"Why then, your honour," said the valet, "you had not gone out many minutes, when there came a rit-tat to the door, and a gintail good-looking gentleman inquired for Mr. A——a. Begging your pardon, says I, if it is my master vou mane, he does not belong to the family of the Misters at all; his name is Sir Felix O'Grady, of the province of Munster, Baronet, and I am his valet; long life and good luck to both of us!"

~~330~~~ "This is rather a tedious commencement," observed Sir Felix to his marvelling associates,—"but I believe we must let the fellow tell the story in his own way.—Well, Tliady, what next?"

"So, your Honour, he inquired whether he could spaak wid you, and I told him that it was rather doubtful, becays you were not at home; but, says I, Miss Judy Macgilligan, his Honour's reverend aunt, is now in her dressing-room, and no doubt will be proud in the honour of your acquaintance."

"My 'reverend aunt' certainly ought to feel herself very much obliged to you.—Well, Sir!"

"And so, your Honour, the maid went for instructions, and Miss Macgilligan desired that the gentleman should be shewn into the drawing-room, until she could make her appearance. Well, then, after waiting some little time, he rings the bell, with the assurance of a man of quality, just as if he had been at home. So up stairs I goes, and meets him in the hall. 'Pray,' says he, 'have the goodness to present my best respects to the lady; I will not obtrude upon her at present, but shall call again tomorrow,' and away he walked; and that's all, your Honour." "That's all! What am I to understand then by the 'vexatious affair' my aunt speaks of?"

"O," exclaimed Thady, recollecting himself,—"may be she manes her gold watch, which the gentleman discovered in the drawing-room, and carried away in his pocket, by mistake!"

"Very well, Sir," said the Baronet; "now that we have "orne to the finis, you may go home."

It is evident the gentleman had availed himself of the Baronet's absence from home, and that the information derived from the communicative valet encouraged the hope of success which he so adroitly realized.

Dashall and his Cousin were about sympathizing with the Baronet on this new misfortune, when he gave vent to bis feelings by an immoderate fit of laughter!—"Miss Macgilligan has had the benefit of a practical lesson," he exclaimed, "which she cannot fail to remember;—her vanity would not permit her seeing the stranger until the frivolities of the toilet were adjusted, and thus he made the most of a golden opportunity."

~~331~~~ The three friends now retraced their steps along Piccadilly, until they arrived at the residence of Dashall, when they separated; the Baronet to condole with Miss Macgilligan, and the two Cousins to dress, preparatory to their dining with an eminent merchant in the city.

Leaving then, for the present, Sir Felix and his aunt to their own family cogitations, we shall accompany the Hon. Tom Dashall and the Squire of Belville-hall on their civic expedition.

The wealthy citizen at whose table they were now entertained, rose, like many others, the children of industry, from comparative indigence to affluence, and from obscurity to eminence.

The party was select; the dinner was sumptuous, yet unostentatious; and the conversation, if not exactly in the first class of refinement, was to the two strangers interestingly instructive, as embracing topics of mercantile pursuit with which they had hitherto been unacquainted. It was also highly enlivened by the sprightly sallies of three beautiful and elegantly accomplished young ladies, the daughters of the amiable host and hostess; and to these fair magnets of attraction, whom Dashall happily denominated the Graces, our gallant cavaliers were particularly assiduous in their attentions. The party broke up, after an evening of reciprocal enjoyment; and Dashall on the way home expressed his belief that, with the solitary exception of one colossal instance of ignorance and brutality, "the very respectable man" in society is most generally to be found among the merchants of London.{1}

1 "The very respectable. Man" is the true representative of the commercial character of Great Britain. He possesses more information than the Dutch trader, and more refinement than the Scotch manufacturer, with all the business qualifications of either. He is shrewd, industrious, manly, and independent; and as he is too much in earnest for the slightest affectation, he shews his character in his dress, his carriage, and his general appearance. His dress is at once plain and neat; and if his coat should accidentally exhibit the cut of a more genteel manufacturer, the interstice between his boot (he wears top boots) and small clothes, the fashion of his cravat, which is rolled round a stiffner two inches in diameter, and tied in a bow, besides a variety of other more minute characteristics, decidedly refute all suspicion of an attempt at attaining the appearance of a man of fashion. The end of a Spitalfields silk-handkerchief just appearing from the pocket hole at the top of his skirt, shews at once his regard for good things and native manufactures; while the dignity of his tread declares his consciousness of his own importance, the importance of "a very respectable man," and to attribute it to any other than such an "honest pride," would be derogatory to his reputation and feelings. If he meets a business acquaintance of an higher rank than his own, his respectful yet unembarrassed salutation at once sufficiently expresses the disparity of their two conditions, and his consciousness of the respectability of his own, while the respectfully condescending notice of the Peer exhibits the reversed flow of the same feelings. The very respect-able man is always accurately acquainted with the hackney coach fares to the different parts of London, and any attempt at imposition on the part of the coachman is sure to be detected and punished. He is never to be caught walking to the Bank on a public holiday; and the wind must have shifted very fast indeed, if it should happen to be in the north, when he believes it to be in the south. The state of the stocks is familiar to him; and as he watches their fluctuations with an attentive eye, their history, for weeks or even for months, is often in his memory. The very respectable man is always employed, but never in a hurry; and he perhaps is never better pleased than when he meets a congenial friend, who interrupts the current of business by the introduction of a mutual discussion of some important failure: Mr. Such-a-one's rapid acquirement of fortune,—the rise or fall of the funds, &c,—of all which the causes or consequences are importantly whispered or significantly prophesied. At home the government of the very respectable man's family is arbitrary, but the governor is not a tyrant; his wife has not, like the woman of fashion, any distinct rights, but she enjoys extensive indulgencies; she has power, but it flows from him, and though she is a responsible, she is not a discretional, agent. The table is to correspond with the moderation of the master, and the matron will be scolded or reproved as it varies from the proper medium between meanness and profusion.

The very respectable man is never less in his element than when he is in the centre of his wife's parties, for here he must resign the reins into her hands, and, alas! there is no such character as the very respectable woman. All our women would be women of fashion; and in dress and expense, in the numbers of their card tables, and the splendour of their parties, in every thing but manners, they are. Here, at his own fireside, the very respectable man may be considered as not at home till a rubber, a genial rubber, which is provided him as soon as possible, renders him blind to the folly and deaf to the clamour of the scene. The very respect-able man shews to least advantage as a politician; as his opinions are derived less from reading than experience, they are apt to be dogmatical and contracted. In political philosophy he is too frequently half a century behind his age; is still in the habit of considering specie as wealth, and talks loudly of the commercial benefits of the late war. Such is the "very respectable man," a character decidedly inferior to that of many individuals in the class of society immediately above him; but which, considered as the character of a class, appears to be superior at once to that above and that below it—on a comparison with that above too, it more than makes up in the mass of its virtues for the deficiency in their quality, and appears to be like Solon's laws, if not the very best that might be, at least the best of which the state of society admits. In the lower orders, the social character is in its mineral state; in the higher, the fineness of the gold is prejudicial to its durability. In the "very respectable man "it is found mixed with some portion of alloy, but in greater quantity, and adapted to all the uses and purposes for which it is designed. As a civil member of society, if his theoretical politics are defective, the advantages derived to society from his industry and integrity, more than counterbalance those defects in his theory. As a religious member of society, if his religion might be more refined, if his attendance at church is considered rather as a parochial than a spiritual duty, and his appearance in his own pew is at least as much regarded as his devotions there; the regularity of his attendance, the harmony of his principles and practice, his exemplary manner of filling his different relations, more than make up for the inferiority in the tone of his religion. The commercial and religious capital of society are, in short, continually advancing by his exertions, though they don't advance so fast as they otherwise would if those exertions were directed by more intellect.



CHAPTER XXIV

"Vainly bountiful nature shall fill up Life's measure, If we're not to enjoyment awake; Churls that cautiously filtrate and analyze pleasure, Deserve not the little they take.

I hate all those pleasures where angling and squaring. And fitting and cutting by rules, And ——- me—dear me, I beg pardon for swearing, All that follow such fashions are fools.

For let who may be undone, I say Life in London, Of pleasure's the prop and the staff, That sets ev'ry muscle In a comical bustle And tickles one into a laugh."

~~334~~~ The long protracted visit to Vauxhall being at length finally arranged, our party soon found themselves in the midst of this gay and fascinating scene of amusement.

"These charming gardens," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "which you may perhaps have some recollection of upon a masquerade occasion, having lately fallen into new hands, have assumed, under their direction and management, a new appearance of additional splendour and magnificence perhaps scarcely ever surpassed, and the present proprietors appear to have studied the comfort and gratification of their visitors as well as their own advantage; but of this we shall be better judges before the night is spent."

"Right," replied Sparkle, "I am not fond of far fetched descriptions, which may upon investigation prove to have originated more in the imagination of the author than in reality to exist."

"At all events," continued Tom, "the Gardens themselves are beautiful and extensive, and contain a variety of walks, which, if but tastefully illuminated, and attended by rank, fashion, and beauty, can never fail to be attractive."

