of fun, perhaps
         that there young man would like to join us."

         "Ah, what say you, Sir? have you any objection? but perhaps
         you have business on hand and are engaged—"

         "No, I have nothing particular to do," was the reply. "Very
         well, then if you like to go with us, we shall be glad of
         your company."

         "Well (said he,) I don't care if I do spend an hour with
         you." And with that they sallied forth.

         After rambling about for some time in the vicinity of
         Tottenham Court Road, shewing him some of the Squares, &c.
         describing the names of streets, squares, and buildings,
         they approached St. Giles's, and leading him under a
         gateway, "Stop, (said one) we must call upon Jack, you know,
         for old acquaintance sake," and gave a loud knock at the
         door; which being opened without a word, they all walked in,
         and the door was instantly lock'd. He was now introduced to
         a man of squalid appearance, with whom they all shook hands:
         the mode of introduction was not however of so satis-factory
         a description as had been expected, being very laconic, and
         conveyed in the following language:—"We have got him."

         "Yes, yes, it is all right—come, Jack, serve us out some
         grog, and then to business."

         The poor Comedian in the mean time was left in the utmost
         anxiety and surprise to form an opinion of his situation;
         for as he had heard something about trepanning, pressing,
         &c. he could not help entertaining serious suspicion that he
         should either be com-pelled to serve as a soldier or a
         sailor; and as he had no intention "to gain a name in arms,"
         they were neither of them suitable to his inclinations.

         "Come," (said one) walk up stairs and sit down—Jack, bring
         the lush "—and up stairs they went.

         Upon entering a gloomy room, somewhat large, with only a
         small candle, he had not much opportunity of discovering
         what sort of a place it was, though it looked wretched
         enough. The grog was brought—"Here's all round the grave-
         stone, (said one)—come, drink away, my hearty—don't be
         alarm'd, we are rum fellows, and we'll put you up to a rig
         or two—we are got a rum covey in the corner there, and you
         must lend us a hand to get rid of him:" then, holding up the
         light, what was the surprise of the poor Comedian to espy a
         dead body of a man—"You can help us to get him away, and
         by G——you shall, too, it's of no use to flinch now."

         A circumstance of this kind was new to him, so that his
         perplexity was only increased by the discovery; but he
         plainly perceived by the last declaration, that having
         engaged in the business, it would be of no use to leave it
         half done: he therefore remained silent upon the subject,
         drank his grog, when Jack came up stairs to say the cart was
         ready.

         "Lend a hand, (said one of them) let us get our load down
         stairs—come, my Master, turn to with a good heart, all's
         right."

         With this the body was conveyed down stairs.

         At the back of the house was a small yard separated from a
         neighbouring street by a wall—a signal was given by some
         one on the other side which was understood by those within—
         it was approaching nine o'clock, and a dark night—"Come,
         (said one of them,) mount you to the top of the wall, and
         ding the covey over to the carcass-carter." This being
         complied with, the dead body was handed up to him, which was
         no sooner done than the Carman outside, perceiving the
         Watchman approach—"It von't do," said he, and giving a
         whistle, drove his cart with an assumed air of carelessness
         away; while the poor Comedian, who had a new character to
         support, in which he did not conceive himself well up,{1}
         was holding the dead man on his lap with the legs projecting
         over the wall; it was a situation of the utmost delicacy and
         there was no time to recast the part, he was therefore,
         obliged to blunder through it as well as he could; the
         perspiration of the living man fell plentifully on the
         features of the dead as the Charley approached in a position
         to pass directly under him. Those inside had sought the
         shelter of the house, telling him to remain quiet till the
         old Scout was gone by. Now although he was not fully
         acquainted with the consequences of discovery, he was
         willing and anxious to avoid them: he therefore took the
         advice, and scarcely moved or breathed—"Past nine o'clock,"
         said the Watchman, as he passed under the legs of the dead
         body without looking up, though he was within an inch of
         having his castor brushed off by them. Being thus relieved,
         he was happy to see the cart return; he handed over the
         unpleasant burthen, and as quick as possible afterwards
         descended from his elevated situation into the street,
         determining at all hazards to see the result of this to him
         extraordinary adventure; with this view he followed the cart
         at a short distance, keeping his eye upon it as he went
         along; and in one of the streets leading to Long Acre, he
         perceived a man endeavouring to look into the back part of
         the cart, but was diverted from his object by one of the men
         who had introduced him to the house, while another of the
         confederates snatched the body from the cart, and ran with
         all speed down another street in an opposite direction. This
         movement had attracted the notice of the Watchman, who,
         being prompt in his movements, had sprung his rattle. Upon
         this, and feeling himself too heavily laden to secure his
         retreat, the fellow with the dead man perceiving the gate of
         an area open, dropped his burden down the steps, slam'd the
         gate after him, and continued to fly, but was stopped at the
         end of the street; in the mean time the Charley in pursuit
         had knock'd at the door of the house where the stolen goods
         (as he supposed) were deposited.

              1 A cant phrase for money.

         It was kept by an old maiden lady, who, upon discovering the
         dead body of a man upon her premises, had fainted in the
         Watchman's arms. The detection of the running
         Resurrectionist was followed by a walk to the watch-house,
         where his companions endeavoured to make it appear that they
         had all been dining at Wandsworth together, that he was not
         the person against whom the hue and cry had been raised. But
         old Snoosey{l} said it wouldn't do, and he was therefore
         detained to appear before the Magistrate in the morning. The
         Comedian, who had minutely watched their proceedings, took
         care to be at Bow-street in good time; where he found upon
         the affidavits of two of his comrades, who swore they had
         dined together at Wandsworth, their pal was liberated.

              1 The Constable of the night.

[156]Bob could not very well understand what was the meaning of this lingo; he was perfectly at a loss to comprehend the terms of deadbody snatching and the resurrection rig. The crowd increased as they went along; and as they did not exactly relish their company, Sparkle led. them across the way, and then proceeded to explain.

"Why," said Sparkle, "the custom of dead-body snatching has become very common in London, and in many cases appears to be winked at by the Magistrates; for although it is considered a felony in law, it is also acknowledged in some degree to be necessary for the Surgeons, in order to have an opportunity of obtaining practical information. It is however, at the same time, a source of no slight distress to the parents and friends of the parties who are dragg'd from the peaceful security of the tomb. The Resurrection-men are generally well rewarded for their labours by the Surgeons who employ them to procure subjects; they are for the most part fellows who never stick at trifles, but make a decent livelihood by moving off, if they can, not only the bodies, but coffins, shrouds, &c. and are always upon the look-out wherever there is a funeral—nay, there have been instances in which the bodies have been dug from their graves within a few hours after being deposited there."

"It is a shameful practice," said Bob, "and ought not to be tolerated, however; nor can I conceive how, with the apparent vigilance of the Police, it can be carried on."

"Nothing more easy," said Sparkle, "where the plan is well laid. These fellows, when they hear a passing-bell toll, skulk about the parish from ale-house to ale-house, till [157]they can learn a proper account of what the deceased died of, what condition the body is in, &c. with which account they go to a Resurrection Doctor, who agrees for a price, which is mostly five guineas, for the body of a man, and then bargain with an Undertaker for the shroud, coffin, &c. which, perhaps with a little alteration, may serve to run through the whole family."

"And is it possible," said Bob, "that there are persons who will enter into such bargains?"

"No doubt of it; nay, there was an instance of a man really selling his own body to a Surgeon, to be appropriated to his own purposes when dead, for a certain weekly sum secured to him while living; but in robbing the church-yards there are always many engaged in the rig—for notice is generally given that the body will be removed in the night, to which the Sexton is made privy, and receives the information with as much ease as he did to have it brought—his price being a guinea for the use of the grubbing irons, adjusting the grave, &c. This system is generally carried on in little country church-yards within a few miles of London. A hackney-coach or a cart is ready to receive the stolen property, and there cannot be a doubt but many of these depredations are attended with success, the parties escaping with their prey undetected—nay, I know of an instance that occurred a short time back, of a young man who was buried at Wesley's Chapel, on which occasion one of the mourners, a little more wary than the rest, could not help observing two or three rough fellows in the ground during the ceremony, which aroused his suspicion that they intended after interment to have the body of his departed friend; this idea became so strongly rooted in his mind, that he imparted his suspicions to the remainder of those who had followed him: himself and another therefore determined if possible to satisfy themselves upon the point, by returning in the dusk of the evening to reconnoitre. They accordingly proceeded to the spot, but the gates being shut, one of them climbed to the top of the wall, where he discovered the very parties, he had before noticed, in the act of wrenching open the coffin. Here they are, said he, hard at it, as I expected. But before he and his friend could get over the wall, the villains effected their escape, leaving behind them a capacious sack and all the implements of their infernal trade. They secured the body, had [158]it conveyed home again, and in a few days re-buried it in a place of greater security.{1}

Bob was surprised at this description of the Resurrection-rig, but was quickly drawn from his contemplation of the depravity of human nature, and what he could not help thinking the dirty employments of life, by a shouting apparently from several voices as they passed the end of St. Martin's Lane: it came from about eight persons, who appeared to be journeymen mechanics, with pipes in their mouths, some of them rather rorytorious,{2} who, as they approached, broke altogether into the following

              SONG.{3}

              "I'm a frolicsome young fellow, I live at my ease,
              I work when I like, and I play when I please;
              I'm frolicsome, good-natured—I'm happy and free,
              And I care not a jot what the world thinks of me.

              With my bottle and glass some hours I pass,
              Sometimes with my friend, and sometimes with my lass:
              I'm frolicsome, good-natur'd—I'm happy and free,
              And I don't care one jot what the world thinks of me.

              By the cares of the nation I'll ne'er be perplex'd,
              I'm always good-natur'd, e'en though I am vex'd;
              I'm frolicsome, good-humour'd—I'm happy and free,
              And I don't care one d——n what the world thinks of me.

         1 A circumstance very similar to the one here narrated by
         Sparkle actually occurred, and can be well authenticated.

         2 Rorytorious—Noisy.

         3 This song is not introduced for the elegance of its
         composition, but as the Author has actually heard it in the
         streets at the flight of night or the peep of day, sung in
         full chorus, as plain as the fumes of the pipes and the
         hiccups would allow the choristers at those hours to
         articulate; and as it is probably the effusion of some
         Shopmate in unison with the sentiments of many, it forms
         part of Real Life deserving of being recorded in this Work.

         Particular trades have particular songs suitable to the
         employment in which they are engaged, which while at work
         the whole of the parties will join in. In Spitalfields,
         Bethnal-green, &c. principally inhabited by weavers, it is
         no uncommon thing to hear twenty or thirty girls singing,
         with their shuttles going—The Death of Barbary Allen—There
         was an old Astrologer—Mary's Dream, or Death and the Lady;
         and we remember a Watch-maker who never objected to hear his
         boys sing; but although he was himself a loyal subject, he
         declared he could not bear God Save the King; and upon being
         ask'd his reason—Why, said he, it is too slow—for as the
         time goes, so the fingers move—Give us Drops of Brandy,
         or Go to the Devil and Shake Yourself—then I shall have
         some work done.

[159]This Song, which was repeated three or four times, was continued till their arrival at Newport-market, where the Songsters divided: our party pursued their way through Coventry-street, and arrived without further adventure or interruption safely at home. Sparkle bade them adieu, and proceeded to Bond-street; and Tom and Bob sought the repose of the pillow.

It is said that "Music hath charms to sooth the savage breast," and it cannot but be allowed that the Yo heave ho, of our Sailors, or the sound of a fiddle, contribute much to the speed of weighing anchor.

It is an indisputable fact that there are few causes which more decidedly form, or at least there are few evidences which more clearly indicate, the true character of a nation, than its Songs and Ballads. It has been observed by the learned Selden, that you may see which way the wind sets by throwing a straw up into the air, when you cannot make the same discovery by tossing up a stone or other weighty substance. Thus it is with Songs and Ballads, respecting the state of public feeling, when productions of a more elaborate nature fail in their elucidations: so much so that it is related of a great Statesman, who was fully convinced of the truth of the observation, that he said, "Give me the making of the national Ballads, and I care not who frames your Laws." Every day's experience tends to prove the power which the sphere-born Sisters of harmony, voice, and verse, have over the human mind. "I would rather," says Mr. Sheridan, "have written Glover's song of 'Hosier's Ghost' than the Annals of Tacitus."[160]

## CHAPTER XII

         O what a town, what a wonderful Metropolis!
         Sure such a town as this was never seen;
         Mayor, common councilmen, citizens and populace,
         Wand'ring from Poplar to Turnham Green.

         Chapels, churches, synagogues, distilleries and county banks—
         Poets, Jews and gentlemen, apothecaries, mountebanks—
         There's Bethlem Hospital, and there the Picture Gallery;
         And there's Sadler's Wells, and there the Court of Chancery.

         O such a town, such a wonderful Metropolis,
         Sure such a town as this was never seen!
         O such a town, and such a heap of carriages,
         Sure such a motley group was never seen;
         Such a swarm of young and old, of buryings and marriages,
         All the world seems occupied in ceaseless din.

         There's the Bench, and there's the Bank—now only take a peep at her—
         And there's Rag Fair, and there the East-London Theatre—
         There's St. James's all so fine, St. Giles's all in tattery,
         Where fun and frolic dance the rig from Saturday to Saturday.
         O what a town, what a wonderful Metropolis,
         Sure such a town as this was never seen!

A SHORT time after this day's ramble, the Hon. Tom Dash all and his friend Tallyho paid a visit to the celebrated Tattersall's.

"This," said Tom, "is a great scene of action at times, and you will upon some occasions find as much business done here as there is on 'Change; the dealings however are not so fair, though the profits are larger; and if you observe the characters and the visages of the visitants, it will be found it is most frequently attended by Turf-Jews and Greeks.{1} Any man indeed who dabbles in horse-dealing, must, like a gamester, be either a rook or a pigeon; {2} for horse-dealing is a species of gambling, in which as many

         1  Turf-Jews and Greeks—Gamblers at races, trotting-
         matches, &c.

         2 Rooks and Pigeons are frequenters of gaming-houses: the
         former signifying the successful adventurer, and the latter
         the unfortunate dupe.

[161]depredations are committed upon the property of the unwary as in any other, and every one engaged in it thinks it a meritorious act to dupe his chapman. Even noblemen and gentlemen, who in other transactions of life are honest, will make no scruple of cheating you in horse-dealing: nor is this to be wondered at when we consider that the Lord and the Baronet take lessons from their grooms, jockeys, or coachmen, and the nearer approach they can make to the appearance and manners of their tutors, the fitter the pupils for turf-men, or gentlemen dealers; for the school in which they learn is of such a description that dereliction of principle is by no means surprising—fleecing each other is an every-day practice—every one looks upon his fellow as a bite, and young men of fashion learn how to buy and sell, from old whips, jockeys, or rum ostlers, whose practices have put them up to every thing, and by such ruffian preceptors are frequently taught to make three quarters or seventy-five per cent, profit, which is called turning an honest penny. This, though frequently practised at country fairs, &c. by horse-jobbers, &c. is here executed with all the dexterity and art imaginable: for instance, you have a distressed friend whom you know must sell; you commiserate his situation, and very kindly find all manner of faults with his horse, and buy it for half its value—you also know a Green-horn and an extravagant fellow, to whom you sell it for twice its value, and that is the neat thing. Again, if you have a horse you wish to dispose of, the same school will afford you instruction how to make the most of him, that is to say, to conceal his vices and defects, and by proper attention to put him into condition, to alter his whole appearance by hogging, cropping, and docking—by patching up his broken knees—blowing gun-powder in his dim eyes—bishoping, blistering, &c. so as to turn him out in good twig, scarcely to be known by those who have frequently seen and noticed him: besides which, at the time of sale one of these gentry will aid and assist your views by pointing out his recommendations in some such observations as the following:

'There's a horse truly good and well made.

'There's the appearance of a fine woman! broad breast, round hips, and long neck.

'There's the countenance, intrepidity, and fire of a lion.

'There's the eye, joint, and nostril of an ox.

[162]'There's the nose, gentleness, and patience of a lamb.

'There's the strength, constancy, and foot of a mule.

'There's the hair, head, and leg of a deer.

'There's the throat, neck, and hearing of a wolf.

'There's the ear, brush, and trot of a fox.

'There's the memory, sight, and turning of a serpent.

'There's the running, suppleness, and innocence of the hare.

"And if a horse sold for sound wind, limb, and eyesight, with all the gentleness of a lamb, that a child might ride him with safety, should afterwards break the purchaser's neck, the seller has nothing to do with it, provided he has received the bit,{1} but laughs at the do.{2} Nay, they will sometimes sell a horse, warranted to go as steady as ever a horse went in harness, to a friend, assuring him at the same time that he has not a fault of any kind—that he is good as ever shoved a head through a horse-collar; and if he should afterwards rear up in the gig, and overturn the driver into a ditch, shatter the concern to pieces, spill Ma'am, and kill both her and the child of promise, the conscientious Horse-dealer has nothing to do with all this: How could he help it? he sold the horse for a good horse, and a good horse he was. This is all in the way of fair dealing. Again, if a horse is sold as sound, and he prove broken-winded, lame, or otherwise, not worth one fortieth part of the purchase-money, still it is only a piece of jockeyship—a fair manouvre, affording opportunities of merriment."

"A very laudable sort of company," said Bob.

"It is rather a mixed one," replied Tom—"it is indeed a complete mixture of all conditions, ranks, and orders of society. But let us take a peep at some of them. Do you observe that stout fellow yonder, with a stick in his hand? he has been a Daisy-kicker, and, by his arts and contrivances having saved a little money, is now a regular dealer, and may generally be seen here on selling days."

"Daisy-kicker," said Bob, "I don't comprehend the term."

"Then I will explain," was the reply. "Daisy-kickers are Ostlers belonging to large inns, who are known to each other by that title, and you may frequently hear them

         1 Bit—A cant term for money.

         2 Do—Any successful endeavour to over-reach another is by
         these gentlemen call'd a do, meaning—so and so has been
         done.

[163]ask—When did you sell your Daisy-kicker or Grogham?—for these terms are made use of among themselves as cant for a horse. Do you also observe, he is now in close conversation with a person who he expects will become a purchaser."

"And who is he?"

"He is no other than a common informer, though in high life; keeps his carriage, horses, and servants—lives in the first style—he is shortly to be made a Consul of, and perhaps an Ambassador afterwards. The first is to all intents and purposes a Lord of Trade, and his Excellency nothing more than a titled spy, in the same way as a Bailiff is a follower of the law, and a man out of livery a Knight's companion or a Nobleman's gentleman."

Their attention was at this moment attracted by the appearance of two persons dressed in the extreme of fashion, who, upon meeting just by them, caught eagerly hold of each other's hand, and they overheard the following—'Why, Bill, how am you, my hearty?—where have you been trotting your galloper?—what is you arter?—how's Harry and Ben?—haven't seen you this blue moon.'{1}

'All tidy,' was the reply; 'Ben is getting better, and is going to sport a new curricle, which is now building for him in Long Acre, as soon as he is recovered.'

'Why what the devil's the matter with him, eh?'

'Nothing of any consequence, only he got mill'd a night or two ago about his blowen—he had one of his ribs broke, sprained his right wrist, and sports a painted peeper{2} upon the occasion, that's all.'

'Why you know he's no bad cock at the Fancy, and won't put up with any gammon.'

'No, but he was lushy, and so he got queer'd—But I say, have you sold your bay?'

'No, d——n me, I can't get my price.'

'Why, what is it you axes?'{3}

'Only a hundred and thirty—got by Agamemnon. Lord, it's no price at all—cheap as dirt—But I say, Bill,

         1 Blue moon—This is usually intended to imply a long time.

         2 Painted peeper—A black eye.

         3 Axes—Among the swell lads, and those who affect the
         characters of knowing coveys, there is a common practice of
         endeavouring to coin new words and new modes of expression,
         evidently intended to be thought wit; and this affectation
         frequently has the effect of creating a laugh.

[164]how do you come on with your grey, and the pie-bald poney?'

'All right and regular, my boy; matched the poney for a light curricle, and I swapped{1} the grey for an entire horse—such a rum one—when will you come and take a peep at him?—all bone, fine shape and action, figure beyond compare—I made a rare good chop of it.'

'I'm glad to hear it; I'll make a survey, and take a ride with you the first leisure day; but I'm full of business, no time to spare—I say, are, you a dealer?'

'No, no, it won't do, I lost too much at the Derby—besides, I must go and drive my Girl out—Avait, that's the time of day,{2} my boys—so good by—But if you should be able to pick up a brace of clever pointers, a prime spaniel, or a greyhound to match Smut, I'm your man—buy for me, and all's right—price, you know, is out of the question, I must have them if they are to be got, so look out—bid and buy; but mind, nothing but prime will do for me—that's the time of day, you know, d——n me—so good by—I'm off.' And away he went.

"Some great sporting character, I suppose," said Bob—"plenty of money."

"No such thing," said Tom, drawing him on one side—"you will hardly believe that Bill is nothing more than a Shopman to a Linen-draper, recently discharged for malpractices; and the other has been a Waiter at a Tavern, but is now out of place; and they are both upon the sharp look-out to gammon the flats. The former obtains his present livelihood by gambling—spends the most of his time in playing cards with greenhorns, always to be picked up at low flash houses, at fairs, races, milling-matches, &c. and is also in the holy keeping of the cast-off mistress of a nobleman whose family he was formerly in as a valet-de-chambre. The other pretends to teach sparring in the City, and occasionally has a benefit in the Minories, Duke's Place, and the Fives Court."

"They talk it well, however," said Bob.

         1 Swapp'd—Exchanged.

         2  That's the time of day—That's your sort—that's the
         barber—keep moving—what am you arter—what am you up to—
         there never was such times—that's the Dandy—Go along Bob,
         &c. are ex-pressions that are frequently made use of by the
         people of the Metropolis; and indeed fashion seems almost to
         have as much to do with our language as with our dress or
         manners.

[165]"Words are but wind, many a proud word comes off a weak stomach," was the reply; "and you may almost expect not to hear a word of truth in this place, which may be termed The Sporting Repository—it is the grand mart for horses and for other fashionable animals—for expensive asses, and all sorts of sporting-dogs, town-puppies, and second-hand vehicles. Here bets are made for races and fights—matches are made up here—bargains are struck, and engagements entered into, with as much form, regularity, and importance, as the progress of parliamentary proceedings—points of doubt upon all occasions of jockeyship are decided here; and no man of fashion can be received into what is termed polished society, without a knowledge of this place and some of the visitors. The proceedings however are generally so managed, that the ostlers, the jockeys, the grooms, and the dealers, come best off, from a superiority of knowledge and presumed judgment—they have a method of patching up deep matches to diddle the dupes, and to introduce throws over, doubles, double doubles, to ease the heavy pockets of their burdens. The system of puffing is also as much in use here as among the Lottery-office Keepers, the Quack Doctors, or the Auctioneers; and the __Knowing ones, by an understanding amongst each other, sell their cattle almost for what they please, if it so happens they are not immediately in want of the ready,{1} which, by the way, is an article too frequently in request—and here honest poverty is often obliged to sell at any rate, while the rich black-leg takes care only to sell to a good advantage, making a point at the same time not only to make the most of his cattle, but also of his friend or acquaintance."

"Liberal and patriotic-minded men!" said Bob; "it is a noble Society, and well worthy of cultivation."

"It is fashionable Society, at least," continued Tom, "and deserving of observation, for it is fraught with instruction."

"I think so, indeed," was the reply; "but I really begin to suspect that I shall scarcely have confidence to venture out alone, for there does not appear to be any part of your wonderful Metropolis but what is infested with some kind of shark or other."

"It is but too true, and it is therefore the more necessary to make yourself acquainted with them; it is rather a long lesson, but really deserving of being learnt. You

         1 The ready—Money.

[166]perceive what sort of company you are now in, as far as may be judged from their appearances; but they are not to be trusted, for I doubt not but you would form erroneous conclusions from such premises. The company that assembles here is generally composed of a great variety of characters—the Idler, the Swindler, the Dandy, the Exquisite, the full-pursed young Peer, the needy Sharper, the gaudy Pauper, and the aspiring School-boy, anxious to be thought a dealer and a judge of the article before him—looking at a horse with an air of importance and assumed intelligence, bidding with a trembling voice and palpitating heart, lest it should be knock'd down to him. Do you see that dashing fellow nearly opposite to us, in the green frock-coat, top-boots, and spurs?—do you mark how he nourishes his whip, and how familiar he seems to be with the knowing old covey in brown?"

"Yes; I suppose he is a dealer."

