The English Spy by Bernard Blackmantle.

"Very well, Mr. Pendragon, very well, indeed," said Mr. Galen Cornaro, an eccentric of the same school, but not equally averse to wine; "'temperance is a bridle of gold; and he who uses it rightly is more like a god than a man.' I have no objection to a cup of generous wine, provided nature requires it—but 'simple diet,' says Pliny, 'is best;' for many dishes bring many diseases. Do you know John Abernethy, sir? he is the manus dei of my idolatry. 'What ought I to drink?' inquired a friend of mine of the surgeon. 'What do you give your horse, sir?' was the question in reply. 'Water.' 'Then drink water,' said Abernethy. After this my friend was afraid to put the question of eatables, lest the doctor should have directed him to live on oats. 'Your modern good fellows,' continued John, 'are only ambitious of rivalling a brewer's horse; who after all will carry more liquor than the best of them.' 'What is good to assist a weak digestion?' said another patient. 'Weak food and warm clothing,' was the reply; 'not, however, forgetting my blue pill.' When you have dined well, sleep well: wrap yourself up in a warm watch-coat, and imitate your dog by basking yourself at full length before the fire; these are a few of the Abernethy maxims for dyspeptic patients." I had heard much of this celebrated man, and was desirous of gleaning some more anecdotes of his peculiarities. With this view I laid siege to Mr. Galen Cornaro, who appeared to be well acquainted with the whims of the practitioner. "I remember, sir," said my informant, "a very good fellow of the name of Elliot, a bass-singer at the concerts and theatres of the metropolis; a man very much resembling John Abernethy in person, and still more so in manner; one who under a rough exterior carried as warm a heart as ever throbbed within the human bosom. Elliot had fallen ill of the jaundice, and having imbibed a very strong dislike to the name of doctor, whether musical or medical, refused the solicitations of his friends to receive a visit from any one of the faculty; to this eccentricity of feeling he added a predilection for curing every disease of the body by the use of simples, decoctions, and fomentations extracted from the musty records of old Culpepper, the English physician. Pursuing this principle, Elliot every day appeared to grow worse, and drooped like the yellow leaf of autumn in its sear; until his friends, alarmed for his safety, sent to Abernethy, determined to take the patient by surprise. Imagine a robust-formed man, sinking under disease and ennui, seated before the fire, at his side a table covered with phials and pipkins, and near him his vade mecum, the renowned Culpepper. A knock is heard at the door. 'Come in!' vociferates the invalid, with stentorian lungs yet unimpaired; and enter John Abernethy, not a little surprised by the ungraciousness of his reception. 'Who are you?' said Elliot in thorough-bass, just inclining his head half round to recognize his visitor, without attempting to rise from his seat: Abernethy appeared astonished, but advancing towards his patient, replied, 'John Abernethy.'

'Elliot. Well, as you are come, I suppose I must give you your fee. (Placing the gold upon the table.)

'Abernethy. Oh yes, I see very well; then tasting some of the liquid in the phials, and observing the source from whence the prescriptions had been extracted, the surgeon arrived at something that was applicable to the disease. Who told you to take this?

'Elliot (reiterating the expression.) Good day! Why, you mean to give me some advice for my money, don't you?

'Abernethy, with the door in his hand. Follow common sense, and you'll do very well.'

"Thus ended the interview between Abernethy and Elliot. It was the old tale of the stammerers personified; for the professional and the patient each conceived the other an imitator. On reaching the ground-floor the surgeon was, however, relieved from his embarrassment by the communication of the good woman of the house, who, in her anxiety to serve Elliot, had produced this extraordinary scene. Abernethy laughed heartily—assured her that the patient would do well—wrote a prescription for him—begged he might hear how he proceeded—and learning he was a professional man, requested the lady of the mansion to return him his fee."

"Ay," said the alderman, "that was just like John Abernethy. I remember when he tapped poor Mrs. Marigold for the dropsy, he was not very tender, to be sure, but he soon put her out of her tortures. And when on his last visit I offered him a second twenty pound note for a fee, I thought he would have knocked me down; asked me if I was the fool that gave him such a sum on a former occasion; threw it back again with indignation, and said he did not rob people in that manner." No professional man does more generous actions than John Abernethy; only it must be after his own fashion.

