this celebrated pack? And shall we, the bard of Eastcheap, born all
deeds of daring to record, shall we, who so oft have witnessed--nay,
shared--the hardy exploits of our fellow-cits, shall we sit still, and
never cease the eternal twirl of our dexter around our sinister thumb,
while other scribes hand down to future ages the paltry feats of
beardless Meltonians, and try to shame old Father Thames himself with
muddy Whissendine's foul stream? Away! thou vampire, Indolence, that
suckest the marrow of imagination, and fattenest on the cream of idea
ere yet it float on the milk of reflection. Hence! slug-begotten hag,
thy power is gone--the murky veil thou'st drawn o'er memory's sweetest
page is rent!

Harp of Eastcheap, awake!

Our thoughts hark back to the cover-side, and our heart o'erflows with
recollections of the past, when life rode the pace through our veins,
and the bark of the veriest mongrel, or the bray of the sorriest
costermonger's sorriest "Jerusalem," were far more musical sounds than
Paganini's pizzicatos or Catalani's clamorous caterwaulings.

And, thou, Goddess of the Silver Bow--chaste Diana--deign to become the
leading star of our lucubrations; come perch upon our grey goose quill;
shout in our ear the maddening Tally-ho! and ever and anon give a
salutary "refresher" to our memory with thy heaven-wrought spurs--those
spurs old Vulcan forged when in his maddest mood--whilst we relate such
feats of town-born youths and city squires, as shall "harrow up
the souls" of milk-sop Melton's choicest sons, and "fright their
grass-galloping garrons from their propriety." But gently,
Pegasus!--Here again, boys, and "let's to business," as they say on
'Change.