Will our readers believe it? the Mobility, in conversation, accuse each other without scruple, in terms not to be mistaken, of wilfully erroneous assertions! and, not content with this, often accompany the insult by a backward movement of the left thumb over the shoulder! But what can be expected of those who smoke pipes of tobacco in the open streets?

The taste of the Mobility is not delicate. As regards aliment, it is one which Louis Eustache Ude never, we are sure, thought of consulting. Their diet is said to include such articles as tripe, cow-heel, (?) &c. if any one knows what those things are. Their literary appetite, that, at least, of those who can read, tends chiefly to certain publications which come out weekly, are mostly sold for the small charge of one penny, and are filled with vituperation of the higher orders. The Mobility are also very fond of "Last Dying Speeches and Confessions;" indeed they regard all information, connected with the administration of the criminal law, with a peculiar interest.

The Mobility have various amusements, most of which are exceedingly low, and which have been in these enlightened times judiciously curtailed by the Legislature. Indeed they can scarcely indulge in any of them without impropriety; for they are supposed, during six days, to be continually occupied, and on the seventh to be enjoying, like the better classes, the sweets of domestic life. Instead of that, they go, on Sundays, to a public-house, provided there may be no pecuniary obstacle to their doing so. There, it is said, they used to play at skittles, bowls, and nine pins; in lieu of which, those games being now illegal on all but working days, they content themselves with getting inebriated. Occasionally, on evenings during the week, some of them repair to the theatres, where those of our readers who may chance to have honoured the performances with their presence may have heard them, high aloft and far back, in a place allotted to them, making a noise. Their leisure, also, when they have any, is sometimes beguiled by dramatic and musical entertainments, paid for on the voluntary principle, and appropriately performed in the open air. These exhibitions are transferable from place to place; a very fortunate circumstance, as the crowds which collect to view them might otherwise incommode the higher orders, by obstructing their carriages. The Mobility, in certain amusements of theirs, present a curious and humiliating parallel to those of a portion of the Nobility. They are slightly addicted to games of chance, although instead of throwing dice, they usually toss pence, and for rouge et noir, engage in what is termed blind hookey. We could mention some persons who appear to have learned one of these delightful sports from them; we mean, the thimble rig. They are prone, too, in their way, to the pleasures of the field; for instance, the pursuit of the rat, which, although not a noble recreation, like the chase of the fox, is yet a species of hunting. The badger likewise contributes, occasionally, to their fund of harmless enjoyment. They do not, it is true, perform nocturnal gymnastics on knockers and bell-wires, such presumption on their part being severely punishable; but it must be confessed that at an election or an illumination they evince a strong predilection for very similar exploits.

The language of the Mobility is very incorrect in point of grammar, and rather abounds in strong and forcible, than in soft and elegant terms. Perhaps, in treating of the Children of the Mobility more particularly, we shall unavoidably be forced to quote a little of it; but we shall be as chary as a Poor Law Commissioner of what we put into their mouths, recollecting that those introduced by us are intended as companions to the Children of the Nobility. For, as the moralist informs us in the copybook, "Evil communications corrupt good manners."

The Children of the Mobility are distinguished by a remarkable circumstance, at their very birth, from those of the Nobility. The latter are said to enter the world with a certain silver implement in their mouths; at all events, they have one placed there so soon as almost to warrant the idea that it was really bestowed on them by Nature. The former, on the contrary, are endowed with no such thing; and if they were, it would infallibly be transferred, with all possible expedition, to the hands of a particular relative. In short, it would be made a means of procuring the nutriment which a less costly article would serve as effectually to insert.

Further, the Children of the Nobility, justly compared in various poetical effusions to delicate plants and tender flowers, are, with great propriety, reared in a nursery. But the Children of the Mobility, who are the subjects of no effusions but those of indignation at their appetite or their cries, vegetate, many of them, like kitchen stuff, in the open air, and are never grown, if under shelter at all, in any place resembling a hot-house.

It is, perhaps, to the supply of moisture which, in consequence of their exposure, they receive, that their preservation is owing; for we might otherwise reasonably question how they are induced to live.

The Children of the Mobility are not, in early infancy, interesting creatures; they are invested with none of those angelic attributes so peculiar to the aristocratic babe. It will be well, therefore, to pass over this period of their lives, and to consider them as they exhibit themselves, at a somewhat more advanced age, in the streets.

Those talented artists who have so laudably devoted their lofty energies to the delineation of the youthful forms of the Children of the Nobility, have correctly represented them as replete, in all their actions, with elegance. Sleeping on banks of flowers, sitting on rocks and musing o'er flood and field, contemplating with youthful but reflective eye, the beauties of a leaf or rose-bud, standing self-enraptured and Narcissus-like in some exquisite attitude before a mirror, or playing, in unconscious boldness, with a large dog, they seem to us like the denizens of a brighter sphere. Such, indeed, they may with truth be said to be; for, in the spacious park, the fragrant parterre, and the splendidly furnished drawing-room, their delicious existence glides away. This, together with their innate refinement, accounts, perhaps, for that beautifully indescribable something that mingles with all they do. So, conversely, the inherited bias, and surrounding circumstances incidental to the Children of the Mobility, may be supposed to explain the very opposite "something" so peculiar to them. We find them perched on stiles and gates, and loitering about lanes and ditches, peering into periwinkles, hopping up and down the steps of door-ways, or setting a couple of mongrels together by the ears. They are not gentle—they are not sylph-like—we search in vain for a nameless grace in their steps, and a depth of hidden meaning in their young eyes. They have never been taught to dance, and their complexions have been sadly neglected.

Aided by Mr. Leech's pictures, we shall now take the liberty of introducing our young plebeians into the drawing-room.

PLATE I. Miss Margaret Flinn, Master Gregory Flinn, Miss Katherine O'Shaughnessy, and Master Donovan

These young persons are the Children of a Mobility said to be the finest in the universe. The scene of their existence is a place denominated the Rookery, a region situated in those obscure territories among which Oxford Street terminates. This district is very appositely named, and we are surprised that there is no corresponding neighbourhood, of an aristocratic character, denominated an Aerie. It is a place remarkable, like an actual abode of rooks, for the noisy, pugnacious, and predatory character of its inhabitants, who however, unlike those