omed
hour, in the old accustomed way, and by the accustomed waiter. If
William did not bring it, the fish would be sure to be stale, and the
flesh new. He eats no tart; or if he ventures on a little, takes
cheese with it. You might as soon attempt to persuade him out of his
senses, as that cheese is not good for digestion. He takes port; and
if he has drunk more than usual, and in a more private place, may be
induced by some respectful inquiries respecting the old style of
music, to sing a song composed by Mr. Oswald or Mr. Lampe, such as--

"Chloe, by that borrowed kiss,"

or

"Come, gentle god of soft repose,"

or his wife's favourite ballad, beginning--

"At Upton on the hill,
There lived a happy pair."

Of course, no such exploit can take place in the coffee-room: but he
will canvass the theory of that matter there with you, or discuss the
weather, or the markets, or the theatres, or the merits of "my lord
North" or "my lord Rockingham;" for he rarely says simply, lord; it is
generally "my lord," trippingly and genteelly off the tongue. If alone
after dinner, his great delight is the newspaper; which he prepares to
read by wiping his spectacles, carefully adjusting them on his eyes,
and drawing the candle close to him, so as to stand sideways betwixt
his ocular aim and the small type. He then holds the paper at arm's
length, and dropping his eyelids half down and his mouth half open,
takes cognizance of the day's information. If he leaves off, it is
only when the door is opened by a new-comer, or when he suspects
somebody is over-anxious to get the paper out of his hand. On these
occasions he gives an important hem! or so; and resumes.

In the evening, our Old Gentleman is fond of going to the theatre, or
of having a game of cards. If he enjoys the latter at his own house or
lodgings, he likes to play with some friends whom he has known for
many years; but an elderly stranger may be introduced, if quiet and
scientific; and the privilege is extended to younger men of letters;
who, if ill players, are good losers. Not that he is a miser, but to
win money at cards is like proving his victory by getting the baggage;
and to win of a younger man is a substitute for his not being able to
beat him at rackets. He breaks up early, whether at home or abroad.

At the theatre, he likes a front row in the pit. He comes early, if he
can do so without getting into a squeeze, and sits patiently waiting
f