appeared. He grounded her well, and bade her eschew the singing of
all those "Eagle Tavern" ballads in which her heart formerly
delighted; and when he had brought her to a certain point of skill,
the honest little chorus-master said she should have a still better
instructor, and wrote a note to Captain Walker (enclosing his own
little account), speaking in terms of the most flattering encomium
of his lady's progress, and recommending that she should take
lessons of the celebrated Baroski. Captain Walker dismissed Podmore
then, and engaged Signor Baroski, at a vast expense; as he did not
fail to tell his wife. In fact, he owed Baroski no less than two
hundred and twenty guineas when he was-- But we are advancing
matters.

Little Baroski is the author of the opera of "Eliogabalo," of the
oratorio of "Purgatorio," which made such an immense sensation, of
songs and ballet-musics innumerable. He is a German by birth, and
shows such an outrageous partiality for pork and sausages, and
attends at church so constantly, that I am sure there cannot be any
foundation in the story that he is a member of the ancient religion.
He is a fat little man, with a hooked nose and jetty whiskers, and
coal-black shining eyes, and plenty of rings and jewels on his
fingers and about his person, and a very considerable portion of his
shirtsleeves turned over his coat to take the air. His great hands
(which can sprawl over half a piano, and produce those effects on
the instrument for which he is celebrated) are encased in
lemon-coloured kids, new, or cleaned daily. Parenthetically, let us
ask why so many men, with coarse red wrists and big hands, persist
in the white kid glove and wristband system? Baroski's gloves alone
must cost him a little fortune; only he says with a leer, when asked
the question, "Get along vid you; don't you know dere is a gloveress