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business abode and town Tusculum of the Boskys for half-a-dozen generations of Drysalters?'

"Something short of assault and battery, fine and imprisonment.

And Mr. Bosky, after helping Uncle Timothy off with his great coat, warming his slippers, wheeling round his arm-chair to the chimney-corner, and seeing him

safely seated, gave a ludicrous detail of our late encounter at the Pig and Tinder-Box.

The old-fashioned housekeeper delivered a note to Mr. Bosky, sealed with a large black seal.

* An ominous looking affair!' remarked the middle-aged gentleman.

• A death's head and cross-bones! replied the Laureat of Little Britain. ''Ods, rifles and triggers! if it should be a challenge from the Holborn Hill Demosthenes.'

“A challenge! a fiddlestick!' retorted Uncle Tim, he's only “tame cheater!” Every bullet that he fires I 'll swallow for a forcedmeat ball.'

Mr. Bosky, having broken the black seal, read as follows :

Mr. Marmaduke Merripall presents his respectful services to Benjamin Bosky, Esq., and begs the favour of his company to dine with the High Cockolorum Club* of associated Underiakers at the Death's Door, Battersea Rise, to-morrow, at four. If Mr. Bosky can prevail upon his two friends, who received such scurvy treatment from a fraction of the Antiqueeruns, to accompany him, it will afford Mr. M. additional pleasure.'

• An unique invitation ! quoth Uncle Tim. Gentlemen, you must indulge the High Cockolorums, and go by all means.'

Mr. Bosky promised to rise with the lark, and be ready for one on the morrow; and, anticipating a good day's sport, we consented to accom

pany him.

It may be curious to note down some of the odd clubs that existed in 1745, viz. The Virtuoso's Club; the Knights of the Golden Fleece; the Surly Club; the Ugly Club; the Split-Farthing Club; the Mock Heroes Club; the Bean's Club; the Quack's Club; the Weekly Dancing Club; the Bird-Fancier's Club; the Chatter-wit Club; the Small-coal Man's Music Club; the Kit-cat Club; the Beefsteak Club; all of which, and many more, are broadly enough described in "A Humorons Account of all the Remarkable Clubs in London and Westminster.' In 1790, among the most remarkable clubs were, The Odd Fellows; the Hum. bugs (held at the Blue Posts, Russell Street, Covent Garden,); the Sansonic Society; the Society of Bucks; the Purl-Drinkers; the Society of Pilgrims (held at the Woolpack, Kingsland Road,); the Thespian Club; the Great Boite Club; the Je ne gcai quoi Club (held at the Star and Garter, Pall Mall, and of which the Prince of Wales, and the Dukes of York, Clarence, Orleans (Philip Egalité), Norfolk, Bedford, &c. &c. were members,); the Sons of the Thames Society (meeting to celebrate the annual contest for Dogget's Coat and Badge); the Blue-Stocking Club; and the No pay, no liquor Club, held at the Queen and Artichoke, Hampstead Road, where the newly-admiited member, having paid his fee of one shilling, was invested with the inaugural honours, riz. a hat fashioned in the form of a quart poi, and a gilt goblet of humming ale, out of which he drank the healths of the brethren. In the present day, the Author of Virginius has conferred classical celebrity on a club called • The Social Villagers,' held at the Bedford Arms, a merrie hostelrie at Camden Town,

Where wit and good wine, the laurel and vine,
The song and the jest, and that genius of thine,
Prime Paddy Knowles! give a zest to our bowls,
And make it Apollo and Bacchus's shrine.

Supper was announced, and we sat down to that social meal. In a day-dream of fancy, Uncle Timothy re-peopled the once convivial chambers of the Falcon and the Mermaid, with those glorious intelligences that made the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. the Augustan age of England. We listened to the wisdom, and the wit, and the loud laugh, as Shakspeare and rare Ben,'* in the full confidence of friendship, exchanged thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,' so beautifully described by Beaumont in his letter to Jonson.

• What things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid ? heard words that have been
So nimble, and so full of subtle flame,
As if that every one from whom they came

Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest!' Travelling by the swift power of imagination, we looked in at Will's and Button's; beheld the honoured chair that was set apart for the use of Dryden ; and watched Pope, then a boy, lisping in numbers, regarding his great master with filial reverence, as he delivered his critical aphorisms to the assembled wits. Nor did we miss the BirchRod that the bard whom pilfer'd pastorals renown' hung up at Button's to chastise "tuneful Alexis of the Thames' fair side,' his own back smarting from some satirical twigs that little Alexis had liberally laid on! We saw St. Patrick's Dean 'steal' to his pint of wine with the accomplished Addison; and heard Gay, Arbuthnot, and Bolingbroke, in witty conclave, compare lyrical notes for the Beggars' Opera—not forgetting the joyous cheer that welcomed King Colley' to his midnight troop of titled revellers, after the curtain had dropped on Fondlewife and Foppington. And, hey presto! comfortably seated at the Mitre, we found Doctor Johnson, lemon in hand, de

