“Wand'ring with listless gait and spirits gay, They Eastward next pursued their jocund way;
With story, joke, smart repartee and pun,
Their business pleasure, and their object fun.”
 
IT was a fine moonlight evening, and upon leaving the Globe, they again found themselves in the hurry, bustle, and noise of the world. The glare of the gas-lights, and the rattling of coaches, carts and vehicles of various-descriptions, mingled with
“The busy hum of men,”
 
attracted the attention of their eyes and ears, while the exhilarating juice of the bottle had given a circulation to the blood which enlivened imagination and invigorated fancy. Bob conceived himself in Elysium, and Frank Harry was as frisky as a kitten. The first object that arrested their progress was the house of Mr. Hone, whose political Parodies, and whose trials on their account, have given him so much celebrity. His window at the moment exhibited his recent satirical publication entitled a Slap at Slop and the Bridge Street Gang.{1}
1 The great wit and humour displayed in this publication
have deservedly entitled it to rank high among the jeu
desprit productions of this lively age—to describe it were
impossible—to enjoy it must be to possess it; but for the
information of such of our readers as are remote from the
Metropolis, it may perhaps be necessary to give something
like a key of explanation to its title. A certain learned
Gentleman, formerly the Editor of the Times, said now to be
the Conductor of the New Times, who has by his writings
rendered himself obnoxious to a numerous class of readers,
has been long known by the title of Dr. Slop; in his
publication, denominated the mock Times, and the Slop Pail,
he has been strenuous in his endeavours to support and
uphold a Society said to mis-call themselves The
Constitutional Society, but now denominated The Bridge
Street Gang; and the publication alluded to, contains
humorous and satirical parodies, and sketches of the usual
contents of his Slop Pail; with a Life of the learned
Doctor, and an account of the origin of the Gang.
[270] “Here,” said Tom, “we are introduced at once into a fine field of observation. The inhabitant of this house defended himself in three different trials for the publication of alleged impious, profane, and scandalous libels on the Catechism, the Litany, and the Creed of St. Athanasius, with a boldness, intrepidity, and perseverance, almost unparalleled, as they followed in immediate succession, without even an allowance of time for bodily rest or mental refreshment.”
“Yes,” continued Frank Harry, “and gained a verdict on each occasion, notwithstanding the combined efforts of men in power, and those whose constant practice in our Courts of Law, with learning and information at their fingers ends, rendered his enemies fearful antagonists.”
“It was a noble struggle,” said Tallyho; “I remember we had accounts of it in the country, and we did not fail to express our opinions by subscriptions to remunerate the dauntless defender of the rights and privileges of the British subject.”
“Tip us your flipper”{1} said Harry—-“then I see you are a true bit of the bull breed—one of us, as I may say. Well, now you see the spot of earth he inhabits—zounds, man, in his shop you will find amusement for a month—see here is The House that Jack Built—there is the Queen's Matrimonial Ladder, do you mark?—What think you of these qualifications for a Gentleman?
“In love, and in liquor, and o'ertoppled with debt, With women, with wine, and with duns on the fret.”
There you have the Nondescript—
“A something, a nothing—what none understand,
Be-mitred, be-crowned, but without heart or hand;
There's Jack in the Green too, and Noodles, alas!
“Who doodle John Bull of gold, silver, and brass.
“Come,” said Dashall, “you must cut your story short; I know if you begin to preach, we shall have a sermon as long as from here to South America, so allons;” and with this impelling his Cousin forward, they
1 Tip us your Flipper—your mawley—your daddle, or your
thieving hook; are terms made use of as occasions may suit
the company in which they are introduced, to signify a desire
to shake hands.
[271] approached towards Saint Paul's, chiefly occupied in conversation on the great merit displayed in the excellent designs of Mr. Cruikshank, which embellish the work they had just been viewing; nor did they discover any thing further worthy of notice, till Bob's ears were suddenly attracted by a noise somewhat like that of a rattle, and turning sharply round to discover from whence it came, was amused with the sight of several small busts of great men, apparently dancing to the music of a weaver's shuttle.{1}
“What the devil do you call this?” said he—“is it an exhibition of wax-work, or a model academy?”
“Neither,” replied Dashall; “this is no other than the shop of a well-known dealer in stockings and nightcaps, who takes this ingenious mode of making himself popular, and informing the passengers that
“Here you may be served with all patterns and sizes,
From the foot to the head, at moderate prices;”
 
