THE DIRECTOR.

No. 16. SATURDAY, MAY 9, 1807.

'Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat,

To peep at such a world.

COWPER'S Task, b. iv.

ABOUT three weeks ago, I was walking with my old friend SIR VICARY VELLUM, in the evening, from Cornhill towards Mr. King's, the auctioneer, near Covent Garden, to be present at a sale of prints, with the hope of procuring some uniques. While I was expatiating with my friend upon the beauties of the ancient engravers, Goltzius, Aldegrave, Passe, Cross, Marshall, Loggan, Stock, Vaughan, &c. he bade me, in a very sudden but serious manner, take notice

of the scene before me.

Observe,' said he, the splendour of these shops; see with what elegant variety of articles each window is stored; look at yonder glass cutter's, and at this jeweller's; examine the perfection of workmanship in this steel ware: and, again, reflect how the wilds of Russia and of India have been explored for these hides of the bear and the leopard. Such are the blessings of industry, and of a well-directed commercial spirit.'

I CONFESS, though I had never before made similar reflections, I was struck with the justice of my friend's remark, and with the dazzling splendour of the scene before me.' It was approaching fast towards, eight o'clock; the light of day had wholly retired; the street and patent shop-lamps began to burn; while the rattling of coaches, the glare of flambeaux, and the incessant motion of the people, hastening to their last rendezvous, produced on my mind a very extraordinary effect. My friend resumed, stopping me in the midst of the crowd, ' You

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have here a very singular and impressive scene: those gay folks decorated with feathers, or armed with cocked hats, are hastening to the fourth act of the play, because they cannot leave their dinners time enough to be present at the first. At the hour when Edward III. was preparing for his supper, do his descendants think about their dinners. But,' continued he, 'on many accounts the streets of London are interesting in the evening. I have been at Paris, at Petersburgh, at Vienna, and at Berlin; and Europe has nothing like Cheapside or Fleet Street, to boast of. Cleanliness, civility, splendour, and excellence of manufactory, are all to be enjoyed here. You may be gratified with a diamond large enough for the turban of an Indian prince; you may command muslin of the finest texture; you may procure glass, cutlery, cloth, books, shoes, and hats, of all kinds, and of the finest quality-if you have only money in your purse.' Moreover, to the eye of humanity, an evening in London may afford a still

more exquisite gratification. Think, I beseech you,' continued the Knight, while his voice faltered, and his action became tremulous, think of those good angels that go about, in the form of benevolent human beings, to succour the distressed, to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry. True it is, wickedness and seduction range uncontrouled; but virtue and charity are not yet quite shut out from the land. The poor wretch that is driven almost to madness by the wily arts of her fellow creatures, sometimes meets with protection in an asylum, of which, perhaps, she even doubted the existence. Keen and bitter is the blast of evening to her, who sits shivering on the pavement, and hides her face in obscurity; and loud and piercing are the cries of her little one, with scarcely a tattered garment to cover its tender limbs! But, ah! more keen and bitter are the pangs of that wretch who has brought her to such ignominy, and more loud and piercing will be, one day, his supplications for pardon!'

HERE my worthy old friend suppressed his narrative; tears streamed in abundance down his cheeks; and I was com pelled to touch upon a different subject; and to drag him from a spot to which he had, for five minutes, been quite rivetted. These shops, Sir,' replied I, ‘are indeed sumptuous and interesting; but your reflections have now cast a gloom over the scene before me.'

'Sir,' resumed the knight, we will change the subject; and, if you please, abuse the customs and fashions of the age.' By this time we had reached the corner of St. Paul's; and a number of people stopping for an opportunity to cross the way, a ballad singer and guitar player approached the crowd; and just as they were going to strike up, I found that I had been separated from my friend, whom no exertions could again recover. It was in vain, at such a time, and in such a place, to make inquiries: so I hastened home, and found lying on my table the following letters, which F