Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-01-05

tension, and the whip at the
most aristocrstically fashionable angle,
while the footman on the box beside him,
frequently with two otherssbehind, sits with
folded arms and face from which every
shade of expression has utterly vanished.
Can there be 'within the periphery of this
terraqueous ball' being whose features
can assume such perfectly inane stolidity
as do those of the British funky when on
duty? No shadow of emotion plays over
that wooden face. No CLEAN of intelligence
lights those leaden eyes. He sees, hears,
feels, nothing. One might almost fancy
that Hyde Park, with Its trees and flowers
and fountains, was a desert, its thousands of
gay idlers mere grains of sand, and every
hunky sphynx regarding the scene with
changeless, sightless look. It is there one
recalls with renewed pleasure those delight
full passages in "high lie below stairs" de-
scribed by Dickens and Thackeray, when
Jeems and Tummas and John give vent to
THEIR CONCEALED EMOTIONS
to the cook and the maid and mercilessly
dissect Lord Tommy Noddy, Lady Clara
We're de We're, the Veneerings, the Pod
snaps and the Mr.. Dombeys for their
delectation. The volcano of emotion pent
up under those wooden faces must have its
vent some time. But we are forgetting the
masters and mistresses in the servants.
What panorama it is How many faces,
how many types of character. In this car
riage, a crest on its panels is dowager old
enough to have made her peace with God
and bade farewell to earthly vanitles years
ago, and yet tricked out in garments which
would have set Solomon in all his glory
wild with envy. She regards the passing
show with cold stare, occasionally placing
her long-handled glasses to her eyes
and unbending into a chilly smile
when some acquaintance bows. Here
is a managing mamma" her plain
but rich attire serving as an elegant foil to
the radiant garments of the two girls who
sit beside her. They are for sale, evidently,
and mamma is displaying her wares. Likely
their blood is richer than their purses, and
it behooves her to see them married, if not
mated. Who is this old beau, sitting bolt
upright in his carriage, padded and bTaced,
his bristly mustache dyed and his locks
far too dark to be anything but a wig?
What satyr-like leer CLEANS in his wicked
old eyes. Surely that must be Lord Steyne,
with whom poor Becky Sharp got into such
peck of trouble, or is it the Earl of Bare
acres, or Lord Ringwood? And who is this
dark, Diddle-aged man, faultlessly dressed,
who whispers something, evidently wicked
you can tell that from his look-in the ear
of the bored blonde young man who lolls BY
his side? Is it not Sir Mulberry Hawk and
Lord Freddy Verisopht? Ifnot, it must be
their twin brothers.
In this big barouche, drawn BY two big
bays, with q big coachman and bigger
footman, is one of the city's business men.
An Alderman, he, perhaps, who counts his
wealth by millions, whose counting-house
holds host of underpaid clerks, whose cor
are in every city and port OF
Christendom. Observe that square jaw,
those compressed lips. the hard eye Busi-
ness is written all over HMM every line Of
his face, in every hair OF his gray side whis-
kers, in the folds of his chin. 1t might be
Ralph Nickleby-but Ralph never went to
the expense Of keeping a carriage. Or, is it
Mr.. Bounderby come to town, or Mr..
Merdle2
BEAUTIFUL ACTRESSES.
But all the faces we see are not Of the