Shakspeare was god-father to one of Ben Jonson's children, and after the christning, being in a deepe study, Jonson came to cheere him up, and ask't him why he was so melancholy? “ No, faith, Ben, (says he,) not I, but I have been considering a great while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my god-child, and I have resolv'd at last.”—“ I pr’y the, what?” says he.—“I'faith, Ben, I 'le e'en give him a douzen good Lattin spoones, and thou shalt translate them.” L'Estrange, No. 11. Mr. Dun.-Lattin was a name formerly used to signify a mixed metal resembling brass. Hence Shakspeare's appropriate pun, with reference to the learning of Ben Jonson.

Many good jests are told of rare Ben.' When he went to Basingstoke, he used to put up his horse at the · Angel,' which was kept by Mrs. Hope, and her daughter, Prudence. Journeying there one day, and finding strange people in the house, and the sign changed, he wrote as follows:

When Hope and Prudence kept this house, the Angel kept the door;

Now Hope is dead, the Augel fled, and Prudence turn'd a w -!' At another time he designed to pass through the Half Moon in Aldersgate Street, but the door being shut, he was denied entrance ; so he went to the Sun Tavern at the Long Lane end, and made these verses :

• Since the Half Moon is so unkind,

To make me go about;
The Sun my money now shall huve,

And the Moon shall without.'

6

That he was often in pecuniary straights the following extracts from Henslowe's papers painfully demonstrate. ‘Lent un to Bengemen Jonson, player, the 28 of July, 1597, in Redey money, the some of fower powndes, to be payd agayne when so ever ether I, or any of me, shall demande yt.-Witness E. Alleyn and John Synger.' - Lent Bengemyne Jonson, the 5 of Janewary, 1597-8, in redy mony, the some of

Vs.'

manding of Goldsmith, Garrick, Boswell, and Reynolds, · Who's for poonch ?'

• And Sir John Hawkins,'* exclaimed Uncle Timothy, with unwonted asperity, whose ideas of virtue never rose above a decent erterior and regular hours ! calling the author of the Traveller an idiot! It shakes the sides of splenetic disdain to hear this Grub Street chronicler of fiddling and fly-fishing libelling the beautiful intellect of Oliver Goldsmith! Gentle spirit ! thou wert beloved, admired, and mourned by that illustrious corner-stone of religion and morality, Samuel Johnson, who delighted to sound forth thy praises while living, and when the voice of fame could no longer soothe thy " dull cold ear," inscribed thy tomb with an imperishable record! Deserted is the village; the hermit and the traveller have laid them down to rest; the vicar has performed his last sad office; the good-natured man is no more—He stoops but to conquer !

The Laureat, well comprehending an expressive look from his Mentor, rose to the pianoforte, and accompanied him slowly and mournfully in

THE POET'S REQUIEM.
Ah! yes, to the poet a hope there is given

In poverty, sorrow, unkindness, neglect,
That though his frail bark on the rocks may be driven,

And founder-not all shall entirely be wreck’d;
But the bright, noble thoughts, that made solitude sweet,

His world! while he linger'd unwillingly here;
Shall bid future bosoms with sympathy beat,

And call forth the smile, and awaken the tear.
If, man, thy pursuit is but riches and fame;

If pleasure alluring entice to her bower;
The Muse waits to kindle a holier flame,

And woos thee aside for a classical hour.
And then, by the margin of Helicon's stream,

Th'enchantress shall lead thee, and thou from afar,
Shalt see, what was once in life's feverish dream,

A poor broken spirit,t a bright shining star!

* The negative qualities of this sober Knight long puzzled his acquaintances (friends we never heard that he had any!) to devise an epitaph for him. At last they succeeded

* Here lies Sir John Hawkins,

Without his shoes and stockings !! + Plautus turned a mill; Terence was a slave ; Boethius died in a jail ; Tasso was often distressed for a shilling; Bentivoglio was refused admission into an hos pital he had himself founded ; Cervantes died (almost) of hunger; Camoens ended his days in an almshouse ; Vangelas sold his body to the surgeons to support life ; Burns died penniless, disappointed, and heart-broken ; and Massinger, Lee, and Otway, were steeped in poverty to the very lips.' Yet how consoling are John Taylor, the Water Poet's lines! Addressing his friend, Wm. Fennor, he exclaims,

• Thou say'st that poetry descended is

From poverty: thou tak st thy mark amiss-
In spite of weal or woe, or want of pelf,

It is a kingdom of content itself.'
To the above unhappy list may be added Thomas Dekker the Dramatist. Lent

Hail and farewell! to the Spirits of Light,

Whose minds shot a ray through this darkness of ours-
The world, but for them, had been chaos and night,

A desert of thorns, not a garden of flowers! An involuntary tremble came over us, which only found relief in silence and tears. This was a subject that awakened all Uncle Timothy's enthusiasm ; and how beautiful was that enthusiasm ! how tender and enduring !