"You are right, he is a dealer, but it is in man's flesh, not horse flesh: he is a Bum trap{1} in search of some friend

         1 Bum trap—A term pretty generally in use to denominate a
         Bailiff or his follower—they are also called Body-
         snatchers. The ways and means made use of by these gentry to
         make their captions are innumerable: they visit all places,
         assume all characters, and try all stratagems, to secure
         their friends, in order that they may have an opportunity of
         obliging them, which they have a happy facility in doing,
         provided the party can bleed free.* Among others, the
         following are curious facts:

         A Gentleman, who laboured under some peculiar difficulties,
         found it desirable for the sake of his health to retire into
         the country, where he secluded himself pretty closely from
         the vigilant anxieties of his friends, who were in search of
         him and had made several fruitless attempts to obtain an
         interview. The Traps having ascertained the place of his
         retreat, from which it appeared that nothing but stratagem
         could draw him, a knowing old snatch determined to effect
         his purpose, and succeeded in the following manner:

         One day as the Gentleman came to his window, he discovered a
         man, seemingly in great agitation, passing and re-passing;
         at length, however, he stopped suddenly, and with a great
         deal of attention fixed his eyes upon a tree which stood
         nearly opposite to the window. In a few minutes he returned
         to it, pulled out a book, in which he read for a few
         minutes, and then drew forth a rope from his pocket, with
         which he suspended himself from the tree. The Gentleman,
         eager to save the life of a fellow-creature, ran out and cut
         him down. This was scarcely accomplished, before he found
         the man whom he had rescued (as he thought) from death,
         slapp'd him on the shoulder, informed him that he was his
         prisoner, and in return robbed him of his liberty!

         Another of these gentry assumed the character of a poor
         cripple, and stationed himself as a beggar, sweeping the
         crossing near the habitation of his shy cock, who,
         conceiving himself safe after three days voluntary
         imprisonment, was seized by the supposed Beggar, who threw
         away his broom to secure his man.

         Yet, notwithstanding the many artifices to which this
         profession is obliged to conform itself, it must be
         acknowledged there are many of them who have hearts that
         would do honour to more exalted situations; especially when
         we reflect, that in general, whatever illiberality or
         invective may be cast upon them, they rarely if at all
         oppress those who are in their custody, and that they
         frequently endeavour to compromise for the Debtor, or at
         least recommend the Creditor to accept of those terms which
         can be complied with.

              * Bleed free—

[167]or other, with a writ in his pocket. These fellows have some protean qualities about them, and, as occasion requires, assume all shapes for the purpose of taking care of their customers; they are however a sort of necessary evil. The old one in brown is a well-known dealer, a deep old file, and knows every one around him—he is up to the sharps, down upon the flats, and not to be done. But in looking round you may perceive men booted and spurred, who perhaps never crossed a horse, and some with whips in their hands who deserve it on their backs—they hum lively airs, whistle and strut about with their quizzing-glasses in their hands, playing a tattoo upon their boots, and shewing themselves off with as many airs as if they were real actors engaged in the farce, that is to say, the buyers and sellers; when in truth they are nothing but loungers in search of employment, who may perhaps have to count the trees in the Park for a dinner without satisfying the cravings of nature, dining as it is termed with Duke Humphrey—others, perhaps, who have arrived in safety, are almost afraid to venture into the streets again, lest they should encounter those foes to liberty, John Doe and Richard Roe."

'If I do, may I be——' The remainder of the sentence was lost, by the speaker removing in conversation with another, when Tom turn'd round.

"O," said Tom, "I thought I knew who it was—that is one of the greatest reprobates in conversation that I ever met with."

"And who is he?"

"Why, I'll give you a brief sketch of him," continued Dashall: "It is said, and I fancy pretty well known, [168]that he has retired upon a small property, how acquired or accumulated I cannot say; but he has married a Bar-maid of very beautiful features and elegant form: having been brought up to the bar, she is not unaccustomed to confinement; but he has made her an absolute prisoner, for he shuts her up as closely as if she were in a monastery—he never dines at home, and she is left in complete solitude. He thinks his game all safe, but she has sometimes escaped the vigilance of her gaoler, and has been seen at places distant from home.{1}

         1 It is related of this gentleman, whose severity and
         vigilance were so harshly spoken of, that one day at table,
         a dashing young Military Officer, who, while he was
         circulating the bottle, was boasting among his dissipated
         friends of his dexterity in conducting the wars of Venus,
         that he had a short time back met one of the most lovely
         creatures he ever saw, in the King's Road; but he had
         learned that her husband so strictly confined and watched
         her, that there was no possibility of his being admitted to
         her at any hour.

         "Behave handsome, and I'll put you in possession of a gun
         that shall bring the game down in spite of locks, bolts and
         bars, or even the vigilance of the eyes of Argus himself."

         "How? d——me if I don't stand a ten pound note."

         "How! why easy enough; I've a plan that cannot but succeed—
         down with the cash, and I'll put you up to the scheme."

         No sooner said than done, and he pocketed the ten pound
         note.

         "Now," said the hoary old sinner, little suspecting that he
         was to be the dupe of his own artifice: "You get the husband
         invited out to dinner, have him well ply'd with wine by your
         friends: You assume the dress of a Postman—give a
         thundering rap at her door, which always denotes either the
         arrival of some important visitor or official communication;
         and when you can see her, flatter, lie, and swear that her
         company is necessary to your existence—that life is a
         burden without her—tell her, you know her husband is
         engaged, and can't come—that he is dining out with some
         jolly lads, and can't possibly be home for some hours—fall
         at her feet, and say that, having obtained the interview,
         you will not leave her. Your friends in the mean time must
         be engaged in making him as drunk as a piper. That's the way
         to do it, and if you execute it as well as it is plann'd,
         the day's your own."

         "Bravo, bravo!" echoed from every one present.

         It was a high thing—the breach thus made, the horn-work was
         soon to be carried, and there could be no doubt of a safe
         lodgement in the covert-way.

         The gay Militaire met his inamorata shortly afterwards in
         Chelsea-fields, and after obtaining from her sundry
         particulars of inquiry, as to the name of her husband, &c.
         he acquainted her with his plan. The preliminaries were
         agreed upon, and it was deter-mined that the maid-servant,
         who was stationed as a spy upon her at all times, should be
         dispatched to some house in the neighbour-hood to procure
         change, while the man of letters was to be let in and
         concealed; and upon her return it was to be stated that the
         Postman was in a hurry, could not wait, and was to call
         again. This done, he was to make his escape by a rope-ladder
         from the window as soon as the old one should be heard upon
         the stairs, which it of course was presumed would be at a
         late hour, when he was drunk.

         The train having been thus laid, Old Vigilance dined out,
         and expected to meet the Colonel; but being disappointed,
         and suspicious at all times, for

              "Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind,"

         The utmost endeavours of the party to make him drunk proved
         ineffectual; he was restless and uncomfortable, and he could
         not help fancying by the visible efforts to do him up, that
         some mischief was brewing, or some hoax was about to be
         played off. He had his master-key in his pocket, and retired
         early.

         His Lady, whose plan had succeeded admirably at home, was
         fearful of having the door bolted till after twelve, lest
         the servant's suspicions should be aroused. In the mean
         time, the son of Mars considered all safe, and entertained
         no expectation of the old Gentleman's return till a very
         late hour. When lo and behold, to the great surprise and
         annoyance of the lovers, he gently opened the street door,
         and fearful of awaking his faithful charmer out of her first
         slumber, he ascended the stairs unshod. His phosphoric
         matches shortly threw a light upon the subject, and he
         entered the apartment; when, what was the surprise and
         astonishment of the whole party at the discovery of their
         situation!

         The old Gentleman swore, stormed, and bullied, declaring he
         would have satisfaction! that he would commence a civil
         suit! The Military Hero told him it would be too civil by
         half, and was in fact more than he expected;—reminded him
         of the ten pounds he had received as agency for promoting
         his amours;—informed him he had performed the character
         recommended by him most admirably. The old man was almost
         choked with rage; but perceiving he had spread a snare for
         himself, was compelled to hear and forbear, while the lover
         bolted, wishing him a good night, and singing, "Locks,
         bolts, and bars, I defy you," as an admirable lesson in
         return for the blustering manner in which he had received
         information of the success of his own scheme.

"Mr. C—— on the opposite side is a Money-procurer or lender, a very accommodating sort of person, who négociâtes meetings and engagements between young borrowers, who care not what they pay for money, and old lenders, who care not who suffers, so they can obtain enormous interest for their loans. He is a venerable looking man, and is known to most of the young Bloods who visit here. His father was a German Cook in a certain kitchen. He set up for a Gentleman at his father's death, and was taken particular notice of by Lord G——, [170]and indeed by all the turf. He lived a gay and fashionable life, soon run out his fortune, and is now pensioned by a female whom he formerly supported. He is an excellent judge of a horse and horse-racing, upon which subjects his advice is frequently given. He is a very useful person among the generality of gentry who frequent this place of public resort. At the same time it ought to be observed, that among the various characters which infest and injure society, perhaps there are few more practised in guilt, fraud, and deceit, than the Money-lenders.

"They advertise to procure large sums of money to assist those under pecuniary embarrassment. They generally reside in obscure situations, and are to be found by anonymous signatures, such as A. B. I. R. D. V. &c. They chiefly prey upon young men of property, who have lost their money at play, horse-racing, betting, &c. or other expensive amusements, and are obliged to raise more upon any terms until their rents or incomes become payable: or such as have fortunes in prospect, as being heirs apparent to estates, but who require assistance in the mean time.

"These men avail themselves of the credit, or the ultimate responsibility of the giddy and thoughtless young spendthrift in his eager pursuit of criminal pleasures, and under the influence of those allurements, which the various places of fashionable resort hold out; and seldom fail to obtain from them securities and obligations for large sums; upon the credit of which they are enabled, perhaps at usurious interest, to borrow money or discount bills, and thus supply their unfortunate customers upon the most extravagant terms.

"There are others, who having some capital, advance money upon bonds, title-deeds, and other specialties, or tipon the bond of the parties having property in reversion. By these and other devices, large sums of money are most unwarrantably and illegally wrested from the dissipated and the thoughtless; and misery and distress are perhaps entailed upon them as long as they live, or they are driven by the prospect of utter ruin to acts of desperation or the commission of crimes.

"It generally happens upon application to the advertising party, that he, like Moses in The School for Scandal, is not really in possession of any money himself, but then he knows where and how to procure it from a very [171]unconscionable dog, who may, perhaps, not be satisfied with the security ottered; yet, if you have Bills at any reasonable date, he could get them discounted. If you should suffer yourself to be trick'd out of any Bills, he will contrive, in some way or other, to negotiate them—not, as he professes, for you, but for himself and his colleagues; and, very likely, after you have been at the additional expense of commencing a suit at law against them, they have disappeared, and are in the King's Bench or the Fleet, waiting there to defraud you of every hope and expectation, by obtaining their liberty through the White-washing Act.

"These gentry are for the most part Attorneys or Pettifoggers, or closely connected with such; and notwithstanding all legal provisions to preclude them from exacting large sums, either for their agency and introduction, or for the bonds which they draw, yet they contrive to bring themselves home, and escape detection, by some such means as the following:

"They pretend that it is necessary to have a deed drawn up to explain the uses of the Annuity-bond, which the grantor of the money, who is some usurious villain, immediately acknowledges and accedes to; for

"The bond that signs the mortgage pays the shot; so that an Act which is fraught with the best purposes for the protection of the honest, but unfortunate, is in this manner subjected to the grossest chicanery of pettifoggers and pretenders, and the vilest evasions of quirking low villains of the law.

"There is also another species of money-lender, not inaptly termed the Female Banker. These accommodate Barrow-women and others, who sell fruit, vegetables, &c. in the public streets, with five shillings a day (the usual diurnal stock in such cases;) for the use of which for twelve hours they obtain the moderate premium of sixpence when the money is returned in the evening, receiving at this rate about seven pounds ten shillings per year for every five pounds they can so employ. It is however very difficult to convince the borrowers of the correctness of this calculation, and of the serious loss to which they subject themselves by a continuation of the system, since it is evident that this improvident and dissolute class of people have no other idea than that of making the day and the way alike long. Their profits [172](often considerably augmented by dealing in base money as well as the articles which they sell) seldom last over the day; for they never fail to have a luxurious dinner and a hot supper, with a plentiful supply of gin and porter: looking in general no farther than to keep the whole original stock with the sixpence interest, which is paid over to the female Banker in the evening, and a new loan obtained on the following morning to go to market, and to be disposed of in the same way.

"In contemplating this curious system of banking, or money lending (trifling as it may appear,) it is almost impossible not to be forcibly struck with the immense profits that are derived from it. It is only necessary for one of these sharpers to possess a capital of seventy shillings, or three pounds ten shillings, with fourteen steady and regular customers, in order to realize an income of one hundred guineas per year! So true it is, that one half of the world do not know how the other half live; for there are thousands who cannot have the least conception of the existence of such facts.

"Here comes a Buck of the first cut, one who pretends to know every thing and every body, but thinks of nobody but himself, and of that self in reality knows nothing.

Captain P——is acknowledged by all his acquaintance to be one of the best fellows in the world, and to beat every one at slang, but U——y and A——se. He is the terror of the Charleys, and of the poor unfortunate roofless nightly wanderers in the streets. You perceive his long white hair, and by no means engaging features. Yet he has vanity enough to think himself handsome, and that he is taken notice of on that account; when the attractions he presents are really such as excite wonder and surprise, mingled with disgust; yet he contemplates his figure in the looking-glass with self satisfaction, and asks the frail ones, with a tremulous voice, if, so help them——he is not a good-looking fellow 1 and they, knowing their customer, of course do not fail to reply in the affirmative.

"He is a well known leg, and is no doubt present on this occasion to bet upon the ensuing Epsom races; by the bye his losses have been very considerable in that way. He has also at all times been a dupe to the sex. It is said that Susan B——, a dashing Cyprian, eased his purse of a £500 bill, and whilst he was dancing in pursuit of her, she was dancing to the tune of a Fife; a clear proof she [173]had an ear for music as well as an eye to business. But I believe it was played in a different Key to what he expected; whether it was a minor Key or not I cannot exactly say.

"At a ball or assembly he conceives himself quite at home, satisfied that he is the admiration of the whole of the company present; and were he to give an account of himself, it would most likely be in substance nearly as follows:

"When I enter the room, what a whisp'ring is heard; My rivals, astonish'd, scarce utter a word; "How charming! (cry all; ) how enchanting a fellow! How neat are those small-clothes, how killingly yellow. Not for worlds would I honour these plebs with a smile, Tho' bursting with pride and delight all the while; So I turn to my cronies (a much honour'd few,); Crying, "S—z—m, how goes it?—Ah, Duchess, how do? Ton my life, yonder's B—uf, and Br—ke, and A—g—le, S-ff—d, W—tm—1—d, L—n, and old codger C—ri—le." Now tho', from this style of address, it appears That these folks I have known for at least fifty years, The fact is, my friends, that I scarcely know one, A mere "façon de parler," the way of the ton. What tho' they dislike it, I answer my ends, Country gentlemen stare, and suppose them my friends.

But my beautiful taste (as indeed you will guess) Is manifest most in my toilet and dress; My neckcloth of course forms my principal care, For by that we criterions of elegance swear, And costs me each morning some hours of flurry, To make it appear to be tied in a hurry. My boot-tops, those unerring marks of a blade, With Champagne are polish'd, and peach marmalade; And a violet coat, closely copied from B—ng, With a cluster of seals, and a large diamond ring; And troisièmes of buckskin, bewitchingly large, Give the finishing stroke to the "parfait ouvrage."

During this animated description of the gay personage alluded to, Bob had listened with the most undeviating attention, keeping his eye all the time on this extravagant piece of elegance and fashion, but could not help bursting into an immoderate fit of laughter at its conclusion. In the mean time the crowd of visitors had continued to increase; all appeared to be bustle and confusion; small parties were seen in groups communicating together in different places, and every face appeared to be animated by hopes or fears. Dashall was exchanging familiar [174]nods and winks with those whom lie knew; but as their object was not to buy, they paid but little attention to the sales of the day, rather contenting themselves with a view of the human cattle by which they were surrounded, when they were pleasingly surprised to observe their friend Sparkle enter, booted and spurred.

"Just the thing! (said Sparkle,) I had some suspicion of finding you here. Are you buyers? Does your Cousin want a horse, an ass, or a filly?"

Tom smiled; "Always upon the ramble, eh, Sparkle. Why ask such questions? You know we are well horsed; but I suppose if the truth was known, you are prad sellers; if so, shew your article, and name your price."

"Apropos," said Sparkle; "Here is a friend of mine, to whom I must introduce you, so say no more about articles and prices—I have an article in view above all price—excuse me." And with this he made his way among the tribe of Jockeys, Sharpers, and Blacklegs, and in a minute returned, bringing with him a well-dressed young man, whose manners and appearance indicated the Gentleman, and whose company was considered by Tom and his Cousin as a valuable acquisition.

"Mr. Richard Mortimer," said Sparkle, as he introduced his friend—"the Hon. Mr. Dashall, and Mr. Robert Tallyho."

After the mutual interchanges of politeness which naturally succeeded this introduction—"Come," said Sparkle, "we are horsed, and our nags waiting—we are for a ride, which way do you bend your course?"

"A lucky meeting," replied Tom; "for we are upon the same scent; I expect my curricle at Hyde-Park Corner in ten minutes, and have no particular line of destination."

"Good," said Sparkle; "then we may hope to have your company; and how disposed for the evening?"

"Even as chance may direct."

"Good, again—all right—then as you are neither buyers nor sellers, let us employ the remaining ten minutes in looking around us—there is nothing to attract here—Epsom Races are all the talk, and all of business that is doing—come along, let us walk through the Park—let the horses meet us at Kensington Gate, and then for a twist among the briers and brambles."

This was readily agreed to: orders were given to the servants, and the party proceeded towards the Park.[175]

## CHAPTER XIII

         What is Bon Ton?   Oh d—— me (cries a Buck,
         Half drunk, ) ask me, my dear, and you're in luck:
         Bon Ton's to swear, break windows, beat the Watch,
         Pick up a wench, drink healths, and roar a catch.
         Keep it up, keep it up!   d—— me, take your swing—
         Bon Ton is Life, my boy! Bon Ton's the thing!
         "Ah, I loves Life and all the joys it yields—
         (Says Madam Fussock. warm from Spitalfields; )
         Bon Ton's the space 'twixt Saturday and Monday,
         And riding out in one-horse shay o' Sunday;
         'Tis drinking tea on summer afternoons
         At Bagnigge Wells, with china and gilt spoons;
         'Tis laying by our stuffs, red cloaks and pattens,
         To dance cowtillions all in silks and satins."
         "Vulgar! (cries Miss) observe in higher Life
         The feather'd spinster and three feather'd wife;
         The Club's Bon Ton—Bon Ton's a constant trade
         Of rout, festino, ball and masquerade;
         'Tis plays and puppet shows—'tis something new—
         'Tis losing thousands every night at loo;
         Nature it thwarts, and contradicts all reason;
         'Tis stiff French stays, and fruit when out of season,
         A rose, when half a guinea is the price;
         A set of bays scarce bigger than six mice;
         To visit friends you never wish to see—
         Marriage 'twixt those who never can agree;
         Old dowagers, dress'd, painted, patch'd and curl'd—
         This is Bon Ton, and this we call the World!

AS they passed through the gate, Tom observed it was rather too early to expect much company. "Never mind," said Sparkle, "we are company enough among ourselves; the morning is fine, the curricle not arrived, and we shall find plenty of conversation, if we do not discover interesting character, to diversify our promenade. Travelling spoils conversation, unless you are squeezed like an Egyptian mummy into a stage or a mail-coach; and perhaps in that case you may meet with animals who have voices, without possessing the power of intellect to direct them to any useful or agreeable purpose."

[176]Tallyho, who was at all times delighted with Sparkle's descriptions of society and manners, appeared pleased with the proposition.

"Your absence from town," continued Sparkle, addressing himself to Dashall, "has prevented my introduction of Mr. Mortimer before, though you have heard me mention his Sister. They are now inhabitants of our own sphere of action, and I trust we shall all become better known to each other."

This piece of information appeared to be truly acceptable to all parties. Young Mortimer was a good-looking and well made young man; his features were animated and intelligent; his manners polished, though not quite so unrestrained as those which are to be acquired by an acquaintance with metropolitan associations.

"I am happy," said he, "to be introduced to any friends of your's, and shall be proud to number them among mine."

"You may," replied Sparkle, "with great safety place them on your list; though you know I have already made it appear to you that friendship is a term more generally made use of than understood in London—

              "For what is Friendship but a name,
              A charm which lulls to sleep,
              A shade that follows wealth and fame,
              And leaves the wretch to weep?

              And Love is still an emptier sound,
              The modern fair one's jest;
              On earth unseen, or only found
              To warm the turtle's nest."

"These sentiments are excellently expressed," said Tom, pinching him by the arm—"and I suppose in perfect consonance with your own?"

Sparkle felt 'the rebuke, look'd down, and seem'd confused; but in a moment recovering himself,

"Not exactly so," replied he; "but then you know, and I don't mind confessing it among friends, though you are aware it is very unfashionable to acknowledge the existence of any thing of the kind, I am a pupil of nature."

"You seem to be in a serious humour all at once," said young Mortimer.

[177]"Can't help it," continued Sparkle—"for,

              "Let them all say what they will,
              Nature will be nature still."

"And that usurper, or I should rather say, would be usurper, Fashion, is in no way in alliance with our natures. I remember the old Duchess of Marlborough used to say 'That to love some persons very much, and to see often those we love, is the greatest happiness I can enjoy;' but it appears almost impossible for any person in London to secure such an enjoyment, and I can't help feeling it."

By the look and manner with which this last sentiment was uttered, Tom plainly discovered there was a something labouring at his heart which prompted it. "Moralizing!" said he. "Ah, Charley, you are a happy fellow. I never yet knew one who could so rapidly change 'from grave to gay, from lively to severe; and for the benefit of our friends, I can't help thinking you could further elucidate the very subject you have so feelingly introduced."

"You are a quiz" said Sparkle; "but there is one thing to be said, I know you, and have no great objection to your hits now and then, provided they are not knock down blows."

"But," said Mortimer, "what has this to do with friendship and love? I thought you were going to give something like a London definition of the terms."

"Why," said Sparkle, "in London it is equally difficult to get to love any body very much, or often to meet those that we love. There are such numbers of acquaintances, such a constant succession of engagements of one sort or other, such a round of delights, that the town resembles Vauxhall, where the nearest and dearest friends may walk round and round all night without once meeting: for instance, at dinner you should see a person whose manners and conversation are agreeable and pleasing to you; you may wish in vain to become more intimate, for the chance is, that you will not meet so as to converse a second time for many months; for no one can tell when the dice-box of society may turn up the same numbers again. I do not mean to infer that you may not barely see the same features again; it is possible that you may catch a glimpse of them on the opposite side of Pall [178]Mall or Bond-street, or see them near to you at a crowded rout, without a possibility of approaching.

"It is from this cause, that those who live in London are so totally indifferent to each other; the waves follow so quick, that every vacancy is immediately filled up, and the want is not perceived. The well-bred civility of modern times, and the example of some 'very popular people,' it is true, have introduced a shaking of hands, a pretended warmth, a dissembled cordiality, into the manners of the cold and warm, alike the dear friend and the acquaintance of yesterday. Consequently we continually hear such conversation as the following:—' Ah, how d'ye do? I'm delighted to see you! How is Mrs. M——?'

'She's very well, thank you.' 'Has she any increase in family?' 'Any increase! why I've only been married three months. I see you are talking of my former wife: bless you, she has been dead these three years.'—Or, 'Ah, my dear friend, how d'ye do? You have been out of town some time; where have you been? In Norfolk?' 'No, I have been two years in India.'"

This description of a friendly salutation appeared to interest and amuse both Talltho and Mortimer. Tom laughed, shrugg'd up his shoulders, acknowledged the picture was too true, and Sparkle continued.

"And thus it is, that, ignorant of one another's interests and occupations, the generality of friendships of London contain nothing more tender than a visiting card: nor are they much better, indeed they are much worse, if you renounce the world, and determine to live only with your relations and nearest connexions; for if you go to see them at one o'clock, they are not stirring; at two, the room is full of different acquaintances, who talk over the occurrences of the last night's ball, and, of course, are paid more attention to than yourself; at three, they are out shopping; at four, they are in this place dashing among the Pinks, from which they do not return till seven, then they are dressing; at eight, they are dining with two dozen friends; at nine and ten the same; at eleven, they are dressing for the ball; and at twelve, when you are retiring to rest, they are gone into society for the evening: so that you are left in solitude; you soon begin again to try the world—and we will endeavour to discover what it produces.

