This Stygian puddle-seller was formerly notorious for his ill-favoured cap, that aped a turbant; and, in conjunction with his antichristian face, made him appear perfect Turk. But of late his wife being grown acquainted with gallants, and the provocative virtue of chocolate, he finds a broad-brimmed hat more necessary. When he comes to fill you a dish, you may take him for Guy Faux with a dark lanthorn in his hand, for no sooner can you taste it, but it scalds your throat, as if you had swallowed the gunpowder-treason. Though he seem never so demure, you cannot properly call him pharisee, for he never washes either out or inside of his pots or dishes, till they be as black as an usurer's conscience; and then only scraping off the contracted soot, makes use of it, in the way of his trade, instead of coffee-powder: their taste and virtue being so near of kin, he dares defy the veriest coffee-critic to distinguish them. Though he be no great traveller, yet he is in continual motion, but it is only from the fire-side to the table; and his tongue goes infinitely faster than his feet, his grand study being readily to echo an answer to that threadbare question, "What news have you, Master?" Then with a grave whisper, yet such as all the room may hear it, he discovers some mysterious intrigue of state, told him last night by one that is barber to the taylor of a mighty great courtier's man: relating this with no less formality than a young preacher delivers his first sermon, a sudden hick-up surprises him, and he is forced twenty times to break the thread of his tale with such necessary parentheses, "Wife, sweep up those loose corns of tobacco, and see the liquor boil not over." He holds it as part of his creed, that the great Turk is a very good christian, and of the reformed church, because he drinks coffee; and swears that Pointings, for celebrating its virtues in doggerel, deserves to be poet-laureat: yet is it not only this hot hell-broth that he sells, for never was mountebank furnished with more variety of poisonous drugs, than he of liquors; tea and aromatick for the sweet-toothed gentleman, betony[3] and rosade[4] for the addle-headed customer, back-recruiting chocolate for the consumptive gallant, Herefordshire redstreak made of rotten apples at the Three Cranes, true Brunswick mum brewed at St. Catharine's, and ale in penny mugs, not so big as a taylor's thimble. As you have a hodge-podge of drinks, such too is your company; for each man seems a leveller, and ranks and files himself as he lists, without regard to degrees or order; so that often you may see a silly fop and a worshipful justice, a griping rook and a grave citizen, a worthy lawyer and an errant pickpocket, a reverend nonconformist and a canting mountebank, all blended together to compose an oglio[5] of impertinence.