~~335~~~ Our heroes rushed forward to the splendid scene of enchantment, which had drawn forth the previous observations, mingling with the crowds of well dressed persons, who like themselves were upon the alert to witness this delightful place of summer amusement in the new form which it has recently assumed: the virandas tastefully festooned with painted canvass—the brilliantly illuminated orchestra, and the animated countenances of the company, conspired to produce an effect almost inconceivable, while new objects of delight were continually bursting upon their view. The illuminated colonade newly decorated with carved and painted flowers, fruit, and foliage, and Mr. Singleton's original whole length transparent portrait of his Majesty in his coronation robes, alternately attracted attention, as well as the four cosmoramas constructed in various parts of the gardens, consisting of some very pretty views of the New Exchange at Paris, scenes in Switzerland, &c. In the musical department, Sparkle was much pleased to find some of the old favourites, particularly Mr. Charles Taylor and Mrs. Bland, as well as with the performance of a Miss Graddon, who possesses a rich voice, with considerable power and flexibility, and of Madame Georgina, an East Indian Lady, who afterwards sung very charmingly in the Rotunda, accompanying herself on the piano forte, in a style which proved her to be a most skilful performer.

But the grand subject of their admiration was what is rather affectedly called "The Heptaplasiesoptron," or fancy reflective proscenium, which is placed in the long room fronting the orchestra of the Rotunda. It is entirely lined with looking glass, and has in all probability originated in the curious effect produced by the kaleidoscope, and the looking glass curtains lately exhibited at our theatres. This splendid exhibition is fitted up with ornamented draperies, and presents a fountain of real water illuminated, revolving pillars, palm trees, serpents, foliage, and variegated lamps; and the mirrors are so placed as to reflect each object seven times. This novelty appeared to excite universal admiration, inspiring the company with ideas of refreshing coolness. The bubbling of water, the waving of the foliage, and the seven times reflected effulgence of the lamps, gave the whole an appearance of enchantment, which sets all description at defiance.

~~336~~~ Having taken a complete circle through this round of delights, interrupted only by the congratulations and inquiries of friends, the appointed hour for exhibiting the fire-works arrived, when they were additionally gratified by a display of the most splendid description, and the famous ascent a la Saqui was admirably executed by Longuemarc; after witnessing which, they quickly retired to a box, where they gave directions for supper. It is but justice to say, that upon this being furnished, they found the refreshments to be of the best quality, and supplied upon moderate terms; the wines by the London Wine Company, and the viands by Mr. Wayte.

About two o'clock in the morning, our friends took their departure from this romantic spot, after an excursion fraught with pleasure and delight.

On the following morning, Sparkle received a letter from Merrywell, with information of the death of his uncle, and of his succession to the estate, having arrived just in time to prevent his decease without a will. This was a subject of exultation to all the party, though to none more so than Sparkle, particularly as the estate alluded to was situated in the neighbourhood of his own residence.

"Merrywell," said Dashall, "will become a gay fellow now, as he will have ample means, as well as inclination (which I know he has never been wanting of) to sport his figure in good style, without resorting to any scheme to keep the game alive."

"True," said Sparkle, "without crossing and jostling, and if he has his own good in view, he will reside chiefly in the country, choose an amiable partner for life, and only pay a visit to the metropolis occasionally; for to live in this land of temptations, where you can hardly step across the way without getting into error, must be baneful in effect to a young man like him, of an ardent mind. What say you, friend Tallyho?"

"I confess," replied Bob, "that I entertain thoughts very similar to yours; besides, I apprehend that our old friend Merrywell has had sufficient experience himself to admit the justice of your observation."

~~337~~~ "Pshaw," rejoined Dashall, "you are getting completely unfashionable. What can be more bang up than a Life in London—high life and low life—shake the castor, tip the flash, and nibble the blunt. Look for instance at young Lord Lappit—cares for nothing—all blood and spirit—fire and tow—up to every thing, and down as a hammer."

"His is a general case," replied Sparkle, "and is only one among numerous others, to prove that many of the disorders which are daily visible in high life, may be traced to the education, or rather the want of education of the youthful nobility and gentry. It would be a shocking and insupportable degradation to send a sprig of fashion to school among common boys, where probably he might learn something really useful. No, no,—he must have a private tutor, who is previously instructed to teach him nothing more than what will enable him to pass muster, as not quite a fool. Under this guidance, he skims over a few authors almost without reading, and at all events without knowing what they have written, merely with a view to acquaint him that there were once such persons in existence; after which, this tutor accompanies him to one of the public schools, Westminster, Harrow, or Eton, where the tutor writes his thesis, translates the classics, and makes verses for him, as well as he is able. In the new situation, the scholar picks up more of the frailties of the living, than he does of the instructions of departed characters. The family connections and the power of purse, with which the students are aided, embolden them to assume an unbounded license, and to set at complete defiance all sober rules and regulations; and it may be justly remarked that our public seminaries are admirably situated for the indulgence of their propensities: for instance, Westminster School is fortunately situated in the immediate neighbourhood of a famous place of instruction called Tothill (vulgarly Tuttle) Fields, where every species of refined lewdness and debauchery, and manners the most depraved, are constantly exhibited; consequently they enjoy the great advantages of learning the slang language, and of hearing prime chaunts, rum glees, and kiddy catches, in the purest and most bang up style. He has likewise a fine opportunity of contracting an unalterable penchant for the frail sisterhood, blue ruin, milling, cock fighting, bull and badger baiting, donkey racing, drinking, swearing, swaggering, and other refined amusements, so necessary to form the character of an accomplished gentleman."

~~338~~~ "Again, Harrow School is happily so near to the metropolis, as to afford frequent opportunities for occasional visits to similar scenes of contagion and fashionable dissipation, that the scholars do not fail to seek advantages of taking lessons in all those delectable sciences.

"Eton, it is true, is somewhat farther removed from the nursery of improvement, but it is near enough to Windsor, of which place it is not necessary to say much, for their Bacchanalian and Cyprian orgies, and other fashionable festivities, are well known. So that notwithstanding they are not in the immediate vicinity of the metropolis, there can scarcely be a doubt of their being able to sport their figures to advantage, whenever they are let loose upon society.

"Cambridge is but a short distance from that place of sporting notoriety, Newmarket, consequently it is next to impossible but that a youth of an aspiring mind should be up to all the manouvres of a race course—understanding betting, hedging off, crossing and jostling, sweating and training—know all the jockeys—how to give or take the odds—lay it on thick, and come it strong. Some have an unconquerable ambition to distinguish themselves as a whip, sport their tits in tip top style, and become proficients in buckish and sporting slang—to pitch it rum, and astonish the natives—up to the gab of the cad. They take upon themselves the dress and manners of the Varment Club, yet noted for the appearance of their prads, and the dexterity with which they can manage the ribbons, and, like Goldfinch, pride themselves on driving the long coaches—'mount the box, tip coachee a crown, dash along at full speed, rattle down the gateway, take care of your heads—never kill'd but one woman and a child in all my life—that's your sort.'"

"Fine pictures of a University Education," said Tom, "but Sparkle always was a good delineator of real character; and there is one thing to be said, he has been an eye witness of the facts, nay a partaker of the sports."

"True," continued Sparkle, "and, like many others, have had something like enjoyment in them too."

"Aye, aye, no doubt of that," said Bob, dryly,—"but how does it happen that you have omitted Oxford altogether?"

~~339~~~ "Nay," said Sparkle, "there is not much difference in any of them. The students hate all learning but that which they acquire in the brothel, the ring, or the stable.

They spend their terms somehow or other in or near the University, and their vacations at Jackson's Rooms in London; so that they know nothing more of mathematics than sufficient to calculate odds and chances. This, however, depends upon the wealth of the parties; for notwithstanding there are some excellent statutes by which they ought to be guided, a nobleman or wealthy commoner is indulged according to his titles or riches, without any regard to the rules and regulations in such cases made and provided.

"From this situation they are at length let loose, thoroughly accomplished in every thing but what they ought to know. Some make their appearance as exquisites or dandies—a sort of indescribable being, if being such things may be called. Others take the example of the bang ups—make themselves perfect in milling, swearing, greeking, talking flash, and mail coach driving, until John Doe and Richard Roe drive them into Abbot's preserve, a circumstance which puts a temporary check upon the sports—though if the Collegian is but up to the logic, he is very soon down upon the coves his creditors,{1} bowls them out by harassing expenses, and walks out himself, up to snuff, and fly."

1 Bowls them out by harassing expenses.—A proof of the power which has been exercised under the existing Insolvent Debtor's Act, will be found in the following extract from a daily paper:—

An unfortunate debtor was opposed in the Insolvent Debtors' Court, for having resisted particular creditors with vexatious law proceedings, sham pleas, &c. The public is not generally aware of the extent to which such vexatious resistance can be carried. In the investigations that have taken place before a Committee of the House of Commons, on the subject of insolvent debtors, Mr. Thomas Clarke, (at the time clerk of the Court,) stated, that in a debtor's book he found a paper, 'wherein it was pointed out to debtors how to harass creditors.' He had heard, he said, that it was sold from one prisoner to another, in a printed form, for 6d. each. That witness then delivered to the committee a book, from which the following extract was read,—it is extracted from the Parliamentary Report:—

'Law proceedings.—When arrested and held to bail, and after being served with a declaration, you may plead a general issue, which brings you to trial the sooner of any plea that you can put in; but if you want to vex your plaintiff, put in a special plea; and, if in custody, get your attorney to plead in your name, which will cost you 1L. 1s., your plaintiff, 31L. as expenses. If you do not mean to try the cause, you have no occasion to do so until your plaintiff gets judgment against you; he must, in the term after you put in a special plea, send what is termed the paper book, which you must return with 7s. 6d. otherwise you will not put him to half the expenses. When he proceeds, and has received a final judgment against you, get your attorney to search the office appointed for that purpose in the Temple, and when he finds that judgment is actually signed, he must give notice to the plaintiff's attorney to attend the master to tax his costs, at which time your attorney must have a writ of error ready, and give it to the plaintiffs attorney before the master, which puts him to a very great expense, as he will have the same charges to go over again. The writ of error will cost you 4L. 4s. If you want to be further troublesome to your plaintiffs, make your writ of error returnable in Parliament, which costs you 8L. 8s. and your plaintiff 100/. Should he have the courage to follow you through all your proceedings, then file a bill in the Exchequer, which will cost about 5L. or 6L.; and if he answers it, it will cost him 80L. more. After this you may file a bill in Chancery, which will cost about 10L.; and if he does not answer this bill, you will get an injunction, and at the same time an attachment from the court against him, and may take his body for contempt of court, in not answering your last bill. You may file your bill in the Court of Chancery, instead of the Exchequer, only the latter costs you the least. If you are at any time served with a copy of a writ, take no further notice of it than by keeping it; when you are declared against, do not fail to put in a special plea immediately, and most likely you will hear no more of the business, as your plaintiff will probably not like to incur any further expense, after having been at so much.'

