However, there flourished in a somewhat later day a philosopher, for such he was after his fashion, a virtuoso, antiquary, and _F.R.S._, whose ghost an inconsiderable person may perhaps attempt to raise without being accused of pretending to be too much of a conjuror. He appears to have been a _Peripatetic_, at least until he could keep a coach, but on the subjects of dress, dining, and some others, his opinions favour strongly of _Epicurism_. A little more than a hundred and eighty years ago he employed his leisure in going about everywhere, peeping into everything, seeing all that he could, and chronicling his experiences daily. In his _Diary_, which happily has come down to our times, the historical facts are highly valuable, the comments mostly sensible, the style is very odd, and the autobiography extremely ludicrous. I have adventured reverently to evoke this worshipful gentleman, that, resuming his old vocation as a journalist, he might comment on the "_Manners and Customs of ye Englyshe_," in the name of MR. PIPS. I hope his shadow, if not his spirit, may be recognised in the following pages. PERCIVAL LEIGH. [Illustration: _A CIDERE CELLARE DURING A COMICK SONGE._ SATURDAY, _March 10, 1849_.] To Drury Lane this Evening, to see the Horsemanship, which did divert me mightily; but had rather it had been at Astley's, which is the fitter Place for it. After that, to Supper at the Cider Cellars in Maiden Lane, wherein was much Company, great and small, and did call for Kidneys and Stout, then a small Glass of _Aqua-Vitæ_ and Water, and thereto a Cigar. While we supped, the Singers did entertain us with Glees and Comical Ditties; but Lack, to hear with how little Wit the young Sparks about Town are tickled! But the Thing that did most take me was to see and hear one Ross sing the Song of SAM HALL the Chimney-Sweep, going to be hanged: for he had begrimed his Muzzle to look unshaven, and in rusty black Clothes, with a battered old Hat on his Crown and a short Pipe in his Mouth, did sit upon the Platform, leaning over the Back of a Chair: so making believe that he was on his way to Tyburn. And then he did sing to a dismal Psalm-Tune, how that his Name was SAM HALL, and that he had been a great Thief, and was now about to pay for all with his Life; and thereupon he swore an Oath which did make me somewhat shiver, though divers laugh. Then, in so many Verses, how his Master had badly taught him and now he must hang for it; how he should ride up Holborn Hill in a Cart, and the Sheriffs would come, and then the Parson, and preach to him, and after them would come the Hangman; and at the End of each Verse he did repeat his Oath. Last of all, how that he should go up to the Gallows; and desired the Prayers of his Audience, and ended by cursing them all round. Methinks it had been a Sermon to a Rogue to hear him,