terprise. If it be successful, he never forgets to return for his
share of the spoil; but if it turn out a failure, he generally retires
with remarkable caution and expedition, and keeps carefully aloof until
the affair has blown over. His amorous propensities, too, are eminently
disagreeable; and his mode of addressing ladies in the open street at
noon-day is down-right improper, being usually neither more nor less than
a perceptible tickling of the aforesaid ladies in the waist, after
committing which, he starts back, manifestly ashamed (as well he may be)
of his own indecorum and temerity; continuing, nevertheless, to ogle and
beckon to them from a distance in a very unpleasant and immoral manner.

Is there any man who cannot count a dozen pantaloons in his own social
circle? Is there any man who has not seen them swarming at the west end
of the town on a sunshiny day or a summer's evening, going through the
last-named pantomimic feats with as much liquorish energy, and as total
an absence of reserve, as if they were on the very stage itself? We can
tell upon our fingers a dozen pantaloons of our acquaintance at this
moment--capital pantaloons, who have been performing all kinds of strange
freaks, to the great amusement of their friends and acquaintance, for
years past; and who to this day are making such comical and ineffectual
attempts to be young and dissolute, that all beholders are like to die
with laughter.

Take that old gentleman who has just emerged from the _Cafe de l'Europe_
in the Haymarket, where he has been dining at the expense of the young
man upon town with whom he shakes hands as they part at the door of the
tavern. The affected warmth of that shake of the hand, the courteous
nod, the obvious recollection of the dinner, the savoury flavour of which
still hangs upon his lips, are all characteristics of his great
prototype. He hobbles away humming an opera tune, and twirling his cane
to and fro, with affected carelessness. Suddenly he stops--'tis at the
milliner's window. He peeps through one of the large panes of glass;
and, his view of the ladies within being obstructed by the India shawls,
directs his attentions to the young girl with the band-box in her hand,
who is gazing in at the window also. See! he draws beside her. He
coughs; she turns away from him. He draws near her again; she disregards
him. He gleefully chucks her under the chin, and, retreating a few
steps, nods and beckons