WHERE is the man who has not heard of that ancient and honourable town Kiddywinkle-a town boasting of, according to the last census, no fewer than two hundred and fortyseven inhabitants, and rendered immortal by containing the ashes of a Saxon monarch? I shall never forget the moment in which I first visited the market, and wandered round the streets of this venerable place. An urchin of seven years old, who had never previously waddled out of the village, seven miles distant, in which I had been reared, every step was enchantment, and awe, and amazement. The crowd in the market, which seemed to comprehend the whole world -the newly oiled boots, (some were actually glossed with blacking,) and the well brushed Sunday coats of the farmers the dashing gowns and bonnets of the farmers' daughters-the stalls almost broke down with oranges, gingerbread, and other delicacies--the shop windows displaying a dazzling, though fantastic admixture of sugarcandy, ribbons, soap, muslins, and woollen-drapery-the gorgeous signs of the alehouses--the sloops and barges on the canal-the mighty piles of coals and timber-the houses of the gentry, which, from their size, brilliant doors and window-shutters, curious knockers, and a thousand other wonderful things, seemed to be palaces-absolutely overpowered me. I seemed to be some in

sect, which had accidentally crawled into a superior world. I doubted whether it was lawful for me to stare at the shop windows, or to mix myself up with the great folks in the market; and I even deemed it would be sacrilege to tread upon the two or three flag-stones, which were here and there laid before the doors of people of fashion; therefore, whenever I approached them, in my perambulations, I reverently strode into the mire, to avoid them. It would have been scarcely possible, at that time, to have convinced me, that any other place on earth equalled Kiddywinkle.

Although my head is not yet grey, many years have passed over it since that happy moment. I have, in these years, with something of the eccentricity and velocity of the comet, shot across every circle of society, except the upper ones, without appearing to be destined to move in any, and with scarcely a single friendly satellite to accompany me. I have been whirled through lowliness, and ambition, and splendid hopes, and bitter disappointments, and prosperity, and calamity, and everything else, save ease and happiness; until, at last, I have been placed as far out of society, as a man well can be, to live in it at all; and left with scarcely any other employment than that of ruminating on the past, and preparing for the eternity which hangs over me. A long line of years of sleep

less effort and anxiety-of years which, in relation to myself, teemed with great events, and singular vicissitudes stand next me in the retrospect, and still they can neither obliterate, nor shade what childhood painted on my memory. In gazing on the scenes of manhood, I see only a mighty mass of confused, though striking, lights and shadows, which alternately make me mourn, smile, shudder, blush, and boast; but, in looking at what preceded them, I see a series of distinct pictures, abounding, no doubt, in the simple and the grotesque, but still alike lovely in their tints, and delightful in their subjects. I love to look at myself, as I strutted about on the first day of my being deemed worthy of wearing jacket and trowsers as I fought my innumerble battles with the old gander, although they not seldom ended in my discomfiture and flight-as I puffed away, on that memorable occasion, when I took liberties with my grandmother's pipe in her absence, and was found by her rolling about the floor in a state of complete intoxication, to her infinite consternation and anger-as I drank from her lips the first prayers I could utter, and put my endless questions to her respecting that Deity, who has since so often been my only friend -as I pored over the histories of Tom Hickathrift and Jack the Giant Killer, until my breast throbbed with the wish to imitate these valorous persons -and, above all, I love to dwell on my first visit to Kiddywinkle. It was one of the grand events of my infancy; it introduced me to a new world, and it first called into action that ambition, which, although it has often enough led me through disaster and torture, has not finally forsook me, without leaving me something to be proud of. Would that I could remember the many sage remarks that I made to my companion, in viewing the wonders before me on this great occasion! They would, no doubt, have been a rich treat, but, alas! they are among the things that have left me for ever.

The Nag's Head has been, time immemorial, the principal inn of Kiddywinkle. It is the only one which displays, in letters of gold, "Neat Fost Chaise," and "Wines," to the eyes of the public. To it, on market and fair days, ride all the gentlemen farmers and their sons-the privileged men, who wear white neckcloths and super

fine, or, at least, fine Yorkshire, coats; while the humbler farmers and other villagers reverentially pass it to quarter themselves upon The Plough, The Black Bull, and The Green Dragon. To it, the rank and fashion of Kiddywinkle scrupulously confine themselves, when business or pleasure calls them to a place of public accommodation; while the lower orders as scrupulously shun it, to carry themselves and their money to the less exalted taps of the rival houses. It monopolizes all the gentlemen travellers, and the traveller gentlemen, all the justice meetings, and is, in truth, a house of extreme gentility. It is not, however, the whole inn, but only a certain small parlour which forms a part of it, to which I wish to give celebrity.

