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Title: Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.

Author: active 1816-1830 John Badcock
Pierce Egan

Illustrator: Henry Thomas Alken
Richard Dighton
William Heath
Thomas Rowlandson

Release date: January 30, 2007 [eBook #20484]
Most recently updated: September 21, 2023

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20484

Credits: David Widger
Revised by Richard Tonsing.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REAL LIFE IN
LONDON, VOLUMES I. AND II. ***

REAL LIFE IN LONDON
OR, THE RAMBLES AND
ADVENTURES OF BOB
TALLYHO, ESQ.,
AND HIS COUSIN, THE
HON. TOM DASHALL,
THROUGH THE
METROPOLIS;
EXHIBITING A LIVING
PICTURE OF FASHIONABLE
CHARACTERS,
MANNERS, AND
AMUSEMENTS IN HIGH
AND LOW LIFE By an AMATEUR
[Pierce Egan] “'Tis pleasant through the
loop-holes of retreat
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd."
—Cowper

EMBELLISHED AND ILLUSTRATED
WITH A SERIES OF COLOURED PRINTS,
DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED BY
MESSRS. HEATH, AIKEN, DIGHTON,
ROWLANDSON, ETC. VOLUME I.
Part 1 A NEW EDITION METHUEN &
CO. LONDON NOTE This Issue, first
published in 1905, is founded on the Edition
printed for Jones & Co. in the year 1821

COLOR PLATES
[Click on any image to enlarge it to full size.]

Contents
LIST OF THE PLATES

REAL LIFE IN LONDON
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII

VOLUME II.

CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV

List of Illustrations
Titlepage1
Frontispiece
Titlepage
Page16 Hyde-park
Page44 Epson Racers
Page71 Fives Court
Page79 The Kings Levee
Page92 Catching a Charley Napping
Page130 Drury Lane Theatre
Page138 Tom and Bob at Drury Lane
Page160 Tattersall's
Page196 A Modern Hell
Page240 Somerset House
Page286 Road to a Fight
Page298 Real Life at Billingsgate
Page385 Political Dinner
Page387 The Country Squire
Page390 Grand Coronation Dinner
Page398 Road to a Fight
Page402 A Private Turn-up

Page410 Masquerade

VOLUME II.

Page10 British Museum
Page46 King's Bench
Page62 Public House
Page130 Blue Ruin Shop
Page148 Almacks
Page196 Easter Hunt
Page200 Donkey Cart Race
Page250.jpg Drury Lane
Page233.jpg St. George's Day
Page349 Ascot Races
Page386 at a Party
Page434.jpg Bull and Mouth Inn

CONTENTS:

Chapter I.

Seduction from rural simplicity, page 2. Pleasures of the
table, 3. Overpowering oratory, 4. A warm dispute, 5.
Amicable arrangement, 6.

Chapter II.

Philosophical reflections, 7. A great master, 8. Modern
jehuism, 9. A coach race, 10. A wood-nymph, 11. Improvements
of the age, 12. An amateur of fashion, 13. Theatrical
criticism, 14. Reflections, 15.

Chapter III.

Hyde Park, and its various characters, 16. Sir F——s B——
tt, 22, Delightful reverie, 23.

Chapter IV.

Fresh game sprung, 24. Lord C——e, alias Coal-hole George,
25. Rot at Carlton Palace, 28. Once-a-week man, 29. Sunday
promenader, 30. How to raise the wind, 31. Lord Cripplegate
and his Cupid, 32. Live fish, 33. Delicacy, 34. A breathless
visitor, 35.

Chapter V.

A fashionable introduction, 36. A sparkling subject, 37. The
true spur to genius, 38. An agreeable surprise, 39. A
serious subject, 40. A pleasant fellow, 41. Lively gossip,
42. Living in style, 43. Modern good breeding, 45. Going to
see “you know who,” 46.

Chapter VI.

Early morning amusements, 47. Frightening to death, 48.
Improvements of the age, 49. Preparing for a swell, 50. The
acmé of barberism, 51. A fine specimen of the art, 52. Duels
by Cupid and Apollo, 53. Fashionable news continued, 54. Low
niggardly notions, 55. Scenes from Barber-Ross-a, 56. A snip
of the superfine, 59. The enraged Managers, 60. Cutting out,

and cutting up, 61. The whipstitch mercury, 62. All in the
wrong again, 63. A Venus de Medicis, 64. Delicacy alarmed,
65.

Chapter VII.

Preparing for a ramble, 66. A man of the town, 67. Bond
Street, 68. A hanger on, 70. A man of science, 71. Dandyism,
72. Dandy heroism, 74. Inebriety reproved, 75. My uncle's
card, 76. St. James's Palace, 77. Pall Mall-Waterloo Place,
etc., 79. An Irish Paddy, 80. Incorrigible prigs, 81. A hue
and cry, 82. A capture, 83. A wake, with an Irish howl, 84.
Vocabulary of the new school, 85. Additional company, 87.

Chapter VIII.

Public Office, Bow Street, 88. Irish generosity, 89. A bit
of gig, 90. “I loves fun,” 91. A row with the Charleys, 92.
Judicial sagacity, 93. Watch-house scenes, 94. A rummish
piece of business, 95. The Brown Bear well baited, 96.
Somerset House, 97. An importunate customer, 99.
Peregrinations proposed, 100.

Chapter IX.

The Bonassus, 101. A Knight of the New Order, 102. Medical
quacks, 103. Medical (not Tailors') Boards, 105. Superlative
modesty, 106. Hard pulling and blowing, 107. Knightly
medicals, 108. Buffers and Duffers, 109. Extremes of
fortune, 110. Signs of the Times, 111. Expensive spree, 112.
The young Cit, 113. All in confusion, 115. Losses and
crosses, 116. Rum customers, 117. A genteel hop, 118. Max
and music, 119. Amateurs and actors, 120. A well-known
character, 121. Championship, 122. A grand spectacle, 123.
Adulterations, 124. More important discoveries, 125. Wonders
of cast-iron and steam, 126. Shops of the new school, 127.
Irish paper-hanging, 128.

Chapter X.

Heterogeneous mass, 129. Attractions of the theatre, 130.
Tragedy talk, 131. Authors and actors, 132. Chancery
injunctions, 133. Olympic music, 134. Dandy larks and
sprees, 135. The Theatre, 136. Its splendid establishment,
137. Nymphs of the saloon, 138. Torments of love and gout,
139. Prostitution, 140. A shameful business, 141. Be gone,
dull care, 142. Convenient refreshment, 143. A lushy cove,
144. The sleeper awake, 145. All on lire, 146. A short
parley, 147.

Chapter XI.

Fire, confusion and alarm, 148. Snuffy tabbies and boosy
kids, 149. A cooler for hot disputes, 150. An overturned
Charley, 151. Resurrection rigs, 152. Studies from life,
154. An agreeable situation, 155. A nocturnal visit to a
lady, 156. Sharp's the word, 157. Frolicsome fellows, 158.
Retirement, 159.

Chapter XII.

Tattersall's, 160. Friendly dealings, 161. Laudable company,
162. The Sportsman's exchange, 163. An unlimited order, 164.
How to ease heavy pockets, 165. Body-snatchers and Bum-
traps, 166. The Sharps and the Flats, 167. A secret
expedition, 168. A pleasant rencontre, 169. Accommodating
friends, 170. The female banker, 171. A buck of the first
cut, 172. A highly finished youth, 173. An addition to the
party, 174.

Chapter XIII.

A promenade, 175. Something the matter, 176. Quizzical hits,
177. London friendship, 178. Fashion versus Reason, 179.

Dinners of the Ton, 180. Brilliant mob of a ball-room, 181.
What can the matter be? 182. Something-A-Miss, 183.

Chapter XIV.

The centre of attraction, 185. The circulating library, 186.
Library wit, 187. Fitting on the cap, 188. Breaking up, 189.
Gaming, 190. Hells-Greeks-Black-legs, 191. How to become a
Greek, 192. Valuable instructions, 193. Gambling-house à la
Française, 194. Visitors' cards, 195. Opening scene, 196.
List of Nocturnal Hells, 197. Rouge et Noir Tables, 198.
Noon-day Hells, 199. Hell broke up, and the devil to pay,
200. A story, 202. Swindling Jews, 205. Ups and downs, 206.
High fellows, 207. Mingled company, 208. Severe studies,
209.

Chapter XV.

Newspaper recreations, 210. Value of Newspapers, 211. Power
of imagination, 212. Rich bill of fare, 213. Proposed Review
of the Arts, 214. Demireps and Cyprians, 215. Dashing
characters, 216. Female accommodations, 217. Rump and dozen,
218. Maggot race for a hundred, 219. Prime gig, larks and
sprees, 220. Female jockeyship, 221. Delicate amusements for
the fair sex, 222. Female life in London, 224. Ciphers in
society, 225. Ciphers of all sorts, 226. Hydraulics, 227.
Watery humours, 228. General street engagement, 229. Harmony
restored, 230.

Chapter XVI.

The double disappointment, 231. Heading made easy, 232.
Exhibition of Engravings, 233. How to cut a dash, 235.
Dashing attitude, costume, etc., 236. A Dasher-Street-
walking, etc., 237. Dancing—“all the go,” 238. Exhibition,
Somerset House, 239. Royal Academy, Somerset House, 240. The
Sister Arts, 241. Character-Caricature, etc., 242. Moral

tendency of the Arts, 243. Fresh game sprung, 244. Law and
Lawyers, 245. Law qualifications, 247. Benchers, 248. Temple
Libraries-Church, 249. St. Dunstan's Bell-thumpers, 250.
Political Cobbler, 251. Coffee-houses, 252. Metropolitan
accommodations, 253. Chop-house delights and recreations,
254. Daffy's Elixir, Blue Ruin, etc., 256. The Queen's gin-
shop, 257.

Chapter XVII.

Globe Coffee-house, 258. A humorous sort of fellow, 259. A
Punster, 260. Signals and Signs, 261. Disconcerted
Professors, 262. A learned Butcher, 263. A successful
stratagem, 264. A misconception, 265. A picture of London,
266. All in high glee, 268.

Chapter XVIII.

A Slap at Slop, 269. A Nondescript, 270. Romanis, 271. Bow
steeple-Sir Chris. Wren, 272. The Temple of Apollo, 273.
Caricatures, 274. Rich stores of literature, 275. Pulpit
oratory, 276. Seven reasons, 277. Street impostors and
impositions, 278. Impudent beggars, 280. Wise men of the
East, 281. A Royal Visitor and Courtier reproved, 282.
Confusion of tongues, 284. Smoking and drinking, 285.
Knights of the Round Table, 286. The joys of milling, 287.
Noses and nosegays, 288. A Bumpkin in town, 289. Piggish
propensities, 2907 Joys of the bowl, 291.

Chapter XIX.

Jolly boys, 292. Dark-house Lane, 293. A breeze sprung up,
294. Business done in a crack, 295. Billingsgate, 296.
Refinements in language, 297. Real Life at Billingsgate,
298. The Female Fancy, 299. The Custom House, Long Room,
etc., 300. Greeting mine host, 302. A valuable customer,
303. A public character, 304.

Chapter xx.

The Tower of London, 305. Confusion of titles, 306. Interior
of the Trinity House, 307. Rag Fair commerce, 308. Itinerant
Jews and Depredators, 309. Lamentable state of the Jews,
310. Duke's Place and Synagogue, 311. Portuguese Jews, 312.
Bank of England, 313. An eccentric character, 314.
Lamentable effects of forgery, 315. Singular alteration of
mind, 316. Imaginary wealth, 317. Joint Stock Companies,
318. Auction Mart-Courtois, 319. Irresistible arguments,
320. Wealth without pride, 321. Royal Exchange, 322. A
prophecy fulfilled, 323. Lloyd's-Gresham Lecture, etc., 324.
The essential requisite, 325. Egress by storm, 326.

Chapter XXI.

Incident “ad infinitum,” 327. A distressed Poet, 328.
Interesting calculations, 329. Ingenuity in puffing, 330.
Blacking maker's Lauréat, 331. Miseries of literary
pursuits, 332. Suttling house, Horse Guards, 333. Merits of
two heroes, 334. Hibernian eloquence, 335. A pertinacious
Disputant, 336. Peace restored-Horse Guards, 337. Old
habits-The Miller's horse, 338. Covent Garden-Modern Drury,
339 A more than Herculean labour, 340. Police Office scene,
341. Bartholomew Fair, 342. A Knight of the Needle, 343.
Variance of opinion, 344. A visit to the Poet, 345. Produce
of literary pursuits, 346. Quantum versus Quality, 347.
Publishing by subscription, 348. Wealth and ignorance, 349.
Mutual gratification, 350.

Chapter XXII.

Symptoms of alarm, 351. Parties missing, 352. A strange
world, 353. Wanted, and must come, 354. Expectation alive,
355. A cure for melancholy, 356. Real Life a game, 357. The
game over, 358. Money-dropping arts, 359. Dividing a prize,

360. The Holy Alliance broke up, 361. New method of Hat
catching, 362. Dispatching a customer, 363. Laconic
colloquy, 364. Barkers, 365. A mistake corrected, 366.
Pawnbrokers, 367. The biter bit, 368. Miseries of
prostitution, 369. Wardrobe accommodations, 370. New species
of depredation, 371.

Chapter XXIII.

The Lock-up House, 372. Real Life with John Doe, etc., 373.
Every thing done by proxy, 374. Lottery of marriage, 375.
Sharp-shooting and skirmishing, 376. A fancy sketch, 377.
The universal talisman, 378. Living within bounds, 379. How
to live for ten years, 380. An accommodating host, 381. Life
in a lock-up house, 382.