Thus a creditor may be put to an expense of three hundred and fourteen pounds, by a debtor, for the small cost of 30L. 10s. and all because the laws allowed him to sue for his own; and if he and his attorney do not keep a sharp look out, the creditor may get committed for 'contempt of court.'

~~341~~~ "I perceive," said Tom, "that your imagination is flying away from your subject; though I admit the justice of your remarks, as generally applicable to what is termed the higher ranks of society, and that they are imitated or aped in succession to those of the lower orders; but we appear to have imperceptibly got into a long descriptive conversation, instead of pursuing our usual plan of drawing inferences from actual observation. Let us forth and walk awhile."

"With all my heart," said Sparkle, "I see you wish to change the subject: however, I doubt not there will be a time when you will think more seriously, and act more usefully."

"Upon my life you are growing sentimental." "Never mind," said Bob, "keep your spirits up."

"The world's a good thing, oh how sweet and delicious The bliss and delight it contains; Devil a pleasure but fortune crams into our dishes, Except a few torments and pains.

Then wine's a good thing, the dear drink's so inviting, Where each toper each care sweetly drowns; Where our friends we so cherish, so love and delight in, Except when we're cracking their crowns."

By the time Bob had concluded his verse, they were on the move, and taking their direction through St. James's-street, turning the corner of which,—"there," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "that is the celebrated Lord Shampetre, of whose name and character you have before heard."

"Indeed," said Bob. "Well, I must say, that if I met him in the street, I should have supposed him to be an old clothesman."

"Hush," said Sparkle, "don't be too severe in your observations, for I have been given to understand his Lordship has expressed his indignation upon a former occasion at such a comparison; though I must acknowledge it is not altogether an unjust one; and if exalted, I beg pardon, I mean popular characters, will force themselves into public notice by their follies, their vices or their eccentricities, they can have no right to complain."

~~342~~~ "And pray," said the Hon. Tom Dashall, "where is one to be found who has made himself more conspicuous than the one in question, and especially by a very recent occurrence. The fashionable world is full of the subject of his amatory epistles to the sister of a celebrated actress,{1} and her very 'commodious mother;' but I dare say

1 To elucidate the subject here alluded to, we cannot do better than give insertion to the following police report:—

PERFIDY AND PROFLIGACY OF A PEER!

Bow Street.—An application was lately made for a warrant to apprehend Miss B., the sister of a celebrated actress, for stealing some chimney ornaments and China cups and saucers. The application was made by the mother of the accused, in consequence of her having eloped, and with a view to reclaim her before her ruin should be consummated. The warrant was granted, and in a short time the fair delinquent was led in, resting on the arm of a Mr. B., well known in the fashionable circles. Mr. C. a solicitor, appeared with the mother, and the property found by the officer; the mother identified it, and stated, that she should be happy to forego the charge, on her daughter consenting to return to her home. The magistrate then called on the accused for her defence, when she asserted that the articles were her own, purchased with money given to her by her friends. In corroboration, she called the servant, who spoke to a conversation, in which Mrs. B. blamed her daughter for spending her money so foolishly; and declared that the things were always considered to belong to the daughter, and were given up without the slightest objection when she applied for them in the name of Miss B. This statement produced a desultory conversation, which was terminated by the solicitor remarking, that the principal object, the return of Miss B., had been lost sight of. Mr. B. then said, he had paid for the education and every charge of Miss B. for the last two years. He challenged inquiry into his conduct, which would be found to have arisen from the most honourable feelings, when he should prove that Miss B. had sought his protection from the persecution of Lord P., who had been sanctioned in his dishonourable overtures by her mother. When personal insult had been used, she fled to him; he hired lodgings and a trusty servant for her. A number of Lord P.'s letters were then read, which abounded in vicious ideas, obscenities, and gross figures sketched with the pen. Miss B., then in tears, stated, that she had been shut up with Lord P. with her mother's knowledge, when indecent attacks were made by him upon her on a sofa; and that her mother urged her to become his mistress, saying she should have an allowance of 500L. a-year. The mother strongly denied these assertions, and, after the magistrate had animadverted on the alleged disgraceful conduct of the mother, if true, the affair was settled by Miss B. (only 16,) being put under the care of a female friend, agreeable to both parties, Mr. B. to pay all the expenses.

Having thus given an account of the affair, as related in most of the daily papers, we think it right to add the following by way of elucidation.

The young lady is Miss B—rt—l—zzi, daughter of a late cele-brated engraver of that name, and younger sister of an actress on the boards of Old Drury, who has obtained great notoriety for a pretty face, a roving eye, a fine set of teeth, a mellow voice, and an excessive penchant for appearing before the public in breeches—Macheath and Don Giovanni to wit. 'Mr. B.,' the gentleman under whose protection she is living, or rather was living, is a gentleman of large West India possessions, who some time ago immortalized himself in a duel about a worthless woman, with Lord C—If—d, in which duel he had the honour of sending his lordship to his account with all his 'imperfections on his head.' The third party, 'Lord P.,' is a nobleman, whose chief points are a queer-shaped hat, long shirt sleeves, exquisitely starched, very white gloves, a very low cabriolet, and a Lord George Gordon-ish affectation of beard. We do not know that he is distinguished for any thing else. For the fourth party—the young lady's mamma, she is,— what she is; a rather elderly personage, remarkably commodious, very discreet, 'and all that sort of thing.' We could not help admiring her commodiousness when she accompanied Lord P. and her daughter to Drury-lane Theatre, the last time the King was there. It was almost equal to his Lordship's assiduity, and the young lady's ennui.

~~343~~~ his Lordship is displeased with no part of the eclat, except the quiz that his liberal offer of L500. would be about L25. per annum, or 9s. 7d. a week—a cheap purchase of a young lady's honour, and therefore a good bargain."

"I believe," continued Sparkle, "there is little about him, either as to person or to character, which entitles him to occupy more of our time, which may be better devoted to more agreeable and deserving subjects."

"Apropos," said Dashall, taking Sparkle at his word, "do you observe a person on the other side of the way with a blue nose and a green coat, cut in the true jockey style, so as to render it difficult to ascertain whether he is a gentleman or a gentleman's groom? That is Mr. Spankalong, who has a most unconquerable attachment to grooms, coachmen, and stable assistants; whose language and manners it is one of the principal studies of his life to imitate. He prides himself on being a good driver of four in hand, and tickling the tits along the road in a mail carriage, is the ne plus ultra of his ambition. He will take a journey of an hundred miles out of town, merely to meet and drive up a mail coach, paying for his own passage, and feeing the coachmen for their permission. Disguised in a huge white coat, with innumerable capes and mother o'pearl buttons, he seats himself on the box—Elbows square, wrists pliant—all right—Hayait—away they go. He takes his glass of gin and bitters on the ~~344~~~ road—opens the door for the passengers to get in—with 'now my masters—you please;' and seems quite as much at home as Mr. Matthews at the Lyceum, with 'all that sort of thing, and every thing in the world.' He is, however, not singular in his taste, for many of our hereditary statesmen are to be found among this class, save and except that he carries his imitations to a farther extent than any person I ever knew; and it is a fact, that he had one of his fore teeth punched out, in order to enable the noble aspirant to give the true coachman's whistle, and to spit in a Jehu-like manner, so as to project the saliva from his lips, clear of the cattle and traces, into the hedge on the near side of the road."

"Accomplishments that are truly deserving the best considerations of a noble mind," rejoined Tallyho.

"And absolutely necessary to the finished gentleman of the present day, of course," continued Sparkle; "and as I have not had a lounge in these Corinthian regions for some little time, I am glad to be thus furnished with a key to characters that may be new to me."