"Come, gentlemen, the bottle stands still," said Mr. Pendragon, "while you are running through the merits of drinking. Does not Rabelais contend that good wine is the best physic?' because there are more old tipplers than old physicians.' Custom is every thing; only get well seasoned at the first start, and all the rest of life is a summer's scene. Snymdiris the

Sybarite never once saw the sun rise or set during a course of twenty years; yet he lived to a good old age, drank like a centaur, and never went to bed sober."

"I was once an anti-gastronomist and a rigid antisaccharinite; sugar and milk were banished from my breakfast-table, vegetables and puddings my only diet, until I almost ceased to vegetate, and my cranium was considered as soft as a custard; and curst hard it was to cast off all culinary pleasures, sweet reminiscences of my infancy, commencing with our first spoonful of pap, for all young protestants are papists; to this day my heart (like Wordsworth's) overflows at the sight of a pap-boat—the boat a child first mans; to speak naughty-cally, as a nurse would say, how many a row is there in the pap-boat—how many squalls attend it when first it comes into contact with the skull! But I am now grown corpulent; in those days I was a lighter-man, and I believe I should have continued to live (exist) upon herbs and roots; but Dr. Kitchener rooted up all my prejudices, and overturned the whole system of my theory by practical illustrations.

          "Thus he that's wealthy, if he's wise,
          Commands an earthly paradise;
          That happy station nowhere found,
          But where the glass goes freely round.
          Then give us wine, to drown the cares
          Of life in our declining years,
          That we may gain, if Heav'n think fitting,
          By drinking, what was lost by eating:
          For though mankind for that offence
          Were doom'd to labour ever since,
          Yet Mercy has the grape impower'd
          To sweeten what the apple sour'd."

To this good-humoured sally of Pendragon succeeded a long dissertation on meats, which it is not meet I should relate, being for the most part idle conceits of Mr. Galen Cornaro, who carried about him a long list of those prescribed eatables, which engender bile, breed the incubus, and produce spleen, until, according to his bill of fare, he had left himself nothing to subsist upon in this land of plenty but a mutton-chop, or a beef-steak. What pleased me most was, that with every fresh bottle the two disciples of Pythagoras and Abernethy became still more vehement in maintaining the necessity for a strict adherence to the theory of water and vegetable economy; while their zeal had so far blinded their recollection, that when the ladies returned from their walk to join us at tea, they were both "bacchi plenis," as Colman has it, something inclining from a right line, and approaching in its motion to serpentine sinuosities. A few more puns from Mr. Pendragon, and another story from the alderman, about his friend, young Tattersall, employing Scroggins the bruiser, disguised as a countryman to beat an impudent Highgate toll-keeper, who had grossly insulted him, finished the amusements of the day, which Mrs. Marigold and Miss Biddy declared had been spent most delightfully, so rural and entertaining, and withal so economical, that the alderman was induced to promise he would not dine at home again of a Sunday for the rest of the summer. To me, at least, it afforded the charm of novelty; and if to my readers it communicates something of character, blended with pleasure in the perusal, I shall not regret my Sunday trip with the Marigold family and first visit to the

THE STOCK EXCHANGE.

          Have you ever seen Donnybrook fair?
          Or in a caveau spent the night?
          On Waterloo's plains did you dare
          To engage in the terrific fight?
          Has your penchant for life ever led
          You to visit the Finish or Slums,
          At the risk of your pockets and head?
          Or in Banco been fixed by the bums?
          In a smash at the hells have you been,
          When pigeons were pluck'd by the bone?
          Or enjoy'd the magnificent scene
          When our fourth George ascended his throne?
          Have you ever heard Tierney or Canning
          A Commons' division address?
          Or when to the gallery ganging,
          Been floor'd by a rush from the press?
          Has your taste for the fine arte impell'd
          You to visit a bull-bait or fight?
          Or by rattles and charleys propell'd,
          In a watch-house been lodged for the night?
          In a morning at Bow-street made one
          Of a group just to bother sage Birnie?
          Stood the racket, got fined, cut and run,
          Being fleeced by the watch and attorney?
          Or say, have you dined in Guildhall
          With the mayor and his corporate souls?
          Or been squeezed at a grand civic ball,
          With dealers in tallow and coals?
          Mere nothings are these, though the range
          Through all we have noticed you've been,
          When compared to the famed Stock Exchange,
          That riotous gambling scene.

