620 The March of Mind : [Nov. 



fell accidentally into the hands of his lordship himself, who pronounced 

 the author to be " a clever fellow, and one as knew what's what." This 

 opinion, delivered in public by so great a judge, soon made the round 

 of Crutched- Friars ; so that, whenever Thomas chanced to make his 

 appearance in public, the very shop-boys would whisper admiringly 

 alter him, " I say. Jack, there goes a poet !" 



Behold, then, our sensitive minsti-el, the pride of his neighbour- 

 hood, the " young Astyanax" of his family ! As such, it became 

 him to affect eccentricity. Accordingly, he grew " melancholy and 

 gentlemanlike," eschewed his cravat, and even advised his father to 

 addict himself to Scott and Byron. But the old gentleman winced 

 exceedingly at this proposal. KecoUections of a poetic apprentice he 

 once had, who had for some months carried on a very irregular flirtation 

 with the till, came thronging fast upon his mind, and spun-ed him at once 

 to a refusal. But what can resist the eternal solicitations of the shrewder 

 sex } By day his daughter, by night his wife, kept teazing him into 

 gradual compliance with their wishes. First he was prevailed on to dine 

 at five, instead of two o'clock ; secondly, to listen to his daughter's exe- 

 cution of " Oh ! 'tis love, 'tis love !" sung with a twist of the mouth 

 pecuhai'ly pi'ovocative of that passion ; and, lastly (the severest cut of 

 all), to give conversaziones to his son's literary acquaintances. 



At these parties a strange and talented group never failed to present 

 themselves. All were men of genius, but exhibited, in their respective 

 persons, proofs of the amazing rancour that subsists between genius and 

 gentility. Among them was a lively Irishman, named O'Blarney, 

 a reporter for the daily press, with sandy hair, a nose that turned 

 up like a fish-hook, and a mouth which, from its extensive dimensions, 

 afforded the most copious facihties for grinning. This promising young 

 Papist, whose estates unfortunately lay in the most Protestant part of 

 Ireland, was the very gem of JMr. Spimkins' parties ; and, as he mixed 

 much in fashionable society, and could beat even a negro in dancing, his 

 presence never failed to create a lively sensation at Crutched-Friars. 

 Another of the old gentleman's guests was a rising versifier of twenty- 

 two, whose appearance would have been sentiment itself, had not a pair 

 of dingy whiskers, which grew back towards his ears, as if enamoured 

 of the latter's unusual length, given him a slight touch of the grotesque. 

 As it was, his fine, open, full-blown face, resembled a cherub on a country 

 tomb-stone. It would be injustice to acknowledged ability were I here 

 to omit the mention of another poet, whose genius taking an uxorious 

 tuini, exploded in admixing apostrophes to his wife. This bard displayed 

 infinite sweetness of versification — as the extracts from the different 

 reviews, inserted accidentally at the end of his volume — assured him. 

 There were no intemperate sallies, no startling originality, no audacious 

 imagery in his rhj'mes; all wa-; sweetly and agreeably uniform, like the 

 features on a barber's block. Such, with the addition of three historians 

 from St. jMary Axe, two political economists from Long Acre, a pastoral 

 writer from Wapping, and an essayist from Houndsditch, were the 

 literati whose dazzling abilities illumined the fortunate neighbourhood of 

 Crutched-Friars. Old Spimkins, meanwhile, to whom the whole scene 

 was a novelty tliat well nigh took away his breath, kept moving backwards 

 and forwards among his guests, oscillating in spirits betAveen a sigh and 

 a smile ; at one moment looking grave and dignified, like the Scotch 

 Highlander at a tobacconist's; at another, simpering sweetly and benignly, 