"There is one on the opposite side of the way not altogether new, as he has made some noise in the world during his time—I mean the gentleman whose features exhibit so much of the rouge—it is the celebrated Sir George Skippington, formerly well known in Fop's Alley, and at the Opera; not so much on account of his elegant person, lively wit, or polished address, as for his gallantries, and an extraordinary affectation of dress, approaching very nearly to the ridiculous, the chief part of his reputation being derived from wearing a pea-green coat, and pink silk stockings: he has, however, since that time become a dramatic writer, or at least a manufacturer of pantomime and shew; and—ah, but see—speaking of writers—here we have a Hook, from which is suspended a certain scandalous Journal, well known for its dastardly attacks upon private character, and whose nominal conductors are at this moment in durance vile; but a certain affair in the fashionable way of defaulting, has brought him down a peg or two. His ingenuity has been displayed on a variety of occasions, and under varying circumstances. His theatrical attempts have been successful, and at Harrow he was called the Green Man, in consequence of his affected singularity of wearing a complete suit of clothes of that colour. He appears to act at all times upon the favourite recommendation of Young Rapid, 'keep moving;' for he is always in motion, in consequence of which it is said, that Lord Byron wittily remarked, 'he certainly was not the Green Man and Still.'"{1}

1 The Green Man and Still in the well known sign of a pubic-house in Oxford Road.

~~345~~~ "Why," cried Bob, "there seems to be as little of still life about him just now, as there is about Hookey Walker. But pray who is that dingy gentleman who passed us within the last minute, and who appeared to be an object of attraction to some persons on the opposite side—he appears to have been cut out for a tailor."

"That," replied Tom, "is a Baronet and cornuto, who married the handsome daughter of a great Marquis. She, however, turned out a complete termagant, who one day, in the heat of her rage, d———d her rib for a sneaking puppy, dashed a cup of coffee in his face, and immediately after flew for protection to a Noble Lord, who entertained a penchant for her. This, however, proved to be a bad speculation on her part; and having seriously reflected on the consequences of such conduct, she made her appearance again at her husband's door a few nights afterwards, and in the spirit of contrition sought forgiveness, under a promise of never transgressing any more, little doubting but her claim to admission would be allowed. Here, however, it seems she had reckoned without her host,—for the Baronet differing in opinion, would not listen to her proposition: her entreaties and promises were urged in vain, and the deserted though still cara sposa, has kept the portals of his door, as well as the avenues to his heart, completely closed to her since."

At this moment they were interrupted by the approach of a gaily dressed young man, who seizing Dashall by the hand, and giving him a hearty shake, exclaimed,—

"Ha, my dear fellow, what Dashall, and as I live, Mr. Sparkle, you are there too, are you: d———me, what's the scent—up to any thing—going any where—or any thing to do—eh—d———me."

"Quite ad libitum," replied Dashall, "happy to see Gayfield well and in prime twig,—allow me to introduce my Cousin, Robert Tallyho, Esq."

"You do me proud, my dear fellow. Any thing new—can't live without novelty—who's up, who's down—what's the wonder of the day—how does the world wag—where is the haven of destination, and how do you weather the point."

~~346~~~ "Zounds," replied Tom, "you ask more questions in a breath than we three can answer in an hour."

"Never mind—don't want you to answer; but at all events must have something to say—hate idleness either in speech or action—hate talking in the streets, can't bear staring at like a new monument or a statue. Talking of statues—I have it—good thought, go see Achilles, the ladies man—eh! what say you. D———me, made of cannons and other combustibles—Waterloo to wit—Come along, quite a bore to stand still—yea or nay, can't wait."

"With all my heart," said Sparkle, twitching Dashall by the arm, "it is quite new since my departure from town; "and joining arms, they proceeded towards the Park.

"Been out of town," continued Gayfield,—"thought so—lost you all at once—glad you have not lost yourself. Any thing new in the country—always inquire—can't live without novelty—go to see every thing and every body, every where. Nothing new in the papers—Irish distresses old, but very distressing for a time: how the devil can you live in the country—can't imagine."

"And I apprehend," replied Sparkle, "it will be of little use to explain; for a gentleman of so much information as yourself must know every thing."

"Good, but severe—never mind, I never trouble my head with other people's thoughts—always think for myself, let others do as they like. Hate inquisitive people, don't choose to satisfy all inquirers. Never ask questions of any one, don't expect answers. Have you seen the celebrated ventriloquist, Alexandre,—the Egyptian Tomb,—the———"

Sparkle could hold no longer: the vanity and egotism of this everlasting prater, this rambler from subject to subject, without manner, method, or even thought, was too much; and he could not resist the temptation to laugh, in which he was joined by Tom and Bob.

~~347~~~ "What is the matter," inquired Gayfield, unconscious of being the cause of their risibility. "I see nothing to laugh at, d———me, but I do love laughing, so I'll enjoy a little with you at all events; "and immediately he became a participator in their mirth, to the inexpressible delight of his companions; "but," continued he, "I see nothing to laugh at, and it is beneath the character of a philosopher to laugh at any thing."

"Never mind," said Dashall, "we are not of that description—and we sometimes laugh at nothing, which I apprehend is the case in the present instance."

"I perfectly agree with the observation," rejoined Sparkle; "it is a case in point, and very well pointed too."

"Nothing could be better timed," said Tallyho.

"What than a horse laugh in the public streets! D———d vulgar really—-quite outre, as we say. No, no, you ought to consider where you are, what company you are in, and never laugh without a good motive—what is the use of laughing."

"A philosopher," said Tom Dashall, "need scarcely ask such a question. The superiority of his mind ought to furnish a sufficient answer."

"Then I perceive you are not communicative, and I always like to be informed; but never mind, here we shall have something to entertain us."

"And at least," said Sparkle, "that is better than nothing."

The observation, however, was lost upon the incorrigible fribble, who produced his snuff-box, and took a pinch, with an air that discovered the diamond ring upon his finger—pulled up his shirt collar—and at the same time forced down his waistcoat; conceiving no doubt that by such means he increased his consequence, which however was wholly lost upon his companions.

"And this," said Sparkle, "is the so much talked of statue of Achilles—The Wellington Trophy—it is placed in a very conspicuous situation, however—and what says the pedestal—

TO ARTHUR DUKE OF WELLINGTON, AND HIS BRAVE COMPANIONS IN ARMS, THIS STATUE OF ACHILLES, CAST FROM CANNON TAKEN IN THE VICTORIES OF SALAMANCA, VITTORIA, TOULOUSE, AND WATERLOO IS INSCRIBED BY THEIR COUNTRYWOMEN.

~~348~~~ "Beautiful," said Gayfield—"Elegant—superb." "Bold," said Dashall, "but not very delicate." "A naked figure, truly," continued Bob, "in a situation visited by the first circles of rank and fashion, is not to be considered as one of the greatest proofs either of modesty or propriety; but perhaps these ideas, as in many other instances, are exploded, or they are differently understood to what they were originally. A mantle might have been thought of by the ladies, if not the artist."

"For my part," said Sparkle, "I see but little in it to admire."

During this conversation, Gayfield was dancing round the figure with his quizzing glass in his hand, examining it at all points, and appearing to be highly amused and delighted.

"It affords opportunities for a variety of observations," said Dashall, "and, like many other things, may perhaps be a nine days wonder. The public prints have been occupied upon the subject for a few days, and I know of but one but what condemns it upon some ground or other."{1}

1 In all probability the following remarks will be sufficient to make our readers acquainted with this so much talked of statue:—

Kensington Gardens and the Park.—From three to seven o'clock on Sunday, the gardens were literally crowded to an over-How with the elite of the fashionable world. The infinite variety of shape and colour displayed in the female costume, the loveliness and dignity of multitudes of the fair wearers, and the serene brilliancy of the day, altogether surpassed any thing we have hitherto witnessed there.

There was nothing on the drive in the Park except carriages and horsemen, dashing along to the gardens; and as to the 'Wellington promenade,' it was altogether neglected. Whether it was that the 'naked majesty' of Achilles frightened the people away, or whether the place and its accompaniments were too garish for such weather, we know not, but certainly it seemed to be avoided most cautiously; with the exception of some two or three dozen Sunday-strollers, yawning upon the Anglo-Greco-Pimlico-hightopoltical statue above mentioned. It was curious enough to hear the remarks made by some of these good folks upon this giant exotic—this Greek prototype of British prowess. 'Well, I declare!' said a blooming young Miss, as she endeavoured to scan its brawny proportions, 'Well, I declare! did ever any body see the like!'—'Come along, Martha, love,' rejoined her scarlet- faced mamma; 'Come along, I say!—I wonder they pulled the tarpoling off before the trowsers were ready.' 'What a great green monster of a man it is,' exclaimed a meagre elderly lady, with a strong northern accent, to a tall bony red-whiskered man, who seemed to be her husband—'Do na ye think 'twad a looked mair dedicate in a kilt?' 'Whist!' replied the man; and, without uttering another syllable, he turned upon his heel and dragged the wonder-ing matron away. 'La, ma, is that the Dook O' Vellunton vat stand up there in the sunshine?' 'Hold your tongue, Miss—little girls must not ask questions about them sort of things.' 'Be th' powers!' said one of three sturdy young fellows, as they walked round till they got to sunward of it.' Be th' powers, but he's a jewel of a fellow; ounly its not quite dacent to be straddling up there without a shirt—is it Dennis?' 'Gad's blood man!' replied Dennis, rather angrily, 'Gad's blood man! dacency's quite out of the question in matters o' this kind, ye see.' ''Faith, and what do they call it?' asked the other. 'Is it—what do they call it?' re-joined Dennis, who seemed to consider himself a bit of a wag—'Why they mane to call it the Ladies' Fancy, to be sure!' and away they all went, 'laughing like so many horses,' as the German said, who had heard talk of a horse-laugh. Some of the spectators compared the shield to a parasol without a handle; others to a pot-lid; and one a sedate-looking old woman, observing the tarpawling still covering the legs and lower part of the thighs, remarked to her companion, that she supposed they had been uncovering it by degrees, in order to use the people to the sight gradually. In short, poor Achilles evidently caused more surprise than admiration, and no small portion of ridicule. But then this was among the vulgar. No doubt the fashionable patronesses of the thing may view it with other eyes.