     The unexpected Legacy—Bernard Blackmantle and Bob Transit
     visit Capel Court—Characters in the Stocks—Bulls, Bears
     and Bawds, Brokers, Jews and Jobbers—A new Acquaintance,
     Peter Principal—His Account of the Market—The Royal
     Exchange—Tricks upon Travellers—Slating a Stranger—The
     Hebrew Star and his Satellites—Dividend Hunters and
     Paragraph Writers—The New Bubble Companies—Project
     Extraordinary—Prospectus in Rhyme of the Life, Death,
     Burial, and Resurrection Company—Lingual Localisms of the
     Stock Exchange explained—The Art and Mystery of Jobbing
     exposed—Anecdotes of the House and its Members—Flying a
     Tile—Billy Wright's Brown Pony—Selling a Twister—A Peep
     into Botany Bay—Flats and Flat-catchers—The Rotunda and
     the Transfer Men—How to work the Telegraph—Create a Rise—
     Put on the Pot—Bang down the Market—And waddle out a Lame
     Duck.

A bequest of five hundred pounds by codicil from a rich old aunt had most unexpectedly fallen to my friend Transit, who, quite unprepared for such an overwhelming increase of good fortune, was pondering on the best means of applying this sudden acquisition of capital, when I accidentally paid him a visit in Half-moon Street. "Give me joy, Bernard," said Bob; "here's a windfall;" thrusting the official notice into my hand; "five hundred pounds from an old female miser, who during her lifetime was never known to dispense five farthings for any generous or charitable purpose; but being about to slip her wind and make a wind-up of her accounts, was kind enough to remember at parting that she had a poor relation, an artist, to whom such a sum might prove serviceable, so just hooked me on to the tail end of her testamentary document and booked me this legacy, before she booked herself inside for the other world. And now, my dear Bernard," continued Bob, "you are a man of the world, one who knows

'What's what, and that's as high
As metaphysic wit can fly.'

I am puzzled, actually bewildered what to do with this accumulation of wealth: only consider an eccentric artist with five hundred pounds in his pocket; why it must prove his death-warrant, unless immediate measures are taken to free him from its magical influence. Shall I embark it in some of the new speculations? the Milk company, or the Water company, the Flesh, Fish, or Fowl companies, railways or tunnel-ways, or in short, only put me in the right way, for, at present, I am mightily abroad in that respect." "Then my advice is, that you keep your money at home, or in other words, fund it; unless you wish to be made fun of and laughed at for a milksop, or a bubble merchant, or be taken for one of the Gudgeon family, or a chicken butcher, a member of the Poultry company, where fowl dealing is considered all fair; or become a liveryman of the worshipful company of minors (i.e. miners), where you may be fleeced à la Hayne, by legs, lawyers, bankers and brokers, demireps and contractors'; or, perhaps, you will feel disposed to embark in a new company, of which I have just strung together a prospectus in rhyme: a speculation which has, at least, much of novelty in this country to recommend it, and equally interests all orders of society.

     1 It is not surprising, we see, that lawyers, bankers, and
     brokers are found at the bottom of most of the new schemes.
     Their profits are certain, whatever the fate of the Gudgeon
     family. The brokers, in particular, have a fine harvest of
     it. Their charges being upon the full nominal amount of the
     shares sold, they get twice as much by transferring a single
     100L. share in a speculation, although only 1L. may have
     been paid on it, as by the purchase or sale of 100L.
     consols, of which the price is 94L. Or, to make the matter
     plainer to the uninitiated, suppose an individual wishes to
     lay out 500L. in the stock-market. If he orders his broker
     to purchase into the British funds, the latter will buy him
     about 535L. three per   cent,   consols; and the
     brokerage, at one-eighth per cent, will be about 13s.    But
     if the same person desires to invest the same sum in the
     stock of a new Mine or Rail-road company, which is divided
     into 100L. shares, on each of which say 1L. is paid, and
     there is a premium of 1L. (as is the case at this moment
     with a stock we have in our eye) his broker's account will
     then stand thus:—

     Bought 250 shares in the —— Company.

