the ring, he may be seen spinning by himself, like an Arabian Dervise. He is no great beauty, his head being several degrees too big for his body; but this disproportion does not extend further, for Lady Roberts says there is not a better hearted young man in all Portsoken Ward. According to the rules of the establishment, nobody is admitted after ten o'clock, except gentlemen of the common council: their senatorial duties are paramount. About three Fridays ago an odd incident occurred. One Mrs. Ferguson and her daughter alighted at the outer door from a very clean hackneycoach, delivered her card to Mr. Willis, and swept majestically past the grating up stairs into the ball-room. On a more minute inspection of the document, it was discovered to be a forgery. What was to be done? The mother was sitting under the mirror, and the daughter was dancing for dear life. Lady Simms, Mrs. Wells, and Miss Jones (three make a quorum) laid their heads together, and the result was a civil message to Mrs. Ferguson, requesting her and her daughter to abdicate. Mrs. Ferguson at first felt disposed to "shew fight;" but, feeling the current too strong, had recourse to supplication. This was equally vain; the rule was imperative: indeed, according to Sir Ralph Roberts, as unalterable as the laws of the Sweeds and Stertions. The difference was at length split. A young stockbroker of fashion had just driven up from Capel-court in a hackney cabriolet. Mamma was consigned to the pepperand-salt coated driver of the vehicle; and Miss Ferguson was allowed to dance her dance out, Lady Brown undertaking to drop her safe and sound in Friday-street in her way homeward, at the conclusion of the festivity.

The managing committee meet monthly at the King's Head in the Poultry, picking their road on a pavement strewed with live turtle, "with what appetite they may." Precisely at two o'clock Mr. Willis makes his appearance, with a large blue bag full of application cards, accompanied by proper certificates: these latter consist of the portrait of the candidates, a statement of their stature, age, &c. Each of the female candidates sends also her right shoe, to exhibit the size of her foot. I doubt whether the latter custom be any thing more than Bruium Fulmen. For certain it is, that I have seen feet at Almack's on a Friday, that never could have passed the ordeal of criticism. The gravity with which claims are here discussed, would not discredit a meeting of Privy Councillors to debate on the Recorder's report. Little Miss

66

Fifield was recently debated upon. Her residence in Bond-court, Walbrook, just placed her out of the select line, or as Lady Roberts denominated it, on the wrong side of the post; and the committee were upon the point of passing to the order of the day, when Willis, with tears in his eyes, exclaimed, Ladies, have mercy upon her; she is but young; and her poor uncle, who is now dead and gone, kept the Grasshopper tea-shop, at the corner of Paul's Chain." The appeal was not to be resisted, and little Miss Fifield got her subscription. It would be unpardonable to omit mentioning an incident, which, in the glorious days of immortal Rome, would have entitled our Lady Patronesses to six civic wreaths. The Lord Mayor of London, at the third meeting in last June, drove up to the door in his gorgeous private carriage, but, not having brought his ticket with him, his Lordship was refused admittance, and was constrained to finish the evening at half-price at the Tottenham-street Theatre. I have already mentioned the generating of a mass of disaffection in the excluded fauxbourgs. Lady Pontop, the wife of Sir Peter Pontop, a coal-merchant in Tower-royal, is among the loudest of these malcontents. This lady, who has been nicknamed the City Duchess, has been heard to utter threats about "knocking up Almack's," and mutters something about establishing a rival concern. The Lady Patronesses, however, laugh to scorn these symptoms of rebellion, and say that Cheapside has not lived to these days in comfort and credit, to be bearded by Tower-royal! A slight accident occurred last Friday se'nnight, which might have been attended with heavy effects. Young Carter, the broker, was quadrilling with Jemima Roberts: he had passed the ordeal of the Mount Ida step, wherein the shepherd is destined to foot it several seconds with three rival goddesses, and had looked as stiff and as sheepish as young men usually do at that effort, when he came suddenly and unexpectedly, dos-a-dos, against huge Miss Jones, who, though denominated a single woman, would make three of the ordinary size of the softer part of the creation. The consequences were obvious: the lady, weighty and elastic, stood firm as a rock, and "the weakest went to the wall," young Carter, the slender broker, being precipitated head-foremost against the wainscot.