"The first inconvenience of a London Life is the late [179]hour of a fashionable dinner. To pass the day in fasting, and then sit down to a great dinner at eight o'clock, is entirely against the first dictates of common sense and common stomachs. But what is to be done? he who rails against the fashion of the times will be considered a most unfashionable dog, and perhaps I have already said more than sufficient to entitle me to that appellation."

"Don't turn King's Evidence against yourself," said Tom; "for, if you plead guilty in this happy country, you must be tried by your Peers."

"Nay," said Mortimer, "while fashion and reason appear to be in such direct opposition to each other, I must confess their merits deserve to be impartially tried; though I cannot, for one moment, doubt but the latter must ultimately prevail with the generality, however her dictates may be disregarded by the votaries of the former."

"You are a good one at a ramble" said Tom, "and not a bad one in a spree, but I cannot help thinking you are rambling out of your road; you seem to have lost the thread of your subject, and, having been disappointed with love and friendship, you are just going to sit down to dinner."

"Pardon me," replied Sparkle, "I was proceeding naturally, and not fashionably, to my subject; but I know you are so great an admirer of the latter, that you care but little about the former."

"Hit for hit," said Tom; "but go on—you are certainly growing old, Sparkle; at all events, you appear very grave this morning, and if you continue in this humour long, I shall expect you are about taking Orders."

"There is a time for all things, but the time for that has not yet arrived."

"Well, then, proceed without sermonizing."

"I don't like to be interrupted," replied Sparkle; "and there is yet much to be said on the subject. I find there are many difficulties to encounter in contending with the fashionable customs. Some learned persons have endeavoured to support the practice of late dinners by precedent, and quoted the Roman supper; but it ought to be recollected that those suppers were at three o'clock in the afternoon, and should be a subject of contempt, instead of imitation, in Grosvenor Square. Women, [180]however, are not quite so irrational as men, in London, for they generally sit down to a substantial lunch about three or four; if men would do the same, the meal at eight might be relieved of many of its weighty dishes, and conversation would be a gainer by it; for it must be allowed on all hands, that conversation suffers great interruption from the manner in which fashionable dinners are managed. First, the host and hostess (or her unfortunate coadjutor) are employed during three parts of the dinner in doing the work of servants, helping fish, or carving venison to twenty hungry guests, to the total loss of the host's powers of amusement, and the entire disfigurement of the fair hostess's face. Again, much time is lost by the attention every one is obliged to pay, in order to find out (which, by the way, he cannot do if he is short-sighted) what dishes are at the extreme end of the table; and if a guest is desirous of a glass of wine, he must peep through the Apollos and Cupids of the plateau, in order to find some one to take it with; otherwise he is compelled to wait till some one asks him, which will probably happen in succession; so that after having had no wine for half an hour, he will have to swallow five glasses in five minutes. Convenience teaches, that the best manner of enjoying society at dinner, is to leave every thing to the servants that servants can do; so that no farther trouble may be experienced than to accept the dishes that are presented, and to drink at your own time the wines which are handed round. A fashionable dinner, on the contrary, seems to presume beforehand on the silence, dulness, and insipidity of the guests, and to have provided little interruptions, like the jerks which the Chaplain gives to the Archbishop to prevent his going to sleep during a sermon."

"Accurate descriptions, as usual," said Tom, "and highly amusing."

Tallyho and Mortimer were intent upon hearing the remainder of Sparkle's account, though they occasionally joined in the laugh, and observed that Sparkle seemed to be in a very sentimental mood. As they continued to walk on, he resumed—

"Well then, some time after dinner comes the hour for the ball, or rout; but this is sooner said than done: it often requires as much time to go from St. James's Square to Cleveland Row, as to go from London to Hounslow.

[181]It would require volumes to describe the disappointment which occurs on arriving in the brilliant mob of a ball-room. Sometimes, as it has been before said, a friend is seen squeezed like yourself, at the other end of the room, without a possibility of your communicating, except by signs; and as the whole arrangement of the society is regulated by mechanical pressure, you may happen to be pushed against those to whom you do not wish to speak, whether bores, slight acquaintances, or determined enemies. Confined by the crowd, stifled by the heat, dazzled by the light, all powers of intellect are obscured; wit loses its point, and sagacity its observation; indeed, the limbs are so crushed, and the tongue so parched, that, except particularly undressed ladies, all are in the case of the traveller, Mr. Clarke, when he says, that in the plains of Syria some might blame him for not making moral reflections on the state of the country; but that he must own that the heat quite deprived him of all power of thought. Hence it is, that the conversation you hear around you is generally nothing more than—"Have you been here long?—Have you been at Mrs. H——'s?—Are you going to Lady D——'s?"—Hence too,

Madam de Staël said very justly to an Englishman, "Dans vos routes le corps fait plus de frai que l'esprit." But even if there are persons of a constitution robust enough to talk, they dare not do so, when twenty heads are forced into the compass of one square foot; nay, even if, to your great delight, you see a person to whom you have much to say, and by fair means or foul, elbows and toes, knees and shoulders, have got near him, he often dismisses you with shaking you by the hand, and saying—My dear Mr.—— how do you do? and then continues a conversation with a person whose ear is three inches nearer. At one o'clock, however, the crowd diminishes; and if you are not tired by the five or six hours of playing at company, which you have already had, you may be very comfortable for the rest of the evening. This however is the round of fashionable company. But I begin to be tired even of the description."

"A very luminous and comprehensive view of fashionable society however," said Tom, "sketched by a natural hand in glowing colours, though not exactly in the usual style. I shall not venture to assert whether the subjects are well chosen, but the figures are well grouped, and [182]display considerable ability and lively imagination in the painter, though a little confused."

"It appears to be a study from nature," said Mortimer.

"At least," continued Sparkle, "it is a study from Real Life, and delineates the London manners; for although I have been a mingler in the gaieties and varieties of a London Life, I have always held the same opinions with respect to the propriety of the manners and customs adopted, and have endeavoured to read as I ran; and it cannot be denied, that, in the eye of fashion, nothing can be more amiable than to deviate, or at least to affect a deviation, from nature, for to speak or act according to her dictates, would be considered vulgar and common-place in the last degree; to hear a story and not express an emotion you do not feel, perfectly rude and unmannerly, and among the ladies particularly. To move and think as the heart feels inclined, are offences against politeness that no person can ever in honour or delicacy forgive."

"Come, come," said Tom, "don't you be so hard on the blessings of Life—

              "For who, that knows the thrilling touch
              Which Woman's love can give,
              Would wish to live for aught so much,
              As bid those beauties live?

              For what is life, which all so prize,
              And all who live approve,
              Without the fire of Woman's eyes,
              To bid man live and love?"

Sparkle affected to laugh, appeared confused, and look'd down for a few moments, and they walk'd on in silence.

"I perceive," said Tom, "how the matter stands—well, I shall not be a tormentor—but remember I expect an introduction to the fair enslaver. I thought you 'defy'd the mighty conqueror of hearts,' and resolved to be free."

"Resolutions, as well as promises, are easily made," said Sparkle, "but not always so easily accomplished or performed—nor are you always accurate in your conceptions of circumstances; but no matter, your voyages are always made in search of discoveries, and, in spite of your resolutions, [183]you may perchance be entrapp'd. But no more of this; I perceive your raillery is directed to me, and I hope you enjoy it."

"Faith," replied Tom, "you know I always enjoy your company, but I don't recollect to have found you in so prosing a humour before—Pray, which way are you directing your coursel?"

During the latter part of this conversation, Bob and young Mortimer were employed in admiring the fine piece of water which presented itself to their notice in the Serpentine River.

"Merely for a ride," was the reply; "any way you please, to pass away the time."

"Mighty cavalier, truly," said Tom; "but come, here we are at Kensington, let us mount, and away."

"Remember, I expect you and Mr. Tallyho to accompany me in the evening to a family-party. I have already stated my intention, and you are both expected."

"Upon these terms then, I am your man, and I think I may answer for my Cousin."

By this time they were at the gate, where, finding the curricle and the nags all in readiness, Sparkle and Mortimer were soon horsed, and Tom and Bob seated in the curricle. They proceeded to Richmond, taking surveys of the scenery on the road, and discoursing on the usual topics of such a journey, which being foreign to the professed intention of this work, are omitted. Suffice it to say they returned refreshed from the excursion, and parted with a promise to meet again at nine o'clock, in Grosvenor Square.

"Egad!" said Dashall, as they entered the diningroom, "there is something very mysterious in all this. Sparkle has hitherto been the life and soul of society: he seems to be deeply smitten with this young Lady, Miss Mortimer, and promises fairly, by his manner, to prove a deserter from our standard, and to inlist under the banners of Hymen."

"Not unlikely," replied Tallyho, "if what we are told be true—that it is what we must all come to."

"Be that as it may, it ought not to interfere with our pursuits, Real Life in London, though, to be sure, the Ladies, dear creatures, ought not to be forgotten: they are so nearly and dearly interwoven with our existence, that, without them, Life would be insupportable."

[184]After dinner, they prepared for the evening party, and made their appearance in Grosvenor Squire at the appointed hour. But as this will introduce new characters to the Reader, we shall defer our account of them till the next Chapter.

## CHAPTER XIV

              Ye are stars of the night, ye are gems of the morn,
              Ye are dew-drops whose lustre illumines the thorn;
              And rayless that night is, that morning unblest,
              When no beam in your eye, lights up peace in the breast;
              And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in the heart,
              Till the sweet lip of Woman assuages the smart;
              'Tis her's o'er the couch of misfortune to bend,
              In fondness a lover, in firmness a friend;
              And prosperity's hour, be it ever confest,
              From Woman receives both refinement and zest;
              And adorn'd by the bays, or enwreath'd with the willow,
              Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow.

ARRIVED at Grosvenor Square, they found the party consisted of Colonel B——, his son and daughter, Miss Mortimer, and her brother, Mr. Sparkle, Mr. Merrywell, and Lady Lovelace. The first salutations of introduction being over, there was time to observe the company, among whom, Miss Mortimer appeared to be the principal magnet of attraction. The old Colonel was proud to see the friends of Mr. Sparkle, and had previously given a hearty welcome to Mr. Merrywell, as the friend of his nephew, the young Mortimer. Sparkle now appeared the gayest of the gay, and had been amusing the company with some of his liveliest descriptions of character and manners, that are to be witnessed in the metropolis. While Merrywell, who did not seem to be pleased with the particular attentions he paid to Miss Mortimer, was in close conversation with her brother.

Tom could not but acknowledge that it was scarcely possible to see Miss Mortimer, without feelings of a nature which he had scarcely experienced before. The elegant neatness of her dress was calculated to display the beauty of her form, and the vivid flashes of a dark eye were so many irresistible attacks upon the heart; a sweet voice, and smiling countenance, appeared to throw a radiance around the room, and illuminate the visages of the whole [186]party, while Lady Lovelace and Maria B—— served as a contrast to heighten that effect which they envied and reproved. While tea was preparing, after which it was proposed to take a rubber at cards, a sort of general conversation took place: the preparations for the Coronation, the new novels of the day, and the amusements of the theatre, were canvassed in turn; and speaking of the writings of Sir Walter Scott, as the presumed author of the celebrated Scotch novels, Lady Lovelace declared she found it impossible to procure the last published from the library, notwithstanding her name has been long on the list, so much was it in request.

Sparkle replied, "That he had purchased the Novel, and would willingly lend it to the Ladies. As for the Libraries," continued he, "they are good places of accommodation, but it is impossible to please every one, either there or any where else; they are however very amusing at times, and as a proof of it, I strolled the other morning to a Circulating Library, for the express purpose of lounging away an hour in digesting the politics and news of the day; but the curious scenes to which I was witness during this short period, so distracted my attention, that, despite of the grave subjects on which I was meditating, I could not resist lending an attentive ear to all that passed around me. There was something of originality in the countenance of the Master of the Library which struck me forcibly; and the whimsical answers which he made to his numerous subscribers, and the yet more whimsical tone in which they were pronounced, more than once provoked a smile. The first person who attracted my notice was a fine showy looking woman, dressed in the extreme of fashion, with a bloom upon her cheek, which might have emulated that of the rose, with this exception, that it wanted the charm of nature. Putting a list into the hands of the Bookseller, she inquired if he had any of the productions the names of which were there transcribed. Glancing his eye over the paper, he replied (with an archness which not a little disconcerted her, and which probably occasioned her abrupt disappearance, "The Fine Lady, Madam, is seldom or ever at home; but Family Secrets we are always ready to let out." 'Characters of Eminent Men' growled out a little vulgar consequential Citizen, whose countenance bore the stamp of that insufferable dulness that might almost tempt [187]one to imagine him incapable of comprehending the meaning of the words which he pronounced with an air of so much self-importance; 'Characters of Eminent Men, 195,' repeated the Snarler, in the same tone, 'I much fear if we can boast a quarter of that number, eh! Mr. Margin?' "I fear not, Sir," replied Margin; "but such as we have are very much at your service." 'Better be in the service of the nation than in mine, by far,' said the little purse-proud gentleman, shrugging his shoulders very significantly. "Shall I send it for you, Sir?" said Margin, without noticing the last remark. 'By no means, by no means; the volume is not so large, it won't encumber me much; I believe I shall find it small enough to put in my pocket,' pursued the little great man, grinning at the shrewdness of his own observations, and stalking out with as much self-complacency as he had stalked in. I knew the man well, and could not help laughing at the lofty airs he assumed, at the manner in which he affected to decry all his countrymen without mercy, at his unwillingness to acknowledge any talent amongst them, though he himself was a man of that plodding description who neither ever had done, nor ever could do any thing to entitle him to claim distinction of any sort. The young Coxcomb who next entered, was a direct contrast to the last applicant, both in person and manner. Approaching with a fashionable contortion, he stretched out his lady-like hand, and in the most languid and affected tone imaginable, inquired for The Idler. "That, Sir," said Margin, "is amongst the works we have unhappily lost, but you will be sure to meet with it at any of the fashionable libraries in the neighbourhood of Bond Street or St. James's." The young Fop had just sense enough to perceive that the shaft was aimed at him, but not enough to relish the joke, or correct the follies which provoked it, and turned abruptly on his heel. He was met at the door by a sentimental boarding-school Miss, who came flying into the shop in defiance of her governess, and inquired, in a very pathetic tone, for The Constant Lover. "That, I am afraid," said Margin, "is not amongst our collection." 'Dear me,' lisped the young Lady, with an air of chagrin, 'that's very provoking, I thought that was what every one had.' "Give me leave to assure you, Ma'am, that you are quite mistaken. I fancy you will find that it is not to be met with all over London."

[188]An old Gentleman of the old school, whose clothes were decidedly the cut of the last century, and whose stiff and formal manners were precisely of the same date with his habiliments, next came hobbling in. Poring through his spectacles over the catalogue which lay upon the counter, the first thing which caught his eye, was An Essay upon Old Maids. "Tom, Tom," said the complaisant Librarian, calling to a lad at the other end of the shop, "reach down the Old Maids for the gentleman. They won't appear to advantage, I'm afraid, a little dusty or damaged, with having laid so long upon the shelf," he added, with a simper, which was not lost upon any one present. A melancholy looking man, in whose countenance meekness and insipidity were alike plainly depicted, now came forward, inquiring, in an under, and what might almost be designated an alarmed tone of voice, for The Impertinent Wife; a female, who hung upon his arm, interrupted him by entreating, or rather insisting in no very gentle tone, 'that he would ask for something better worth having.' Margin, affecting only to hear the former speaker, immediately produced the book in question, and observed, with much naivete, "that the Impertinent Wife was sure to be in the way at all hours," at the same time not omitting to recommend Discipline as "a better work." A young man, whom I knew to be one of the greatest fortune hunters about town, with an air of consummate assurance, put out his hand for Disinterested Marriage. "That's a thing quite out of date—never thought of now, Sir," said Margin, who knew him as well as myself; "Allow me to recommend something of more recent date, something more sought after in the fashionable world, Splendid Misery, Sir, or—"The young man heard no more: spite of his impudence, he was so abashed by the reply, that he made a hasty retreat. The last person whom I thought it worth my while to notice, was a tall, meagre looking man, whom I recollected to have seen pointed out to me as a wit, and a genius of the first order. His wit was, however, of that dangerous sort which caused his company to be rather shunned than courted; and it was very evident, from his appearance, that he had not had the wit to work himself into the good graces of those who might have had it in their power to befriend him. Though he spoke in a very low tone, I soon found that he was inquiring for Plain Sense. On Margin's replying, [189]with much nonchalance, that Plain Sense had of late become very rare, finding himself disappointed in his first application, his next aim was Patronage. "That, Sir, (said the wary bookseller) is so much sought after, that I really cannot promise it to you at present; but if, as I conclude, you merely want something to beguile a leisure hour or two, probably The Discontented Man will answer the purpose very well."

To this description of Sparkle, the whole company listened with attention and delight, frequently interrupting him with bursts of laughter. Tea was handed round, and then cards introduced. Young Mortimer and Merrywell seemed to take but little interest in the play, and evidently discovered their anxiety to be liberated, having some other object in view. Mortimer felt no great portion of pleasure in passing his time with his uncle, the Colonel, nor with his sister, Lady Lovelace, who was a perfect model of London affectation; besides, his friend Mr. Merrywell, who was to him what Tom Dashall and Sparkle had been to Tallyho, had made an engagement to introduce him to some of his dashing acquaintances in the West. Nods and winks were interchanged between them, and could not but be noticed by Tom and Bob, though Sparkle was so intent upon the amusements of the moment, and the company of the lovely Caroline, as to appear immoveable.

Mr. Merrywell at length stated that he must be compelled to quit the party. Young Mortimer also apologized; for as he and his friend were engaged for an early excursion in the morning, he should take a bed at his habitation, in order to be fully prepared. This was the first step to breaking up the party.

Merrywell called Sparkle on one side, saying he had something of importance to communicate. It was twelve o'clock, and the gentlemen, after taking a formal leave of the ladies and the Colonel, and a promise on the part of Sparkle to meet them again the next morning at twelve, to escort them to the Exhibition, left the house.

"I am really happy," said Merrywell to Sparkle as they passed the door, "to have had the honour of this introduction, and shall have much pleasure in becoming better acquainted with Mr. Sparkle, who, though personally unknown to me, his name and fame are familiar.

[190]Mr. Mortimer and myself are going to take a review of the neighbourhood of St. James's, probably to shake an elbow."

"Excellent," said Tom; "here is a fine opportunity for Mr. Tallyho to take a like survey, and, if agreeable, we will join the party. Though I am by no means a friend to gaming, I conceive it necessary that every person should see the haunts of its votaries, and the arts they make use of, in order to avoid them."

"You are right, and therefore let us have a peep at them." With this they 'walk'd on, listening with attention to the following lines, which were recited by Sparkle:

              "Behold yon group, fast fix'd at break of day,
              Whose haggard looks a sleepless night betray,
              With stern attention, silent and profound,
              The mystic table closely they surround;
              Their eager eyes with eager motions join,
              As men who meditate some vast design:
              Sure, these are Statesmen, met for public good,
              For some among them boast of noble blood:
              Or are they traitors, holding close debate
              On desp'rate means to overthrow the State?
              For there are men among them whose domains
              And goods and chattels lie within their brains.
              No, these are students of the blackest art
              That can corrupt the morals or the heart;
              Yet are they oft in fashion's ranks preferred,
              And men of honour, if you take their word.
              But they can plunder, pillage, and devour,
              More than poor robbers, at the midnight hour;
              Lay deeper schemes to manage lucky hits,
              Than artful swindlers, living by their wits.
              Like cunning fowlers, spread th' alluring snare,
              And glory when they pluck a pigeon bare.
              These are our gamesters, who have basely made
              The cards and dice their study and their trade."{1}

         1 Gaming is generally understood to have been invented by
         the Lydians, when they were under the pressure of a great
         famine. To divert themselves from dwelling on their
         sufferings, they contrived the balls, tables, &c. and, in
         order to bear their calamity the better, were accustomed to
         play for the whole day together, without interruption, that
         they might not be rack'd with the thought of food, which
         they could not obtain. It is not a little extraordinary that
         this invention, which was originally intended as a remedy
         for hunger, is now a very common cause of that very evil.

[191]"True," said Merry well, as Sparkle concluded, though he did not like the satire upon his own favourite pursuit; "those delineations are correct, and the versification good, as far as it applies to the worst species of the gaminghouse."

"O," said Tom, "then pray, Sir, which is the worst?"

"Nonsense," said Sparkle, "there is neither worse nor best; these Hells are all alike. Sharks, Greeks, Gamblers, Knowing Ones, Black-legs, and Levanters, are to be met with at them all, and they meet to bite one another's heads off."

"An admirable description, truly, of the company you are about to introduce us to, Gentlemen," said Tallyho.

"I don't understand Greeks, Hells, and Black-legs," said Mortimer, "and should like an explanation."

"With all my heart," replied Sparkle—"Hell is the general title now given to any well-known gaming-house, and really appears to be well chosen; for all the miseries that can fall to the lot of human nature, are to be found in those receptacles of idleness, duplicity, and villany. Gaming is an estate to which all the world has a pretence, though few espouse it who are willing to secure either their estates or reputations: and these Hells may fairly be considered as so many half-way houses to the Fleet or King's Bench Prisons, or some more desperate end. The love of play is the most incurable of insanities: robbery, suicide, and the extensive ruin of whole families, have been known to proceed from this unfortunate and fatal propensity.

"Greeks, Gamblers, Knowing Ones, and Black-legs, are synonimous terms, applied to the frequenters of the modern Hells, or Gaming-houses, and may be distinguished from the rest of society by the following peculiarities in pursuits and manners.

"The Greeks of the present day, though they may not lay claim to, or boast of all the attributes of the Greeks of antiquity, must certainly be allowed to possess that quality for which the latter were ever so celebrated, namely, cunning and wariness: for although no modern Greek can be said to have any resemblance to Achilles, Ajax, Patroclus, or Nestor, in point of courage, strength, fidelity, or wisdom, he may nevertheless boast of being a close copier of the equally renowned chief of Ithaca. You will find him in most societies, habited like a gentleman; [192]his clothes are of the newest fashion, and his manners of the highest polish, with every appearance of candour and honour; while he subsists by unfair play at dice, cards, and billiards, deceiving and defrauding all those with whom he may engage; disregarding the professions of friendship and intimacy, which are continually falling from his lips.

"To become a good Greek (which, by the way, is a contradiction) it will be found necessary to follow these instructions:

"In the first place, lie should be able to command his temper; he should speak but little, and when he does mingle in conversation, he should most decidedly deprecate play, as a source of the greatest evil that can prey upon society, and elucidate its tendencies by striking examples which are well known to himself, and which are so forcibly impressed upon his recollection, that he is determined never to play deep again, but has no objection to a sociable and friendly game now and then, just to pass the time away a little agreeably. By this means he may readily mark down his man, and the game once in view, he should not appear too eager in the pursuit of it, but take good care, as the proverb says, to give a sprat, in order to catch a herring. This should be done by allowing some temporary success, before he make a final hit.

"There is perhaps no art which requires so much of continual practice as that of Greekery. It is therefore necessary, that the professor should frequently exercise himself in private with cards and dice, in order that his digits may be trained to a proper degree of agility, upon which the success of his art principally depends. He should also be accustomed to work with some younger man than himself, who, having once been a pigeon, is become a naute, that is enlightened and will not peach—consequently, he serves as an excellent decoy to others.

"To ascertain the property of the pigeon he intends to pluck, is another essential requisite; and when this important information is obtained, (which should be before he commences operations) he should affect the utmost liberality as to time, &c. and make a show of extending every honourable facility to his opponent, even by offers of pecuniary assistance; by which means, (if he should be fortunate enough to have it accepted) he may probably, by good management, obtain a legal [193]security from him, and thus be enabled to fasten on his prey whenever he pleases.

"The title of a military man, such as Captain, is very useful to the Greek, as it introduces him well to society, and if he has once held a commission in the army, so much the better. If not, it can be assumed, so that if any unpleasant regimental peculation should be introduced, he may place his hand on the left side of his breast, declare he is astonished and alarmed at the calumnious spirit of the times, shake his head, and interlard his conversation with common-place ejaculations; such as the following—Indeed—No—Why I know Harry very well—he's a bit of a blood—can it be possible—I should not have thought it—bless my heart—exactly so—good God—a devilish good joke tho'—that's very true, says I—so says he, &c. &c.