     First instalment of 1L. paid                      £250   0   0

     Premium L. per share                               250   0   0

                                         500   0   0

     Brokerage £ per cent, on 25,000L. stock             62 10   0

                                         562 10   0

     Which will leave Mr. Adventurer to pay 62L. 10s. to his
     broker, and to pay 99L. more on each of his 250 shares, when
     the———company "call" for it!

     Or, let us reverso the case, and suppose our speculator,
     having been an original subscriber for 100 shares in the
     —— company, and having consequently obtained them for
     nothing, wishes to sell, finding them at a premium of 6s.
     per share, and either fearing they may go lower, or not
     being able to pay even the first instalment called for by
     the directors. If he is an humble tradesman, he is perhaps
     eager to realise a profit obtained without labour, and hugs
     him-self at the idea of the hundred crowns and the hundred
     shillings he shall put into his pocket by this pleasant
     process. Away he posts to Cornhill, searches out a broker,
     into whose hands he puts the letter entitling him to the 100
     shares, with directions to sell at the current premium. The
     broker takes a turn round 'Change, finds a customer, and the
     whole affair is settled in a twinkling, by an entry or two
     in the broker's memorandum-book, and the drawing of a couple
     of cheques. Our fortunate speculator, who is anxiously
     waiting at Batson's the return of his man of business, and
     spending perhaps 3s. 6d. in bad negus and tough sandwiches,
     on the strength of his good luck, is then presented with a
     draft on a banker for 5L. neatly folded up in a small slip
     of foolscap, containing the following satisfactory
     particulars:—

     Sold 100 shares in the———company—nothing paid—prem. 6s. £30

     Brokerage, 1/4 per cent, on 10,000L. stock           25

     By cheque                                             5

     He stares wildly at this document, utterly speechless, for
     five minutes, during which the broker, after saying he shall
     be happy to "do" for him another time, throws a card on the
     table, and exit. The lucky speculator wanders into 'Change
     with the account in his hand, and appeals to several Jews to
     know whether he has not been cheated: some abuse him for the
     insinuation against so "respectable" a man as Mr.——- the
     broker; others laugh in his face; and all together hustle
     him into the street. He goes home richer by 4L.. 16s. 6d.
     than when he went out, and finds that a wealthy customer,
     having called three times in his absence to give him a
     particular order, had just left the shop in a rage, swearing
     he would no longer encourage so inattentive a tradesman.—
     Examiner.

THE LIFE, DEATH, BURIAL, AND RESURRECTION COMPANY.

CAPITAL.—ONE HUNDRED MILLIONS SHARES.—ONE POUND.

          In this age of projectors, when bubbles are spread
          With illusive attractions to bother each head,
          When bulls, bears, jews, and jobbers all quit Capelcourt
          To become speculators and join in the sport,
          Who can wonder, when interest with intellect clashes,
          We should have a new club to dispose of our ashes;
          To rob death of its terrors, and make it delightful
          To give up your breath, and abolish the frightful
          Old custom of lying defunct in your shroud,
          Surrounded by relatives sobbing aloud?
          We've a scheme that shall mingle the "grave with the gay,"
          And make it quite pleasant to die, when you may.
          First, then, we propose with the graces of art,
          Like our Parisian friends, to make ev'ry tomb smart;
          And, by changing the feelings of funeral terrors,
          Remove what remain'd of old Catholic errors.
          Our plan is to blend in the picturesque style
          Smirke, Soane, Nash, and Wyatville all in one pile.
          So novel, agreeable, and grateful our scheme,
          That death will appear like a sweet summer's dream;
          And the horrid idea of a gloomy, cold cell,
          Will vanish like vapours of mist from a dell.

