1 "Mother Goose," formerly a procuress, and one of the
     most abandoned of her profession. When from her advanced
     age, and the loss of her eye-sight, she could no longer
     obtain money by seducing females from the path of virtue,
     she married a man of the name of H., (commonly called
     Gentleman H.) and for years was led by him to the students'
     apartments in the different colleges with baskets of the
     choicest flowers. Her ancient, clean, and neat appearance,
     her singular address, and, above all, the circumstance of
     her being blind, never failed of procuring her at least ten
     times the price of her posy, and which was frequently
     doubled when she informed the young gentlemen of the
     generosity, benevolence, and charity of their grandfathers,
     fathers, or uncles whom she knew when they were at college.
     She had several illegitimate children, all females, and all
     were sacrificed by their unnatural mother, except one, who
     was taken away from her at a very tender age by the child's
     father's parents. When of age, this child inherited her
     father's property, and is now (I believe) the wife of an
     Irish nobleman, and to this time is unconscious that Mother
     Goose, of Oxford, gave her birth. The person who was
     instrumental in removing the child is still living in
     Oxford, and will testify to the authenticity of the fact
     here related. His present majesty never passed through
     Oxford without presenting Mother Goose with a donation, but
     of course without knowing her early history.

     General Views of the Author relative to Subject and Style—
     Time and Place—Perspective Glimpse of the great City—The
     Approach—Cockney Salutations—The Toll House—Western
     Entrance to Cockney Land—Hyde Park—Sunday Noon—
     Sketches of Character, Costume, and Scenery—The Ride and
     Drive—Kensington Gardens—Belles and Beaux—Stars and
     Fallen Stars—Singularities of 1824—Tales of Ton—On Dits
     and Anecdotes—Sunday Evening—High Life and Low Life, the
     Contrast—Cockney Goths—Notes, Biographical, Amorous, and
     Exquisite.

          Its wealth and fashion, wit and folly,
          Pleasures, whims, and melancholy:
          Of all the charming belles and beaux
          Who line the parks, in double rows;
          Of princes, peers, their equipage,
          The splendour of the present age;
          Of west-end fops, and crusty cits,
          Who drive their gigs, or sport their tits;
          With all the groups we mean to dash on
          Who form the busy world of fashion:
          Proceeding onwards to the city,
          With sketches, humorous and witty.
          The man of business, and the Change,
          Will come within our satire's range:
          Nor rank, nor order, nor condition,
          Imperial, lowly, or patrician,
          Shall, when they see this volume, cry—
          "The satirist has pass'd us by,"
          But with good humour view our page
          Depict the manners of the age.
          Our style shall, like our subject, be
          Distinguished by variety;
          Familiar, brief we could say too—
          (It shall be whimsical and new),
          But reader that we leave to you.

          'Twas morn, the genial sun of May
          O'er nature spread a cheerful ray,
          When Cockney Land, clothed in her best,
          We saw, approaching from the west,
          And 'mid her steeples straight and tall
          Espied the dome of famed St. Paul,
          Surrounded with a cloud of smoke
          From many a kitchen chimney broke;
          A nuisance since consumed below
          By bill of Michael Angelo.{1}
          The coach o'er stones was heard to rattle,

     1 M. A. Taylor's act for compelling all large factories,
     which have steam and other apparatus, to consume their own
     smoke.

          The guard his bugle tuned for battle,
          The horses snorted with delight,
          As Piccadilly came in sight.
          On either side the road was lined
          With vehicles of ev'ry kind,
          And as the rapid wheel went round,
          There seem'd scarce room to clear the ground.
          "Gate-gate-push on—how do—well met—
          Pull up—my tits are on the fret—
          The number—lost it—tip then straight,
          That covey vants to bilk the gate."
          The toll-house welcome this to town.
          Your prime, flash, bang up, fly, or down,
          A tidy team of prads,—your castor's
          Quite a Joliffe tile,—my master.
          Thus buck and coachee greet each other,
          And seem familiar as a brother.
          No Chinese wall, or rude barrier,
          Obstructs the view, or entrance here;
          Nor fee or passport,—save the warder,
          Who draws to keep the roads in order;
          No questions ask'd, but all that please
          May pass and repass at their ease.