Before the conclusion of the evening's diversion, the ladies and their partners walk the Polonaise round the room. Last Friday evening the order of march was suddenly impeded. Miss Donaldson, the

"If

grocer's daughter, having insisted upon taking the precedence of Miss Jackson, whose father sells Stiltons, that mock the eye with the semblance of pine-apples, at the corner of St. Swithin's-lane. The matter was referred to the Patronesses, who gave it in favour of Miss Jackson, inasmuch as, at dinner, cheese comes before figs. I am aware that certain caustic tradesmen, who dwell eastward of the magic circle, are in the habit of throwing out sarcasms upon those who choose to go so far west in quest of diversion. you must have a ball," say these crabbed philosophers," why not hold it at the London Tavern, or at the George and Vulture, Lombard-street ?" But surely this is bad reasoning. If the pilgrim glows with a warmer devotion from visiting the shrine of Loretto, well may a Miss Dawson or a Mr. Toms move with a lighter heel, when kicking up a dust upon the very same boards, which, on the Wednesday preceding, were jumped upon by a Lord John or a Lady Arabella. New Monthly Magazine.

LONDON LYRICS.

POOR ROBIN'S PROPHECY.

WHEN girls prefer old lovers,

When merchants scoff at gain, When Thurtell's skull discovers

What pass'd in Thurtell's brain; When farms contain no growlers, No pig-tail Wapping-wall, Then spread your lark-nets, fowlers, For sure the sky will fall. When Boston men love banter, When loan-contractors sleep, When Chancery-pleadings canter, And common-law ones creep; When topers swear that claret's The vilest drink of all, Then, housemaids, quit your garrets, For sure the sky will fall. When Southey leagues with Wooller, When dandies shew no shape, When fiddlers' heads are fuller

Than that whereon they scrape;

When doers turn to talkers,
And Quakers love a ball,
Then hurry home, street-walkers,
For sure the sky will fall.
When lads from Cork or Newry
Won't broach a whisky flask,

When comedy at Drury
Again shall lift her mask;
When peerless Kitty utters
Her airs in tuneless squall,
Then, cats, desert your gutters,
For sure the sky will fall.
When worth dreads no detractor,
Wit thrives at Amsterdam,
And manager and actor

Lie down like kid and lamb;
When bard with bard embraces,
And critics cease to maul,
Then, travellers, mend your paces
For sure the sky will fall.

The Movelist.

No. XLVIII.

MARTHA, THE GIPSY.

"We are indebted for the following extraordinary tale (for such we deem it, notwithstanding the credulity of the author) to a very clever work, just published, entitled Sayings and Doings, from the pen of Mr. Theodore Hook."]

In the vicinity of Bedford-square lived a respectable and honest man, whose name the reader will be pleased to consider, Harding. He had married early; his wife was an exemplary woman; and his son and daughter were grown into that companionable age, at which children repay, with their society and accomplishments, the tender cares which parents bestow upon their offspring in their early infancy.

Mr. Harding held a responsible and respectable situation under the Government, in an office in Somerset-House. His income was adequate to all his wants and wishes; his family was a family of love; and, perhaps, taking into consideration the limited desires of what may be fairly called middling life, no man was ever more contented, or better satisfied with his lot, than he.

Maria Harding, his daughter, was a modest, unassuming, and interesting girl, full of feeling and gentleness. She was timid and retiring; but the modesty which cast down her fine black eyes, could not veil the intellect which beamed in them. Her health was by no means strong; and the paleness of her cheektoo frequently, alas ! lighted by the hectic flush of our indigenous complaint-gave a deep interest to her countenance. was watched and reared by her tender mother, with all the care and attention which a being so delicate and so ill-suited to the perils and troubles of this world demanded.

She

George, her brother, was a bold and intelligent lad, full of rude health and fearless independence. His character was frequently the subject of his father's contemplation; and he saw in his disposition, his mind, his pursuits, and propensities, the promise of future success in active life.

With these children, possessing as they did the most enviable characteristics of their respective sexes, Mr. and Mrs. Harding, with thankfulness to Provi deace, acknowledged their happiness, and their perfect satisfaction with the portion assigned to them in this transitory world. Maria was about nineteen, and had, as natural, attracted the regards, and

thence gradually chained the affections, of a distant relative, whose ample fortune, added to his personal and mental good qualities, rendered him a most acceptable suitor to her parents, which Maria's heart silently acknowledged he would have been to her, had he been poor and pennyless.

The father of this intended husband of Maria was a man of importance, possessing much personal interest, through which, George, the brother of his intended daughter-in-law, was to be placed in that diplomatic seminary in Downing-street, whence, in due time, he was to rise through all the grades of office, (which, with his peculiar talents, his friends, and especially his mother, was convinced he would so ably fill,) and at last turn out an ambassador, as mighty and mysterious as my Lord Belmont, of whom I have had occasion to speak in another part of this collection of narratives.

