THE recollection of past enjoyments in the vivacious company of Merry well, could not fail to be revived in the minds of Dashall and his Cousin; and as some persons, with due attention to his safety, had manifested their interest and regard for him by obtaining his admission to the Priory, where he was at this moment pursuing his studies, and could not quite so conveniently call on them, an early visit was determined on.

“We shall,” said Tom, “by a call on Merrywell after six weeks residence among the gay blades that inhabit the walls of the King's Bench, have all the benefit of his previous observation. He will be able to delineate the characters, consciences, and conduct of his neighbours. He will describe all the comforts and advantages of a college life, introduce us to the Bloods and the Blacks, and, in short, there are few persons I know, except Sparkle himself, more able to conduct us through the intricacies of the Building, to point out the beauty and excellence of the establishment, its uses and abuses, than Merrywell.”

“Do they charge any thing on admittance?"enquired Bob.

“O yes,” was the reply, “they charge you, by a public notice in the lobby, not to convey into the interior any spirituous liquors, on pain of being yourself discharged from thence, and confined elsewhere. Bless your soul, why the King's Bench is a little world within itself, a sort of epitome of London; it is in a healthy situation, and the space which it occupies is extensive. There are in all 224 rooms, and they measure each about 14 or 16 feet by 12 or 13; of these, eight are called State-rooms, are much larger than the rest, and more commodious; and a well-breech'd customer may have almost any accommodation. It is the prison most immediately belonging to the Court of King's Bench, and, exclusive of debtors there sued, all persons standing in contempt of that Court, and most of those committed under its sentence, are confined.”

“And pretty generally all inhabited?” interrogated Tallyho.

“Yes, and frequently it is difficult to obtain a place to sleep in even as a chum.”

Bob found himself at fault, and required an explanation of the word chum.

“The chum,” replied Dashall, “is a partner or bed-fellow, a person who has an equal right to all the comforts and conveniences of a room, previously wholly in the possession of one.”

“I understand,” said Bob; “then when every room has already one occupant, they accommodate him with a companion.”

“Exactly so, and he may prove friend or foe. This, however, may be avoided, if the student is in possession of the rubbish, by an escape into the Rules, which extend for three miles round the priory. These Rules are purchaseable after the following rate, viz. Ten guineas for the first hundred pounds, and about half that sum for every hundred pounds afterwards; day-rules, of which three may be obtained in every term, may be purchased for 4s. 2d. for the first day, and 3s. 10d. for the rest. Each also must give good security to the Marshal.

“Thus you have a full, true, and particular, as well as amusing account, of a Day Rule, or what in the cant language of the day is termed hiring a horse, which sometimes proves a bolter.”

“And what is meant by a bolter?”

“He is one,” replied Dashall, “who, having obtained the privilege of a Day Rule, brushes off, and leaves his bondsmen, or the Marshal, to pay his debt; or one who transgresses the bounds; but such a one when retaken, usually undergoes some discipline from the inhabitants of the College, who being all honourable men, set their faces against such ungentleman-like proceedings.”

“Then they do sometimes make an escape?”

“Yes, notwithstanding their restrictive arrangements, such things have occurred, and you must recollect that of Lord Cochrane, confined for the memorable Stock Exchange hoax. The means by which it was effected, I believe, have never been discovered; but certain it is, that he was in the House of Commons, while a prisoner in the King's Bench, and on the first night of his subsequent liberation, gave the casting vote against a proposed grant to a certain Duke.”

“I remember it very well, and also remember that the generality of thinking persons considered his Lordship harshly treated.”

