Real Life in London, Complete | Project Gutenberg

Adverting to the trick recently and successfully practised on Sir Felix O'Grady, by a juvenile adept in fraud, obtaining from the Baronet a new suit of clothes; his servant, indignant at his master having been thus plundered with impunity, had, for several days, been meditating in what manner most effectually to manouvre, so as to recover the lost property, and retrieve the honor of Munster, which he considered tarnished by his master having been duped by a stripling; when one morning a hand-bill was found in the area, intimating the residence in Town, pro bono publico, of a celebrated professor of the Occult Sciences; to whom was given the sublime art of divination, and who, by astrological and intuitive knowledge, would discover lost or stolen property, with infallible precision. Thady, whose credulity was of no inferior order, elate with the idea of consummating his wishes, communicated to his master the happy opportunity, and was permitted to seek the counsel of the celestial augurer. Not that the Baronet entertained any belief of its proving available of discovery, but rather with the view of introducing to his friends, Dashall and Tallyho, a fresh source of amusement, as connected with their diurnal investigation of Real Life in London.

Thither then, Thady repaired, and consulting the Seer, was astonished by responses which implied the most profound knowledge of times past, present, and to come! The simplicity of Thady had not escaped the Astrologer's notice, who, by dint of manouvre having contrived to draw from the Munster man, unwittingly, the requisite intelligence, merely echoed back the information thus received, to the utter amazement of Thady, who concluded that the Doctor must have intercourse with the Devil, and thence that he merited implicit veneration and belief. The sage predictor having received the customary douceur, now dismissed his credulous visitant, saying that the planets must be propitiated, and desiring him to come again at the expiration of twenty-four hours, when he would receive further intelligence.

Tom and his Cousin having called at the lodging of Sir Felix during the time that Thady was out on his expedition of discovery, the Baronet apprized his friends of the amusement in reserve; and they agreed to visit this expounder of destinies on the servant's return.

Thady at last arrived, and having reiterated his belief that this marvellous conjurer was the devil's own relative, the party set out to ascertain by what means they could prove the truth of the affinity between his infernal majesty and the sage descendant of the Magi.

Gaining the sublunary domicile of this mystical unraveller, which for the greater facility of communication with the stars he had fixed in the loftiest apartment of the house, our trio knocked at the door, which, after some hesitation, was opened by an ancient Sybil, who was presently joined by her counterpart, both “so withered and so wild in their attire,” that “they looked not like inhabitants o' th' earth, and yet were on it.” On the party requiring to see the Doctor, the two hags explained in a breath that the Doctor received only one visitor at a time; and while one gentleman went up stairs, the other two must remain below; and this arrangement being acquiesced in, Tom and Bob were shewn into a mean looking room on the ground floor, and Sir Felix followed the ascent of his conductor to the attic.

“By the powers,” said the Baronet, “but you are right to a letter; the Sphinx is a monster-man, and I, sure enough, am a Munster-man.”

The Baronet felt surprised by this familiar recognition of his person, and replied by observing, that as the inquirer so well knew his name, he might also be acquainted with the nature of his business.

“I partly guess it,” rejoined the Seer, “and although I cannot absolutely predict restitution of thy lost property, yet I foresee that accident will throw the depredator in thy way, when the suit may perhaps find its way back to thy wardrobe. Now, hence to thy business, and I to mine.”

The Baronet having nothing further to ask, withdrew accordingly; and our Squire of Belville-hall was next ushered into the sanctum sanctorum.

Bob was at a loss what to say, not having prepared himself with any reasonable pretext of inquiry. A silence of a few moments was the consequence, and the Squire having first reconnoitred the person of the conjurer, who was arrayed in the appropriate costume of his profession, scrutinized the apartment, when the attention of the visitor and visited being again drawn to each other, the Soothsayer addressed himself to Tallyho in the following words:

The shadows of joy shall the mind appal, And the death-light dimly flit round the hall Of him, by base lucre who led astray, Shall age into fruitless minion betray! The death-light shall glimmer in Belville-hall, And childless the lord of the mansion fall; A wife when he weds, vain, ugly, and old, Though charms she brings forty thousand in gold!