"A Greek should be a man of some personal courage, never shrink from a row, nor be afraid to' fight a duel. He should be able to bully, bluster, swagger and swear, as occasion may require; nay, in desperate cases, such us peaching, &c. he should not object even to assassination. He should invite large parties to dine with him frequently, and have a particular sort of wine for particular companies. He should likewise be able to swallow a tolerable quantity of the juice of the grape himself, as well as know how to appear as if he were drinking, when he is merely passing the bottle, and so manage it passing, as to seem drunk at proper times. When good opportunities present themselves for the exercise of his art, and when a hit is really to be made, he should positively refuse to suffer play of any kind in his house, alleging that he has seen enough of it, and cut the concern. This serves to increase the desire for it in others. On any decisive occasion, when a train is known to be well laid, he should appear to be drunk before any one of the party; in which case he should take care beforehand to instruct his decoy to pluck the pigeon, while he, as a supposed observer, is betting with some one in the company, (of course an accomplice) and is also a loser.

"Greeks, who know each other, are enabled to convey information by means of private signals, without uttering a word, and consequently without detection. At whist, or other games on the cards, fingers are admirable conveyancers of intelligence, and by dexterous performers [194]are so managed, as to defy the closest scrutiny, so as to have the natural appearance of pliancy, while, among the knowing ones, their movements are actually deciding the fate of a rubber."

"Egad!" said Mortimer, "you seem to understand the business so well, I wonder you don't open shop."

"My knowledge," continued Sparkle, "is but theoretical. I cannot boast of much practical information, for it is long since I shook the lucky castor."

"O, then, you are discontented because you have no luck."

"Not so," said Sparkle, "for I never play very deep, so that, win or lose, I can never suffer much; but I am willing to give information to others, and with that view I have detailed the nature of the houses and the general character of their frequenters, according to my own conception of them. The Levanter is a Black-leg, who lives by the broads{l} and the turf,{2} and is accustomed to work as it were by telegraph{3} with his pal; and if you take the broads in hand in their company, you are sure to be work'd, either by glazing, that is, putting you in the front of a looking-glass, by which means your hand is discovered by your antagonist, or by private signals from the pal. On the turf he will pick up some nobleman or gentleman, who he knows is not up to the rig—bet him fifty or a hundred on a horse—pull out his pocket-book—set down the name, and promise to be at the stand when the race is over; but takes care to be seen no more, unless he is the winner, which he easily ascertains by the direction his pal takes immediately on the arrival of the horses. But hold, we must dismiss the present subject of contemplation, for here we are at the very scene of action, and now for ocular demonstration."

No. 40, now 32, Pall Mall, was the place of destination, a house well known, said, in Koubel's time, to be more à la Française, and of course more of a gambling-house, than any other of the same description in London. The former were good judges of their business, and did things in prime order; but, if report say true, the new Establishment

         1 Broads—A cant term for cards.

         2 Turf—A cant term for horse-racing.

         3 Telegraph—To work the telegraph, is to impart information
         by secret signs and motions, previously concerted between
         the parties.

[195]has completely eclipsed their precursors: it is now conducted wholly by aliens—by Frenchmen!!! who are said to have realized 80,000L. within a very short space of time; and that a certain nobleman, whose name is not Dormouse, has serious reason to remember that he has been a visitor.

    These concerns are considered of so much importance, and are found to be
    so very productive, that regular co-partnerships are entered into,
    the business is conducted almost with the precision of a mercantile
    establishment; all kinds of characters embark in these speculations, and
    rapid fortunes are to be made by them; this alone ought to deter young
    men from play, since it sufficiently indicates how much the chances are
    in favour of the tables. But many high and noble names resort to them.

              "There's N—g—nts proud Lord, who, to angle for pelf,
              Will soon find the secret of diddling himself;
              There's Herbert, who lately, as knowing one's tell,
              Won a tight seven hundred at a House in Pall Mall.

              Captain D—v—s, who now is a chick of the game,
              For altho' in high feather, the odds will soon tame;
              And the Marquis of Bl—ndf—rd, who touch'd 'em up rare
              For a thousand in Bennet Street (all on the square);
              There's Li—d and C—m—ck, who'd a marine to be,
              For none drills a guinea more ably than he;
              There's a certain rum Baronet, every one knows,
              Who on Saturday nights to the Two Sevens{1} goes,

              With J—— and Cl——, Billy W—— and two more,
              So drunk, that they keep merry hell in a roar.
              Long D—ll—n, their C—rt—r, a son of a gun;
              Bill B——, the Doctor, that figure of fun;

              Bankers, Dealers and Demireps, Cuckolds in droves,
              A T—l—r, a T—nf—Id, a Cr—kf—Id, and CI—ves;
              A H—rtf—rd, a Y—rm—th, of frail ones ten score;
              X—ft—e, S—br—gt and E—ll—s, and still many more."

"Come along," said Merrywell, "let us see what they are made of; are either of you known? for Cerberus, who keeps the door, is d——d particular, in consequence of some rows they have recently had, and the devil is careful to pick his customers."

"To pluck them, you mean," said Tom; "but perhaps you are in possession of the pass-word—if so, lead on."

         1 The Two Sevens—A nick-name for the well-known house,
         No. 77, Jermyn Street.

[196]Tallyho had already heard so much about Hells, Gambling-houses, and Subscription-houses, that he was all anxiety for an interior view, and the same feeling animated Mortimer. As they were about to enter, they were not a little surprised to find that houses which are spoken of so publicly, have in general the appearance of private dwellings, with the exception that the hall-door is left ajar during the hours usually devoted to play, like those of trap-cages, to catch the passing pigeons, and to obviate the delay which might be occasioned by the necessity of knocking—a delay which might expose the customers to the glances of an unsuspecting creditor—a confiding father, or a starving wife; and, as Merrywell observed, "It was to be understood that the entrance was well guarded, and that no gentleman could be permitted to risk or lose his money, without an introduction." A very necessary precaution to obviate the danger of being surprised by the officers of the law; but that rule is too easily to be broken, for any gentleman whom the door-keeper has sufficient reason to think is not an Officer of Justice, finds the avenues to these labyrinths too ready for his admission.

On passing the outer-door, they found themselves impeded by a second, and a third, and each door constructed with a small spy-hole, exhibiting the ball of a ruffian's eye, intently gazing on and examining their figures. It is necessary to observe, that if the visitor is known to be a fair pigeon, or an old crow, he is at once admitted by these gentlemen, and politely bowed up stairs; and as Merrywell appeared to be well known, no obstruction was offered, and they proceeded through the last, which was an iron door, and were shewn directly into the room, which presented a scene of dazzling astonishment.

On entering, they discovered the votaries of gaming around an oblong table, covered with green cloth, and the priests of the ceremony in the centre, one to deal cards and decide events, and another to assist him in collecting the plunder which should follow such decisions. Being engaged in the play, but little notice was taken of the arrival of the party, except by two or three eagle-eyed gentlemen, who, perceiving there were some New-comes{1}

         1. Newcomes—The name given to any new faces discovered among
         the usual visitants.

[197]and always keeping business in view, made up to Merrywell, began to be very talkative—was happy to see him—hoped he had been well—and congratulated him on the introduction of his friends—took snuff, and handed the box round with all the appearance of unaffected friendship.

"These," said Tom Dashall to his Cousin, drawing him on one side, "are the Proprietors{1} of this concern;

         1 In order that the class of men by whom houses of this
         description are generally kept, and to shew the certainty
         they have of accumulating riches, as well as to guard the
         young and inexperienced against being decoyed, it may not be
         amiss to animadvert upon a few of the most prominent and
         well known.

         No. 7, Pall Mall, is kept by B——l, who has been a public
         and noted gambler for these forty years, and is generally
         termed the Father of the Houses. He was at one time a poor
         man, but now, by his honest earnings, is in possession of
         some tens of thousands. It is said that he was originally a
         stable-boy, and, in process of time, arose to be a jobber in
         horse-flesh, but has at length feathered his nest with
         pigeons down.

         No. 77, St. James's Street, nick-named the Two Sevens, kept
         by Messrs. T. C. C. T. is a well-known House, where things
         are conducted with great civility and attention, and the
         best possible treatment may generally be relied upon, though
         they are rather sparing of refreshments, and apt to grumble
         if a customer has a run of good luck. A Prussian Officer,
         however, not long ago, kick'd up a devil of a row about
         losing a very large sum of money; but it is scarcely
         necessary to add it was all in vain, for there was no
         redress.

         The produce of this Bank, (which Paddy B—— calls the
         Devil's Exchequer, whence you can draw neither principal nor
         interest,) furnishes elegant houses and equipages, both in
         town and country, and, it is possible, may one day or other
         send a Member to Parliament, or a General to the field.

         No. 10, King Street, St. James's, is conducted by old and
         young D——s L——r; the father is too old in iniquity
         to remember his progress from poverty to affluence.

         No. 5, King-street, is kept by Mr. A——l; the former
         residing at No. 3, Leicester-place, the latter No. 3,——
         Street; and both live in prime style. The former, in his
         youth, was an errand boy, and he became so willing in doing
         little jobs, that his employers have paid him most
         handsomely. The latter gentleman, who may be seen frequently
         driving a dennet, and looking both sides of the road at
         once, is a chip of the old block: but as it is not our
         intention to visit the sins of the sou upon the father, we
         shall not enter into a minute examination of him.

         No. 6, in Bury-street, is only about a year's standing.
         This table was set up by a broken adventurer, Capt. B——,
         with Mr. ——, a jeweller, and a man whose agents keep a
         house of ill fame, no way inferior in attribute  to his
         house in Bury-street.    They commenced with narrow funds,
         and now, thank the gulls, are independent.

         The next door, No. 7, is held by M——g, a map-seller,
         living at Charing Cross; Carl—s, formerly an under-
         strapper at Ben—t's, living at King's Road, Chelsea; H——ll,
         a tallow-chandler, living at No. 8, Bury-street; and
         his brother, a brick-layer, residing somewhere off Grosvenor
         Place. These fellows have carried on their depredations for
         some time, but now have closed for awhile, being one of the
         houses against whom a Jew, named Portugal John, and another
         named the Young Black Diamond, have commenced proceedings,
         for sums had and received, and by indictment.

         No.  28, in the same street, is the property  of one O——
         d, formerly a menial servant, and not long ago a porter to
         B——l.

         These examples shew by incontestible inference, that the
         keepers of those tables have an advantage, which renders
         their success certain, while it fleeces the men who attend
         them. We always have seen these Proprietors in the same
         unchangeable affluence, driving their equipages, keeping
         their country houses, &c. &c. while those who play
         invariably sink into poverty. It has been often—very often
         remarked, that young men who commence this career of folly
         and vice, by degrees lose that freshness and fashionable
         appearance which they at first possessed, and at last are
         seen wandering about St. James's Park counting the trees,
         and dining on a gravel hash, for want of more genial fare,
         in a threadbare coat, half-polished boots, a greasy hat, and
         a dirty cravat; while the plunderers of their happiness and
         property are driving by them in luxury, enjoying their
         pleasure by contrast with their victim, and sneering at his
         miseries.

         Of all the vices which deform this Metropolis (and there are
         not a few) the most ruinous is that of Rouge et Noir
         gambling, for that is practised in the day time, and it is a
         matter of astonishment to think that it has remained
         undisturbed by the law, and hitherto unnoticed by the Press.
         At this moment no less than twelve of these Hells are open
         to the public in the noon-day; and no less than five or six
         profane the Sabbath by their sinful practices. Although
         London has been, time out of mind, infested with the imps of
         play, yet it was not until within these last ten or fifteen
         years that they dared open their dens to the honest light of
         day. About that period, or a very short time before, Rouge
         et Noir was imported, amongst other fashionable things, from
         France; and to this game we are indebted for the practice of
         gambling in the day-light.

         It is impossible to put down the vice of Gaming wholly, and
         not all the various enactments of the legislature against it
         have succeeded; but that the ruinous and infamous practice
         of indulging that vice in the midst of crowded day should be
         suffered, for upwards of sixteen years, in the centre of
         British society, when it can easily be suppressed, calls
         forth our wonder, and gives a stronger proof to us that our
         Societies for the Suppression of Vice, &c. &c. are shadows
         with a name. When the Hazard tables open, it is at an hour
         when the respectable and controlled youths of London are
         within the walls of their homes; few are abroad except the
         modern man of ton, the rake, the sot, the robber, and the
         vagabond; and the dangers of gaming on these orders of
         society is little indeed, when compared with the baneful
         effects of that vice upon the mercantile youth of London. It
         is to this class, and to the youth of the middling orders of
         society, that gaming is destructive, and it is upon these
         that the Rouge et Noir tables cast the most fatal influence.
         Young men of this order cannot in general be absent from
         their families after midnight, the hour when the nocturnal
         Hells formerly yawned upon their victims; but now the
         introduction of Rouge et Noir has rendered the abominable
         track of play a morning and evening's lounge, set forth in
         all the false glare which the artful proprietors can invent
         to deceive the thoughtless; and thus it affords
         opportunities and temptations to such youth almost
         irresistible.

         When the glittering of London pleasures first meets the eye
         of a young man placed upon the road of a mercantile life, or
         when he enters any of the multifarious departments in the
         machine of society which always lead the industrious and
         prudent to honourable emolument, he too frequently
         misconceives the fashionable gamester's character, and
         confounds his crimes with elegant accomplishments. The road
         to pleasure is broad, and the gates of these Hells are open
         to him at hours when he can be absent, and can indulge his
         whim without suspicion—for at first he looks upon his new
         enjoyment but a mere whim, which he can abandon at any
         moment. But how different is the proof! He goes on—his new
         made wings carry him through a region of delight, and he
         believes himself to possess the powers of the eagle—still
         lighter he ascends, and the solid earth on which he formerly
         trod in safety, recedes immeasurably from his giddy eye—at
         length his wings prove wax, they melt before the sun, and
         the victim of his own folly tumbles into the abyss of
         destruction.

         It is no uncommon thing, nay, we will positively declare it
         to be a very frequent practice of these misled young men,
         when they have been initiated, and have the temporary
         command of money belonging to their employers, to go to the
         Rouge et Noir tables, armed (as they think) with
         impenetrable armour—a large sum; and, in the hope of
         profiting to a certain amount, risk that property, the loss
         of which would be the loss of every thing dear to them in
         society. They believe, from the greatness of the amount they
         possess, that they can command a small gain, and not for a
         moment doubt they will be able to replace or return the
         money entrusted to their care; but little do they know the
         fickleness of luck, and less do they suspect the odds and
         imposing roguery arrayed against them. Their first loss is
         trifling, but they have to win that back iu addition to
         their expected profits; for this purpose they stake a larger
         sum, which, if they lose, increases their task, and so on,
         until the half-frantic victims see no hope but desperation,
         and their remaining stock is placed upon the chance of a
         single card. The event closes, and the man who yesterday
         enjoyed the good opinion of the world, and the esteem and
         confidence of his friends, to-day becomes the veriest
         outcast of society! These are common cases, one of which,
         for example, we will describe as the facts occurred:—In the
         year 1816, a Clerk, possessing the highest reputation,
         became a frequenter of a Rouge et Noir table. From the
         nature of his employment, he had daily the command of large
         sums, which, for a short time, he risked at play
         successfully. One day, however, he brought with him his
         employer's money, to the amount of 1700L. the whole of
         which, in two days, he lost. We may judge of the unhappy
         young man's feelings by his subsequent conduct. He wrote a
         confession of the affair to the man he wronged, retired to a
         tavern, and blew his brains out!

         These gaming-tables open at half-past twelve o'clock,
         continue their orgies until five, and recommence at seven in
         the evening. How many young men are passing their doors at
         these hours with the property of others in their pockets!—
         and what a temptation to risk it! It would seem as if these
         places were set up as shops designed chiefly for the
         accommodation of mid-day dealers in ill-fortune, as if
         levelled directly at those men who cannot or will not spend
         their nights in gambling; and how the proprietors contrive
         to escape detection and punishment is surprising,
         considering that the law affords ample means to put them
         down.

[200]they know their customers, and place themselves here to watch the progress of their gains. Their attentions are always directed to the new-comers. Remorseless, avaricious, and happy—unmarked with the lines of care, which contract and deform the faces of their victims, "They smile and smile, and murder while they smile." They will explain the fairness of the game, and tell you of the great losses they have sustained; but as this is no place for explanation, we must look on and say nothing."

By this time, Merrywell and Mortimer were mingled in the throng at the table. Sparkle was engaged in conversation with an old acquaintance, a profusion of money was flying about, and a large heap or bank was placed in the centre. All was anxiety, and, for a few moments, no sound was heard, but the awful numbers of the eventful dealer; every countenance was hushed in expectation, and every eye was fixed upon the coming card, which should decide the fate of hundreds. It was an awful moment to every one engaged in the play; but the pause was succeeded with a sort of harlequinade movement, to a scene of confusion and uproar scarcely to be conceived.

The appearance at the door of half a dozen persons armed with pistols, rushing past the guardians, and bearing [201]away all before them, had such an instantaneous effect upon the company, that they all arose, as it were, to receive them, and the leader of the party threw himself suddenly upon the pile of Bank-notes in the centre of the table, with intent to seize the whole bank.

Confusion and dismay were now visibly depicted on every countenance, for some, actuated by desperation at the prospect of ruin, and others by the urgings of avarice, determined to have a scramble for the notes, which they commenced most furiously, each one securing as much as he could to himself. There was tumbling and tossing, and pulling and shoving, mouths stuffed with hundreds, hundreds of mouths that were supperless, and likely to continue so, unless they could now make sure of something. Bank paper was literally going for nothing. However, the pistols being the most powerful, the armed forces succeeded in seizing the greatest share of the stock, and a negative sort of silence was at length restored. The party was materially decreased; for, seeing they were betrayed, every one, after an endeavour to secure a share of the spoil, deemed it necessary to make good his retreat; and among the rest, our party, who had not interfered with the play, or assisted in the entertainment, soon found themselves in the street.

"Egad," said Sparkle, "I think we are in luck to escape so easily; we might have been compelled to make our appearance at Bow Street to-morrow, an occurrence I would studiously avoid."

"Well done, old steady," said Tom; "it is not long, you know, since you was there, after a night's lodging in the neighbourhood."

"That was under very different circumstances," continued Sparkle; "in defence of a woman I would risk my life at any time, but I would by no means incur the imputation of being a gambler—it is a character I abhor. I have before said I would never venture into those dens again, to herd with swindlers of all descriptions."

"They all seem gay fellows, too," said Bob.

"Yes," replied Sparkle; "but the character and conduct of a young man has ere now been altered in one night: the evil effects produced by initiation to those Hells are incalculable."

"Moralizing at midnight," said Tom; "an excellent title for a volume sparkling contemplations."

[202]"To be written by the Hon. Tom Dashall, or the Merry Devil of Piccadilly," was the reply.

"Huzza!" said Merrywell, "if this is the case, our time will not be lost in this excursion. Did you hear that Lord —— has been compelled to put down his establishment in consequence of his losses at play? pray don't forget to mention that in the work."

"Tis no new thing," continued Sparkle, "for Lords of the present day, since I believe there are few of the nobility who are not either Greeks or Pigeons; indeed, the list of visitors to these places contains names of many persons who should set better examples to the humbler classes of the community; for the unfortunate results of this too fatal propensity to parents and society have been severely felt. Among many instances on record, a very interesting one is related of a young Subaltern in a regiment of cavalry, who, by successive losses, was reduced to such a state of distress, as to form the desperate resolution of trying the road. In a moment of agony, he accidentally met with an opportunity which seemed to favour his design, having learned that a certain Baronet, recently returned from India with abundance of wealth, had laid it out on landed estates in England, and that he would on a certain day cross the country with a large sum of money, after collecting his rents.

"He laid his plan for a meeting on a retired spot, and succeeded in stopping the carriage—' Your money or your life,' said he, presenting his pistol with a trembling hand. The Baronet, perceiving there was a sort of gentlemanly air about him which indicated something more than might be calculated on in the character of a highwayman, presented him with his purse, a watch, and a valuable diamond ring, remarking, he could not help conceiving that he was unaccustomed to the trade, and that it was most desirable he should abandon it for ever. The young Officer, though considerably confused and embarrassed by this observation, was not to be disappointed of his booty, returned this property, and demanded the larger sum, which for safety had been concealed in the bottom of the carriage. The manner however in which this was done, only served to confirm the suspicions of the Baronet, which he could not help expressing, as he acknowledged the accuracy of the Highwayman's information, and produced the property, observing, he was sure that [203]circumstances of no common kind could have impelled him to this flagrant breach of the laws. He asked as a favour, that he would grant him an interview at some future period, pledging his honour that he should have no occasion to repent such a singular mark of confidence.

"The Officer replied that he had, and he felt he could with safety trust both his life and his honour in the veracity of Sir ——, and appointed a meeting at the London Coffee House, Ludgate Hill, only stipulating, that at such meeting both parties were to be unattended. As the day of meeting approached, the Baronet thought seriously of the solicited rencontre, and after enjoining perfect secresy on the part of his friend, Col. ——, entreated him to be his companion. The Colonel laughed at the idea, that any man who had robbed another should so indiscreetly place his life in his hands, had no conception of his keeping his appointment, and solemnly assured the Baronet that he would in no case divulge who or what he was, that he might become acquainted with.

"The Colonel ridiculed his friend's credulity as they entered the house, and were shewn to a private room. The appointed hour was eight in the evening, and, as the clock of St. Paul's struck, a Gentleman inquiring for Sir —— was shewn into the room—wine was ordered, and for an hour a general conversation on the popular topics of the day ensued, when the Gentleman, evidently under deeply impressed feelings of embarrassment and disappointment, in which the Colonel seemed to partake, arose, and politely took his leave.

"' Well,' said the Baronet, 'what think you of my Highwayman now 1—am I not right?—is he not a gentleman?'

"' And this is the robber, is it, Sir?' said the Colonel—'Be assured he shall swing for it—why, Sir, I know him well, he is a —— in my own regiment.'

"'Hold,' said the Baronet, 'don't be rash, remember the solemn promise you have given, and do not deceive me—I hold you bound to me, and will not permit you to break your engagement—I have better objects in view than the death of a fellow-creature.'

"He then requested to be informed of the general tenor of the young man's conduct, which he found to be excellent, and that he was an indefatigable officer—'Indeed,' said the Colonel, 'it would give me the greatest [204]pain to lose him—an incomparably affectionate husband and father. He has but one vice, to which may be attributed his destruction, viz. his inordinate passion for gaming; but I cannot feel justified in screening so flagrant an offender—the law must take its course.'

"'Moderate your indignation,' said the worthy Baronet, assuming a more serious tone, 'and remember you must be personalty answerable to me for any disclosure you may think proper to make; and that inasmuch as you injure him, you must injure me. You have already given him so high a character in every respect but one, that I must interest you further in his behalf, and beg you to assist me in my endeavours to reclaim, instead of punishing him.'

"The Colonel was surprised; but the Baronet was inflexible. In vain he urged that the magnitude of the crime utterly precluded such a proceeding.

"' It must be done,' said the Baronet, 'it shall be done. Leave all the consequences to me; he has now left us in extreme, though suppressed agitation—There is no time to lose—fly to save him.'

"The Colonel expressed his readiness to try the experiment.

"' Then,' said the Baronet, 'follow him immediately, assure him of my forgiveness, and that if he will pledge his word to forsake this dangerous vice, what he has already obtained he may hold as a gift, and I will add whatever may be necessary to extricate him from any temporary embarrassment.'

"It was an important embassy—life or death was to be decided by it. The Colonel took his departure, certain of finding him at home taking leave of his family, and, reaching his habitation a short time after his arrival, witnessed a scene of misery which, although he had partly anticipated, he could not have conceived. He found him, surrounded by his wife and children, in an agony of desperation and despair.

"When he entered the apartment, the poor culprit, convinced by the presence of his Colonel that all was lost, fell on his knees, and supplicated if possible that his fame, not his life, might be spared for the sake of his afflicted but innocent and injured family. Language has no power to describe the surprise and consternation with which, after a severe lecture, he received the joyful intelligence of [205]which his Colonel was the bearer. He returned with his Commanding Officer to —— Square, where he was received by the Baronet as a repentant friend; and has lived to repair his error, and become deservedly distinguished as an ornament to society, civil and religious as well as military."

"That must be truly gratifying to the worthy Baronet,{1}' said Tom.

"No doubt of it," continued Sparkle, "it must be a source of continued pleasure to find his labours have had so beneficial a result, having in all probability saved a whole family from destruction. Surely it may be said, that

              "Among the idiot pranks of Wealth's abuse,
              None seem so monstrous, none have less excuse,
              Than those which throw an heritage away
              Upon the lawless chance of desperate play;
              Nor is there among knaves a wretch more base
              Than he who steals it with a smiling face,
              Who makes diversion to destruction tend,
              And thrives upon the ruin of a friend."