with woolens for winter, and cottons for summer—Let us move on, for there generally is a crowd at the door, and there is little doubt but he profits by those who are induced to gaze, as most people do in London, if they can but entrap attention. Romanis is one of those gentlemen who has contrived to make some noise in the world by puffing advertisements, and the circulation of poetical handbills. He formerly kept a very small shop for the sale of hosiery nearly opposite the East-India House, where he supplied the Sailors after receiving their pay for a long voyage, as well as their Doxies, with the articles in which he deals, by obtaining permission to style himself “Hosier to the Rt. Hon. East India Company.” Since which, finding his trade increase and his purse extended, he has extended his patriotic views of clothing the whole population of London by opening shops in various parts, and has at almost all times two or three depositories for
1 Romanis, the eccentric Hosier, generally places a loom near the door of his shops decorated with small busts; some of which being attached to the upper movements of the machinery, and grotesquely attired in patchwork and feathers, bend backwards and forwards with the motion of the works, apparently to salute the spectators, and present to the idea persons dancing; while every passing of the shuttle produces a noise which may be assimilated to that of the Rattlesnake, accompanied with sounds something like those of a dancing-master beating time to his scholars. [272] his stock. At this moment, besides what we have just seen, there is one in Gracechurch Street, and another in Shoreditch, where the passengers are constantly assailed by a little boy, who stands at the door with some bills in his hand, vociferating—Cheap, cheap.”
“Then,” said Bob, “wherever he resides I suppose may really be called Cheapside?”
“With quite as much propriety,” continued Ton, “as the place we are now in; for, as the Irishman says in his song,
“At a place called Cheapside they sell every thing dear.”
 
During this conversation, Mortimer, Merrywell, and Harry were amusing themselves by occasionally addressing the numerous Ladies who were passing, and taking a peep at the shops—giggling with girls, or admiring the taste and elegance displayed in the sale of fashionable and useful articles—justled and impeded every now and then by the throng. Approaching Bow Church, they made a dead stop for a moment.
“What a beautiful steeple!” exclaimed Bob; “I should, though no architect, prefer this to any I have yet seen in London.”
“Your remark,” replied Dashall, “does credit to your taste; it is considered the finest in the Metropolis. St. Paul's displays the grand effort of Sir Christopher Wren; but there are many other fine specimens of his genius to be seen in the City. His Latin Epitaph in St. Paul's may be translated thus: 'If you seek his monument, look around you;' and we may say of this steeple, 'If you wish a pillar to his fame, look up.' The interior of the little church, Walbrook,{1} (St. Stephen's) is likewise considered a
1 This church is perhaps unrivalled, for the beauty of the
architecture of its interior. For harmony of proportion,
grace, airiness, variety, and elegance, it is not to be
surpassed. It is a small church, built in the form of a
cross. The roof is supported by Corinthian columns, so
disposed as to raise an idea of grandeur, which the
dimensions of the structure do not seem to promise. Over the
centre, at which the principal aisles cross, is a dome
divided into compartments, the roof being partitioned in a
similar manner, and the whole finely decorated. The effect
of this build-ing is inexpressibly delightful; the eye at
one glance embracing a plan full and distinct, and
afterwards are seen a greater number of parts than the
spectator was prepared to expect. It is known and admired on
the Continent, as a master-piece of art. Over the altar is a
fine painting of the martyrdom of St. Stephen, by West.
[273]chef d'ouvre of the same artist, and serves to display the versatility of his genius.”
Instead however of looking up, Bob was looking over the way, where a number of people, collected round a bookseller's window, had attracted his attention.
“Apropos,” cried Dashall,—“The Temple of Apollo—we should have overlook'd a fine subject, but for your remark—yonder is Tegg's Evening Book Auction, let us cross and see what's going on. He is a fellow of 'infinite mirth and good humour,' and many an evening have I passed at his Auction, better amused than by a farce at the Theatre.”
They now attempted to cross, but the intervening crowd of carriages, three or four deep, and in a line as far as the eye could reach, for the present opposed an obstacle.
“If I could think of it,” said Sparkle, “I'd give you the Ode on his Birth-day, which I once saw in MS.—it is the jeu d'esprit of a very clever young Poet, and who perhaps one of these days may be better known; but poets, like anatomical subjects, are worth but little till dead.”
“And for this reason, I suppose,” says Tom, “their friends and patrons are anxious they should rather be starved than die a natural death.”
“Oh! now I have it—let us remain in the Church-yard a few minutes, while the carriages pass, and you shall hear it."[274]
“Ye hackney-coaches, and ye carts,
That oft so well perform your parts
For those who choose to ride,
Now louder let your music grow—
Your heated axles fiery glow—
Whether you travel quick or slow-
In Cheapside.
 
