s. Lastly, that you may be assured of the genuineness of the letter I found, and have copied, the original accompanies this communication to your publishers; with authority, if its ownership be claimed, to deliver it to the claimant, on the production of a line in the handwriting of the epistle itself. I am, Sir, &c.

CURIO SO.

"POOR BILLY W——.”

For the Table Book.

Some years ago my pen was employed to attempt the sketch of a Character, but apprehending that the identity might be too strong and catch his eye, he was my friend, and a great reader of "periodicals"I desisted. I meant to say nothing illnatured, yet I feared to offend a harmless and inoffensive man, and I destroyed what had given me an hour's amusement. The reason no longer exists-death has removed him. Disease and a broken spirit, occasioned by commercial misfortunes and imprudences, weighed him down, and the little sphere in which he used to shine has lost its chief attraction,

What a man he was!-of the pure, real London cut. Saint Paul's was stamped on his forehead. He was the great oracle of a certain coffee-house, not a hundred miles from Gray's Inn; where he never dined but in one box, nor placed himself but in one situation. His tavern dignities were astounding-the waiters trembled at his approach-his orders were obeyed with the nicest precision. For some years he was the king of the room-he was never deposed, nor did he ever abdicate. His mode of calling for his pint of wine, and the bankrupt part of the Gazette, had a peculiar character past describing. I have now and then seen a "rural," in the same coffee-room, attempt the thing-but my friend was "Hyperion to a satyr."

I have him in my eye now-traversing to the city and back-regulating his watch by the Royal Exchange clock daily; and daily boasting he had the best goer" in England. Like his watch, he was a curious piece of mechanism. He seldom quitted London, for he was persuaded every thing would "stand still" in his absence. It seemed, as though he imagined that St. Paul's clock would not strike-that the letters by the general post would not be delivered. -Was he not

right? To me, the city was a "void" without him.

What a referee he was! He would tell you the price of stocks on any past day; and dilate for hours on the interesting details in the charters of the twelve city companies. He had a peculiar mode of silencing an antagonist who ventured to obtrude an opinion by adducing a scriptu ral maxim, "Study to be quiet," and "mind your own business;" and now and then a few Latin mottos, obtained from the Tablet of Memory, would be used with great feli city. His observations were made in an elevated tone, they commanded attention→→→ he used to declare that " ney;" that " many people were great fools;" and that "bankrupts could not be expected to pay much." After a remark of this kind he would take a pinch of snuff, with grave self-complacency, and throw his snuff box on the table with inimitable importance-a species of dignified ingenuity that lived and died with him. His medical panacea was a certain" vegetable sirup,' whereon he would descant, by the hour together, as a specific for all human maladies, and affirm " your physicians and apothecaries-mere humbugs!"

money was mo

Then, he would astound the coffee-room by declaring he once bid the king of Spain £700,000 for the island of Porto Ricothis was his grandest effort, and if his ear ever caught the question "Who is he?" uttered by a country listener, his throwne back shoulders and expansion of chest betrayed the delight he felt, that his bounce had been overheard.

Now and then, on a Saturday, he would break his city chains, and travel to "The Spaniard" at Hampstead for a dinner; but no argument or persuasion could get him to Richmond. His reply was always the same-" the hotels at Richmond employ too much capital." He was an economist.

In his pleasantest humours, and he had few unpleasant ones, after dining with him I have sometimes importured him to pay the whole bill; his answer was peculiar and conclusive; "My good friend," said he, "if I had adopted the plan of paying for others, I might have kept company with all the princes and nobles in the land, instead of plebeians like you."

