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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Silence there, behind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“'Tis a very delightful tragedy indeed, but performed in the most comical manner I ever witnessed in my life.”

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

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

“Which of course you did not fail to return?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It must be near us,” said Tom.

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

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

of wild surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Could you inform me Madam, whereabouts the fire is?”

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