decked out in all the faded finery of Petticoat-lane, or Bevis Marks; while the heads of the houses of Israel run down on a Saturday, after the Stock Exchange closes, and often do as much business here on the Sabbath, in gambling speculations for the _account day_, as they have done all the week before in London. Here, too, you have the felicity to meet your tailor in his tandem, your ~308~~butcher on his _trotter_, your shoemaker in a _fly_, and your wine-merchant with his bit of blood, his girl, and tilbury, making a greater splash than yourself, and pleasantly pointing you out to observation as a long-winded one, a great gambler, or some other such gratuitous return for your ill-bestowed patronage. To amalgamate with such _canaille_ is impossible--you are therefore driven into seclusion, or compelled to confine your visits and amusements to nearly the same circle you have just left London to be relieved from. Among the "observed" of the present time, the great star of attraction is the rich Banker's widow, who occupies the corner house of the Grand Parade, eclipsing in splendid equipages and attendants an Eastern nabob, or royalty itself. Good fortune threw old Crony in my way, just as I had caught a glimpse of the widow's cap: you know his dry sarcastic humour and tenacious memory, and perhaps I ought to add, my inquisitive disposition. From him I gleaned a sketch of the widow's history, adorned with a few comments, which gallantry to the fair sex will not allow me to repeat. She had just joined conversation with the Marquis of H----, who was attended by Jackson, the pugilist; an illustrious personage and a noble earl were on her left; while behind the _jolie_ dame, at a respectful distance, paced two liveried emblems of her deceased husband's bounty, clad in the sad habiliments of woe, and looking as merry as mutes at a rich man's funeral. _(See Plate.) [Illustration: page308]