The English Spy: An Original Work Characteristic, Satirical, And Humorous. / Comprising Scenes And Sketches In Every Rank Of Society, Being Portraits Drawn From The Life

by C. M. Westmacott

TRAVELLER'S HALL.

Sketches in the Commercial Room at the Bell Inn,
Cheltenltam—The Traveller's Ordinary—Trade Puns—Bolton
Trotters and Trottees—Song, All the Booksellers—Curious
Sporting Anecdote of a Commercial Man—Song, The Knight of
the Saddle Bags—Private Theatricals in Public—Visit to
the Oakland Cottages, a Night Scene.

An invitation to dine with the traveller to a London house in the paper and print line, yclept booksellers, introduced the English Spy and his friend, the artist, to the scene here presented (see plate).

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Reader, if you wish to make a figure among the Chelts and be thought any thing of, you will, of course, domicile at the Plough; but if your object is a knowledge of life, social conversation, a great variety of character, and a never-failing fund of mirth and anecdote, join the gentleman travellers who congregate at the Bell or the Fleece, where you will meet with merry fellows, choice viands, good wine, excellent beds, and a pretty chambermaid into the bargain. Your commercial man is often a fellow of infinite jest, a travelling vocabulary of provincial knowledge, and a faithful narrator of the passing events of the time. Who can speak of the increasing prosperity, or calculate upon the falling interests of a town, so well as your flying man of business 1 The moment he enters a new place he expects the landlord to be ready, cap in hand, to welcome him; he first sees his horse into a stall, and lectures the ostler upon the art of rubbing him down—orders boots to bring in his travelling bags or his driving box, and bids the waiter send the chambermaid to show him his bed-room—grumbles that it is too high up, has no chimney in the apartment, or is situate over the kitchen or the tap-room—swears a tremendous oath that he will order his baggage to be taken to the next house, and frightens the poor girl into the giving him one of the best bed-apartments, usually reserved for the coffee-room company. Returning below, he abuses the waiter for not giving him his letters, that have been waiting his arrival a week, before he went up stairs—directs boots to be ready to make the circuit of the town with him after dinner, carrying his pattern-books, perhaps half a hundred-weight of Birmingham wares, brass articles, or patterns of coffin furniture; and having thus succeeded in putting the whole house into confusion, only to let them know that the Brummagem gentleman has arrived on his annual visit to the Chelts, with a new stock of every thing astonishing in the brass line, he places himself down at a side table, to answer to his principals for being some days later on his march than they had concluded—remits a good sum in bills and acceptances, and adds thereunto a sheet of orders, that will suffice to keep the firm in good temper for a week to come: sometimes, indeed, the postscript contains a hint of an expected "whereas," or strong suspicions of an act of insolvency, but always couched in the most consolatory terms, hoping the dividend will turn out to be better than present circumstances might lead them to expect. In his visits to his customers he is the most courteous, obliging fellow imaginable; there is no trouble he thinks too much if he is likely to obtain his last account and a fresh order; then, too, his generosity is unbounded: he invites the tradesman to take wine with him at his inn, inquires kindly after all the family, hopes business is thriving, makes an offer of doing any thing for him along the road, and bows himself and his pattern-cards out of the shop, with as much humility and apparent sense of obligation as the most expert courtier could put on when his sovereign deigns to confer upon him some special mark of his royal favour. It is at his inn alone that his independence breaks forth, and here he often assumes as much consequence as if he was the head of the firm he represents, and always carried about him a plum at least in his breeches pocket. This is a general character, and one, too, formed upon no slight knowledge of commercial men; but with all this, the man of the world will admire them and seek their company; first, that his accommodations are generally better, and the charges not subject to the caprice of the landlord; and, secondly, for the sake of society; for what on earth can be more horrible than to be shut up in a lone room, a stranger in a provincial town, to eat, drink, and pass the cheerless hour, a prey to solitude and ennui?

