"I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the morning," Dick writes
on,[A] "know that my friend Beaver the haberdasher has a levee of
more undissembled friends and admirers than most of the courtiers
or generals of Great Britain. Every man about him has, perhaps, a
newspaper in his hand; but none can pretend to guess what step will be
taken in any one court of Europe, till Mr. Beaver has thrown down his
pipe, and declares what measures the allies must enter into upon this
new posture of affairs. Our coffee-house is near one of the inns of
court, and Beaver has the audience and admiration of his neighbours
from six till within a quarter of eight, at which time he is
interrupted by the students of the house; some of whom are ready
dressed for Westminster at eight in a morning, with faces as busy as
if they were retained in every cause there; and others come in their
night gowns to saunter away their time, as if they never designed to
go thither.

[Footnote A: _Spectator_, No. 49.]

"I do not know that I meet in any of my walks, objects which move both
my spleen and laughter so effectually as those young fellows at the
Greecian, Squire's, Searle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent
to the law, who rise early for no other purpose but to publish their
laziness. One would think these young virtuosos take a gay cap and
slippers, with a scarf and party-coloured gown, to be ensigns of
dignity; for the vain things approach each other with an air which
shews they regard one another for their vestments. I have observed
that the superiority among these proceeds from an opinion of gallantry
and fashion. The gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides so
much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this
last winter, and is supposed to receive favours from one of the