made precis for the king, which he was pleased to approve, as he told Lord Castleton himself, of which, being one of the best judges in his own dominions, I was not a little proud.

In the afternoon I rode in the park, amid a gay and increasing throng of acquaintance of both sexes; many of them rising young men, some actually risen ; and the women of the most finished

tournure.

In these parties Lady Hungerford and Granville, who constantly attended her, were conspicuous, and by the consequence which their protection gave me, made me appear in the world any thing but a decayed gentleman.

As to themselves, the thing seemed decided in public opinion, and they were given without reserve to each other. I was much catechised upon it; and though I could not answer, because I knew nothing, it was taken as a proof of discretion, auguring a prudence which would in the end assuredly lead to something great.

The opportunities of knowing the world were thus multiplied, and what amused me was, to observe the deference shewn me by many whom I thought great men at Oxford, because of their horses and large expenditure compared with my own (though perhaps the whole of their fortune), but who in those days stood studiously aloof from such little men as I.

These men formed a class which an observer of the world would do well to note.

They were the Mr. Wiggenses and Mr. Sprigginses of life; sons of little merchants, or practitioners in the professions, who had bred or intended to breed them to their own vocations; but leaving them small fortunes, from three to five thousand pounds apiece, which sufficing to their immediate views, they would not submit to either the restraint or what they thought the disgrace of business, but resolved to burst forth men of fashion at once.

This, as they imagined, consisted in being able to keep a good horse, with perhaps (for it was not universal), a groom; to ride regularly in the ring, know every coach with a coronet, be a Bond Street lounger (then a great town character), and lodge in its neighbourhood. The richer ones frequented the coffee-houses there, and sometimes even dined at them. These were at all proper times to be seen at Tattersall's, and never missed Epsom.

But the happiness and dignity of these gentry were consummate, if they could regularly attend the Opera of a Saturday night, where one of them was a most amusing study-indeed perfectly unique; for, having a few acquaintances of his own of the higher sort, and, by dint of an apprenticeship to it of some years, having acquired a knowledge of the names and persons of most of the people of rank, he was to be seen and heard regu

larly echoing the announcement of every carriage as it was called, generally accompanying it with some remark regarding the motions of the owners. Thus, if Lady D.'s carriage was vociferated, he would loudly repeat it, with the addition of "stops the way;" if Lady E.'s, he would cry out, "gone some time;" if Lord F.'s, "gone to Brooks's with Lord G.;" if Lady H.'s, "has not been here to-night."

Townsend (then a young minister of police) complained bitterly of this person, for rivalling him, as he said, in his vocation; and once said, with his characteristic liberty of speech, meaning really to compliment him, "What an excellent police officer was spoilt, Sir, when you were made a gentleman." The laugh occasioned by this innuendo kept away the aspirant of fashion two whole nights.

What became of this useless order of beings, as they grew older, I never could exactly make out. It is certain most of them disappeared, though some continued to be seen lounging on "the shady side of Pall Mall" in summer, or expelling smoke from their cigars in winter; neither advancing nor retrograding; the only alteration being from youth

to age.

Now and then one of them might contrive to make a comfortable marriage, and take his place among his sister dowagers at the card-table; but

most passed their lives in useless, monotonous, and irrespectable celibacy: not put to shame by any notorious vice, but total strangers to any active virtue.

Those whose annuities were of a smaller kind altogether disappeared, and were scattered about the world, glad to escape into the colonies, or, if they had interest, into some public office, where I have sometimes detected them, rather to their dismay. But again, " Vogue la galère.”

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I could write a volume on the different characters I met with; some at the clubs, and some at the tables of the great, particularly at Lord Castleton's, where, as his aide-de-camp (the title he gave me), I had my regular place. The parties were, as may be supposed, chiefly political; but they admitted, from the taste and character of the host, of a mixture of rank and conditions, from the élite of the haute noblesse, to the untitled, but talented man of genius, in letters, or the liberal arts. The conversation, therefore, was often rich and interesting, and generally agreeable; nor, with such a field for it, did I forget Lady Hungerford's advice, to endeavour to banish what it was madness to think of, in the pictures of life thus presented to me.

At one of these dinners, composed of company such as I have described, I was greatly amused, and edified too, by meeting a new sort of character, of whose very existence I had hitherto been igno

rant. Granville, who was in general, from his knowledge of the wits, men of letters, and critics of the time, entrusted by Lord Castleton with the task of selecting his guests of this description, had brought this person to the party, to all of whom (at least, those of a higher degree) he seemed a perfect stranger.

Yet everybody had heard of the eminent critic, Mr. John Paragraph; although nobody knew what he had been until he blazed forth as one of the directors of the public taste, which he condescended to guide in a periodical publication. Perhaps he had been, like myself, a decayed gentleman; though, unlike myself, he had been ten years on the town. Hence, on the strength of a considerable portion of verjuice in his composition, and impenetrable impudence in scattering it, whether in print or conversation, he became a first-rate character in the walk he had chosen.

Mr. Paragraph was eminent for a natural slang, which passed, with vulgar people, for wit, and with the weak and timid, for overpowering ability. "Yet I have long," said Granville, who gave me this account, "taken measure of his understanding and acquirements, and even as what he pretends to be, a critic, have found him below mediocrity; but, as a man who has either the mind, manners, or literature of a gentleman, he is not to be named. For the fellow has not a