lass. Young
Scott found that when asked a question the lad alluded to was in the
habit of fumbling one peculiar button. Scott cut off that button. The
next time the poor fellow was asked a question, as usual he put his hand
to fumble the friendly button--alas! it was gone, and with it his power,
and he speedily lost his place. The writers I have quoted, to be
consistent, should argue it was the button that made that lad sharp and
clever.

But if you still doubt, let us test the thing practically. In
Bolt-court, Fleet-street, there is a tavern bearing the honoured name of
Dr Johnson. Dr Johnson lived in this court, and hence, I suppose, the
sign; but the Doctor was a total abstainer. He found he could not be a
moderate drinker, so he verily gave up the drink altogether. He told
that precious ass, Boswell, to drink water, because if he did that he
would be sure not to get drunk, whereas if he drank wine he was not so
sure; and Boswell, to whom the idea seems never to have occurred, prints
the remark as an astonishing instance of his hero's sagacity. But I pass
on to modern times. In this Dr Johnson's Tavern is situated "The City
Concert Room." I suppose the City does not care much about concerts, as
I have generally found it very thinly attended. It is a handsome room,
and perhaps there are about fifty or sixty gentlemen, chiefly young ones,
present. You do not see swells here as at Evans's. They are all very
plain-looking people, from the neighbouring shops, or from the warehouses
in Cheapside. Just by me are three pale heavy-looking young men, whose
intellects seem to me dead, except so far as a low cunning indicates a
sharpness where money is concerned. One of them is stupidly beery.
Their great object is to get him to drink more, notwithstanding his
repeated assurances, uttered, however, in a very husky tone, that he must
go back to "Islin'ton" to-night. A lady at one end of the room, with a
very handsome blue satin dress and a very powerful voice, is screaming
out something about "Lovely Spring," but this little party is evidently
indifferent to the charms of the song. Just beyond me is a gent with a
short pipe and a very stiff collar. I watch him for an hour, and whether
he is enjoying himself intensely, or whether he is enduring an
indescribable amount of inward agony, I cannot tell. A little farther
off is another gent with a very red scarf, equally stoical in appearance.
Behind me are two verd