The Squire was not prone to anger; but that this fellow should interfere with his private concerns, and impute to him the intention of forming a most preposterous connexion, under the influence of avarice, roused him into a whirlwind of passion.—“Rascal!” he exclaimed, “who take upon you to predict the fate of others, are you aware of your own! Vagabond! imposter! here I grasp you, nor will I quit my hold until I surrender you into the hands of justice!” And “suiting the action to the word,” he seized and shook the unfortunate Seer, to the manifest discomposure of his bones, who loudly and lamentably cried out for assistance. Alarmed by the clamour, Dashall and the Baronet rushed up stairs, to whom the Squire stated the aggravation received, and at the same time his determination to bring the cheat to punishment. The trembling culprit sued for mercy, conscious that he was amenable to correction as a rogue and vagabond, and if convicted as such, would probably be sent to expiate his offence in the Treading-Mill at Brixton, a place of atonement for transgression, which of all others he dreaded the most.{1}

1 Union-Hall.—Hannah Totnkins, a miserable woman of the town, was brought before R. G. Chambers, Esq. charged with having robbed another of the unfortunate class of her clothes. It appeared, that the prisoner had been liberated from Brixton prison on Friday-last, after a confinement of three weeks; and that on coming out she was met by the complainant, Catherine Flynn, by whom she was taken to a comfortable lodging, supplied with necessaries, and treated with great kindness. The prisoner acted with propriety until Monday night, during which she remained out in the streets. On Tuesday morning, at four o'clock, she came home drenched with rain. The complainant desired her either to go to bed, or to light a fire and dry her clothes. The prisoner did neither, and the complainant went to sleep. At about seven the latter awoke, and missed her gown, petticoat, and bonnet. The prisoner was also missing. The complainant learned that her clothes were at a pawnbroker's shop, where they had been left a short time before by the prisoner. Hall, the officer, having heard of the robbery, went in quest of the prisoner, and found her in a gin-shop in Blackman-street, in a state of intoxication. He brought her before the magistrates in this condition. Her hair was hanging about her face, which was swelled and discoloured by the hardship of the preceding night. She did not deny that she had stolen the clothes of her poor benefactress, but she pleaded in her excuse, that the condition of her body, from the rain of Monday night, was such, that nothing but gin could have saved her life, and the only way she had of getting that medicine, was by pledging Katty Flynn's clothes. The magistrates asked the prisoner whether she had not got enough of the treading-mill at Brixton. The prisoner begged for mercy's sake not to be sent to the treading-mill. She would prefer transportation; for it was much more honourable to go over the water, than to be sent as a rogue and vagabond to Brixton. She was sent back to prison. It is a remarkable fact, that since the famous Treading-Mill has been erected at Brixton, the business of this office has greatly declined. The mill is so constructed, that when a man ventures to be idle in it, he receives a knock on the head from a piece OF WOOD, which is put there to give them notice of what they ere to do!!!

The two ancient Sybils from the lower regions having now ascended the scene of confusion, united their voices with that of the astrologer, and Dashall and Sir Felix also interceding in his behalf, the Squire yielded to the general entreaty, and promised the soothsayer forgiveness, on condition that he disclosed the source whence he derived information as to the Baronet's family concerns. The soothsayer confessed, that he had elicited intelligence from the servant, who in his simplicity had revealed so much of his master's affairs, as to enable him (the conjurer) to sustain his reputation even with Sir Felix himself, whom from description he recognized on his first entrance, and by the same means, and with equal ease, identified the person of the Squire of Belville-hall. He added besides, that he had frequently, by similar stratagem, acquired intelligence; that chance had more than once favoured him, by verifying his predictions, and thus both his fame and finances had obtained aggrandisement. He now promised to relinquish celestial for sublunary pursuits, and depend for subsistence rather on the exercise of honest industry than on public credulity.

Thus far had matters proceeded, when the Baronet's servant Thady was announced. The triumvirate anticipating some extraordinary occurrence, desired the soothsayer to resume his functions, and give the valet immediate audience, while they retired into another apartment to wait the result. In a few minutes the servant was dismissed, and the party readmitted.

“Chance,” said the augurer, “has again befriended me. I told you, Sir Felix, that the depredator would be thrown in your way: my prediction is realized; he has been accidentally encountered by your servant, and is now in safe custody.”

On this information our party turned homewards, first leaving the astrologer a pecuniary stimulation to projected amendment of life.

