st people do in London,
if they can but entrap attention. Romanis is one of those gentlemen who
has contrived to make some noise in the world by puffing advertisements,
and the circulation of poetical handbills. He formerly kept a very small
shop for the sale of hosiery nearly opposite the East-India House, where
he supplied the Sailors after receiving their pay for a long voyage, as
well as their Doxies, with the articles in which he deals, by obtaining
permission to style himself "Hosier to the Rt. Hon. East India Company."
Since which, finding his trade increase and his purse extended, he has
extended his patriotic views of clothing the whole population of London
by opening shops in various parts, and has at almost all times two or
three depositories for

1 Romanis, the eccentric Hosier, generally places a loom near the door
of his shops decorated with small busts; some of which being attached
to the upper movements of the machinery, and grotesquely attired in
patchwork and feathers, bend backwards and forwards with the motion of
the works, apparently to salute the spectators, and present to the idea
persons dancing; while every passing of the shuttle produces a noise
which may be assimilated to that of the Rattlesnake, accompanied with
sounds something like those of a dancing-master beating time to his
scholars. ~272~~ his stock. At this moment, besides what we have just
seen, there is one in Gracechurch Street, and another in Shoreditch,
where the passengers are constantly assailed by a little boy, who stands
at the door with some bills in his hand, vociferating--Cheap, cheap."

"Then," said Bob, "wherever he resides I suppose may really be called
Cheapside?"

"With quite as much propriety," continued Ton, "as the place we are now
in; for, as the Irishman says in his song,

"At a place called Cheapside they sell every thing dear."

During this conversation, Mortimer, Merrywell, and Harry were amusing
themselves by occasionally addressing the numerous Ladies who were
passing, and taking a peep at the shops--giggling with girls, or
admiring the taste and elegance displayed in the sale of fashionable and
useful articles--justled and impeded every now and then by the throng.
Approaching Bow Church, they made a dead stop for a moment.

"What a beautiful steeple!" exclaimed Bob; "I should, though no
architect, prefer this to any I have yet seen in London."

"Your remark," replied Dashall, "does credit to