on him, Betty, with difficulty, recognised the once graceful and elegant Ninon, whose smiles senators coveted, and whom, only two little years before, he remembered at the head of a handsome establishment, revelling in all the luxuries of the town. Surely more, much more, might be done for these unfortunates! Few women are naturally vicious. Yet many fall, and when they fall, they fall for ever! Is this just? Is it politic? Dropping a sovereign into the hand of this unfortunate, our philosophers proceeded to the Old Bailey, where two murderers were to be executed. Betty, who happened to know the sheriff, sent in his card, on which they were admitted into the interior of the prison. Here, while exploring a long dark passage, a large bell suddenly boomed above their heads. Anxious to escape this dismal knell, they rushed up a flight of steps, and found themselves-on the scaffold! "Here they are, Bill!" exclaimed a voice among the crowd, who immediately rang the welkin with their execrations. Well do I remember Power's describing the horror he felt at thus unexpectedly making his début on such a stage, and experiencing such a reception! Honest Bob C! Who that visited in King-street, has forgotten thee? Bob was an excellent companion, for he preferred listening to talking; and would sit for hours, no matter where, provided he had his tipple. I shall never forget going to see Power play in the City,-where, Heaven knows, for I'm sure I don't; but the theatre had been a chapel, and Power's dressing-room was a sort of rhomboid under a staircase, in which every angle in the building seemed assembled in general congress. Power, dressed for Dr. O'Toole, sat wedged into a niche, with his hands on his knees, and his head held forward for fear of damaging his wig; a posture more convenient than elegant. Bob! hand Canter the porter," said Power. "Bob!" echoed I, hitting my head against the ceiling. "Is Bob with you?" And there, sure enough, in the angle formed by the stairs with the floor, Bob had ensconced himself, with a huge porter-pot between his legs. Ay, and there, too, he would have remained till doomsday, always providing the aforesaid pot had been regularly replenished.* Bob had a legacy left him. The executor inquired what he intended doing with it. Bob didn't know-supposed he must purchase consols. "I've a capital spec in view," said the executor, lolling against the chimney-piece. "Capital-I shall net fifty-ay, if I said seventy per cent. by it, I dare say I should speak within the mark." "Deuce, you would?" grunted Bob. "You'll only get three per cent. in the funds," resumed the executor, after a pause; only three." Only three," said Bob; "that's all.” "Mr. C!" said the merchant, suddenly erecting himself, and seizing Bob's hand, "I've a regard for you, a very great regard indeed; and, to prove it, I'll do for you what I wouldn't do for my Porter is a favourite beverage among artistes, particularly foreigners. Many must recollect with what gusto Pasta seized the porter-pot after her grand scena in "Semiramide." VOL. XVIII. E E own brother; if you like to leave this money with me, you shall have a share in this speculation." "You don't mean it?" said Bob, squeezing the merchant's hand in return. "I do though-I'm quite serious," returned the latter warmly. "The fact is, Bob, you 're a capital good fellow, and I'm glad in the opportunity of serving you; so say no more, say no more, my good sir. We'll consider the matter settled. Here, Mr. Allen! Show Mr. C▬▬ out, ha, ha, ha! good morning-business, you know;" and away went Bob, overjoyed with his investment. A year-eighteen months-two years passed-and not a word of his venture. Bob thought he might as well inquire about it. Accordingly he repaired to Austin Friars, and asked if Mr. D. was in. "He is, sir," replied the clerk, with a smirk; "but he's engaged at present. Can I do your business for you, Mr. C――?" "Why, I called about that speculation, which -" "Ah! I see," interrupted the clerk: "that South American business yes, yes, I understand. Allow me-a word, Mr. C—;" and taking Bob out into the passage, he whispered in his ear, “ Take my advice, and cut as fast as you can." "Cut!" echoed the astonished Bob. "Ay, and be sure you don't come again! The thing turned out a dead failure; and if you stir in the business, you'll have to cash up. Good morning!" And this was all Bob ever heard of his two thousand pounds. Mrs. Hoffland, Linton, the Carews, with many others connected with the arts and the press,* visited in King Street, where, with the reader's