But there is sometimes a little fastidiousness about these knights of the saddle-bag, in admitting a stranger to hob and nob with them; to prevent a knowledge, therefore, of our pursuits, my friend Bob was instructed, before entering the room, to sink the arts, and if any inquisitive fellow should inquire what line he travelled in, to reply, in the print line; while your humble servant, it was agreed, should represent some firm in the spring trade; and thus armed against suspicion, we boldly marched into the commercial-room just as the assembled group of men of business were sitting down to dinner, hung our hats upon a peg, drew our chairs, uninvited, to the table, fully prepared to feel ourselves at home, and do ample justice to the "bagmen's banquet."

The important preliminary point settled, of whom the duty of chairman devolved on, a situation, as I understood, always filled in a commercial room by the last gentleman traveller who makes it his residence, we proceeded to business. The privilege of finding fault with the dinner, which, by the by, was excellent, is always conceded to the ancients of the fraternity of traders; these gentlemen who, having been half a century upon the road, remember all the previous proprietors of the hotel to the fifteenth or twentieth generation removed, make a point of enumerating their gracious qualities upon such occasions, to keep the living host and representative up to the mark, as they phrase it. For instance—the old buck in the chair, who was a city tea broker, found fault with the fish: "There vas nothing of that ere sort to be had good but at Billingsgate, where all the best fish from all the vorld vas, as he contended, to be bought cheaper as butcher's meat." The result of which remark induced the young wags at the table to finish a very fine brill, without leaving him a taste, while he was abusing it. "This soup is not like friend Birch's," said Mr. Obadiah Pure, a gentleman in the drug line; "it hath a watery and unchristianlike taste with it." "Ay," replied a youngster at the bottom of the table, with whom it appeared to be in request, "I quake for fear while I am eating it, only I know there can be no drugs in it, or you would not find fault with a customer." "Thou art one of the newly imported, friend," replied Mr. Pure, "and art yet like a young bear, with all thy troubles to come." "True," said the wag, "thou may be right, friend; but I shall not be found a bruin with thy materials for all that." This sally put down the drug merchant for the rest of the dinner-time. "You had better take a little fish or soup before they are cold," said the chairman, to a bluff-looking beef-eater at his back, who was arranging his papers and samples. "Sir, I never eat warm wittals, drink hot liquors, wear a great coat, or have my bed warmed." "The natural heat of your constitution, I suppose, excuses you," said I, venturing upon a joke. "Sir, you had better heat your natural meal, while it is hot, without attempting to heat other people's tempers," was the reply; to which Bob retorted, by saying, "It was quite clear the gentleman was not mealy-mouthed." "This beef smells a little of Hounslow Heath," said a jeweller's gentleman, on my right. "Why so, sir?" was inquired by one who knew him. "Because it has hung rather too long to be sightly." "You should not have left out the chains in that joke, Sam," said his friend; "they would have linked it well together, and sealed the subject." "Who takes port?" inquired the chairman. "I must sherry directly after dinner, gentlemen," said one. "What," retorted the company, "boxing the wine bin! committing treason, by making a sovereign go farther than he is required by law. Fine him, Mr. Chairman." "Gentlemen, it is not in my power; he is a bottle conjuror, I assure you, 'a good man and true;' he only retires to bleed a patient, and will return instanter." "Happy to take a glass of wine with you, sir." "What do you think of that port, sir?" "Excellent." "Ay, I knew you would say so; the house of Barnaby Blackstrap, Brothers, and Company, of Upper Thames Street, have always been famous for selling wines of the choicest vintage. Do me the honour, sir, of putting a card of ours in your pocket: I sent this wine into this house in Jennings's time, for the grand dinner, when the first stone of the new rooms over the way was laid, and John Kelly, the proprietor, took the chair. You are lucky, sir, in meeting me here; they always pull out an odd bottle from the family bin, marked A—1, when I visit them." "Yes, and some odd sort of wine at any other time," grumbled out a queer-looking character at a side table opposite. "That's nothing but