CHELTONIAN CHARACTERS.

A TRIP TO THE SPAS.

CHAPTER I.

Bernard Blackmantle and Bob Transit pay a Visit to the Chelts-Privileges of a Spy-Alarm at Cheltenham-The rival Editors-The setting of a great Son-How to sink in Popularity and Respect-A noble Title-An old Flame-Poetical jeu d'esprit, by Vinegar Penn-Muriatic Acid-An AttorneyGeneral's Opinion on Family Propensities given without a Fee!!!-The Cheltenham Dandy, or the Man in the Cloak, a Sketch from the LifeNoble Anecdote of the Fox-hunting Parson-Burying alive at Berkeley-Public Theatricals in private

"A Michaelmas Preachment," by an Honest Reviewer-A few Words for Ourselves-The Grand Marshall--Interesting Story of a former M. C.

"Oh, I've been to countries rare;

Seen such sights, 'twould make you stare."

"THAT last chapter of yours, Blackmantle, on John Long and John Long's customers, will long remain a memorial of your scrutinizing qualifications, and, as I think, will prevent your taking your port, punch, pines, or soda-water in Bond-street for some time to come, lest 'suspicion, which ever haunts the guilty mind,' should in the course of conversation convict you; and then, my dear fellow, you would certainly go off pop like the last-mentioned article in the above reference to the luxuries of Long's hotel." "Bravo,

Bob Transit!" said I; "this comes mighty well from you, sir, my fidus achates.-'A bon chat bon rat'-the fidus and audax satirists of the present times. And who, sir, dares to doubt our joint authority? are we not the very spies o' the age?

'Joint monarchs of all we survey;

Our right there is none to dispute.'

From the throne to the thatched cottage, wherever there is character, 'there fly we,' and, on the wings of merry humour, draw with pen and pencil a faithful portraiture of things as they are; not tearing aside the hallowed veil of private life, but seizing as of public right on public character, and with a playful vein of satire proving that we are of the poet's school;

'Form'd to delight at once and lash the age.'

"At this season of the year fashion cries out of town; so, pack up, Master Robert, and

Let us to Chelt's retiring banks,

Where beaux and beauties throng,
To drink at Spas and play rum pranks,
That here will live in song.

What Cheltenham was, is no business of ours; what
it is, as regards its buildings, salubrious air, and
saline springs, its walks, views, libraries, theatre, and
varieties, my friend Williams, whose shop at the corner
of the assembly rooms is the grand lounge of the
literati, will put the visitor into possession of for the
very moderate sum of five shillings. But, reader, if
you would search deeper into society, and know some-
thing of the whim and character of the frequenters
and residents of this fashionable place of public
resort, you must consult the ENGLISH SPY, and trace
in his pages and the accompanying plates of his
friend Bob Transit the faithful likenesses of the
scenes and persons who figure in the maze of fashion,

i

or attract attention by the notoriety of their amours, the eccentricity of their manners, or the publicity of their attachments to the ball or the billiard-room, the card or the hazard-table, the turf or the chase; for in all of these does Cheltenham abound. From the cercle de la basse to the cercle de la haute, from the nadir to the zenith, 'I know ye, and have at ye all’— ye busy, buzzing, merry, amorous groups of laughterloving, ogling, ambling, gambling Cheltenham folk.

To spy out your characteristic follies, ye sons and daughters of pleasure, have we, Bernard Blackmantle and Robert Transit, esquires, travelled down to Cheltenham to collect materials for an odd chapter of a very odd book, but one which has already established its fame by continued success, and, as I hope owes much of its increasing prosperity to its characteristic good-humour; so, without more preface, imagine a little dapper-looking fellow of about five feet something in altitude, attended by a tall sharp-visaged gentleman in very spruce costume, parading up and down the High-street, Cheltenham-lounging for a few minutes in Williams's library-making very inquisitive remarks upon the passing singularities-and then the little man most impertinently whispering to his friend with the Quixotic visage, book him, Bobwhen out comes the note book of both parties, and down goes somebody. Afterwards see them popping into this shop, and then into the other, spying and prying about occasionally nodding perhaps to a London actor, who shines forth here a star of the first magnitude; John Liston, for instance, or Tyrone Power-then posting off to the well walks, or disturbing the peaceful dead by ambling over their graves in search of humorous epitaphs making their way down to the Berkeley kennel in North-street (See

Plate), or paying a visit to the Paphian divinities at the Oakland cottages under the Cleigh Hills-trotting here and there-making notes and sketches until all Cheltenham is in a state of high excitement, and the rival editors of the Chronicle and Journal, Messrs. Halpine and Judge, are so much alarmed that they are almost prepared to become friends, and unite their forces for the time against the common enemy. Imagine such an animated, whispering, gazing, inquiring scene, as I have here presented you with a slight sketch of, and, reader, you will be able to form some idea of the first appearance of the ENGLISH SPY and his friend the artist, among the ways and walks of merry Cheltenham. Then here

At once, I dedicate my lay

To the gay groups that round me swarm,
Like May-bees round the honied hive,
When fields are green, and skies are warm
And all in nature seems alive.'

Time was, a certain amorous colonel carried every thing here, and bore away the belle from all competitors; the hunt, the ball, the theatre, and the card-party all owned his sovereign sway; although it must be admitted, that, in the latter amusement, he seldom or ever hazarded enough to disturb his financial recollections on the morrow. But time works wonders-notoriety is of two complexions, and what may render a man a very agreeable companion to fox hunters and frolicsome lordlings, is not always the best calculated to recommend him in the eyes of the accomplished and the rigid in matters of moral propriety. But other equally celebrated and less worthy predilections have been trumpeted forth in courts and newspapers, until the fame of the colonel has spread itself through every grade of society, and, unlike that wreath which usually decks the gallant soldier's brow, a cypress chaplet binds the early gray, and makes admonitory signal of the ill-spent past. The wrongs of an injured