ation, Lord Albemarle Bertie, being the
principal figure, is entitled to precedence. In the March to Finchley,
we see him an attendant at a boxing match; and here he is president of a
most respectable society assembled at a cockpit. What rendered his
lordship's passion for amusements of this nature very singular, was his
being totally blind. In this place he is beset by seven steady friends,
five of whom at the same instant offer to bet with him on the event of
the battle. One of them, a lineal descendant of Filch, taking advantage
of his blindness and negligence, endeavours to convey a bank note,
deposited in our dignified gambler's hat, to his own pocket. Of this
ungentlemanlike attempt his lordship is apprised by a ragged post-boy,
and an honest butcher: but he is so much engaged in the pronunciation of
those important words, Done! Done! Done! Done! and the arrangement of
his bets, that he cannot attend to their hints; and it seems more than
probable that the stock will be transferred, and the note negociated in
a few seconds.

A very curious group surround the old nobleman, who is adorned with a
riband, a star, and a pair of spectacles. The whole weight of an
overgrown carpenter being laid upon his shoulder, forces our illustrious
personage upon a man beneath; who being thus driven downward, falls upon
a fourth, and the fourth, by the accumulated pressure of this ponderous
trio, composed of the upper and lower house, loses his balance, and
tumbling against the edge of the partition, his head is broke, and his
wig, shook from the seat of reason, falls into the cockpit.

A man adjoining enters into the spirit of the battle,--his whole soul is
engaged. From his distorted countenance, and clasped hands, we see that
he feels every stroke given to his favourite bird in his heart's
core,--ay, in his heart of hearts! A person at the old peer's left hand
is likely to be a loser. Ill-humour, vexation, and disappointment are
painted in his countenance. The chimney-sweeper above, is the very
quintessence of affectation. He has all the airs and graces of a
boarding-school miss. The sanctified quaker adjoining, and the fellow
beneath, who, by the way, is a very similar figure to Captain Stab, in
the Rake's Progress, are finely contrasted.

A French marquis on the other side, astonished at this being called
amusement, is exclaiming Sauvages! Sauvages! Sauvages!--Engrossed by the
scene, and opening his snuff-box rather carelessly