spleen, Mr. Sable," said the knight of the ruby countenance: "you and I have met occasionally at this house together now for three and twenty years; and although I never come a journey without taking an order from them, I thank heaven, I never knew you to receive one yet: many a dead man have we seen in this room, but none of them requiring a coffin plate to tell their age, and very few of them that were like to receive the benefit of resurrection." "I shall book you inside, Mr. Blackstrap,'' replied Sable, "for joking on my articles of trade, which is contrary to the established usage of a commercial room." "Do any thing you like but bury me," said the bon vivant." Gentlemen, as chairman, it is my duty to put an end to all grave subjects. Will you be kind enough to dissect that turkey?" "I don't see the bee's wing in this port, Mr. Blackstrap, that you are bouncing about," said a London traveller to a timber-merchant. "No, sir," said the humorist, "it is not to be seen until you are a deal higher in spirits; the film of the wing is seldom discernible in such mahogany-coloured wine as this." "Sir, I blush like rose wood at your impertinence." "Ay, sir, and you'll soon be as red as logwood, or as black as ebony, if you will but do justice to the bottle," was the reply. "There is no being cross-grained with you," said the timber-merchant. "Not unless you cut me," retorted Blackstrap, "and you are not sap enough for that." "Gentlemen," continued the facetious wine-merchant, "if we do not get a little fruit, I shall think we have not met with our dessert; and although there may be some among us whose principals are worth a plum, there are very few of their representatives, I suspect, who will offer any objections to my reasons." Thus pleasantly apostrophised, the fruit made its appearance, and with it a fresh supply of the genuine Oporto, which our merry companion, Blackstrap, called "his old particular." One of his stories, relative to a joke played off upon the Bolton trotters, by his friend Sable, the travelling undertaker, is too good to be lost. In Lancashire the custom of hoaxing is called trotting, and in many instances, particularly at Bolton, is still continued, and has frequently been played off upon strangers with a ruinous success. Sable had, it would appear, taken up his quarters at a commercial inn, and, as is usual with travellers, joined the tradesmen in the smoking room at night to enjoy his pipe, and profit, perhaps, by introduction in the way of business. The pursuit of the undertaker and dealer in coffin furniture was no sooner made generally known, than it was unanimously agreed to trot him, by giving him various orders for articles in his line, which none of the parties had any serious intention of paying for or receiving. With this view, one ordered a splendid coffin for himself, and another one for his wife; a third gave instructions for an engraved plate and gilt ornaments; and a fourth chose to order an elegant suite of silver ornaments to decorate the last abode of frail mortality: in this way the company were much amused with the apparent unsuspecting manner of Sable, who carefully noted down all their orders, and pledged himself to execute them faithfully. The Bolton people did not fail to circulate this good joke, as they then thought it, among their neighbours, and having given fictitious names, expected to have had additional cause for exultation when the articles arrived; but how great was their surprise and dismay, when in a short time every order came, directed properly to the person who had given it! Coffins and coffin-plates, silk shrouds and velvet palls, and all the expensive paraphernalia of the charnel-house were to be seen carried about from the waggon-office in Bolton, to be delivered at the residences of the principal inhabitants. Many refused to receive these mementoes of their terrestrial life, and others denied having ever ordered the same. Sable, however, proved himself too fast a trotter for the Bolton people; for having, by the assistance of the waiter, obtained the true description of his customers on the night of the joke, and finding they were most of them wealthy tradesmen, he very wisely determined to humour the whim, and execute the orders given, and in due course of time insisted upon payment for the same. Thus ended the story of the Bolton trotters, which our merry companion concluded, by observing, that it put an end to sporting, in that way, for some time; and by the chagrin it caused to many of the trottees, distanced them in this life, and sent them off the course in a galloping consumption.{1} "There's honour for you," said Sable, "civilized a

