220 The Bower; a Vauxhall View. AuG. 



like- hue, though not of Stultz-like cut? Has he not a waistcoat white 

 as once was Dignum's, with a perpetual black ribbon streaming down 

 it, like a dark torrent down a mountain of snow ? Do not the skirts of 

 his coat divide, as they fall, into the form of an A ? Are there not fifty 

 cravats on his neck, and fifty winters on his head ?" Enough ; we 

 perceive that the reader hath observed him ; he hath noted the silver 

 hair and buckles, the invariable white gloves and politeness, the un- 

 blemished . waistcoat and manners, of our amiable acquaintance. He 

 hath descried the small smart cane, the spacious and seemly cravat, the 

 precise, yet easy and graceful carriage, of our kind and accomplished 

 friend. But perhaps he does not know the heart of the mystery that 

 surrounds him perhaps he does not suspect that there is any mystery 

 at all. While taking his supper, he has seen a gentleman appear sud- 

 denly at the entrance of the box, with a profound and perfect bow 

 something that has escaped the wreck of the last century a reminiscence 

 of the year 1730. He has at first sight mistaken him for a sort of Sir 

 Charles Grandison in little ; he has heard him with a still small voice 

 inquire if any addition could be made to the comforts of the party -if 

 any thing was wished for if the wines were satisfactory, or the punch 

 pleasant ; he has observed him decline the glass which had been poured 

 out and handed to him, with a well-bred and courteous air ; and then, 

 with a bow and a smile, he has seen him depart. But this is all that he 

 has seen and yet this is nothing. 



Where then is the mystery ? It consists partly in the smile and the 

 bow ; not so much, indeed, in their quality as in their continuity. He 

 never seems to leave off they are always ready made he keeps them 

 perpetually by him fit for use. It is a smile without an end a bow that has 

 no finis. If you see him in an erect position and he is sometimes parti- 

 cularly perpendicular the very instant that he catches your eye he 

 changes it to its more natural figure, a curve. One would almost say 

 that, from the commencement to the end of the season, his body is not 

 straight, his lips never in repose, for two minutes together. Whatever 

 is said, whatever is done he bows. He would bow to the beggar 

 whom he relieved, and (fortune shield him from such a mishap !) to the 

 sheriffs-officer that arrested him. Not knowing w r ho he is, you com- 

 plain, a little angrily, perhaps, of the tough or transitory nature of 

 the fowls of the visionary character of the ham, that does not even 

 disguise or render doubtful the pattern of the plate ; he bows obligingly, 

 and beckons to a waiter. It being rather dark, you upset a bottle of 

 port, some of which sprinkles his white gloves and waistcoat, and the 

 rest goes into his polished pumps ; he smiles as if you had conferred a 

 favour on him, and bows himself dry again. As he stands at the open- 

 ing of the box, some boorish Bacchanalian brushing by, thrusts him 

 against the edge of the table, or presses his hat over his eyes ; he turns 

 round quietly, readjusts his injured hat, smiles with the graceful supe- 

 riority of a gentleman, and (it seems scarcely credible) bows ! That 

 bow must have sometimes administered a severe though a silent reproof 

 to the ill-mannered and the intemperate. Yorick would have made 

 something of it had he met it in France it is not understood here. 



But the smile and the bow are not all. There is more mystery. We 

 want to know it may seem curious to some but we want to know 

 where he goes to when he leaves the box. We shall of course be answered, 

 to the next. But when he has visited them all, what becomes of him 

 then? Since we projected the idea of perpetrating this imperfect 

 apostrophe to his worth, we have inquired in all quarters ; but have 

 scarcely found a single person that ever met him in the walks. He is 



