Look at the groups of customers, and observe the different air with which they call for what they want, as they are more or less struck by the grandeur of the establishment. The two old washerwomen, who are seated on the little bench to the left of the bar, are rather overcome by the head-dresses, and haughty demeanor of the young ladies who officiate; and receive their half quartern of gin-and-peppermint with considerable deference, prefacing a request for “one of them soft biscuits,” with a “Just be good enough, ma'am,” &c. They are quite astonished at the impudent air of the young fellow in the brown coat and white buttons, who, ushering in his two companions, and walking up to the bar in as careless a manner as if he had been used to green and gold ornaments all his life, winks at one of the young ladies with singular coolness, and calls for a “kervorten and a three-out-glass,” just as if the place were his own. “Gin for you, sir,” says the young lady when she has drawn it, carefully looking every way but the right one to show that the wink had no effect upon her. “For me, Mary, my dear,” replies the gentleman in brown. “My name an't Mary as it happens,” says the young girl, in a most insinuating manner, as she delivers the change. “Vell, if it an't, it ought to be,” responds the irresistible one; “all the Marys as ever I see was handsome gals.” Here the young lady, not precisely remembering how blushes are managed in such cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by addressing the female in the faded feathers who had just entered, and who, after stating explicitly, to prevent any subsequent misunderstanding that “this gentleman” pays, calls for “a glass of port wine and a bit of sugar,” the drinking which, and sipping another, accompanied by sundry whisperings to her companion, and no small quantity of giggling, occupies a considerable time. Observe the group on the other side: those two old men who came in “just to have a dram,” finished their third quartern a few seconds ago; they have made themselves crying drunk, and the fat, comfortable {460} looking elderly women, who had “a glass of rum-_srub_” each, having chimed in with their complaints on the hardness of the times, one of the women has agreed to stand a glass round, jocularly observing that “grief never mended no broken bones, and as good people's wery scarce, what I says is, make the most on 'em, and that's all about it;” a sentiment which appears to afford unlimited satisfaction to those who have nothing to pay.