1 A Bolton definition.—When the Bolton Canal was first
pro-posed, the Athenians (for that Bolton is the Athens of
Lancashire no one can doubt) could not well understand how
boats were to be raised above the level of the sea. A lock
to them was as incom-prehensible as Locke on the Human
Understanding. A celebrated member of a celebrated trotting
club was amongst the number of those who could not
comprehend the mystery. Unwilling to appear ignorant upon a
question which formed the common topic of conversation, he
applied to a scientific gentleman in the neighbourhood for
an accurate description of a lock. It happened that the man
of science had on one occasion been a trottee, and was
glad to have an opportunity of retaliation. "A lock," said
he, "is a quantity of sawdust congealed into boards, which,
being let down into the water in a perpendicular slope-
level, raises it to the declivity of the sea above!"—" Eh?"
said the Athenian, "what dun yo' say?" The gentleman
repeated his description, and the worthy Boltonian recorded
every word in the tablet of his memory. Sometime afterwards
he had the honour of dining with some worshipful brothers of
the quorum, men as profoundly ignorant of the law as any of
the unpaid magistracy need to be, but who, having seen
canals, knew well enough what locks were. Our Athenian took
an early opportunity of adverting to the proposed "cut," and
introduced his newly-acquired learning in the following
terms: "Ah! Measter Fletcher, it's a foine thing a lock;
yo' know'n I loike to look into them theere things; a lock
is a perpendicular slop level, which, being let into the
sea, is revealed into boards, that raises it to the
declivity of the sea above!"—As it is the province and
privilege of the ignorant to laugh at a greater degree of
ignorance than their own, it may be supposed that their
worships enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of their
Attic brother.

whole district of English barbarians by one action, and, what is more, they have never ventured to trot with any one of our fraternity since."

The conversation now took a turn relative to the affairs of trade; and if any one had been desirous of knowing the exact degree of solvency in which the whole population of the county of Gloucester was held by these flying merchants and factors, they might easily have summed up the estimate from the remarks of the company. They were, however, a jovial party; and my friend Bob and myself had rarely found ourselves more pleasantly circumstanced, either as regarded our social comforts, or the continued variety of new character with which the successive speakers presented us. As the evening approached our numbers gradually diminished, some to pursue their journeys, and others to facilitate the purposes of trade. The representative of the house of Blackstrap and Co., his friend Sable, the timber merchant, our inviter the bookseller, and the two interlopers, remained fixed as fate to the festive board, until the chairman, and scarce any one of the company, could clearly define, divide, and arrange the exact arithmetical proportions of the dinner bill. After a short cessation of hostilities, during which our commercial friends despatched their London letters, and Bob and the English Spy, to escape the suspicion of not having any definable pursuit, emigrated to the High Street; we returned to our quarters, and found the whole party debating upon a proposition of the bon vivants, to have another bottle, and make a night of it by going to the theatre at half price; a question that was immediately carried, nemine contradicente. Mr. Margin, our esteemed companion, who represented the old established house of Sherwood and Co., was known to sing a good stave, and what was still more attractive, was himself a child of song—one of the inspired of the nine, who, at the Anacreontic Club, held in Ivy Lane, would often amuse the society with an original chant; "whose fame," as Blackstrap expressed it, "had extended itself to the four corners of the island, wherever the sporting works of Sherwood and Co., or the travelled histories of the Messrs. Longmans, have found readers and admirers." "Gentlemen," said Mr. Margin, "my songs are all of a local nature; whims written to amuse a meeting of the trade for a dinner at the Albion or the London, when the booksellers congregate together to buy copyrights, or sell at a reduced price the refuse of their stock. But, such as it is, you shall have it instanter."

