It is Saturday night, and my uncle, who on other days of the week shuts at six o’clock in winter and eight in summer time, does not close his doors, and drives a roaring trade till midnight. The half-pence rattle, shillings are tested, huge bundles rumble down the spout, and the little black calico bags, containing the tickets having reference to the goods desired to be redeemed, and which the assistant will look out in the warehouse, fly rapidly upwards. It is time now for us to redeem that trifling little matter which we pawned last Tuesday, on purpose to have an excuse for visiting the pawnbroker’s shop to-night; and, casting glances in which curiosity is not unmixed with compassion, go back to Signor Verdi and her Majesty’s Theatre. Thou, at least, my friend, may do this—I will leave thee in the vestibule for awhile; for, between the hours of nine and ten, I have other clock matters to which I must attend. NINE O’CLOCK P.M.—HALF-PRICE IN THE NEW CUT, AND A DANCING ACADEMY. An inedited anecdote of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.,—an anecdote passed over or ignored by Boswell, Croker, Piozzi, and Hawkins,—an anecdote to allude to which, perhaps, Lord Macaulay might disdain, while Mr. Carlyle might stigmatise it as an “unutterable sham of mud-volcano gigability,” but in which I have, nevertheless, under correction, the most implicit faith, relates that the Sage’s opinion was once asked by Oliver Goldsmith (Mr. Boswell of Auchinlech being present, of course) as to whether he approved, or did not approve, of the theatrical institution known as “half-price?” The Doctor was against it. “Sir,” he reasoned, or rather decided, “a man has no right to see half an entertainment. He should either enjoy all or none.” “But, sir,” objected Goldsmith deferentially, “supposing the entertainment to be divided into equal halves, both complete in themselves, has not a man a right to suit his pocket and his convenience, and see only one half?” “Sir, you are frivolous,” thundered the Doctor; “the man has but Hobson’s choice: the second moiety of the entertainment. If he go at first price, he must pay whole price.” “But, sir,” suggested Bozzy with a simper, “how would it stand, if the man coming at half-price promised the doorkeeper to go away punctually at nine o’clock, when the second price commenced?” “Hold _your_ tongue, sir,” said Doctor Johnson, whereat Mr. Boswell of Auchinlech was abashed, and spake no more till the kindly old Doctor invited him to tea, with blind Miss Williams and Mr. Levett the apothecary.