The parents, however, of young Langdale and of Maria Harding were agreed, that there was no necessity for hastening the alliance between their families seeing that the united ages of the couple, did not exceed thirty-nine years; and seeing, moreover, that the elder Mr. Langdale, for private reasons of his own, wished his son to attain to the age of twenty-one before he married; and seeing, moreover still, that Mrs. Langdale, who was little more than six-and-thirty years of age herself, had reasons, which she also meant to be private, for seeking to delay as much as possible, a ceremony, the result of which, in all probability, would confer upon her, somewhat too early in life to be agreeable to a lady of her habits and propensities, the formidable title of grand

mamma.

How curious it is, when one takes up a little bit of society, (as a geologist crumbles and twists a bit of earth in his hand, to ascertain its character and quality,) to look into the motives and maneuvrings of all the persons connected with it; the various workings, the indefatigable labours, which all their little minds are undergoing to bring about divers and sundry little points, perfectly unconnected with the great end in view; but which, for private and hidden objects, each of them is toiling to carry. Nobody, but those who really understood Mrs. Langdale, understood why she so readily acquiesced in the desire of her husband to postpone the marriage for another twelvemonth. A stranger would have seen only the dutiful wife according with the sensible husband; but I knew her, and knew that there must be more than met the eye, or the ear, in that sympathy

of feeling between her and Mr. Langdale, which was not upon ordinary occasions so evidently displayed.

Like the waterman who pulls one way and looks another, Mrs. Langdale aided the entreaties and seconded the commands of her loving spouse, touching the seasonable delay of which I am speaking; and it was agreed, that immediately after the coming of age of Frederick Langdale, and not before, he was to lead to the hymeneal altar the delicate and timid Maria Harding.

The affair got whispered about; George's fortune in life was highly extolled Maria's excessive happiness prophesied by every body of their acquaintance; and already had sundry younger ladies, daughters and nieces of those who discussed these matters in divan after dinner, begun to look upon poor Miss Harding with envy and maliciousness, and wonder what Mr. Frederick Langdale could see in her : she was proclaimed to be insipid, inanimate, shy, bashful, and awkward; nay, some went so far, as to discover that she was absolutely awry.

Still, however, Frederick and Maria went loving on; and their hearts grew as one; so truly, so fondly were they attached to each other. George, who was somewhat of a plague to the pair of lovers, was luckily at Oxford, reading away till his head ached, to qualify himself for a degree, and the distant duties of the office whence he was to cull bunches of diplomatic laurels, and whence were to issue rank and title, and ribands and crosses innumerable.

Things were in this prosperous state, the bark of life rolling gaily along before the breeze, when Mr. Harding was one day proceeding from his residence, to his office in Somerset-place, and in passing along Charlotte-street, Bloomsbury, was accosted by one of those female gipsies who are found begging in the streets of the metropolis, and especially in the particular part of the town in question: Pray remember poor Martha the gipsy," said the woman: "give me a halfpenny for charity, Sir."

66

Mr. Harding was a subscriber to the Mendicity Society, an institution which proposes to check beggary by the novel mode of giving nothing to the poor: moreover, he was a magistrate-moreover, he had no change; and he desired the woman to go about her business.

All availed him nothing; she still followed him, and reiterated the piteous cry, "Pray remember poor Martha the gipsy." At length, irritated by the perseverance of the woman-for even subordinates in Government hate to be solicited im

portunately-Mr. Harding, contrary to his usual custom, and contrary to the customary usages of modern society, turned hastily round and fulminated an oath against the supplicating vagrant. "Curse!" said Martha: "have I lived to this? Hark ye, man-poor, weak, haughty man! Mark me—look at me!" He did look at her; and beheld a countenance on fire with rage. A pair of eyes blacker than jet, and brighter than diamonds, glared like stars upon him; her black hair dishevelled, hung over her olive cheeks; and a row of teeth whiter than the driven snow displayed themselves from between a pair of coral lips, in a dreadful smile, a ghastly sneer of contempt which mingled in her passion. Harding was riveted to the spot; and, what between the powerful fascination of her superhuman countenance, and the dread of a disturbance, he paused to listen

to her.

"Mark me, Sir," said Martha ; “ you and I shall meet again. Thrice shall you see me before you die. My visitings will be dreadful; but the third will be the last!"

There was a solemnity in this appeal which struck to his heart, coming as it did, only from a vagrant outcast. Passengers were approaching; and wishing, he knew not why, to soothe the ire of the angry woman, he mechanically drew from his pocket some silver, which he tendered to her.

"There, my good woman-there," said he, stretching forth his hand.