ALL THE BOOKSELLERS;
A NEW SONG, BY A LONDON TRAVELLER.
Tune—Family Pride—Irish air.
First, Longmans are famous for travels,
Will Sherwood for sporting and fun,
Old Ridgway the science unravels
How politic matters are done.
The ponderous tomes of deep learning,
The heavy, profound, and the flat,
By Baldwin and Cradock's discerning,
Are cheaper by half to come at.
Baines deals out to methodist readers
Cant, piously strung into rhyme;
While Rivingtons, 'gainst the seceders,
With church and king Hatchard will chime.
John Murray's the lords' own anointed,
I mean not indeed to blaspheme,
But the peers have him solely appointed
To sell what their highnesses scheme.

Colburn defies Day and Martin
To beat him with " Real Japan;"
If puffing will sell books, 'tis certain,
He'll rival the bookselling clan.
Catechisms for miss and for master,
For ladies who're fond oft, romance,
Sheriff Whittaker publishes faster
Than booksellers' porters can dance.
Operatives, mechanics, combiners,
Knight and Lacey will publish for you;
They'll tickle ye out of your shiners,
By teaching the power o' the screw.
An Architect looks out for Taylor,
A General Egerton seeks;
Tommy Tegg at the trade is a railer,
But yet for a slice of it sneaks.
Richardson furnishes India
With all books from Europe she buys;
Near St. Paul's, in Old Harris's window,
The juveniles look for a prize.
Cadell is Scotch Ebony's factor,
Collecting the news for Blackwood;
John Miller 's the man for an actor,
America 's done him some good.
The Newmans of fam'd Leadenhall
In very old novels abound;
While Kelly, respected by all,
As Sheriff of London is found.
Will Simpkin supplieth the trade
From his office in Stationers' Court;
And Stockdale too much cash has made
By publishing Harriette 's report.

THE ENGLISH SPY

Antiquarians seek Arch of Cornhill;
Joe Butterworth furnishes law;
And Major his pockets will fill
By giving to Walton éclat.
Where, with old Parson Ambrose, the legs
Once in Gothic Hall pigeons could fleece,
There, Hurst and Co. now hang on pegs
The fine arts of Rome and of Greece.
John Ebers with Opera dancers
Is too much engaged for to look
How the bookselling business answers,
And publishes only "Ude's Cook."
Hookham and Carpenter both are
As cautious as caution can be;
While Andrews, nor Chapple, a sloth are
In trade, both as lib'ral as free.
Billy Sams is a loyal believer,
And publishes prints by the score;
But his likeness, I will not deceive her,
Of Chester is not con amore.
If the world you are ganging to see,
Its manners and customs to note,
In the Strand, you must call upon Leigh,
Where you'll find a directory wrote.
Cincinnatus like, guiding the plough,
On Harding each farmer still looks;
Clerc Smith is the man for a bow,
And his shop is as famous for books.
Facetiæ collectors, give ear,
Who with Mack letter spirits would deal;
If rich in old lore you'd appear,
Pay a visit to Priestley and Weale.

There's Ogle, and Westley, and Black,
With Mawman, and Kirby, and Cole,
And Souter, and Wilson—alack!
I cannot distinguish the whole.
For Robins, and Hunter, and Poole,
And Evans, and Scholey, and Co.
Would fill out my verse beyond rule,
And my Pegasus halts in the Bow.
The radicals all are done up;
Sedition is gone to the dogs;
And Benbow and Cobbett may sup
With their worthy relations the Hogs.
So here I will wind up my list
With Underwood, Callow, and Highley;
Who bring to the medicals grist,
By books on diseases wrote dryly.
Just one word at parting I crave—
If Italian, French, German, or Dutch,
To bother your noddle you'd have,
Send to Berthoud, or Treuttel and Wurtz,
Or Zotti, or Dulau, or Bohn,
But they're all very good in their way;
Bossange, Bothe, Boosey and Son,
All expect Monsieur Jean Bull to pay.