Chapter XXIV.

A successful election, 383. Patriotic intentions, 384.
Political dinner, 385. Another bear-garden, 386. Charley's
theatre, 387. Bear-baiting sports, 388. The coronation, 389.
Coronation splendour, 390.

Chapter XXV.

Fancy sports, 392. Road to a fight, 393. New sentimental
journey, 394. Travelling chaff, 395. Humours of the road,
396. Lads of the fancy, 397. Centre of attraction, 398. A
force march, 399. Getting to work, 400. True game, 401. The
sublime and beautiful, 402. All's well-good night, 403.

Chapter XXVI.

Promenading reflections, 404. Anticipation, 405. Preliminary
observations, 406. Characters in masquerade, 407. Irish
sympathy, 408. Whimsicalities of character, 409. Masquerade
characters, 410. The watchman, 411. New characters, 412. The

sport alive, 413. Multifarious amusements, 414. Doctors
disagree, 415. Israelitish honesty, 416.

Chapter XXVII.

Ideal enjoyments, 417. A glance at new objects, 418. Street-
walking nuisances, 419. Cries of London-Mud-larks, etc.,
420. The Monument, 421. London Stone, 422. General Post-
Office, 423. Preparations for returning, 424. So endeth the
volume, 425.

REAL LIFE IN LONDON

CHAPTER I

Triumphant returning at night with the spoil,
Like Bachanals, shouting and gay:
How sweet with a bottle and song to refresh,
And lose the fatigues of the day.
With sport, wit, and wine, fickle fortune defy,
Dull 'wisdom all happiness sours;
Since Life is no more than a passage at best,
Let's strew the way over with flowers.
"THEY order these things better in London,” replied the Hon. Tom
Dashall, to an old weather-beaten sportsman, who would fain have made a
convert of our London Sprig of Fashion to the sports and delights of rural
life. The party were regaling themselves after the dangers and fatigues of a
very hard day's fox-chace; and, while the sparkling glass circulated, each,
anxious to impress on the minds of the company the value of the exploits
and amusements in which he felt most delight, became more animated and
boisterous in his oratory—forgetting that excellent regulation which forms
an article in some of the rules and orders of our “Free and Easies” in
London, “that no more than three gentlemen shall be allowed to speak at the
same time.” The whole party, consisting of fourteen, like a pack in full cry,
had, with the kind assistance of the “rosy god,” become at the same moment
most animated, not to say vociferous, orators. The young squire, Bob Tally
ho, (as he was called) of Belville Hall, who had recently come into
possession of this fine and extensive domain, was far from feeling
indifferent to the pleasures of a sporting life, and, in the chace, had even
acquired the reputation of being a “keen sportsman:” but the regular
intercourse which took place between him and his cousin, the Hon. Tom
Dashall, of Bond Street notoriety, had in some measure led to an indecision
of character, and often when perusing the lively and fascinating descriptions
which the latter drew of the passing scenes in the gay metropolis, Bob
would break out into an involuntary exclamation of—“Curse me, but after
all, this only is Real Life; “—while, for the moment, horses, dogs, and gun,
with the whole paraphernalia of sporting, were annihilated. Indeed, to do
justice to his elegant and highly-finished friend, these pictures were the

production of a master-hand, and might have made a dangerous impression
on minds more stoical and determined than that of Bob's. The opera,
theatres, fashionable pursuits, characters, objects, &c. all became in
succession the subjects of his pen; and if lively description, blended with
irresistible humour and sarcastic wit, possessed any power of seduction,
these certainly belonged to Bob's honourable friend and relative, as an
epistolary correspondent. The following Stanzas were often recited by him
with great feeling and animation:—

Parent of Pleasure and of many a groan,
I should be loath to part with thee, I own,
Dear Life!
To tell the truth, I'd rather lose a wife,
Should Heav'n e'er deem me worthy of possessing
That best, that most invaluable blessing.
I thank thee, that thou brought'st me into being;
The things of this our world are well worth seeing;
And let me add, moreover, well worth feeling;
Then what the Devil would people have?
These gloomy hunters of the grave,
For ever sighing, groaning, canting, kneeling.
Some wish they never had been born, how odd!
To see the handy works of God,
In sun and moon, and starry sky;
Though last, not least, to see sweet Woman's charms,—
Nay, more, to clasp them in our arms,
And pour the soul in love's delicious sigh,
Is well worth coming for, I'm sure,
Supposing that thou gav'st us nothing more.
Yet, thus surrounded, Life, dear Life, I'm thine,
And, could I always call thee mine,
I would not quickly bid this world farewell;
But whether here, or long or short my stay,
I'll keep in mind for ev'ry day
An old French motto, “Vive la bagatelle!”
Misfortunes are this lottery-world's sad blanks;
Presents, in my opinion, not worth thanks.

The pleasures are the twenty thousand prizes,
Which nothing but a downright ass despises.
It was not, however, the mere representations of Bob's friend, with
which, (in consequence of the important result,) we commenced our
chapter, that produced the powerful effect of fixing the wavering mind of
Bob—No, it was the air—the manner—the je ne sais quoi, by which these
representations were accompanied: the curled lip of contempt, and the eye,
measuring as he spoke, from top to toe, his companions, with the cool
elegant sang froid and self-possession displayed in his own person and
manner, which became a fiat with Bob, and which effected the object so
long courted by his cousin.
After the manner of Yorick (though, by the bye, no sentimentalist) Bob
thus reasoned with himself:—“If an acquaintance with London is to give a
man these airs of superiority—this ascendancy—elegance of manners, and
command of enjoyments—why, London for me; and if pleasure is the game
in view, there will I instantly pursue the sport.”
The song and toast, in unison with the sparkling glass, followed each
other in rapid succession. During which, our elegant London visitor
favoured the company with the following effusion, sung in a style equal to
(though unaccompanied with the affected airs and self-importance of) a
first-rate professor:—

SONG.

If to form and distinction, in town you would bow,
Let appearance of wealth be your care:
If your friends see you live, not a creature cares how,
The question will only be, Where?
A circus, a polygon, crescent, or place,
With ideas of magnificence tally;
Squares are common, streets queer, but a lane's a disgrace;
And we've no such thing as an alley.
A first floor's pretty well, and a parlour so so;
But, pray, who can give themselves airs,
Or mix with high folks, if so vulgarly low
To live up in a two pair of stairs?

The garret, excuse me, I mean attic floor,
(That's the name, and it's right you should know it,)
Would he tenantless often; but genius will soar,
And it does very well for a poet.
These amusements of the table were succeeded by a most stormy and
lengthened debate, (to use a parliamentary phrase) during which, Bob's
London friend had with daring heroism opposed the whole of the party, in
supporting the superiority of Life in London over every pleasure the
country could afford. After copious libations to Bacchus, whose influence at
length effected what oratory had in vain essayed, and silenced these
contending and jarring elements, “grey-eyed Morn” peeped intrusively
amid the jovial crew, and Somnus, (with the cart before the horse) stepping
softly on tip-toe after his companion, led, if not by, at least accompanied
with, the music of the nose, each to his snoring pillow.
——“Glorious resolve!” exclaimed Tom, as soon as his friend had next
morning intimated his intention,—“nobly resolved indeed!—“What! shall
he whom Nature has formed to shine in the dance and sparkle in the ring—
to fascinate the fair—lead and control the fashions—attract the gaze and
admiration of the surrounding crowd!—shall he pass a life, or rather a
torpid existence, amid country bumpkins and Johnny-raws? Forbid it all ye
powers that rule with despotic sway where Life alone is to be found,—
forbid it cards—dice—balls—fashion, and ye gay et coteras,—
forbid”——“Pon my soul,” interrupted Bob, “you have frightened me to
death! I thought you were beginning an Epic,—a thing I abominate of all
others. I had rather at any time follow the pack on a foundered horse than
read ten lines of Homer; so, my dear fellow, descend for God's sake from
the Heroics.”

Calmly let me, at least, begin Life's chapter,
Not panting for a hurricane of rapture;
Calm let me step—not riotous and jumping:
With due decorum, let my heart
Try to perform a sober part,
Not at the ribs be ever bumping—bumping.
Rapture's a charger—often breaks his girt,
Runs oft”, and flings his rider in the dirt.

"However, it shall be so: adieu, my dear little roan filly,—Snow-ball,
good by,—my new patent double-barrelled percussion—ah, I give you all
up!—Order the tandem, my dear Tom, whenever you please; whisk me up
to the fairy scenes you have so often and admirably described; and, above
all things, take me as an humble and docile pupil under your august
auspices and tuition.” Says Tom, “thou reasonest well.”
The rapidity with which great characters execute their determinations has
been often remarked by authors. The dashing tandem, with its beautiful
high-bred bits of blood, accompanied by two grooms on horsebaek in
splendid liveries, stood at the lodge-gate, and our heroes had only to bid
adieu to relatives and friends, and commence their rapid career.
Before we start on this long journey of one hundred and eighty miles,
with the celerity which is unavoidable in modern travelling, it may be
prudent to ascertain that our readers are still in company, and that we all
start fairly together; otherwise, there is but little probability of our ever
meeting again on the journey;—so now to satisfy queries, remarks, and
animadversions.
“Why, Sir, I must say it is a new way of introducing a story, and appears
to me very irregular.—What! tumble your hero neck and heels into the
midst of a drunken fox-hunting party, and then carry him off from his
paternal estate, without even noticing his ancestors, relatives, friends,
connexions, or prospects—without any description of romantic scenery on
the estate—without so much as an allusion to the female who first kindled
in his breast the tender passion, or a detail of those incidents with which it
is usually connected!—a strange, very strange way indeed this of
commencing.”
“My dear Sir, I agree with you as to the deviation from customary rules:
but allow me to ask,—is not one common object—amusement, all we have
in view? Suppose then, by way of illustration, you were desirous of arriving
at a given place or object, to which there were several roads, and having
traversed one of these till the monotony of the scene had rendered every
object upon it dull and wearisome, would you quarrel with the traveller who
pointed out another road, merely because it was a new one? Considering the
impatience of our young friends, the one to return to scenes in which alone
he can live, and the other to realize ideal dreams of happiness, painted in all
the glowing tints that a warm imagination and youthful fancy can pourtray,

it will be impossible longer to continue the argument. Let me, therefore,
entreat you to cut it short—accompany us in our rapid pursuit after Life in
London; nor risk for the sake of a little peevish criticism, the cruel
reflection, that by a refusal, you would, probably, be in at the death of the
Author—by Starvation.”

CHAPTER II

“The panting steed the hero's empire feel,
Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel,
And as he guides it through th' admiring throng,
With what an air he holds the reins, and smacks the silken thong!”

ORDINARY minds, in viewing distant objects, first see the obstacles that
intervene, magnify the difficulty of surmounting them, and sit down in
despair. The man of genius with his mind's-eye pointed steadfastly, like the
needle towards the pole, on the object of his ambition, meets and conquers
every difficulty in detail, and the mass dissolves before him as the mountain
snow yields, drop by drop, to the progressive but invincible operation of the
solar beam. Our honourable friend was well aware that a perfect knowledge
of the art of driving, and the character of a “first-rate whip,” were objects
worthy his ambition; and that, to hold four-in-hand—turn a corner in style
—handle the reins in form—take a fly off the tip of his leader's ear—square
the elbows, and keep the wrists pliant, were matters as essential to the
formation of a man of fashion as dice or milling: it was a principle he had
long laid down and strictly adhered to, that whatever tended to the
completion of that character, should be acquired to the very acmé of
perfection, without regard to ulterior consequences, or minor pursuits.
In an early stage, therefore, of his fashionable course of studies, the whip
became an object of careful solicitude; and after some private tuition, he
first exhibited his prowess about twice a week, on the box of a Windsor
stage, tipping coachy a crown for the indulgence and improvement it
afforded. Few could boast of being more fortunate during a noviciate: two
overturns only occurred in the whole course of practice, and except the
trifling accident of an old lady being killed, a shoulder or two dislocated,
and about half a dozen legs and arms broken, belonging to people who were
not at all known in high life, nothing worthy of notice may be said to have
happened on these occasions. 'Tis true, some ill-natured remarks appeared
in one of the public papers, on the “conduct of coachmen entrusting the
reins to young practitioners, and thus endangering the lives of his majesty's

subjects;” but these passed off like other philanthropic suggestions of the
day, unheeded and forgotten.
The next advance of our hero was an important step. The mail-coach is
considered the school; its driver, the great master of the art—the Phidias of
the statuary—the Claude of the landscape-painter. To approach him without
preparatory instruction and study, would be like an attempt to copy the
former without a knowledge of anatomy, or the latter, while ignorant of
perspective. The standard of excellence—the model of perfection, all that
the highest ambition can attain, is to approach as near as possible the
original; to attempt a deviation, would be to bolt out of the course, snap the
curb, and run riot. Sensible of the importance of his character, accustomed
to hold the reins of arbitrary power; and seated where will is law, the mail-
whip carries in his appearance all that may be expected from his elevated
situation. Stern and sedate in his manner, and given to taciturnity, he speaks
sententiously, or in monosyllables. If he passes on the road even an humble
follower of the profession, with four tidy ones in hand, he views him with
ineffable contempt, and would consider it an irreparable disgrace to appear
conscious of the proximity. Should it be a country gentleman of large
property and influence, and he held the reins, and handled the whip with a
knowledge of the art, so to “get over the ground,” coachy might, perhaps,
notice him “en passant,” by a slight and familiar nod; but it is only the peer,
or man of first-rate sporting celebrity, that is honoured with any thing like a
familiar mark of approbation and acquaintance; and these, justly
appreciating the proud distinction, feel higher gratification by it than any
thing the monarch could bestow: it is an inclination of the head, not
forward, in the manner of a nod, but towards the off shoulder, accompanied
with a certain jerk and elevation from the opposite side. But here neither
pen nor pencil can depict; it belongs to him alone whose individual powers
can nightly keep the house in a roar, to catch the living manner and present
it to the eye.

