with her own charms. The Captain is a buck, and swears bloodily, and ridicules Nicholas; while the preacher seriously and meekly reproves the unchristian demeanour of the Captain, and fervently prays for his conversion. Of an evening they often meet at the house of a hospitable lady (here Manchester whispered our hero). The gambler, and his friend the saint, are both extremely attentive to the young ‘squire as well as his sisters; the former gives him a lesson at unlimited loo, the latter on subscriptions for the good of the brethren. Next advanced a party consisting of four: first, a gentleman in canonicals, with the priggish primness of a dissenter, instead of the frank openness of a church divine. With him walked an old lady, arrayed in very tawdry finery; simpering and smiling, and endeavouring to assume the air and manner of a boarding-school miss; though really bearing more the appearance of having been a boarder in a very large house at the bottom of Moor-fields. Then followed a middle-aged man, with a very capacious mouth, and great grey goggling eyes, staring and gaping, and having every mark of what the Scotch would call a _gilliegaapus_[2]. The partner of this accomplished person was a broad, fat, frouzy woman; bearing a rubicund face, plentifully studded with carbuncles, whose chin descended in dewlaps, like those of a cow, which nearly approached another part of her person; that also, in shape, position, and dependency, resembled the appurtenances of the same animal. The first remark of the reverend gentleman, was a conjecture concerning the state of the thermometer at Bath, while his lady made some enquiries concerning the circulating library. The fat person meanwhile was listening with admiration to the wisdom of the preacher; and regarding, with no less admiration, the figure and face of her elegant spouse, whose eyes were turned to some young ladies that appeared to have come from Queen-Anne-street East. Mr. Manchester fortunately happened to know this party, and after slightly bowing to them, gave the following account to our travellers. This is the Reverend Mr. Nicknack, one of the dissenting tribe of spiritual teachers, remarkable for exactness in little things; he keeps a diary, in which is recorded every occurrence of his life. By referring to his valuable manuscript, he can inform you who called upon him, and upon whom he called, every hour of the day; and every day in the year 1740, and downwards: how he relished his breakfast; whether his dinner was hot or cold, over or under roasted or boiled, during the same period. He commenced his observations on the thermometer in the hard frost with which that year began, and knows its state and changes to the present moment. No less careful has he been in recording his state of health and person. I once had a sight of his diary, and remember the following passage: ‘Sunday, April 20th, 1746, (whispering our hero,) 9 o’clock, breakfast half