—"Yet the Greek, like the swindler{l} and the horse jockey,

         1 Swindler—Is a term originally derived from the German,
         Schwindel, which signifies merely to cheat. It was first
         introduced as a cant term, and used to signify obtaining of
         goods, credit, or money, under false pretences. It has since
         had a legislative adoption, being parliamentary recognised
         by an Act for the prevention of it. The artifices, schemes,
         and crimes, resorted to by these gentry, are so numerous,
         that it would be impossible to describe them all. One mode
         of practice, however, is not uncommon in London.

         Three or four swell Jews contrive to hire a large house with
         some spare rooms, in the City, that are turned into
         warehouses, in which are a number of casks, boxes, &e.
         filled with sand; and also a quantity of large sugar-loaves
         in appearance, which are only clay done up in blue paper,
         but corded and made up with great nicety.

         An elegant Counting-house is likewise furnished with books
         and other apparatus, to deceive the eye and give the
         appearance of extensive business, great regularity, and
         large property. The Clerks in attendance are a set of Jews,
         who are privy to the scheme, and equally ready at fraud as
         those who profess to be the Principals.

         A Dining-room elegantly furnished upon the mace,* receives
         you

              * The Mace—Is a person who carries all the appearance of a
              great and rich man, with servants, carriages, &c. for the
              purpose of defrauding tradesmen and others, by all manner of
              plans most calculated to entrap the parties they intend to
              dupe.

         whenever it is necessary to admit of your visits; a Black
         Servant opens the street-door, and the foot of the stair-
         case presents surtouts, boots, livery-cloths, a large blue
         coat with a yellow cape, and habiliments in which the
         opulent! array their servants. With these and similar
         merchant-like appearances Trade is commenced, and persons
         dispatched to provincial manufacturing towns, to buy various
         articles; for the amount of the first purchases, bills are
         drawn upon the Firm, and even before the goods are pack'd
         up, and sent according to order, the acceptances are paid,
         and, by this means, credit is partly established, which,
         once accomplished, they are in want of large assortments for
         exportation upon credit, at one, two, and three months. The
         goods are accordingly chosen and forwarded to their
         associates in London, where they are immediately disposed
         of at 20 or 30 per cent, cheaper than the prime cost, and
         the money realised. The first bills become due, are noted,
         and protested. The second are presented, but the House has
         stopped payment, and the Owners are bankrupts. By the time
         the third month's bills become due, the docket is struck,
         the Assignees chosen, and there is not sixpence in the pound
         left for the Creditors. Petitions are ineffectually
         presented to the Chancellor, for a number of fictitious
         Creditors, of the same profession and persuasion, over-swear
         the just ones, and by exceeding them in number and value,
         the House obtains its certificate, and has again the power
         of committing similar depredations.

         Perhaps the most daring and systematic proceeding of this
         kind was that lately detected in the conspiracy of Mosely
         Wolfe and his confederates, for which he is now suffering
         the sentence of the law.

[206]prides himself on his success, boasts of his being down as a nail, and—"

"Down as a nail!" said Bob, "I don't remember hearing that expression before."

"Down as a hammer, or Down as a nail" continued Sparkle, "are cant or slang terms made use of among gamblers, and are synonimous with being up; and it must be confessed that there are many ups and downs amongst them. These flash words are well understood by many a young Greek, who perhaps knows nothing of the Greek Testament, although the use of them has proved in some cases beyond the comprehension of a Judge. Hence the necessity of knowing Life; for if a man gets familiarized with low life, he will necessarily be up, and consequently stand a great chance of being a rising genius. How proper it must be to know how to get a rise upon a fellow, or, in other words, to get him in a line!

"A learned Judge once, examining a queer covy, a flash customer, or a rum fellow, asked him his reason for suspecting the prisoner at the bar of stealing a watch, (which among the lads is scientifically termed nimming a toiler, or [207]nabbing a clicker,) replied as follows:—'Why, your honour, only because you see as how I was up to him.'—'How do you mean, what is being up to him? '—' Why, bless your heart, I was down upon him, and had him bang.' But still perceiving the learned Gentleman's want of nous, he endeavoured to explain by saying, That he was up to his gossip,—that he stagged him, for he was not to be done—that he knew the trick, and was up the moment the chap came into the Cock and Hen Club, where he was tucking in his grub and bub.—Had the learned Judge been up himself, much time and trouble might have been saved; and indeed the importance of being down as a nail, to a man of fashion, is almost incalculable; for this reason it is, that men of high spirit think it no derogation from their dignity or rank, to be well acquainted with all the slang of the coachman and stable-boy, all the glossary of the Fancy, and all the mysterious language of the scamps, the pads, the divers, and all upon the lay, which, by an attentive and apt scholar, may easily be procured at a Gaming-house.

"Of Hells in general, it may fairly be asserted, that they are infernally productive; no other line of business can be compared to these money mills, since they are all thriving concerns, the proprietors of which keep their country houses, extensive establishments, dashing equipages; and

              "While they have money they ride it in chaises.
              And look very big upon those that have none."

"It certainly is a pity that men do not keep constantly in their recollection, that no calculation of chances can avail them, and that between the après, the limitation of stakes, and other manouvres, the table must eventually be an immense winner.

"For Greeks stick at nothing to gain their own ends, And they sacrifice all their acquaintance and friends;

              And thus luckless P'——n, to gain what he'd lost,

Put his faith in a Greek, which he knows to his cost; Join'd a bank, as he thought, when the sly Greeking elf Of a friend soon contriv'd for to break it himself. You credulous pigeons! I would have you beware, Of falling yourselves in a similar snare."

"We ought to consider ourselves greatly obliged," said Merry well, "for the accurate description of characters [208]you have given. But have you heard the report that is now in circulation, that a certain Marquis of high military celebrity, and whose property is, or was, very considerable, has lost almost his last shilling?"

"I," said Sparkle, "am seldom surprised at such rumours, particularly of persons who are known to be players, for they are rich and poor in rapid succession; but if there be any truth in the report, there is a fine example of perseverance before him—for Lord ——, after a long run of ill-luck, being refused the loan of an additional rouleau,{1} on account of his score being rather long, left the company in dudgeon, and determining on revenge, actually opened another Hell in opposition to the one he had left, and by that means recovered all his money."

"That was well done," rejoined Tallyho.

"It was rather too much of a trading concern for a Lord," said Tom.

"Not for a gambling Lord," replied Merry well; "for there is in fact nothing beneath a Greek, in the way of play: besides, it was a trying situation, and required some desperate attempt—they care not who they associate with, so they do but bring grist to the mill."

"The confusion of persons and characters at a Gaming-house," said Sparkle, "are almost incredible, all ranks and descriptions are mingled together.

"What confusion of titles and persons we see Amongst Gamesters, who spring out of every degree, From the prince to the pauper; all panting for play, Their fortune, their time, and their life pass away; Just as mingled are Pigeons, for 'tis no rebuke For a Greek to pluck all, from a Groom to a Duke."

"It is too true," said Dashall, "and equally as certain, that there are continually new comers ready and willing to be duped, or at least ready to risk their property, notwithstanding the warnings they have from their more experienced friends."

"And is there no possibility of obtaining fair play?" inquired Bob, "or redress for being pigeon'd, as you term it?"

         1 A Rouleau—Is a packet containing one hundred guineas; but
         as guineas are not quite so fashionable in the present day
         as they formerly were, some of these Houses, for the
         accommodation of their customers, circulate guinea-notes
         upon their bankers.

[209]"None," said Sparkle; "for if men will play at bowls, they must expect rubbers; and the system of confederacy is carried on every where, though perhaps with most success in those professed Gambling-houses, which young men of property ought carefully to avoid."

By this time they had reached the end of St. James's Street; it was therefore proposed by Sparkle that they should separate, particularly as it was growing late, or rather early in the morning; and, as they had been in some degree baffled in their attempt to take a minute survey of the proceedings in Pall Mall, they had no decided object in view. Accordingly they parted, Tom and Bob pursuing their way along Piccadilly, while Sparkle, Merrywell, and Mortimer, proceeded down Bond Street.

"I am by no means satisfied," said Tom, "with this evening's ramble, nor exactly pleased to find our friend Sparkle is getting so sentimental."

"He is, at least," said Tallyho, "very communicative and instructive—I should feel less embarrassment at a future visit to one of those places, though, I can assure you, I should carefully avoid the chance of becoming a pigeon; but to know these things is certainly useful."

"We must lay our plans better for the future," said Tom—"example is better than precept; and, as for Sparkle, I strongly suspect he is studying a part in All for Love, or the World well lost. That kind of study is too laborious for me, I can't bear to be fettered; or if it be true that it is what we must all come to, my time is not yet arrived. Though I confess Miss Mortimer has many attractions not to be overlooked by an attentive observer; at the same time I perceive this Mr. Merrywell is equally assiduous to obtain the young lady's favours."

By this time they had arrived at home, where, after partaking of refreshment, they retired to rest.[210]

## CHAPTER XV

              "Cataracts of declamation thunder here,
              There, forests of no meaning spread the page,
              In which all comprehension wanders, lost,
              While fields of pleasantry amuse us there
              With many descants on a nation's woes.
              The rest appears a wilderness of strange,
              But gay confusion—roses for the cheeks,
              And lilies for the brows of faded age;
              Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,
              Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets;
              Nectareous essences, Olympian dews,
              Sermons and City feasts, and fav'rite airs,
              Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits,
              And Katerfelto with his hair on end,
              At his own wonders wond'ring for his bread."

"WELL," said Tom, "it must be confessed that a Newspaper is a most convenient and agreeable companion to the breakfast-table," laying down the Times as he spoke: "it is a sort of literary hotch-potch, calculated to afford amusement suited to all tastes, rank-, and degrees; it contains

              "Tales of love and maids mistaken,
              Of battles fought, and captives taken."

"Then, I presume," said Bob, "you have been gratified and interested in the perusal?"

"It is impossible to look down the columns of a newspaper," replied Tom, "without finding subjects to impart light; and of all the journals of the present day, the Times appears to me the best in point of information and conduct; but I spoke of newspapers generally, there is such a mixture of the utile et dulce, that the Merchant and the Mechanic, the Peer, the Poet, the Prelate, and the Peasant, are all deeply concerned in its contents. In truth, a newspaper is so true a mark of the caprice of Englishmen, that it may justly be styled their coat of [211]arms. The Turkish Koran is not near so sacred to a rigid Mahometan—a parish-dinner to an Overseer—a turtle-feast to an Alderman, or an election to a Freeholder, as a Gazette or Newspaper to an Englishman: by it the motions of the world are watched, and in some degree governed—the arts and sciences protected and promoted—the virtuous supported and stimulated—the vicious reproved and corrected—and all informed."

"Consequently," said Bob, "a good Newspaper is really a valuable article."

"Doubtless," continued Tom; "and John Bull—mistake me not, I don't mean the paper which bears that title—I mean the population of England, enjoy a Newspaper, and there are some who could not relish their breakfasts without one; it is a sort of general sauce to every thing, and to the quid nunc is indispensable—for if one informs him of a naval armament, he will not fail to toast the Admirals all round in pint bumpers to each, wishes them success, gets drunk with excessive loyalty, and goes with his head full of seventy-fours, sixty-fours, frigates, transports, fire-ships, &c. In its diversified pages, persons of every rank, denomination, and pursuit, may be informed—the Philosopher, the Politician, the Citizen, the Handicraftsman, and the Gossip, are regaled by the novelty of its contents, the minuteness of its details, and the refreshing arrivals of transactions which occupy the attention of human beings at the greatest or nearest distances from us—

              "——a messenger of grief
              Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some:
              What is it but a map of life,
              Its fluctuations and its vast concerns?"

It may with propriety be compared to the planetary system: the light which it diffuses round the mental hemisphere, operates according as it is seen, felt, understood, or enjoyed: for instance, the Miser is gladdened by an account of the rise of the stocks—the Mariner is rejoiced, at the safety of his vessel after a thunder-storm—the Manufacturer, to hear of the revival of foreign markets—the Merchant, that his cargo is safely arrived—the Member, that his election is secured—the Father, that his son is walling to return home—the Poet, that [212]his production has been favourably received by the public—the Physician, that a difficult cure is transmitting his fame to posterity—the Actor, that his talents are duly appreciated—the Agriculturist, that grain fetches a good price—the upright man, that his character is defended—the poor man, that beer, meat, bread, and vegetables, are so within his reach that he can assure himself of being able to obtain a good Sunday's dinner.

"Tho' they differ in narrie, all alike, just the same, Morning Chronicle, Times, Advertiser, British Press, Morning Post, of News—what a host We read every day, and grow wiser; The Examiner, Whig—all alive to the gig, While each one his favourite chooses; Star, Traveller, and Sun, to keep up the fun, And tell all the world what the news is."

"Well done," said Bob, "you seem to have them all at your tongue's end, and their general contents in your head; but, for my part, I am struck with surprise to know how it is they find interesting matter enough at all times to fill their columns."

"Nothing more easy," continued Dashall, "especially for a newspaper whose contents are not sanctioned by authority; in which case they are so much the more the receptacle of invention—thence—We hear—it is said—a correspondent remarks—whereas, &c—all which serve to please, surprise, and inform. We hear, can alter a man's face as the weather would a barometer—It is said, can distort another like a fit of the spasm—If, can make some cry—while Suppose, can make others laugh—but a Whereas operates like an electric shock; and though it often runs the extremity of the kingdom in unison with the rest, they altogether form a very agreeable mixture, occasionally interspersed, as opportunity offers, with long extracts from the last published novel, and an account of the prevailing fashions. But domestic occurrences form a very essential part of this folio: thus, a marriage hurts an old maid and mortifies a young one, while it consoles many a poor dejected husband, who is secretly pleased to find another fallen into his case—a death, if of a wife, makes husbands envy the widower, while, perhaps, some one of the women who censure his alleged want of [213]decent sorrow, marry him within a month after—in fact, every person is put in motion by a Newspaper.

              "Here various news is found, of love and strife;
              Of peace and war, health, sickness, death, and life;
              Of loss and gain, of famine and of store;
              Of storms at sea, and travels on the shore;
              Of prodigies and portents seen in air;
              Of fires and plagues, and stars with blazing hair;
              Of turns of fortune, changes in the state,
              The falls of favourites, projects of the great."

"It is a bill of fare, containing all the luxuries as well as necessaries, of life. Politics, for instance, are the roast beef of the times; essays, the plum pudding; and poetry the fritters, confections, custards, and all the et cotera of the table, usually denominated trifles. Yet the four winds are not liable to more mutability than the vehicles of these entertainments; for instance, on Monday, it is whispered—on Tuesday, it is rumoured—on Wednesday, it is conjectured—on Thursday, it is probable—on Friday, it is positively asserted—and, on Saturday, it is premature. But notwithstanding this, some how or other, all are eventually pleased; for, as the affections of all are divided among wit, anecdote, poetry, prices of stocks, the arrival of ships, &c. a Newspaper is a repository where every one has his hobby-horse; without it, coffee-houses, &c. would be depopulated, and the country squire, the curate, the exciseman, and the barber, and many others, would lose those golden opportunities of appearing so very wise as they do.

A Newspaper may also be compared to the Seasons. Its information varies on the roll of Time, and much of it passes away as a Winter, giving many a bitter pang of the death of a relative or hopeful lover; it is as a Spring, for, in the time of war and civil commotion, its luminary, the editor, like the morning sun, leads Hope forward to milder days and happier prospects—the smiles of peace; it is the heart's Summer calendar, giving news of marriages and births for heirs and patrons; it is the Autumn of joy, giving accounts of plenty, and guarding the avaricious against the snares of self-love, and offering arguments in favour of humanity. It is more; a Newspaper is one of the most faithful lessons that can be represented to our reflections, for, while it is the interpreter [214]of the general economy of nature, it is a most kind and able instructress to improve ourselves.

What are our lives but as the ephemeral appearance of an advertisement? Our actions but as the actions of a popular contest? Our hopes, fears, exultations, but as the cross readings of diurnal events? And although grief is felt at the perusal of accidents, offences, and crimes, which are necessarily and judiciously given, there is in every good Newspaper an impartial record, an abstract of the times, a vast fund of useful knowledge; and, finally, no person has reason, after perusing it, to rise without being thankful that so useful a medium is offered to his understanding; at least, this is my opinion."

"And now you have favoured me with this opinion," rejoined Tallyho, "will you be kind enough to inform me to what fortunate circumstance I am indebted for it?"

"The question comes very apropos," continued Tom—"for I had nearly forgotten that circumstance, so that you may perhaps be inclined to compare my head to a newspaper, constantly varying from subject to subject; but no matter, a novelty has just struck my eye, which I think will afford us much gratification: it is the announcement of an exhibition of engravings by living artists, under the immediate patronage of his Majesty, recently opened in Soho Square, through the public spirited exertions of Mr. Cooke, a celebrated engraver—And now I think of it, Mortimer and his Sister intend visiting Somerset House—egad! we will make a morning of it in reviewing the Arts—what say you?"

"With all my heart," returned Bob.

"Be it so, then," said Tom—"So-ho, my boy—perhaps we may meet the love-sick youth, poor Sparkle; he has certainly received the wound of the blind urchin—I believe we must pity him—but come, let us prepare, we will lounge away an hour in walking down Bond Street—peep at the wags and the wag-tails, and take Soho Square in our way to Somerset House. I feel myself just in the humour for a bit of gig, and 1 promise you we will make a night of it."

The preliminaries of their route being thus arranged, in half an hour they were on their road down Bond Street, marking and remarking upon circumstances and subjects as they arose.

"Who is that Lady?" said Bob, seeing Tom bow as a dashing carriage passed them.

"That is a Lady Townley, according to the generally

received term."

"A lady of title, as I suspected," said Bob.

"Yes, yes," replied Tom Dashall, "a distinguished personage, I can assure you—one of the most dashing demireps of the present day, basking at this moment in the plenitude of her good fortune. She is however deserving of a better fate: well educated and brought up, she was early initiated into the mysteries and miseries of high life. You seem to wonder at the title I have given her."

"I am astonished again, I confess," replied Bob; "but it appears there is no end to wonders in London—nor can I guess how you so accurately know them."

"Along residence in London affords opportunities for

discovery.

"As the French very justly say, that Il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte, and just as, with all the sapience of medicine, there is but a degree betwixt the Doctor and the Student, so, after the first step, there is but a degree betwixt the Demirep and the gazetted Cyprian, who is known by head-mark to every insipid Amateur and Fancier in the town.

"The number of these frail ones is so great, that, if I were to attempt to go through the shades and gradations, the distinctions and titles, from the promiscuous Duchess to the interested Marchande de mode, and from her down to the Wood Nymphs of the English Opera, there would be such a longo ordine génies, that although it is a very interesting subject, well worthy of investigation, it would occupy a considerable portion of time; however, I will give you a slight sketch of some well known and very topping articles. Mrs. B——m, commonly called B——g, Mrs. P——n, and Mrs. H——d, of various life. "The modern Pyrrha, B——g, has a train as long as an eastern monarch, but it is a train of lovers. The Honourable B—— C——n, that famous gentleman miller, had the honour at one time (like Cromwell,) of being the Protector of the Republic. The infamous Greek, bully, informer and reprobate W——ce, was her accomplice and paramour at another. Lord V——l boasted her favours at a third period; and she wished to look upon him in a fatherly [216]light; but it would not do. Mr. C. T. S. the nephew of a great naval character, is supposed to have a greater or prior claim there; but the piebald harlequin is owned not by "Light horse, but by heavy."

"Mr. P——y, however, was so struck with the increased

attractions of this Cyprian, that he offered to be her protector during a confinement which may be alarming to many, but interesting to a few. This was being doubly diligent, and accordingly as it was two to one in his favour, no wonder he succeeded in his suit. The difficulties which Madame laboured under were sufficient to decide her in this youth's favour; and the preference, upon such an occasion, must have been highly flattering to him. On the score of difficulties, Cyprians are quite in fashion; for executions and arrests are very usual in their mansions, and the last comer has the exquisite felicity of relieving them.

"Although this dashing Lady was the daughter of a bathing woman at Brighton, she was not enabled to keep her head above water.

"I must not forget Poll P——n, whose select friends have such cause to be proud of lier election. This Diana is not descended from a member of the Rump Parliament, nor from a bum bailiff; but was the daughter of a bumboat woman at Plymouth. She has, however, since that period, commenced business for herself; and that in such a respectable and extensive line, that she counts exactly seven thousand customers! all regularly booked. What a delectable amusement to keep such a register! Neanmoins, or nean plus, if you like. It is reported that the noble Y—— was so delighted with her at the Venetian fête given by Messrs. W—ll—ms and D—h—r—ty, that he gave the Virgin Unmasked several very valuable presents, item, a shawl value one hundred guineas, &c. and was honoured by being put on this Prime Minister of the Court of Love's list—number Seven thousand and one! What a fortunate man!

"Mrs. H——d is lineally descended, not from William the Conqueror, but from W——s the coachman. She lived, for a considerable time, in a mews, and it was thought that it was his love for the Muses which attached C—— L—— so closely to her. She was seduced at a most indelicately juvenile age by a Major M——l, who protected her but a short time, and then deserted her. Then [217]she became what the Cyprians term Lady Townly, till Mr. H——d, a youth with considerable West India property in expectation, married her.

"On this happy occasion, her hymeneal flame burned with so much warmth and purity, that she shared it with a linen-draper, and the circumstance became almost immediately known to the husband! This was a happy presage of future connubial felicity! The very day before this domestic exposure, and the happy vigil of Mr. H——d's happier "jour des noces," the darling of the Muses or Mewses, Mr. L—— procured Lady H——d's private box for her at one of the theatres, whither she and Mrs. CI——y, the mistress of an officer of that name, repaired in the carriage of the Mews lover, which has become completely "the Demirep or Cyprian's Diligence," and these patterns for the fair sex had poured out such plentiful libations to Bacchus, that her ladyship's box exhibited the effects of their devotions! What a regale for the Princess of Madagascar!

"The guardians, or trustees, of Mr. H——d now withheld his property, and Madame assisted him into the King's Bench, during which time she kept terms with Mr. L—— at Oxford. On her return, she got acquainted with a Capt. Cr——ks, whom she contrived soon afterwards to lodge, in the next room to her husband, in the Bench; but to whom she kindly gave the preference in her visits.

"Whether C—— L——, W—lk—s the linen-draper, or Capt. C——k, be the most favoured swain, or swine, I venture not to say; but the former has devoted his time, his chariot, and his female acquaintances' boxes in public to her. As a pledge of his love, she helped herself to a loose picture of great value belonging to him, which very nearly fell into the hands of John Doe or Richard Roe, on her husband's account, afterwards. The palm should, however, certainly be given to Mr. L——, as he courted her classically, moralized to her sentimentally, sung psalms and prayed with her fervently, and, on all occasions, treated her like a lady."

"Ha," said a fashionably dressed young man, who approached towards Dashall, "Ha, my dear fellow, how goes it with you? Haven't seen you this month; d——d unlucky circumstance—wanted you very much indeed—glorious sport—all jolly and bang up." [218]"Glad to hear it," said Tom,—"sorry you should have experienced any wants on my account."

"Which way are you going? Come along, I'll tell you of such a spree—regular, and nothing but—You must know, a few days ago, sauntering down Bond-street, I overtook Sir G. W. 'Ha! my gay fellow,' said he, 'I thought you were at Bibury; you're the very man I want. My brother Jack has lost a rump and dozen to a young one, and we want to make up a select party, a set of real hardheaded fellows, to share the feast. I have already recruited Sir M. M., the buck Parson, Lord Lavender, and Tom Shuffleton. Then there's yourself, I hope, my brother and I, the young one, and A——'s deputy, the reprobate Curate, whom we will have to make fun of. We dine at half-past seven, at Long's, and there will be some sport, I assure you.'

"I accepted the invitation, and met the company before mentioned. A rump and dozen is always a nominal thing. There was no rump, except Lavender's, which projects like a female's from the bottom of a tight-laced pair of stays; and as for the dozen, I believe we drank nearer three dozen of different expensive wines, which were tasted one after the other with a quickness of succession, which at last left no taste, but a taste for more drink, and for all sorts of wickedness.

"This tasting plan is a very successful trick of tavern keepers, which enables them to carry off half bottles of wine, to swell the reckoning most amazingly, and so to bewilder people as to the qualities of the wine, that any thing, provided it be strong and not acid, will go down at the heel of the evening. It is also a grand manouvre; to intoxicate a Johnny Raw, and to astonish his weak mind with admiration for the founder of the feast. Therefore, the old trick of 'I have got some particularly high-flavoured Burgundy, which Lord Lavender very much approved t'other day;' and, 'Might I, Sir, ask your opinion of a new importation of Sillery?' or, 'My Lord, 1 have bought all the Nabob's East India Madeira,' &c. was successfully practised.

