Ladies,—the chariot waits;—the toilet now Where erst so many hours were idly spent,
Asks of its wonted due the tythe alone;—
Braid then your tresses of luxuriant now,
And wrap your forms angelic in the dress
Simple, yet rich and elegant, that gives
Your matchless beauties half revealed to view;
The broad capacious bosom's luscious swell,
Still heaving strong, and suing to be prest;—
Grace then the vehicle.—We, observers
Of Real Life, the while, in London go
To “catch the living manners as they rise,
“And give the age its very form and pressure.”
 
[137] CONTINUING their route down Holborn, the adventure in the Linen-draper's shop became the theme of conversation.—“It is not alone,” said Dashall, “to the lower orders and necessitous that this system of Shop-lifting is confined; many recent instances have occurred of similar depredation, by women above the mediocrity of rank, who, however, frequently contrive to compromise prosecution, while the delinquent of poverty is visited by the utmost rigor of the law!—Of the two, certainly the thief from habit is more culpable than the thief from necessity.”
Sir Felix and the Squire entirely agreed with their friend in opinion.—“Shop-lifters,” continued Dashall, “are as pernicious to the trading part of the community as any of the cheats of London; there is not, on a moderate calculation, less than 5000 of these artful thieves in the metropolis, and the prejudice they do to the industrious tradesman is incalculable.”
“By the powers of safety, then,” exclaimed the baronet “the honest dealer should consider every stranger a thief until further acquaintance.”
“Not exactly so; however, it is necessary that the London tradesman should be upon his guard, and keep [138] a sharp look out upon his customers, not knowing, by their appearance, whether they are honest or otherwise."{1}
Turning from Holborn into Chancery Lane, our pedestrians were encountered by a very handsome chariot, in which were two elegantly dressed and beautiful women, who, ordering the carriage to stop, saluted Dashall and the Squire in the most fascinating terms of friendly recognition.
“Your Ladyships render me,” said Dashall, “infinite happiness; this is a most unexpected pleasure!”
“You are a gallant cavalier,” observed one of the lovely inmates, “another gentleman would probably have used the word honor instead of happiness, but you are fertile in felicitous expression.”
“Not more felicitous than appropriate; but whither away, my fair captivators?”
“We are on a shopping expedition,” replied one of the ladies, “you and your friend of Belville-hall, are observers of Life in London generally;—ours is a mere circumscribed sphere of action; we go to view Life in a Mercer's shop.—When the Squire and you are not more pleasantly engaged, give us a call, and perhaps we may grant you the honor of an interview.—We would ask the Unknown,” said she, in a whisper, “who is he?”
1 A thief from habit.—Not long since, there existed in
the fashionable world, a female of rank and property, who
was an habitual, expert, and incorrigible thief.—She would
frequently sally forth in her carriage, and alighting at the
doors of perhaps, half a dozen different tradesmen, rummage
over their goods, without mak-ing a purchase, and embrace
the opportunity of purloining any portable article that lay
in her way. Those tradesmen to whom her thieving
propensities were known, used to watch, carefully, her
manoeuvres, let her walk off with the spoil, and then send a
bill of depredation, which she uniformly, and without
hesitation, dis-charged. This unfortunate woman was one
morning detected in the shop of a Mercer to whom she was a
stranger, in the act of pilfering some article of value. He
was about to detain her, when she burst into an agony of
tears, acknowledged, and lamented deeply, the irresistible
infatuation under which she acted, disclosed her rank and
family, and the compassionate mercer suffered her to depart.
 
At another time, being one of a card-party, a gold snuff-box
vanished from the table. Every person present denied any
knowledge of it;—“Madam, you are mistaken,” said one of the
company, “you have got the snuff-box in your pocket.”—“How
very absent I am!”exclaimed our heroine, producing the
box.—“And I beg that you will continue absent!” said the
lady of the mansion.
[139] “Sir Felix O'Grady, Madam,” answered Dashall, “an Irish baronet, of recent acquaintance; like every other gentleman of the Emerald Isle, combining, with characteristic eccentricity, a sound head and a warm heart.”
“Then, of all things, bring him with you.” “So,” waving gracefully her hand, “adieu!” the trio responded, by respectfully raising their hats, “Allons donc,” she exclaimed, and the carriage drove off.
“There go,” exclaimed Dashall, “two of the most lovely and accomplished women in London, and perhaps the least tinctured with fashionable folly.”
“With the exception,” observed the Squire, “of shopping, that is, I presume, making the morning tour of tradesmen's shops, tumbling over their goods, giving them every possible trouble, and ultimately making no purchase."{1}
Dashall admitted the correctness of the Squire's observation, as generally applicable, but claimed an exemption for the ladies in question.
On the left, proceeding down Chancery Lane, Dashall pointed to a respectable house as the occasional residence of a lady in the first class of literature, whose writings have given universal satisfaction, and will continue to be read with increased avidity, as conveying the most admirable lessons of morality, told in a manner alike impressive and pathetic;—Mrs. Op*e; the widow of the late celebrated artist. This excellent woman is endeared to the circle of her numerous acquaintance by a pre-eminent
1 Tallyho had improved in his knowledge of Real Life in
London.—His definition of Shopping was perfectly correct.
 