"A right merrie conceit it is," said Blackstrap, "and an excellent memoranda of the eminent book-sellers of the present time." "Ay, sir," continued the veteran; "all our old ballads had the merit of being useful, as well as amusing. There was 'Chevy Chase, and 'King John and his Barons,' and 'Merry Sherwood,' all of them exquisite chants; conveying information to the mind, and relating some grand historical fact, while they charmed the ear. But your modern kickshaws are all about 'No, my love, no,' or 'Sigh no more, lady,' or some such silly stuff that nobody cares to learn the words of, or can understand if they did. I remember composing a ballad in this town myself, some few years since, on a very strange adventure that happened to one of our commercial brethren. He had bought an old hunter at Bristol to finish his journey homeward with, on account of his former horse proving lame, and just as he was entering Cheltenham by the turnpike-gate at the end of the town, the whole of the Berkeley Hunt were turning out for a day's run, and having found, shot across the road in full cry. Away went the dogs, and away went the huntsmen, and plague of any other way would the old hunter go: so, despite of the two hundred weight of perfumery samples contained in his saddle-bags, away went Delcroix's deputy over hedge and ditch, and straight forward for a steeple chase up the Cleigh Hills; but in coming down rather briskly, the courage of the old horse gave way, and down he came as groggy before as a Chelsea pensioner, smashing all the appendages of trade, and spilling their contents upon the ground, besides raising such an odoriferous effluvia on the field, that every one present smelt the joke.—But you shall have the song."

THE KNIGHT OF THE SADDLE-BAGS;
A TRUE RELATION OF A TRAVELLER'S
ADVENTURE AT CHELTENHAM.
Tune—The Priest of Kajaga.
A knight of the saddle-bags, jolly and gay,
Rode near to blithe Cheltenham's town;
His coat was a drab, and his wig iron-gray,
And the hue of his nag was a brown.

From Bristol, through Glo'ster, the merry man came;
And jogging along in a trot,
On the road happ'd to pass him, in pursuit of game,
Of Berkeley's huntsmen a lot.
Tally-ho! tally-ho! from each voice did resound;
Hark forward! now cheer'd the loud pack;
Sir knight found his horse spring along like a hound,'
For the devil could not hold him back.
Away went sly Reynard, away went sir knight,
With the saddle-bags beating the side
Of his horse, as he gallop'd among them in fright;
'Twas in vain that the hunt did deride.
Now up the Cleigh Hills, and adown the steep vale,
Crack, crack, went the girths of his saddle;
Sir knight was dismounted, O piteous tale!
In wasjies the fishes might paddle.
As prostrate he lay, an old hound that way bent
Gave tongue as he pass'd him along;
Which attracted the pack, who thus drawn by the scent,
Would have very soon ended his song.
For O! it was strange, but, though strange, it was true!
With perfumery samples, his bags
With essences, musks, and rich odours a few,
He had joined peradventure the nag's.
The field took the joke in good-humour and jest;
Sir knight was invited to dine
At the Plough the same day, where a fine haunch was dress'd,
And Naylor gave excellent wine.
From that time, 'raong the Chelts, has a knight of the bag
Been look'd on as a man of spirit;
For who but a knight could have hunted a nag
So laden, and come off with merit?

A visit from two of the commercial gentlemen of the Fleece gave Blackstrap another opportunity of showing off, which he did not fail to avail himself of in no very measured paces, by ridiculing the rival house, and extending his remarks to the taste of the frequenters. To which one of them replied, "Mine host of the fleece is no 'wolf in sheep's clothing,' but a right careful good shepherd, who provides well for his flock; and although the fleece hangs over his door, it is not symbolical of any fleecing practices within." "Ay," said the other, defending his hotel; "then, sir, we live like farmers at a harvest-home, and sleep on beds of down beneath coverings of lamb's wool; and our attendant nymphs of the chamber are as beautiful and lively as Arcadian shepherdesses, and chaste as the goddess Diana." "Very good," retorted Blackstrap; "but you know, gentlemen, that the beaux of this house must be better off for the belle. We will allow you of the Fleece your rustic enjoyments, seeing that you are country gentlemen, for your hotel is certainly out of the town." A good-natured sally that quickly restored harmony, and called forth another song from the muse of Blackstrap.