His Sunday, till one o'clock, was passed in "spelling the newspapers;" after that he walked on the north side of Lincoln's Inn Fields, with his hands behind him, till three-he then entered Lincoln's Inn chapel, and returned to boiled beef and suet pudding at five, which were always brought

they are far on the journey of life, and have acquired a useful fame in their respective companies, their elevation is delightful and complacent. Not a subject is proposed, nor a matter of reference considered, but, as a living author has observed, "it must begin or finish with a dinner." Thus originated a most exquisite anticipation to the select few, the Tasting Day,"-a day which precedes all good general eating and drinking days. Mr. Abernethy (who, by the by, is not afraid of dish or glass) may lecture profitably on abstinence, and the "Lancet may breathe a satirical vein, yet, in compliance with social fellowship and humane gourmanderie, London citizens proudly patronise the preceding and succeeding engagements of " Tasting Days." I am, sir,

Your brother cit,

AN OLD TASter.

ABORIGENES.

This word is explained in every dictionary, English, Latin, or French, as a general name for the indigenous inhabitants of a country; when in reality it is the proper name of a peculiar people of Italy, who were not indigenous, but supposed to have been a colony of Arcadians. The error has been founded chiefly on the supposed derivation of the word from ab origine. Never (except in Swift's ludicrous work) was a more eccentric etyınology-a preposition, with its governed case, made plural by the modern final s! The university of Oxford, some years ago, added to this solecism by a public prize poem on the Aboriginal Britons.

The most rational etymology of the word seems to be a compound of the Greek words awè, gos, and yes, a race of mountaineers. So Virgil calls them,

"- Genus indocile ac dispersum montibus altis." It seems more probable, that the name of the oldest settlers in Italy should have a Greek than a Latin derivation.

The preceding remarks are by a late poet-laureate, Mr. Pye, who concludes by inquiring, what should we say of the etymologist who were to deduce the name of an ancient British tribe from the modern English?

TASTING DAYS.

To the Editor.

Sir, Few men enjoy, or deserve better living than the citizens of London. When

CURIOUS SIGN.

For the Table Book.

"A little learning is a dangerous thing." East, near Skipton-in Craven, the following So said Pope, and so say I. At Halton inscription arrests the attention of every passer-by :

WATKINSON'S

ACADAMY

Whatever man has done man may do.
Also

DEALER IN GROCERIES,
&c.

TIM. T

ORDERS TO MARCH.

The following parody, on a stanza of the "Blue Bonnets over the Border," is put

forth, as an advertisement, by a hatter, at Brighton, named March.

March! March! has the best hats to sell,
Try him, you'll find him no wily deceiver;
March 1-march! go and he'll use you well,
His is the warehouse for buying a beaver.
Come then, my masters,
Doff your old castors,
Ragged and torn, or howe'er in disorder:
For a new topper, a

Round hat or opera,

March is the man, so give him an order.

March! March! has the best hats to sell, &e.

On a fine summer's day I alighted, with my friend W, from the roof of a stagecoach at Croydon, for a by-way walk, in a part unknown to both. We struck to the eastward through Addiscombe it is scarcely a village, and only remarkable for the East India Company having seated it with a military establishment; which, as peaceable persons, we had no desire to see, though we could not help observing some cannon in a meadow, as smoothshaven, and with as little of nature-like aspect, as a drill-sergeant's face. Further onward we met a well-mounted horseman, whom some of my old readers may easily imagine I could not fail to remember VOL. II.-42.

"mine host" of the "Swan" at West Wickham-the recognition was mutual; and being in search of an adventure, I asked him for a direction to any little public-house within a mile or two, that was worth looking at on account of its antiquity and rustic appearance. He despaired of any thing "absolutely" of the kind in the neighbourhood; but, from his description of what he thought might be "something" near it, we took a lane to the left, and soon came to the house. Like too many of our ancient churches it had been "repaired and beautified "-deprived of every thing venerable and was as unpicturesque as the overseers of the reparations could make

it. We found better entertainment within than without a cheerful invitation to the bar, where we had a cool glass of good ale with a biscuit, and the sight of a fine healthy family as they successively entered for something or other that was wanted. Having refreshed and exchanged "good-morning with the good-natured proveditors of "good entertainment for man and horse," we turned to the left, and at a stone's throw crossed into a lane, having a few labourers' cottages a little way along on the right, and soon came to the Broom-maker's, represented in the engraving.

