Master Gregory Flinn, to whom Master Patrick Donovan's sally seems to have given great amusement, is provided, it will be observed, with a hoop. It is fit that the superior classes, who are so apt to be guilty of misplaced charity, an amiable but fatal weakness, should know, that the Children of the Mobility are in many instances possessed of the superfluity of toys; which, of course, if they were really hungry, they would dispose of, and get something to eat. We certainly think that the country should not be saddled with the expense of maintaining those Children of the Mobility who can afford to keep hoops.
There is one circumstance which, in considering the Children of the Mobility in general, and particularly this part of them, strikes us very forcibly indeed. We mean, the style of their chevelure. How easy it would be to part Master Gregory Flinn's hair in the middle, or to bid waving ringlets to stray down the shoulders of Miss Katherine O'Shaughnessy, instead of allowing elf-locks to dangle about her ears! and what an improvement would thereby be effected in the personal appearance of both! To require farther attentions to this department of the toilet on the part of such persons as the Mobility, may perhaps appear a little unreasonable; but we must say, that did we belong to that description of persons, we would decidedly debar ourselves of the common necessaries of life, as long as Nature would permit us so to do, in order to procure those (to us) indispensable articles on which the gloss and brilliancy of the hair depend.
Another little improvement, and one unattended by the slightest expense, might so easily be made in the condition of the Children of the Mobility, that we wonder that no benevolent individual has hitherto endeavoured to effect it. A glance at the group now under consideration must convince the most tasteless observer that the youthful personages therein depicted are supporting themselves on their feet in the most ungraceful posture imaginable. Whoever looks at the portraits of the Children of the Nobility, will see that some are represented as standing in the first; others in the second position; while others again are resting, with all the elegance of a Cerito, upon the very tips of their very little feet. Dove-like in everything else, they are as unlike that bird as possible in their attitudes. Why should the young Mobility tread the earth like pigeons, when the opposite mode of standing and of progression is so much more becoming?
Before we take leave of these young,—we might say unfledged,—inhabitants of the Rookery, we may remark, that they are much addicted to an amusement greatly conducive to the advantage of the pedestrian, that of displacing the superfluous matter which is apt to accumulate upon crossings. They also pursue an employment which, were it a legal one, we might compare to that of the Solicitor General. Or we might describe its followers as probationers belonging to the Society of Mendicants; an order, it would seem, which Henry VIII. could not entirely suppress.
LINES TO MISS MARGARET FLINN.
Hadst thou, by Fortune's hest, been born
Th' Exclusive Circles to adorn,
Thy beauty, like a winged dart,
Had pierced my unresisting heart!
Those charms should grace the lordly hall,
The gay salon, the brilliant ball,
Where Birth and Fashion, Rank and Style,
Might bask enraptured in thy smile.
There, there, methinks I see thee glide,
Distinguish'd Persons at thy side;
Illustrious Foreigners around,
Whose gentle hearts thy spell hath bound.
Thee, fair one, meeting haply there,
While flutt'ring o'er the gay parterre,
This fickle bosom then might be
Perchance attun'd to Love and Thee!
PLATE II. Master Jim Curtis, Master Mike Waters, and Master Bill Sims.
Youths in full, such prolixity being, among the Order of Mobility to which they belong, a thing entirely unknown. The group last described, we might have represented as taken from the genus, "Ragamuffin;" this, in like manner, we may consider as pertaining to the tribe, "Varlet." Masters Curtis, Waters, and Sims, are members of that numerous republic of boys frequenting, like the canine race, (indeed it is not unusual to hear them described as "young dogs,") all manner of public walks, squares, streets, and alleys. Pot-boys, butchers' boys, bakers' boys, errand-boys, doctors' boys, and all other boys whose professed character is that of being generally useful, but whose real one is that of being generally idle, come under this head. Our readers, while in their breakfast-parlours, have no doubt often heard them notifying their presence at the area railings by noises peculiar to each. Our refined taste revolts at the idea of having to describe such characters; but the task, however repugnant to our feelings, must be performed. We will endeavour to do this with as much delicacy as the nature of the subject will admit of; and we hope that while apparently sinning against Refinement, we shall be earning the palliative merit of a stern fidelity to Truth.
"Happy Land!—Happy Land!—Hallo, Bill?" Such is the greeting with which Master Mike Waters, pausing in his song, and halting in his trot, accosts Master Bill Sims, whom he meets at the turning of a corner in a place called Bloomsbury Square. "How are yer, my tulip?" exclaims Master Jim Curtis, who, arriving at the same moment, completes the group. We have not expressed the Christian names of the above-mentioned.