“There seems nothing of inherent vileness,” said the Squire, as they walked onwards, “in this man's principles; he may have been driven by distress to his present pursuits; and I feel happy that I did not consign the poor devil to the merciless fangs of the law, as, in the moment of irritation, I had intended.”

“By my conscience,” exclaimed Sir Felix, “I cannot discover that he ought to be punished at all. He has been picking up a scanty living by preying on public credulity; and from the same source thousands in this metropolis derive affluent incomes, and with patronage and impunity.”

“And,” added Dashall, “in cases of minor offence a well-timed clemency is frequently, both in policy and humanity, preferable to relentless severity."{1}

1 As a contrast to these exemplary feelings, and in illustration of Real Life in London, as it regards a total absence of sympathy and gentlemanly conduct, in one of a respectable class in society, we present our readers with the following detail:— Hatton Garden. On Saturday sennight, Robert Powell was brought before the magistrates, charged with being a rogue, vagabond, and imposter, and obtaining money under fraudulent pretences, from one Thomas Barnes, a footman in the service of Surgeon Blair, of Great Russell-street, Bloomsbury, and taking from him 2s. 6d. under pretence of telling him the destinies of a female fellow-servant, by means of his skill in astrological divina-tion. The nature of the offence, and the pious frond by which the disciple of Zoroaster was caught in the midst of his sorceries, were briefly as follow:—This descendant of the Magi, born to illumine the world by promulgating the will of the stars, had of course no wish to conceal his residence; on the contrary, he resolved to announce his qualification in the form of a printed handbill, and to distribute the manifesto for the information of the world. One of these bills was dropped down the area of Mr. Blair's house; it was found by his footman, and laid on the breakfast-table, with the newspaper of the morning, as a morceau of novelty, for his amusement. Mr. Blair concerted with some of the agents of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, a stratagem to entrap the Sidéral Professor; in the furtherance of which he dictated to his footman a letter to the Seer, expressive of a wish to know the future destinies of his fellow-servant, the cook-maid, and what sort of a husband the constellations had, in their benign influence, assigned her. With this letter the footman set out for No. 5, Sutton-street, Soho, where he found the Seer had, for the convenience of prompt intercourse, chosen his habitation as near the stars as the roof of the mansion would admit. Here the footman announced the object of his embassy, delivered his credentials, and was told by the Seer, that “lie could certainly give him an answer now, 'by word of mouth,' but if he would call next day, he should be better prepared, as, in the meantime, he could consult the stars, and have for him a written answer.” The footman retired, and returned next morning, received the written response, gave to the Seer the usual donation of 2s. 6d. previously marked, which sum he figured upon the answer, and the receipt of which the unsuspecting Sage acknowledged by his signature. With this proof of his diligence, he returned to his master, and was further to state the matter to the magistrates. A vigilant officer was therefore sent after the prophet, whom he found absorbed in profound cogitation, casting the nativities of two plump damsels, and consulting the dispositions of the stars as to the disposition of the lasses; but the unrelenting officer entered, and proceeded to fulfil his mission. On searching the unfortunate Sage, the identical half-crown paid him by Barnes was found, with two others in his pocket, where such coins had long been strangers; and the cabalistical chattels of his profession accompanied him as the lawful spoil of the captor. The magistrate, before whom he had been convicted on a former occasion of a similar offence, observed that it was highly reprehensible for a man who possessed abilities, which by honest exertion might procure him a creditable livelihood, thus to degrade himself by a life of imposture and fraud upon the ignorant and unwary. The wretched prisoner, who stood motionless and self-convicted, exhibited a picture of wretchedness from whicli the genius of Praxiteles would not have disdained to sketch the statue of Ill Luck. Never did soothsayer seem less a favourite of the Fates! Aged, tall, meagre, ragged, filthy and care-worn, his squalid looks depicted want and sorrow. Every line of his countenance seemed a furrow of grief; and his eyes gushing with tears, in faint and trembling accents he addressed the Court. He acknowledged the truth of the charge, but said, that nothing but the miseries of a wretched family could have driven him to such a line of life. If he had been able, he would gladly have swept the streets; but he was too feeble so to do; he had tried every thing in his power, but in vain,— “He could not dig, to beg he was ashamed;” and even if begging, either by private solicitation or openly in the streets, could promise him a casual resource in the charity of the passing crowd, he was afraid he should thereby incur prosecution as a rogue and vagabond, and be imprisoned in Bridewell. Parish settlement he has none; and what was to be done for a wretched wife and three famishing children? He had no choice between famine, theft, or imposture. His miserable wife, he feared, was even now roaming and raving through the streets, her disorder aggravated by his misfortunes; and his wretched children without raiment or food. To him death would be a welcome relief from a life of misery, tolerable only in the hope of being able to afford, by some means, a wretched subsistence to his family. The magistrates, obviously affected by this scene, said that they felt themselves obliged to commit the prisoner, as he had not only been repeatedly warned of the consequences of his way of life, but was once before convicted of a similar offence. He was therefore committed for trial. Does Surgeon Blair, who obtains his twenty guineas a day, and lives in affluence, think by such conduct as the present to merit the esteem of the world, by thus hunting into the toils of justice such miserable objects? If he does, though we cannot respect him or his associates for their humanity, we may undoubtedly pity them for their ignorance and superstition.