From causes which it will not be difficult to divine, Kiddywinkle boasts of no theatre, concert-room, or other place of evening amusements. The distinctions between the various classes of society are maintained in that ancient place, with a rigour which is unknown in the metropolis. Mrs Sugarnose, the grocer's spouse, would be eternally disgraced, were she to drink tea with Mrs Leatherleg, the wife of the shoemaker; and Mrs Catchfool, the attorney's lady, could not, on any consideration, become intimate with Mrs Sugarnose. The very highest class never, perhaps, comprehends more than five or six families; and these keep themselves as effectually secluded from all below them, with regard to social intercourse, as they would be, if an Atlantic rolled between them. They are, in general, exceedingly friendly with each other; but then there are weighty reasons which render it highly inexpedient for the headsthe masters-to mingle much together at each other's houses. These heads, though excessively aristocratic and refined, are ever slenderly endowed with income; for, from some inexplicable cause, plentiful fortunes never could be amassed at Kiddywinkle, or be attracted hither from other parts. For the ladies and children to visit each other, is no great matter; a cup of tea tastes only of sixpences; but were the gentlemen to dine and sup with each other it would be ruinous. The eatables are nothing, even though the table boast of something beyond family fare; but the liquids-the wine and spiritssdeath! golden sovereigns are swal

lowed every moment. A compact, therefore, constantly exists among the gentlemen, in virtue of which, they never entertain each other, except at that season of universal entertainment, Christmas. Man, however, in spite of pride and poverty, is a social animal. That which is inexorably withheld by scorn of inferiors and limited finances, is abundantly supplied to the aristocracy of Kiddywinkle, by the snug, comfortable, and venerable little parlour of the Nag's Head. Thither they repair every evening of their lives, to regale themselves with a cup of ale, or a glass of brandy and water, as inclination and funds may will; and to taste of joys, less gaudy and exciting, perhaps, than those of costly entertainments, but infinitely more pure and

rational.

The Rev. Andrew Smallglebe, Doctor Manydraught, and the three Esquires. Spencer Slenderstave, Leonard Littlesight, and Anthony Ailoften, constituted, a few years since, the tip top circle of Kiddywinkle, and, of course, they were the sole evening occupants of the little parlour at the Nag's Head. Mr Smallglebe was the vicar, and he enjoyed an income of two hundred and forty-six pounds per annum. He had passed his sixtyseventh year, and was, in person and disposition, the very reverse of those portraits, which mankind are taught to regard as the only correct likenesses of beneficed clergymen. He was in stature considerably below the middle size, and he was exceedingly slender, even in proportion to his limited altitude. His head was, indeed, somewhat larger, his face more round and fleshy, and his shoulders a little broader, than exact symmetry warranted; but then his legs and thighs-they could scarcely stand comparison with a walking-stick. His gait harmonized with the lightness of his form, and was as elastic and nimble as that of the boy of thirteen. The circular, plump, pale face of Mr Smallglebe, did but little justice to his soul. His forehead was reasonably capacious, but still it did not tower into dignity ;-his eye was large, but not prominent; steady, but not piercing; dark, but not expressive; perhaps it lost much in effect from displaying an inordinate portion of the white-his mouth was wide, and his chin was little, and greatly drawn in. VOL. XV.