“——A merrier man

Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withall:
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch

The other turns to a mirth-moving jest.”

And now, gentle reader, if the epithet means any thing, you cannot but
feel disposed to good humour and indulgence: Instead of rattling you off, as
was proposed at our last interview, and whirling you at the rate of twelve
miles an hour, exhausted with fatigue, and half dead in pursuit of Life, we
have proceeded gently along the road, amusing ourselves by the way, rather
with drawing than driving. 'Tis high time, however, we made some little
progress in our journey: “Come Bob, take the reins—push on—keep
moving—touch up the leader into a hand-gallop—give Snarler his head—
that's it my tight one, keep out of the ruts—mind your quartering—not a
gig, buggy, tandem, or tilbury, have we yet seen on the road—what an
infernal place for a human being to inhabit!—curse me if I had not as lief
emigrate to the back settlements of America: one might find some novelty
and amusement there—I'd have the woods cleared—cut out some turnpike-
roads, and, like Palmer, start the first mail”——“Stop, Tom, don't set off yet
to the Illinois—here's something ahead, but what the devil it is I cant guess
—why it's a barge on wheels, and drove four-in-hand.”—“Ha, ha—barge
indeed, Bob, you seem to know as much about coaches as Snarler does of
Back-gammon: I suppose you never see any thing in this quarter but the old
heavy Bridgewater—why we have half a dozen new launches every week,
and as great a variety of names, shape, size, and colour, as there are ships in
the navy—we have the heavy coach, light coach, Caterpillar, and Mail—the
Balloon, Comet, Fly, Dart, Regulator, Telegraph, Courier, Times, High-
flyer, Hope, with as many others as would fill a list as long as my tandem-
whip. What you now see is one of the new patent safety-coaches—you can't
have an overturn if you're ever so disposed for a spree. The old city
cormorants, after a gorge of mock-turtle, turn into them for a journey, and
drop off in a nap, with as much confidence of security to their neck and
limbs as if they had mounted a rocking-horse, or drop't into an arm-
chair.”—“Ah! come, the scene improves, and becomes a little like Life—
here's a dasher making up to the Safety—why its—no, impossible—can't be
—gad it is tho'—the Dart, by all that's good! and drove by Hell-fire Dick!—
there's a fellow would do honour to any box—drove the Cambridge Fly
three months—pass'd every thing on the road, and because he overturned in
three or four hard matches, the stupid rascals of proprietors moved him off
the ground. Joe Spinum, who's at Corpus Christi, matched Dick once for 50,

when he carried five inside and thirteen at top, besides heavy luggage,
against the other Cambridge—never was a prettier race seen at Newmarket
—Dick must have beat hollow, but a d——d fat alderman who was inside,
and felt alarmed at the velocity of the vehicle, moved to the other end of the
seat: this destroyed the equilibrium—over they went, into a four-feet ditch,
and Joe lost his match. However, he had the satisfaction of hearing
afterwards, that the old cormorant who occasioned his loss, had nearly burst
himself by the concussion.”
“See, see!—Dick's got up to, and wants to give the Safety the go by—
gad, its a race—go it Dick—now Safety—d——d good cattle both—lay it
in to 'em Dick—leaders neck and neck—pretty race by G——! Ah, its of no
use Safety—Dick wont stand it—a dead beat—there she goes—all up—
over by Jove “——“I can't see for that tree—what do you say Tom, is the
race over?”—“Race, ah! and the coach too—knew Dick would beat him—
would have betted the long odds the moment I saw it was him.”
The tandem had by this time reached the race-course, and the disaster
which Tom had hardly thought worth noticing in his lively description of
the sport, sure enough had befallen the new 'patent Safety, which was about
mid way between an upright and a side position, supported by the high and
very strong quicksett-hedge against which it hath fallen. Our heroes
dismounted, left Flip at the leader's head, and with Ned, the other groom,
proceeded to offer their services. Whilst engaged in extricating the horses,
which had become entangled in their harness, and were kicking and
plunging, their attention was arrested by the screams and outrageous
vociferations of a very fat, middle-aged woman, who had been jerked from
her seat on the box to one not quite so smooth—the top of the hedge, which,
with the assistance of an old alder tree, supported the coach. Tom found it
impossible to resist the violent impulse to risibility which the ludicrous
appearance of the old lady excited, and as no serious injury was sustained,
determined to enjoy the fun.

“If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view,
At once o'er hedge and ditch away he flew,
Nor left the game till he had run it down.”

Approaching her with all the gravity of countenance he was master of
—“Madam,” says he, “are we to consider you as one of the Sylvan Deities
who preside over these scenes, or connected in any way with the
vehicle?”—“Wehicle, indeed, you hunhuman-brutes, instead of assisting a
poor distressed female who has been chuck'd from top of that there safety-
thing, as they calls it, into such a dangerous pisition, you must be chuckling
and grinning, must you? I only wish my husband, Mr. Giblet, was here, he
should soon wring your necks, and pluck some of your fine feathers for
you, and make you look as foolish as a peacock without his tail.” Mrs.
Giblet's ire at length having subsided, she was handed down in safety on
terra firma, and our heroes transferred their assistance to the other
passengers. The violence of the concussion had burst open the coach-door
on one side, and a London Dandy, of the exquisite genus, lay in danger of
being pressed to a jelly beneath the weight of an infirm and very stout old
farmer, whom they had pick'd up on the road; and it was impossible to get
at, so as to afford relief to the sufferers, till the coach was raised in a
perpendicular position. The farmer was no sooner on his legs, than clapping
his hand with anxious concern into an immense large pocket, he discovered
that a bottle of brandy it contained was crack'd, and the contents beginning
to escape: “I ax pardon, young gentleman,” says he, seizing a hat that the
latter held with great care in his hand, and applying it to catch the liquor
—“I ax pardon for making so free, but I see the hat is a little out of order,
and can't be much hurt; and its a pity to waste the liquor, such a price as it is
now-a-days.”—“Sir, what do you mean, shouldn't have thought of your
taking such liberties indeed, but makes good the old saying—impudence
and ignorance go together: my hat out of order, hey! I'd have you to know,
Sir, that that there hat was bought of Lloyd, in Newgate-street,{1} only last
Thursday,-and cost eighteen shillings; and if you look at the book in his
vindow on hats, dedicated to the head, you'll find that this here hat is a real
exquisite; so much for what you know about hats, my old fellow—I burst
my stays all to pieces in saving it from being squeezed out of shape, and
now this old brute has made a brandy-bottle of it.”—“Oh! oh! my young
Miss in disguise,” replied the farmer, “I thought I smelt a rat when the
Captain left the coach, under pretence of walking up the hill—what, I
suppose vou are bound for Gretna, both of vou, hev young Lady?”
Every thing appertaining to the coach being now righted, our young
friends left the company to adjust their quarrels and pursue their journey at

discretion, anxious to reach the next town as expeditiously as possible,
where they purposed sleeping for the night. They mounted the tandem,
smack went the whip, and in a few minutes the stage-coach and its motley
group had disappeared.
Having reached their destination, and passed the night comfortably, they
next morning determined to kill an hour or two in the town; and were taking
a stroll arm in arm, when perceiving by a playbill, that an amateur of
fashion from the theatres royal, Drury Lane and Haymarket, was just come
in, and would shortly come out,

1 It would be injustice to great talents, not to notice,
among other important discoveries and improvements of the
age, the labours of Lloyd, who has classified and arranged
whatever relates to that necessary article of personal
elegance, the Hat. He has given the world a volume on the
subject of Hats, dedicated to their great patron, the Head,
in which all the endless varieties of shape, dependent
before on mere whim and caprice, are reduced to fixed
principles, and designated after the great characters by
which each particular fashion was first introduced. The
advantages to gentlemen residing in the country must be
incalculable: they have only to refer to the engravings in
Mr. Lloyd's work, where every possible variety is clearly
defined, and to order such as may suit the rank or character
in life they either possess, or wish to assume. The
following enumeration comprises a few of the latest fashions:
—The Wellington—The Regent—The Caroline—The
Bashful—The Dandy—The Shallow—The Exquisite—The Marquis
—The New Dash—The Clerieus—The Tally-ho—The Noble Lord—
The Taedum—The Bang-up—The Irresistible—The Bon Ton—The
Paris Beau—The Baronet—The Eccentric—The Bit of Blood,
&c.
in a favourite character, they immediately directed their steps towards a
barn, with the hope of witnessing a rehearsal. Chance introduced them to
the country manager, and Tom having asked several questions about this
candidate, was assured by Mr. Mist:

“Oh! he is a gentleman-performer, and very useful to us managers, for he
not only finds his own dresses and properties, but 'struts and frets his hour
on the stage without any emoluments. His aversion to salary recommended
him to the lessee of Drury-lane theatre, though his services had been
previously rejected by the sub-committee.”
“Can it be that game-cock, the gay Lothario,” said Tom, “who sports an
immensity of diamonds?”—
Of Coates's frolics he of course well knew, Rare pastime for the
ragamuffin crew! Who welcome with the crowing of a cock, This hero of
the buskin and sock.
“Oh! no,” rejoined Mr. Mist, “that cock don't crow now: this gentleman, I
assure you, has been at a theatrical school; he was instructed by the person
who made Master Bettv a young Roscius.”
Tom shook his head, as if he doubted the abilities of this instructed actor.
To be a performer, he thought as arduous as to be a poet; and if poeta
nascitur, non fit—consequently an actor must have natural abilities.
“And pray what character did this gentleman enact at Drury-lane
Theatre?”
“Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,” answered Mr. Mist—“Shakespeare is his
favourite author.”
“And what said the critics—'to be, or not to be'—I suppose he repeated
the character?”
“Oh! Sir, it was stated in the play-bill, that he met with great applause,
and he was announced for the character again; but, as the Free List was not
suspended, and our amateur dreaded some hostility from that quarter, he
performed the character by proxy, and repeated it at the Little Theatre in the
Haymarket.”
“Then the gentlemen of the Free List,” remarked Bob, “are free and
easy?”
“Yes—yes—they laugh and cough whenever they please: indeed, they
are generally excluded whenever a full house is expected, as ready money is
an object to the poor manager of Drury-lane Theatre. The British Press,
however, is always excepted.”
“The British press!—Oh! you mean the newspapers,” exclaimed Tom
—“then I dare say they were very favourable to this Amateur of Fashion?”

“No—not very—indeed; they don't join the manager in his puffs,
notwithstanding his marked civility to them: one said he was a methodist
preacher, and sermonized the character—another assimilated him to a
school-boy saying his lesson—in short, they were very ill-natured—but
hush—here he is—walk in, gentlemen, and you shall hear him rehearse
some of King Richard”—
“King Richard!” What ambition! thought Bob to himself—“late a Prince,
and now—a king!”
“I assure you,” continued Mr. Mist, “that all his readings are new; but
according to my humble observation, his action does not always suit the
word—for when he exclaims—' may Hell make crook'd my mind,' he looks
up to Heaven”—
“Looks up to Heaven!” exclaimed Tom; “then this London star makes a
solecism with his eyes.”
Our heroes now went into the barn, and took a private corner, when they
remained invisible. Their patience was soon exhausted, and Bob and his
honourable cousin were both on the fidgits, when the representative of King
Richard exclaimed—
“Give me a horse——”
“—Whip!” added Tom with stunning vociferation, before King Richard
could bind up his wounds. The amateur started, and betrayed consummate
embarrassment, as if the horsewhip had actually made its entrance. Tom and
his companion stole away, and left the astounded monarch with the words
—“twas all a dream.”

While returning to the inn, our heroes mutually commented on the
ambition and folly of those amateurs of fashion, who not only sacrifice
time and property, but absolutely take abundant pains to render
themselves ridiculous. “Certainly,” says Tom, “this cacoethes ludendi
has made fools of several: this infatuated youth though not possessed
of a single requisite for the stage, no doubt flatters himself he is
a second Kean; and, regardless of his birth and family, he will
continue his strolling life

Till the broad shame comes staring in his face,

And critics hoot the blockhead as he struts.”

Having now reached the inn, and finding every thing adjusted for their
procedure, our heroes mounted their vehicle, and went in full gallop for
Real Life in London.

CHAPTER III

“Round, round, and round-about, they whiz, they fly,
With eager worrying, whirling here and there,
They know, nor whence, nor whither, where, nor why.
In utter hurry-scurry, going, coming,
Maddening the summer air with ceaseless humming.”

OUR travellers now approached at a rapid rate, the desideratim of their
eager hopes and wishes: to one all was novel, wonderful, and fascinating; to
the other, it was the welcome return to an old and beloved friend, the
separation from whom had but increased the ardour of attachment.—“We,
now,” says Dashall, “are approaching Hyde-Park, and being Sunday, a
scene will at once burst upon you, far surpassing in reality any thing I have
been able to pourtray, notwithstanding the flattering compliments you have
so often paid to my talents for description.”

