302 DIARY OF A JOKE-HUNTER. 



Dressed at eleven ; drew two bills of discovery for Palmer, Watts, 

 and Co. Got out by one. Walked briskly to Hatchett's, and 

 lunched on a hot lobster and salad in the Travellers' room. Pumped 

 Richard for a few facetiae, but he hadn't such a thing in the house, 

 and recommended cold shoulder of veal as a substitute. Whipper-in 

 to new <( Hoppyzish'n Nomnebush" appeared in quest of stray pas- 

 sengers. Recognized him at once, as the gentleman who, before I 

 commenced my condensation, frequently drove me to Fulham, by 

 Wallis's best. It was Mat, whom Hood has immortalized at page 52 

 of his last Annual, without, however, giving the poor fellow a patro- 

 nymic ; the world should know that it is Webster. Our friend is to 

 be spoken with any day, at Hatchett's, between twelve and three, for 

 the value of a pint of beer. He is of the CAD genus; but his specific 

 identity is evident from the following characteristic peculiarities : 

 Face oldish, shabby, but clean as a new pin ; attire, ditto, ditto, 

 ditto ; boots patched, but polished to painful intensity. " Well, 

 Mat, is that you ?" said I. <e Yes, master, here's Mat, every body's 

 Mat now ; though, as you knows, I once was a-top of the tree. But 

 here I am reduced to yarn a tizzy, if I can, by bagging a brace or 

 two of passengers for Jack Noggin : Fulham, sir, Chelsea, Bromp- 

 ton, Sloane-street ?" " Neither, Mat." " Not agoing no where ! 

 Well, it can't be helped. Yes, sir, I'm now my own employer ; and 

 as nobody pays me, why nobody can't discharge me. I've been 

 plunged into misfortunes ; but I've one comfort, namely, that no man 

 could try harder to get dislocated ; but I can't. You havn't got ever 

 a few old mouldy browns in your pocket, ha' you master ? I han't 

 had nothing but a beggarly bit of beef-skirt and coffee for one over 

 my chin since breakfast, and the wind a'most stops the stagnation of 

 the blood ! I does want to make up a little money this morning 

 uncommon bad, sure-ly ; for I've got a pair of teeth, you see, what 

 aches so diametrically, that I'd sell my cravat rather than not get 'em 

 distracted." 



Having done the needful both in respect of Mat and the lunch, I 

 threw on my cloak and stalked out. On the steps I found B. waiting 

 for a Hammersmith. The atmosphere of his temper was even more 

 than usually genial, and I ventured to pop the question : had he a 

 joke to spare? He had, and this was it. In the year 1826, a very 

 lady-like poem was published by a young gentleman, who, elated by 

 the applause conferred on his production by the reviewers, consi- 

 dered himself as heir-presumptive to the laurel honours of Byron. 

 In the pride of his heart he sent a copy, with his compliments, to a 

 certain renowned violinist, who called upon the young gentleman the 

 next day to ask where he had obtained the names of his characters ? 

 " Why," replied the poet, " as it was my first production, and would, 

 as I foresaw, either make me or mar me, I determined to spare no 

 labour, no pains, to render it perfect ; therefore, my scene being laid 



in Italy as I did not know Italian myself " " But you were 



aware that / did." " True, my dear sir ; but you're only an Eng- 

 lishman ; you wouldn't have suited my purpose : no, no, I went to 

 the fountain head ; I got hold of a real Italian, sir, -a. young Neapo- 

 litan who sells images ; and in the course of half an hour after I had 



