tures in the library
books of the Johnson's, the Thomson's, the Brown's, and the Levi's. The
last-mentioned fraternity congregate here in shoals, usurp all the best
lodgings, at the windows of which they are to be seen soliciting notice,
with their hooked noses, copper countenances, and inquisitive eyes,
decked out in all the faded finery of Petticoat-lane, or Bevis Marks;
while the heads of the houses of Israel run down on a Saturday, after
the Stock Exchange closes, and often do as much business here on the
Sabbath, in gambling speculations for the _account day_, as they have
done all the week before in London. Here, too, you have the felicity
to meet your tailor in his tandem, your ~308~~butcher on his _trotter_,
your shoemaker in a _fly_, and your wine-merchant with his bit of
blood, his girl, and tilbury, making a greater splash than yourself, and
pleasantly pointing you out to observation as a long-winded one, a great
gambler, or some other such gratuitous return for your ill-bestowed
patronage. To amalgamate with such _canaille_ is impossible--you are
therefore driven into seclusion, or compelled to confine your visits
and amusements to nearly the same circle you have just left London to be
relieved from. Among the "observed" of the present time, the great star
of attraction is the rich Banker's widow, who occupies the corner house
of the Grand Parade, eclipsing in splendid equipages and attendants an
Eastern nabob, or royalty itself. Good fortune threw old Crony in my
way, just as I had caught a glimpse of the widow's cap: you know his dry
sarcastic humour and tenacious memory, and perhaps I ought to add, my
inquisitive disposition. From him I gleaned a sketch of the widow's
history, adorned with a few comments, which gallantry to the fair sex
will not allow me to repeat. She had just joined conversation with
the Marquis of H----, who was attended by Jackson, the pugilist; an
illustrious personage and a noble earl were on her left; while behind
the _jolie_ dame, at a respectful distance, paced two liveried emblems
of her deceased husband's bounty, clad in the sad habiliments of woe,
and looking as merry as mutes at a rich man's funeral. _(See Plate.)

[Illustration: page308]

"She has the reputation of being very charitable," said I. "She has,"
responded Crony; "but the total neglect of poor Wewitzer, in the hour
of penury and sickness, is no proof of her feeling, much less of her
generosity. I have known her l