permission, we will now pass an evening. Enter we two moderately-sized drawing-rooms, conveniently rather than elegantly furnished, communicating with each other. That door leads into a small third room, dignified with the name of "Library," where Power does his writing; but it is carefully closed, you see, only a favoured few being admitted. There is some mystery in this. Those two full-lengths in the principal apartment are by Frazer; that on the left represents Power as Captain Cleaveland in "The Pirate ;" the other, his lady which is all we shall see of her, more 's the pity- for this is a gentleman's party, about five and forty of whom, you see, are already assembled. Those three merveilleux on the sofa are members of "The Burlington," discussing the merits of the favourite, and the advantages of Melton. These are la crême de la crême,—the flower of the party! Observe what marked attention Power pays them; how he exults in their presence! how happy it makes him! That handsome man with the ebony cane is D-sb-we. His family, for more than half a century, have held situations about the court. M-S-, who is seated next to him, will be a peer of the realm. His father, poor man, much against his inclination, has just been banished into the Upper House. B-r, to whom Power is now speaking, is descended from a great legal functionary, and is to follow the law himself-let us hope, as successfully. But how noisy that group is, standing before the fire! how they wrangle! how they laugh! how they scatter the puns about! — ha, To be noticed when I come to "The Widow's." ha, ha! You are right. These are lawyers too, Templars, Lincoln's Inn men,-sharp dogs, merry fellows, gentlemen to the back-bone, the best and most intelligent companions in the world. There is the making of a chancellor among those wild slips.-But the door opens; some one enters. Who can this tall gentlemanly man in black be? As you observe, there is a modesty, a propriety in his demeanour which prepossesses you. Here's Power! I'll ask who he is. Ah, Stanfield! Indeed, I could have sworn he was somebody But hush! who runs through the chords in that masterly manner? 'Tis little Major; and little Major, let me tell you, if you are fond of music, is worth listening to. Ah, he is going to accompany Poer, I see, the best amateur singer in England, except Mrs. Arkwright, poor Stephen Kemble's daughter. Ah! bravo! bravissimo! what execution! what splendid bass notes! Did you ever hear Non piu andrai sung better? Deuce take it! what can they be about in that little study there? Saw you not how cautiously Power closed the door when he came out just now? Ah! Abbott, Stansbury, and Paul Bedford! Then the theatres are over; and see, they are setting out the supper-not a formal affair of temples and waterfalls, with a dish of sweetened soapsuds in the centre, but crabs, lobsters, scallops, anchovies, devils! a glorious army of STIMULANTS and PROVOCATIVES! served in profusion, and scattered hither and thither, as best suits the convenience and disposition of the company. * Let us join Stanfield and Paul Bedford at that little round table in the corner there! Lord! how droll Paul is! how adroitly he manages to catch the servant's eye! how kindly he caters for us! Stanfield is rallying him on his figure. He calls him a slip, a lath, a hobbledehoy. Paul heeds it not; Paul is too busy; he sticks to his scallop with the devotion of a pilgrim; he quaffs his ale like a holy father! And why for no? — why for no? After taking care of others, it is but fair Paul should take care of himself. Besides, he has been delighting the public, he has been singing in "Massaniello;" and singing and acting, let me tell you, my friend, are dry work. What a forest of glasses! what hecatombs of havannahs they are placing on the table! - and see! see! the door of the little study opens, and ha, ha, ha! ho! ho! ho! what be these, my masters? What merry and diverting spectacle is this? As I live, a pageant ! a right Bacchanalian pageant! So, so, so! It was for this, then, was it, we were so carefully excluded? Really, B―r's jolly god is not amiss. Flush'd with a purple grace, A foil, his Thyrsis; Dr. O'Toole's wig, his chaplet; and Abbottha, ha, ha! only look at Abbott ! How ludicrously he bounds onward, twanging that guitar to Handel's grand chorus, which Paul and Stansbury are burlesquing so gloriously; while Power brings up the rear with Stanfield, groaning beneath the weight of that huge vase, that seething cauldron which I die if it isn't filled with - may brandy punch! Oh! I'll swear it's brandy punch by the perfume it sends forth. They may well sing "The conquering hero!" Oh! if we 're to drink all that, you know! why, it contains three gallons, at the very least, my good sir! This monster-bowl being deposited on the table amid the cheers of the company, Abbott was installed in the chair. "Gentlemen!" said Power, as soon as the glasses were charged, "permit me to give you a toast, which, I am sure, you will drink with pleasure. I have known William Abbott long— (hear, hear!) Abbott.