They had scarcely entered the Park-gate, when Lady Jane Townley's
carriage crossed them, and Tom immediately approached it, to pay his
respects to an old acquaintance. Her lady-ship congratulated him on his
return to town, lamented the serious loss the beau-monde had sustained by
his absence, and smiling archly at his young friend, was happy to find he
had not returned empty-handed, but with a recruit, whose appearance

promised a valuable accession to their select circle. “You would not have
seen me here,” continued her ladyship, “but I vow and protest it is utterly
impossible to make a prisoner of one's self, such a day as this, merely
because it is Sunday—for my own part, I wish there was no such thing as a
Sunday in the whole year—there's no knowing what to do with one's self.
When fine, it draws out as many insects as a hot sun and a shower of rain
can produce in the middle of June. The vulgar plebeians flock so, that you
can scarcely get into your barouche without being hustled by the men-
milliners, linen-drapers, and shop-boys, who have been serving you all the
previous part of the week; and wet, or dry, there's no bearing it. For my part,
I am ennuyée, beyond measure, on that day, and find no little difficulty in
getting through it without a fit of the horrors.
“What a legion of counter-coxcombs!” exclaimed she, as we passed
Grosvenor-gate. “Upon the plunder of the till, or by overcharging some
particular article sold on the previous day, it is easy for these once-a-week
beaux to hire a tilbury, and an awkward groom in a pepper and salt, or drab
coat, like the incog. of the royal family, to mix with their betters and sport
their persons in the drive of fashion: some of the monsters, too, have the
impudence of bowing to ladies whom they do not know, merely to give
them an air, or pass off their customers for their acquaintance: its very
distressing. There!” continued she, “there goes my plumassier, with gilt
spurs like a field-officer, and riding as importantly as if he were one of the
Lords of the Treasury; or—ah! there, again, is my banker's clerk, so stiff
and so laced up, that he might pass for an Egyptian mummy—the self-
importance of these puppies is insufferable! What impudence! he has
picked up some groom out of place, with a cockade in his hat, by way of
imposing on the world for a beau militaire. What will the world come to! I
really have not common patience with these creatures. I have long since left
off going to the play on a Saturday night, because, independently of my
preference for the Opera, these insects from Cornhill or Whitechapel, shut
up their shops, cheat their masters, and commence their airs of importance
about nine o'clock. Then again you have the same party crowding the Park
on a Sunday; but on the following day, return, like school boys, to their
work, and you see them with their pen behind their ear, calculating how to
make up for their late extravagances, pestering you with lies, and urging
you to buy twice as much as you want, then officiously offering their arm at
your carriage-door.”

Capt. Bergamotte at this moment came up to the carriage, perfumed like
a milliner, his colour much heightened by some vegetable dye, and resolved
neither to “blush unseen,” nor “waste his sweetness on the desert air.” Two
false teeth in front, shamed the others a little in their ivory polish, and his
breath savoured of myrrh like a heathen sacrifice, or the incense burned in
one of their temples. He thrust his horse's head into the carriage, rather
abruptly and indecorously, (as one not accustomed to the haut-ton might
suppose) but it gave no offence. He smiled affectedly, adjusted his hat,
pulled a lock of hair across his forehead, with a view of shewing the
whiteness of the latter, and next, that the glossiness of the former must have
owed its lustre to at least two hours brushing, arranging, and perfuming;
used his quizzing-glass, and took snuff with a flourish. Lady Townley
condescended to caress the horse, and to display her lovely white arm
ungloved, with which she patted the horse's neck, and drew a hundred
admiring eyes.
The exquisite all this time brushed the animal gently with a highly-
scented silk handkerchief, after which he displayed a cambric one, and went
through a thousand little playful airs and affectations, which Bob thought
would have suited a fine lady better than a lieutenant in his Majesty's
brigade of guards. Applying the lines of an inimitable satire, (The Age of
Frivolity) to the figure before him, he concluded:

“That gaudy dress and decorations gay,
The tinsel-trappings of a vain array.
The spruce trimm'd jacket, and the waving plume,
The powder'd head emitting soft perfume;
These may make fops, but never can impart
The soldier's hardy frame, or daring heart;
May in Hyde-Park present a splendid train,
But are not weapons for a dread campaign;
May please the fair, who like a tawdry beau,
But are not fit to check an active foe;
Such heroes may acquire sufficient skill
To march erect, and labour through a drill;
In some sham-fight may manfully hold out,
But must not hope an enemy to rout.”

Although he talked a great deal, the whole amount of his discourse was
to inform her Ladyship that (Stilletto) meaning his horse, (who in truth
appeared to possess more fire and spirit than his rider could either boast of
or command,) had cost him only 700 guineas, and was prime blood; that the
horse his groom rode, was nothing but a good one, and had run at the
Craven—that he had been prodigiously fortunate that season on the turf—
that he was a bold rider, and could not bear himself without a fine high
spirited animal—and, that being engaged to dine at three places that day, he
was desperately at a loss to know how he should act; but that if her
Ladyship dined at any one of the three, he would certainly join that party,
and cut the other two.
At this moment, a mad-brained ruffian of quality, with a splendid
equipage, came driving by with four in hand, and exclaimed as he flew past,
in an affected tone,—“All! Tom, my dear fellow,—why where the devil
have you hid yourself of late?” The speed of his cattle prevented the
possibility of reply. “Although you see him in such excellent trim,”
observed Tom to Lady Jane, “though his cattle and equipage are so well
appointed, would you suppose, it, he has but just made his appearance from
the Bench after white-washing? But he is a noble spirited fellow,” remarked
the exquisite, “drives the best horses, and is one of the first whips in town;
always gallant and gay, full of life and good humour; and, I am happy to
say, he has now a dozen of as fine horses as any in Christendom, bien
entendu, kept in my name.” After this explanation of the characters of his
friend and his horses, he kissed his hand to her Ladyship, and was out of
sight in an instant, “Adieu, adieu, thou dear, delightful sprig of fashion!”
said Lady Jane, as he left the side of the carriage.—“Fashion and folly,”
said Tom, half whispering, and recalling to his mind the following lines:—

“Oh! Fashion, to thy wiles, thy votaries owe
Unnumber'd pangs of sharp domestic woe.
What broken tradesmen and abandon'd wives
Curse thy delusion through their wretched lives;
What pale-faced spinsters vent on thee their rage,
And youths decrepid e're they come of age.”

His moralizing reverie was however interrupted by her Ladyship, who
perceiving a group of females decked in the extreme of Parisian fashions,
“there,” said she, “there is all that taffeta, feathers, flowers, and lace can do;
and yet you see by their loud talking, their being unattended by a servant,
and by the bit of straw adhering to the pettycoat of one of them, that they
come all the way from Fish Street Hill, or the Borough, in a hackney-coach,
and are now trying to play off the airs of women of fashion.”
Mrs. Marvellous now drew up close to the party. “My dear Lady Jane,”
said she, “1 am positively suffocated with dust, and sickened with vulgarity;
but to be sure we have every thing in London here, from the House of Peers
to Waterloo House. I must tell you about the trial, and Lady Barbara's
mortification, and about poor Mr. R.'s being arrested, and the midnight
flight to the Continent of our poor friend W——.”
With this brief, but at the same time comprehensive introduction, she
lacerated the reputation of almost all her acquaintance, and excited great
attention from the party, which had been joined by several during her truly
interesting intelligence. Every other topic in a moment gave way to this
delightful amusement, and each with volubility contributed his or her share
to the general stock of slander.
Scandal is at all times the sauce piquante that currys incident in every
situation; and where is the fashionable circle that can sit down to table
without made dishes?—Character is the good old-fashioned roast beef of
the table, which no one touches but to mangle and destroy.

“Lord! who'd have thought our cousin D
Could think of marrying Mrs. E.
True I don't like such things to tell;
But, faith, I pity Mrs. L,
And was I her, the bride to vex,
I would engage with Mrs. X.
But they do say that Charlotte U,
With Fanny M, and we know who,
Occasioned all, for you must know
They set their caps at Mr. O.
And as he courted Mrs. E,
They thought, if she'd have cousin D,

That things might be by Colonel A
Just brought about in their own way.”

Our heroes now took leave, and proceeded through the Park. “Who is
that fat, fair, and forty-looking dame, in the landau?” says Bob.—“Your
description shews,” rejoined his friend, “you are but a novice in the world
of fashion—you are deceived, that lady is as much made up as a wax-doll.
She has been such as she now appears to be for these last five and twenty
years; her figure as you see, rather en-bon point, is friendly to the ravages
of time, and every lineament of age is artfully filled up by an expert fille de
chambre, whose time has been employed at the toilette of a celebrated
devotee in Paris. She drives through the Park as a matter of course, merely
to furnish an opportunity for saying that she has been there: but the more
important business of the morning will be transacted at her boudoir, in the
King's Road, where every luxury is provided to influence the senses; and
where, by daily appointment, she is expected to meet a sturdy gallant. She
is a perfect Messalina in her enjoyments; but her rank in society protects her
from sustaining any injury by her sentimental wanderings.
“Do you see that tall handsome man on horseback, who has just taken off
his hat to her, he is a knight of the ... ribbon; and a well-known flutterer
among the ladies, as well as a vast composer of pretty little
nothings.”—“Indeed! and pray, cousin, do you see that lady of quality, just
driving in at the gate in a superb yellow vis-à-vis,—as you seem to know
every body, who is she?”
“Ha! ha! ha!” replied Tom, almost bursting with laughter, yet
endeavouring to conceal it, “that Lady of Quality, as you are inclined to
think her, a very few years since, was nothing more than a pot-girl to a
publican in Marj'-le-bone; but an old debauchee (upon the look out for
defenceless beauty) admiring the fineness of her form, the brilliancy of her
eye, and the symmetry of her features, became the possessor of her person,
and took her into keeping, as one of the indispensable appendages of
fashionable life, after a month's ablution at Margate, where he gave her
masters of every description. Her understanding was ready, and at his death,
which happened, luckily for her, before satiety had extinguished appetite,
she was left with an annuity of twelve hundred pounds—improved beauty
—superficial accomplishments—and an immoderate share of caprice,

insolence, and vanity. As a proof of this, I must tell you that at an elegant
entertainment lately given by this dashing cyprian, she demolished a desert
service of glass and china that cost five hundred guineas, in a fit of
passionate ill-humour; and when her paramour intreated her to be more
composed, she became indignant—called for her writing-desk in a rage—
committed a settlement of four hundred a year, which he had made but a
short time previously, to the flames, and asked him, with, a self-important
air, whether he dared to suppose that paltry parchment gave him an
authority to direct her actions?”
“And what said the lover to this severe remonstrance?”
“Say,—why he very sensibly made her a low bow, thanked her for her
kindness, in releasing him from his bond, and took his leave of her,
determined to return no more.”
"Turn to the right,” says Tom, “and yonder you will see on horseback,
that staunch patriot, and friend of the people, Sir——, of whom you must
have heard so much.”
“He has just come out of the K——B——, having completed last week
the term of imprisonment, to which he was sentenced for a libel on
Government, contained in his address to his constituents on the subject of
the memorable Manchester Meeting.”
“Ah! indeed, and is that the red-hot patriot?—well, I must say I have
often regretted he should have gone to such extremes in one or two
instances, although I ever admired his general character for firmness, manly
intrepidity, and disinterested conduct.”
“You are right, Bob, perfectly right; but you know, 'to err is human, to
forgive divine,' and however he may err, he does so from principle. In his
private character, as father, husband, friend, and polished gentleman, he has
very few equals—no superior.
“He is a branch of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom, and
can trace his ancestors without interruption, from the days of William the
Conqueror. His political career has been eventful, and perhaps has cost him
more, both in pocket and person, than any Member of Parliament now
existing. He took his seat in the House of Commons at an early age, and
first rendered himself popular by his strenuous opposition to a bill
purporting to regulate the publication of newspapers.

“The next object of his determined reprehension, was the Cold-Bath-
Fields Prison, and the treatment of the unfortunates therein confined. The
uniformly bold and energetic language made use of by the honourable
Baronet upon that occasion, breathed the true spirit of British liberty. He
reprobated the unconstitutional measure of erecting what he termed a
Bastile in the very heart of a free country, as one that could neither have its
foundation in national policy, nor eventually be productive of private good.
He remarked that prisons, at which private punishments, cruel as they were
illegal, were exercised, at the mercy of an unprincipled gaoler—cells in
which human beings were exposed to the horrors of heart-sickening
solitude, and depressed in spirit by their restriction to a scanty and exclusive
allowance of bread and water, were not only incompatible with the spirit of
the constitution, but were likely to prove injurious to the spirit of the people
of this happy country; for as Goldsmith admirably remarks,

“Princes and Lords may nourish or may fade,
A breath can make them as a breath hath made,
But a bold peasantry their country's pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied.”

“And if this be not tyranny” continued the philanthropic orator, “it is
impossible to define the term. I promise you here that I will persevere to the
last in unmasking this wanton abuse of justice and humanity.” His
invincible fortitude in favour of the people, has rendered him a
distinguished favourite among them: and though by some he is termed a
visionary, an enthusiast, and a tool of party, his adherence to the rights of
the subject, and his perseverance to uphold the principles of the
constitution, are deserving the admiration of every Englishman; and
although his fortune is princely, and has been at his command ever since an
early age, he has never had his name registered among the fashionable
gamesters at the clubs in St. James's-street, Newmarket, or elsewhere. He
labours in the vineyard of utility rather than in the more luxuriant garden of
folly; and, according to general conception, may emphatically be called an
honest man. “But come,” said Tom, “it is time for us to move homeward—
the company are drawing off I see, we must shape our course towards
Piccadilly.”