~~349~~~ On their return from the Park, our party looked in at Tattersal's, where it proved to be settling day. Dashall and his Cousin had previously made a trip to Ascot Races, to enjoy a day's sport, and were so fortunate as to let in a knowing one for a considerable sum, by taking the long odds against a favourite horse. They therefore expected now to toutch the blunt, and thus realize the maxim of the poet, by "uniting profit and delight in one."



"Yonder," says Dashall, pointing out to his Cousin a very stout man, "is H. R. H.; he is said to have been a considerable winner, both at the late, as well as Epsom races; but the whole has since vanished at play, with heavy additions, and the black legs are now enjoying a rich harvest. The consequences have been, not only the sale of the fine estate of O—t—ds by the hammer, but even the family plate and personal property have been knocked down to the highest bidders, at Robbins's Rooms."

"I should have expected," replied Bob, "that so much fatal experience, which is said to make even fools wise, would have taught a useful lesson, and restrained this gambling propensity, however violent."

~~350~~~ "Psha, man," continued his Cousin, "you are a novice indeed to suppose any thing of the kind. No one uninitiated in these mysteries, can form an idea of the inextricable labyrinth, or the powerful spell which binds the votaries of play; and unfortunately this fatal passion seems to pervade in an unusual degree our present nobility: indeed it may be said there are comparatively but few of the great families who are not either reduced to actual poverty, or approximating towards it, in consequence of the inordinate indulgence of this vice."

THE WELLINGTON TROPHY; or, LADIES' MAN{1}

Air—'Oh, the Sight entrancing.' Oh, the sight entrancing, To see Achilles dancing,{2} Without a shirt Or Highland skirt,{3} "Where ladies' eyes are glancing:

1 We are told that this gigantic statue is a most astonishing work of art, cast from the celebrated statue of Achilles, on the Quirinal Hill; and the inscription on it informs us, that the erection of it was paid for by the ladies of England, to commemorate the manly energy of the Duke of Wellington and his brave companions in arms. To call it, therefore, the 'Ladies' Man,' is merely out of compliment to such as patronised the undertaking; and here we wish it to be particularly understood that we do not sanction the word naked as a correct term (although that term is universally applied to it), inasmuch as this statue is not naked, the modest artist having, at the suggestion of these modest ladies, taken the precaution of giving Achilles a covering, similar to that which Adam and Eve wore on their expulsion from Eden.

2 The attitude of the statue is so questionable as to have already raised many opposite hypotheses as to what it is really intended to represent. Mr. Ex-Sheriff Parkins has, with very laudable ingenuity and classical taste, discovered that the figure is nothing more nor less than a syce, or running groom; just such a one, the worthy ex- sheriff adds, as used to accompany him in India, when engaged in a hunting party, and who, when he grew tired, used to lay hold of the ex-sheriff's horse's tail, in order to keep up with his master. The author of the Travestie, however, has hit upon another solution of the attitude, still more novel, and equally probable, namely, that of dancing, for which he expects to gain no inconsiderable share of popularity.

3 Without a shirt or Highland skirt!—It is really entertaining to see what a refinement of criticism has been displayed upon the defects of this incomparable statue. Some have abused the hero for being shirtless, and said it was an abomination to think that a statue in a state of nudity (much larger than life, too!) should be stuck up in Hyde Park, where every lady's eye must glance, however repugnant it might be to their ideas of modesty. But did not the ladies themselves order and pay for the said statue? Is it not an emblem of their own pure taste? Then, as for putting on Achilles a kelt or short petticoat (called by the poet a Highland skirt), oh, shocking I it is not only unclassical, but it would have destroyed the effect of the thing altogether. To be sure, it would not be the first time that Achilles wore a petticoat, for, if we are rightly informed, his mother, Thetis, disguised him in female apparel, and hid him among the maidens at the court of Lycomedes, iu order to prevent his going to the siege of Troy; but that wicked wag, Ulysses, calling on the said maidens to pay his respects, discovered Mister Achilles among them, and made him join his regiment.

Each widow's heart is throbbing, Each married lady sobbing, While little miss Would fain a kiss Be from Achilles robbing!' Then, oh, the sight entrancing, To see Achilles dancing, Without a shirt Or Highland skirt, Where ladies' eyes are glancing.

Oh, 'tis not helm or feather, Or breeches made of leather, That gave delight, By day or night, Or draw fair crowds together.{2} Let those wear clothes who need e'm; Adorn but max with freedom,{3} Then, light or dark, They'll range the Park, And follow where you lead 'em. For, oh, the sight's entrancing, To see Achilles dancing, Without a shirt Or Highland skirt, Where ladies' eyes are glancing.



1 If we could only insert one hundredth part of what has been said by widows, wives, and maids on this interesting subject during the present week, we are quite sure our readers would acquit us of having overcharged the picture, or even faintly delineated it.

2 We certainly must differ with the author here: in our humble opinion, helmets, feathers, leather breeches, &c. have a wonderful effect in drawing crowds of the fair sex together—at a grand review, for instance.

3 This line, it is hoped, will be understood literally. The words are T. Moore's, and breathe the spirit of liberty—not licentiousness.

~~352~~~ Having succeeded in their object, Dashall and his Cousin pursued their course homeward; and thus terminated another day spent in the developement of Real Life in the British Metropolis.

But still the muse beseeches If this epistle reaches Achilles bold, In winter cold, That he would wear his breeches:{1} For though in sultry weather, He needs not cloth nor leather, Yet frosts may mar What's safe in war,{2] And ruin all together.

But still the sight's entrancing, To see Achilles dancing Without a shirt Or Highland skirt, Where ladies' eyes are glancing.

1 The last verse must be allowed to be truly considerate, nay, kind—that the ladies will be equally kind and considerate to poor Achilles as the poet is, must be the wish of every one who has witnessed the perilous situation in which he is placed.

2 Achilles was a great favourite with the ladies from his very birth. He was a fine strapping boy; and his mother was so proud of him, that she readily encountered the danger of being drowned in the river Styx herself, that she might dip her darling in it, and thereby render him invulnerable. Accordingly, every part of the hero was safe, except his heel by which his mother held him amidst the heat of battle; and, like his renowned antitype, the immortal Duke of Wellington, he was never wounded. But, at length, when Achilles was in the Temple, treating about his marriage with Philoxena, daughter of Priam, the brother of Hector let fly an arrow at his vulnerable heel, and did his business in a twinkling.

We cannot quit this subject without paying a compliment to the virtues of the Court. We understand there has not been one royal carriage seen in the Park since the erection of the statue; and if report speaks true, the Marchioness of C——-m's delicacy is so shocked, that she intends to quit Hamilton Place, which is close by, as early as a more modest site can be chosen!



CHAPTER XXV

Lack a day! what a gay What a wonderful great town! In each street, thousands meet, All parading up and down. Crossing—jostling—strutting—running, Hither—thither—going—coming; Hurry—scurry—pushing—driving, Ever something new contriving. Oh! what a place, what a strange London Town, On every side, both far and wide, we hear of its renown.

~~353~~~ Escorting to the ever-varying promenade of fashion, the Hon. Tom Dashall and his Cousin Bob, whose long protracted investigation of Life in London was now drawing to a close, proceeded this morning to amuse themselves with another lounge in Bond-street: this arcadia of dignified equality was thronged, the carriage-way with dashing equipages, and the pave with exquisite pedestrians. Here was one rouged and whiskered; there another in petticoats and stays, while his sister, like an Amazon, shewed her nether garments half way to the knee. Then "passed smiling by" a Corinthian bear, in an upper benjamin and a Jolliffe shallow. A noted milliner shone in a richer pelisse than the Countess, whom the day before she had cheated out of the lace which adorned it. The gentleman with the day-rule, in new buckskins and boots, and mounted on a thorough-bred horse, quizzed his retaining creditor, as he trotted along with dusty shoes and coat; the "lady of easy virtue" stared her keeper's wife and daughter out of countenance. The man milliner's shop-boy, en passant, jogged the duke's elbow; and the dandy pickpocket lisped and minced his words quite as well as my lord.

Tom pointed out some of the more dashing exhibitants; and Bob inquiring the name of a fine woman, rather en bon point, with a French face, who was mounted on a chesnut hunter, and whom he had never before seen in the haunts ~~354~~~ of fashion—"That lady," said he, "goes by the name of Speculator; her real name is Mademoiselle Leverd, of the Theatre Francais at Paris: she arrived in this country a month since, to "have an opportunity of displaying her superior talents; though it is whispered that the object of her journey was not altogether in the pursuit of her profession, but for the purpose of making an important conquest."

"And who is that charming woman," continued Bob, "in the curricle next to L———d F———?"

"That," returned Tom, "is Mrs. Orbery Hunter. The beautiful man next you, is the "commercial dandy," or as Lord G——l styles him, Apollo; and his Lordship is a veracious man, on which account R——— calls G——— his lyre."

"Ah, do you see that dashing fellow in the Scotch cloak, attended by a lad with his arm in a sling? That is the famous Sir W. M———,who doubles his income by gambling speculations; and that's one of his decoys, to entrap young country squires of fortune to dine with him, and be fleeced. In return, he is to marry him (on condition of receiving L100. for every thousand) to an heiress, the daughter of his country banker."

"Why, all the first whips in the female world are abroad to-day. There is the flower of green Erin, Lady Foley. See with what style she fingers the ribbans. Equally dexterous at the use of whip and tongue; woe to the wight who incurs the lash of either.