HEALTH, COMPETENCE, AND GOOD-HUMOUR.
Let titles and fame on ambition be shed,
Or history's page of great heroes relate;
The motto I'd choose to encircle my head
Is competence, health, and good-humour elate.

The chaplet of virtue, by friendship entwined,
Sheds a lustre that rarely encircles the great;
While health and good-humour eternally find
A competence smiling on every state.
No luxuries seeking my board to encumber,
Contented receiving what Providence sends;
Age brightens with pleasure, while virtue may number
Competence, health, and good-humour as friends.
Then, neighbours, let's smile at old Chronos and care;
Still shielded with honour, we're fearless of fate:
With the sports of the field and the joys of the fair,
We've competence, health, and good-humour elate.

At the conclusion of this fresh specimen of our chairman's original talent, it was proposed we should adjourn to the theatre, where certain fashionable amateurs were amusing themselves at the expense of the public. "Sir, I dislike these half and half vagabonds," said Blackstrap, with one of his original gestures, "who play with an author before the public, that they may the more easily play with an actress in private. Yon coxcomb, for instance, who buffoons Brutus, with his brothers, are indeed capital brutes by nature, but as deficient of the art histrionic as any biped animals well can be. I remember a very clever artist exhibiting a picture of the colonel and his mother's son, Augustus, with a Captain Austin, in the exhibition of the Royal Academy for the year 1823, in the characters of Brutus, Marc Antony, and Julius Cæsar, which caused more fun than anything else in the collection, and produced more puns among the cognoscenti than any previous work of art ever gave rise to. The Romans were such rum ones—Brutus was a black down-looking biped, with gray whiskers, and a growl upon his lip; Marc Antony, without the remotest mark of the ancient hero about him; and Cassius looked as if he had been cashiered by the commander of some strolling company of itinerants for one, whose placid face could neither move to woe, nor yield grimace; and yet they were all accounted excellent likenesses, perfect originals, like Wombwell's bonassus, only not quite so natural."

During this rhapsody of Blackstrap's, Transit on the one side, and the English Spy on the other, endeavoured to restrain the torrent of his satire by assuring him that the very persons he was alluding to were the amateurs on the stage before him; and that certain critical faces behind him were paid like the painter, of whom he had previously spoken, to produce flattering portraits in print, and might possibly make a satirical sketch of the bon vivant at the same time; an admonition that had not the slightest effect in abridging his strictures upon amateur actors. But as the English Spy intends to finish his sketches on this subject, in a visit to the national theatres, he has until then treasured up in his mind's stores the excellent and apposite, though somewhat racy anecdotes, with which the comical commercial critic illustrated his discourse.

The "liquor in, the wit's out," saith the ancient proverb; and, although my "Spirit in the Clouds" had already hinted at the dangerous consequences likely to result from a visit to the "Oakland Cottages," yet such was the flexibility of my friend Transit's ethics, his penchant for a spree, and the volatile nature of his disposition, when the ripe Falerian set the red current mantling in his veins, that not all my philosophy, nor the sage monitions of Blackstrap, nor thought, nor care, nor friendly intercession could withhold the artist from making a pilgrimage to the altar of love. For be it known to the amorous beau, these things are not permitted to pollute the sanctity of the sainted Chelts; but in a snug convent, situate a full mile and a half from Cheltenham, at the extremity of a lane where four roads meet, and under the Cleigh Hills, the lady abbess and the fair sisters of Cytherea perform their midnight mysteries, secure from magisterial interference, or the rude hand of any pious parochial poacher. Start not, gentle reader; I shall not draw aside the curtain of delicacy, or expose "the secrets of the prison-house:" it is enough for me to note these scenes in half tints, and leave the broad effects of light and shadow to the pencils of those who are amorously inclined and well-practised in giving the finishing———touch.

