etor of the ground, from every possessor of a shed or stall, and
from all who take their station as venders in the market, a rent is
payable to his Grace, and collected weekly; considering, therefore,
the vast number of occupants, the aggregate rental must be of the first
magnitude. His Grace is a humane landlord, and his numerous tenantry
of Covent Garden are always ready to join in general eulogium on his
private worth, as is the nation at large on the patriotism of his public
character.

Dashall conducted his friend through every part of the Market, amidst a
redundancy of fruit, flowers, roots and vegetables, native and exotic,
in variety and profusion, exciting the merited admiration of the
Squire, who observed, and perhaps justly, that this celebrated emporium
unquestionably is not excelled by any other of a similar description in
the universe.

1 The late Mr. Christie having at one time a small tract of
land under the hammer, expatiated at great length on its
highly improved state, the exuberant beauties with which
Nature had adorned this terrestrial Paradise, and more
particularly specified a delightful hanging wood.

A gentleman, unacquainted with Mr. Christie's happy talent
at exaggerated description, became the highest bidder, paid
his deposit, and posted down into Essex to examine his new
purchase, when, to his great surprise and disappointment, he
found no part of the description realized, the promised
Paradise having faded into an airy vision, "and left not a
wreck behind!" The irritated purchaser immediately returned
to town, and warmly expostulated with the auctioneer on the
injury he had sustained by unfounded representation; "and as
to a hanging wood, Sir, there is not the shadow of a tree on
the spot!" "I beg your pardon, Sir," said the pertinacious
eulogist, "you must certainly have overlooked the gibbet on
the common, and if that is not a hanging wood, I know not
what it is!"

Another of Mr. Christie's flights of fancy may not unaptly
be termed the puff poetical. At an auction of pictures,
dwelling in his usual strain of eulogium on the unparalleled
excellence of a full-length portrait, without his producing
the desired effect, "Gentlemen," said he, "1 cannot, in
justice to this sublime art, permit this most invaluable
painting to pass from under the hammer, without