r, who, though an utter barrister, chose to
distinguish himself by wearing an enormous full-bottom wig, in which he
is here represented. He was farther remarkable for a diabolical squint,
and a satanic smile.

A poor maudlin miserable, who is addressing him, when sober, must be a
fool; but, in this state, it would puzzle Lavater to assign him a proper
class. He seems endeavouring to demonstrate to the lawyer, that, in a
poi--poi--point of law, he has been most cruelly cheated, and lost a
cau--cau--cause, that he ought to have got,--and all this was owing to
his attorney being an infernal villain. This may very probably be true;
for the poor man's tears show that, like the person relieved by the good
Samaritan, he has been among thieves. The barrister grins horribly at
his misfortunes, and tells him he is properly punished for not employing
a gentleman.

Next to him sits a gentleman in a black periwig. He politely turns his
back to the company, that he may have the pleasure of smoking a sociable
pipe.

The justice, "in fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,"--the justice,
having hung up his hat, wig, and cloak, puts on his nightcap, and, with
a goblet of superior capacity before him, sits in solemn cogitation. His
left elbow, supported by the table, and his right by a chair, with a
pipe in one hand, and a stopper in the other, he puffs out the bland
vapour with the dignity of an alderman, and fancies himself as great as
Jupiter, seated upon the summit of Mount Olympus, enveloped by the thick
cloud which his own breath has created.

With folded arms and open mouth, another leans back in his chair. His
wig is dropped from his head, and he is asleep; but though speechless,
he is sonorous; for you clearly perceive that, where nasal sounds are
the music, he is qualified to be leader of the band.

The fallen hero, who with his chair and goblet has tumbled to the floor,
by the cockade in his hat, we suppose to be an officer. His forehead is
marked, perhaps with honourable scars. To wash his wounds, and cool his
head, the staggering apothecary bathes it with brandy.

A gentleman in the corner, who, from having the Craftsman and London
Evening in his pocket, we determine to be a politician, very unluckily
mistakes his ruffle for the bowl of his pipe, and sets fire to it.

The person in a bag-wig and solitaire, with his hand upon his head,
would not now pass for a fine gentleman, but in the year 1735 was a
complete beau.