But to return to my friend Transit. Bright Luna tipt with silvery hue the surrounding clouds, and o'er the face of nature spread her mystic light; the blue concave of high heaven was illumined by a countless host of starry meteors, and the soft note of Philomel from the grove came upon the soul-delighted ear like the sweet breathings of the Eolian harp, or the celestial cadences of that heart-subduing cherub, Stephens; when we set out on our romantic excursion. Reader, you may well start at the introduction of the plural number; but say, what man could abandon his friend to such a dangerous enterprise? or what moralists refuse his services where there was such a probability of there being so much need for them? But we are poor frail mortals; so a truce with apology, or prithee accept one in the language of Moore:

"Dear creatures! we can't live without them,
They're all that is sweet and seducing to man;
Looking, sighing, about and about them,
We dote on them, die for them, do all we can."

To be brief: we found excellent accommodation, and spent the night pleasantly, free from the sin of single blessedness. Many a choice anecdote did the Paphian divinities furnish us with of the gay well-known among the Chelts; stories that will be told again and again over the friendly bottle, but must not be recorded here. Whether Transit, waking early from his slumbers, was paying his devotions to Venus or the water-bottle, I know not; but I was awoke by him about eight in the morning, and heard the loud echo of the huntsman's hallo in my ear, summoning me to rise and away, for the sons of Nimrod had beset the house; information which I found, upon looking through the window, was alarmingly true, but which did not appear either to surprise or affright the fair occupants of the cottages, who observed, it was only some of the "Berkeley Hunt going out," (See Plate), who, if they did not find any where else, generally came looking after a brush in that neighbourhood.

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"Then the best thing we can do," said Transit, "is to brush off, before they brush up stairs and discover a couple of poachers among their game." This, however, the ladies would by no means admit, and the huntsmen quickly riding away, we took our chocolate with the lady abbess and her nuns, made all matters perfectly pleasant, saluted the fair at parting, and bade adieu to the Oakland Cottages.

Upon our return to our inn, we received a good-humoured lecture from Blackstrap, who was just, as he phrased it, on the wing for Bristol and Bath, "where" said he, "if you will meet me at old Matthew Temple's, the Castle Inn, I will engage to give you a hearty welcome, and another bottle of the old particular;" a proposition that was immediately agreed to, as the route we had previously determined upon. One circumstance had, during our sojourn in the west, much annoyed my friend Transit and myself; we had intended to have been present at the Doncaster race meeting for 1825, and have booked both the betting men and their betters. Certainly a better bit of sport could never have been anticipated, but we were neither of us endowed with ubiquity, and were therefore compelled to cry content in the west when our hearts and inclinations were in the north. "If now your 'Spirit in the Clouds,' your merry unknown, he that sometimes shoots off his witty arrows at the same target with ourselves, should archly suspect that old Tom Whipcord was not upon the turf, I would venture a cool hundred against the field, that we should have a report from him, 'ready cut and dried,' and quite as full of fun and whim as if you had been present yourself, Master Bernard, aided and assisted by our ally, Tom Whipcord of Oxford." "Heaven forgive you, Blackmantle, for the sins you have laid upon that old man's back! You are not content with working him hard in the 'Annals' every month, but you must make him mount the box of some of the short stages, and drive over the rough roads of the metropolis, where he is in danger of having his wheel locked, or meeting with a regular upset at every turn." Though Bob has given sufficient proofs of his spirit in danger, I certainly never suspected him to be possessed of the spirit of divination, and yet his prophetic address had scarcely concluded before Boots announced a parcel for Bernard Blackmantle, Esq. forwarded from London, per favour of Mr. Williams. And, Heaven preserve me from the charge of imposing upon my reader's credulity! but, as I live, it was his very hand—another sketch by my attendant sprite, "the Spirit in the Clouds," and to the very tune of Transit's anticipations, and my wishes.

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