frequented by such persons as were of that way of thinking. There
were two parlours, much accustomed, one for the gentlemen of the
shoulder-knot, who came from the houses of their employers hard by;
another for some "gents who used the 'ouse," as Mrs. Crump would say
(Heaven bless her!) in her simple Cockniac dialect, and who formed a
little club there.

I forgot to say that while Mrs. C. was sipping her eternal tea or
washing up her endless blue china, you might often hear Miss
Morgiana employed at the little red-silk cottage piano, singing,
"Come where the haspens quiver," or "Bonny lad, march over hill and
furrow," or "My art and lute," or any other popular piece of the
day. And the dear girl sang with very considerable skill, too, for
she had a fine loud voice, which, if not always in tune, made up for
that defect by its great energy and activity; and Morgiana was not
content with singing the mere tune, but gave every one of the
roulades, flourishes, and ornaments as she heard them at the
theatres by Mrs. Humby, Mrs. Waylett, or Madame Vestris. The girl
had a fine black eye like her mamma, a grand enthusiasm for the
stage, as every actor's child will have, and, if the truth must be
known, had appeared many and many a time at the theatre in Catherine
Street, in minor parts first, and then in Little Pickle, in
Desdemona, in Rosina, and in Miss Foote's part where she used to
dance: I have not the name to my hand, but think it is Davidson.
Four times in the week, at least, her mother and she used to sail
off at night to some place of public amusement, for Mrs. Crump had a
mysterious acquaintance with all sorts of theatrical personages; and
the gates of her old haunt "The Wells," of the "Cobourg" (by the
kind permission of Mrs. Davidge), nay, of the "Lane" and the
"Market" themselves, flew open before her "Open sesame," as the