          Thus changed, who'll object a kind friend to inhume,
          When his sepulchre's made like a gay drawing-room 1
          A diversified, soothing commixture of trees,
          Umbrageous and fann'd by the perfumed breeze;
          With alcoves, and bowers, and fish-ponds, and shrubs,
          Select, as in life, from intrusion of scrubs;
          While o'er your last relics the violet-turf press
          Must a flattering promise afford of success.
          "Lie light on him, earth," sung a poet of old;
          Our earth shall be sifted, and never grow cold;
          No rude weight on your chest—how   like ye   our scheme {1}
          Where your grave will   be warm'd by a process of steam,
          Which will boil all the worms and the grubs in their holes,
          And preserve from decay ev'ry part but your souls.
          Our cemetery, centred in fancy's domain,
          Shall by a state edict eternal remain
          To all parties open, the living or dead;
          Or christian, or atheist, here rest their head,
          In a picturesque garden, and deep shady grove,
          Where young love smiles, and fashion delighteth to rove.
          To render the visitors' comforts complete,
          And afford the grieved mourners a proper retreat,
          The directors intend to erect an hotel,
          Where a table d'hôte will be furnished well;
          Not with the "cold meats of a funeral feast,"
          But a banquet that's worthy a nabob at least;
          Of lachryma christi, and fine vin de grave,
          And cordial compounds, a choice you may have.
          Twice a week 'tis proposed to illumine the scene,
          And to waltz and quadrille on the velvety green;
          While Colinet's band and the Opera Corps
          Play and dance with a spirit that's quite con amore,
          A committee of taste will superintend
          The designs and inscriptions to each latter end.

          Take notice, no cross-bones or skulls are allowed,
          Or naked young cherubims riding a cloud;
          In short, no allusions that savour of death,
          Nor aught that reminds of a friend's parting breath.
          The inscriptions and epitaphs, elegies too,
          Must all be poetical, lively, and new;
          Such as never were heard of, or seen heretofore,
          To be written by Proctor, Sam. Rogers, or Moore.
          In lieu of a sermon, glee-singers attend,
          Who will chant, like the cherubims, praise without end.
          Three decent old women, to enliven the hours,
          Attend with gay garlands and sacred flowers,
          The emblems of grief—artificial, 'tis true,
          But very like nature in a general view.
          Lord Graves will preside, and vice-president Coffin
          Will pilot the public into the offing.
          The College of Surgeons and Humane Society
          Have promised to send a delightful variety.
          The Visitors all are physicians of fame;
          And success we may, therefore, dead certainty name.
          To the delicate nervous, who'd wish a snug spot,
          A romantic temple, or moss-cover'd grot,
          Let them haste to John Ebers, and look at the plan;
          Where the grave-book lies open, its merits to scan.
          Gloves, hatbands, and essence of onions for crying,
          White 'kerchiefs and snuff, and a cordial worth trying,
          The attendants   have   ready;   and more—as   time presses,
          No objection to bury you in fancy dresses.
          Our last proposition may frighten you much;
          We propose to reanimate all by a touch,
          By magic revive, if a century old,
          The bones of a father, a friend, or a scold.
          In short, we intend, for all—but a wife,
          To bring whom you please in a moment to life;
          That is, if the shares in our company rise,—
          If not 'tis a bubble, like others, of lies.

          —Bernard Blackmantle.

The recitation of this original jeu d'esprit had, I found, the salutary effect of clearing my friend Transit's vision in respect to the speculation mania; and being by this time fully accoutred and furnished with the possibles, we sallied forth to make a purchase in the public funds. There is something to be gleaned from every event in this life, particularly by the eccentric who is in search of characteristic matter. I had recently been introduced to a worthy but singular personage in the city, Mr. Peter Principal, stock broker, of the firm of Hazard and Co.—a man whose probity was never yet called in question, and who, having realized a large property by the most honourable means, was continually selected as broker, trustee, and executor by all his acquaintance. To him, therefore, I introduced my friend Bob, who being instantly relieved from all his weighty troubles, and receiving in return the bank receipts, we proceeded to explore the regions of Pluto (i.e. the money market), attended by Peter Principal as our guide and instructor. On our entrance into Capel Court we were assailed by a motley group of Jews and Gentiles, inhabitants of Lower Tartary (i.e. Botany Bay{2}), who, suspecting we came there on business, addressed us in a jargon that was completely unintelligible either to Transit or myself. One fellow inquired if I was a bull,{3} and his companion wished to know if Transit was a bear{4}; another eagerly offered to give us five eighths, or sell us, at the same price, for the account'{5}; while a fourth thrust his