The heaviness and vacancy of his countenance were, no doubt, a little heightened by his long, straight, coarse hair; and they were rendered the more remarkable by the light boyishness of his figure. Mr Smallglebe, however, had many good qualities, and some great ones. His heart was all tenderness and benevolence, but, unfortunately, its bounty streamed as profusely upon the unworthy, as the worthy. He had never mixed with mankind, and he had never been the world's suppliant, or dependent; the few mortals that he had seen had been friends seeking his society, or the needy imploring his assistance, and they, of course, had exhibited to his eyes nothing but desert and virtue. While he had thus seen nothing of mankind's depravity; his spotless conscience and unextinguishable cheerfulness, magnified into the superlative, the little that he had seen of its assumed merit, and he would believe nothing that could be said of it, except praise. In his judgment, the rarest thing in the world was a bad man, or a bad woman; and if the proofs that such existed happened to force themselves upon him, he could always find as many provocatives and palliatives for the guilt, as well nigh sufficed to justify it. He was a man of considerable genius and reading, and, in the pulpit, he was eloquent and popular; but while his pathos melted all before it, and his appeals to the better feelings were irresistible, he never remembered that it was his duty to grapple with the sinner, and to repeat the threatenings to the impenitent. Out of the pulpit, Mr Sinallglebe was a universal favourite. His artless, simple, mild, unchangeable, and benevolent cheerfulness spread an atmosphere around him, from which all who entered it drank solace and happiness. His conversation charmed, not by its brilliancy or force; but by its broad, easy How-its intelligence, warmth, purity, and benevolence. Base as the world is, it was not possible for the man, who was every one's friend, to have an enemy. "He is the best little man that ever breathed!" was the character which every tongue assigned to Mr Smallglebe. Those who robbed him under the pretence of soliciting charity-those who laughed at his good nature, and credulity-those who despised his profession-and those 3 M

who even forced him into opposition and contention, all joined in ejaculating the eulogy.

Mr Smallglebe, nevertheless, had his failings; these will, perhaps, appear in the course of this history, but I have not the heart to make them the subjects of intentional enumeration. I knew the man, and loved him. Of the multitudes with whom I have come in contact in my eventful life, he was one of the few, whose hearts never could stoop to what men ought to be ashamed of. The recollection of his virtues has stifled the curse on my lips, as in my hours of agony it has been falling on my species. When I look back on the baseness which I have been doomed to witness in human nature, I remember him, and my misanthropy vanishes; for I then know that the world still contains some who are good and honourable. We have parted to meet no more on earth, but I shall only forget him when I leave the world for ever.

Doctor Manydraught had for many years practised as a physician at a neighbouring sea-port, with considerable success. He was a tall, huge, eccentric, boisterous, hot-headed person, whose faculties were of the most diminutive description. Why the outrage was offered to nature, of making a medical practitioner of such a man, instead of a dragon, is a matter too hard for me to explain. How he obtained patients, is not, perhaps, so incomprehensible. Egotism is to most men far more serviceable than merit, although many have not the art, or the nerve, to give it at all times the air of credibility. Doctor Manydraught was a prodigious egotist; and he thundered forth his own praise with such marvellous command of mien-with such triumphant assurance and energythat you found it almost impossible to doubt, or to think that any other physician could safely be trusted. He was never at a loss, and he was never in despair. The patient, sick from excess of health, just affected him as much as the dying one; and the latter could scarcely fail, even at the last hour, of gathering hope from his bold, bright eye, and harsh, dauntless features. The sick, and their friends, therefore, shrunk from the doubting man of skill, to cling to the courageous prescriber, of no skill whatever; and while the former pined from lack of practice, the latter lived riotously up

on a profusion of fees. Doctor Manydraught long led a life, equally busy and merry. He killed unmercifully, and yet never wanted victims; he drank and wenched immoderately, and still the means never ran short. At length, when he reached the fiftieth year of his age, and the seventieth of his constitution, his health failed, his spirits sank, his boasting degenerated into bullying, patients fled, fees vanished, and starvation frowned in the horizon. He acted with his usual decision, and with far more than his usual wisdom. He saw that his loss was irrecoverable, that want was at hand, and he immediately announced his determination to retire from business, converted his little property into an annuity of one hundred and twenty pounds per annum, and settled himself at Kiddy winkle. His change of residence was a masterly piece of policy, for it saved him from a tremendous fall in society; nay, at his new place of abode, notwithstanding his reduction of income, he was a greater man than he was before. All Kiddywinkle eagerly listened to, and devoutly believed his accounts of his wonderful cures-his exalted connections-his transcendent merits-and Doctor Manydraught was deemed to be something more than man. He was constantly picking up dinners, half guineas, and even guineas, by means of advice; certain of his old friends were continually sending him hampers of wine, and casks of brandy, and he thus lived almost as sumptuously as

ever.

