erely to meet and drive up
a mail coach, paying for his own passage, and feeing the coachmen for
their permission. Disguised in a huge white coat, with innumerable capes
and mother o'pearl buttons, he seats himself on the box--Elbows square,
wrists pliant--all right--Hayait--away they go. He takes his glass of
gin and bitters on the ~~344~~~ road--opens the door for the passengers
to get in--with 'now my masters--you please;' and seems quite as much
at home as Mr. Matthews at the Lyceum, with 'all that sort of thing, and
every thing in the world.' He is, however, not singular in his taste,
for many of our hereditary statesmen are to be found among this class,
save and except that he carries his imitations to a farther extent than
any person I ever knew; and it is a fact, that he had one of his fore
teeth punched out, in order to enable the noble aspirant to give the
true coachman's whistle, and to spit in a Jehu-like manner, so as to
project the saliva from his lips, clear of the cattle and traces, into
the hedge on the near side of the road."

"Accomplishments that are truly deserving the best considerations of a
noble mind," rejoined Tallyho.

"And absolutely necessary to the finished gentleman of the present day,
of course," continued Sparkle; "and as I have not had a lounge in these
Corinthian regions for some little time, I am glad to be thus furnished
with a key to characters that may be new to me."

"There is one on the opposite side of the way not altogether new, as he
has made some noise in the world during his time--I mean the gentleman
whose features exhibit so much of the rouge--it is the celebrated Sir
George Skippington, formerly well known in Fop's Alley, and at the
Opera; not so much on account of his elegant person, lively wit,
or polished address, as for his gallantries, and an extraordinary
affectation of dress, approaching very nearly to the ridiculous, the
chief part of his reputation being derived from wearing a pea-green
coat, and pink silk stockings: he has, however, since that time become
a dramatic writer, or at least a manufacturer of pantomime and shew;
and--ah, but see--speaking of writers--here we have a Hook, from which
is suspended a certain scandalous Journal, well known for its dastardly
attacks upon private character, and whose nominal conductors are at this
moment in durance vile; but a certain affair in the fashionable way of
defaulting, has brought him down a peg or two. His ingen