     2 A place so named, without the Stock Exchange, where the
     lame ducks and fallen angels of Upper Tartary assemble when
     expelled the house, to catch a hint how the puff's and bangs
     succeed in the private gambling market; when if they can
     saddle their neighbour before he is up to the variation, it
     is thought good jobbing.

     3 Persons that purchase with a view for a rise in the
     funds.

     4 One who sells with a view to a fall in the price of stock.

     5 A certain future day, fixed upon by the Committee of the
     Stock Exchange, for the settlement of time bargains—they
     are usually appointed at an interval of six weeks, and the
     price of stocks on this given day determines the
     speculator's gain or loss.

copper countenance into my face, and offered to do business with me at a fiddle.{6} "Tush, tush," said Peter Principal to the increasing multitude which now barred our passage, "we are only come to take a look, and watch the operation of the market." "Dividend hunters{7} I suppose," said a knowing looking fellow, sarcastically, "ear wigging{8}—Hey, Mr. Principal, something good for the pull out{9}? Well, if the gentlemen wish to put on the pot, although it be for a pony,{10} I'm their man, only a little rasping,{11} you know." To this eloquent appeal succeeded a similar application from a son of Israel, who offered to accommodate us in any way we wished, either for the call{l2} or put{13}; to which friendly offer little Principal put his direct negative, and, after innumerable

     6 When a broker has got money transactions of any conse-
     sequence, as there is no risk in these cases, he will fiddle
     one finger across the other, signifying by this that the
     jobber must give up half the turn of the market price to
     him, which he pockets besides his commission.

     7 Those who suppose by changing stock they get double
     interest, by receiving four dividends in one year instead of
     two; but in this they are deceived, as the jobber, when he
     changes stock, gains the advantage; for instance, if he buys
     consols at sixty, when he sells out there will be deducted
     one and a half per cent. for the dividend.

     8 When bargains are done privately by a whisper, to conceal
     the party's being a bull.

     9 Buying or selling for ready money.

     10 Pony, 25,000L.

     11 Giving greater turns to the jobbers than those regulated
     in the market.

     12 Call. Buying to call more at one-eighth or one-fourth
     above the price on a certain day, if the buyer chooses, and
     the price is in his favour.

     13 Put. Selling to put more to it on a certain day, at
     one-eighth or one-fourth under the market price.

attacks of this sort, we reached the upper end of the court, and found ourselves upon the steps which lead to the regions of Upper Tartary, (i.e.) the Stock Exchange. At this moment our friend Principal was summoned by his clerk to attend some antique spinster, who, having scraped together another hundred, had hobbled down to annex it to her previous amount of consols. "You must not attempt to enter the room by yourselves," said Principal; "but accompany me back to the Royal Exchange, where you can walk and wait until I have completed the old lady's job." While Principal was gone to invest his customer's stock, we amused ourselves with observing the strange variety of character which every where presents itself among the groups of all nations who congregate together in this arena of commerce. Perhaps a more fortunate moment for such a purpose could not have occurred: the speculative transactions of the times had drawn forth a certain portion of the Stock Exchange, gamblers, or inhabitants of Upper Tartary, who, like experienced sharpers of another description, never suffer a good thing to escape them. Capel Court was partially abandoned for exchange bubbles,{14} and new companies opened a new system of fraudulent enrichment for these sharks of the money market.