For know, “ye ragged rascals all,”
 (As H——- would in his pulpit bawl
With cheeks extended wide)
Know, as you pass the crowded way,
This is the happy natal day
Of Him whose books demand your stay
In Cheapside.
 
?Twas on the bright propitious morn
When the facetious Tegcy was born,
Of mirth and fun the pride,
That Nature said “good Fortune follow,
Bear him thro' life o'er hill and hollow,
Give him the Temple of Apollo
In Cheapside.”
 
Then, O ye sons of Literature!
Shew your regard for Mother Nature,
Nor let her be denied:
Hail! hail the man whose happy birth
May tell the world of mental worth;
They'll find the best books on the earth
In Cheapside.
“Good!” exclaimed Bob; “but we will now endeavour to make our way across, and take a peep at the subject of the Ode.”
Finding the auction had not yet commenced, Sparkle proposed adjourning to the Burton Coffee House in the adjacent passage, taking a nip of ale by way of refreshment and exhilaration, and returning in half an hour. This proposition was cordially agreed to by all, except Tallyho, whose attention was engrossed by a large collection of Caricatures which lay exposed in a portfolio on the table beneath the rostrum. The irresistible broad humour of the subjects had taken fast hold of his risible muscles, and in turning them over one after the other, he found it difficult to part with such a rich fund of humour, and still more so to stifle the violent emotion it excited. At length, clapping his hands to his sides, he gave full vent to the impulse in a horse-laugh from a pair of truly Stentorian lungs, and was by main force dragged out by his companions.
While seated in the comfortable enjoyment of their nips of ale, Sparkle, with his usual vivacity, began an elucidation of the subjects they had just left. “The collection of Caricatures,” said he, “which is considered the largest in London, are mostly from the pencil of that self-taught artist, the late George Woodward, and display not only a genuine and original style of humour in the design, but a corresponding and appropriate character in the dialogue, or speeches connected with the figures. Like his contemporary in another branch of the art, George Morland, he possessed all the eccentricity and thoughtless improvidence so common and frequently so fatal to genius; and had not his good fortune led him towards Bow Church, he must have suffered severe privations, and perhaps eventually have perished of want. Here, he always found a ready market, and a liberal price for his productions, however rude or hasty the sketch, or whatever might be the subject of them.”
[275] “As to books,” continued he, “all ages, classes, and appetites, may be here suited. The superficial dabbler in, and pretender to every thing, will find collections, selections, beauties, flowers, gems, &c. The man of real knowledge may here purchase the elements, theory, and practice of every art and science, in all the various forms and dimensions, from a single volume, to the Encyclopedia at large. The dandy may meet with plenty of pretty little foolscap volumes, delightfully hot-pressed, and exquisitely embellished; the contents of which will neither fatigue by the quantity, nor require the laborious effort of thought to comprehend. The jolly bon-vivant and Bacchanal will find abundance of the latest songs, toasts, and sentiments; and the Would-be-Wit will meet with Joe Miller in such an endless variety of new dresses, shapes, and sizes, that he may fancy he possesses all the collected wit of ages brought down to the present moment. The young Clerical will find sermons adapted to every local circumstance, every rank and situation in society, and may furnish himself with a complete stock in trade of sound orthodox divinity; while the City Epicure may store himself with a complete library on the arts of confectionary, cookery, &c, from Apicius, to the “Glutton's Almanack.” The Demagogue may furnish himself with flaming patriotic speeches, ready cut and dried, which he has only to learn by heart against the next Political Dinner, and if he should not 'let the cat out,' by omitting to substitute the name of Londonderry for C?sar, he may pass off for a second Brutus, and establish an equal claim to oratory with Burke, Pitt, and Fox. The——”
“Auction will be over,” interrupted Bob, “before you get half through your descriptive Catalogue of the Books, so finish your nip, and let us be off.”
They entered, and found the Orator hard at it, knocking down with all the energy of a Crib, and the sprightly wit of a Sheridan. Puns, bon mots, and repartees, flew about like crackers.
“The next lot, Gentlemen, is the Picture of London,—impossible to possess a more useful book—impossible to say what trouble and expence may be avoided by the possession of this little volume. When your Country Cousins pay you a visit, what a bore, what an expence, to be day after day leading them about—taking them up the Monument—down the Adelphi—round St. Paul's—across the [276] Parks, through the new Streets—along the Strand, or over the Docks, the whole of which may be avoided at the expence of a few shillings. You have only to clap into their pocket in the morning this invaluable little article, turn them out for the day, and, if by good luck they should not fall into the hands of sharpers and swindlers, your dear Coz will return safe home at night, with his head full of wonders, and his pockets empty of cash!”
“The d——l,” whispered Bob, “he seems to know me, and what scent we are upon.”
“Aye,” replied his Cousin, “he not only knows you, but he knows that some of your cash will soon be in his pockets, and has therefore made a dead set at you.”
