d, and a sturdy blustering fellow, in the same profession,
substituted for the sincere adviser, the witty and agreeable companion:
it was to R----d she sent a present of one thousand pounds, for a single
ticket, on his benefit night. But her ambition had not yet attained its
highest point: the banker's wife died, and our fortunate heroine was
elected to her place while yet the clay-cold corse of her predecessor
remained above ground; a circumstance, which brought down a heavy
calamity on the clerical who performed the marriage rites,{2} but
which was remedied by an annuity from the banker. From this period, the
haughty bearing of the lady exceeded all bounds; the splendour of her
establishment, the extravagance of her parties, and the munificence of
her charities, trumpeted forth by that many-tongued oracle, the public
press, eclipsed the brilliancy of the

2 Saturnine B----n, the author of 'the stage,' a Poem, on
hearing the day after her marriage with the banker, a
conversation relative to her age, said he was sure the
party were all in error, as there could be no doubt the lady
was on the previous night _under age_.

~312~~royal banquets, and outshone the greatest and wealthiest of the
stars of fashion. About this time, her hitherto inseparable companion
made a slip with a certain amorous manager; and such was the indignation
of our moral heroine on the discovery, that she spurned the unfortunate
from her for ever, and actually turned the offending spark out of doors
herself, accompanying the act with a very unladylike demonstration of
her vengeance. B----d, her most obsequious servant, died suddenly.
Poor Dr. J---- A----s, who gave up a highly respectable and increasing
practice, in Greek-street, Soho, as a physician, to attend, exclusively,
on the 'geud auld mon' and his rib, met such a return for his kindness
and attention, that he committed suicide. Her next friend, a Mr. G----n,
a very handsome young man, who was induced to quit his situation in the
bank for the office of private secretary, made a mistake one night,
and eloped with the female confidante of the banker's wife, a crime for
which the perpetrator could never hope to meet with forgiveness. It
is not a little singular," said Crony, "that almost all her intimate
acquaintances have, sooner or later, fallen into disrepute with their
patroness, and felt how weak is the reliance upon the capricious and the
wayward." On the death of