opening dinner, which he bragged and boasted
a great deal of having reported in the press,
He did, to be sure, get a seedy chap with an
umbrella and a hat full of old newspapers and
red comforters, who did fires and murders and
the Lord Mayor's state footmen's liveries at
three-halfpence a line ; and he certainly
came to the dinner, and, when the toast of "the
press " was given, prefaced by the appropriate
glee of When winds breathe soft, made a neat
speech, rendered rather indistinct by hot
liquids, in acknowledgment ; but, though he
borrowed half a pound and stuck up an
unlimited score, and though Fishtail became a
quarterly subscriber to the Weekly Murder
Sheet, price threepence, stamped, I never
heard of any account of his grand initiatory
banquet being published therein, or in any
other newspaper. Meanwhile, his business
went on apace. The harp, flute and violin
would have been glad to have come back
and played outside ; but they were far too
low for the Bottle of Hay, now. Nothing
would suit Fishtail but a real German green
baize band, composed of six dumpy, tawney-
haired musicians from Frankfort, all with
cloth caps, like shovels of mud, thrown on
their heads, and falling over on the other
side ; all with rings in their ears and on
their thumbs ; and all born barons, at least,
in their own country. These gentry put their
fists into their horns, and drew out their
trombones to amazing lengths, playing such
wonderfully complicated tunes, and singing,
meanwhile, such long-winded choruses, all
ending with " tra la la, tra la la, tra la-a-a-a ! "
that a dense crowd would gather round them
during their performances, and the very
policeman would refrain from ordering them
to move on, to the great disgust of the
Alabama Ethiopian Serenaders (from Cork
Buildings, Gray's Inn Lane) who were, in
truth, only the harp, flute, and violin fallen
into evil days, and disguised in lamp-black,
pomatum. Welsh wigs dyed black, paper
shirt collars, white calico neckcloths, banjoes,
tambourines, and bones. The gas star, too, and
the illuminated clock, brought a great many
customers— but what sort ot customers were
they ? Italian image-men and organ-grinders,
and Irish hodmen, and basket-women.
The Irish and the Italians fell to fighting
immediately (of course about the Pope), which
was bad for themselves ; and then they
complained that the bar had been so altered, that
they hadn't room to fight, which was worse
for the house ; for the Italians you see, when
fighting, were accustomed to tramp in a circle,
their knives pointing towards the centre,
ready for a lunge, whereas the Irish always
wanted a clear stage and no favour— at least
plenty of space convenient for a spring, and
ample room to jump upon a man, or beat his
head in with a quart pot, or bite his nose off.
Now the nooks and corners into which the
bar had been cut up, rendered this very difficult
of accomplishment ; and the consequence
was, that the fine ground glass panels and
lustres, the porcelain tap-handles, the crystal
ale columns, the gold fish fountain (I don't
think I mentioned that), the fine gilt and
rosewood mouldings, soon came to be knocked
off, smashed, and spoilt past mending. J.
Fishtail was very savage at this, you may be
sure, and, striving to turn the noisy customers
out, the wide-awake hat was perpetually
being flattened on his head with pewter
measures, and his cut-away coat ripped up with
clasp knives— for he was full of pluck, and
did his best to keep order. The police
naturally appeared on the scene in these disturbances,
and a great deal of expense was entailed
upon him in "squaring" these functionaries,
particularly when the Italians, being prevented
from fighting, took to gambling on the tubs,
at dominoes, moro, or " buck-buck, how many
fingers do I hold up ? " and stabbing each
other quietly when they lost. The police had
to be " squared " so often under these
circumstances, that the little court by the side door
was half-lined with pots of half-and-half,
which the municipals slipped off their beat
to drink on the sly ; and as it was, Fishtail
— albeit, as harmlessly inclined as any
landlord — was always in trouble with the
magistrates, and having his license endorsed, and
being fined. He grew into awful disfavour
with the licensing authorities at Clerkenwell
Green, where Major Blueblasis, of Tottenham,
once stated his conviction that the Bottle of
Hay was an " infamous den ; " and if
Inspector Buffles had not stood Fishtail's friend
he he would have lost his license, and the spite
of his enemy Ditcher, who keeps the Italian
Stores beershop in the lane, and has been
trying after a spirit license these five years,
would have been gratified.

Then he got into trouble about his dry
skittle-ground. When my old house was near,
I had as neat, and as good, and as dry a skittle-
alley as any in Clerkenwell parish. Many
and many have been the respectable tradesmen
that have played there— good warm men
— moral men, and ex-churchwardens. The
"setter-up" made fifteen shillings a-week
clear, all the year round. Many, too, have
been the rumps and dozen ordered in my
house after matches, aye, and paid for. J.
Fishtail of course was too go-ahead a young
gentleman to be contented with a dry skittle-
ground with plenty of sawdust and one gas
jet, and the pins and balls (like wooden Dutch
cheeses) painted on the door-jambs. Oh no !
he must have an American Bowling Alley,
with more mahogany, more gilding, more
ground glass shades to the gas-burners, more
crimson-covered benches, a scorer or marker,
who played tricks with a grand mahogany
board like a railway time-table, instead of
using the old legitimate chalk, and a flaring
transparency outside, representing General
Washington playing skittles with Doctor
Franklin. Of course there was an additional
bar for the use of the skittle-players, where