     14 The speculative mania, which at this time raged with un-
     precedented violence among a large portion of his Majesty's
     liege subjects, gave the "John Bull" a glorious opportunity
     for one of their witty satires, in which the poet has very
     humorously described the

     BUBBLES OF 1825.

     Tune—"Run, neighbours, run."

     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous projects that amuse John Bull;
     Run, take a peep on 'Change, for anxious crowds beset us there,
     Each trying which can make himself the greatest gull.
     No sooner are they puff'd, than a universal wish there is
     For shares in mines, insurances in foreign loans and fisheries.

     No matter where the project lies, so violent the mania,
     In Africa, New Providence, Peru, or Pennsylvania!
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
     Few folks for news very anxious at this crisis are,
     For marriages, and deaths, and births, no thirst exists;
     All take the papers in, to find out what the prices are
     Of shares in this or that, upon the broker's lists.
     The doctor leaves his patient—the pedagogue his Lexicon,
     For mines of Real Monte, or for those of Anglo-Mexican:
     E'en Chili bonds don't cool the rage, nor those still more romantic, sir,
     For new canals to join the seas, Pacific and Atlantic, sir.
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
     At home we have projects too for draining surplus capital,
     And honest Master Johnny of his cash to chouse;
     Though t'other day, Judge Abbott gave a rather sharpish slap at all.
     And Eldon launched his thunder from the upper House.
     Investment banks to lend a lift to people who are undone—
     Proposals for Assurance—there's no end of that, in London;
     And one amongst the number, who in Parliament now press their Bills,
     For lending cash at eight per cent, on coats and inexpressibles.
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
     No more with her bright pails the milkman's rosy daughter works,
     A company must serve you now with milk and cream;
     Perhaps they've some connexion with the advertising water-works,
     That promise to supply you from the limpid stream.
     Another body corporate would fain some pence and shillings get,
     By selling fish at Hungerford, and knocking up old Billingsgate:
     Another takes your linen, when it's dirty, to the suds, sir,
     And brings it home in carriages with four nice bits of blood, sir.
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.

     When Greenwich coaches go by steam on roads of iron railing, sir,
     How pleasant it will be to see a dozen in a line;
     And ships of heavy burden over hills and valleys sailing, sir,
     Shall cross from Bristol's Channel to the Tweed or Tyne.
     And Dame Speculation, if she ever fully hath her ends,
     Will give us docks at Bermondsey, St. Saviour's, and St. Catherine's;
     While side long bridges over mud shall fill the folks with wonder, sir,
     And lamp-light tunnels all day long convey the Cocknies under, sir.
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
     A tunnel underneath the sea, from Calais straight to Dover, sir,
     That qualmish folks may cross by land from shore to shore,
     With sluices made to drown the French, if e'er they would come over, sir,
     Has long been talk'd of, till at length 'tis thought a monstrous bore.
     Amongst the many scheming folks, I take it he's no ninny, sir,
     Who bargains with the Ashantees to fish the coast of Guinea, sir;
     For, secretly, 'tis known, that another brilliant view he has,
     Of lighting up the famous town of Timbuctoo with oil gas.
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull.
     Then a company is form'd, though not yet advertising,
     To build, upon a splendid scale, a large balloon,
     And send up tools and broken stones for fresh Mac-Adamizing
     The new discover'd turnpike roads which cross the moon.
     But the most inviting scheme of all is one proposed for carrying
     Large furnaces to melt the ice which hems poor Captain Parry in;
     They'll then have steam boats twice a week to all the newly-seen land,
     And call for goods and passengers at Labrador and Greenland!
     Run, neighbours, run, you're just in time to get a share
     In all the famous bubbles that amuse John Bull,