“However, he is now bravely fighting the battles of independence, increasing both his fame and fortune, while some of the Ministerial hirelings are subjected to a similar privation. We shall have a view of some of the residents in this renowned place of fashionable resort; the interior of which perhaps exhibits a spectacle far more diversified, and if possible more immoral and vicious, than the exterior. There are quondam gentlemen of fortune, reduced either so low as not to be able to pay for the Rules, or so unprincipled and degraded as to have no friend at command who could with safety become their surety. Shop-keepers, whose knavery having distanced even their extravagance, dread the appearance of ease exhibited in the Rules and the detection of fraud, by producing the reverse of their independence, and who even grudge the expenditure of money, to obtain limited liberty. Uncertificated bankrupts, and unconvicted felons; Jews—gamblers by trade—horse-dealers—money scriveners—bill discounters—annuity procurers—disinterested profligates—unemployed and branded attorneys—scandal mongers and libel writers—Gazetted publicans, and the perhaps less culpable sinners of broken officers—reduced mechanics—starving authors, and cast-off Cyprians.”

“A very comprehensive and animated account truly,” said Tallyho.

“And you will find it accurate,” continued Dashall, “for the turn-out of this dwelling of crime and misery, resembles the Piazza de Sant Marco at Venice, in the Carnival time. There are all descriptions and classes in society, all casts and sects, all tribes and associations, all colours, complexions and appearances, not only of human and inhuman beings, but also all shades, features, and conformations of vice. The Spendthrift, or degraded man of fortune, lives by shifts, by schemes, by loans, by sponging on the novice, by subscription, or on commiseration's uncertain aid. He has however in perspective some visionary scheme of emolument and dishonour blended, to put into execution as soon as he obtains his discharge. The uncertificated Bankrupt has many opportunities left yet; he has other dupes, other tricks of trade, other resources in reserve. The Swindler mellows, refines, and sublimates his plan of future operations, and associates in it, perchance, a fallen fair one, or an incipient Greek, put up in the Bench. Horse-dealers, money scriveners, bill doers, attorneys, &c. have either the means of setting up again, or some new system of roguery to be put in practice, in fresh time and place, which may conduct them to the harbour of Fortune, or waft them over the herring pond at the expence of the public purse. The disinterested Profligate here either consumes, corrupts, and festers, under the brandy fever and despair, or is put up by a gambler, who sells his art to his brother debtors, and thus lives in hope of yet turning the honest penny in imitation of those who have gone before him. The Cyprian, still exercising her allurements, lingers and decays until persecution loses the point of its arrow, and drops from the persecutor's hand, grasping more hardly after money, and opening from the clenched attitude of revenge. Then, to conclude the picture, there are youths living upon the open infamy of easy-hearted women, who disgrace and ruin themselves without the walls, in order to pamper the appetite and humour the whims of a favourite within, thus sacrificing one victim to another. Partners carrying on trade in the world, communing with their incarcerated partners in durance vile. Misery and extravagance, rude joy and frantic fear, with more passions than the celebrated Collins ever drew, and with more scenes, adventures, and vicissitudes, than ever Jonathan Wild or any other Jonathan exhibited.”

“Excellent description,” exclaimed Bob.

“And you shall have ocular demonstration of its absolute existence; nay, this sketch might serve for many other places of confinement, the Fleet, &c. They are like the streets of the Metropolis, constantly varying in their company, according to entrances and exits of their visitors.”

“This, however,” continued the Hon. Tom Dashall, “is rather a mental picture of what we shall presently witness in reality, a sort of introductory sketch by way of passport through the doors of this Panorama of Beal Life, to which you will shortly be introduced; a sort of ideal, or dramatic sketch of its inhabitants en masse, before the drawing up of the curtain.”

The eagerness of Bob to listen to his Cousin's sketches of London society, on the one hand, and the earnestness with which Dashall had been exercising his imaginary powers, on the other, had led our perambulators to the foot of Blackfriar's Bridge, on their road to the King's Bench, without any particular circumstance exciting their attention; when Bob, suddenly twitching his Cousin by the arm, and directing his eye at the same time to a thin spare figure of a man, without hat or coat, who was rapidly passing towards Fleet market, enquired who it was, and what was his occupation or calling.

“Don't you hear his calling?” was the reply.

“Hot, hot, hot, pudding hot!” was in a moment vociferated in his ears, while the active and industrious mercantile pedestrian, with a swing of his head, which was in continual motion from right to left, gave Bob a wipe in the eye with his tail, which by the velocity of the wearer was kept in full play like the pendulum of a clock, or the tail of Matthews in his admirable delineation of Sir Fretful Plagiary.

