Our poor friend, Mr. Nichol Loaming, has treated us with a long and eloquent dissertation upon this symptom of degeneracy; and certainly, if the advice _experto crede_ be of any weight, Mr. Nichol’s testimony ought to induce all persons to hang out upon the exterior of their residences some more convincing enunciation of their name and calling than it is at present the fashion to produce. Nichol came up to town with letters of introduction to several friends of his family, whom it was his first duty and wish to discover. But his first adventure so dispirited him, that, after having spent two mornings at an hotel, he set out upon his homeward voyage, and left the metropolis an unexplored region. He purposed to make his first visit to Sir William Knowell, and, having with some difficulty discovered the street to which he had been directed, he proceeded to investigate the doors, in order to find out the object of his search. The doors presented nothing but a blank! He made inquiries, was directed to a house, heard that Sir William was at home, was shown into an empty room, and waited for some time with patience. The furniture of the house rather surprised him. It was handsomer than he had expected to find it; and on the table were the _Morning Chronicle_ and the _Edinburgh Review_, although Sir William was a violent Tory. At length the door opened, and a gentleman made his appearance. Nichol asked, in a studied speech, whether he had the honour to address Sir William Knowell? The gentleman replied that he believed there had been a little mistake, but that he was an intimate friend of Sir W. Knowell’s, and expected him in the course of a few minutes. Nichol resumed his seat, although he did not quite perceive what mistake had taken place. He was unfortunately urged by his evil genius to attempt conversation. He observed that Sir W. Knowell had a delightful house, and inquired whether the neighbourhood was pleasant. “His next neighbour,” said the stranger, with a most incomprehensible smile, “is Sir William Morley.” Nichol shook his head; was surprised to hear Sir William kept such company--had heard strange stories of Sir W. Morley--hoped there was no foundation--indeed had received no good report of the family! “The mother rather weak in the head--to say the truth under confinement; the sister a professed coquette--went off to Gretna last week with a Scotch officer; Sir William himself a gambler by habit, a drunkard by inclination--at present in the King’s Bench, without the possibility of an adjustment----”