          In cockney land, the seventh day
          Is famous for a grand display
          Of modes, of finery, and dress,
          Of cit, west-ender, and noblesse,
          Who in Hyde Park crowd like a fair
          To stare, and lounge, and take the air,
          Or ride or drive, or walk, and chat
          On fashions, scandal, and all that.—
          Here, reader, with your leave, will we
          Commence our London history.
          'Twas Sunday, and the park was full
          With Mistress, John, and Master Bull,
          And all their little fry.
          The crowd pour in from all approaches,
          Tilb'ries, dennets, gigs, and coaches;

          The bells rung merrily.
          Old dowagers, their fubsy faces{2}
          Painted to eclipse the Graces,
          Pop their noddles out
          Of some old family affair
          That's neither chariot, coach, or chair,
          Well known at ev'ry rout.
          But bless me, who's that coach and six?
          "That, sir, is Mister Billy Wicks,
          A great light o' the city,
          Tallow-chandler, and lord mayor{3};
          Miss Flambeau Wicks's are the fair,
          Who're drest so very pretty.
          It's only for a year you know
          He keeps up such a flashy show;
          And then he's melted down.
          The man upon that half-starved nag{4}
          Is an Ex-S———ff, a strange wag,
          Half flash, and half a clown.
          But see with artful lures and wiles
          The Paphian goddess, Mrs. G***s,{5}

     2 There are from twenty to thirty of these well known relics
     of antiquity who regularly frequent the park, and attend all
     the fashionable routs,—perfumed and painted with the
     utmost extravagance: if the wind sets in your face, they may
     be scented at least a dozen carriages off.

     3 It is really ludicrous to observe the ridiculous pride of
     some of these ephemeral things;—during their mayoralty, the
     gaudy city vehicle with four richly caparisoned horses is
     constantly in the drive, with six or eight persons crammed
     into it like a family waggon, and bedizened out in all the
     colours of the rainbow;—ask for them six months after, and
     you shall find them more suitably employed, packing rags,
     oranges, or red herrings.

     4 This man is such a strange compound of folly and
     eccentricity, that he is eternally in hot water with some
     one or other.

     5  Mrs. Fanny G-1-s, the ci-devant wife of a corn merchant,
     a celebrated courtezan, who sports a splendid equipage, and
     has long figured upon town as a star of the first order in
     the Cyprian hemisphere. She has some excellent qualities,
     as poor M————-n can vouch; for when the fickle goddess
     Fortune left him in the lurch, she has a handsome annuity
     from a sporting peer, who was once the favoured swain.

          From out her carriage peeps;
          She nods to am'rous Mrs. D——-,{6}
          Who bends with most sublime congee,
          While ruin'd—————-sleeps.
          Who follows 1 'tis the hopeful son
          Of the proud Earl of H—————-n,
          Who stole the parson's wife.{7}
          The Earl of H—————-and flame,
          For cabriolets she's the dame,{8}
          A dasher, on my life.
          Jack T——-1 shows his pleasant face{9};
          A royal likeness here you'll trace,
          You'd swear he was a Guelph.
          See Lady Mary's U———walk,{10}
          And though but aide-de-camp to York,
          An Adonis with himself,

     6  Mrs. D————-, alias Mrs. B-k-y, alias Miss Montague,
     the wife of poor Jem B-k-y, the greater his misfortune,—a
     well known Paphian queen, one of five sisters, who are all
     equally notorious, and whose history is well known. She is
     now the favoured sultana of a ci-devant banker, whose name
     she assumes, to the disgrace of himself and family.

     7  The clerical cornuto recovered, in a crim. con. action,
     four thousand pounds for the loss of his frail rib, from
     this hopeful sprig of nobility.

     8  Mrs. S———, a most voluptuous lady, the discarded chère
     amie of the late Lord F-1-d, said to be the best carriage
     woman in the park: she lies in the Earl of H———-
     —'s cabriolet most delightfully stretched out at full
     length, and in this elegant posture is driven through the
     park.

     9  Captain T———l of the guards, whose powerful similitude
     to the reigning family of England is not more generally
     admitted than his good-humoured qualities are universally
     admired.