“Zounds,” cries Bob, “it is true I may hear, but I can't pretend to say I can see; who the devil is he? there is no looking at him, he seems to leave time and space behind him; where is he?”

Tom laughed heartily, while Bob rubbed his eyes in vain to obtain another view.

“That,” said Dashall, “is a sort of Commissary, a dealer in stores for the stomach—red hot pudding, all hot, and commonly called the Flying Pieman."{1}

"Then,” said Bob, “he is not like some of the London dealers, who invite their customers to taste and try before they buy, for he scarcely seems to afford a chance of seeing what he sells.”

“You did not try him,” replied Tom, “nor would he have expected you to be a customer. He is a remarkable character, well known all over the Metropolis. Particularly noted for his activity in disposing of his goods; never standing still for a moment, but accosting with extraordinary ease and fluency every person who appears likely to be a purchaser; always ready with an answer to any question, but delivering it with so much volubility, that it is impossible to propose a second enquiry, suiting at the same time his answer to the apparent quality of the querist, though frequently leaving it unfinished in search of a customer, and moving on with so much rapidity, that you may almost find him at the same moment at Tower Hill, Billingsgate, and Spa Fields; at Smithfield, Temple Bar, and Piccadilly; indeed he may be said to be in all quarters of the town in a space of time incredibly short for a man who obtains a livelihood by seeking customers as he moves along.”

“Zounds,” cried Bob, “this walking genius, this credible incredible, and visible invisible pedestrian dealer in portable eatables, has almost blinded me.

“Come,” said Tom, “I've no fear of your eye while you can muster a couplet; so let us proceed.”

Crossing Black friars Bridge, and approaching the road, Bob, who had assuaged the pain of which he had previously been complaining, could not help admiring the extensive range of nouses on each side of the way, terminated by a handsome building in the distance.

“That Building,” said Dashall, “will be the extent of our journey, for very near to it is the habitation of Merrywell, where I entertain no doubt you will find enough for observation of a useful as well as a humorous nature: for an epitome of men and manners is there to be obtained.”

“Here are abundance of subjects worthy of inspection in this quarter,” replied Tom, “and we therefore ought not to exhaust too much time on one, so let us proceed: do you see that high wall to the right? That is the Magdalen Hospital,{1} established for the relief and

reformation of wretched outcasts from society. The principle on which it is founded, entitles it to the countenance and support of the public, and particularly of the female sex, the object being to reclaim and restore to virtue such wanderers in the labyrinths of vice as are not totally depraved."

“Admirable intentions indeed,” cried Tallyho, “if they are but as well carried into effect.”

“The records of the establishment have proved its advantages to society, or rather, I should say, to its conductors, for they are of a nature which cannot be publicly exposed, without much private injury to the individuals who partake of them. It is, however, not a little remarkable, that till lately, on the very opposite side of the road, the neighbourhood has exhibited scenes of vice, immorality, and indecency, which it is the great object of this Charity if possible to prevent, by an endeavour to reclaim the miserable and deluded wretches from their evil ways. I remember the late John Home Tooke related in the House of Commons a curious anecdote, in allusion to himself and his situation at the time, in which this institution was mentioned, and which excited considerable interest.

“It is well known that the late John Home Tooke, of political memory as the reputed tutor of a certain patriotic Baronet of the present day, as well as the author of the Diversions of Purley, and a correspondent of the yet undiscovered Junius, was a reverend divine of the Church of England; and when he became a Member of Parliament, it was objected against him that no person in Holy Orders could hold a seat in the honourable House of Commons. In his reply, he very ingeniously observed, that this objection reminded him of an applicant for admission to the Magdalen, who, upon being exhorted by the Chaplain to forsake her evil ways, replied that she was not aware of his meaning, and upon explanation she was excluded from the Charity, because she was not bad enough to require reforming. 'This,' said Mr. Home Tooke, 'is exactly my case; because I am in Holy Orders I must leave the House, and after committing some act of impropriety to lose my gown, I may yet be eligible for a Member of this Assembly.'”