“Next lot, Gentlemen, is a work to which my last observation bore some allusion; should your friends, as I then observed, fortunately escape the snares and dangers laid by sharpers and swindlers to entrap the unwary, you may, perchance, see them safe after their day's ramble; but should—aye, Gentlemen, there's the rub—should they be caught by the numerous traps and snares laid for the Johnny Raw and Greenhorn in this great and wicked metropolis, God knows what may become of them. Now, Gentlemen, we have a remedy for every disease—here is the London Spy or Stranger's Guide through the Metropolis; here all the arts, frauds, delusions, &c. are exposed, and—Tom, give that Gentleman change for his half crown, and deliver Lot 3.—As I was before observing, Gentlemen—Turn out that young rascal who is making such a noise, cracking nuts, that I can't hear the bidding.—Gentlemen, as I before observed, if you will do me the favour of bidding me—”
“Good night, Sir,” cried a younker, who had just exploded a detonating cracker, and was making his escape through the crowd.
“The next lot, gentlemen, is the Young Man's best Companion, and as your humble Servant is the author, he begs to decline any panegyric—modesty forbids it—but leaves it entirely with you to appreciate its merits—two shillings—two and six—three shillings—three and six—four, going for four—for you, Sir, at four.”
“Me, Sir! Lord bless you, I never opened my mouth!”
“Perfectly aware of that, Sir, it was quite unnecessary—I could read your intention in your eye—and observed the muscle of the mouth, call'd by anatomists the
[277]zygomaticus major, in the act of moving. I should have been dull not to have noticed it—and rude not to have saved you the trouble of speaking: Tom, deliver the Gentleman the lot, and take four shillings.”
“Well, Sir, I certainly feel flattered with your acute and polite attention, and can do no less than profit by it—so hand up the lot—cheap enough, God knows.”
“And pray,” said Dashall to his Cousin as they quitted, “what do you intend doing with all your purchases? why it will require a waggon to remove them.”
“O, I shall send the whole down to Belville Hall: our friends there will be furnished with a rare stock of entertainment during the long winter evenings, and no present I could offer would be half so acceptable.”
“Well,” remarked Mortimer, “you bid away bravely, and frequently in your eagerness advanced on yourself: at some sales you would have paid dearly for this; but here no advantage was taken, the mistake was explained, and the bidding declined in the most fair and honourable manner. I have often made considerable purchases, and never yet had reason to repent, which is saying much; for if I inadvertently bid for, and had a lot knocked down to me, which I afterwards disliked, I always found an acquaintance glad to take it off my hands at the cost, and in several instances have sold or exchanged to considerable advantage. One thing I am sorry we overlooked: a paper entitled, “Seven Reasons,” is generally distributed during the Sale, and more cogent reasons I assure you could not be assigned, both for purchasing and reading in general, had the seven wise men of Greece drawn them up. You may at any time procure a copy, and it will furnish you with an apology for the manner in which you have spent your time and money, for at least one hour, during your abode in London.”
Please, Sir, to buy a ha'porth of matches, said a poor, squalid little child without a shoe to her foot, who was running by the side of Bob—it's the last ha'porth, Sir, and I must sell them before I go home.
This address was uttered in so piteous a tone, that it could not well be passed unheeded.
“Why,” said Tallyho, “as well as Bibles and Schools for all, London seems to have a match for every body.”
“Forty a penny, Spring-radishes,” said a lusty bawling [278] fellow as he passed, in a voice so loud and strong, as to form a complete contrast to the little ragged Petitioner, ?who held out her handful of matches continuing her solicitations. Bob put his hand in his pocket, and gave her sixpence.
“We shall never get on at this rate,” said Tom; “and I find I must again advise you not to believe all you hear and see. These little ragged run-abouts are taught by their Parents a species of imposition or deception of which you are not aware, and while perhaps you congratulate yourself with 'the thought of having done a good act, you are only contributing to the idleness and dissipation of a set of hardened beings, who are laughing at your credulity; and I suspect this is a case in point—do you see that woman on the opposite side of the way, and the child giving her the money?”
“I do,” said Tallyho; “that, I suppose, is her mother?”
“Probably,” continued Dashall—“now mark what will follow.”
They stopped a short time, and observed that the Child very soon disposed of her last bunch of matches, as she had termed them, gave the money to the woman, who supplied her in return with another last bunch, to be disposed of in a similar way.
“Is it possible?” said Bob.
“Not only possible, but you see it is actual; it is not however the only species of deceit practised with success in London in a similar way; indeed the trade of match-making has latterly been a good one among those who have been willing to engage in it. Many persons of decent appearance, representing themselves to be tradesmen and mechanics out of employ, have placed themselves at the corners of our streets, and canvassed the outskirts of the town, with green bags, carrying matches, which, by telling a pityful tale, they induce housekeepers and others, who commiserate their situation, to purchase; and, in the evening, are able to figure away in silk stockings with the produce of their labours. There is one man, well known in town, who makes a very good livelihood by bawling in a stentorian voice,
“Whow whow, will you buy my good matches,
Whow whow, will you buy my good matches,
Buy my good matches, come buy'em of me.”
 