-Yes; and I hope you'll know William Abbott a little longer, especially if you brew such good punch as this." (a laugh.) Power-Look at the man! (Everybody stares at Abbott, who tries to appear interesting.) Look at the man, I say! Abbott.-Well, they are all looking at me. (Sips his punch.) Power.-I repeat, I have known him long, and can conscientiously declare that he is, without any exception-(hear, hear!) without any exception, gentlemen (hear, hear, hear!) — THE GREATEST VILLAIN UNHUNG !—(Roars.) Abbott.—Oh, oh! what a shame! what a shame! I, really— Power.-Gentlemen, the turpitude of that man's conduct is shameful-oh! shameful! no words could do justice to it !—(Hear, hear, and laughter.)—The mischief he does is incalculable. Count the sands of the sea, the crimes of a Cataline, the potatees in Covent Garden Market, but hope not, trust not, seek not, gentlemen, to esti mate the wickedness of William Abbott there!-(Cheers and Bravo!) Under these circumstances, gentlemen, as well-wishers to the community, gentlemen; as Christian brethren, gentlemen (hear, hear, hear!)-as fellow-subjects, actuated by those feelings of justice and philanthropy which reign within this heart here Abbott. That's the wrong side !-(A laugh.) Power.-I beg your pardon; nous avons changé tout cela. I feel convinced you will all most cordially join me in drinking “ Confusion to WILLIAM ABBOTT, and the sooner he is HANGED the better!" -(Roars, and cries of Bravo!) All-Confusion to William Abbott, &c. Hip! hip! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! Air-The night before Larry was stretched.-PoER. Abbott (rising).-Gentlemen! for the honour you have done me— (roars)-after the eulogium that has been pronounced upon me(roars, and cries of Ho, ho!) EULOGIUM, gentlemen! I repeat it! for when a man lives, as Tyrone Power does, "by the badness of his character,"- (roars, and hear, hear !)—when every word, every syllable he utters, gentlemen, is the converse of truth (Hear, hear, hear!) abuse becomes the highest PANEGYRIC! (cheers and bravo!) the highest PANEGYRIC, gentlemen! — (Cheers and Bravo again.) Actors are proverbially modest (a laugh) — and really, gentlemen, when I sit and hear myself made out such as the old song says, great as I am aware my merits are, I feel quite -(takes out his pockel-handkerchief)— Power.-Can any gentleman accommodate him with a smellingbottle?-(Roars, and cries of Order, order !) Abbott.-Gentlemen, I will not trespass on your attention any further. I shall content myself with reciprocating your good wishes -(roars) and conclude with the hope that that monster, that miscreant there-(pointing to Power)-may speak as ill of you all as he has of me, gentlemen!-(Cheers and laughter.) * - After a glee, admirably sung by Poer, Stansbury, and Paul Bedford, Power proposed that we should all sing an extempore verse, commencing with the chairman, under the penalty of drinking a tumbler of punch, which, to the consternation of those whom "the gods" had not "made poetical," was agreed to. Abbott had strenuously opposed this. Cunning rogue! he was all the time, I suspect, concocting his couplets, which ran as follows: "I am averse to make a verse, Because, d' ye see, I can't; But if I could, I'm sure I would, But as I can't, I shan't." Hock and soda water in great request next morning! * This species of persiflage was much in vogue at Power's, Don Trueba's, &c. THE SORROWS OF THE POOR. THE poor man hath a lonely lot, His very being is forgot Among the sons of pride. He rises with the morning light, The cold neglect, the with'ring scorn, Alas! to him the changeful earth Hath features ever sad; For when the summer wakes its mirth, For what to him is Nature's smile, God's blessing on the verdant fields, In truth 'tis beautiful to view ! strange: : Their sense of joy is o'er! are The slaves of want!-while those who And from the depths of woe could save, Nor mark the signet death hath placed, The poor! oh, mock not those who weep, For Heav'n doth surely record keep, When earthly aid is gone ;— |