"Through the first course we were stag-hunting, to a man, and killed the stag just as the second course came on the table. This course was occupied by a great number of long shots of Sir M. M., and by Lavender offering to back himself and the buck Parson against any other two [219]men in England, as to the number of head of game which they would bag from sun-rise to sun-set upon the moors. A foot race, and a dispute as to the odds betted on the second October Meeting, occupied the third course. The desert was enlivened by a list of ladies of all descriptions, whose characters were cut up full as ably as the haunch of venison was carved; and here boasting of success in love was as general as the custom is base. One man of fashion goes by the name of Kiss and tell.

"After an hour of hard drinking, as though it had been for a wager, a number of very manly, nice little innocent and instructive amusements were resorted to. We had a most excellent maggot race for a hundred; and then a handycap for a future poney race. We had pitching a guinea into a decanter, at which the young one lost considerably. We had a raffle for a gold snuff box, a challenge of fifty against Lord Lavender's Dusseldorf Pipe, and five hundred betted upon the number of shot to be put into a Joe Manton Rifle. We played at te-to-tum; and the young one leaped over a handkerchief six feet high for a wager: he performed extremely well at first, but at last Lavender, who betted against him, kept plying him so with wine, and daring him to an inch higher and higher, until at last the young one broke his nose, and lost five hundred guineas by his boyish diversion.

Now we had a fulminating letter introduced as a hoax upon Shuffleton; next, devils and broiled bones; then some blasphemous songs from the Curate, who afterwards fell asleep, and thus furnished an opportunity for having his face blacked. We then got in a band of itinerant musicians; put crackers in their pockets; cut off one fellow's tail; and had a milling match betwixt the baronet in the chair and the stoutest of them, who, having had spirits of wine poured over his head, refused to let the candle be put to it!

Peace being restored, a regular supper appeared; and then a regular set-to at play, where I perceived divers signals thrown out, such as rubbing of foreheads and chins, taking two pinches of snuff and other private telegraphic communications, the result of which was, the young one, just of age, being greeked to a very great amount.

We now sallied forth, like a pack in full cry, with all the loud expression of mirth and riot, and proceeded to [220]old 77, which, being shut up, we swore like troopers, and broke the parlour windows in a rage. We next cut the traces of a hackney coach, and led the horses into a mews, ?where we tied them up; coachee being asleep inside the whole time. We then proceeded to old Ham-a-dry-ed, the bacon man's, called out Fire, and got the old man down to the door in his shirt, when Lavender ran away with his night-cap, and threw it into the water in St. James's Square, whilst the Baronet put it in right and left at his sconce, and told him to hide his d——d ugly masard. This induced him to come out and call the Watch, during which time the buck Parson got into his house, and was very snug with the cook wench until the next evening, when old fusty mug went out upon business.

After giving a view holloa! we ran off, with the Charleys in full cry after us, when Sir G. W., who had purposely provided himself with a long cord, gave me one end, and ran to the opposite side of Jermyn Street with the other in his hand, holding it about two feet from the pavement. The old Scouts came up in droves, and we had 'em down in a moment, for every mother's son of the guardians were caught in the trap, and rolled over each other slap into the kennel. Never was such a prime bit of gig! They lay stunn'd with the fall—broken lanterns, staves, rattles, Welsh wigs, night-caps and old hats, were scattered about in abundance, while grunting, growling, and swearing was heard in all directions. One old buck got his jaw-bone broken; another staved in two of his crazy timbers, that is to say, broke a couple of ribs; a third bled from the nose like a pig; a fourth squinted admirably from a pair of painted peepers; their numbers however increasing, we divided our forces and marched in opposite directions; one party sallied along Bond Street, nailed up a snoosy Charley in his box, and bolted with his lantern: the others were not so fortunate, for A——'s deputy cushion thumper, the young one, and the Baronet's brother, got safely lodged in St. James's Watch-house.

"Broad daylight now glar'd upon us—Lavender retired comfortably upon Madame la Comtesse in the Bench; Sir M. M. was found chanting Cannons with some Wood nymphs not an hundred and fifty miles off from Leicester Square; I had the President to carry home on my shoulders, bundled to bed, and there I lay sick for four and twenty hours, when a little inspiring Coniac brought [221]me to my senses again, and now I am ready and ripe for another spree. Stap my vitals if there isn't Lavender—my dear fellow, adieu—remember me to Charley Sparkle when you see him—by, by." And with this he sprung across the road, leaving Bob and his Cousin to comment at leisure upon his folly.

They were however soon aroused from their reflections by perceiving a Groom in livery advancing rapidly towards them, followed by a curricle, moving at the rate of full nine miles per hour.

"Who have we here?" said Bob.

"A character well known," said Tom; "that is Lady L——, a dashing female whip of the first order—mark how she manages her tits—take a peep at her costume and learn while you look."

"More than one steed must Delia's empire feel Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel; And as she guides it through th' admiring throng, With what an air she smacks the silken thong!"

The Lady had a small round riding-hat, of black beaver, and sat in the true attitude of a coachman—wrists pliant, elbows square, she handled her whip in a scientific manner; and had not Tom declared her sex, Bob would hardly have discovered it from her outward appearance. She was approaching them at a brisk trot, greeting her numerous acquaintance as she passed with familiar nods, at each giving her horses an additional touch, and pursing up her lips to accelerate their speed; indeed, she was so intent upon the management of her reins, and her eyes so fixed upon her cattle, that there was no time for more than a sort of sidelong glance of recognition; and every additional smack of the whip seem'd to say, "Here I come—that's your sort." Her whole manner indeed was very similar to what may be witnessed in Stage-coachmen, Hackneymen, and fashionable Ruffians, who appear to think that all merit consists in copying them when they tip a brother whip the go-by, or almost graze the wheel of a Johnny-raw, and turn round with a grin of self-approbation, as much as to say—"What d'ye think of that now, eh f—there's a touch for you—lord, what a flat you must be!"

Bob gazed with wonder and astonishment as she passed.

"How?" said he, "do the ladies of London frequently take the whip?—"

[222]"—Hand of their husbands as well as their horses," replied Tom—"often enough, be assured."

"But how, in the name of wonder, do they learn to drive in this style?"

"Easily enough; inclination and determination will accomplish their objects. Why, among the softer sex, we have female Anatomists—female Students in Natural History—Sculptors, and Mechanics of all descriptions—Shoe-makers and Match-makers—and why not Charioteers?"

"Nay, I am not asking why; but as it appears rather out of the common way, I confess my ignorance has excited my curiosity on a subject which seems somewhat out of nature."

"I have before told you, Nature has nothing to do with Real Life in London."

"And yet," continued Bob, "we are told, and I cannot help confessing the truth of the assertion, with respect to the ladies, that

              "——Loveliness
              Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
              But is, when unadorned, adorn'd the most,"
              This certainly implies a natural or native grace."

"Pshaw," said Dashall, "that was according to the Old school; such doctrines are completely exploded now-a-days, for Fashion is at variance with Nature in all her walks; hence, driving is considered one of the accomplishments necessary to be acquired by the female sex in high life, by which an estimate of character may be formed: for instance—if a lady take the reins of her husband, her brother, or a lover, it is strongly indicative of assuming the mastery; but should she have no courage or muscular strength, and pays no attention to the art of governing and guiding her cattle, it is plain that she will become no driver, no whip, and may daily run the risk of breaking the necks of herself and friends. If however she should excel in this study, she immediately becomes masculine and severe, and she punishes, when occasion requires, every animal within the reach of her lash—acquires an ungraceful attitude and manner—heats her complexion by over exertion—sacrifices her softness to accomplish her intentions—runs a risk of having hard hands, and perhaps a hard heart: at all events she gains unfeminine habits, and [223]such as are found very difficult to get rid of, and prides herself on being the go, the gaze, the gape, the stare of all who see her."

"A very admirable, and no doubt equally happy state," quoth Bob, half interrupting him.

"If she learn the art of driving from the family coachman, it cannot be doubted but such tuition is more than likely to give her additional grace, and to teach her all that is polite; and then the pleasure of such company whilst superintending her studies, must tend to improve her mind; the freedom of these teachers of coachmanship, and the language peculiar to themselves, at first perhaps not altogether agreeable, is gradually worn away by the pride of becoming an accomplished whip—to know how to turn a corner in style—tickle Snarler in the ear—cut up the yelper—take out a fly's eye in bang-up twig."

"Excellent! indeed," cried Bob, charmed with Dashall's irony, and willing to provoke it farther; "and pray, when this art of driving is thoroughly learned, what does it tend to but a waste of time, a masculine enjoyment, and a loss of feminine character—of that sweet, soft and overpowering submission to and reliance on the other sex, which, whilst it demands our protection and assistance, arouses our dearest sympathies—our best interests—attaches, enraptures, and subdues us?"

"Nonsense," continued Tom, "you might ask such questions for a month—who cares about these submissions and reliances—protections and sympathies—they are not known, at least it is very unfashionable to acknowledge their existence. Why I have known ladies so infatuated and affected by an inordinate love of charioteering, that it has completely altered them, not only as to dress, but manners and feeling, till at length they have become more at home in the stable than the drawing-room; and some, that are so different when dressed for dinner, that the driving habiliments appear like complete masquerade disguises. Indeed, any thing that is natural is considered quite out of nature; and this affectation is not wholly confined to the higher circles, for in the City even the men and the women seem to have changed places.

              "Man-milliners and mantua-makers swarm
              With clumsy hands to deck the female form—
              With brawny limbs to fit fine ladies' shapes,
              Or measure out their ribbons, lace and tapes;
              Or their rude eye the bosom's swell surveys,
              To cut out corsets or to stitch their stays;
              Or making essences and soft perfume,
              Or paint, to give the pallid cheek fresh bloom;
              Or with hot irons, combs, and frizzling skill,
              On ladies' heads their daily task fulfil;
              Or, deeply versed in culinary arts,
              Are kneading pasty, making pies and tarts;
              Or, clad in motley coat, the footman neat
              Is dangling after Miss with shuffling feet,
              Bearing in state to church her book of pray'r,
              Or the light pocket she disdains to wear;{1}
              Or in a parlour snug, 'the powdered lout
              The tea and bread and butter hands about.
              Where are the women, whose less nervous hands
              Might fit these lighter tasks, which pride demands?
              Some feel the scorn that poverty attends,
              Or pine in meek dépendance on their friends;
              Some patient ply the needle day by day,
              Poor half-paid seamsters, wasting life away;
              Some drudge in menial, dirty, ceaseless toil,
              Bear market loads, or grovelling weed the soil;
              Some walk abroad, a nuisance where they go,
              And snatch from infamy the bread of woe."

"It is a strange sort of infatuation, this fashion," said Bob, "and it is much to be regretted it should operate so much to the injury of the fair—"

"Do you see that young man on the opposite side of the way,"inquired Dashall,(stopping him short) "in nankin breeches and jockey-boots?"

"I do," replied Tallyho; "and pray who is he?"

"The son of a wealthy Baronet who, with an eye to the main chance in early life, engaged in some mercantile speculations, which proving productive concerns, have elevated him to his present dignity, beyond which it is said he cannot go on account of his having once kept a shop. This son is one of what may be termed the Ciphers of society, a sort of useful article, like an 0 in arithmetic, to denominate numbers; one of those characters, if character it may be termed, of which this Metropolis and its vicinity would furnish us with regiments. Indeed, the

1 It is related that a young lady of haut ton in Paris was observed to have a tall fellow always following her wherever she went. Her grandmother one day asked her what occasion there was for that man to be always following her; to which she replied—"I must blow my nose, must not I, when I want?" This great genius was actually employed to carry her pocket-handkerchief. [225]general run of Fashionables are little better than Ciphers,—very necessary at times in the House of Commons, to suit the purposes and forward the intentions of the Ministers, by which they obtain titles to which they are not entitled, and transmit to posterity a race of ennobled boobies. What company, what society does not abound with Ciphers, and oftentimes in such plenty that they are even serviceable to make the society considerable? What could we do to express on paper five hundred without the two ciphers, or being compelled to write eleven letters to explain what is equally well done in three figures? These Ciphers are useful at general meetings upon public questions, though, if they were all collected together in point of intellectual value, they would amount to nought. They are equally important as counters at a card-table, they tell for more than they are worth. Among the City Companies there are many of them to be found: and the Army is not deficient, though great care is generally taken to send the most conspicuous Ciphers on foreign service. Public offices under Government swarm with them; and how many round O's or ciphers may be found among the gentlemen of the long robe, who, as Hudibras observes,

              "——never ope
              Their mouths, but out there flies a trope."

In the twelve Judges it must be allowed there is no cipher, because they have two figures to support them; but take these two figures away, and the whole wit of mankind may be defied to patch up or recruit the number without having recourse to the race of Ciphers.

"I have known a Cipher make a profound Statesman and a Secretary—nay, an Ambassador; but then it must be confess'd it has been by the timely and prudent application of proper supporters; and it is certain, that Ciphers have more than once shewn themselves significant in high posts and stations, and in more reigns than one. Bounteous nature indulges mankind in a boundless variety of characters as well as features, and has given Ciphers to make up numbers, and very often by such additions renders the few much more significant and conspicuous. The Church has its Ciphers—for a mitre looks as well on a round 0 as on any letter in the alphabet, [226]and the expense to the nation is equally the same; consequently, John Bull has no right to complain.

              "See in Pomposo a polite divine,
              More gay than grave, not half so sound as fine;
              The ladies' parson, proudly skill'd is he,
              To 'tend their toilet and pour out their tea;
              Foremost to lead the dance, or patient sit
              To deal the cards out, or deal out small wit;
              Then oh! in public, what a perfect beau,
              So powder'd and so trimm'd for pulpit show;
              So well equipp'd to tickle ears polite
              With pretty little subjects, short and trite.
              Well cull'd and garbled from the good old store
              Of polish'd sermons often preached before;
              With precious scraps from moral Shakespeare brought.
              To fill up awkward vacancies of thought,
              Or shew how he the orator can play
              Whene'er he meets with some good thing to say,
              Or prove his taste correct, his memory strong,
              Nor let his fifteen minutes seem too long:
              His slumbering mind no knotty point pursues,
              Save when contending for his tithes or dues."

Thus far, although it must be allowed that ciphers are of use, it is not every cipher that is truly useful. There are Ciphers of indolence, to which some mistaken men give the title of men of fine parts—there are Ciphers of Self-interest, to which others more wrongfully give the name of Patriots—there are Bacchanalian Ciphers, who will not leave the bottle to save the nation, but will continue to guzzle till no one figure in Arithmetic is sufficient to support them—then there are Ciphers of Venus, who will abandon all state affairs to follow a Cyprian, even at the risk of injuring a deserving wife—Military Ciphers, who forsake the pursuit of glory, and distrustful of their own merit or courage, affirm their distrust by a sedulous attendance at the levees of men of power. In short, every man, in my humble opinion, is no other than a Cipher who does not apply his talents to the care of his morals and the benefit of his country."

"You have been ciphering for some time," said Boh, "and I suppose you have now finished your sum."

"I confess," continued Tom, "it has been a puzzling one—for, to make something out of nothing is impossible."

"Not in all cases," said Bob.

"How so?—why you have proved it by your own shewing, that these nothings are to be made something of."

[227]"I perceive," replied Tom, "that your acquaintance with Sparkle is not thrown away upon you; and it argues well, for if you are so ready a pupil at imbibing his lessons, you will soon become a proficient in London manners and conversation; but a Cipher is like a round robin,{1} it has neither beginning nor end: its centre is vacancy, its circle ambiguity, and it stands for nothing, unless in certain connections."

They were now proceeding gently along Oxford Street, in pursuit of their way to Soho Square, and met with little worthy of note or remark until they arrived near the end of Newman Street, where a number of workmen were digging up the earth for the purpose of making new-drains. The pathway was railed from the road by scaffolding poles strongly driven into the ground, and securely tied together to prevent interruption from the passengers.—Tom was remarking upon the hardihood and utility of the labourers at the moment when a fountain of water was issuing from a broken pipe, which arose as high as a two pair of stairs window, a circumstance which quickly drew a number of spectators around, and, among the rest, Tom and his Cousin could not resist an inclination to spend a few minutes in viewing the proceedings.

The Irish jontlemen, who made two or three ineffectual attempts to stop the breach, alternately got soused by the increased violence of the water, and at every attempt were saluted by the loud laughter of the surrounding multitude.

To feelings naturally warm and irritable, these vociferations of amusement and delight at their defeat, served but to exasperate and enrage; and the Irishmen in strong terms expressed their indignation at the merriment which their abortive attempts appeared to excite: at length, one of the Paddies having cut a piece of wood, as he conceived, sufficient to stop the effusion of water, with some degree of adroitness thrust his arm into the foaming fluid, and for a moment appeared to have arrested its progress.

"Blood-an-owns! Murphy," cried he, "scoop away the water, and be after handing over the mallet this way." In a moment the spades of his comrades were seen in

         1 Round Rubin—A Letter or Billet, so composed as to have
         the signatures of many persons in a circle, in order that
         the reader may not be able to discover which of the party
         signed first or last.

[228]action to accomplish his instructions, while one, who was not in a humour to hear the taunts of the crowd, very politely scoop'd the water with his hands among the spectators, which created a general desire to avoid his liberal and plentiful besprinklings, and at the same time considerable confusion among men, women, and children, who, in effecting their escape, were seen tumbling and rolling over each other in all directions.

"Be off wid you all, and be d——d to you," said the Hibernian; while those who were fortunate enough to escape the cooling fluid he was so indifferently dispensing, laughed heartily at their less favoured companions.

Bob was for moving onward.

"Hold," said Dash all, "it is two to one but you will see some fun here."

He had scarcely said the word, when a brawny Porter in a fustian jacket, with his knot slung across his shoulder, manifested dislike to the manner in which the Irish jontleman was pursuing his amusement.

"D——n your Irish eyes," said he, "don't throw your water here, or I'll lend you my bunch of fives." {l}

"Be after being off, there," replied Pat; and, without hesitation, continued his employment.

The Porter was resolute, and upon receiving an additional salute, jumped over the railings, and re-saluted poor Pat with a muzzier,{2} which drew his claret in a moment. The Irishman endeavoured to rally, while the crowd cheered the Porter and hooted the Labourer. This was the signal for hostilities. The man who had plugg'd up the broken pipe let go his hold, and the fountain was playing away as briskly as ever—all was confusion, and the neighbourhood in alarm. The workmen, with spades and pick-axes, gathered round their comrade, and there was reason to apprehend serious mischief would occur; one of them hit the Porter with his spade, and several others were prepared to follow his example; while a second, who seem'd a little more blood-thirsty than the rest, raised his pickaxe in a menacing attitude; upon perceiving which, Dashall jump'd over the rail and

         1 Bunch of fives—A flash term for the fist, frequently made
         use of among the lads of the Fancy, who address each other
         some-times in a friendly way, with—Ha, Bill, how goes it?—
         tip us your bunch of fives, my boy.

         2 Muzzier—A blow on the mouth.

[229]arrested his arm, or, if the blow had been struck, murder must have ensued. In the mean time, several other persons, following Tom's example, had disarmed the remainder. A fellow-labourer, who had been engaged at a short distance, from the immediate scene of action, attacked the man who had raised the pickaxe, between whom a pugilistic encounter took place, the former swearing, 'By Jasus, they were a set of cowardly rascals, and deserved quilting.'{1} The water was flowing copiously—shovels, pickaxes, barrows, lanterns and other implements were strewed around them—the crowd increased—Tom left the combatants (when he conceived no real danger of unfair advantage being taken was to be apprehended) to enjoy their rolling in the mud; while the Porter, who had escaped the vengeance of his opponents, was explaining to those around him, and expostulating with the first aggressor, upon the impropriety of his conduct. The shouts of the multitude at the courageous proceedings of the Porter, and the hootings at the shameful and cowardly manner of defence pursued by the Labourers, roused the blood of the Irishmen, and one again seized a spade to attack a Coal-heaver who espoused the cause of the Porter—a disposition was again manifested to cut down any one who dared to entertain opinions opposite to their own—immediately a shower of mud and stones was directed towards him—the spade was taken away, and the Irishmen armed themselves in a similar way with the largest stones they could find suitable for throwing. In this state of things, the houses and the windows in the neighbourhood were threatened with serious damage. The crowd retreated hallooing, shouting, hissing, and groaning; and in this part of the affray Bob got himself well bespattered with mud. Tom again interfered, and after a few minutes, persuaded the multitude to desist, and the Irishmen to drop their weapons. The Porter made his escape, and the men resumed their work; but, upon Dashall's return to the

         1 Quilting—To quilt a person among the knowing Covies, is
         to give another a good thrashing; probably, this originated
         in the idea of warming—as a quilt is a warm companion, so a
         set-to is equally productive of heat; whether the allusion
         holds good with respect to comfort, must be left to the
         decision of those who try it on, (which is to make any
         attempt or essay where success is doubtful.)

[230]spot where he had left Tallyho, the latter was not to be found; he was however quickly relieved from suspense.

"Sir," said a stout man, "the neighbourhood is greatly indebted to your exertions in suppressing a riot from which much mischief was to be apprehended—your friend is close at hand, if you will step this way, you will find him—he is getting his coat brushed at my house, and has sustained no injury."

"It is a lucky circumstance for him," said Tom: "and I think myself fortunate upon the same account, for I assure you I was very apprehensive of some serious mischief resulting from the disturbance."[231]

## CHAPTER XVI

              "Blest be the pencil which from death can save
              The semblance of the virtuous, wise and brave,
              That youth and emulation still may gaze
              On those inspiring forms of ancient days,
              And, from the force of bright example bold,
              Rival their worth, and be what they behold."

              ".....I admire,
              None more admires the painter's magic skill,
              Who shews me that which I shall never see,
              Conveys a distant country into mine,
              And throws Italian light on British walls."

AS they entered the house, a few doors up Newman Street, Tallyho met them, having divested himself of the mud which had been thrown upon his garments by the indiscriminating hand of an enraged multitude; and after politely thanking the gentleman for his friendly accommodation, they were about to proceed to the place of their original destination; when Dashall, perceiving an elegantly dressed lady on the opposite side of the way, felt, instinctively as it were, for the usual appendage of a modern fashionable, the quizzing-glass; in the performance of this he was subjected to a double disappointment, for his rencontre with the Hibernians had shivered the fragile ornament to atoms in his pocket, and before he could draw forth the useless fragments, the more important object of his attention was beyond the power of his visual orbs.

"It might have been worse," said he, as he survey'd the broken bauble: "it is a loss which can easily be repaired, and if in losing that, I have prevented more serious mischief, there is at least some consolation. Apropos, here is the very place for supplying the defect without loss of time. Dixon," {1} continued he, looking at

         1 This gentleman, whose persevering endeavours in his
         profession entitle him to the patronage of the public,
         without pretending to second sight, or the powers that are
         so frequently attributed to the seventh son of a seventh
         son, has thrown some new lights upon the world. Although he
         does not pretend to make "Helps to Read," his establishment
         at No. 93, Newman Street, Oxford Road, of upwards of thirty
         years' standing, is deservedly celebrated for glasses suited
         to all sights, manufactured upon principles derived from
         long study and practical experience. Indeed, if we are to-
         place any reliance on his Advertisements, he has brought
         them to a state of perfection never before attained, and not
         to be surpassed.

[232]the name over the door—"aye, I remember to have seen his advertisements in the papers, and have no doubt I may be suited here to a shaving"

Upon saying this, they entered the house, and found the improver of spectacles and eye-glasses surrounded with the articles of his trade, who, in a moment, recognized Tom as the chief instrument in quelling the tumult, and added his acknowledgments to what had already been offered for his successful exertions, assuring him at the same time, that as he considered sight to be one of the most invaluable blessings "bestowed on mankind, he had for many years devoted the whole of his time and attention to the improvement of glasses—put into his hand a short treatise on the subject, and on the important assistance which may be afforded by a judicious selection of spectacles to naturally imperfect or overstrained eyes. Bob, in the mean time, was amusing himself with reading bills, pamphlets, and newspapers, which lay upon the counter.

Dashall listened with attention to his dissertation on sight, spectacles, focusses, lens, reflection, refraction, &c.; but, as he was not defective in the particular organs alluded to, felt but little interested on the subject; selected what he really wanted, or rather what etiquette required, when, to their great gratification, in came Sparkle. After the first salutations were over, the latter purchased an opera-glass; then, in company with Tom and Bob, proceeded to Oxford Street, and upon learning their destination, determined also to take a peep at the Exhibition.

"Come along," said Tom, catching hold of his arm, and directing him towards Soho Square. But Sparkle recollecting that he had appointed to meet Miss Mortimer, her Brother, and Merry well, to accompany them to Somerset House, and finding time had escaped with more [233]rapidity than he expected, wished them a good morning, hoped they should meet again in the course of the day, and departed.