"Age could not wither it, por custom stale

Its infinite variety.' But it produced fits of abstraction and melancholy; and Mr. Bosky, knowing this, would interpose a merry tale or song. Upon the present occasion he made a bold dash from the sublime to the ridi. culous, and striking up a comical voluntary, played us out of Little Britain.

When I behold the setting sun,
And shop is shut, and work is done,
I strike my flag, and mount my tile,
And through the city strut in style;
While pensively I muse along,
Listening to some minstrel's song,
With tuneful wife, and children three-
O then, my love! I think on thee.

In Sunday suit, to see my fair
I take a round to Russell Square;
She slyly beckons while I peep,
And whispers, 'down the area creep!
What ecstasies my soul await;
It sinks with rapture-on my plate !
When cutlets smoke at half-past three-
And then, my love! I think on thee.

But, see the hour-glass, moments fly-
The sand runs out-and so must I!
Parting is so sweet a sorrow,
I could manger till to-morrow!
One embrace, ere I again
Homeward hie to Huggin Lane ;
And sure as goose begins with G,
I then, my love! shall think on thee.
Mr. William Shakspeare says
In one of his old-fashion'd plays,
That true love runs not smooth as oil-
Last Friday week we had a broil.
Genteel apartments I have got,
The first door down the chimney-pot ;
Mount Pleasant! for my love and me-
And soon one pair shall walk up three !

"Gentlemen,' said Uncle 'Timothy, as he bade us good night, the rogue, I fear, will be the spoil of you, as he hath been of me!'

unto the Company the 4 of February, 1598, to discharge Mr. Dicker oul of the Counter in the Poultry, the some of Fortie Shillinges.' In another place Mr. Henslowe redeems Dekker ont of the Clinke.

THE PORCELAIN BATH:

A LEGEND OF THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE.

BY 'T. T. T.'

THE gallant Si-Long, who, though yet quite a youth, had attained to high rank as a civil mandarin, was charged with an imperial mes. sage from Peking into the province of Honan. The object of his mission was to order the attendance in the capital of a celebrated physician, whose extensive astrological lore had enabled him successfully to combat all diseases, and had spread his fame throughout the northern provinces of China. The Emperor had been seized with a sudden sickness, which appeared the more dangerous, as the physicians of his court admitted their ignorance of its nature ; and were at a loss whether to ascribe it to hot or cold humours, to the influence of some undetected comet, to too great a prevalence of red, white, green, or yellow, in the furniture of the palace and the foliage and ornaments of the gardens, or to the withering of a peach-tree in a court of the inperial residence.

It was necessary, as the doctors were undecided in opinion, to seek some further advice; and none, it was considered, was so able to supply it, as Nu-Moun, the mighty astrologer. To him, therefore, Si-Long was sent; and, mounted on his fiery Tartar steed, which, however, was more remarkable for his roadway capabilities than for his beauty or condition, the young mandarin had proceeded indefatigably for some days, when on his making inquiries at a barber's shop, where he dismounted for a few minutes to get shaven and shampooed, he learned that he had arrived within thirty ly of Honan, and was distant six or seven only from the residence of the physician. The situation of the latter was pointed out to him from that spot.

It lay a little out of the high road, and he struck across to it accordingly. Nu-Moun had retired from the general practice of his art, being of studious habits, and fond of retirement; and he now lived in a small country house in a sequestered spot, with the companionship only of a daughter ; his wife having died some years since without other offspring. Si-Long had no difficulty in discovering the villa, as the spot was on the slope of a hill opposite to the path by which he approached, and was sufficiently marked by a group of bamboos, among which the house was hidden. No other habitations were in its vicinity except huts of the meanest class.

Si-Long had just reached the gateway, and was congratulating himself on having finished his toilsome journey, when an unfortunate circumstance occurred. He intended to have alighted there, and to have proceeded on foot towards the house ; and he had already gone over in his mind the bows, the bends, turns, gestures, and verbal compliments necessary to be observed; both those set down in the ritual code, a copy of which he carried in his bosom, and those which the College of Forms and Ceremonies had appointed for the particular occasion. But just as he was about to rein up his Bucephalus (called Jee-Wop in the language of China,) the astrologer himself, who at the moment was walking in the garden, appeared at

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