"That reverend divine in the span new dennet and the Jolliffe shallow, who squares his elbows so knowingly, as he rubs on his bit of blood, is Parson A———. He is the proprietor of the temple of gaming iniquity, at No. 6, Pall Mall. He is a natural son of Lord B———re, by whom he was brought up, liberally educated, and presented with church preferments of considerable value. He married, in early life, the celebrated singer, Miss M—h—n, whom he abandoned, with his infant family. This lady found a protector for herself and children in the person of the Rev. Mr. P———s, and having since obtained a divorce from her former husband, has been married to him. The parson boasts of his numerous amours, and, a few years since, took the benefit of the act. Before he ventured upon the splendid speculations at the Gothic Hall, with F———r T———n, Mr. Charles S———, and Lord D———, he used to frequent the most notorious g———g houses, ~~355~~~ occasionally picking up a half crown as the pigeons were knocked down by the more wealthy players. But, chousing his colleagues out of their shares, and getting the Gothic Hall into his own hands, he has become the great man you see, and may truly be called by the title of autocrat of all the Greeks.

"And who," inquired Bob, "is that gay careless young fellow in the Stanhope, who sits so easy while his horse plunges?"

"That," replied Tom, "is the Hon. and Rev. Fitz S———, with the best heart, best hand, and the best leg in Bond-street. He is really one of the most fascinating men in polished society, and withal, the best judge of a horse at Tattersalls, of a dennet at Long Acre, or a segar in Maiden Lane."

"You need not tell me who that is on the roan horse, with red whiskers and florid complexion. (The Earl of Y———, of course). Madame B. tells a curious story of him and a filly belonging to Prince Paul. His Lordship had a great desire to ride the said filly, and sent Madam B. to know the terms. 'Well!' said his Lordship, when she returned—'Fifty pounds,' she replied.—'Hem!' said his lordship, 'I will wait till next year, and can have her for five-and-twenty.'"

"By this hand, another female equestrian de figure.' That tall young woman on the chesnut, is Lady Jane P———, sister of Lord U———. They say, that she has manifested certain pawnbroking inclinations, and has shewn a partiality in partnership at Almack's, to the golden balls. "That fine young woman, leaning out of the carriage window, whose glossy ringlets are of the true golden colour, so much admired by the dandies of old Rome, is his Lordship's wife. He's not with her. But you know he shot Honey at Cumberland Gate, when he was two hundred miles off, and therefore he may be in the carriage, though he's away.

"The person in the shabby brown coat is the Duke of Argyle. The pair of horses that draw his carriage is the only job that Argyle ever condescended to engage in."

"And who is that fat ruddy gentleman, in the plain green coat, and the groom in grey?"

~~356~~~ "What, you're not up to the change of colour? That's our old friend the Duke again, and the grey livery augurs, (if I mistake not), a visit to Berkeley square. His R——— H——— must take good care, or that bit of blood will be seized while standing at the door of the Circe, as his carriage was the other day, by the unceremonious nabman. But that's nothing to what used to occur to the Marquis of W———. They say, that if he deposited a broach, a ring, or a watch upon his table, a hand and arm, like that of a genius in a fairy tale, was seen to introduce itself bon-gre, mal-gre, through the casement, and instantly they became 'scarce.'"

"But I have heard," said Bob, "of a fashionable nabman asking the Duke the time, and politely claiming the watch as soon as it was visible."

The most prominent characters of the lounge had now disappeared, and Tom and Bob pursuing their course, found themselves in a few minutes in Covent Garden, from whence, nothing occurring of notice, they directed their steps towards Bow-street, with the view of deriving amusement from the proceedings of justice in the principal office on the establishment of the metropolitan police, and in this anticipation they were not disappointed.{1}

1 More Life in St. Giles's.—Mr. Daniel Sullivan, of Tottenham Court Road, green-grocer, fruiterer, coal and potatoe merchant, salt lish and Irish pork-monger, was brought before the magistrate on a peace-warrant, issued at the suit of his wife, Mrs. Mary Sullivan. Mrs. Sullivan is an Englishwoman, who married Mr. Sullivan for love, and has been "blessed with many children by him." But notwithstanding she appeared before the magistrate with her face all scratched and bruised, from the eyes downward to the tip of her chin; all which scratches and bruises, she said, were the handy-work of her husband.

The unfortunate Mary, it appeared, married Mr. Sullivau about seven years ago; at which time he was as polite a young Irishman as ever handled a potatoe on this side the Channel; he had every thing snug and comfortable about him, and his purse and his person, taken together, were "ondeniable." She herself was a young woman genteely brought up—abounding in friends and acquaintance, and silk gowns, with three good bonnets always in use, and black velvet shoes to correspond. Welcome wherever she went, whether to dinner, tea, or supper, and made much of by every body. St. Giles' bells rang merrily at their wedding—a fine fat leg of mutton and capers, plenty of pickled salmon, three ample dishes of salt fish and potatoes, with pies, pudding and porter of the best, were set forth for the bridal supper; all the most "considerablest" families in Dyott Street and Church Lane, were invited, and every thing promised a world of happiness—and for five long years they were happy. She loved, as Lord Byron would say, "she loved and was beloved; she adored and she was worshipped;" but Mr. Sullivau was too much like the hero of the Lordship's tale—his affections could not "hold the bent," and the sixth year had scarcely commenced, when poor Mary discovered that she had "outlived his liking." From that time to the present he had treated her continually with the greatest cruelty; and, at last, when by this means he had reduced her from a comely young person to a mere handful of a poor creature, he beat her, and turned her out of doors.

This was Mrs. Sullivan's story; and she told it with such pathos, that all who heard it pitied her, except her husband.

It was now Mr. Sullivan's turn to speak. Whilst his wife was speaking, he had stood with his back towards her, his arms folded across his breast to keep down his choler; biting his lips and staring at the blank wall; but the moment she had ceased, he abruptly turned round, and, curiously enough, asked the magistrate whether Mistress Sullivau had done spaking.

"She has," replied his worship; "but suppose you ask her whether she has any thing more to say."

"I shall, Sir!" exclaimed the angry Mr. Sullivan. "Mistress Sullivan, had you any more of it to say '!"

Mrs. Sullivan raised her eyes to the ceiling, clasped her hands together, and was silent.

"Very well, then," he continued, "will I get lave to spake, your Honour?"

His Honour nodded permission, and Mr. Sullivan immediately began a defence, to which it is impossible to do justice; so exuberantly did he suit the action to the word, and the word to the action. "Och! your Honour, there is something the matter with me!" he began; at the same time putting two of his fingers perpendicularly over his forehead, to intimate that Mrs. Sullivan played him false. He then went into a long story about a "Misther Burke," who lodged in his house, and had taken the liberty of assisting him in his conjugal duties, "without any lave from him at all at all." It was one night in partickler, he said, that he went to bed betimes in the little back parlour, quite entirely sick with the head-ache. Misther Burke was out from home, and when the shop was shut up, Mrs. Sullivan went out too; but he didn't much care for that, ounly he thought she might as well have staid at home, and so he couldn't go to sleep for thinking of it. "Well, at one o'clock in the morning," he continued, lower-ing his voice into a sort of loud whisper; "at one o'clock in the morn-ing Misther Burke lets himself in with the key that he had, and goes up to bed—and I thought nothing at all; but presently I hears something come tap, tap, tap, at the street door. The minute after comes down Misther Burke, and opens the door, and sure it was Mary— Mistress Sullivan that is, more's the pity—and devil a bit she came to see after me at all in the little back parlour, but up stairs she goes after Misther Burke. Och! says 1, but there's some-thing the matter with me this night! and I got up with the night-cap o' th' head of me, and went into the shop to see for a knife, but I couldn't get one by no manes. So I creeps up stairs, step by step, step by step," (here Mr. Sullivan walked on tiptoe all across the office, to show the magistrate how quietly he went up the stairs), "and when I gets to the top I sees 'em, by the gash (gas) coming through the chink in the window curtains; I sees 'em, and 'Och, Mistress Sullivan!' says he: and 'Och, Misther Burke,' says she:—and och! botheration, says I to myself, and what shall I do now?" We cannot follow Mr. Sullivan any farther in the detail of his melancholy affair; it is sufficient that he saw enough to convince him that he was dishonoured: that, by some accident or other, he disturbed the guilty pair, whereupon Mrs. Sullivan crept under Mr. Burke's bed, to hide herself; that Mr. Sullivan rushed into the room, and dragged her from under the bed, by her "wicked leg;" and that he felt about the round table in the corner, where Mr. Burke kept his bread and cheese, in the hope of finding a knife.

"And what would you have done with it, if you had found it?" asked his worship.

"Is it what I would have done with it, your honour asks?" exclaimed Mr. Sullivan, almost choked with rage—"Is it what I would have done with it?—ounly that I'd have digged it into the heart of 'em at the same time!" As he said this, he threw himself into an attitude of wild desperation, and made a tremendous lunge, as if in the very act of slaughter.

To make short of a long story, he did not find the knife; Mr. Burke barricadoed himself in his room, and Mr. Sullivan turned his wife out of doors.

The magistrate ordered him to find bail to keep the peace towards his wife and all the King's subjects, and told him, that if his wife was indeed what he had represented her to be, he must seek some less violent mode of separation than the knife.

There not being any other case of interest, Tom and Bob left the office, not, however, without a feeling of commiseration for Mr. Sullivan, whose frail rib and her companion in iniquity, now that the tables were turned against them by the injured husband's "plain unvarnished tale," experienced a due share of reprobation from the auditory.