     10 The Hon. General U————-, aide-de-camp to the Duke of
     York, whose intrigue with Lady Mary——————was, we have
     heard, a planned affair to entrap a very different person.
     Be that as it may, it answered the purpose, and did not
     disturb the friendship of the parties. The honourable
     general has obtained the appellation of the Park Adonis,
     from his attractive figure and known gallantries.

          A—————-y mark, a batter'd beau,{11}
          Who'll still the fatal dice-box throw
          Till not a guinea's left.
          Beyond's the brothers B——-e,{12}
          Of gold and acres quite as free,
          By gaming too bereft.
          Here trips commercial dandy Ra-k-s,{13}

     11   Lord A———y, the babe of honour—once the gayest of
     the gay, where fashion holds her bright enchanting court;
     now wrinkled and depressed, and plucked of every feather, by
     merciless Greek banditti. Such is the infatuation of play,
     that he still continues to linger round the fatal table, and
     finds a pleasure in recounting his enormous losses. A—-y,
     who is certainly one of the most polished men in the
     world, was the leader of the dandy club, or the unique four,
     composed of Beau Brummell, Sir Henry Mildmay, and Henry
     Pierrepoint, the Ambassador, as he is generally termed. When
     the celebrated dandy ball was given to his Majesty (then
     Prince of Wales), on that occasion the prince seemed
     disposed to cut Brummell, who, in revenge, coolly
     observed to A———y, when he was gone,—"Big Ben was vulgar
     as usual." This was reported at Carlton House, and led to
     the disgrace of the exquisite.—Shortly afterwards he met the
     Prince and A———y in public, arm in arm, when the former,
     desirous of avoiding him, quitted the baron: Brummell, who
     observed his motive, said loud enough to be heard by the
     prince,—"Who is that fat friend of yours?" This expression
     sealed his doom; he was never afterwards permitted the
     honour of meeting the parties at the palace. The story of
     "George, ring the bell," and the reported conduct of the
     prince, who is said to have obeyed the request and ordered
     Mr. Brummell's carriage, is, we have strong reasons for
     thinking, altogether a fiction: Brummell knew the dignity of
     his host too well to have dared such an insult. The king
     since generously sent him 300L. when he heard of his
     distress at Calais. Brummell was the son of a tavern-keeper
     in St. James's, and is still living at Calais.

     12 The brothers are part of a flock of R———r geese, who
     have afforded fine plucking for the Greeks. Parson Ambrose,
     the high priest of Pandemonium, had a leg of one and a wing
     of the other devilled for supper one night at the Gothic
     Hall. They have cut but a lame figure ever since.

     13 A quaint cognomen given to the city banker by the west-
     end beaux;—he is a very amiable man.

          Who never plays for heavy stakes,
          But looks to the main chance.
          There's Georgy W-b-ll, all the go,{14}
          The mould of fashion,—the court beau,
          Since Brummell fled to France:
          His bright brass harness, and the gray,
          The well known black cabriolet,
          Is always latest there;
          The reason,—George, with Captain P———
          The lady-killing coterie,
          Come late—to catch the fair.
          See W-s-r, who with pious love,{15}
          For her, who's sainted now above,
          A sister kindly takes;
          So, as the ancient proverb tells,
          "The best of husbands, modern belles,
          Are your reformed rakes."
          In splendid mis'ry down the ride
          Alone,—see ****** lady glide,{16}
          Neglected for a————.
          What's fame, or titles, wealth's increase,
          Compared unto the bosom's peace?
          They're bubbles,—nothing more.

     14 George, although a roué of the most superlative order,
     is not deficient in good sense and agreeable qualifications.
     Since poor Beau Brummell's removal from the hemisphere of
     fashion, George has certainly shone a planet of the first
     magnitude: among the fair he is also considered like his
     friend, Captain P-r-y, a perfect lady-killer:—many a little
     milliner's girl has had cause to regret the seductive notes
     of A.Z.B. Limmer's Hotel.

     15 The Marquis of W-c-t-r has, since his first wife's death,
     married her sister.—Reformation, we are happy to perceive,
     is the order of the day. The failure of Howard and Gibbs
     involved more than one noble family in embarrassments.