One of those fashionable female idlers, who delight in
occupying the time, and exercising the patience of the
industrious, alighted, a short time since, at the shop of a
tradesman in Ludgate-street, and after a couple of hours
spent in examining and re-examining a variety of rich silks,
made her election at last, and desired the mercer to cut her
off a shilling's worth, throwing, at the same time, the
money on the counter. The tradesman, with perfect coolness,
took up the piece of coin, laid it on a corner of the silk,
circum-scribed it with his scissors, and presented the part
so cut out to the lady, as the shilling's worth required. We
feel pleasure in recording the result. The lady admired the
mercer's equanimity of temper, laughed heartily at his
manner of illustrating it, and in atonement for trouble
given and patience exemplified, became, and still continues,
one of his most valued customers.
[140] suavity of disposition, blended with superior mental endowments; to the unfortunate by her benevolent heart, to which the appeal of distress is never made in vain; and to the public generally, by her invaluable works, the uniform tendency of which is the advancement of virtue and the inculcation of the benign feelings of humanity.{1}
1 To the admirers of Mrs. Op*e, the following lines, never
before published, will not prove unacceptable.
 
TRIBUTE OF RESPECT.
O Thou of matchless power to raise
And bend the Passions to thy sway I—
Whose pen with magic force portrays,
Whose spell the shadowy forms obey.
Of Joy and Grief, of Hope and Fear,
And wiles from Apathy a tear,—
Enchantress! take the duteous lays
To Worth that Admiration pays.
 
To thee, as to thy Op*e, given
On Immortality a claim;
His virtues pass'd from Earth to Heaven,
Yet still exist in deathless fame;—
His pencil to thy pen assign'd
To charm, instruct, and grace mankind!—
And Oh! could but my humble strains
To thy impressive skill aspire,
The Muse that faintly now sustains
Thy worth, would make poetic fire,
And glowing high, with fervid name,
Would graft her honors on thy name.—
 
But ah!  bereft of every stay,
From Hope exil'd, with Woe I keep
My vigils, each sad sorrowing day,
And wake, each dreary night, to weep!—
By Penury chill'd poetic powers,
No voice to soothe, no hand to save,
And snatch a victim from the grave,—
Around me Desolation lours,
And glaring, midst the deep'ning gloom,
Despair and Famine urge me to the tomb!
 
If, all unmeet, my humble strain
Is destin'd still to flow in vain;—
Shouldst thou the tribute now refuse
Essayed by Misery and the Muse;
Reject not yet the lay with scorn,
To thee by kindred feelings borne;—
For still thy tales of plaintive tone
Breathe pain and sufferings, like mine own.
[141] Facing the entrance to the Royal Wax Works, Sir Felix made a full stop;—“That fellow,” said he, alluding to the whole length figure of the Centinel, “stands as motionless as a statue; by the powers, but half-a-dozen peep-o-day boys in his rear would be after putting life and mettle in his heels!—Shoulder and carry your arms, you spalpeen; and is this the way that you show the position of a soldier?” at same time enforcing his admonition with a smart stroke of his cane over the arm of the inanimated military representative. The attendant, a young man in the costume of the Yeomen of the Guards, remonstrated; Dashall and Tallyho laughed most immoderately; and the baronet, equally enjoying the joke, persisted in affecting to believe, that he was addressing himself to a living object, greatly to the amusement of the now congregating street passengers.
“Begging your pardon, ray jewel,” continued Sir Felix, “long life and good luck to you, in your stationary quarters, and may His Majesty never find a more active enemy than yourself!—By the soul of my grandmother, it would be well for poor Ireland, who has taken leave of her senses, if her bog-trotting marauders were as peaceably inclined as you are.—Fait and troth, but you're a fine looking lad after all, and with the assistance of your master, and a touch of Prometheus, we might raise a regiment of braver fellows than the King's Guards, without bounty or beat of drum, in the twinkling of an eye, honey; but with your leave, and saving yourself unnecessary trouble, we'll be after paying a visit to the company above stairs; “and the party proceeded to the exhibition room.—
Here were representatives of the living and mementos of the dead! Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses,
Ah! cease the sad resemblance here!—
Thee, then, to every feeling dear
Of tender sympathy,—thy way
Illumin'd to life's remotest day.
In bliss, in worth, in talent shine,
Though pain, and want unsuccour'd, mine!
Adorning this terrestrial sphere,
Be long an Op*e's talents given;
And Virtue consecrate the tear
When call'd to join her native Heaven!
 
A. K.
[142] warriors, statesmen, poets, and philosophers, in social communion: not forgetting the lady who had three hundred and sixty-five children at a birth!!{1}
The baronet made many congees to the great and inferior personages by whom he was surrounded, admired the heterogeneity of the group, and regretted that their imperfect creation precluded the possibility of converse.
One of the figures, by an unobserved excitement of the attendant............