They dashed through the Park, not however without being saluted by
many of his fashionable friends, who rejoiced to see that the Honourable
Tom Dashall was again to be numbered among the votaries of Real Life in
London; while the young squire, whose visionary orbs appeared to be in
perpetual motion, dazzled with the splendid equipages of the moving
panorama, was absorbed in reflections somewhat similar to the following:

“No spot on earth to me is half so fair
As Hyde-Park Corner, or St. James's Square;
And Happiness has surely fix'd her seat
In Palace Yard, Pall Mall, or Downing Street:
Are hills, and dales, and valleys half so gay
As bright St. James's on a levee day?
What fierce ecstatic transports fire my soul,
To hear the drivers swear, the coaches roll;
The Courtier's compliment, the Ladies' clack,
The satins rustle, and the whalebone crack!”

CHAPTER IV

“Together let us beat this ample field
Try what the open, what the covert yield:
The latent tracts, the giddy heights explore
Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar;
Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies,
And catch the manners living as they rise.”

IT was half past five when the Hon. Tom Dashall, and his enraptured
cousin, reached the habitation of the former, who had taken care to dispatch
a groom, apprizing Mrs. Watson, the house-keeper, of his intention to be at
home by half past six to dinner; consequently all was prepared for their
reception. The style of elegance in which Tom appeared to move, struck
Tallyho at once with delight and astonishment, as they entered the drawing-
room; which was superbly and tastefully fitted up, and commanded a
cheerful view of Piccadilly. “Welcome, my dear Bob!” said Tom to his
cousin, “to all the delights of Town—come, tell me what you think of its
first appearance, only remember you commence your studies of Life in
London on a dull day; to-morrow you will have more enlivening prospects
before you.” “'Why in truth,” replied Bob, “the rapidity of attraction is such,
as at present to leave no distinct impressions on my mind; all appears like
enchantment, and I am completely bewildered in a labyrinth of wonders, to
which there appears to be no end; but under your kind guidance and tuition
I may prove myself an apt scholar, in unravelling its intricacies.” By this
time they had approached the window.
“Aye, aye,” says Dashall, “we shall not be long, I see, without some
object to exercise your mind upon, and dispel the horrors.

“Oh for that Muse of fire, whose burning pen
Records the God-like deeds of valiant men!
Then might our humble, yet aspiring verse,
Our matchless hero's matchless deeds rehearse.”

Bob was surprised at this sudden exclamation of his cousin, and from the
introduction naturally expected something extraordinary, though he looked
around him without discovering his object.

“That,” continued Tom, “is a Peer”—pointing to a gig just turning the
corner, “of whom it may be said:

To many a jovial club that Peer was known,
With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone,
Choice spirit, grave freemason, buck and blood,
Would crowd his stories and bon mots to hear,
And none a disappointment e'er need fear
His humour flow'd in such a copious flood.”

“It is Lord C——, who was formerly well known as the celebrated Major
H——, the companion of the now most distinguished personage in the
British dominions! and who not long since became possessed of his lordly
honours. Some particulars of him are worth knowing. He was early
introduced into life, and often kept both good and bad company, associating
with men and women of every description and of every rank, from the
highest to the lowest—from St. James's to St. Giles's, in palaces and night-
cellars—from the drawing-room to the dust-cart. He can drink, swear, tell
stories, cudgel, box, and smoke with any one; having by his intercourse
with society fitted himself for all companies. His education has been more
practical than theoretical, though he was brought up at Eton, where,
notwithstanding he made considerable progress in his studies, he took such
an aversion to Greek that he never would learn it. Previous to his arrival at
his present title, he used to be called Honest George, and so unalterable is
his nature, that to this hour he likes it, and it fits him better than his title.
But he has often been sadly put to his shifts under various circumstances: he
was a courtier, but was too honest for that; he tried gaming, but he was too
honest for that; he got into prison, and might have wiped off, but he was too
honest for that; he got into the coal trade, but he found it a black business,
and he was too honest for that. At drawing the long bow, so much perhaps
cannot be said—but that you know is habit, not principle; his courage is
undoubted, having fought three duels before he was twenty years of age.

Being disappointed in his hope of promotion in the army, he resolved, in
spite of the remonstrances of his friends, to quit the guards, and solicited an
appointment in one of the Hessian corps, at that time raising for the British
service in America, where the war of the revolution was then commencing,
and obtained from the Landgrave of Hesse a captain's commission in his
corps of Jagers.
Previous to his departure for America, finding he had involved himself in
difficulties by a profuse expenditure, too extensive for his income, and an
indulgence in the pleasures of the turf to a very great extent, he felt himself
under the necessity of mortgaging an estate of about 11,000L. per annum,
left him by his aunt, and which proved unequal to the liquidation of his
debts. He remained in America till the end of the war, where he
distinguished himself for bravery, and suffered much with the yellow fever.
On his return, he obtained an introduction to the Prince of Wales, who by
that time had lanched into public life, and became one of the jovial
characters whom he selected for his associates; and many are the amusing
anecdotes related of him. The Prince conferred on him the appointment of
equerry, with a salary of 300L. a year; this, however, he lost on the
retrenchments that were afterwards made in the household of His Royal
Highness. He continued, however, to be one of his constant companions,
and while in his favour they were accustomed to practice strange vagaries.
The Major was always a wag, ripe and ready for a spree or a lark.

“To him a frolic was a high delight,
A frolic he would hunt for, day and night,
Careless how prudence on the sport might frown.”

At one time, when the favourite's finances were rather low, and the
mopusses ran taper, it was remarked among the 60 vivants of the party, that
the Major had not for some time given them an invitation. This, however,
he promised to do, and fixed the day—the Prince having engaged to make
one. Upon this occasion he took lodgings in Tottenham-court Road—went
to a wine-merchant—promised to introduce him to the royal presence, upon
his engaging to find wine for the party, which was readily acceded to; and a
dinner of three courses was served up. Three such courses, perhaps, were
never before seen; when the company were seated, two large dishes

appeared; one was placed at the top of the table, and one at the bottom; all
was anxious expectation: the covers being removed, exhibited to view, a
baked shoulder of mutton at top, and baked potatoes at the bottom. They all
looked around with astonishment, but, knowing the general eccentricity of
their host, they readily fell into his humour, and partook of his fare; not
doubting but the second course would make ample amends for the first. The
wine was good, and the Major apologized for his accommodations, being,
as he said, a family sort of man, and the dinner, though somewhat
uncommon, was not such an one as is described by Goldsmith:

“At the top, a fried liver and bacon were seen;
At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen;
At the sides there were spinach and pudding made hot;
In the middle a place where the pasty—was not.”

At length the second course appeared; when lo and behold, another baked
shoulder of mutton and baked potatoes! Surprise followed surprise—but

“Another and another still succeeds.”

The third course consisted of the same fare, clearly proving that he had in
his catering studied quantity more than variety; however, they enjoyed the
joke, eat as much as they pleased, laughed heartily at the dinner, and after
bumpering till a late hour, took their departure: it is said, however, that he
introduced the wine-merchant to his Highness, who afterwards profited by
his orders.{1}

1 This remarkable dinner reminds us of a laughable
caricature which made its appearance some time ago upon the
marriage of a Jew attorney, in Jewry-street, Aldgate, to the
daughter of a well-known fishmonger, of St. Peter's-alley,
Cornhill, when a certain Baronet, Alderman, Colonel, and
then Lord Mayor, opened the ball at the London Tavern, as
the partner of the bride; a circum-stance which excited
considerable curiosity and surprise at the time. We know the
worthy Baronet had been a hunter for a seat in Parliament,

but what he could be hunting among the children of Israel
is, perhaps, not so easily ascertained. We, however, are not
speaking of the character, but the caricature, which
represented the bride, not resting on Abraham's bosom, but
seated on his knee, surrounded by their guests at the
marriage-feast; while to a panel just behind them, appears
to be affixed a bill of fare, which runs thus:

First course, Fish!

Second course, Fish!!

Third course, Fish!!!

Perhaps the idea of the artist originated in the anecdote
above recorded.
It is reported that the Prince gave him a commission, under an express
promise that when he could not shew it, he was no longer to enjoy his royal
favour. This commission was afterwards lost by the improvident possessor,
and going to call on the donor one morning, who espying him on his way,
he threw up the sash and called out, “Well, George, commission or no
commission?” “No commission, by G——, your Highness?” was the reply.
“Then you cannot enter here,” rejoined the prince, closing the window
and the connection at the same time.
“His Lordship now resides in the Regent's Park, and may almost nightly
be seen at a public-house in the neighbourhood, where he takes his grog and
smokes his pipe, amusing the company around him with anecdotes of his
former days; we may, perhaps, fall in with him some night in our travels,
and you will find him a very amusing and sometimes very sensible sort of
fellow, till he gets his grog on board, when he can be as boisterous and
blustering as a coal-heaver or a bully. His present fortune is impaired by his
former imprudence, but he still mingles with the sporting world, and a short
time back had his pocket picked, at a milling match, of a valuable gold
repeater. He has favoured the world with several literary productions,
among which are Memoirs of his own Life, embellished with a view of the
author, suspended from (to use the phrase of a late celebrated auctioneer) a

hanging wood; and a very elaborate treatise on the Art of Rat-catching. In
the advertisement of the latter work, the author engages it will enable the
reader to “clear any house of these noxious vermin, however much infested,
excepting only a certain great House in the neighbourhood of St. Stephen's,
Westminster."{1}

1 It appears by the newspapers, that the foundation of a
certain great house in Pall Mall is rotten, and giving-way.
The cause is not stated; but as it cannot arise from being
top-heavy, we may presume that the rats have been at work
there. Query, would not an early application of the Major's
recipe have remedied the evil, and prevented the necessity
of a removal of a very heavy body, which of course, must be
attended with a very heavy expense? 'Tis a pity an old
friend should have been overlooked on such an occasion.
"Do you,” said Tom, pointing to a person on the other side of the way,
“see that young man, walking with a half-smothered air of indifference,
affecting to whistle as he walks, and twirling his stick? He is a once-a-week
man, or, in other words, a Sunday promenader—Harry Hairbrain was born
of a good family, and, at the decease of his father, became possessed of ten
thousand pounds, which he sported with more zeal than discretion, so much
so, that having been introduced to the gaming table by a pretended friend,
and fluctuated between poverty and affluence for four years, he found
himself considerably in debt, and was compelled to seek refuge in an
obscure lodging, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Kilburn, in order to
avoid the traps; for, as he observes, he has been among the Greeks and
pigeons, who have completely rook'd him, and now want to crow over him:
he has been at hide and seek for the last two months, and, depending on the
death of a rich old maiden aunt who has no other heir, he eventually hopes
to 'diddle 'em.'”
This narrative of Hairbrain was like Hebrew ta Tallyho, who requested
his interesting cousin, as he found himself at falt, to try back, and put him
on the right scent.
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Tom, “we must find a new London vocabulary, I see,
before we shall be able to converse intelligibly; but as you are now solely
under my tuition, I will endeavour to throw a little light upon the subject.

“Your once-a-week man, or Sunday promenader, is one who confines
himself, to avoid confinement, lodging in remote quarters in the vicinity of
the Metropolis, within a mile or two of the Bridges, Oxford Street, or Hyde-
Park Corner, and is constrained to waste six uncomfortable and useless days
in the week, in order to secure the enjoyment of the seventh, when he
fearlessly ventures forth, to recruit his ideas—to give a little variety to the
sombre picture of life, unmolested, to transact his business, or to call on
some old friend, and keep up those relations with the world which would
otherwise be completely neglected or broken.
“Among characters of this description, may frequently be recognised the
remnant of fashion, and, perhaps, the impression of nobility not wholly
destroyed by adversity and seclusion—the air and manners of a man who
has outlived his century, with an assumption of sans souci pourtrayed in his
agreeable smile, murmur'd through a low whistle of 'Begone dull care,' or
'No more by sorrow chased, my heart,' or played off by the flourishing of a
whip, or the rapping of a boot that has a spur attached to it, which perhaps
has not crossed a horse for many months; and occasionally by a judicious
glance at another man's carriage, horses, or appointments, which indicates
taste, and the former possession of such valuable things. These form a part
of the votaries of Real Life in London. This however,” said he (observing
his cousin in mute attention) “is but a gloomy part of the scene; vet,
perhaps, not altogether uninteresting or unprofitable.”
“I can assure you,” replied Tallyho, “I am delighted with the accurate
knowledge you appear to have of society in general, while I regret the
situation of the actors in scenes so glowingly described, and am only
astonished at the appearance of such persons.”
“You must not be astonished at appearances,” rejoined Dashall, “for
appearance is every thing in London; and I must particularly warn you not
to found your judgment upon it. There is an old adage, which says 'To be
poor, and seem poor, is the Devil all over.' Why, if you meet one of these
Sunday-men, he will accost you with urbanity and affected cheerfulness,
endeavouring to inspire you with an idea that he is one of the happiest of
mortals; while, perhaps, the worm of sorrow is secretly gnawing his heart,
and preying upon his constitution. Honourable sentiment, struggling with
untoward circumstances, is destroying his vitals; not having the courage to
pollute his character by a jail-delivery, or to condescend to white-washing,

or some low bankrupt trick, to extricate himself from difficulty, in order to
stand upright again.
“A once-a-week man, or Sunday promenader, frequently takes his way
through bye streets and short cuts, through courts and alleys, as it were
between retirement and a desire to see what is going on in the scenes of his
former splendour, to take a sly peep at that world from which he seems to
be excluded.”
“And for all such men,” replied Bob, “expelled from high and from good
society, (even though I were compelled to allow by their own imprudence
and folly) I should always like to have a spare hundred, to send them in an
anonymous cover.”
“You are right,” rejoined Tom, catching him ardently by the hand, “the
sentiment does honour to your head and heart; for to such men, in general,
is attached a heart-broken wife, withering by their side in the shade, as the
leaves and the blossom cling together at all seasons, in sickness or in health,
in affluence or in poverty, until the storm beats too roughly on them, and
prematurely destroys the weakest. But I must warn you not to let your
liberality get the better of your discretion, for there are active and artful
spirits abroad, and even these necessities and miseries are made a handle for
deception, to entrap the unwary; and you yet have much to learn—Puff
lived two years on sickness and misfortune, by advertisements in the
newspapers.”
“How?” enquired Bob.
“You shall have it in his own words,” said Dashall.

