“Then he is a shop-keeper, I suppose.”
“He is a measurer of tape” replied Merry well, “by way of refreshment, or in other words, under safe circumstances, can spin out Old Tom or Blue-ruin.”
“I understand,” said Bob, “a little of the Cratur.”
“Here,” continued Merry well, “is the coach-maker to the late Christophe, King of Hayti, Mr. H—— of Long Acre notoriety. This gentleman bought a considerable estate, which, with true parental regard, he settled on his daughter, and paying for his purchase by his residence here, whether his intentions will be fulfilled or not, so as to obtain liberation by the Whitewashing Act, no one at present can tell—and Colville is taking his walks—he is one of the Janitors, and Crier of the place. He has a Stentorian voice, which is a part of his business to exercise in calling the prisoners. I know but little of him, and even that is not worth knowing. He, however, has the character of being an informer, and I am not aware that he is in possession of any good qualities. I shall, therefore, rather give a slight sketch of the office he holds, than of the person.
“Whoe'er one night has slept within these walls, Has heard the din that each new comer calls, To where the keen-eyed Turnkeys wait to trace The lineaments of every novel face. Each morning thro' the Bench goes forth a cry, By Colville sent thro' every gallery high. To number “One,” peals round the shout from “Ten,” Far rolling heard, “Pull up! now Gentlemen!”
“This is the custom with every new comer, and is productive sometimes of much mirth to some, but of infinite mortification to others, according to the circumstances of the case. As it would occupy some time to describe them, I shall give you a poetical sketch of a morning in the Bench; and by the introduction of a fictitious name, make you acquainted with a general practice. Imagine for a moment,
“Rous'd by the force of that Stentorian sound, Rose Belcour, dressed, and soon the lobby found. About the door a throng of varlets stood, A grinning and ill-favoured brotherhood, That scoff and gibe at every wight that wears Linen less black, or better coat than theirs. For these, young Belcour was too fair a mark; ?Make way,' cries one, 'he's going to the Park: His horses wait; he's going for a ride.' ?Fool, 'tis his tilbury,' another cried; ?D'ye think his lordship rides without his spurs?' ?A curse upon such base unmanner'd curs,' Between his teeth impatient Belcour mutter'd, As each his wit so truly attic utter'd; Then, 'mid the laughter of the brutal throng, Dark frowning through the door he moved along. Within the upper lobby Morris sate, And touch'd with easy complaisance his hat; And cried, not deigning from his seat to stir, ?We hope you're pretty comfortable, Sir. ?These chaps about the door are rather rum; ?But, love you! So they do to all that come.' Short was the conference; the Turnkey's look Quick cognizance of Belcour's features took; And never, from that hour might he pass by Unnoted by that well-observing eye.”
“Well,” said Tallyho, “I must confess such scrutiny on the one part, and such observations on the other, would be more than likely to ruffle my temper, and I should be apt to signify my disapprobation, at least of all that was unnecessary.”
“In that case,” replied Merry well, “you would only subject yourself to additional torment: you would have songs, epigrams, lampoons, and epitaphs in abundance, which would prove still more irritating; for this is the seat of learning and of wit, of poets, painters, and musicians, who, being enraptured with their own arts, neglect that of book-keeping, till a residence here gives them a leisure opportunity to close their ledgers.
Speaking on that subject, by the by, we have among us, at this moment, the publishers of the John Bull, whose combined efforts in the way of scurrility have rendered them notorious among the periodicals of present times. There is, however, little of public attraction about them; and although they profess to have a subscription opened, to enable them to pay the fine imposed upon them, it is doubted whether any such is really in existence. Here, however, is a character of another description: