while others again are resting, with all the elegance of a Cerito, upon the very tips of their very little feet. Dove-like in everything else, they are as unlike that bird as possible in their attitudes. Why should the young Mobility tread the earth like pigeons, when the opposite mode of standing and of progression is so much more becoming?

Before we take leave of these young,—we might say unfledged,—inhabitants of the Rookery, we may remark, that they are much addicted to an amusement greatly conducive to the advantage of the pedestrian, that of displacing the superfluous matter which is apt to accumulate upon crossings. They also pursue an employment which, were it a legal one, we might compare to that of the Solicitor General. Or we might describe its followers as probationers belonging to the Society of Mendicants; an order, it would seem, which Henry VIII. could not entirely suppress.

PLATE II. Master Jim Curtis, Master Mike Waters, and Master Bill Sims.

Youths in full, such prolixity being, among the Order of Mobility to which they belong, a thing entirely unknown. The group last described, we might have represented as taken from the genus, "Ragamuffin;" this, in like manner, we may consider as pertaining to the tribe, "Varlet." Masters Curtis, Waters, and Sims, are members of that numerous republic of boys frequenting, like the canine race, (indeed it is not unusual to hear them described as "young dogs,") all manner of public walks, squares, streets, and alleys. Pot-boys, butchers' boys, bakers' boys, errand-boys, doctors' boys, and all other boys whose professed character is that of being generally useful, but whose real one is that of being generally idle, come under this head. Our readers, while in their breakfast-parlours, have no doubt often heard them notifying their presence at the area railings by noises peculiar to each. Our refined taste revolts at the idea of having to describe such characters; but the task, however repugnant to our feelings, must be performed. We will endeavour to do this with as much delicacy as the nature of the subject will admit of; and we hope that while apparently sinning against Refinement, we shall be earning the palliative merit of a stern fidelity to Truth.

"Happy Land!—Happy Land!—Hallo, Bill?" Such is the greeting with which Master Mike Waters, pausing in his song, and halting in his trot, accosts Master Bill Sims, whom he meets at the turning of a corner in a place called Bloomsbury Square. "How are yer, my tulip?" exclaims Master Jim Curtis, who, arriving at the same moment, completes the group. We have not expressed the Christian names of the above-mentioned.

Original Size

Of the parentage of these young gentlemen we shall say nothing. Master Jim Curtis, we learn from undoubted authority, to any question touching the name of his father, would infallibly answer "Hookey Walker;" a reply, to say the least of it, of an evasive character. As certainly would Master Bill Sims respond "Vot odds;" while Master Mike Waters would only notice the demand at all, by applying the tip of his thumb to the end of his nose, and twiddling his fingers.

Master Jim Curtis and Master Mike Waters, but particularly Master Curtis, are amusing themselves by chaffing, or, according to their pronunciation, "charfin," Master Bill Sims. Chaffing, translated into intelligible language, signifies, "quizzing," "rallying," or "persiflage" Thus understood, it will at once be recognised as a species of intellectual diversion often indulged in by those moving in good society. No one, for example, who has paid attention, either temporary or permanent, to a young lady, can be otherwise than aware of this fact. "Chaffing," indeed, is a very venerable recreation. Shakspere represents it as practised among the ancient Romans. Witness his "Antony and Cleopatra," Act II. Scene 7.

Lepidus (supposed to be in a state of wine)—"What manner of thing is your crocodile?"

Antony. "It is shaped, Sir, like itself; and it is just as broad as it hath breadth; it is just so high as it is, and moves with its own organs; it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates."

See also Henry IV. (first part) Act II. Scene 4.

Our readers may perhaps wish to know what the nature of the "chaffing," of which Master Sims is the object, may be: hoping that in attempting to gratify their curiosity, we shall not outrage their feelings, we present them with the following scene:—

Master Mike Waters. "Crikey, Bill!"

Master Bill Sims. "Well; Wot?"

Master Jim Curtis. "My eye, Bill, wot a swell we are!"

Bill. "Wot d'ye mean? I dessay you think yourself very clever,—don't yer now?"

Jim. "I say, Bill, do your keep that 'ere collar button'd ven you has yer grub?"

Bill. "Wot odds?"

Jim. "That 'ere letter of yourn's post-haste, I s'pose, Bill?"

Bill. "Do yer? How long have them muffins bin 'All Hot? '"

Jim. "As long agin as half. I 'll bet you I know who that letter's for." Bill. "I 'll bet yer you don't!"

Mike. "My eye! what a plummy tile!"

Bill. "It's as good as yourn any day, spooney!"

Jim. "I say, Mike, twig the yaller."

Mike. "Ho! ho! ho!"

Bill. "Wot a pretty laugh!"

Jim. "Do your Missus keep a buss, Bill?"

Bill. "Find out."

Jim. "Cos you'd do uncommon well to get up behind—wouldn't he, Mike?"

Mike. "I b'lieve yer. Benk! Benk!"

Jim. "Helephant! C'tee, C'tee!"

Mike. "Now, Sir! Now, Sir!"

Jim. "Now, marm, goin' down! goin' down!"

Bill. "I tell you wot, you fellers; you'd just best cut your stick. I ain't goin' to stand bein' bullied by you, I can tell yer."

Jim. "I say, Mike, his monkey's up."

Mike. "Don't you stand it, Bill; pitch into him—punch 'is 'ed."

Jim. "Lor bless yer, his Missus won't let him spile his beauty; she's too fond of him."

Bill. "Yaa! you great fool! You've got enough to do to mind your own business. There's them people at 24 a-waitin' for you. Won't you catch it!—that's all."

Jim. "See any green, Bill? Good b'ye."

Mike. "Never you mind, Bill, Good b'ye—Happy land! happy land," &c.

Master Jim Curtis is one of those youths whose office it is to supply the tea-tables of the higher classes with muffins and crumpets, nominally all hot, but really, owing to the colloquial propensities of the bearers, in general not at all hot. Among his compeers he is considered a peculiarly accomplished lad. He is always sure to be acquainted with the last new song, for shocking as the idea appears, there are "last new songs," in streets as well as in drawing-rooms—we are informed that the present popular favourite is "Happy Land;" it having succeeded "Sitch a gittin' up stairs;" previously to which