     16 The amours of this child of fortune are notorious both on
     the continent and in this country. It is very often the
     misfortune of great men to be degraded by great profligacy
     of conduct: the poor lady is a suffering angel.

          Observe yon graceful modest group{17}
          Who look like chaste Diana's troop,
          The Ladies Molineaux;
          With Sefton, the Nimrod of peers,
          As old in honesty,—as years,
          A stanch true buff' and blue.
          "What portly looking man is that
          In plain blue coat,—to whom each hat
          Is moved in ride and walk!"
          That pleasant fellow, be it known,
          Is heir presumptive to the throne,
          'Tis Frederick of York.{18}
          A better, kinder hearted soul
          You will not And, upon the whole,
          Within the British isle.
          But see where P-t's wife appears,{19}
          Who changed, though rather late in years,
          For honest George Ar-le.
          Now by my faith it gives me pain

     17  The female branches of the Sefton family are superior to
     the slightest breath of calumny, and present an example to
     the peerage worthy of more general imitation.

     18  No member of the present royal family displays more
     agreeable qualifications in society than the heir
     presumptive.—Un-affected, affable, and free, the duke may be
     seen daily pacing St. James's-street, Pall-mall, or the
     Park, very often wholly un-attended: as his person is
     familiar to the public, he never experiences the slightest
     inconvenience from curiosity, and he is so generally
     beloved, that none pass him who know him without paying
     their tribute of respect. In all the private relations of
     life he is a most estimable man,—in his public situation
     indefatigable, prompt, and attentive to the meanest applica-
     tion.

     19  A more lamentable instance of the profligacy of the age
     cannot be found than in the history of the transaction which
     produced this exchange of wives and persons. A wag of the
     day published a new list of promotions headed as follows,—
     Lady B———n to be Lady A———r P-t,—by exchange—Lady P-t
     to be Duchess of A———e,—by promotion—Lady Charlotte W—y
     to be Lady P-t, vice Lady P-t, promoted.

          To see thee, cruel Lady J-,{20}
          Regret the golden Ball.
          Tis useless now:—"the fox and grapes"
          Remember, and avoid the apes
          Which wait an old maid's fall.
          Gay lady H——-e's twinkling star{21}

     20  It is not long since that, inspired by love or ambition,
     a wealthy commoner sought the promise of the fair hand of
     Lady J-, nor was the consent of her noble father (influenced
     by certain weighty reasons*) wanting to complete the
     anticipated happiness of the suitor.—All the preliminary
     forms were arranged,—jointure and pin money liberally
     fixed,—some legal objections as to a covenant of forfeiture
     overcame, a suitable establishment provided. The happy day
     was fixed, when—"mark inconstant fickle woman"—the evening
     previous to completion (to the surprise of all the town),
     she changed her mind; she had reconsidered the subject!—The
     man was wealthy, and attractive in person; but then—
     insupportable objection—he was a mere plebeian, a common
     esquire, and his name was odious,—Lady J- B-1,—she could
     never endure it: the degrading thought produced a fainting
     fit,—the recovery a positive refusal,—the circumstance a
     week's amusement to the fashionable world. Reflection and
     disappointment succeeded, and a revival was more than once
     spoken of; but the recent marriage of the bachelor put an
     end to all conjecture, and the poor lady was for some time
     left to bewail in secret her single destiny. Who can say,
     when a lady has the golden ball at her foot, where she may
     kick it? Circumstances which have occurred since the above
     was written prove that the lady has anticipated our advice.

     21  Her ladyship's crimson vis-à-vis and her tall footman
     are both highly attractive—there are no seats in the
     vehicle—the fair owner reclines on a splendid crimson velvet
     divan or cushion. She must now be considered a beauty of the
     last century, being already turned of fifty: still she
     continued to flourish in the annals of—fashion, until
     within the last few years; when she ceased to go abroad for
     amusement, finding it more convenient to purchase it at
     home. As her parties in Grosvenor-square are of the most
     splendid description, and her dinners (where she is the
     presiding deity, and the only one) are frequent, and
     unrivalled for a display of the "savoir vivre," her ladyship
     can always draw on the gratitude of her guests for that
     homage to hospitality which she must cease to expect to her
     charms, "now in the sear and yellow leaf:"—she is a M-nn-
     rs-"verbum sal." Speaking of M-nn-ra, where is the portly
     John (the Regent's double, as he was called some few years
     since), and the amiable duchess, who bestowed her hand and
     fortune upon him?—but, n'importe.

