famous Scratching Fanny,* daughter of the clerk of St. Sepulchre's, so well remembered by old people, for being concerned in the Cock-lane ghost. Chaunceyt collected, at any price, original portraits of these original characters.

It was then and there I saw a pen-and-ink sketch of this Widow Chilcott, and old John Stagg, which was drawn with much character, by as great an oddity as I had known, namely, smoking Frank Vandermine, a Dutchman, who could draw portraits from memory, with great exactness; these, however, were sketched from the life.

It was usual with the facetious antiquary, when he exhibited such portraits, to entertain his friends with a recital of some of their eccentricities, and he told his tales with dramatic circumstantiality, and picturesque effect. Chauncey knew every-body, east and west, even from the King down to Mister Tiffin-and from the Duke of Puddledock,§ up to his worship, the Lord Mayor. Formerly there were shops on each side, within Westminster Hall. There the young beaux, counsellors, not being overwhelmed with briefs, used to chat with pretty belles, who vended gloves, perfumes, and tooth-pick cases. There, too, they could get (to use a Johnsonian phrase), the flaccidity of their wigs curled into crispness, at Egerton Catchpole's, father of him that lived so long at the old house, the corner of Cock-lane,|| and a

* The house in Cock-lane, haunted by the scratching and knocking spirits, has long been occupied by plaster figure makers. This fraud, in the year 1762, terrified all the superstitious, old and young, over a great part of England. Dr. Johnson was almost a dupe to the fraud, and Charles Churchill lampooned him for the weakness, I remember, for many years, people from Bartholomew fair used to proceed down Cock-lane, to see that wax figure of Scratching Fanny.

† Dr. Chauncey, a well-known connoisseur, an eager collector of black-letter books, and one of the greatest originals of his age; he had a brother of his own humour, who, with Dr. Snaggs, another virtuoso, made a curious triumvirate.

Frank Vandermine, always painted with a pipe in his mouth; and if his sisters objected, he would bid them go to some other artist. There is a mezzatinto print of him, from his own painting, inscribed, "The Smoker."

§ This character, so often quoted by wags, is no fiction. He frequented the famous Darkhouse-lane, and was porter to the Gravesend packets. Hogarth drew his portrait, when he, Tothall Thornhill, and others, made their tour down the river.

66 But what most pleas'd us was his grace

Of Puddle Dock, a porter grim,

Whose portrait Hogarth, in a whim,
Presented him in caricature,

He pasted on the cellar door,"

REV. W. GOSLING, CANTERBURY.

This curious old-fashioned house was pulled down in 1811; a fine print of it, and the three others, its neighbours, that escaped the fire of London, are admirably depicted in the interesting work of Ancient Domestic Architecture, by the worthy J. T. Smith, Librarian at the British Museum.

party of the aforesaid farce of Scratching Fanny. There, in this small shop in the hall, could they get their ponderous wigs repowdered, quarterly, at a small expense, after jumbling, as they were wont of yore, six in a hackney coach, from the Temple, at two-pence per cranium for the fare. There, too, lived the termagant widow Chilcott,* who sold Hogarth's prints, and her opposite neighbour, the bookseller, John Stagg,† of the noted wags of Westminster, the wittiest and oldest stager of them all. He, the fively bibliopola, that do more with the youth of Dean's yard than all the masters in their great cocked hats, and all their rods to boot; who could toss a pancake better than the college cook; who knew the law as well as half the judges on the bench, and was jocosely dubbed brother Stagg by them, and all the other learned gentlemen who wore the robe.

Stagg was a church-and-king man, staunch; his neighbour, Nan Chilcott, a thorough Jacobite. "She was a elever shrewd.. woman though," said Dr. Chauncey, " and the only one who, in the unsophisticated science of native raillery, was ever known to make Master John Stagg draw in his horns." They were, upon the whole, generally on good terms. John had known her father, as his playmate, and she knew John's good qualities. But his waggery (for he loved to hear her mob her betters) sometimes made him mischievously set her off; " and when her temper is once up, then" said Stagg," the old Turk is running amuck."