On the arrival of the party at the lodgings of Sir Felix, they learned from the servant, that the latter having met the young swindler in the streets, Thady recognized and secured him; and he was now at the disposal of the Baronet, if he chose to proceed against him.

The sprig of iniquity, when made forthcoming, did not deny the accuracy of the charge, neither did he offer any thing in exculpation. It was with much difficulty, however, and under the threat of his being immediately surrendered to justice, that he would disclose the name of his father, who proved to be a respectable tradesman residing in the neighbourhood. The unfortunate parent was sent for, and his son's situation made known to him. The afflicted man earnestly beseeched, that his son might not be prosecuted; he was not aware, he said, that the lad was habitually vicious; this probably was his only deviation from honesty; he, the father, would make every reparation required; but exposure would entail upon his family irretrievable ruin. It was elicited from the boy, amid tears and sobs of apparent contrition, that the articles of apparel were in pledge for a small sum; redemption, and every other possible atonement, was instantly proposed by the father: Sir Felix hesitated, was he justifiable, he asked, in yielding to his own wishes, by foregoing prosecution?—“The attribute of mercy,” said Dashall, “is still in your power.”—“Then,” responded the Baronet, “I shall avail myself of the privilege. Sir, (to the father), your boy is at liberty!” The now relieved parent expressed, in the most energetic manner, his gratitude, and retired. The prediction of the Seer was fully verified, for in the course of the evening the stray suit found its way back to the wardrobe of its rightful owner.

This business happily concluded, and the day not much beyond its meridian, the three friends again sallied forth in the direction of Bond-street, towards Piccadilly. As usual, the loungers were superabundant, and ridiculous. Paired together, and swerving continually from the direct line, it required some skilful manouvring to pass them. Our friends had surmounted several such impediments, when a new obstruction to their progress presented itself. A party of Exquisites had linked themselves together, and occupied the entire pavement, so that it was impossible to precede them without getting into the carriage-way, thus greatly obstructing and inconveniencing all other passengers. Lounging at a funeral pace, and leaving not the smallest opening, it was evident that these effeminate animals had purposely united themselves for public annoyance. Sir Felix, irritated by this palpable outrage on decorum, stepped forward, with hasty determined stride, and coming unexpectedly and irresistibly in contact, broke at once the concatenated barrier, to the great amusement as well as accommodation of the lookers-on, and total discomfiture of the Exquisites, who observing the resolute mien and robust form of their assailant, not forgetting a formidable piece of timber, alias “sprig of shillaleagh,” which he bore in his hand, prudently consulted their safety, and forebore resentment of the interruption.{1}

1 If in walking the streets of London, the passenger kept the right hand side, it would prevent the frequent recurrence of much jostling and confusion. The laws of the road are observed on the carriage-way in the metropolis most minutely, else the street would be in a continual blockade. But The laws of the road are a paradox quite, That puzzles the marvelling throng; For if on the left, you are yet on the right, And if you are right, you are wrong!

The Baronet's two associates very much approved of his spirited interference, and Dashall observed, that these insignificant beings, whom Sir Felix had so properly reproved, were to be seen, thus incommoding the public, in all parts of the metropolis; but more particularly westward; that in crowded streets, however, for instance, in the direct line from Charing Cross to the Royal Exchange, the apparent Exquisites are generally thieves and pickpockets, who find a harvest in this extensive scene of business, by artful depredation, either upon the unwary tradesman, or equally unsuspecting passenger, whose wiper or tattler, and sometimes both, becomes the frequent produce of their active ingenuity.