"Good woman!" retorted the hag. "Money now? I-I that have been cursed? 'tis all too late, proud gentleman

-the deed is done, the curse be now on you." Saying which, she tossed her ragged red cloak across her shoulder, and hurried from his sight, across the street by the side of the Chapel, into the recesses of St. Giles's.

Harding felt a most extraordinary sensation: he felt grieved that he had spoken so harshly to the poor creature, and returned his shillings to his pocket with regret. Of course fear of the fulfilment of her predictions did not mingle with any of his feelings on the occasion; and he proceeded to his office in Somerset-place, and performed all the official duties of reading the opposition newspapers, discussing the leading politics of the day with the head of another department, and of signing his name three times, before four o'clock.

Martha the gipsy, however, although he had poohpoohed her out of his memory, would ever and anon flash across his mind; her figure was indelibly stamped

upon his recollection; and though, of course, as I before said, a man of his firmness and intellect could care nothing, one way or another, for the maledictions of an ignorant, illiterate being like a gipsy, still his feelings whence arising I know not prompted him to call a hackney-coach, and proceed en voiture to his house, rather than run the risk of encountering the metropolitan sibyl, under whose forcible denunciation he was actually labouring.

There is a period in each day of the lives of married people, at which, I am given to understand, a more than ordinary unreserved communication of facts and feelings takes place; when all the world is shut out, and the two beings, who are in truth but only one, commune together freely and fully upon the occurrences of the past day. At this period, the else sacred secrets of the drawingroom coterie, and the tellable jokes of the after-dinner convivialists, are mutually interchanged by the fond pair, who, by the barbarous customs of uncivilized Britain, have been separated during part of the preceding evening.

Then it is, that the husband informs his anxious consort how he has forwarded his worldly views with such a man-how he has carried his point in such a quarter -what he thinks of the talents of one, of the character of another; while the communicative wife gives her view of the same subjects, founded upon what she has gathered from the individuals composing the female cabinet, and explains why she thinks he must have been deceived upon this point, or misled upon that. And thus, in recounting, in arguing, in discussing and descanting, the blended interest of the happy pair are strengthened, their best hopes nourished, and, perhaps, eventually realized.

A few friends at dinner, and some refreshers in the evening, had prevented Harding from saying a word to his beloved Eliza about the gipsy; and, perhaps, till the "witching time" which I have attempted to define, he would not have mentioned the occurrence even had they been alone. Most certainly he did not think the less of the horrible vision; and when the company had dispersed, and the affectionate couple had retired to rest, he stated the circumstance exactly as it had occurred, and received from his fair lady just such an answer as a prudent, intelligent, and discreet woman of sense would give to such a communication. She vindicated his original determination not to be imposed upon wondered at his subsequent willingness to give to such an undeserving object,

while he had three or four soup-tickets in his pocket was somewhat surprised that he had not consigned the bold intruder to the hands of the beadle-and, ridiculing the impression which the hag's appearance seemed to have made upon her husband's mind, narrated a tour performed by herself with some friends to Norwood, when she was a girl, and when one of those very women had told her fortune, not one word of which ever came true and, il a ulscussion of some length, animadverting strongly upon the weakness and impiety of putting faith in the sayings of such creatures, she fell fast asleep.

Not so Harding: he was restless and worried, and felt that he would give the world to be able to recall the curse which he had rashly uttered against the poor woman. Helpless as she was, and in distress, why did his passion conquer his judgment? Why did he add to the bitterness of refusal the sting of malediction? However, it was useless to regret that which was past-and, wearied and mortified with his reflections, he at length followed his better half into that profound slumber, which the length and subject of his harangue had so comfortably insured her.

The morning came, and brightly beamed the sun-that is, as brightly as it can beam in London. The office hour arrived; and Mr. Harding proceeded, not by Charlotte-street, to Somerset-House, such was his dread of seeing the ominous woman. It is quite impossible to describe the effect produced upon him by the apprehension of encountering her if he heard a female voice behind him in the street, he trembled, and feared to look round, lest he should behold Martha. In turning a corner he proceeded carefully and cautiously, lest he should come upon her, unexpectedly; in short, wherever he went, whatever he did, his actions, his movements, his very words, were controlled and constrained by the horror of beholding her again.

The words she had uttered rang incessantly in his ears; nay, such possession had they taken of him, that he had written them down, and sealed the document which contained them. "Thrice shall you see me before you die. My visitings will be dreadful; but the third will be the last."

"Calais " was not imprinted more deeply upon our Queen's heart, than these words upon that of Harding; but he was ashamed of the strength of his feelings, and placed the paper wherein he had recorded them at the very bottom of his desk.

Meanwhile Frederick Langdale was