     * The marquis is said to have shown some aversion in the
     first instance, till H-s B-1 sent his rent roll for his
     inspection: this was immediately returned with a very
     satisfactory reply, but accompanied with a more embarrassing
     request, namely, a sight of his pedigree.

          Glimmers in eclipse,—afar's
          The light of former time.
          In gorgeous pride and vis-à-vis,{22}
          A-b-y's orange livry see,
          The gayest in the clime.
          Camac and wife, in chariot green,
          Constant as turtle-doves are seen,
          With two bronze slaves behind;
          Next H-tf-d's comely, widow'd dame,{23}
          With am'rous G———, a favourite name,
          When G———was true and kind.

     22   "The gorgeous A-b-y in the sun-flower's pride." This
     lady's vis-à-vis by far the most splendidly rich on town.
     Her footmen (of which there are four on drawing-room days)
     are a proper emblem of that gaudy flower—bright yellow
     liveries, black lower garments, spangled and studded. There
     is a general keeping in this gorgeous equipage, which is
     highly creditable to the taste of the marchioness, for the
     marquis, "good easy man," (though a Bruce), he is too much
     engaged preserving his game at Ro-er-n park, and keeping up
     the game in St. Stephen's (where his influence is
     represented by no less than eight "sound men and true"), to
     attend to these trifling circumstances. This, with a well
     paid rental of upwards of £100,000 per annum, makes the life
     of this happy pair pass in an uninterrupted stream of
     fashionable felicity.

     23  The marchioness is said to bear the neglect of a certain
     capricious friend with much cool philosophy. Soon after the
     intimacy had ceased, they met by accident. On the sofa, by
     the side of the inconstant, sat the reigning favourite; the
     marchioness placed herself (uninvited) on the opposite side:
     astonishment seized the ****; he rose, made a very graceful
     bow to one of the ladies, and coolly observed to the
     marchesa—"If this conduct is repeated, I must decline
     meeting you in public."   This was the cut royal.

          See S-b-y's peeress, whom each fool
          Of fashion meets in Sunday school,{24}
          To chat in learned lore;
          Where rhyming peers, and letter'd beaus,
          Blue stocking belles to love dispose,
          And wit is deem'd a bore.
          With brave Sir Ronald, toe to toe,
          See Mrs. M-h-l A-g-lo,{25}
          Superb equestriana.
          Next—that voluptuous little dame,{26}
          Who sets the dandy world in flame,
          The female Giovanni.
          Erin's sprightly beauteous belle,
          Gay Lady G-t-m, and her swell
          The Yorkshire Whiskerandoes.{27}

     24 The dulness of the marchioness's Sunday evening conver-
     saziones have obtained them the fashionable appellation of
     the Sunday-school. Lord Byron thought it highly dangerous
     for any wit to accept a second invitation, lest he should be
     inoculated with ennui.

     23 Mrs. M- A-g-e, a very amiable and accomplished woman,
     sister to Sir H-y V-ne T-p-t. She is considered the best
     female equestrian in the ride.

     26  A consideration for the delicacy of our fair readers
     will not allow us to enter upon the numerous amours of this
     favourite of Apollo and the Muses, and not less celebrated
     intriguant. She may, however, have ample justice entailed
     upon her under another head. Latterly, since the police have
     been so active in suppressing the gaming houses, a small
     party have met with security and profit for a little chicken
     hazard in Curzon-street, at which Mr. C-t has occasionally
     acted as croupier and banker. Elliston used to say, when
     informed of the sudden indisposition or absence of a certain
     little actress and singer-"Ay, I understand; she has a more
     profitable engagement than mine this evening." The amorous
     trio, Cl-g-t, Charles H-r-s, and the exquisite Master G-e,
     may not have cause to complain of neglect. The first of
     these gentlemen has lately, we understand, been very
     successful at play; we trust experience will teach him
     prudence.

