ir customers, or the sagacity which
they are able to discover in their heads. There are perhaps as many
Quacks in this profession as in any other," continued Tom, as they
regained Fleet-street; when, perceiving it was half past four o'clock by
St. Dunstan's--"But we must now make the best of our way, or we may be
cut out of the good things of this _Globe_."

"What are so many persons collected together here for?" enquired Bob.

"Merely to witness a little of ingenious machinery. Keep your eye on the
two figures in the front of the church with clubs in their hands."

"I do," said Bob; "but there does not appear to me to be any thing very
remarkable about them."

He scarcely uttered the words, when he observed that these figures
struck their clubs upon the bells which hung between them to denote the
time of day.

"These figures," said Tom, "and the circumstance of giving them motion
every fifteen minutes by the movements of the clock, have attracted a
great deal of notice, particularly among persons from the country, and
at almost every quarter of an hour throughout the day they are honoured
with spectators. The church itself is very ancient, and has been
recently beautified. The _Bell thumpers_, whose abilities you have just
had a specimen of, have been standing there ever since the year 1671."

"It is hard service," said Bob, "and they must certainly deserve a
pension from Government more than many of ~251~~the automatons who are
now in the enjoyment of the national bounties."

"You are right enough," said a Translator of Soles,{1} who had overheard
Bob's last remark, with a pair of old shoes under his arm; "and d----n
me if I would give a pair of _crazy crabshells_{2} without _vamp or
whelt for the whole boiling of 'em_{3}-there is not one on 'em worth a
bloody jemmy."{4}

Upon hearing this from the political Cobbler, a disturbed sort of shout
was uttered by the surrounding spectators, who had rather increased than
diminished in number, to hear the observations of the leathern-lung'd
Orator; when Tom, giving his Cousin a significant pinch of the arm,
impelled him forward, and left them to the enjoyment of their humour.

"Political observations are always bad in the street," said Tom; "it is
a subject upon which scarcely any two persons agree distinctly-_Old Wax
and Bristles_ is about _three sheets in the wind_,{5} and no doubt there
are enough to take advantage of any persons stopping at this time of the
day.