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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is an eccentric man of Title,” continued Sparkle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“——In the modesty of fearful duty,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tallyho appeared all amazement.

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

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

doubtless have fleeced him in good style, if he could only have induced him to attend to his story.”

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

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

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

“Why the facts are simply as follows,” continued

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

“Very kind of him, indeed,” replied Bob.

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

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

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

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

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

“My drawings are made from nature,” continued Sparkle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which way did the bull run?” said the Irishman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Limping Billy was also evidently in queer-street.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So we laugh at John Bull a little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Bob.

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

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

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

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

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

“You are not here, for you are there,”

pointing to his reflection, in the looking-glass.

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

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

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

“One longing, lingering look behind.”