[Illustration: C. P. NICHOLLS] _THE_ OLD CHELSEA BUN-HOUSE. _A Tale of the Last Century._ BY THE AUTHOR OF 'MARY POWELL.' See how the World its Votaries rewards! A Youth of Folly, an Old Age of Cards! * * * * * But trust me, Dears, Good-humour will prevail, When Airs, and Flights, and Screams, and Scoldings fail. Beauties in vain their pretty Eyes may roll, Charms strike the Sight, but Merit wins the Soul. POPE: _Rape of the Lock_. LONDON: Printed for ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO. _25, Paternoster Row._ 1855. [Illustration] CHAPTER I. _Lady Betty's Folly._ It is a sad Thing when a Lady of Quality, who has been a Toast in her Youth, and has seen the white-gloved Beaux, as Mr. _Pope_ calls them, bowing to her from the Pit, and kissing the scented Tips of their Gloves to her in the Ring; who has flaunted at _Vauxhall_, and shone in a Side-Box of the Opera-House in _Lincoln's Inn Fields_; has run down _Handel_, and run after _Bononcini_; has had her gay Water-Parties to _Jenny's Whim_, attended by Violins and Hautboys; and has brought, not only her own Company, but her own Strawberries and Cherries to our Bun-house, as if our own were not good enough; it is mortifying, I say, when such a Lady of Quality falls into the sear and yellow Autumn of Life, and finds herself a disregarded Thing, with no resources but green Tea and Brag. And such is the Case with poor Lady _Betty Spadille_. How well I remember her, on the Occasion I have somewhat maliciously alluded to, for it sticks in my Throat, arriving at our Bun-House in her peach-coloured Sacque, Mechlin Head, and red-heeled Shoes, the Foreparts richly embroidered with Silver; loudly talking and laughing, and turning her Head right and left, now to this Beau, now to t'other, who fluttered round her with their clouded Canes and perfumed Wigs; now bursting into what the _French_ People call _des grands Eclats de Rire_, now flirting her Fan, or rapping it on the Shoulder of one of the Ladies who accompanied her. Having just set my Mark, a Sprig of Rosemary, in the midst of one of good Bishop _Atterbury_'s Sermons, I thought within myself, "Is this a Creature that is formed for Eternity?" Meanwhile, two tall Lacqueys, with immense Shoulder-Knots, bore between them a great Hamper of _French_ Wine; while a little black Page, in pale Blue, laced with Silver, tottered under the Fruit from _Rogers's_; and certainly it was very fine. I never saw such Strawberries and Cherries before nor since. I did not think her a Belle of the first Order, setting her Rank and Style aside. Her Shape was fine; her Hand and Foot delicately formed; but she rolled her Eyes too much, and had too high a Colour. I don't believe she painted. Altogether, she seemed in the very Flush of Existence; as if she had never met with a Reverse, nor ever expected one. She seemed to think "Let us Eat and Drink," without adding, "To-morrow _we die_."