We had a constant view all the way up the lane, from beyond the man climbing the ladder, of the flickering linen at the point of the rod waving on the broomstack. The flag was erected by the labourers on the carrying of the last shoulder-load of the rustic pile-an achievement quite as important to the interests of the Broommaker, as the carrying of Seringapatam to the interests of the "Honourable Company."

Having passed the Broom-maker's, which stands at the corner of the lane we had come up, and being then in the road across Shirley Common towards Addington, we interchanged expressions of regret that we had not fallen in with any thing worth notice: A look-back induced a halt; we returned a few steps, and taking seats at the angle on the bank, I thought I perceived "capabilities," in the home-view before our eyes, for a Table Book notice. The loaded man, near the pile of poling, is represented proceeding towards a spot at some thirty yards distance, where a teamed waggon frame was standing. It belonged to the master of the place-a tall, square-shouldered, middle-aged, active man, who looked as one having authority-who laboured, and was a master of labourers. He, and another man, and a lad, were employed, "all without hurry or care," in loading the wain with poling. As I stood observing their progress he gave me a frank "Good-day, sir!" and I obtained some information from him respecting his business. His name is on his carts "John Bennett, Shirley Common." He calls himself a "Broom-maker and Wood-dealer," and he has more the character of a Wood-cutter than the figure of the Wood-man in the popular print. He and his men cut the materials for broom-making chiefly from the neighbouring common, and the wood he deals in from adjacent woods and copses. He sells the greater part of his brooms to shopkeepers and other consumers in Streat

seated

ham and Camberwell. Much of his poling is sent farther off. A good deal, he told me, had gone to the duke of Devonshire for fencing; the load then preparing was for like use on a farm at Streatham, belonging to Mr. Hoare, of the Golden Cross, Charing Cross. He eyed Won the bank, sketching the spot, and said, that as soon as he had finished loading the wain, he would show us what was going on in-doors." Accordingly when he had concluded he walked with me to W--, who, by that time, had nearly finished. Seeing what had been effected in that way, he had “a sort of notion that the gentleman might like, perhaps, to take off an old broom-maker, then at work, inside curious an old chap as a man might walk a summer's day without seeing-one that nobody could make either head or tail of— what you call an original."

W.

-- as

and I were as desirous of something new as were the ancient inhabitants of Athens; and in search of it we entered the broom-manufactory a small, warm, comfortable barn, with a grateful odour in it from the heath and birch-wood. Four or five persons were busy at work. Foremost within the door was the unmistakeable old "original." Like his fellow-workmen he wore a leathern apron, and a heavy leathern sleeve on the left arm; and with that hand and arm he firmly held and compressed the heath into round bundles, of proper consistency and size, and strongly bound them with the other. He was apparently between sixty and seventy years of age, and his labour, which to a young man seemed light, was to him heavy, for it required muscular strength. There was some difficulty in getting him to converse. He was evidently suspicious; and, as he worked, his apprehensions quickened him to restlessness and over-exertion. To" take him off" while thus excited, and almost constantly in a bending posture, was out of the question. I therefore handed him a jug of his master's home-brewed, and told him our wish. His countenance lighted up, and I begged him to converse with me for a few minutes, and to look me full in the face; I also assured him of the "wherewithal" for a jug of ale at night. He willingly entered into the compact, but the inquietude natural to his features was baffling to the hand that held the pencil. By this time the rumour that "Old Davy" was having his head "taken off" brought his master's wife, and her daughters and sons, from the cottage, and several workmen from another outhouse, to witness the execution, Oppo