"You see," said Tom, "Sparkle is fully engaged in the business of love; Miss Mortimer claims all his attention for the present."

"You appear to be very envious of his enjoyments," replied Bob.

"Not so, indeed," continued Tom; "I am only regretting that other pursuits have estranged him from our company."

On entering the Exhibition at Soho, Tom, whose well-known taste for science and art, and particularly for the productions of the pencil and graver, had already rendered him conspicuous among those who knew him, made the following remarks: "I am really glad," said he, "to find that the eminent engravers of our country have at length adopted a method of bringing at one view before the public, a delineation of the progress made by our artists in a branch so essentially connected with the performance and durability of the Fine Arts. An Exhibition of this kind is well calculated to dispel the vulgar error, that engraving is a servile art in the scale of works of the mind, and mostly consigned to the copyist. An Establishment of this kind has long been wanted, and is deserving of extensive patronage."

Having secured Catalogues, they proceeded immediately to the gratifying scene.{1} The disposition and arrangement

         1 The major part of the 405 subjects and sets of subjects,
         consisting of about 800 prints, are of moderate size, or
         small engravings for descriptive or literary publications,
         &e. They are the lesser diamonds in a valuable collection of
         jewellery, where there are but few that are not of lucid
         excellence, and worthy of glistening in the diadem of
         Apollo, or the cestus of Venus. So indeed they have, for
         here are many subjects from ancient and modern poetry, and
         other literature, and from portraits of beautiful women.
         Among the first class, the exquisitely finishing graver of
         Mr. Warren gives us many after the designs of Messrs.
         Westall, Wilkie, Smirke, Cooke, Uwins, and Corbould; as do
         the lucid gravers of Messrs. Englehart and Rhodes, the
         nicely executing hands of Messrs. Mitan, Romney, Finden,
         Robinson, &c. Among the latter class, are Anna Boleyn, &c.
         by Mr. Scriven, who marks so accurately the character of the
         objects, and of the Painter he works from, in his well
         blended dot and stroke; Mrs. Hope, by Dawe; many lovely
         women, by Mr. Reynolds; a Courtship, by Mr. Warren, from
         Terburg, in the Marquis of Stafford's Collection; two Mary
         Queen of Scots, by Messrs. Warren and Cooper.——From
         pictures of the old and modern Masters, are capital
         Portraits of celebrated characters of former and present
         times; of Mrs. Siddons, of Cicero, M. Angelo, Parmigiano,
         Fenelon, Raleigh, A. Durer, Erasmus, Cromwell, Ben Jonson,
         Selden, Swift, Gay, Sterne, Garrick, &c. of Byron,
         Bonaparte, West, Kenible, young Napoleon, of nearly all the
         English Royal Family, and many of the Nobility.

         ——Of all the charmingly engraved Landscapes of foreign
         and home Views, and of the Animal pieces, are many from
         Messrs. W. B. and G. Cooke's recent publications of The
         Coast of England, &c. of Mr. Hakewell's Italy, Mr. Nash's
         Paris, Captain Batty's France, &c. Mr. Neale's Vieios, many
         of Mr. Scott's and Mr. Milton's fine Animal Prints;
         exquisitely engraved Architecture by Mr. Le Keaux, Mr.
         Lowry, Mr. G. Cooke, &c. Among the large Prints are the two
         last of Mr. Holloway's noble set from Raffaelle's Cartoons;
         the Battle of Leipzig, finely executed by Mr. Scott, and
         containing Portraits of those monstrous assailers of Italy
         and of the common rights of mankind, the Emperors of Austria
         and Russia; Jaques from Shakspeare, by Mr. Middiman,
         Reynolds' Infant Hercules by Mr. Ward, The Bard, by J.
         Bromley, jun. possessing the energy of the original by the
         late President Mr. West, and The Poacher detected, by Mr.
         Lupton, from Mr. Kidd's beautiful picture.

[234]of the plates, and the company dispersed in various parts of the rooms, were the first objects of attention, and the whole appearance was truly pleasing. At one end was to be seen an old Connoisseur examining a most beautiful engraving from an excellent drawing by Clennell{1}—-another contemplating the brilliance of Goodall in his beautiful print of the Fountains of Neptune in the Gardens of Versailles. Dash all, who generally took care to see all before him, animate and inanimate, was occasionally

         1 Luke Clennell—This unfortunate artist, a native of
         Morpeth, in Northumberland, and known to the world as an
         eminent engraver on wood, as well as a painter of no
         ordinary talent, has furnished one of those cases of human
         distress and misery which calls for the sympathy and aid of
         every friend to forlorn genius. In the midst of a
         prosperous career, with fortune "both hands full," smiling
         on every side, munificently treated by the British
         Institution, employed on an important work by the Earl of
         Bridgewater (a picture of the Fête given by the City of
         London to the Allied Sovereigns,) and with no prospect but
         that delightful one of fame and independence, earned by his
         own exertions, the most dreadful affliction of life befel
         him, and insanity rooted where taste and judgment so
         conspicuously shone. The wretched artist was of necessity
         separated from his family; his young wife, the mother of his
         three infants, descended to the grave a broken-hearted
         victim, leaving the poor orphans destitute. The Print
         alluded to in this case, representing the Charge of the Life
         Guards at Waterloo in 1816, was published by subscription
         for their benefit.

[235]casting glimpses at the pictures and the sprightly females by which they were surrounded, and drawing his Cousin to such subjects as appeared to be most deserving of attention; among which, the fine effect produced by Mr. W. B. Cooke stood high in his estimation, particularly in his View of Edinburgh from Calton Hill, and Brightling Observatory in Rose Hill—Le Keux, in his Monument, also partook of his encomiums—T. Woolroth's Portraits, particularly that of the Duchess of Kent, claimed attention, and was deservedly admired, as well as a smaller one of Mr. Shalis by the same artist; indeed, the whole appeared to be selected, combined and arranged under the direction of a master, and calculated at once to surprise and delight. After enjoying an hour's lounge in this agreeable company,

"Come," said Dashall, "we will repair to Somerset House, and amuse ourselves with colours.

"Halloo!" said a smart looking young man behind them—"what am you arter?—where is you going to?"

Upon turning round, Dashall discovered it to be the exquisite Mr. Mincingait, who, having just caught a glimpse of him, and not knowing what to do with himself, hung as it were upon the company of Tom and his friend, by way of killing a little time; and was displaying his person and apparel to the greatest advantage as he pick'd his way along the pavement, alternately picking his teeth and twirling his watch-chain. Passing the end of Greek Street, some conversation having taken place upon the dashing Society in which he had spent the previous evening, Tom indulged himself in the following description of How to Cut a Dash.

"Dashing society," said he, "is almost every where to be found in London: it is indeed of so much importance among the generality of town residents, that a sacrifice of every thing that is dear and valuable is frequently made to appearance."

"You are a quiz," said Mincingait; "but I don't mind you, so go your length."

"Very well," continued Tom; "then by way of instruction to my friend, I will give my ideas upon the subject, and if perchance you should find any resemblance to yourself in the picture I am about to draw, don't let all the world know it. If you have an inclination to cut a dash, situation and circumstances in life have nothing to [236]do with it; a good bold face and a stock of assurance, are the most essential requisites. With these, you must in the first place fall upon some method to trick a tailor (provided you have not certain qualms that will prevent you) by getting into his debt, for much depends upon exteriors. There is no crime in this, for you pay him if you are able—and good clothes are very necessary for a dash; having them cut after the newest fashion, is also very essential. Sally forth, if on a sunday morning in quest of a companion with whom you have the night previous (at a tavern or confectioner's) engaged to meet at the corner. After having passed the usual compliments of the morning with him, place yourself in a fashionable attitude, your thumbs thrust in your pantaloon's pockets—the right foot thrown carelessly across the left, resting on the toe, exhibits your line turned ancle, or new boot, and is certainly a very modest attitude—your cravat finically adjusted, and tied sufficiently tight to produce a fine full-blooming countenance: corsets and bag pantaloons are indispensably necessary to accoutre you for the stand. When in this trim, dilate upon the events of the times—know but very little of domestic affairs—expatiate and criticise upon the imperfections or charms of the passing multitude—tell a fine story to some acquaintance who knows but little about you, and, by this means, borrow as much money as will furnish you with a very small bamboo, or very large cudgel; extremes are very indispensable for a good dash.

"It is extremely unbecoming for a gentleman of fashion to pay any regard to that old superstitious ceremony of what is commonly called 'going to church'—or, at most, of attending more than half a day in the week. To attend public worship more than one hour in seven days must be very fatiguing to a person of genteel habits—besides it would be countenancing an old established custom. In former times, a serious and devout attention to divine service was not thought improper; but should a gentleman of modern manners attend public worship, to discover, according to the law of the polite, what new face of fashion appears, I need not mention the absurdity of decent behaviour.

'What go to meeting, say?—why this the vulgar do, Yes, and it is a custom old as Homer too! Sure, then, we folks of fashion must with this dispense, Or differ in some way from folks of common sense.'

[237]"Melodious, indeed, are the voices of ladies and gentlemen whispering across the pews, politely inquiring after each other's health—the hour at which they got home from their Saturday evening's party—what gallants attended them; and what lasses they saw safe home. How engaging the polite posture of looking on the person next you, or in sound sleep, instead of sacred music, playing loud bass through the nose! But to have proceeded methodically in enumerating the improvements in manners, I ought, first, to have mentioned some of the important advantages of staying from church until the service is half finished. Should you attend at the usual hour of commencing service, you might be supposed guilty of rising in the morning as early as nine or ten o'clock, and by that means be thought shockingly ungenteel—and if seated quietly in the pew, you might possibly remain unnoticed; but, by thundering along the aisle in the midst of prayer or sermon, you are pretty sure to command the attention of the audience, and obtain the honour of being thought by some, to have been engaged in some genteel affair the night before! Besides, it is well known that it is only the vulgar that attend church in proper time.

"When you parade the streets, take off your hat to every gentleman's carriage that passes; you may do the same to any pretty woman—for if she is well bred, (you being smartly dressed) she will return the compliment before she be able to recollect whether your's be a face she has seen somewhere or not; those who see it, will call you a dashing fellow. When a beggar stops you, put your hand in your pocket, and tell him you are very sorry you have no change; this, you know, will be strictly true, and speaking truth is always a commendable quality;—or, if it suits you better, bid him go to the churchwarden—this you may easily do in a dashing way. Never think of following any business or profession,—such conduct is unworthy of a dasher. In the evening, never walk straight along the foot-way, but go in a zigzag direction—this will make some people believe you have been dashing down your bottle of wine after dinner. No dasher goes home sober.

"On making your appearance in the ball-room, put your hat under your arm: you will find an advantage in this, as it will make a stir in the room to make way for you and your hat, and apprize them of your entrance.

[238]After one or two turns around the room, if the sets are all made up, make a stand before one of the mirrors, to adjust your cravat, hair, &c. Be sure to have your hair brushed all over the forehead, which will give you a very ferocious appearance. If you catch a strange damsel's eyes fixed upon you, take it for granted that you are a fascinating fellow, and cut a prodigious dash. As soon as the first set have finished.dancing, fix your thumbs as before-mentioned, and make a dash through the gaping crowd in pursuit of a partner; if you are likely to be disappointed in obtaining one with whom you are acquainted, select the smallest child in the room; by that means, you will attract the attention of the ladies, and secure to you the hand of a charming Miss for the next dance. When on the floor with one of those dashing belles, commence a tête-a-tête with her, and pay no attention whatever to the figure or steps, but walk as deliberately as the music will admit (not dropping your little chit chat) through the dance, which is considered, undoubtedly, very graceful, and less like a mechanic or dancing-master. The dance finished, march into the bar, and call for a glass of blue-ruin, white-tape, or stark-naked, which is a very fashionable liquor among the 'ton,' and if called on to pay for it, tell the landlord you have left your purse in one of your blues at home; and that you will recollect it at the next ball—this, you know, can be done in a genteel way, and you will be 'all the go.' Return into the room, and either tread upon some gentleman's toes, or give him a slight touch with your elbow: which, if he be inclined to resent, tell him, 'pon lionour,' you did not observe him, or, if inclined to suffer it with impunity—' Get out of the way, fellow, d——n you.'

On your way home, after escorting your fair inamorata to her peaceful abode, make a few calls for the purpose of taking a little more stimulus with some particular friends, and then return home for the night to 'steep your senses in forgetfulness.'"

"A very amusing and useful account, truly," said Bob, as his Cousin closed his chapter of instructions How to Cut a Dash.

"It is, at least, a just and true delineation of living character."

"Not without a good portion of caricature," said Mincingait. "You are downright scurrilous, and ought not to be tolerated in civilized society. Sink me, if you [239]are not quite a bore, and not fit company for a Gentleman. so I shall wish you a good morning."

Tom and Bob laughed heartily at this declaration of the Dashing Blade, and, wishing him a pleasant walk and a safe return, they separated.

By this time they had arrived at Somerset House: it was near three o'clock, and the Rooms exhibited a brilliant crowd of rank and fashion, which considerably enhanced the value of its other decorations.

"I have already," said Dashall, "given you a general description of this building, and shall therefore confine my present observations wholly to the establishment of the Royal Academy for the encouragement of the Fine Arts, for the cultivation of which London is now much and deservedly distinguished; and to the progressive improvement in which we are indebted to that Exhibition we have already witnessed. This Academy was opened by Royal Charter in 1768; and it consists of forty members, called Royal Academicians, twenty Associates, and six Associate Engravers. The first President was the justly celebrated Sir Joshua Reynolds; the second, the highly respected Benjamin West; and the present, is Sir Thomas Lawrence.

"The Academy possesses a fine collection of casts and models, from antique statues, &c. a School of colouring, from pictures of the best masters. Lectures are delivered by the stated Professors in their various branches, to the Students during the winter season; prize medals are given annually for the best academy figures and drawings of buildings; and gold medals for historical composition in painting, sculpture, and designs in Architecture, once in two years; which latter are presented to the successful Artists in full assembly, accompanied with a discourse from the President, calculated to stimulate perseverance and exertion. Students have at all times, (except during the regular vacations,) an opportunity of studying nature from well chosen models, and of drawing from the antique casts.

"This Exhibition is generally opened on the first of May. The number of works of art, consisting of paintings, sculptures, models, proof engravings and drawings, generally exhibited, are upwards of one thousand; and are usually visited by all the gaiety and fashion of the Metropolis, between the hours of two and five o'clock in [240]the day. The rooms are elegant and spacious; and I consider it at all times a place where a shilling may be well spent, and an hour or two well enjoyed.

              "Some spend a life in classing grubs, and try,
              New methods to impale a butterfly;
              Or, bottled up in spirits, keep with care
              A crowd of reptiles—hideously rare;
              While others search the mouldering wrecks of time,
              And drag their stores from dust and rust and slime;
              Coins eat with canker, medals half defac'd,
              And broken tablets, never to be trac'd;
              Worm-eaten trinkets worn away of old,
              And broken pipkins form'd in antique mould;
              Huge limbless statues, busts of heads forgot,
              And paintings representing none knows what;
              Strange legends that to monstrous fables lead,
              And manuscripts that nobody can read;
              The shapeless forms from savage hands that sprung,
              And fragments of rude art, when Art was young.
              This precious lumber, labell'd, shelv'd, and cas'd,
              And with a title of Museum grac'd,
              Shews how a man may time and fortune waste,
              And die a mummy'd connoisseur of taste."

On entering the rooms, Bob was bewildered with delight; the elegance of the company, the number and excellence of the paintings, were attractions so numerous and splendid, as to leave him no opportunity of decidedly fixing his attention. He was surrounded by all that could enchant the eye and enrapture the imagination. Moving groups of interesting females were parading the rooms with dashing partners at their elbows, pointing out the most beautiful paintings from the catalogues, giving the names of the artists, or describing the subjects. Seated on one of the benches was to be seen the tired Dandy, whose principal inducement to be present at this display of the Arts, was to exhibit his own pretty person, and attract a little of the public gaze by his preposterous habiliments and unmeaning countenance; to fasten upon the first person who came within the sound of his scarcely articulate voice with observing, "It is d——d hot, 'pon honour—can't stand it—very fatiguing—I wonder so many persons are let in at once—there's no such thing as seeing, I declare, where there is such a crowd: I must come again, that's the end of it." On another, was the full-dressed Elegante, with her bonnet in one hand, and her catalogue in the other, apparently intent upon examining the pictures before [241]her, while, in fact, her grand aim was to discover whether she herself was observed. The lounging Blood, who had left his horses at the door, was bustling among the company with his quizzing-glass in his hand, determined, if possible, to have a peep at every female he met, caring as much for the Exhibition itself, as the generality of the visitors cared for him. The Connoisseur was placing his eye occasionally close to the paintings, or removing to short distances, right and left, to catch them in the most judicious lights, and making remarks on his catalogue with a pencil; and Mrs. Roundabout, from Leadenhall, who had brought her son Dicky to see the show, as she called it, declared it was the 'most finest sight she ever seed, lifting up her hand and eyes at the same time as Dicky read over the list, and charmed her by reciting the various scraps of poetry inserted in the catalogue to elucidate the subjects. It was altogether a source of inexpressible delight and amusement. Tom, whose taste for the arts qualified him well for the office of guide upon such an occasion, directed the eye of his Cousin to the best and most masterly productions in the collection, and whose attention was more particularly drawn to the pictures (though occasionally devoted to the inspection of a set of well-formed features, or a delicately turned ancle,) was much pleased to find Bob so busy in enquiry and observation.

"We have here," said Tom, "a combination of the finest specimens in the art of painting laid open annually for public inspection. Music, Poetry, and Painting, have always been held in high estimation by those who make any pretensions to an improved mind and a refined taste. In this Exhibition the talents of the Artists in their various lines may be fairly estimated, and the two former may almost be said to give life to the latter, in which the three are combined. The Historian, the Poet, and the Philosopher, have their thoughts embodied by the Painter; and the tale so glowingly described in language by the one, is brought full before the eye by the other; while the Portrait-painter hands down, by the vivid touches of his pencil, the features and character of those who by their talents have deservedly signalized themselves in society. The face of nature is displayed in the landscape, and the force of imagination by the judicious selector of scenes from actual life. Hence painting is the fascinating region of enchantment. The pencil is a magic wand; it calls up [242]to view the most extensive and variegated scenery calculated to wake the slumbering mind to thought.

              "——To mark the mighty hand
              That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres,
              Works in the secret deep; shoots steaming thence
              The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring;
              Flings from the sun direct the naming day;
              Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth;
              And as on earth this grateful change revolves.
              With transport touches all the springs of life."

"Upon my life!" cried Bob, "we seem to have no need of Sparkle now, for you are endeavouring to imitate him."

"Your observations maybe just, in part," replied Tom; "but I can assure you I have no inclination to continue in the same strain. At the same time, grave subjects, or subjects of the pencil and graver, are deserving of serious consideration, except where the latter are engaged in caricature."

"And that has its utility," said Bob.

"To be sure it has," continued Tom—"over the human mind, wit, humour and ridicule maintain authoritative influence. The ludicrous images which flit before the fancy, aided by eccentric combinations, awaken the risible powers, and throw the soul into irresistible tumults of laughter. Who can refrain from experiencing risible emotions when he beholds a lively representation of Don Quixote and Sancho Pança—Hudibras and his Ralpho—merry old Falstaff shaking his fat sides, gabbling with Mrs. Quickly, and other grotesque figures to be found in the vast variety of human character? To lash the vices and expose the follies of mankind, is the professed end of this species of painting.

              "Satire has always shone among the rest;
              And is the boldest way, if not the best,
              To tell men freely of their foulest faults."

Objects well worthy of attention—like comedy—may degenerate, and become subservient to licentiousness and profligacy; yet the shafts of ridicule judiciously aimed, like a well-directed artillery, do much execution. With what becoming severity does the bold Caricature lay open to public censure the intrigues of subtle Politicians, the [243]chicanery of corrupted Courts, and the flattery of cringing Parasites! Hence satirical books and prints, under temperate regulations, check the dissoluteness of the great. Hogarth's Harlot's and Rake's Progress have contributed to reform the different classes of society—nay, it has even been doubted by some, whether the Sermons of a Tillotson ever dissuaded so efficaciously from lust, cruelty, and intemperance, as the Prints of an Hogarth. Indeed it may with truth be observed, that the art of Painting is one of those innocent and delightful means of pleasure which Providence has kindly offered to brighten the prospects of life: under due restriction, and with proper direction, it may be rendered something more than an elegant mode of pleasing the eye and the imagination; it may become a very powerful auxiliary to virtue."

"I like your remarks very well," said Bob; "but there is no such thing as paying proper attention to them at present; besides, you are moralizing again."

"True," said Tom, "the subjects involuntarily lead me to moral conclusions—there is a fine picture—Nature blowing Bubbles for her Children, from the pencil of Hilton; in which is united the simplicity of art with allegory, the seriousness of moral instruction and satire with the charms of female and infantine beauty; the graces of form, action, colour and beauty of parts, with those of collective groups; and the propriety and beauty of——"

He was proceeding in this strain, when, turning suddenly as he supposed to Tallyho, he was not a little surprised and confused to find, instead of his Cousin, the beautiful and interesting Miss Mortimer, at his elbow, listening with close attention to his description.

"Miss Mortimer," continued he—which following immediately in connection with his last sentence, created a buz of laughter from Sparkle, Merrywell, and Mortimer, who were in conversation at a short distance, and considerably increased his confusion.

"Very gallant, indeed," said Miss Mortimer, "and truly edifying. These studies from nature appear to have peculiar charms for you, but I apprehend your observations were not meant for my ear."

"I was certainly not aware," continued he, "how much I was honoured; but perceiving the company you are in, I am not much astonished at the trick, and undoubtedly [244]have a right to feel proud of the attentions that have been paid to my observations."

By this time the party was increased by the arrival of Col. B——, his daughter Maria, and Lady Lovelace, who, with Sparkle's opera glass in her hand, was alternately looking at the paintings, and gazing at the company. Sparkle, in the mean time, was assiduous in his attentions to Miss Mortimer, whose lively remarks and elegant person excited general admiration.

The first greetings of such an unexpected meeting were followed by an invitation on the part of the Colonel to Tom and Bob to dine with them at half past six.

Tallyho excused himself upon the score of a previous engagement; and a wink conveyed to Tom was instantly understood; he politely declined the honour upon the same ground, evidently perceiving there was more meant than said; and after a few more turns among the company, and a survey of the Pictures, during which they lost the company of young Mortimer and his friend Merry well, (at which the Ladies expressed themselves disappointed) they, with Sparkle, assisted the females into the Colonel's carriage, wished them a good morning, and took their way towards Temple Bar.

"I am at a loss," said Dashall, "to guess what you meant by a prior engagement; for my part, I confess I had engaged myself with you, and never felt a greater inclination for a ramble in my life."

"Then," said Bob, "I'll tell you—Merry well and Mortimer had determined to give the old Colonel and his company the slip; and I have engaged, provided you have no objection, to dine with them at the Globe in Fleet Street, at half past four. They are in high glee, ready and ripe for fun, determined to beat up the eastern quarters of the town."

"An excellent intention," continued Tom, "and exactly agreeable to my own inclinations—we'll meet them, and my life on't we shall have a merry evening. It is now four—we will take a walk through the temple, and then to dinner with what appetite we may—so come along. You have heard of the Temple, situated close to the Bar, which takes its name. It is principally occupied by Lawyers, and Law-officers, a useful and important body of men, whose lives are devoted to the study and practice of the law of the land, to keep peace and harmony among the [245]individuals of society, though there are, unfortunately, too many pretenders to legal knowledge, who prey upon the ignorant and live by litigation{1}—such as persons who have

         1 In a recent meeting at the Egyptian Hall, a celebrated
         Irish Barrister is reported to have said, that 'blasphemy
         was the only trade that prospered.' The assertion, like many
         others in the same speech, was certainly a bold one, and one
         which the gentleman would have found some difficulty in
         establishing. If, however, the learned gentleman had
         substituted the word law for blasphemy, he would have been
         much nearer the truth.

         Of all the evils with which this country is afflicted, that
         of an excessive passion for law is the greatest. The sum
         paid annually in taxes is nothing to that which is spent in
         litigation. Go into our courts of justice, and you will
         often see sixty or seventy lawyers at a time; follow them
         home, and you will find that they are residing in the
         fashionable parts of the town, and living in the most
         expensive manner. Look at the lists of the two houses of
         parliament, and you will find lawyers predominate in the
         House of Commons; and, in the upper house, more peers who
         owe their origin to the law, than have sprung from the army
         and navy united. There is scarcely a street of any
         respectability without an attorney, not to mention the
         numbers that are congregated in the inns of court. In London
         alone, we are told, there are nearly three thousand
         certificated attornies, and in the country they are numerous
         in proportion.