There were two special ways of effecting this. She was remarkably nice with her shop, and he gave her the title of Mistress Tidy-body. This was worse in her ear than the most opprobrious term; so, being a humane little man, he was accordingly sparing of the epithet-I keep it in reserve for high days and holidays, said John; but he was too apt to whistle Lillibullero, which, either sung, played, hummed, or whistled, was no small annoyance to all Jacobites, but to the ears of the widow Chillcot, was an ear that made her rage slip all on one side, and commonly caused the dislocation of her wits.

"I saw her in her tantarums," said Peter Toms," and never shall forget the sight. She sat, looking no one in the face, but,

* Mrs. Chilcott succeeded her father in the little shop on the left side of Westminster-hall. She wrote verses upon the South Sea bubble, and Mary Tofts, the monstrous rabbit breeder, of Godalmin. Dr. Arbuthnot often chatted with old Nan. Once she asked St. Andre, if he would walk in and take a Welsh rabbit. This pleased the wits of the day.

+ John Stagg. a publisher of some of Hogarth's early prints, and who assisted the satirical painter in his selection for the stricture upon Wigs. John was a nephew of Pope's housekeeper, and apprenticed, by that illustrious poet, to Jacob Tonson. He used to relate, and that most comically, Dryden's quarrel with old Jacob, when he asserted that the sturdy bookseller had "two left legs."

like Hecate in her cave, her long crutch stick beneath her crumpled chin, held tight by her skinny hands, portending evil. It was one morning, when Mr. Worsley, the suveyor-general, with his friend Sir Robert Taylor, and some officers of the Board of Works, came to make a survey, and to plan the scaffolding for the coronation.

"Have you received orders to quit, widow Chilcott?" said Stagg, as the gentlemen came up the hall, from Old Palace Yard. "Mind your own affairs," said she. Very good," said Stagg, "I would have helped you to pack up," then turning round, he maliciously observed, with affected obsequiousness, "you know very well we must all turn out Mistress Chilcott, and it is our bounden duty to submit respectfully to our superiors," " Superiors!" said she, "humph! I do not know who they may be but I'll not budge a foot but by force." "Mercy on me!" said Old Stagg, "I wish I had half thy noble spirit." Away with you! sneaking bookbinder," said she. It was just then the surveyor-general took a measuring rod-when Stagg whistled Lillibullero.

"Now old dame Chilcott has two great bombs to discharge at once, said Peter Toms; "one at the surveyor-general and another at Mister Lillibullero: she was ready to burst with rage."

The surveyor-general knew the old termagant's politics; her hatred to the government every one knew, and moreover he knew her attachment to the spot. Her father had held a stall there before her; and being kind and considerate in the duties of his office, and not self-important, as many in authority are apt to be, he soothed the old widow, by telling her he was concerned to disturb her; and, that when the scaffolds he was obliged to erect over her premises were removed, she should be reinstated more commodiously." "Now there are those," said the lively Peter," who would have not minced the matter with the sulky old touch, but have ordered her off, with-" Away, you old devil-you catamaran, you Jezabel-what! you will not budge! but I'll send you packing in a trice-away, you spit fire, cockatrice, good-for-nothing, crooked old Jacobite !" But the surveyor-general was no such man.

There are some untoward tempers, however, that no gentleness can conciliate, nor roughness subdue. Old Nan Chilcott was one of those. "Yes," said she, " my poor father was bamboozled by that smooth-spoken Mister Vanburgh.* He, too, was to have mighty fine things done; but I know it cost

Sir John Vanburgh, who wrote ten Comedies, admirable for wit; but who was sadly lampooned for his architecture. He was much employed in public works.

him forty pounds to make room for a beggarly set, with their crowns and stars and garters, to eat and drink and carouse, and drive honest people out of doors. I wish I was a man, I'd pick up the glove with a vengeance! and send that swaggering hero, Mister Dymoke, galloping out of the hall, a little faster than he came in! But all manhood's gone over the water with Charley !" Old Stagg, from the oposite side of the hall, whistled Lillibullero.