     27  His lordship commands the York hussars, in defence of
     whose whiskers he sometime since made a Quixotic attack upon
     a public writer. As he is full six feet high, and we are not
     quite five, prudence bids us place our finger on our lip.

          Pale Lambton, he who loves and hates
          By turns, what Pitts, or Pit, creates,
          Led by the Whig fandangoes.
          Sound folly's trumpet, fashion's drums,—
          Here great A———y W———ce comes,{28}
          'Mong tailors, a red button.
          With luminarious nose and cheeks,
          Which love of much good living speaks,
          Observe the city glutton:
          Sir W-m, admiral of yachts,
          Of turtles, capons, port, and pots,
          In curricle so big.
          Jack F-r follows;—Jack's a wag,{29}

     28  A———y W———o, Esq. otherwise the renowned Billy
     Button, the son and heir to the honours, fortune, and
     shopboard of the late Billy Button of Bedford-street, Covent
     Garden. The latter property he appears to have transferred
     to the front of the old brown landau, where the aged
     coachman, with nose as flat as the ace of clubs, sits,
     transfixed and rigid as the curls of his caxon, from three
     till six every Sunday evening, urging on a cabbage-fed pair
     of ancient prods, which no exertion of the venerable Jehu
     has been able for the last seven years to provoke into a
     trot from Hyde park gate to that of Cumberland and back
     again. The contents of the vehicle are equally an
     exhibition. Billy, with two watches hung by one chain,
     undergoing the revolutionary movements of buckets in a
     well, and his eye-glass set round with false pearls, are
     admirably "en suite" with his bugle optics. The frowsy
     madam in faded finery, with all the little Buttons, attended
     by a red-haired poor relation from Inverness (who is at once
     their governess and their victim), form the happy tenantry
     of this moving closet. No less than three, crests surmount
     the arms of this descendant of Wallace the Great. A waggish
     Hibernian, some few months since, added a fourth, by
     chalking a goose proper, crested with a cabbage, which was
     observed and laughed at by every one in the park except the
     purblind possessor of the vehicle, who was too busy in
     looking at himself.

     29  Honest Jack is no longer an M.P., to the great regret of
     the admirers of senatorial humours. Some few years since,
     being Btuehi plenus, he reeled into St. Stephen's chapel a
     little out of a perpendicular; when the then dignified Abbot
     having called him to order, he boldly and vociferously
     asserted that "Jack F-r of Rose-Hill was not to be set down
     by any little fellow in a wig. "This offence against the
     person and high office of the Abbot of St. Stephen's brought
     honest Jack upon his knees, to get relieved from a
     troublesome serjeant attendant of the chapel. Knowing his
     own infirmities, and fearing perhaps that he might be com-
     pelled to make another compulsory prayer, Jack resigned his
     pretensions to senatorial honors at the last general
     election. His chief amusement, when in town, is the watching
     and tormenting the little marchandes des modes who cross
     over or pass in the neighbourhood of Regent-street—he is,
     however, perfectly harmless. 30 An unlucky accident,
     occasioned by little Th-d the wine merchant overturning F-z-y
     in his tandem, compelled the latter to sell out of the
     army, but not without having lost a leg in the service. A
     determined patriot, he was still resolved to serve his
     country. A barrister on one leg might be thought ominous of
     his client's cause, or afford food for the raillery of his
     opponent. The bar was therefore rejected. But the church
     opened her arms to receive the dismembered son of Mars (a
     parson with a cork leg, or two wooden ones, or indeed
     without a leg to stand on, was not un-orthodox), and F-z-y
     was soon inducted to a valuable benefice. He is now, we
     believe, a pluralist, and, if report be true, has shown
     something of the old soldier in his method of retaining
     them. F-y married Miss Wy-d-m, the daughter of Mrs. H-s, who
     was the admired of his brother, L-d P-. He is generally
     termed the fighting parson, and considered one of the best
     judges of a horse in town: he sometimes does a little
     business in that way among the young ones.