         While on the subject of lawyers, we shall add a few
         unconnected anecdotes, which will exhibit the difference
         between times past and present.

         In the Rolls of Parliament for the year 1445, there is a
         petition from two counties in England, stating that the
         number of attornies had lately increased from sixteen to
         twenty-four, whereby the peace of those counties had been
         greatly interrupted by suits. And it was prayed that it
         might be ordained, that there should only be six attornies
         for the county of Norfolk, the same number for Suffolk, and
         two for the city of Norwich.

         The profits of the law have also increased in proportion. We
         now frequently hear of gentlemen at the bar making ten or
         fifteen thousand pounds a year by their practice; and a
         solicitor in one single suit, (the trial of Warren Hastings)
         is said to have gained no less than thirty-five thousand
         pounds! How different three centuries ago, when Roper, in
         his life of Sir Thomas More, informs us, that though he was
         an advocate of the greatest eminence, and in full business,
         yet he did not by his profession make above four hundred
         pounds per annum. There is, however, a common tradition on
         the other hand, that Sir Edward Coke's gains, at the latter
         end of this century, equalled those of a modern attorney
         general; and, by Lord Bacon's works, it appears that he made
         6000L. per annum whilst in this office. Brownlow's profits,
         likewise, one of the prothonotaries during the reign of
         Queen Elizabeth, were 6000L. per annum; and he used to close
         the profits of the year with a laus deo; and when they
         happened to be extraordinary,—maxima laus deo.

         There is no person, we believe, who is acquainted with the
         important duties of the Judges, or the laborious nature of
         their office, will think that they are too amply
         remunerated; and it is not a little remarkable, that when
         law and lawyers have increased so prodigiously, the number
         of the Judges is still the same. Fortescue, in the
         dedication of his work, De Laudibus Legum Anglise, to Prince
         Edward, says that the Judges were not accustomed to sit more
         than three hours in a day; that is, from eight o'clock in
         the morning until eleven; they passed the remainder of the
         day in studying the laws, and reading the Holy Scriptures.

         Carte supposes, that the great reason for the lawyers
         pushing in shoals to become members of Parliament, arose
         from their desire to receive the wages then paid them by
         their constituents. By an act of the 5th of Henry IV.
         lawyers were excluded from Parliament, not from a contempt
         of the common law itself, but the professors of it, who, at
         this time, being auditors to men of property, received an
         annual stipend, pro connlio impenso et impendendo, and
         were treated as retainers. In Madox's Form. Anglican, there
         is a form of a retainer during his life, of John de Thorp,
         as counsel to the Earl of Westmoreland; and it appears by
         the Household Book of Algernon, fifth Earl of
         Northumberland, that, in the beginning of the reign of Henry
         the Eighth, there was, in that family, a regular
         establishment for two counsellors and their servants.

         A proclamation was issued on the 6th of November, in the
         twentieth year of the reign of James I. in which the voters
         for members of Parliament are directed, "not to choose
         curious and wrangling lawyers, who may seek reputation by
         stirring needless questions."

         A strong prejudice was at this time excited against lawyers.
         In Aleyn's Henry VIII. (London, 1638,) we have the following
         philippic against them:—

              "A prating lawyer, (one of those which cloud
              That honour'd science,) did their conduct take;
              He talk'd all law, and the tumultuous crowd
              Thought it had been all gospel that he spake.
              At length, these fools their common error saw,
              A lawyer on their side, but not the law."

         Pride the drayman used to say, that it would never be well
         till the lawyers' gowns, like the Scottish colours, were
         hung up in Westminster Hall.

         From Chaucer's character of the Temple Manciple, it would
         appear that the great preferment which advocates in this
         time chiefly aspired to, was to become steward to some great
         man: he says,—"

              "Of masters he had mo than thryis ten,
              That were of law expert and curious,
              Of which there were a dozen in that house,
              Worthy to ben stuards of house and londe,
              Of any lord that is in Englonde."

[246]been employed as clerks to Pettifoggers, who obtain permission to sue in their names; and persons who know no more of law than what they have learned in Abbot's Park,{1} or on board the Fleet,{2} who assume the title of Law Agents or Accountants, and are admirably fitted for Agents in the Insolvent Debtor's Court under the Insolvent Act, to make out Schedules, &c. Being up to all the arts and manouvres practised with success for the liberation of themselves, they are well calculated to become tutors of others, though they generally take care to be well paid for it."

By this time they were entering the Temple. "This," continued Tom, "is an immense range of buildings, stretching from Fleet-street to the river, north and south; and from Lombard-street, Whitefriars, to Essex-street in the Strand, east and west.

"It takes its name from its being founded by the Knights Templars in England. The Templars were crusaders, who, about the year 1118, formed themselves into a military body at Jerusalem, and guarded the roads for the safety of pilgrims. In time the order became very powerful. The Templars in Fleet-street, in the thirteenth century, frequently entertained the King, the Pope's nuncio, foreign ambassadors, and other great personages.

"It is now divided into two societies of students, called the Inner and Middle Temple, and having the name of Inns of Court.

"These societies consist of Benchers, Barristers, Students, and Members. The government is vested in the Benchers. In term time they dine in the hall of the society, which is called keeping commons. To dine a fortnight in each term, is deemed keeping the term; and twelve of these terms qualify a student to be called to year of Henry the Sixth, when Sir Walter Beauchamp, as counsel, supported the claim of precedence of the Earl of Warwick, against the then Earl Marshal, at the bar of the House of Lords. Mr. Roger Hunt appeared in the same capacity for the Earl Marshal, and both advocates, in their exordium, made most humble protestations, entreating the lord against whom they were retained, not to take amiss what they should advance on the part of their own client.

Another point on which the lawyers of the present age differ from their ancestors, is in their prolixity. It was reserved for modern invention to make a trial for high treason last eight days, or to extend a speech to nine hours duration.

              1 Abbot's Park—The King's Bench.

              2 On board the Fleet—The Fleet Prison.

[248]"These societies have the following officers and servants: a treasurer, sub-treasurer, steward, chief butler, three under-butlers, upper and under cook, a pannierman, a gardener, two porters, two wash-pots, and watchmen.

"The Benchers assume and exercise a power that can scarcely be reconciled to the reason of the thing. They examine students as to their proficiency in the knowledge of the law, and call candidates to the bar, or reject them at pleasure, and without appeal. It is pretty well known that students in some cases eat their way to the bar; in which there can be no great harm, because their clients will take the liberty afterwards of judging how far they have otherwise qualified themselves. But every man that eats in those societies should be called, or the rejection should be founded solely on his ignorance of the law, and should be subject to an appeal to a higher jurisdiction; otherwise the power of the Benchers may be exercised on private or party motives.

"The expence of going through the course of these Societies is not great. In the Inner Temple, a student pays on admission, for the fees of the society, 3L. 6s. 8d. which, with other customary charges, amounts to 4L 2s. A duty is also paid to the King, which is high. Terms may be kept for about 10s. per week, and, in fact, students may dine at a cheaper rate here than any where beside. The expences in the principal societies of like nature are something more.

"Their kitchens, and dinner-rooms, merit the inspection of strangers, and may be seen on applying to the porter, or cooks, without fee or introduction. Our time is short now, or we would take a peep; you must therefore content yourself with my description.

"The Temple is an irregular building. In Fleet-street are two entrances, one to the Inner, and the other to the Middle Temple. The latter has a front in the manner of Inigo Jones, of brick, ornamented with four large stone pilastres, of the Ionic order, with a pediment. It is too narrow, and being lofty, wants proportion. The passage to which it leads, although designed for carriages, is narrow, inconvenient, and mean.

"The garden of the Inner Temple is not only a most happy situation, but is laid out with great taste, and kept [249]in perfect order. It is chiefly covered with green sward,, which is pleasing to the eye, especially in a city, and is most agreeable to walk on. It lies, as you perceive, along the river, is of great extent, and has a spacious gravel walk, or terrace, on the bank of the Thames. It forms a crowded promenade in summer, and at such times is an interesting spot.

"The Middle Temple has a garden, but much smaller,, and not so advantageously situated.

"The hall of the Middle Temple is a spacious and elegant room in its style. Many great feasts have been given in it in old times. It is well worth a visit.

"The Inner Temple hall is comparatively small, but is a fine room. It is ornamented with the portraits of several of the Judges. Before this hall is a broad paved terrace, forming an excellent promenade, when the gardens are not sufficiently dry.

"There are two good libraries belonging to these societies, open to students, and to others on application to the librarian, from ten in the morning till one, and in the afternoon from two till six.

"The Temple church belongs in common to the two societies. The Knights Templars built their church on this site, which was destroyed, and the present edifice was erected by the Knights Hospitallers. It is in the Norman style of architecture, and has three aisles, running east and west, and two cross aisles. At the western end is a spacious round tower, the inside of which forms an elegant and singular entrance into the church, from which it is not separated by close walls, but merely by arches. The whole edifice within has an uncommon and noble aspect. The roof of the church is supported by slight pillars of Sussex marble, and there are three windows at each side, adorned with small pillars of the same marble. The entire floor is of flags of black and white marble; the roof of the tower is supported with six pillars, having an upper and lower range of small arches, except on the eastern side, opening into the church: The length of the church is eighty-three feet; the breadth sixty; and the height thirty-four; the height of the inside of the tower is forty-eight feet, and its diameter on the floor fifty-one.

"In the porch or tower are the tombs of eleven Knights Templars; eight of them have the figures of [250]armed knights on them, three of them being the tombs of so many Earls of Pembroke. The organ of this church is one of the finest in the world.

"The Temple church is open for divine service every day, at eleven o'clock in the morning, and at four in the afternoon. There are four entrances into the Temple, besides those in Fleet-street; and it is a thoroughfare during the day, but the gates are shut at night. The gardens are open to the public in summer. It is a place of much business and constant traffic, I assure you."

"I perceive it," said Bob, "by the number of persons passing and repassing, every one apparently animated and impelled by some business of importance."

"Yes, it is something like a steam-boiler, by which a considerable portion of the engines of the Law are kept in motion. They can alarm and allay according to the pockets of their customers, or the sagacity which they are able to discover in their heads. There are perhaps as many Quacks in this profession as in any other," continued Tom, as they regained Fleet-street; when, perceiving it was half past four o'clock by St. Dunstan's—"But we must now make the best of our way, or we may be cut out of the good things of this Globe."

"What are so many persons collected together here for?" enquired Bob.

"Merely to witness a little of ingenious machinery. Keep your eye on the two figures in the front of the church with clubs in their hands."

"I do," said Bob; "but there does not appear to me to be any thing very remarkable about them."

He scarcely uttered the words, when he observed that these figures struck their clubs upon the bells which hung between them to denote the time of day.

"These figures," said Tom, "and the circumstance of giving them motion every fifteen minutes by the movements of the clock, have attracted a great deal of notice, particularly among persons from the country, and at almost every quarter of an hour throughout the day they are honoured with spectators. The church itself is very ancient, and has been recently beautified. The Bell thumpers, whose abilities you have just had a specimen of, have been standing there ever since the year 1671."

"It is hard service," said Bob, "and they must certainly deserve a pension from Government more than many of [251]the automatons who are now in the enjoyment of the national bounties."

"You are right enough," said a Translator of Soles,{1} who had overheard Bob's last remark, with a pair of old shoes under his arm; "and d——n me if I would give a pair of crazy crabshells{2} without vamp or whelt for the whole boiling of 'em{3}-there is not one on 'em worth a bloody jemmy."{4}

Upon hearing this from the political Cobbler, a disturbed sort of shout was uttered by the surrounding spectators, who had rather increased than diminished in number, to hear the observations of the leathern-lung'd Orator; when Tom, giving his Cousin a significant pinch of the arm, impelled him forward, and left them to the enjoyment of their humour.

"Political observations are always bad in the street," said Tom; "it is a subject upon which scarcely any two persons agree distinctly-Old Wax and Bristles is about three sheets in the wind,{5} and no doubt there are enough to take advantage of any persons stopping at this time of the day."{6}

"What have we here?" said Bob, who observed a concourse of people surrounding the end of Fetter Lane.

"Only a couple more of striking figures," replied Tom, "almost as intelligent as those we have just seen."

         1  Translator of Soles—A disciple of St. Crispin, alias a
         cobbler, who can botch up old shoes, so as to have the
         appearance of being almost new, and who is principally
         engaged in his laudable occupation by the second-hand shoe-
         sellers of Field Lane, Turn Stile, &c. for the purpose of
         turning an honest penny, i.e. to deceive poor purchasers.

         2 Crab-shells—A cant term for shoes.

         3  Whole boding of 'em—The whole kit of 'em, &c. means the
         whole party.

         4 Bloody Jemmy—A cant term for a sheep's head.

         5  Three sheets in the wind—A cant phrase intending to
         explain that a person is more than half drunk.

         6 This was a hint well given by Dashall; for, in the present
         times, it is scarcely possible to be aware of the numerous
         depredations that are committed in the streets of the
         Metropolis in open day-light; and it is a well-known fact,
         that Fleet Street, being one of the leading thoroughfares,
         is at almost all times infested with loose characters of
         every description, from the well-dressed Sharpers, who hover
         round the entrances to billiard-tables to mark new comers,
         and give information to the pals in waiting, somewhere
         within call, and who are called Macers-to the wily Duffers
         or Buffers, willing to sell extraordinary bargains, and the
         Cly-faker, or Pickpocket.

[252]Bob bustled forward, and looking down the lane, perceived two Watchmen, one on each side the street, bearing poles with black boards inscribed in white letters, "Beware of bad houses," and a lantern hanging to each.

"These," said Tom, "are not decoy ducks, but scare crows, at least they are intended for such; whether their appearance does not operate as much one way as it does the other, is, I believe, a matter of doubt."

"Beware of bad houses," said Bob—"I don't exactlY see the object."

"No, perhaps not," continued his Cousin; "but I will tell you: this is a method which the Churchwardens of parishes sometimes take of shaming the pa-pa or fie fie ladies from their residences, or at least of discovering their visitors; but I am half inclined to think, that nine times out of ten the contrary effect is produced; for these men who are stationed as warnings to avoid, are easily to be blinded by the gay and gallant youths, who have" an inclination to obtain an admission to the fair cyprians; besides which, if the first inhabitants are really induced to quit, the house is quickly occupied by similar game, and the circumstance of the burning out, as it is termed, serves as a direction-post to new visitors; so that no real good is eventually effected-Come, we had better move on—there is nothing more extraordinary here."

"This is Peele's Coffee House," continued he—"a house celebrated for its general good accommodations. Here, as well as at the Chapter Coffee House, in Paternoster Row, all the newspapers are kept filed annually, and may be referred to by application to the Waiters, at the very trifling expense of a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. The Monthly and Quarterly Reviews, and the provincial papers, are also kept for the accommodation of the customers, and constitute an extensive and valuable library; it is the frequent resort of Authors and Critics, who meet to pore over the news of the day, or search the records of past times."

"An excellent way of passing an hour," said Bob, "and a proof of the studied attention which is paid not only to the comforts and convenience of their customers, but also to their instruction."

"You are right," replied Tom; "in London every man has an opportunity of living according to his wishes and [253]the powers of his pocket; he may dive, like Roderick Random, into a cellar, and fill his belly for four pence, or regale himself with the more exquisite delicacies of the London Tavern at a guinea; while the moderate tradesman can be supplied at a chop-house for a couple of shillings; and the mechanic by a call at the shop over the way at the corner of Water Lane,{1} may purchase his half pound of ham or beef, and retire to a public-house to eat it; where he obtains his pint of porter, and in turn has an opportunity of reading the Morning Advertiser, the Times, or the Chronicle. Up this court is a well-known house, the sign of the Old Cheshire Cheese; it has long been established as a chop-house, and provides daily for a considerable number of persons; but similar accommodations are to be found in almost every street in London. Then again, there are cook-shops of a still humbler description where a dinner may be procured at a still more moderate price; so that in this great Metropolis there is accommodation for all ranks and descriptions of persons, who may be served according to the delicacy of their appetites and the state of their finances.

"A Chop-house is productive of all the pleasures in life; it is a combination of the most agreeable and satisfactory amusements: indeed, those who have never had an opportunity of experiencing the true happiness therein to be found, have a large portion of delight and gratification to discover: the heart, the mind and the constitution are to be mended upon crossing its threshold; and description must fall short in its efforts to pourtray its enlivening and invigorating influence; it is, in a word, a little world within itself, absolutely a universe in miniature, possessing a system peculiar to itself, of planets and satellites,

         1 This allusion was made by the Hon. Tom Dashall to the Shop
         of Mr. Cantis, who was formerly in the employ of Mr. Epps,
         and whose appearance in opposition to him at Temple Bar a
         few years back excited a great deal of public attention, and
         had the effect of reducing the prices of their ham and beef.
         Mr. Epps generally has from fourteen to twenty Shops, and
         sometimes more, situated in different parts of the
         Metropolis, and there is scarcely a street in London where
         there is not some similar place of accommodation; but Mr.
         Epps is the most extensive purveyor for the public appetite.
         At these shops, families may be supplied with any quantity,
         from an ounce to a pound, of hot boiled beef and ham at
         moderate prices; while the poor are regaled with a plate of
         cuttings at a penny or twopence each.

and fixed stars and revolutions, and its motions are annual, rotatory and diurnal, in all its extensive diversity of waiters, cooks, saucepans, fryingpans, gridirons, salamanders, stoves and smoke-jacks; so that if you wish to know true and uncloying delight, you are now acquainted with where it is to be found. Not all the sages of the ancient or the modern world ever dreamed of a theory half so exquisite, or calculated to afford man a treat so truly delicious.

"Within the doors of a Chop-house are to be found food for both body and soul-mortal and mental appetites-feasting for corporeal cravings and cravings intellectual-nourishment at once for the faculties both of mind and body: there, in fact, the brain may be invigorated, and the mind fed with good things; while the palate is satisfied by devouring a mutton chop, a veal cutlet, or a beef steak; and huge draughts of wisdom may be imbibed while drinking a bottle of soda or a pint of humble porter.

"In this delightful place of amusement and convenience, there is provender for philosophers or fools, stoics or epicureans; contemplation for genius of all denominations; and it embraces every species of science and of art, (having an especial eye to the important art of Cookery;) it encompasses all that is worthy of the sublimest faculties and capacities of the soul; it is the resort of all that is truly good and glorious on earth, the needy and the noble, the wealthy and the wise. Its high estimation is universally acknowledged; it has the suffrage of the whole world, so much so, that at all times and in all seasons its supremacy is admitted and its influence recognized. The name, the very name alone, is sufficient to excite all that is pleasant to our senses (five or seven, how many soever there may be.) A Chop-house! at that word what delightful prospects are presented to the mind's eye-what a clashing of knives and forks and plates and pewter pots, and rushing of footsteps and murmurings of expectant hosts enter into our delighted ears—what gay scenes of varied beauty, and many natured viands and viscous soups, tarts, puddings and pies, rise before our visual nerves-what fragrant perfumes, sweet scented odours, and grateful gales of delicate dainties stream into our olfactory perceptions,

              ".   .  .    Like the sweet south
              Upon a bank-a hank of violets, giving
              And taking odour."

[255]Its powers are as vast as wonderful and goodly, and extend over all animal and animated nature, biped and quadruped, the earth, the air, and all that therein is. By its high decree, the beast may no longer bask in the noon tide of its nature, the birds must forsake their pure ether, and the piscatory dwellers in the vasty deep may spread no more their finny sails towards their caves of coral. The fruits, the herbs, and the other upgrowings of the habitable world, and all created things, by one wave of the mighty wand are brought together into this their common tomb. It is creative also of the lordliest independence of spirit. It excites the best passions of the heart—it calls into action every kind and generous feeling of our nature—it begets fraternal affection and unanimity and cordiality of soul, and excellent neighbourhood among men-it will correct antipodes, for its ministerial effects will produce a Radical advantage-its component parts go down with the world, and are well digested."

"Your description," said Bob, "has already had the effect of awakening appetite, and I feel almost as hungry as if I were just returning from a fox-chace."

"Then," continued the Hon. Tom Dashall, "it is not only admirable as a whole, its constituent and individual beauties are as provocative of respect as the mass is of our veneration. From among its innumerable excellencies—I will mention one which deserves to be held in recollection and kept in our contemplation-what is more delightful than a fine beef-steak?-spite of Lexicographers, there is something of harmony even in its name, it seems to be the key-note of our best constructed organs, (organs differing from all others, only because they have no stops,) it circles all that is full, rich and sonorous—I do not mean in its articulated enunciation, but in its internal acceptation—there—there we feel all its strength and diapas, or force and quantity."

"Admirable arrangements, indeed," said Bob. "True," continued Tom; "and all of them comparatively comfortable, according to their gradations ana the rank or circumstances of their customers. The Tavern furnishes wines, &c.; the Pot-house, porter, ale, and liquors suitable to the high or low. The sturdy Porter, sweating beneath his load, may here refresh himself with heavy wet;{l} the Dustman, or the Chimney-sweep, may sluice

         1 Heavy wet-A well-known appellation for beer, porter, or
         ale.

[256]Am ivory{1} with the Elixir of Life, now fashionably termed Daffy's."

"Daffy's," said Tallyho-"that is somewhat new to me, I don't recollect hearing it before?"

"Daffy's Elixir," replied Dashall, "was a celebrated quack medicine, formerly sold by a celebrated Doctor of that name, and recommended by him as a cure for all diseases incident to the human frame. This Gin, Old Tom, and Blue Ruin, are equally recommended in the present day; in consequence of which, some of the learned gentlemen of the sporting' world have given it the title of Daffy's, though this excellent beverage is known by many other names.

"For instance, the Lady of refined sentiments and delicate nerves, feels the necessity of a little cordial refreshment, to brighten the one and enliven the other, and therefore takes it on the sly, under the polite appellation of white wine. The knowing Kids and dashing Swells are for a drap of blue ruin, to keep all things in good twig. The Laundress, who disdains to be termed a dry washer,—dearly loves a dollop {2} of Old Tom, because, while she is up to her elbows in suds, and surrounded with steam, she thinks a drap of the old gemman (having no pretensions to a young one) would comfort and strengthen her inside, and consequently swallows the inspiring dram. The travelling Gat-gut Scraper, and the Hurdy-Grinder, think there is music in the sound of max, and can toss off their kevartern to any tune in good time. The Painter considers it desirable to produce effect by mingling his dead white with a little sky blue. The Donkey driver and the Fish-fag are bang-up for a flash of lightning, to illumine their ideas. The Cyprian, whose marchings and counter marchings in search of custom are productive of extreme fatigue, may, in some degree, be said to owe her existence to Jockey; at least she considers him a dear boy, and deserving her best attentions, so long as she has any power. The Link-boys, the Mud-larks, and the Watermen, who hang round public-house doors to feed horses, &c. club up their brads for a kevartern of Stark-naked in three outs. The Sempstress and Straw Bonnet-maker are for a yard of White Tape; and

         1 Sluice the ivory—Is originally derived from sluicery, and
         means washing, or passing over the teeth.

         2 Dollop—Is a large or good quantity of any thing: the whole
         dollop means the whole quantity.

[256]the Swell Covies and Out and Outers, find nothing so refreshing after a night's spree, when the victualling-office is out of order, as a little Fuller's-earth, or a dose of Daffy's; so that it may fairly be presumed it is a universal beverage—nay, so much so, that a certain gentleman of City notoriety, though he has not yet obtained a seat in St. Stephen's Chapel, with an ingenuity equal to that of the Bug-destroyer to the King,{1} has latterly decorated his house, not a hundred miles from Cripplegate, with the words Wine and Brandy Merchant to her Majesty, in large letters, from which circumstance his depository of the refreshing and invigorating articles of life has obtained the appellation of the Queen's Gin Shop."

Bob laughed heartily at his Cousin's interpretation of Daffy's.

While Tom humm'd, in an under tone, the fag end of a song, by way of conclusion—

              "Why, there's old Mother Jones, of St. Thomas's Street,
              If a jovial companion she chances to meet,
              Away to the gin-shop they fly for some max,
              And for it they'd pawn the last smock from their backs;

                   For the juniper berry,
                   It makes their hearts merry,
                   With a hey down, down deny,
                   Geneva's the liquor of life."

By this time they were at the Globe; upon entering which, they were greeted by Mortimer and Merry well, who had arrived before them; and dinner being served almost immediately, they were as quickly seated at the table, to partake of an excellent repast.

         1 It is a well-known fact, that a person of the name of
         Tiffin announced himself to the world under this very
         seductive title, which, doubtless, had the effect of
         bringing him considerable custom from the loyal subjects of
         his great patron.

Main Index
Volume I. Part 2
Volume II. Part 1
Volume II. Part 2