~~558~~~ Pursuing their course homeward through St. James'-square: "Who have we here?" exclaimed Tom; "as I live, no other than the lofty Honoria, an authoress, a wit and an eccentric; a combination of qualities which frequently contribute to convey the possessor to a garret, and thence to an hospital or poor house. It is not uncommon to find attic salt in the first floor from heaven, but rather difficult to find the occupier enabled to procure salt whereby to render porridge palateable. The lady Honoria, who has just passed, resides in a lodging in Mary-le-bone. She having mistaken stature for beauty, and attitude for greatness, a tune on her lute for fascination, a few strange opinions and out of the way sayings for genius, a masculine appearance for attraction, and bulk for irresistibility, came on a cruise to London with a view to call at C———House, where she conceived she might be treated like a Princess.

"She fondly fancied that a certain dignified personage who relieved her distress, could not but be captivated with the very description of her; in consequence of which, she launched into expenses which she was but ill able to bear, and now complains of designs formed against her and of all sorts of fabulous nonsense. It must, however, be acknowledged, that an extraordinary taste for fat, has been a great som-ce of inconvenience to the illustrious character alluded to, for corpulent women have been in the habit of daily throwing themselves in his way under some pretence or other; and if he but looked at them, they have considered themselves as favourites, and in the high road to riches and fame.

"It is well known that a certain French woman, with long flowing black hair, who lived not an hundred miles from Pimlico, was one who fell into this error. Her weight is about sixteen stone—and on that account she sets herself down as this illustrious person's mistress; nay, because he saw her once, she took expensive lodgings, ran deeply in debt, and now abuses the great man because he has not provided for her in a princely style, "pour se beaux yeux;" for it must be admitted, that she can boast as fine a pair of black eyes as ever were seen. The circumstance of this taste for materialism, is as unfortunate to the possessor, as a convulsive nod of the head once was to a rich gentleman, who was never without being engaged in some law suit or other, for lots knocked down to him at auctions, owing to his incessant and involuntary noddings at these places. The fat ladies wish the illustrious amateur to pay for peeping, just as the crafty knights of the hammer endeavoured to make the rich gentleman pay for his nodding at them."

"Fat, fair, and forty, then," said Sparkle, "does not appear to be forgotten."

~~360~~~ "No," was the reply, "nor is it likely: the wits of London are seldom idle upon subjects of importance: take for instance the following lines:—

"When first I met thee, FAT and fair, With forty charms about thee, A widow brisk and debonair, How could I live without thee.

Thy rogueish eye I quickly spied, It made me still the fonder, I swore though false to all beside, From thee I'd never wander.

But old Fitzy now, Thou'rt only fit to tease me, And C—————M I vow, Has learn't the art to please me."

By this time they were passing Grosvenor gate, when the Hon. Tom Dashall directed the attention of his Cousin to a person on the opposite side of the street, pacing along with a stiff and formal air.

"That," said he, "is a new species of character, if it may properly be so termed, of which I have never yet given you any account. Sir Edward Knowell stands, however, at the head of a numerous and respectable class of persons, who may be entitled Philosophic Coxcombs. He proceeds with geometrical exactness in all his transactions. You can perceive finery of dress is no mark of his character; on the contrary, he at all times wears a plain coat; and as if in ridicule of the common fop, takes care to decorate his menials in the most gorgeous liveries.

"The stiffness and formality of his appearance is partly occasioned by the braces which he very judiciously purchased of Martin Van Butchell, and partly by the pride of wealth and rank.

"There is a pensiveness in his aspect, which would induce any one to imagine Sir Edward to be a man of feeling; but those who have depended upon outward appearances alone, have found themselves miserably deceived; for as hypocrisy assumes a look of sanctity, so your philosophic coxcomb's apparent melancholy serves only as a mask to cover his stupidity.

"Sir Edward is amorously inclined; but he consults his reason, or pretends to do so, and by that means renders his pleasures subservient to his health. It cannot be denied he sometimes manifests contortions of aspect not exactly in unison with happiness; but his feelings are ever selfish, and his apparent pain is occasioned by the nausea of a debauch, or perhaps by the pressure of a new pair of boots. If you are in distress, Sir Edward hears your tale with the most stoical indifference, and he contemplates your happiness with an equal degree of apathy—a sort of Epictetus, who can witness the miseries of a brother without agony or sympathy, and mark the elevation of a friend without one sentiment of congratulation: wrapt up in self, he banishes all feeling for others.

~~361~~~ "This philosopher has a great number of imitators—perhaps not less than one thousand philosophic coxcombs visit London annually; and if Sir Edward were to die, they might all with great propriety lay claim to a participation in the property he might leave behind him, as near relations to the family of the Knowells. These gentlemen violate all the moral duties of life with impunity: they are shameless, irreligious, and so insignificant, that they seem to consider themselves born for no useful purpose whatever. Indeed they are such perfect blanks in the creation, that were they transported to some other place, the community would never miss them, except by the diminution of follies and vices. Like poisonous plants, they merely vegetate, diffuse their contagious effluvia around, then sink into corruption, and are forgotten for ever."

"Whip me such fellows through the world," exclaimed Sparkle, "I have no relish for them."

On calling in at Long's Hotel, they were informed that Sparkle's servant had been in pursuit of his master, in consequence of letters having arrived from the country; and as Dashall knew that he had two excellent reasons why he should immediately acquaint himself with their contents, the party immediately returned to Piccadilly.



CHAPTER XXVI

"——-Mark the change at very first vacation, She's scarcely known to father or relation. No longer now in vesture neat and tight, Because forsooth she's learn'd to be polite. But crop't—a bosom bare, her charms explode, Her shape, the tout ensemble a-la-mode. Why Bet, cries Pa, what's come to thee of late? This school has turn'd thy brain as sure as fate. What means these vulgar ways? I hate 'em wench, You shan't, I tell thee, imitate the French; Because great vokes adopt a foreign taste, And wear their bosoms naked to the waist, D'ye think you shall—No, no, I loathe such ways, Mercy! great nokes shew all for nothing now adays."

~~362~~~ The morning arose with smiles and sunshine, which appeared almost to invite our party earlier than they intended to the enjoyments of a plan which had occupied their attention on the previous evening, when Sparkle proposed a ride, which being consented to, the horses were prepared, and they were quickly on the road.

Passing through Somers Town, Sparkle remarked to his friend Dashall, that he could not help thinking that the manners and information of the rising generation ought to be greatly improved.

"And have you not had sufficient evidence of the fact?" was the reply.

"Why certainly," continued Sparkle, "if the increase of public schools round the metropolis is in proportion to what has already met my eye during our present short ride, there is sufficient evidence that education is considered as it ought to be, of the first importance. Yet I question whether we are so much more learned than our ancestors, as to require such a vast increase of teachers. Nay, is not the market overstocked with these heads of seminaries, similar to the republic of letters, which is overwhelmed with authors, and clogged with bookmakers and books."

~~363~~~ "This remark," replied Tom, "might almost as well be made upon every trade and profession which is followed; in the present day there are so many in each, that a livelihood can scarcely be obtained, and a universal grumbling is the consequence."

"Well," said Bob, "I can with safety say there are but two trades or callings that I have met with since my arrival in London, to which I have discovered no rivalship."

This remark from Tallyho excited some surprise in the mind of his two friends, who were anxious to know to what he alluded.

"I mean," continued he, "the doll's bedstead seller, who is frequently to be heard in the street of London, bawling with a peculiarity of voice as singular as the article he has for sale,—'Buy my doll's bedsteads;'—and the other, a well known whistler, whom you must both have heard."

"Egad you are right," replied Sparkle; "and although I recollect them both, I must confess the observation now made has never so forcibly struck me before: it, however, proves you have not exhausted your time in town without paying attention to the characters it contains, nor the circumstances by which they obtain their livelihood; and although the introduction is not exactly in point with the subject of previous remarks, and ought not to cut the thread of our discourse, it has some reference, and conveys to my mind a novel piece of information. But I was about to consider what can be the causes for this extraordinary host of ladies of all ages, classes and colours, from the Honourable Mistress———to the Misses Stubbs, who have their establishment for the education of young ladies in a superior style; and whether in consequence of this legion of fair labourers in learning and science, our countrywomen (for I am adverting particularly to the softer sex) are chaster, wiser, and better, than their mammas and grand-mammas."

"A most interesting subject, truly," replied Tom, "and well worthy of close investigation. Now for my part I apprehend that the increase of tutors arises from many other causes than the more general diffusion of knowledge."

~~364~~~ "There can be no doubt of it," continued Sparkle, "and some of those causes are odd enough—very opposite to wisdom, and not more conducive to improvement; for amongst them you will find pride, poverty, and idleness.

"For instance, you may discover that the proud partner of a shopkeeper in the general line, or more plainly speaking, the proprietor of a chandler's shop, is ambitious of having her daughter accomplished.

"E'en good Geoffrey Forge, a blacksmith by descent, Who has his life 'midst bars and hammers spent, Resolves his Bet shall learn to read and write, And grace his table with a wit polite. To make for father's sense a reparation— The day arrives for fatal separation; When Betsey quits her dad with tears of woe, And goes to boarding-school—at Pimlico."

