After a night spent in the utmost hilarity, heightened by the vivacity and good-humour of my associates, to which might be added, the full gratification of my prevailing _penchant_ for the observance of character, we were on the point of departing, when Transit, ever on the alert in search of variety, observed a figure whom (in his phrase) he had long wished to book; in a few moments a sketch of this eccentric personage was before us. "That is the greatest original we have yet seen," said our friend Bob: "he is now in the honourable situation of croupier to one of the most notorious hells in the metropolis. This poor devil was once a master tailor of some respectability, until getting connected with a gang of sharpers, he was eventually fleeced of all his little property: his good-natured qualifications, and the harmless pleasantries with which he abounds, pointed him out as a very proper person to act as a confederate to the more wealthy legs; from a pigeon he became a bird of prey, was enlisted into the corps, and regularly initiated into all the diabolical mysteries of the black art. For some time he figured as a decoy upon the town, dressed in the first style of fashion, and driving an unusually fine horse and elegant Stanhope, until a circumstance, arising out of a ~219~~ joke played off upon him by his companions, when in a state of intoxication, made him so notorious, that his usefulness in that situation was entirely frustrated, and, consequently, he has since been employed within doors, in the more sacred mysteries of the Greek temple. The gentleman I mean is yonder, with the Joliffe tile and sharp indented countenance: his real name is B------; but he has now obtained the humorous cognomen of 'The subject' from having been, while in a state of inebriety, half stripped, put into a sack, and in this manner conveyed to the door of Mr. Brooks, the celebrated anatomist in Blenheim-street, by a hackney night-coachman, who was known to the party as the resurrection Jarvey. On his being deposited in this state at the lecturer's door, by honest Jehu, who offered him for sale, the surgeon proceeded to examine his subject, when, untying the sack, he discovered the man was breathing: 'Why, you scoundrel,' said the irritable anatomist, 'the man's not dead.' 'Not dead!' re-echoed coachee, laughing at the joke, 'Why, then, kill him when you want him!' The consequence of this frolic had, however, nearly proved more serious than the projectors anticipated: the anatomist, suspecting it was some trick to enter his house for burglarious purposes, gave the alarm, when Jarvey made his escape; but poor B------was secured, and conveyed the next morning to Marlborough-street, where it required all the ingenuity of a celebrated Old Bailey solicitor to prevent his being committed for the attempt to rob a bonehouse."