38 On the Want of Money. [JAN. 



the scale of disappointment, and stave off' appetite till supper-time. 

 You gain time, and time in this weather-cock world is every thing. 

 You may dine at two, or at six, or seven as most convenient. You may 

 in the mean while receive an invitation to dinner, or some one (not 

 knowing how you are circumstanced) may send you a present of a 

 haunch of venison or a brace of pheasants from the country, or a dis- 

 tant relation may die and leave you a legacy, or a patron may call and 

 overwhelm you with his smiles and bounty, 



" As kind as kings upon their coronation-day ;" 



or there is no saying what may happen. One may wait for dinner 

 breakfast admits of no delay, of no interval interposed between that 

 and our first waking thoughts.* Besides, there are shifts and devices, 

 shabby and mortifying enough, but still available in case of need. How 

 many expedients are there in this great city (London), time out of mind 

 and times without number, resorted to by the dilapidated and thrifty 

 speculator, to get through this grand difficulty without utter failure ! 

 One may dive into a cellar, and dine on boiled beef and carrots for ten- 

 pence, with the knives and forks chained to the table, and jostled by greasy 

 elbows that seem to make such a precaution not unnecessary (hunger 

 is proof against indignity !) or one may contrive to part with a super- 

 fluous article of wearing apparel, and carry home a mutton-chop and 

 cook it in a garret ; or one may drop in at a friend's at the dinner-hour, 

 and be asked to stay or not ; or one may walk out and take a turn in the 

 Park, about the time, and return home to tea, so as at least to avoid the 

 sting of the evil the appearance of not having dined. You then have 

 the laugh on your side, having deceived the gossips, and can submit to 

 the want a sumptuous repast without murmuring, having saved your 

 pride, and made a virtue of necessity. I say all this may be done by a 

 man without a family (for what business has a man without money with 

 one ? See English Malthus and Scotch Macculloch) and it is only my 

 intention here to bring forward such instances of the want of money as 

 are tolerable both in theory and practice. I once lived on coffee (as an 

 experiment) for a fortnight together, while I was finishing the copy of a 

 half-length portrait of a Manchester manufacturer, who had died worth 

 a plum. I rather slurred over the coat, which was a reddish brown, 

 " of formal cut," to receive my five guineas, with which I went to 

 market myself, and dined on sausages and mashed potatoes, and 

 while they were getting ready, and I could hear them hissing in the pan, 

 read a volume of Gil Bias, containing the account of the fair Aurora. 

 This was in the days of my youth. Gentle reader, do not smile ! 

 Neither Monsieur de Very, nor Louis XVIII., over an oyster-pate, nor 

 Apicius himself, ever understood the meaning of the word luxury, better 

 than I did at that moment I If the want of money has its drawbacks 

 and disadvantages, it is not without its contrasts and counterbalancing 

 effects, for which I fear nothing else can make us amends. 4- men ^'s 

 hashed mutton is immortal ; and there is something amusing, though 

 carried to excess and carricature (which is very unusual with the author) 

 in the contrivances of old Caleb, in " The Bride of Lammermuir," for 

 raising the wind at breakfast, dinner, and supper-time. I recollect a 

 ludicrous instance of a disappointment in a dinner which happened to a 



* In Scotland, it seems, the draught of ale or whiskey with which you commence 

 the day, is emphatically called " taking your morning." 



