“But very grand,” rejoined Bob.
“I have found nothing to look at,” replied Tom; “I have hunted every part of the House, and only seen two persons I know.”
“And I,” said Tallyho, “have been all the while looking at the piece.”
“Which piece do you mean, the one beside you, or the one before you?”
“The performance—The Coronation.”
“I have had so much of that,” said Tom, “that finding you so close in attention to the stage, that I could get no opportunity of speaking to you, I have been hunting for other game, and have almost wearied myself in the pursuit without success; so that I am for quitting the premises, and making a call at a once celebrated place near at hand, which used to be called the Finish. Come along, therefore, unless you have 'mettle more attractive;' perhaps you have some engagements?”
“None upon earth to supersede the one I have with you,” was the reply. Upon which they left the House, and soon found themselves in Covent Garden Market. “This,” said Tom, “has been the spot of many larks and sprees of almost all descriptions, ana election wit has been as cheap in the market as any of the vegetables of the venders; but I am going to take you to a small house that has in former times been the resort of the greatest wits of the age. Sheridan, Fox, and others of their time, have not disdained to be its inmates, nor is it now deserted by the votaries of genius, though considerably altered, and conducted in a different manner: it still, however, affords much amusement and accommodation. It was formerly well known by the appellation of the Finish, and was not opened till a late hour in the night, and, as at the present moment, is generally shut up between 11 and 12 o'clock, and re-opened for the accommodation of the market people at 4 in the morning. The most respectable persons resident in the neighbourhood assemble to refresh themselves after the labours of the day with a glass of ale, spirits, or wine, as they draw no porter. The landlord is a pleasant fellow enough, and there is a pretty neat dressing young lass in the bar, whom I believe to be his sister—this is the house.”
“House,” said Bob, “why this is a deviation from the customary buildings of London; it appears to have no up stairs rooms.”
“Never mind that,” continued Dashall, “there is room enough for us, I dare say; and after your visit to the Woolpack, I suppose you can stand smoke, if you can't stand fire.”
By this time they had entered the Carpenter's Arms, when turning short round the bar, they found themselves in a small room, pretty well filled with company, enjoying their glasses, and puffing their pipes: in the right hand corner sat an undertaker, who having just obtained a victory over his opposite neighbour, was humming a stave to himself indicative of his satisfaction at the result of the contest, which it afterwards appeared was for two mighty's;{1} while his opponent was shrugging up his shoulders with a feeling of a very different kind.