"Well, the accomplishments sought are music, dancing, French, and ornamental work; instead of learning the Bible, being brought up to domestic utility, cooking, washing, plain work, and the arithmetic necessary for keeping the accounts of her father's shop. What is the consequence?—the change in her education quite unfits Miss for her station in life; makes her look down on her unlettered Pa—and Ma—as persons too ignorant for her to associate with; while she is looking up with anxious expectation to marry a man of fortune (probably an officer); and is not unfrequently taken unceremoniously without the consent of her parents on a visit to the church.''

"You are pushing the matter as close as you can, Charles," said Dashall; "though I confess I think, nay I may say indeed I know some instances in which such fatal consequences have been the result of the conduct to which you allude."

"Well, then, suppose even that this superior style of education should not have the effect of turning the poor girl's head, and that she really has prudence and discretion enough to avoid the perils and snares of ambition; Miss Celestina is at least unfitted for a tradesman's wife, and she must either become a companion, or a governess, or a teacher at a school, or be set up as the Minerva of an evening school—half educated herself, and exposed in every situation for which she is conceived to be fitted, to numerous temptations, betwixt the teachers of waltzes and quadrilles—the one horse chaise dancing-masters—the lax-moraled foreign music-master—or the dashing Pa—of her young pupils (perhaps a Peer). Celibacy is not always so much an affair of choice as of circumstances, and sad difficulties are consequently thrown in the way of poor Miss So and So's path through life—all originating from pride."

~~365~~~ "Well," said Bob, "since you have been amusing us with this description, I have counted not less than eight seminaries, establishments, and preparatory schools."

"I do not doubt it," continued Sparkle; "and some of them on the meanest scale, notwithstanding the high sounding titles under which they are introduced to public notice: others presided over by sister spinsters, not unfrequently with Frenchified names; such, for instance, as 'Mesdames Puerdon's Seminary,' the lady's real name being Martha (or, if you please, Patty) Purton, and a deformed relative completing the Mesdames: the 'Misses de la Porte,' (whom nature had made simple Porter), and no great catch to obtain either: the 'Misses Cox's preparatory school for young gentlemen of an early age,' all seem to bespeak the poverty, false pride, and affectation of the owners. Notwithstanding the fine denominations given to some of these learned institutions, such as 'Bellevue Seminary'—'Montpeliere House'—'Bel Retiro Boarding School,' &c. &c.

"To such artifices as these are two classes of females compelled to resort, namely, reduced gentlewomen and exalted tradesmen's daughters, who disdain commerce, and hate the homely station which dame nature had originally intended them to move in. Such ladies (either by birth or adoption) prefer the twig to the distaff, the study to the shop, and experience more pleasure in walking out airing with their pupils, taking their station in the front, frequently gaudily and indiscreetly dressed, than to be confined to the counter, or the domestic occupations of the good old English housewife of former times.

"Such ladies are frequently to be met with on all the Greens and Commons, from dirty Stepney or Bethnal, to the more sumptuous Clapham or Willisdon. Some of them are so occupied with self, that the random-shot glances of their pupils at the exquisites and the dandy militaires about town, do not come within the range of their notice, while others are more vigilant, but often heave a sigh at the thought that the gay and gallant Captain should prefer the ruddy daughter of a cheese-monger, to the reduced sprigs of gentility which they consider themselves.

~~366~~~ "At all events, many of these ladies,and worthy ones too, are placed, par force of poverty, in this avocation, unsuited to their abilities, their hearts, their habits, or their former expectations. The government of their young flock is odious to them, and although they may go through the duties of their situation with apparent patience, it is in fact a drudgery almost insupportable; and the objects nearest the governess's heart—are the arrival of the vacation, the entrance-money, the quarter's schooling, and a lengthy list of items: the arrival of Black Monday, or a cessation of holidays, brings depressed spirits, and she returns to her occupation, deploring her unlucky stars which placed her in so laborious a situation—envies her cousin Sarah, who has caught a minor in her net; nay even perhaps would be happy to exchange circumstances with the thoughtless Miss Skipwell, who has run away with her dancing-master, or ruined a young clergyman, of a serious turn, by addressing love-letters to him, copied from the most romantic novels, which have softened his heart into matrimony, and made genteel beggars of the reverend mistress, himself, and a numerous offspring."

"Very agreeable, indeed," cried Dashall.

"Perhaps not," said Tallyho, interrupting him, "to the parties described."

"You mistake me," was the reply; "I meant the combination of air and exercise with the excellent descriptions of our friend Sparkle, who by the way has not yet done with the subject."

"I am aware of it," continued Sparkle, "for there is one part which I mentioned at the outset, which may with great propriety be added in the way of elucidation—I mean Idleness: it is the third, and shall for the present be the last subject of our consideration, and even this has contributed its fair proportion of teachers to the world. Miss Mel ta way, the daughter of a tallow-chandler, who ruined himself by dressing extravagantly his wife, and over educating his dear Caroline Matilda, in consequence of which he failed, and shortly afterwards left the world altogether,—was brought up in the straw line; but this was no solid trade, and could not be relied upon: however, she plays upon the harp and the guitar. What advantages! yet she also failed in the straw-hat line, and therefore Idleness prefers becoming an assistant teacher and music mistress, to taking to any more laborious, even though more productive mode of obtaining a livelihood.

~~367~~~ "Then Miss Nugent has a few hundred pounds, the remnant of Pa's gleanings (Pa having been the retired butler of a Pigeoned Peer.) A retail bookseller sought her hand in marriage, but she thought him quite a vulgar fellow. He had no taste for waltzing, at which she was considered to excel—he blamed her indulgence in such pleasures, and ventured to hint something about a pudding. Then again, he can't speak French, and dresses in dittoes. Now all this is really barbarous, and consequently Miss Nugent spurns the idea of such a connection.

"Let us trace her still further. In a short time she is addressed by a Captain Kirkpatrick Tyrconnel, who makes his approaches with a splendid equipage. The romantic sound of the former, and the glare of the latter, attract her attention. The title of Captain, however, is merely a nom de guerre, for he is only an ensign on half-pay. Miss is delighted with his attentions: he is a charming fellow, highly accomplished, for he sings duets, waltzes admirably, plays the German flute, and interlards his conversation with scraps of French and Spanish. Altogether he is truly irresistible, and she is willing to lay her person and her few hundreds at the feet of the conquerer. The day is appointed, and every preparation made for the nuptial ceremony; when ah! who can foresee,

"The various turns of fate below."

An athletic Hibernian wife, formerly the widow of Dennis O'Drumball, steps in between the young lady and the hymeneal altar, and claims the Captain as her husband—she being the landlady of a country ale-house where he had been quartered, whom he had married by way of discharging his bill. The interposition is fortunate, because it saves the Captain from an involuntary trip to Botany Bay, and Miss from an alliance of a bigamical kind; though it has at the same time proved a severe disappointment to the young lady.

"Crossed in love—wounded in the most tender part—she forswears the hymeneal tie; and under such unfortunate circumstances she opens a Seminary, to which she devotes the remainder of her life."

~~368~~~ "Pray," said Bob, whose eyes were as open as his ears, "did you notice that shining black board, with preposterous large gold letters, announcing 'Miss Smallgood's establishment for Young Ladies,' and close alongside of it another, informing the passenger,—' That man-traps were placed in the premises.'"

"I did," said Sparkle—"but I do not think that, though somewhat curious, the most remarkable or strange association. Young ladies educated on an improved plan, and man-traps advertised in order to create terror and dismay! For connected with this method of announcing places of education, is a recollection of receptacles of another nature."

"To what do you allude?" inquired Tallyho. "Why, in many instances, private mad-houses are disguised as boarding schools, under the designation of 'Establishment.' Many of these receptacles in the vicinity of the metropolis, are rendered subservient to the very worst of purposes, though originally intended for the safety of the individual, as well as the security of the public against the commission of acts, which are too frequently to be deplored as the effect of insanity. Of all the houses of mourning, that to which poor unhappy mortals are sent under mental derangement is decidedly the most gloomy. The idea strikes the imagination with horror, which is considerably increased by a reflection on the numerous human victims that are incarcerated within their walls, the discipline they are subjected to, and the usual pecuniary success which attends the keepers of such establishments,—where the continuance of the patient is the chief source of interest, rather than the recovery. That they are useful in some cases cannot be denied, but there are many instances too well authenticated to be doubted, where persons desirous of getting rid of aged and infirm relatives, particularly if they manifested any little aberration of mind (as is common in advanced age), have consigned them to these receptacles, from which, through the supposed kindness of their friends, and the management of the proprietors, they have never returned. If the parties ail nothing, they are soon driven to insanity by ill usage, association with unfortunates confined like themselves, vexation at the treatment, and absolute despair of escape; or if partially or slightly afflicted, the lucid intervals are prevented, and the disorder by these means is increased and confirmed by coercion, irritation of mind, and despair."

~~369~~~ "This is a deplorable picture of the state of things, indeed," said Tallyho.

"But it is unvarnished," was the reply; "the picture requires no imaginary embellishment, since it has its foundation in truth. Then again, contrast the situation of the confined with the confinera. The relatives have an interest in the care of the person, and a control over the property, which in cases of death frequently becomes their own. The keepers of these receptacles have also an interest in keeping the relatives in a disposition to forward all their views of retaining the patient, who, under the representation of being seriously deranged, is not believed; consequently all is delusion, but the advantages which ultimately fall to the tender-hearted relative, or the more artful proprietor of the mad-house; and it is wonderful what immense fortunes are made by the latter; nay not only by the proprietors, but even the menials in their employ, many of whom have been known to retire independent, a circumstance which clearly proves, that by some means or other they must have possessed themselves of the care of the property, as well as that of the persons of their unfortunate victims."