          A jolly dog, who sports his nag,
          Or queers the Speaker's wig:
          To Venus, Jack is stanch and true;
          To Bacchus pays devotion too,
          But likes not bully Mars.
          Next him, some guardsmen, exquisite,-
          A well-dress'd troop;—but as to fight,
          It may leave ugly scars.
          Here a church militant is seen,{30}
          Who'd rather fight than preach I ween,
          Once major, now a parson;
          With one leg in the grave, he'll laugh,
          Chant up a pard, or quaintly chaff,
          To keep life's pleasant farce on.

          Lord Arthur Hill his Arab sports,
          And gentle-usher to the courts:
          See Horace and Kang C-k,{31}
          Who, with the modern Mokamna
          C-m-e, must ever bear the sway
          For ugliness of look.
          A pair of ancients you may spy,{32}
          Sir Edward and Sir Carnaby,
          From Brighton just set free;
          The jesters of our lord the king,
          Who loves a joke, and aids the thing
          In many a sportive way.
          A motley group come rattling on,{33}

     31 Horace S-y-r, gentleman usher to the king, and K-g C-k,
     said to be the ugliest man in the British army: in the park
     he is rivalled only by C-c. For the benefit of all the
     married ladies, we would recommend both of these
     singularities to wear the veil in public.

     32 Sir Ed-d N-g-e. His present majesty is not less fond of a
     pleasant joke than his laughter-loving predecessor, Charles
     II. The Puke of Clarence, while at the Pavilion (a short
     time since), admired a favourite grey pony of Sir E-d N-e's;
     in praise of whose qualities the baronet was justly liberal.
     After the party had returned to the palace, the duke, in
     concert with the k-g, slily gave directions to have the pony
     painted and disfigured (by spotting him with water colour
     and attaching a long tail), and then brought on the lawn. In
     this state he was shown to Sir E—, as one every way
     superior to his own. After examining him minutely, the old
     baronet found great fault with the pony; and being, at the
     duke's request, induced to mount him, objected to all his
     paces, observing that he was not half equal to his grey. The
     king was amazingly amused with the sagacity of the good-
     humoured baronet, and laughed heartily at the astonishment
     he expressed when convinced of the deception practised upon
     him. Sir C-n-y H-s-ne, although a constant visitor at the
     Pavilion, is not particularly celebrated for any attractive
     qualification, unless it be his unlimited love of little
     ladies. He is known to all the horse dealers round London,
     from his constant inquiries for a "nice quiet little horse
     to carry a lady;" but we never heard of his making a
     purchase.

     33 The middle order of society was formerly in England the
     most virtuous of the three—folly and vice reared their
     standard and recruited their ranks in the highest and the
     lowest; but the medium being now lost, all is in the
     extreme. The superlative dandy inhabitant of a first floor
     from the ground in Bond-street, and the finished inhabitant
     of a first floor from heaven (who lives by diving) in Fleet-
     street, are in kindness and habits precisely the same.

          Who ape the style and dress of ton,
          And Scarce are worth review;
          Yet forced to note the silly elves,
          Who take such pains to note themselves,
          We'll take a name or two.
          H-s-ly, a thing of shreds and patches,{34}
          Whose manners with his calling matches,
          That is, he's a mere goose.
          Old St-z of France, a worthy peer,
          From shopboard rais'd him to a sphere
          Of ornament and use.
          The double dandy, fashion's fool,
          The lubin log of Liverpool,
          Fat Mister A-p-ll,
          Upon his cob, just twelve hands high,
          A mountain on a mouse you'll spy
          Trotting towards the Mall.
          Sir *——-*-, the chicken man,{35}

     34 Young Priment, as he is generally termed, the once
     dashing foreman and cutter out, now co-partner of the
     renowned Baron St-z, recently made a peer of France. Who
     would not be a tailor (St-z has retired with a fortune of
     £100,000. )! Lord de C-ff-d, some time since objecting to
     certain items in his son's bill from St-z, as being too
     highly charged, said, "Tell Mr. S- I will not pay him, if it
     costs me a thousand pounds to resist it. " St-z, on hearing
     this, said, "Tell his lordship that he shall pay the
     charge, if it costs me ten thousand to make him." H-s-ly
     with some little satisfaction was displaying to a customer
     the Prince of C-b-g's bill for three months (on the occasion
     of his Highness's new field-marshal's suit, we suppose):
     "Here," said he, "see what we have done for him: his
     quarter's tailor's bill now comes to more than his annual
     income formerly amounted to." Mr. H-s-ly sports a bit of
     blood, a dennet, and a filly; and, for a tailor, is a
     superfine sort of dandy, but with a strong scent of the shop
     about him.

