he marries, and the wife has the honour
of discharging his debts, her fortune proving just sufficient for the
purpose. Then he manages to live a couple of years more on credit, and
retires to one of his Majesty's prisons."

By this time Mr. Safebind made his appearance, and with great politeness
inquired if the Gentlemen were accommodated in the way they wished?
Upon being assured of this, and requested to take a seat, after some
introductory conversation, he gave them the following account of himself
and his business:--

"We have brought nine Gemmen into the house this morning; and, though I
say it, no Gemman goes out that would have any objection to come into it
again."

Tallyho shrugg'd up his shoulders in a way that seemed to imply a doubt.

~381~~ "For," continued he, "a Gemman that is a Gemman shall always find
genteel treatment here. I always acts upon honour and secrecy; and if as
how a Gemman can't bring his affairs into a comfortable shape here, why
then he is convey'd away without exposure, that is, if he understands
things."

With assurances of this kind, the veracity of which no one present could
doubt, they were entertained for some time by their loquacious Host,
who, having the gift of the gab,{1} would probably have continued long
in the same strain of important information; when dinner was placed on
the table, and they fell to with good appetites, seeming almost to have
made use of the customary grace among theatricals.{2}

"The table cleared, the frequent glass goes round, And joke and song and
merriment abound."

"Your house," said Dashall, "might well be termed the Temple of the
Arts, since their real votaries are so frequently its inhabitants."

"Very true, Sir," said Safebind, "and as the Poet observes, it is as
often graced by the presence of the devotees to the Sciences: in point
of company he says we may almost call it multum in parvo, or the Camera
Obscura of Life. There are at this time within these walls, a learned
Alchymist, two Students in Anatomy, and a Physician--a Poet, a Player,
and a Musician. The Player is an adept at mimicry, the Musician a good
player, and the Poet no bad stick at a rhyme; all anxious to turn their
talents to good account, and, when mingled together, productive
of harmony, though the situation they are in at present is rather
discordant to their feelings; but then you know 'tis said, that discord
is the soul of harmony, and they knocked up a duet among them