High 'Change was a subject full of the richest materials for my friend Bob, who, without knowing more of the characters than their exterior appearances of eccentricity and costume exhibited, proceeded to book, as he termed it, the leading features. Every now and then there was a rush to different parts of the arena, and an appearance of great anxiety among the crowd to catch the attention of a person who flourished a large parchment above their heads with all the pride and importance of a field marshal's baton. This was, I found, no other than the leading agent of some newly projected company, who took this method of indulging the subscribers with shares, or letting the fortunate applicants know how many of these speculative chances the committee had allowed them to possess. The return of little Principal afforded me a key to the surrounding group, without which their peculiar merits would have been lost to the world, or have remained individually unknown, like the profit of many of the modern speculations. "You must not suppose," said Principal, "that great talents make great wealth here, or that honourable conduct and generous feelings command respect—no such thing; men are estimated upon 'Change in proportion to the supposed amount of their property, and rise or fall in the worldly opinion of their associates as prosperity or adversity operates upon the barometer of their fortunate speculations; a lucky hit will cause a dolt to be pointed out as a clever fellow, when, the next turn of the market proving unsuccessful, he is despised and insulted: so much are the frequenters of 'Change influenced by the most sordid and mercenary feelings, that almost all of them are the willing dupes of riches and good fortune. However, as you are strangers here, gentlemen, I will introduce you, entre nous, to a few of the characters who thrive by the destruction of thousands of their fellow-creatures. The bashaw in black yonder, who rests his elephantic trunk against a pillar of the Exchange, with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, is the Hebrew star—the Jewish luminary, a very Shiloh among the peoples of his own persuasion, and, I am sorry to say, much too potent with the orthodox ministers of George the Fourth. The fellow's insolence is intolerable, and his vulgarity and ignorance quite unbearable. He commenced his career in Manchester by vending trinkets and spectacle-cases in the streets of that town, from which station he gradually rose to the important occupation of a dealer in fag ends, from which he ascended to the dignity of a bill-broker, when, having the command of money, and some wealthy Hebrew relatives conveniently distributed over the Continent for the transaction of business, he took up his abode in London, and towards the termination of the late war, when a terrible smash took place among some of his tribe, he found means to obtain their confidence, and having secured, by the aid of spies, the earliest foreign intelligence, he rapidly made a colossal fortune in the British funds, without much risk to himself. It is said he can scarcely write his own name, and it only requires a minute's conversation to inform you of the general ignorance of his mind; in short, he is one of Hazlitt's men, with only one idea, but that one entirely directed to the accumulation of gold. A few years since some of the more respectable members of the Stock Exchange, perceiving the thraldom in which the public funds of the country were held by the tricks and manouvres of the Jew party, determined to make a stand against them: among these was a highly respected member of parliament, a great sporting character, and a very worthy man. His losses proved excessive, but they were promptly paid. In order to weaken his credit, and, if possible, shake his confidence and insult his feelings, the Jew took an opportunity, during High 'Change, of telling him, 'Dat he had got his cote and vaistcote, and he should very soon have his shirt into de bargain:' in this prophecy, however, Mr. Mordecai was mistaken; for the market took a sudden turn, and the gentleman alluded to recovered all his losses in a short time, to the great discomfiture of the high priest and the Jews. In private life he is equally abrupt and vulgar, as the following anecdote will prove, at his own table: A christian broker solicited some trifling favour, observing, he had granted what he then requested to another member of the house, who was his brother-in-law. 'Vary true, vary true,' said Solomon Gruff, as he is sometimes called, 'but then you do not shleep vid my shister, my boy; dat makes all de differance.' At present this fellow's influence is paramount at most of the courts of Europe, at some of which his family enjoy considerable honours; in short, he is the head of the locust tribe, and the leader of that class of speculators whom a witty writer has well described in the following lines, addressed to the landholders:

          'The National Debt may be esteemed a mass
          Of filth which grows corrupter every day;
          And in this heap, as always comes to pass,
          Reptiles and vermin breed, exist, decay.
          'Tis now so huge, that he must be an ass
          Who thinks it ever can be clear'd away:
          And the time's quickly coming, to be candid,
          When funded men will swallow up the landed.
          'Then will these debt-bred reptiles, hungry vermin,
          Fed from the mass corrupt of which I spoke,
          Usurp your place.    A Jew, a dirty German,
          Who has grown rich by many a lucky stroke,
          Shall rule the Minister, and all determined
          To treat your bitter sufferings as a joke.
          Said I, he shall!    It will be nothing new;
          The Treasury now is govern'd by a Jew.'