     35 The redoubtable general's penchant for little girls has
     obtained him the tender appellation of the chicken man.
     Many of these petits amours are carried on in the assumed
     name of Sir Lewis N-t-n, aided by the skill and ingenuity
     of Captain *-.    Youth may plead whim and novelty for low
     intrigue; but the aged beau can only resort to it from
     vitiated habit.

          With pimp *-a-t in the van,
          The Spy of an old Spy;
          Who beat up for recruits in town,
          Mong little girls, in chequer'd gown,
          Of ages rather shy.
          That mild, complacent-looking face,{36}
          Who sits his bit of blood with grace,
          Is tragic Charley Young:
          With dowager savant a beau,
          Who'll spout, or tales relate, you know,
          Nobility among.
          "Sure such a pair was never seen"
          By nature form'd so sharp and keen
          As H-ds-n and Jack L-g;
          Or two who've play'd their cards so well,
          As many a pluck'd roué can tell,
          Whose purses once were strong:
          Both deal in pipes—and by the nose
          Have led to many a green horn's woes
          A few gay bucks to Surrey,
          Where Marshal Jones commands in chief
          A squadron, who to find relief
          Are always in a hurry.
          They're folloiv'd by a merry set—
          Cl-m-ris, L-n-x, young B-d-t,
          Whom they may shortly follow.
          That tall dismember'd dandy mark,
          Who strolls dejected through the park,
          With cheeks so lank and hollow;
          That's Badger B-t-e, poet A—
          The mighty author of "To-day,"

     36 This truly respectable actor is highly estimated among a
     large circle of polished society; where his amusing talents
     and gentlemanly demeanour render him a most entertaining
     and agreeable companion.

          Forgotten of "To-morrow;"
          A superficial wit, who 'll write
          For Shandy little books of spite,
          When cash he wants to borrow.
          The pious soul who 's driving by,
          And at the poet looks so shy,
          Is parson A- the gambler;{37}
          His deaf-lugg'd daddy a known blade
          In Pandemonium's fruitful trade,
          'Mong Paphians a rambler.
          Augusta H-ke (or C-i) moves
          Along the path—her little doves—
          Decoys, upon each arm.
          Where 's Jehu Martin, four-in-hand,
          An exile in a foreign land
          From fear of legal charm.
          A pensioner of Cyprian queen,
          The Bond-street tailor here is seen,
          The tally-ho so gay.
          Next P———s,{38} who by little goes,

     37 The parson is so well known, and has been so plentifully
     be-spattered on all sides, that we shall, with true orthodox
     charity, leave him with a strong recommendation to the
     notice of the society for the suppression of vice, with this
     trite remark, "Vide hic et ubique."

     38 This man, who is now reported to be worth three hundred
     thousand pounds, was originally a piece-broker in Bedford-
     bury, and afterwards kept a low public house in Vinegar-
     yard, Drury-lane; from whence he merged into an illegal
     lottery speculation in Northumberland-street, Strand, where
     he realized a considerable sum by insurances and little
     goes; from this spot he was transplanted to Norris-street,
     in the Haymarket, managing partner in a gaming-house, when,
     after a run of ill luck, an affair occurred that would have
     occasioned some legal difficulty but for the oath of a
     pastry-cook's wife, who proved an alibi, in return for which
     act of kindness he afterwards made her his wife. Obtaining
     possession of the rooms in Pall-Mall (then the celebrated
     E. O. tables, and the property of W-, the husband, by a sham
     warrant), the latter became extremely jealous; and, to make
     all comfortable, our hero, to use his own phrase, generously
     bought the mure and coll.—Mrs. W—and her son—both since
     dead: the latter rose to very high rank in an honourable
     profession. The old campaigner has now turned pious, and
     recently erected and endowed a chapel. He used to boast he
     had more promissory notes of gambling dupes than would be
     sufficient to cover the whole of Pall-Mall; he may with
     justice add, that he can command bank notes enough to cover
     Cavendish-square.