he
Gourmand--Anecdote of old Tattersall and his Beef Eater--
Young Tat. and the Turnpike Man.

~90~~"May I never be merry more," said the alderman, "if we don't go a
Maying on Sunday next, and you must accompany us, Master Blackmantle: I
always make a country excursion once a year, to wit, on the first Sunday
in May, when we join a very jolly party at the Gate House, Highgate, and
partake of an excellent ordinary."

"I thought, Pa, you would have given up that vulgar custom when we
removed westward, and you were elected alderman of the ward of Cheap."

"Ay," said Mrs. Marigold, "if you wish to act politely to your wife and
daughter write to the Star and Garter at Richmond, or the Toy at Hampton
Court, and order a choice dinner beforehand for a select party; then we
should be thought something of, and be able to dine in comfort, without
being ~91~~_scrowged_ up in a corner by a Leadenhall landlady, or
elbowed out of every mouthful by a Smithfield salesman."

"There it is, Mr. Blackmantle, that's the evil of a man having a few
pounds more in his purse than his neighbours--it makes him miserable
with his family at home, and prevents him associating with old friends
abroad. If you marry my Biddy, make these conditions with her--to
dispense with all Mrs. Marigold's maxims on modern manners, and be at
liberty to smoke your pipe where, and with whom you please."

"I declare, Pa, one would imagine you wished Mr. Blackmantle to lose all
his manners directly after marriage, and all respect for his intended
bride beforehand."

"Nothing of the sort, Miss Sharpwit; but, ever since I made the
last fortunate contract, you and your mother have contracted a most
determined dislike to every thing social and comfortable--haven't I
cut the Coger's Society in Bride Lane, and the Glee Club at the Ram in
Smithfield? don't I restrain myself to one visit a week to the Jolly Old
Scugs{1} Society in Abchurch Lane? haven't I declined the chair of the
Free and Easy Johns, and given up my command in the Lumber Troop?--are
these no sacrifices? is it nothing to have converted my ancestors' large
estate in Thames Street into warehouses, and emigrated westward to be
confined in one of your kickshaw cages in Tavistock Square? Don't I keep
a chariot and a chaise for your comfort, and consent to be crammed up
in a corner at a concert party to hear some foreign stuff I don't
understand? Plague take your drives in Hyde Park and promenades in