"Well, but my good woman," said the surveyor-general, you must not speak treason under the royal roof." "Royal roof, royal roof!" said she, " marry come up, and a pretty royal roof it is," pointing up with her crutch stick; "are you not ashamed to look upon such a cob-webby, filthy, spider-warren? Out upon you! who set you up master of the board of works, and a fine board it is; and so called, no doubt, from the wooden heads of which it is composed. Things were done badly enough in old Van's time, God knows, and now we shall see them Worsley done." 'Ha, ha," said Sir Robert, "what you are a punster, old Nan." "Punster!" said she, "you are looking out for a place too-aye? Taylors should sit cross-legged at the other board over at the palace there the board of Green Cloth." Egad," said Sir Robert, we shall be well dressed all round." By this time several gentlemen of the robe had collected before her shop, and old Stagg thrust his head forward among the group-she was lying in wait for him, and he had better have kept aloof. Why don't you ask the king, as you are a loyal subject to appoint you cob-web brusher royal, Mistress Tidy-body, you might straddle your besom, like Hogarth's frontispiece* here," pointing to his humorous print of the witch riding her broom up to the moon, which was exposed for sale on her stall. "What then!" said she, aiming a blow at his knuckles with her ebony crutch stick, when, missing him, she made amends, by pointing it at him, with a malicious grin, saying, "Go home, and bid your own old witch brush the cob-webs off your antlers, Mister Stagg. This happened to be a severe wipe. Mr. Serjeant Glynnt arm-in-arm with one or too cursitor barons, turned upon old John, and the bookseller, and there was a general laugh as John asked significantly, "Have you any further questions to put, brother Stagg?" This might have passed; but, unfortunately for the baron, he too must have a joke, having for the moment forgotten what the world whispered about his help-mate.

66

* This whimsical frontispiece, known to curious collectors, once induced old Dr. Snaggs to say, "It was better suited for a tail-piece." Whiston never forgave Hogarth for the contempt this plate poured upon his work. It is curious, that so learned a man should have maintained the fraud of mother Tofts, "I see in her," said he, "the fulfilment of one of the prophecies of Esdras!"

+ Mr. Serjeant Glynn, Recorder of London, and Member for Middlesex.

"What say you, my old buck," said the wit, "a little hartshorn may cure the evil." "Oh no," retorted Stagg," he that had horns to hide, invented the lawyer's wig," and bowing respectfully, added-"have you any further questions to put, brother baron?"

CHARACTER OF THE PRINCIPAL NATIONS OF EUROPE.

In religion, the German is sceptical; the Englishman devout; the Frenchman zealous; the Italian ceremonious; the Spaniard a bigot.

In keeping his word, the German is slow; the Englishman fearless; the Frenchman precipitate; the Italian nice; the Spaniard circumspect.

In external appearance, the German is large; the Englishman well-made; the Frenchman well-looking; the Italian of middle size; the Spaniard awkward.

In dress, the German is shabby; the Englishman costly; the Frenchman fickle; the Italian ragged; the Spaniard decent.

In manners, the German is clownish; the Englishman barbarous ; the Frenchman easy; the Italian polite; the Spaniard proud.

In keeping a secret, the German forgets what he has been told; the Englishman conceals what he should divulge, and divulges what he should conceal; the Frenchman tells every thing; the Italian is close; the Spaniard mysterious.

In vanity, the German boasts little; the Englishman despises all other nations; the Frenchman flatters every body; the Italian estimates cautiously; the Spaniard is indifferent.

In eating and drinking, the German is a drunkard; the Englishman gross and luscious; the Frenchman delicate; the Italian moderate; the Spaniard penurious.

In offending and doing good, the German is inactive; the Englishman does both without consideration; the Italian is prompt in beneficence, but vindictive; the Spaniard indifferent.

In speaking, the German and Frenchman speak badly, but write well; the Englishman speaks and writes well; the Italian speaks well, writes much and well; the Spaniard speaks little, writes little, but well.

In address, the German looks like a blockhead; the Englishman resembles neither a fool nor a wise man; the Frenchman is gay; the Italian is prudent, but looks like a fool; the Spaniard is quite the reverse.