“I suppose never man went through such a series of
“calamities in the same space of time! Sir, I was five
“times made a bankrupt and reduced from a state of
“affluence, by a train of unavoidable misfortunes! then
“Sir, though a very industrious tradesman, I was twice
“burnt out, and lost my little all both times! I lived
“upon those fires a month. I soon after was confined by a
“most excruciating disorder, and lost the use of my limbs!
“That told very well; for I had the case strongly attested,
“and went about col—called on you, a close prisoner
“in the Marshalsea, for a debt benevolently contracted

“to serve a friend. I was afterwards twice tapped
“for a dropsy, which declined into a very profitable
“consumption! I was then reduced to—0—no—then,
“I became a widow with six helpless children—after
“having had eleven husbands pressed, and being left
“every time eight months gone with child, and without
“money to get me into an hospital!”

“Astonishing!” cried Bob, “and are such things possible?”
“A month's residence in the metropolis,” said Dashall, “will satisfy your
enquiries. One ingenious villain, a short time back, had artifice enough to
defraud the public, at different periods of his life, of upwards of one
hundred thousand pounds, and actually carried on his fraudulent schemes to
the last moment of his existence, for he defrauded Jack Ketch of his fee by
hanging himself in his cell after condemnation."{1}
Just as a tilbury was passing, “Observe,” said Tom, “the driver of that
tilbury is the celebrated Lord Cripplegate with his usual equipage—his blue
cloak with a scarlet lining, hanging loosely over the vehicle, gives an air of
importance to his appearance, and he is always attended by that boy, who
has been denominated his cupid; he is a nobleman by birth, a gentleman by
courtesy, and a gamester by profession. He exhausted a large estate upon
odd and even, sevens the main, &c. till having lost sight of the main chance,
he found it necessary to curtail his establishment and enliven his prospects,
by exchanging a first floor for a second, without an opportunity of
ascertaining whether or not these alterations were best suited to his high
notions or exalted taste; from which in a short time he was induced, either
by inclination or necessity, to take a small lodging in an obscure street, and
to sport a gig and one horse, instead of a curricle and pair; though in former
times he used to drive four in hand, and was acknowledged to be an
excellent whip. He still, however, possessed money enough to collect
together a large quantity of halfpence, which in his hours of relaxation he
managed to turn to good account, by the following stratagem:—He
distributed his halfpence on the floor of his little parlour in straight lines,
and ascertained how many it would require to cover it; having thus prepared
himself, he invited some wealthy spendthrifts (with whom he still had the
power of associating) to sup with him, and he welcomed them to his

habitation with much cordiality. The glass circulated freely, and each
recounted his gaming or amorous adventures till a late hour, when the
effects of the bottle becoming visible, he proposed, as a momentary
suggestion, to name how many halfpence laid side by side would carpet the
floor; and offered to lay a large

1 Charles Price, the well-known impostor, whose extensive
forgeries on the Bank of England rendered him notorious, may
serve as a practical illustration of Puff, for he, at
several periods of his life, carried on his system of fraud
by advertisements, and by personating the character of a
clergyman collecting subscriptions under various pretences.
His whole life is marked with determined and systematic
depravity. He hanged himself in Tothil-fields Bridewell,
where he was confined, at the age of fifty-five.
wager, that he would guess the nearest. Done! done! was echoed round
the room. Every one made a deposit of 100L. and every one made a guess
equally certain of success; and his lordship declaring he had a large lot of
halfpence by him, though, perhaps, not enough, the experiment was to be
tried immediately—'twas an excellent hit! The room was cleared, to it they
went, the halfpence were arranged rank and file in military order, when it
appeared that his lordship had certainly guessed (as well he might) nearest
to the number: the consequence was, an immediate alteration of his
lordship's residence and appearance: he got one step in the world by it, he
gave up his second-hand gig for one warranted new; and a change in his
vehicle may pretty generally be considered as the barometer of his pocket.
“Do you mark, he is learing at that pretty girl on the other side of the
way? he is fond of the wenches, and has been a true votary of fashion.
Perhaps there is not a more perfect model of Real Life in London than
might be furnished from the memoirs of his lordship! He is rather a good
looking man, as he sits, and prides himself on being a striking likeness of
his present majesty; but, unfortunately, has a lameness which impedes him
in the ardour of his pursuit of game, although it must be acknowledged he
has been a game one in his time. The boy you see with him is reported to be
his own son, who is now employed by him as an assistant in all his amorous
adventures.”

“His own son!” exclaimed Bob.
“Aye, and (if so) a merrily begotten one, I'll be bound for it,” continued
Tom; “such things will happen, and his lordship has kept a very pretty
assortment of servant girls. But the introduction of this youth to public
notice was somewhat curious. It is said, that having a large party of bon
vivants to dine with him, on sitting down to table, and taking the cover off
one of the dishes, a plump and smiling infant appeared. A sweet little Cupid
by
——! (exclaimed his lordship) I'll be his father!—I'll
take care of him!—call Rose, and tell her to look out for a nurse for him.
Thus taking upon himself the character of parent and protector as well as
parson. Young Cupid was christened in libations of claret, and furnished a
fund of amusement for the evening. How young Cupid came there, I believe
has not yet been satisfactorily ascertained:

Who seeks a friend, should come disposed
T' exhibit, in full bloom disclosed,
The graces and the beauties
That form the character he seeks;
For 'tis an union that bespeaks
Reciprocated duties.
And thus it has proved with Cupid, himself the offspring of an illicit
amour, is now constantly engaged in promoting others.
“His lordship had three brothers, Billingsgate! Hellgate! and Newgate!
whose names are adorned with a similarity of perfections in the Temple of
Fame; but they are consigned to the tomb of the Capulets, and we will not
rake up the ashes of the dead."{1}
At this moment a loud knocking was heard at the door, and Mr. Sparkle
was ushered into the drawing-room, which he entered, as it were, with a
hop, step, and jump, and had Tom Dashall by the hand almost before they
could turn round to see who it was.
“My dear fellow!” exclaimed Sparkle, almost out of breath, “where have
you been to? Time has been standing still since your departure!—there has
been a complete void in nature—how do you do?—I beg pardon, (turning to
Bob) you will excuse my rapture at meeting my old friend, whom I have

lost so long, that I have almost lost myself—egad, I have run myself out of
breath—cursed unlucky I was not in the Park this morning to see you first,
but I have just heard all about you from Lady Jane, and lost no time in
paying my respects—what are you going to do with yourself?”

1 There was a delicate propriety in this conduct of the Hon.
Tom Dashall which cannot but be admired; for although they
were alone, and speaking to each other in perfect
confidence, it was always his desire to avoid as much as
possible making bad worse; he had a heart to feel, as well
as a head to think; and would rather lend a hand to raise a
fellow-creature from the mud than walk deliberately over
him; besides, he foresaw other opportunities would arise in
which, from circumstances, he would almost be compelled to
draw his Cousin's attention again to the persons in
question, and he was always unwilling to ex-haust a subject
of an interesting nature without sonic leading occurrence to
warrant it.
At this moment dinner was announced. “Come,” said Tom, “let us refresh
a bit, and after dinner I will tell you all about it. We are travellers, you
know, and feel a little fatigued. Allons, allons.” And so saying, he led the
way to the dinner-room.
“Nothing could be more apropos,” said Sparkle, “for although I have two
engagements beforehand, and have promised a visit to you know who in the
evening, they appear like icicles that must melt before the sun of your re-
appearance: so I am your's.” And to it they went. Tom always kept a liberal
table, and gave his friends a hearty welcome. But here it will be necessary,
while they are regaling themselves, to make our readers a little acquainted
with Charles Sparkle, Esq.; for which purpose we must request his patience
till the next chapter.

CHAPTER V

“Place me, thou great Supreme, in that blest state,
Unknown to those the silly world call Great,
Where all my wants may be with ease supply'd,
Yet nought superfluous to pamper pride.”

IT will be seen in the previous chapter, that the formal ceremony of a
fashionable introduction, such as—“Mr. Sparkle, my friend Mr. Robert
Tallyho, of Belville Hall; Mr. Tallyho, Mr. Charles Sparkle,” was altogether
omitted; indeed, the abrupt entrance of the latter rendered it utterly
impossible, for although Sparkle was really a well-bred man, he had heard
from Lady Jane of Tom's arrival with his young friend from the country.
Etiquette between themselves, was at all times completely unnecessary, an
air of gaiety and freedom, as the friend of Dashall, was introduction enough
to Bob, and consequently this point of good breeding was wholly unnoticed
by all the party; but we are not yet sufficiently acquainted with our readers
to expect a similar mode of proceeding will be overlooked; we shall
therefore lose no time in giving our promised account of Mr. Sparkle, and
beg to introduce him accordingly.
Mr. Reader, Mr. Sparkle; Mr. Sparkle, Mr. Reader.
Hold, Sir, what are you about? You have bewildered yourself with
etiquette, and seem to know as little about Life in London as the novice you
have already introduced—By the way, that introduction was one of the most
extraordinary I ever met with; this may be equally so for ought I know; and
I really begin to suspect you are an extraordinary fellow yourself. How can
you introduce me, of whom you know nothing?
Egad, I believe you have me there—“a palpable hit, my Lord,” (or my
Lady, for I certainly cannot say which;) I was getting myself into an
awkward dilemma, but I hate suspicion—

“Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind.”

Methinks I see a frown, but I meant no offence, and if you throw down
my book in a rage, you will perhaps not only remain ignorant of Mr.
Sparkle, but, what is more important, of those other numerous fashionable
characters in high and low life—of those manners—incidents—amusements
—follies—vices, &c. which, combined together, form the true picture of
Real Life in the Metropolis.

“He who hath trod th' intricate maze,
Exploring every devious way,
Can best direct th' enquiring gaze,
And all the varied scenes display.”

Mr. Author, you are a strange rambler.
Admitted, Sir, or Ma'am, I am a rambler, who, with your permission,
would willingly not be impeded in my progress, and under such
expectations I shall proceed.
Charles Sparkle was the son and only child of a Right Hon. Member of
Parliament, now no more, whose mother dying soon after his birth, was left
destitute of that maternal kindness and solicitude which frequently has so
much influence in forming the character of the future man.
His father, a man of eccentric turn of mind, being appointed soon
afterwards to a diplomatic situation abroad, left the care of his son's
education to an elderly friend of his, who held a situation of some
importance under the then existing government, with an injunction to
conceal from the boy the knowledge of his real parent, and to bring him up
as his own child.
This important trust was executed with tenderness and fidelity; the boy
grew in strength, and ripened in intelligence, and being accustomed to
consider his protector as his parent, the father, upon returning to England,
determined not to undeceive him, until he should arrive at years of
discretion; and with this view Mr. Orford was instructed at a proper age to
send him to Oxford.
Charles, however had contracted before this period, habits and
acquaintances in London, that were completely in opposition to the dictates
and inclinations of his supposed father. He became passionately fond of
literary amusements, music, and drawing, which served to occupy his

morning hours: but his evenings were devoted to the company of vitiated
associates, who did not fail to exercise their influence over his youthful
passions, and he frequently engaged himself in unlucky and improvident
adventures, which involved him in pecuniary difficulties far beyond his
stipulated income. These circumstances were no sooner made known to the
supposed parent, than they excited his displeasure, and being carried to an
unpardonable extent, he was, at the age of eighteen, literally banished the
house of his protector, and compelled to take an obscure lodging in the
vicinity of London; the rent of which was paid for him, and a scanty
allowance of one guinea sent to him regularly every Saturday night. Thus
secluded from his old associates, it will not be wondered at that he
contrived to form new ones, and having purchased an old harpsicord, turned
the musical instruction he had received to occasional account; he also wrote
some political pamphlets which were well received. But this solitary and
dependent life was wholly unsuited to the gaiety in which he had hitherto
moved. It had, however, the effect of drawing forth talent, which perhaps
would never, but for this circumstance, have been discovered; for

“Many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”

