ss and dirt we have just left. The interior is even gayer than the
exterior. A bar of French-polished mahogany, elegantly carved, extends
the whole width of the place; and there are two side-aisles of great
casks, painted green and gold, enclosed within a light brass rail, and
bearing such inscriptions, as 'Old Tom, 549;' 'Young Tom, 360;' 'Samson,
1421'--the figures agreeing, we presume, with 'gallons,' understood.
Beyond the bar is a lofty and spacious saloon, full of the same enticing
vessels, with a gallery running round it, equally well furnished. On the
counter, in addition to the usual spirit apparatus, are two or three
little baskets of cakes and biscuits, which are carefully secured at top
with wicker-work, to prevent their contents being unlawfully abstracted.
Behind it, are two showily-dressed damsels with large necklaces,
dispensing the spirits and 'compounds.' They are assisted by the
ostensible proprietor of the concern, a stout, coarse fellow in a fur
cap, put on very much on one side to give him a knowing air, and to
display his sandy whiskers to the best advantage.

The two old washerwomen, who are seated on the little bench to the left
of the bar, are rather overcome by the head-dresses and haughty demeanour
of the young ladies who officiate. They receive their half-quartern of
gin and peppermint, with considerable deference, prefacing a request for
'one of them soft biscuits,' with a 'Jist be good enough, ma'am.' They
are quite astonished at the impudent air of the young fellow in a brown
coat and bright buttons, who, ushering in his two companions, and walking
up to the bar in as careless a manner as if he had been used to green and
gold ornaments all his life, winks at one of the young ladies with
singular coolness, and calls for a 'kervorten and a three-out-glass,'
just as if the place were his own. 'Gin for you, sir?' says the young
lady when she has drawn it: carefully looking every way but the right
one, to show that the wink had no effect upon her. 'For me, Mary, my
dear,' replies the gentleman in brown. 'My name an't Mary as it
happens,' says the young girl, rather relaxing as she delivers the
change. 'Well, if it an't, it ought to be,' responds the irresistible
one; 'all the Marys as ever _I_ see, was handsome gals.' Here the young
lady, not precisely remembering how blushes are managed in such cases,
abruptly ends the flirtation by addressing the female in the faded
feathers who ha