eyes, pink ribbons, that kind of thing.

2nd Gent.--Who the deuce is that girl with those tremendous shoulders?
Gad! I do wish somebody would smack 'em.

3rd Gent.--Sir--that young lady is my niece, sir,--my niece--my name is
Blades, sir.

2nd Gent.--Well, Blades! smack your niece's shoulders: she deserves it,
begad! she does. Come in, Jinks, present me to the Perkinses.--Hullo!
here's an old country acquaintance--Lady Bacon, as I live! with all the
piglings; she never goes out without the whole litter. (Exeunt 1st and
2nd Gents.)

LADY BACON, THE MISS BACONS, MR. FLAM.

Lady B.--Leonora! Maria! Amelia! here is the gentleman we met at Sir
John Porkington's.

[The MISSES BACON, expecting to be asked to dance, smile simultaneously,
and begin to smooth their tuckers.]

Mr. Flam.--Lady Bacon! I couldn't be mistaken in YOU! Won't you dance,
Lady Bacon?

Lady B.--Go away, you droll creature!

Mr. Flam.--And these are your ladyship's seven lovely sisters, to judge
from their likenesses to the charming Lady Bacon?

Lady B.--My sisters, he! he! my DAUGHTERS, Mr. Flam, and THEY dance,
don't you, girls?

The Misses Bacon.--O yes!

Mr. Flam.--Gad! how I wish I was a dancing man!

[Exit FLAM.

MR. LARKINS.

I have not been able to do justice (only a Lawrence could do that) to my
respected friend Mrs. Perkins, in this picture; but Larkins's portrait
is considered very like. Adolphus Larkins has been long connected with
Mr. Perkins's City establishment, and is asked to dine twice or thrice
per annum. Evening-parties are the great enjoyment of this simple youth,
who, after he has walked from Kentish Town to Thames Street, and passed
twelve hours in severe labor there, and walked back again to Kentish
Town, finds no greater pleasure than to attire his lean person in that
elegant evening costume which you see, to walk into town again, and to
dance at anybody's house who will invite him. Islington, Pentonville,
Somers Town, are the scenes of many of his exploits; and I have seen
this good-natured fellow performing figure-dances at Notting-hill, at
a house where I am ashamed to say there was no supper, no negus even
to speak of, nothing but the bare merits of the polka in which Adolphus
revels. To describe this gentleman's infatuation for dancing, let me
say, in a word, that he will even frequent boarding-house hops, rather
than not go.

He has clogs, too, like Minchin: but nobody laughs at HIM. He gives
him