“In order to give some shade and variety to this sketch of society in the west, we will now, if agreeable, travel eastward as far as the entrance to the City, where I will introduce you, in fancy, to what must (at least to our friend Tallyho) afford both novelty and surprise.
“Some time ago, and before I was quite so well versed in the knowledge of Life in London as at present, through the medium of one of the 'young men of genius about town,' I became a member of a new philosophical society called the Socratics, held at a certain house near Temple Bar. Having been plucked by several kind friends, till I resembled the 'man of Diogenes,' I concluded that here, at least, my pockets might be tolerably safe from the diving of a friendly hand. Philosophers, I was told by my friend the introducer, had souls above money; their thoughts were too sublime and contemplative for such worldly-minded concerns. I should have a great deal of instruction for little or nothing; I had only to pay my two guineas per annum, and the business was done; the gate of science was open, and nothing farther was requisite than to push forward and imitate Socrates. But how strangely do our anticipations mislead our sober judgments!
?Jove breaks the tallest stilts of human trust, And levels those who use them with the dust.'
“The proprietor of the institution was rather courtier-like in making promises, which the managers of course considered as much too common-place and mechanical to be kept. It professed to exclude politics and religion from the touch of its scientific paws; in other words, from its discussions; but, alas!
?It kept the word of promise to the ear And broke it to the hope.'
“The only subjects which it did not exclude were politics and religion. Neither could it be said that either of these subjects received more benefit from the way in which they were handled, than a white dress would from the handling of a chimney-sweeper, the first being made as black as possible in the form of Tom-Payneism, and the latter served up in the improved shape of Hartleyism or Atheism. Under such instruction it was scarcely possible but that I should, in process of time, become qualified, not only for a philosopher, but a legislator of the first water; and I had serious thoughts of offering my services, for the purpose of drawing up a code of laws, to the Otaheitans or the Calmucks. If I had gone on improving as I did, I might, perhaps, have carried out to some Backwood settlement or Atlantic island, as pretty a Utopian prescription, under the designation of a constitution, as could well be desired in the most philosophical community. But one of those sad trifles which suffocate great ideas, and sometimes terminate in suffocating philosophers, put a stop to my further enlightenment for the present, by drying up the treasury of the Socratics. The philosophers were the most civil as well as the most unfortunate people in the world. One or other of them was always in want of money, either to perfect some great scheme, or to save him from the unscientific 'handling' of a bailiff. It was enough to move a mile-stone, to think how the progress of improvement, or 'march of mind,' as it is called, might be delayed by being too cold-hearted; and it did move my purse to such a degree, that at length I had the satisfaction of discerning truth, sitting sola, at the bottom of it. My pocket consumption, however, was not instant, but progressive; it might be called a slow fever. Some of the philosophers visited me for a loan, like a monthly epidemy; others drained me like a Tertian; and one or two came upon me like an intermittent ague, every other day. Among these was Mr. Hoaxwell, the editor, as he called himself, of a magazine. This fellow had tried a number of schemes in the literary line, though none had hitherto answered. But he had the advantage and credit of shewing in his own person, the high repute in which literature is held in London, for he could seldom walk the streets without having two followers at his heels, one of whom frequently tapped him on the shoulder, no doubt, to remind him of mortality, like the slave in the Roman triumphs. The favourite thesis of this gentleman, was the 'march of mind;' and on this subject he would spout his half hour in so effectual a manner, as to produce two very opposite effects; viz. the closing of the eyes of the elder philosophers, and the opening of mine, which latter operation was usually rendered more effectual by his concluding inquiry of ?have you such a thing as a pound note about you?'
To match this saint, there was another, As busy and perverse a brother.
“This was the treasurer of the Socratics, Thomas Carney Littlego, Esq. and a treasure of a treasurer he was. This gentleman was a pupil of Esculapius, and united in his own person the various departments of dentist, apothecary, and surgeon. It is presumed that he found the employment of drawing the eye teeth of Philosophical Tyros more profitable, and bleeding the young Socratics more advantageous, than physicking his patients. In his lectures he advocated the system of research, and admired deduction; and this I, among many others, had reason, at last, to know. It was very odd, but so it was, that some two or three hundred per annum, subscribed by the members of the society, vanished into the worthy treasurer's pocket, as it were a Moskoestron, and then disappeared for ever.
“Another of the Socratics was called Epictetus Moonshine, Esquire. This gentleman was a tall spider-like man, with lantern jaws, hatchet face, and a mouth—the chief characteristic of which was, that it made a diagonal line from the bottom of the face to the eyebrow. He was a great speculator, and had taken it into his head, that beyond the blue mountains in New South Wales, was the real El Dorado. But as he possessed, according to the usual phrase, more wit than money, and no one will discount a check from the aforesaid wit on change, the zeal of Epictetus Moonshine, some time after the breaking up of the Socratic institution for benefitting the human race, so much got the better of self-love, that he committed several petty larcenies in hopes of being transported thither; but whether his courage or his luck failed him, certain it is that he never reached the proper degree of criminality, and only succeeded in visiting by turns the various penitentiaries in London and its vicinity.
“'You mistake greatly, Sir,' said he, to one of the visiting governors of Bridewell, who condoled with a man of his talents in such a position, 'if you think a residence in this sequestered haunt a subject of regret. The mind, as Milton says, is its own seat, and able of itself to make—