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.

Entering the presence chamber,—“Welcome, sphinx,” exclaimed the Doctor.

“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.”

“I know it.—What would'st thou, Sir Felix O'Grady?”

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 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}

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}

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}

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}

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}

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.”

He then read aloud the ominous epistle:—

“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}