The father of Spencer Slenderstave, Esquire, converted himself in a brilliant manner, from a washerwoman's bare-footed urchin, into the chief tailor of Kiddywinkle. He amassed wealth, determined that his son should follow some exalted calling, and therefore apprenticed him to the greatest haberdasher in the county. Spencer was tall, sickly, and emaciated as a boy, and he was the same as a man. His constitution and temper were naturally bad, and his ignorant parents rendered them incurable by indulgence. When a child, his frequent fits or illness procured him excessive supplies of barley-sugar, plum-cake, and everything else that his fancy called for; and this not only rendered the fits more frequent, but bribed him to counterfeit them, the more especi

ally as his word was never doubted. He was therefore generally ailing, always complaining, and eternally stuffed with the food of ailments. He was naturally selfish, cold-blooded, and covetous, vain, peevish, and pettish; and he was rendered doubly so by the reverence with which his parents met his wishes and ill-humour. The boys hooted him from their society for his effeminacy and bad temper, and he thus grew up to fourteen with his mother, whom he treated as his slave, for his chief associate, and with the gratification of his propensities for his chief employment. At this age, he was a slim, bent, woful-looking boy, clad in a grotesque combination of foppish finery, and great-coats, and comforters, and exhibiting much of the solemn, antiquated air, and possessing almost all the odious habits of the bachelor of seventy. During his apprenticeship, Mr Ślenderstave secluded himself as much as possible from society, because those with whom he came in contact would neither treat him with reverence, nor administer to his caprice, without return. He betook himself to novels and light poetry for amusement, poetized largely, and even published in a provincial paper divers dolorous elegies descriptive of his own miseries. His bondage expired, and he, of course, went to spend his year in London, where he naturally became a highly finished dandy. His father died and left him two thousand pounds, whereupon he determined to commence business immediately, although he was grievously perplexed where his shop should be opened. He had now become, in his own judgment, a man of exceedingly fine taste, and he read and rhymed more than ever. His reading was strictly confined to the fine, the romantic, and the lackadaysical; and it effectually convinced him, that a man of refined feelings could be happy nowhere except among daisies, cowslips, and primroses, blackbirds, purling streams, and shady bowers. Kiddywinkle was the place; it was both town and country; and accordingly a spacious shop was taken at Kiddywinkle. Into this shop Mr Slenderstave thrust a most magnificent and costly stock; every way suited to his own brilliant taste, and every way unsuited to the wants and funds of the only people who were likely to become purchasers. The ladies, high

and low, of Kiddywinkle, the farmers' wives, the labourers' wives, and the servant girls of the whole surrounding country, were all thrown into raptures by the sight of Mr Slenderstave's fine things, but then, after duly admiring what they could not afford to buy, they went elsewhere to expend their money. This told much against his success as a tradesman, and his own conduct told as much against it. He was now a very fine gentleman. He lounged into his shop every morning at eleven in an elegant undress, just gazed over his empty shop and idle shopmen, and then lounged back again to deliver himself of a sonnet, to devour the beauties of the last publication of the Cockney school, or to prepare himself for ruralizing in the green fields until dinner time. He kept a delicious table, and dressed in the first fashion. As was to be expected, the stock account at the end of the first year wore so hideous a face, that Mr Slenderstave cursed trade one hundred and fifty times, and vowed that he would abandon it, then and for ever. He did abandon it; he took lodgings, and fashioned himself into a gentleman in calling, as in everything else, with an income of about seventy five pounds per annum. Mr Slenderstave, of course, could not possibly mingle with any but the first people of Kiddywinkle, and these were for some time extremely loath to admit him into their society. Independently of his ignoble birth, and of his having just straggled out of a shop, his dandyism, arrogance, and silliness rendered him insupportable to the great of Kiddywinkle. He, however, plied the ladies incessantly. He dilated to them on silks and laces-copied for them the fashions from the newspapers-recited to them the beauties of Barry Cornwall-eulogised their taste-made verses on their charmsand dressed so divinely, that at length Mrs Smallglebe pronounced Mr Slenderstave to be an excessively learned, accomplished, genteel, and fine young man. This was sufficient, and he at once took his place in the little parlour at the Nag's Head. At the moment when the other frequenters of this parlour were sketched, he was about forty-five. A tall, slight, jointless, nerveless, spectre-looking person, no one could look on Mr Slenderstave without seeing that he was kept alive