d.

And here the reeling sons of riot see,
After a night of senseless revelry.

Poor, trembling, old, her suit the beggar plies;
But frozen chastity the little boon denies.

This withered representative of Miss Bridget Alworthy, with a shivering
foot-boy carrying her prayer-book, never fails in her attendance at
morning service. She is a symbol of the season.--

-------------Chaste as the icicle
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple

she looks with scowling eye, and all the conscious pride of severe and
stubborn virginity, on the poor girls who are suffering the embraces of
two drunken beaux that are just staggered out of Tom King's
Coffee-house. One of them, from the basket on her arm, I conjecture to
be an orange girl: she shows no displeasure at the boisterous salute of
her Hibernian lover. That the hero in a laced hat is from the banks of
the Shannon, is apparent in his countenance. The female whose face is
partly concealed, and whose neck has a more easy turn than we always see
in the works of this artist, is not formed of the most inflexible
materials.

An old woman, seated upon a basket; the girl, warming her hands by a few
withered sticks that are blazing on the ground, and a wretched
mendicant,[3] wrapped in a tattered and parti-coloured blanket,
entreating charity from the rosy-fingered vestal who is going to church,
complete the group. Behind them, at the door of Tom King's Coffee-house,
are a party engaged in a fray, likely to create business for both
surgeon and magistrate: we discover swords and cudgels in the
combatants' hands.

On the opposite side of the print are two little schoolboys. That they
have shining morning faces we cannot positively assert, but each has a
satchel at his back, and according with the description given by the
poet of nature, is

Creeping, like snail, unwillingly to school.

The lantern appended to the woman who has a basket on her head, proves
that these dispensers of the riches of Pomona rise before the sun, and
do part of their business by an artificial light. Near her, that
immediate descendant of Paracelsus, Dr. Rock, is expatiating to an
admiring audience, on the never-failing virtues of his wonder-working
medicines. One hand holds a bottle of his miraculous panacea, and the
other supports a board, on which is the king's arms, to indicate that
his practice is sanctioned by royal letters patent