His writings, &c. under the name of Oribrd, were recognised by the real
father, as the productions of a promising son: at his instigation, and upon a
promise of reform, he was again restored to his former home, and shortly
after entered as a gentleman commoner of St. Mary's, Oxford; but not till he
had, by some means or other, made the discovery that Orford was not his
real name. Congenial spirits are naturally fond of associating, and it was
here that he first became acquainted with the Hon. Tom Dashall: they were
constant companions and mutual assistants to each other, in all their
exercises as well as all their vagaries; so as to cement a friendship and
interest in each other's fate, up to the moment of which we are now
speaking.
Orford, however, was at that time more impetuous and less discreet in the
pursuit of his pleasures than his honourable friend, and after obtaining the

distinction of Bachelor of Arts, was in consequence of his imprudence and
irregularities, after frequently hair-breadth escapes, expelled the college.
This circumstance, however, appeared of little consequence to him. He
hired a gig at Oxford, promising to return in a few days, and came up to
London, but had not effrontery enough to venture into the presence of his
reputed father. On arrival in town, he put up at an inn in the Borough, where
he resided till all the money he had was exhausted, and till, as he
emphatically observes, he had actually eaten his horse and chaise.
In the mean time, the people at Oxford found he was expelled; and as he
had not returned according to appointment, he was pursued, and eventually
found: they had no doubt of obtaining their demand from his friends, and he
was arrested at the suit of the lender; which was immediately followed by a
retainer from the inn-keeper where he had resided in town. Application was
made to Mr. Orford for his liberation, without effect; in consequence of
which he became a resident in the rules of the King's Bench, as his friends
conceived by this means his habits would be corrected and his future
conduct be amended, his real father still keeping in the back ground.
While in this confinement, he again resorted to the produce of his pen
and his talent for musical composition, and his friend Tom, at the first
vacation, did not fail to visit him. During this time, in the shape of donation,
from Mr. Orford he received occasional supplies more than equal to his
necessities, though not to his wishes. While here, he fished out some further
clue to the real parent, who visited him in disguise during his confinement
as a friend of Mr. Orford: still, however, he had no chance of liberation, till,
being one day called on by Mr. Orford, he was informed he was at perfect
liberty to leave his present abode, and was directed to go with him
immediately; a coach was called, and he heard the direction given to drive
to Bedford Square, where they arrived just time enough to learn that the
Right Hon. S. S. had breathed his last, after a lingering illness.
Upon alighting from the coach, and receiving this information, they were
ushered into the drawing-room, and presently joined by a clergyman who
had been the chaplain of the deceased, who acquainted our adventurer of
the death of his parent—that by will he was entitled to 10,000L. per annum,
and a handsome estate in Wiltshire. This sudden reverse of fortune to
Sparkle—the change from confinement to liberty, from indigence to
affluence—awakened sensations more easily to be conceived than

described. He wept, (perhaps the first tears of sincerity in his life; ) his heart
was subdued by an overwhelming flood of affection for that unknown
being, whom he now found had been his constant guardian angel,
alternately taking Orford and the reverend Divine by the hand, and hiding
his head in the bosom of his reputed father. At length they led him to the
room in which were the remains of his lamented parent.
There are perhaps few circumstances better calculated to impress awe on
the youthful mind than the contemplation of those features in death which
have been respected and revered while living. Such respect had ever been
entertained by Charles Sparkle for the supposed friend of Mr. Orford, from
whom he had several times received the most kind and affectionate advice;
and his sensations upon discovering that friend to be no other than his own
father, may be more easily conceived than described—he was at once
exalted and humbled, delighted and afflicted. He threw himself in an agony
of feeling by the bed-side, fell on his knees, in which he was joined by the
clergyman and Orford, where he remained some time.
After the first paroxysms of grief had subsided, young Sparkle, who had
already felt the strongest impression that could possibly be made on a
naturally good heart, gave orders for the funeral of his deceased father, and
then proceeded to make other arrangements suitable to the character he was
hereafter to sustain through life, went down to Wiltshire, and took
possession of his estate, where for a time he secluded himself, and devoted
his attention to the perusal of the best authors in the English, French, and
Italian language, under the superintendence of the reverend Divine, who
had been a resident for many years with his father.
But a life in the country could not long have superior charms for a young
man who had already seen much to admire, as well as much to avoid, in the
metropolis. The combination however of theoretical information he had
derived from books, as well as the practical observations he had made
during his residence in London, fitted him at once for the gayest and most
distinguished circles of metropolitan society. He therefore arranged with
Mr. Orford, who had formerly acted as his parent, to continue with him in
the capacity of steward, and for the last two years of his life had been
almost a constant resident at “Long's Hotel”, in Bond Street, not choosing
to have the charge of an establishment in town; and the early friendship and

attachment which had been cultivated at Oxford being again renewed,
appeared to grow with their growth, and strengthen with their strength.
Sparkle had still a large portion of that vivacity for which he was so
remarkable in his younger days. His motives and intentions were at all
times good, and if he indulged himself in the pursuits of frolic and fun, it
was never at the expence of creating an unpleasant feeling to an honest or
honourable mind. His fortune was ample. He had a hand to give, and a heart
to forgive; no “malice or hatred were there to be found:” but of these
qualifications, and the exercise of them, sufficient traits will be given in the
ensuing pages. No man was better up to the rigs of the town; no one better
down to the manoeuvres of the flats, and sharps. He had mingled with life
in all companies; he was at once an elegant and interesting companion; his
views were extensive upon all subjects; his conversation lively, and his
manners polished.
Such, gentle reader, is the brief sketch of Charles Sparkle, the esteemed
friend of the Hon. Tom Dashall, and with such recommendations it will not
be wondered at if he should become also the friend of Tally-ho; for,
although living in the height of fashionable splendour, his mind was at all
times in consonance with the lines which precede this chapter; yet none
could be more ready to lend a hand in any pleasant party in pursuit of a bit
of gig. A mill at Moulsey Hurst—a badger-bait, or bear-bait—a main at the
Cock-pit—a smock-race—or a scamper to the Tipping hunt, ultimately
claimed his attention; while upon all occasions he was an acute observer of
life and character.

“His years but young, but his experience old,
His heart unmellow'd, though his judgment ripe,
And in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that we now bestow)
He is complete in conduct and in mind,
With all good grace, to grace a gentleman.”

But dinner is over, and we must now accompany our triumvirate to the
drawing-room, where we find them seated with bottles, glasses, &c.
determined to make a quiet evening after the fatigues of the journey, and
with a view to prepare themselves for the more arduous, and to Tally-ho

more interesting, pursuits in the new world, for such he almost considered
London.
“Yes,” said Sparkle, addressing himself to Bob, with whom a little
previous conversation had almost rendered him familiar, “London is a
world within itself; it is, indeed, the only place to see life—it is the “multum
in parvo,” as the old song says,

“Would you see the world in little,
Ye curious here repair;”

it is the acmé of perfection, the “summum bonum” of style—-indeed,
there is a certain affectation of style from the highest to the lowest
individual.”
“You are a merry and stylish fellow,” said Tom; we should have been
hipp'd without you, there is a fund of amusement in you at all times.”
“You are a bit of a wag,” replied Sparkle, “but I am up to your gossip,
and can serve you out in your own style.”
“Every body,” says Tallyho, “appears to live in style.”
“Yes,” continued Sparkle, “living in style is one of the most essential
requisites for a residence in London; but I'll give you my idea of living in
style, which, by many, is literally nothing more than keeping up
appearances at other people's expence: for instance, a Duchess conceives it
to consist in taking her breakfast at three o'clock in the afternoon—dining at
eight—playing at Faro till four the next morning—supping at five, and
going to bed at six—and to eat green peas and peaches in January—in
making a half-curtsey at the creed, and a whole one to a scoundrel—in
giving fifty guineas to an exotic capon for a pit-ticket—and treating the
deserved claims of a parental actor with contempt—to lisp for the mere
purpose of appearing singular, and to seem completely ignorant of the
Mosaic law—to be in the reverse of extremes—to laugh when she could
weep, and weep when she could .dance and be merry—to leave her
compliment cards with her acquaintance, whom at the same moment she
wishes she may never see again—to speak of the community with marked
disrespect, and to consider the sacrament a bore!”
“Admirable!” said Tom.

“Wonderful, indeed!” exclaimed Tallyho.
“Aye, aye, London is full of wonders—there is a general and insatiate
appetite for the marvellous; but let us proceed: Now we'll take the reverse
of the picture. The Duke thinks he does things in style, by paying his debts
of honour contracted at the gaming-table, and but very few honourable
debts—by being harsh and severe to a private supplicant, while he is
publicly a liberal subscriber to a person he never saw—by leaving his vis-a-
vis at the door of a well-known courtesan, in order to have the credit of an
intrigue—in making use of an optical glass for personal inspection, though
he can ascertain the horizon without any—by being or seeming to be, every
thing that is in opposition to nature and virtue—in counting the lines in the
Red Book, and carefully watching the importation of figurantes from the
Continent—in roundly declaring that a man of fashion is a being of a
superior order, and ought to be amenable only to himself—in jumbling
ethics and physics together, so as to make them destroy each other—in
walking arm in arm with a sneering jockey—talking loudly any thing but
sense—and in burning long letters without once looking at their contents;...
and so much for my Lord Duke.”
“Go along Bob!” exclaimed Tom.
Tallyho conceiving himself addressed by this, looked up with an air of
surprise and enquiry, which excited the risibility of Dashall and Sparkle, till
it was explained to him as a common phrase in London, with which he
would soon become more familiar. Sparkle continued.
“The gay young Peerling, who is scarcely entitled to the honours and
immunities of manhood, is satisfied he is doing things in style, by raising
large sums of money on post-obit bonds, at the very moderate premium of
40 per cent.—in queering the clergyman at his father's table, and leaving
the marks of his finger and thumb on the article of matrimony in his aunt's
prayer-book—in kicking up a row at the theatre, when he knows he has
some roaring bullies at his elbow, though humble and dastardly when alone
—in keeping a dashing impure, who publicly squanders away his money,
and privately laughs at his follies—in buying a phaeton as high as a two
pair of stairs window, and a dozen of spanking bays at Tattersall's, and in
dashing through St. James's Street, Pall Mall, Piccadilly, and Hyde Park,
thus accompanied and accoutred, amidst the contumelies of the coxcombs

and the sighs of the worthy. And these are pictures of high life, of which the
originals are to be seen daily.
“The haberdasher of Cheapside, whose father, by adherence to the most
rigid economy, had amassed a competence, and who transmitted his
property, without his prudence, to his darling son, is determined to shew his
spirit, by buying a bit of blood, keeping his gig, his girl, and a thatched
cottage on the skirts of Epping Forest, or Sydenham Common; but as
keeping a girl and a gig would be a nothing unless all the world were up to
it, he regularly drives her to all the boxing-matches, the Epping hunt, and
all the races at Barnet, Epsom, Egham, and Ascot Heath, where he places
himself in one of the most conspicuous situations; and as he knows his
racing, &c. must eventually distinguish his name in the Gazette with a
whereas! he rejoices in the progress and acceleration of his own ruin, and,
placing his arms akimbo, he laughs, sings, swears, swaggers, and
vociferates—'What d'ye think o' that now,—is'nt this doing it in stile, eh?'
“Prime of life to go it, where's a place like London? Four in hand to-day,
the next you may be undone.”

“Well, Sir, the mercer's wife, from Watling Street, thinks living in style is
evinced by going once a year to a masquerade at the new Museodeum, or
Argyle Rooms; having her daughters taught French, dancing, and music—
dancing a minuet at Prewterers' Hall, or Mr. Wilson's{1} annual benefit—in
getting a good situation in the green boxes—going to Hampstead or
Copenhagen House in a glass coach on a Sunday—having card-parties at
home

1 Mr. Wilson's flaming bills of “Dancing at the Old Bailey,”
which are so profusely stuck up about the city, are said to
have occasioned several awkward jokes and blunders; among
others related, is that of a great unintellectual Yorkshire
booby, who, after staring at the bills with his mouth open,
and his saucer eyes nearly starting out of his head with
astonishment, exclaimed, “Dang the buttons on't, I zee'd urn
dangling all of a row last Wednesday at t' Ould Bailey, but
didn't know as how they call'd that danzing,—by gum there
be no understanding these here Lunnun folk!”

during Lent, declaring she never drinks any thing else but the most
bestest gunpowder tea, that she has a most screwciating cold, and that the
country air is always salubrus, and sure to do her good.
“So much for living in style, and good breeding.”

“That's your true breeding—that's your sort my boys—
Fun, fire, and pathos—metre, mirth, and noise;
To make you die with laughter, or the hiccups,
Tickle your favourites, or smash your tea-cups.”

“By the way, in former times the term good-breeding meant a
combination of all that was amiable and excellent; and a well-bred person
would shrink from an action or expression that could possibly wound the
feelings of another; its foundation was laid in truth, and its supporting
pillars were justice and integrity, sensibility and philanthropy; but

“In this gay age—in Taste's enlighten'd times,
When Fashion sanctifies the basest crimes;
E'en not to swear and game were impolite,
Since he who sins in style must sure be right.”

A well-bred person must learn to smile when he is angry, and to laugh
even when he is vexed to the very soul.

“It would be the height of mauvaise honte for a wellbred person to blush
upon any occasions whatever; no young lady blushes after eleven years of
age; to study the expression of the countenance of others, in order to govern
your own, is indispensably necessary.
“In former times, no well-bred person would have uttered a falsehood;
but now such ideas are completely exploded, and such conduct would now
be termed a bore. My Lord Portly remarks, 'It is a cold day.' 'Yes, my Lord,
it is a very cold day,' replies Major Punt. In two minutes after, meeting Lord
Lounge, who observes he thinks the weather very warm—'Yes, very warm,
my Lord,' is the reply—thus contradicting himself almost in the same
breath. It would be perfectly inconsistent in a well-bred man to think, for
fear of being absent. When he enters or leaves a drawing-room, he should
round his shoulders, drop his head, and imitate a clown or a coachman. This
has the effect of the best ruse de guerre—for it serves to astonish the ladies,
when they afterwards discover, by the familiarity of his address, and his
unrestrained manners, what a well-bred man he is; for he will address every
fair one in the room in the most enchanting terms, except her to whom in
the same party he had previously paid the most particular attention; and on
her he will contrive to turn his back for the whole evening, and if he is a
man of fashion, he will thus cause triumph to the other ladies, and save the
neglected fair one from envious and slanderous whisperings.”
“An admirable picture of living in style, and good breeding, indeed!”
cried Tom. “The game is in view and well worth pursuit; so hark forward!
hark forward! my boys.”
Sparkle, now recollecting his engagement—with “you know who” as he
significantly observed in the last Chapter, withdrew, after promising to take
a stroll by way of killing an hour or two with them in the morning; and Tom
and his Cousin soon after retired to rest—

“Perchance to sleep, perchance to dream.”