“Pointed enough,” said Bob Tallyho.

“Yes,” replied Tom; “and having mentioned the name of the man, you may perhaps recollect the order of the day, as well as the curious definition (before the Commissioners of the Income Tax) as to how a man lives who has no income at all. Being interrogated by the Commissioners, as to how he obtained his living, Mr. Home Tooke replied as follows:—'Why, it appears to me, Gentlemen, that there are three modes by which a person may obtain a living; the first is by begging—now this I am too proud to submit to;—the second, by stealing—this I don't choose to resort to;—and the third is by the exercise of the wits—and this, Gentlemen, I presume, you know nothing about.'

“Here,” said Dashall, “is the Surrey Theatre, formerly denominated the Royal Circus. I shall, however, dispatch my description of it in a very few words, as we will ere long pay a visit to its interior. It is a neat building, and shews a good front to the road; is fitted up with a considerable degree of elegance, and is a very convenient theatre. It was originally conducted by Hughes and Jones, and its exhibitions were both scenic and equestrian, something in the style of what Astley's Amphitheatre is now; but you must see the one in order to form an idea of the other. Horses are now banished at this place, where, under an annual license from the magistrates of the county, burlettas, melodramas, dancing, and pantomimes are got up, and performed in a style which would not disgrace even the patent theatres. It is at present under the management of Mr. Dibdin, a son of the celebrated writer of so many of our national, patriotic, and characteristic ballads.—Just through the turnpike, the building which gives a sort of finish to the road, is the School for the Indigent Blind; at the back of which is the Philanthropic Institution, calculated to unite the purposes of charity with those of industry and police, to rescue from destruction the offspring of the vicious and criminal; and Bethlem Hospital, for the care and cure of insane persons, well deserving of minute inspection; and to the right, at the corner of a road which leads from Westminster Bridge towards Vauxhall, is an Asylum for Female Orphans, which, as the Magdalen was intended to reclaim prostitutes, was originally intended to prevent prostitution. To the left again is the King's Bench; and as that is our present place of destination, we will forego any further description, till another opportunity.

“I cannot, however, refrain a few remarks on the situation we are now in, for from this place may be seen the children of penance (the Magdalen); the children of darkness (the School for the Indigent Blind); the insane (New Bethlem); the infatuated and fanatic (the congregations of the Zoar Chapel, and the faithful of mewses, garrets, and wooden tabernacles); the children of Thespis and Terpsichore (the Surrey Theatre), mingled together as it were with the debtor and the captive (the King's Bench): at least, placing ourselves at this obelisk in the centre of the road, the mind's eye can comprehend them within a short distance of each other.”

“And a curious admixture of the useful and the sweet it certainly is,” exclaimed Tallyho, anxious to give his Cousin a little respite, while they turned to the left on their way to the Bench.

“You will find,” continued Tom, “all the before-mentioned infirmities, blindness, infatuation, madness, and profligacy, within the walls that we shall shortly enter, without the repentant spirit of the Sisters within the walls we have just passed. You will also find there is a plenty of self-interest and hypocrisy combined with them; nay, an hospital of incurables is only wanting to complete the scene. It is not till lately that a little reform has been effected in this quarter, for Dover Street and its vicinity, as I before observed, so near to these benevolent charities and to the walls of a prison, have been the sink of female profligacy, of the lowest, most dangerous, and most disgusting kind; and suffered too long to pollute the streams of charity and impede the road to reform. However, at length the nuisance is removed, at least the public appearance of it, though the neighbourhood is not altogether bereft of its private negociations and stolen accommodations. But come, now for an interior view of the. Abbott's Park, its interesting scenery, and its multi-farious characters. There you shall see what you shall see, and Merrywell will tell you more in ten minutes than you might wish to know in your whole life, I mean practically, though it is well to know in theory what ought never to be reduced to experiment."