The morning had been wet, and although the flag-way was dry, yet the carriage-road was dirty. There are, in all parts of the metropolis, indigent objects of both sexes, who by sweeping the cross-way, pick up an eleemosynary livelihood. It not unfrequently happens, however, that a chariot, or other vehicle, is drawn up at one end of the cross-way directly athwart it, so as completely to intercept your way to the pavement. Exactly so situated were our pedestrians. They had availed themselves of a newly swept path, and were advancing towards the opposite side, in Piccadilly, when, before they could effect their purpose, a carriage drew up, and effectually impeded further progress by the cross-way, so that there seemed no alternative between standing fast and gaining the pavement by walking through the mud. The coachman retained his position despite of remonstrance, and in this laudable stubbornness he was encouraged by a well-attired female inside the vehicle, for the carriage was a private one, and its ill-mannered inmate probably a lady of rank and fashion. Sir Felix, justly indignant at this treatment, set danger and inconvenience at defiance, and deliberately walking to the horses' heads, led the animals forward until the carriage had cleared the cross-way, maugre the threats of the lady, and the whip of the coachman, who had the audacity to attempt exercising it on the person of the Baronet, when Tallyho, dreading the consequences to the rash assailant, sprang upon the box, and arresting his hand, saved the honour of Munster! The transaction did not occupy above two minutes, yet a number of people had collected, and vehemently applauded Sir Felix; and the lady's companion now hastily re-entering the chariot from an adjacent shop, Mr. Jehu drove off rapidly, amidst the hoots and hisses of the multitude.{1}

1 Sir Felix had not heard of the following incident, else he certainly would have followed its example:— Two ladies of distinction stopped in a carriage at a jeweller's near Charing-cross; one of them only got out, and the coach stood across the path-way which some gentlemen wanted to cross to the other side, and desired the coachman to move on a little; the fellow was surly, and refused; the gentlemen remonstrated, but in vain. During the altercation, the lady came to the shop door, and foolishly ordered the coachman not to stir from his place. On this, one of the gentlemen opened the coach-door, and with boots and spurs stepped through the carriage. He was followed by his companions, to the extreme discomposure of the lady within, as well as the lady without. To complete the jest, a party of sailors coming up, observed, that, “If this was a thoroughfare, they had as much right to it as the gemmen;” and accordingly scrambled through the carriage.

The poor street-sweeper having applied to Sir Felix for a mite of benevolence,—“And is it for letting the carriage block up the cross-way, and forcing me through the mud,” asked the Baronet;—” but whether or not, I have not got any halfpence about me, so that I must pay you when I come again.”—“Ah! your honour,” exclaimed the man, “it is unknown the credit I give in this way.” Sir Felix thrust his hand into his pocket, and rewarded the applicant with a tester.

Proceeding along Piccadilly, our party were followed by a Newfoundland dog, which circumstance attracted the notice of the Baronet, to whom more than to either of his associates the animal seemed to attach itself. Pleased with its attention, Sir Felix caressed it, and when the triumvirate entered a neighbouring coffee-house, the dog was permitted to accompany them. Scarcely had the three friends seated themselves, when a man of decent appearance came into the room, and, without ceremony, accused the Baronet of having, by surreptitious means, obtained possession of his property; in other words, of having inveigled away his dog; and demanding instant restitution.