site to him was W- with his sketchbook; his desire for a "three-quarter" view of the "original" occasioned me to seat myself on a heap of birch sideways, that the old man's face might be directed to me in the required position. The group around us was numerous and differently interested some kept their eyes upon "Old Davy;" others upon me, while I talked to him; as many as could command a view of the sketch-book were intent upon the progress of the portrait; and a few, who were excluded, endeavoured on tiptoe, and with outstretched necks, to obtain peeps at what was going on. W. steadily employed on the likeness-the old man " sitting," cunningly smiling, looking unutterably wise at me, while W—--was steadily endeavouring for the likeness-the surrounding spectators, and the varied expressions of their various faces-the gleams of broken light from the only opening that admitted it, the door-way-the broad masses of shadow, and the rich browns of the shining birch and spreading heath, rudely and unequally piled, formed a picture which I regretted that W- was a prominent figure in, because, engaged as he was, he could neither see nor sketch it.

This old labourer's eccentricity was exceedingly amusing. He said his name was David Boxall; he knew not, or would not know, either where he was born, or where he had worked, or any thing more of himself, than that there he was; "and now," said he, "make of me what you can." "Ah!" said his master, in a whisper, "if you can make anything of him, sir, it's more than we have been able to do." The old fellow had a dissenting "humph" for every thing advanced towards him-except the ale-jug. The burthen of his talk was-he thought about nothing, cared about nothing —not he—why should he? Yet he was a perpetual inquirer. Craftily leering his quick-glancing eye while he asked a question, he waited, with a sarcastic smile, for an answer; and when given, out came his usual gruff" humph," and "how do you know?" He affected to listen to explanations, while he assumed a knowing grin, to persuade his hearers that he knew better. His knowledge, however, was incommunicable, and past all finding out. He continually indulged in "hum!" and "ha!" and a sly look; and these, to his rustic auditors, were signs of wisdom. He was what they called a "knowing old chap." He had been the best broom-maker in the manufactory, and had earned excellent wages. When I saw him he was infirm, and did

not get more than fourteen or sixteen shillings a week. Mr. Bennett's men are paid piece-work; and can easily earn a guinea a week. After the sketching was over, and his people had retired to their labour, we walked with him through his little garden of fruit-trees and vegetables to another shed, where they fashioned broom-handles, and some common husbandry implements of wood. On recrossing the garden he ga thered us cherries from the trees, and discoursed on his hives of bees by the hedgeside. Having given something to his men to spend in drink, and to "Old Davy" something especially, we brought off his head, which would cost more to exhibit than a better subject, and therefore it has since rested without disturbance.

From the Broom-maker's at Shirley Common, we had a pleasant walk into Addington, where there is a modern-built palace of the archbishop of Canterbury, with extensive old gardens and large hothouses, and several good houses. We had passed Mr. Maberly's seat and grounds on

our way.

A turn in the road gave us a view of Addington church in a retired spot, beyond a row of town-built dwellings, with little gardens in front, and a shop or

two.

The parish clerk lives in one of them. Upon request he accompanied us, with the keys, to the church, of ancient structure, lately trimmed up, and enclosed by a high wall and gates. There was nothing within worth seeing, except a tomb with disfigured effigies, and a mutilated ill-kept register-book, which, as it belonged to the immediate parish of the archbishop, seemed very discreditable. The "Cricketers," nearly opposite to the church, accommodated us with as good refreshment as the village afforded, in a capacious parlour. The house is old, with a thatched roof. We found it an excellent resting-place; every way better, as an inn, than we could have expected in a spot so secluded. We had rambled and loitered towards it, and felt ourselves more wearied when about to depart than we wished; and, as a farmer's family cart stood at the door, with the farmer himself in it, I proposed to W. to attempt gaining a lift. The farmer's son, who drove it, said, that it was going our way, and that a ride was at our service. The driver got up in front, W. followed, and when I had achieved the climbing, I found him in conflict with a young calf, which persisted in licking his clothes. He was soon relieved from the inconvenience, by its attentions, in like manner, being shifted to me. The old farmer was a little more than "fresh," and