[279] He is usually dressed in something like an old military great coat, wears spectacles, and walks with a stick.”
“And is a match for any body, match him who can,”, cried Frank Harry; “But, bless your heart, that's nothing to another set of gentry, who have infested our streets in clean apparel, with a broom in their hands, holding at the same time a hat to receive the contributions of the passengers, whose benevolent donations are drawn forth without inquiry by the appearance of the applicant.”
“It must,” said Tallyho, “arise from the distresses of the times.”
“There may be something in that,” said Tom; “but in many instances it has arisen from the depravity of the times—to work upon the well-known benevolent feelings of John Bull; for those who ambulate the public streets of this overgrown and still increasing Metropolis and its principal avenues, are continually pestered with impudent impostors, of both sexes, soliciting charity—men and women, young and old, who get more by their pretended distresses in one day than many industrious and painstaking tradesmen or mechanics do in a week. All the miseries, all the pains of life, with tears that ought to be their honest and invariable signals, can be and are counterfeited—limbs, which enjoy the fair proportion of nature, are distorted, to work upon humanity—fits are feigned and wounds manufactured—rags, and other appearances of the most squalid and abject poverty, are assumed, as the best engines of deceit, to procure riches to the idle and debaucheries to the infamous. Ideal objects of commiseration are undoubtedly to be met with, though rarely to be found. It requires a being hackneyed in the ways of men, or having at least some knowledge of the town, to be able to discriminate the party deserving of benevolence; but
“A begging they will go will go,
And a begging they will go.”
 
The chief cause assigned by some for the innumerable classes of mendicants that infest our streets, is a sort of innate principle of independence and love of liberty. However, it must be apparent that they do not like to work, and to beg they are not ashamed; they are, with very few exceptions, lazy and impudent. And then what [280] is collected from the humane but deluded passengers is of course expended at their festivals in Broad Street, St. Giles's, or some other equally elegant and appropriate part of the town, to which we shall at an early period pay a visit. Their impudence is intolerable; for, if refused a contribution, they frequently follow up the denial with the vilest execrations.
“To make the wretched blest,
Private charity is best.”
 
“The common beggar spurns at your laws; indeed many of their arts are so difficult of detection, that they are enabled to escape the vigilance of the police, and with impunity insult those who do not comply with their wishes, seeming almost to say,
“While I am a beggar I will rail,
And say there is no sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say there is no vice but beggary.”
 
“Begging has become so much a sort of trade, that parents have been known to give their daughters or sons the begging of certain streets in the metropolis as marriage portions; and some years ago some scoundrels were in the practice of visiting the outskirts of the town in sailors' dresses, pretending to be dumb, and producing written papers stating that their tongues had been cut out by the Algerines, by which means they excited compassion, and were enabled to live well.”
“No doubt it is a good trade,” said Merry well, “and I expected we should have been made better acquainted with its real advantages by Capt. Barclay, of walking and sporting celebrity, who, it was said, had laid a wager of 1000L. that he would walk from London to Edinburgh in the assumed character of a beggar, pay all his expences of living well............