Sir Felix fired at the accusation, divested as it was of the shadow of truth, yet unsuspicious of design, would have instantly relinquished his canine acquaintance, but for the interposition of Dashall, who suspected this intrusive personage to be neither more nor less than a dog-stealer, of whom there are many in London continually on the alert for booty. These fellows pick up all stray dogs, carry them home, and detain them until such time as they are advertised, and a commensurate reward is offered by the respective owners. If, then, the dog is intrinsically of no value, and consequently unsaleable, the adept in this species of depredation, finding he can do no better, takes the dog home, receives the promised reward, and generally an additional gratuity in compensation of keep and trouble; but, should it so happen, that the proffered remuneration is not equivalent to the worth of the animal, the conscientious professor of knavery carries his goods to a more lucrative market. At the instance of Dashall, therefore, Sir Felix was determined to retain the animal until the claimant brought irrefragable proof of ownership. The fellow blustered,—the Baronet was immovable in his resolution;—when the other threw off all disguise, and exhibiting himself in pristine blackguardism, inundated Sir Felix with a torrent of abuse; who disdaining any minor notice of his scurrility, seized the fellow, with one hand by the cape of his coat, with the other by the waistband of his breeches, and bearing him to the door, as he would any other noxious animal, fairly pitched him head foremost into the street, to the manifest surprise and dismay of the passengers, to whom he told a “pitiable tale,” when one of the crowd pronounced him to be a notorious dog-stealer, and the fellow, immediately on this recognition, made a precipitate retreat. “I am glad,” said Dashall to his friends, who had witnessed the result of this affair from one of the windows of the coffee-room, “that our canine acquaintance (patting the animal at the same time) is now clearly exonerated from any participation of knavery. I had my suspicions that he was a well-disciplined associate in iniquity, taught to follow any person whom his pretended owner might point at, as a fit object of prey.”

The Baronet and the Squire, particularly the latter, had heard much of the “Frauds of London,” but neither of them was aware that metropolitan roguery was carried on and accelerated through the medium of canine agency.

In confirmation of this fact, however, Dashall mentioned two circumstances, both of which had occurred within these few years back, the one of a man who, in different parts of the suburbs, used to secrete himself behind a hedge, and when a lady came in view, his dog would go forth to rob her; the reticule was the object of plunder, which the dog seldom failed to get possession of, when he would instantly carry the spoil to his master. The other case was that of a person who had trained his dog to depredations in Whitechapel-market. This sly thief would reconnoitre the butcher's stalls, particularly on a Saturday night amidst the hurry of business, and carry off whatever piece of meat was most conveniently tangible, and take it home with all possible caution and celerity. We have heard of their answering questions, playing cards, and casting accompts,—in fact, their instinctive sagacity has frequently the appearance of reasoning faculties; they even now are competent to extraordinary performances, and what further wonders the ingenuity of man may teach them to accomplish, remains hereafter to be ascertained.{1}

1 The following anecdote is particularly illustrative of canine sagacity. It shews that the dog is sensible of unmerited injury, and will revenge it accordingly; it exhibits the dog also, as a reflective animal, and proves that, though he has not the gift of speech, he is yet endowed with the power of making himself understood by his own species. Some years ago, the traveller of a mercantile house in London, journeying into Cornwall, was followed by his favourite dog, to Exeter; where the traveller left him, in charge of the landlord of the Inn, until his return. The animal was placed in an inner yard, which, for sometime back, had been in the sole occupation of the house-dog; and the latter, considering the new comer an intruder, did not fail to give the poor stranger many biting taunts accordingly. Deserted, scorned, insulted and ill-treated, the poor animal availed himself of the first opportunity, and escaped. The landlord scoured the country in quest of the fugitive, without effect. After the lapse of a few days, the traveller's dog returned to the Inn, accompanied by two others, and the triumvirate entering the yard, proceeded to execute summary vengeance on the house-dog, and drove him howling from his territories. The two dogs were from London,— “Their locket letter'd braw-brass collars, Shew'd they were gentlemen and scholars.” Hence it appears, that the traveller's dog went to London, told his grievance to his two friends, and brought them to Exeter to avenge his cause!

Emerging from the coffee-house, companied by their newly acquired canine friend, our observers proceeded along Piccadilly, when reaching its extremity, and turning into the Park by Constitution-hill, they were met by the servant, Thady.

“Your honour,” said the valet, “haven't I been after soaking you, here and there, and every where, and no where at all, at all, vrid this letter, bad luck to it, becays of the trouble it may give you; and indeed I was sent after your honour by Miss Macgilligan;—there's ill luck at home, your honour.”

“Then I shall not make any haste,” said Sir Felix, “to meet such a guest.”

“My dear Nephew.—A vexatious affair has occurred.—I shall be glad to see you, as soon as possible.—J. M.”

“Perhaps you can oblige us with the history,” said the Baronet, “of this same 'vexatious affair;' but observe me, let it be an abridgement,—Miss Macgilligan will favour us with it in detail.”

“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!”

“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.”

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 XXIII