CHAPTER VI

“The alarm was so strong.
So loud and so long,
?Twas surely some robber, or sprite,
Who without any doubt
Was prowling about
To fill ev'ry heart with affright.”

THE smiles of a May morning, bedecked with the splendid rays of a
rising sun, awakened Tallyho about five o'clock, and being accustomed to
rise early in the country, he left the downy couch of soft repose, and sought
his way down stairs. Not a sound of any kind was to be heard in the house,
but the rattling of the carts and the coaches in the streets, with the deep-
toned accompaniment of a dustman's bell, and an occasional ab libitum of
“Clothes—clothes sale,” gave Bob an idea that all the world was moving.
However he could find nobody up; he walked into the drawing-room,
amused himself for some time by looking out of the window, indulging his
observations and remarks, without knowing what to make of the moving
mass of incongruities which met his eye, and wondering what time the
servants of the house would wake: he tried the street-door, but found it
locked, bolted, and chained; and if he had known where to have found his
friend Tom, he would have aroused him with the View halloo.
“It is strange,” thought he to himself, “all the world seems abroad, and
yet not a soul stirring here!” Then checking the current of his reflections,
“But this,” said he, “is Life in London. Egad! I must not make a noise,
because it will not be good breeding.” In this wray he sauntered about the
house for near two hours, till at last espying his portmanteau, which had
been left in the passage by the servants the previous evening—“I'll carry
this up stairs,” said he, “by way of amusement;” and carelessly shouldering
the portmanteau, he was walking deliberately up stairs, when his ears were
suddenly attracted by a loud cry of “Murder, murder, thieves, murder!” and
the violent ringing of a bell. Alarmed at these extraordinary sounds, which
appeared to be near him at a moment when he conceived no soul was
stirring, he dropped his portmanteau over the banisters, which fell,

(demolishing in its way an elegant Grecian patent lamp with glass shades,
drops, &c.) into the passage below with a hideous crash, while the cry of
Murder, thieves, murder, was repeated by many voices, and rendered him
almost immoveable. In the next moment, the butler, the cook, the groom,
and indeed every person in the house, appeared on the stair-case, some
almost in a state of nudity, and shrinking from each other's gaze, and all
armed with such weapons as chance had thrown in their way, to attack the
supposed depredator.
Among the rest, fortunately for Tallyho, (who stood balancing himself
against the banisters in a state of indecision whether he should ascend or
descend) Tom Dashall in his night-gown burst out of his room in alarm at
the noise, with a brace of pistols, one in his hand in the very act of cocking
it, and the other placed in convenient readiness under his left arm. “Why,
what the devil is the matter?” vociferated he, and at that moment his eye
caught the agitated figure of his Cousin Bob, on the half-landing place
below him. At the sound of his well-known voice, the innocent and
unsuspecting cause of this confusion and alarm looked up at his friend, as if
half afraid and half ashamed of the occurrence, and stammered out, “Where
is the thief?—Who is murdered?—I'll swear there is something broke
somewhere—tell me which way to go!” Tom looked around him at the
group of half-clad nymphs and swains, (who were now huddling together,
conceiving their security lay in combination, and finding all eyes were
placed with astonishment and wonder on Bob) began to see through what
had happened, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; which relieved
the frightened damsels, but so confounded poor Tallyho, that he scarcely
knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels. “Why,” said Tom,
addressing himself to his Cousin, “you will get yourself murdered if you go
wandering about people's houses at the dead of the night in this manner—
are you asleep or awake?—who have you made an assignation with—or
where are you going to—what are you up to, Master Bobby, eh?—These
tricks won't do here!”

“Is't Love's unhallow'd flame invites to roam,
And bids you from your pillow creep?
Or say, why thus disturb my peaceful home,
Like Macbeth, who doth murder sleep.”

Tallyho was unable to reply: he looked down over the banister—he
looked up at the risible features of Tom Dashall, who was almost bursting at
the ludicrous situation in which he found his friend and his servants.
“Come,” said Tom, “there are no thieves—all's right”—to the servants,
“you may quiet your minds and go to business. Bob, I'll be down with you
presently.” Upon this, the stair-case was cleared in an instant of all but the
unfortunate Tallyho; and peace appeared to be restored in the family, but not
to Bob's mind, conceiving he had committed a gross violation of good
breeding, and shewn but a bad specimen of his aptitude to become a learner
of London manners. It must be confessed, it was rather an awkward
commencement; however, in a few minutes, recovering himself from the
fright, he crawled gently down the stairs, and took a survey of the
devastation he had made—cursed the lamp, d——d the portmanteau—then
snatching it from the ruin before him, and again placing his luggage on his
shoulder, he quietly walked up stairs to his bed-room.
It is much to be lamented in this wonderful age of discovery and
continual improvement, that our philosophers have not yet found out a
mode of supplying the place of glass (as almost every thing else) with cast-
iron. The substitution of gas for oil has long been talked of, as one of
national importance, even so much so, that one man, whose ideas were as
brilliant as his own experiments, has endeavoured to shew that its produce
would in a short time pay off the national debt!{1}
“A consummation devoutly to be wished;” and experience has taught the
world at large there is nothing impossible, nor is there any one in existence
more credulous than honest John Bull. But we are

1 Mr. Winsor, the original lecturer on the powers of gas, in
Pall Mall.
digressing from the adventure of the lamp, however it was occasioned, by
clearly proving it was not a patent safety-lamp: and that among the luxuries
of the Hon. Tom Dashall's habitation, gas had not yet been introduced, will
speedily be discovered.
Upon arriving in his bed-room, wondering within himself how he should
repair the blundering mistake, of which he had so unluckily been the
unwilling and unconscious author, he found himself in a new dilemma, as
the receptacle of the oil had fallen with the lamp, and plentifully bedewed

the portmanteau with its contents, so that he had now transferred the
savoury fluid to his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. What was to be done
in such a case? He could not make his appearance in that state; but his
mortifications were not yet at an end—

“Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arise.”

The key of his portmanteau was missing; he rummaged all his pockets in
vain—he turned them inside out—it was not here—it was not there;
enraged at the multiplicity of disappointments to which he was subjected,
he cut open the leathern carriage of his wardrobe with a penknife;
undressed, and re-dressed himself; by which time it was half-past eight
o'clock. His Cousin Tom, who had hurried down according to promise, had
in the mean time been making enquiry after him, and now entered the room,
singing,

“And all with attention would eagerly mark:
When he cheer'd up the pack—Hark! to Rockwood hark! hark!”

At the sight of Dashall, he recovered himself from his embarrassment,
and descended with him to the breakfast-parlour.
“Did you send to Robinson's?” enquired Tom of one of the servants, as
they entered the room. “Yes, Sir,” was the reply; “and Weston's too?”
continued he; being answered in the affirmative, “then let us have breakfast
directly.” Then turning to Bob, “Sparkle,” said he, “promised to be with us
about eleven, for the purpose of taking a stroll; in the mean time we must
dress and make ready.”—“Dress,” said Bob, “Egad! I have dressed and
made ready twice already this morning.” He then recounted the adventures
above recorded; at which Dashall repeatedly burst into fits of immoderate
laughter. Breakfast being over, a person from Mr. Robinson's was
announced, and ushered into the room.
A more prepossessing appearance had scarcely met Bob's eye—a tall,
elegant young man, dressed in black, cut in the extreme of fashion, whose
features bespoke intelligence, and whose air and manner were indicative of
a something which to him was quite new. He arose upon his entrance, and
made a formal bow; which was returned by the youth. “Good morning,

gentlemen.”—“Good morning, Mr. R——,” said Tom, mentioning a name
celebrated by
Pope in the following lines:

“But all my praises, why should lords engross?
Bise, honest Muse, and sing the man of Boss.”

“I am happy to have the honour of seeing you in town again, Sir! The
fashionables are mustering very strong, and the prospect of the approaching
coronation appears to be very attractive.” During this time he was occupied
in opening a leathern case, which contained combs, brushes, &c.; then
taking off his coat, he appeared in a jacket with an apron, which, like a
fashionable pinafore of the present day, nearly concealed his person, from
his chin to his toes. “Yes,” replied Dashall, “the coronation is a subject of
deep importance just now in the circles of fashion,” seating himself in his
chair, in readiness for the operator,{1} who, Bob now discovered, was no
other than the Peruquier.

1 The progress of taste and refinement is visible in all
situations, and the language of putting has become so well
understood by all ranks of society, that it is made use of
by the most humble and obscure tradesmen of the metropolis.
One remarkable instance ought not to be omitted here. In a
narrow dirty street, leading from the Temple towards
Blackfriars, over a small triangular-fronted shop, scarcely
big enough to hold three persons at a time, the eye of the
passing traveller is greeted with the following welcome
information, painted in large and legible characters, the
letters being each nearly a foot in size:—

HAIR CUT AND MODERNIZED!!!

This is the true “Multum in parvo “—a combination of
the “Utile et dulce,” the very acme of perfection.
Surely, after this, to Robinson, Vickery, Boss, and Cryer, we
may say—“Ye lesser stars, hide your diminished heads.”

The art of puffing may be further illustrated by the
following specimen of the Sublime, which is inserted here
for the information of such persons as, residing in the
country, have had no opportunity of seeing the original.
“R—— makes gentlemen's and ladies' perukes on an entire
new system; which for lightness, taste, and ease, are
superior to any other in Europe. He has exerted the genius
and abilities of the first artists to complete his
exhibition of ornamental hair, in all its luxuriant
varieties, where the elegance of nature and convenience of
art are so blended, as at once to rival and ameliorate each
other. Here his fair patrons may uninterruptedly examine the
effects of artificial tresses, or toupees of all
complexions, and, in a trial on themselves, blend the
different tints with their own!”

The strife for pre-eminence in this art is not however
confined to this country; for we find an instance recorded
in an American newspaper, which may perhaps be equally
amusing and acceptable:—

“A. C. D. La vigne, having heard of the envious expressions
uttered by certain common barbers, miserable chin-scrapers,
and frizulary quacks, tending to depreciate that superiority
which genius is entitled to, and talents will invariably
command, hereby puts them and their vulgar arts at defiance;
and, scorning to hold parley with such sneaking imps,
proposes to any gentleman to defend and maintain, at his
shop, the head quarters of fashion, No. 6, South Gay Street,
against all persons whomsoever, his title to supremacy in
curlery, wiggery, and razory, to the amount of one hundred
dollars and upwards. As hostile as he is to that low style
of puffery adopted by a certain adventurer, 'yclept Higgins,
Lavigne cannot avoid declaring, in the face of the world,
that his education has been scientifical; that after having
finished his studies at Paris, he took the tour of the

universe, having had the rare fortune of regulating the
heads of Catherine the Second, and the Grand Turk; the King
of Prussia, and the Emperor of China; the Mamelukes of
Egypt, and the Dey of Algiers; together with all the ladies
of their respective Courts. He has visited the Cape of Good
Hope, India, Java, Madagascar, Tartary, and Kamschatka,
whence he reached the United States by the way of Cape Horn.
In England he had previously tarried, where he delivered
Lectures on Heads in great style. He has at last settled in
Baltimore, determined to devote the remainder of his days to
the high profession to which his des-tiny has called him;
inviting all the literati, the lovers of the arts and
sciences, to visit him at his laboratory of beauty, where he
has separate rooms for accommodating ladies and gentlemen,
who desire to adorn their heads with hairudition. “Can
France, England—nay, the world itself, produce such
another specimen of puffing and barberism?
"And pray,” continued Tom, “what is there new in the haut ton? Has there
been any thing of importance to attract attention since my absence?
“Nothing very particular,” was the reply—“all very dull and flat. Rumour
however, as usual, has not been inactive; two or three trifling faux pas, and
—oh!—yes—two duels—one in the literary world: two authors, who, after
attacking each other with the quill, chose to decide their quarrel with the
pistol, and poor Scot lost his life! But how should authors understand such
things? The other has made a great noise in the world—You like the
Corinthian cut, I believe, Sir?”
“I believe so too,” said Tom—“but don't you cut the duel so short—who
were the parties?”
“Oh! aye, why one, Sir, was a celebrated leader of ton, no other than
Lord Shampêtre, and the other Mr. Webb, a gentleman well known: it was a
sort of family affair. His lordship's gallantry and courage, however, were
put to the test, and the result bids fair to increase his popularity. The cause
was nothing very extraordinary, but the effect had nearly proved fatal to his
Lordship.”
“What, was he wounded?” enquired Tom.

“It was thought so at first,” replied the Peruquier, “but it was afterwards
discovered that his Lordship had only fainted at the report of his opponent's
pistol.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Tom, “then it was a bloodless battle—but I should like
to know more of the particulars.”
“Hold your head a little more this way, Sir, if you please—that will do, I
thank you, Sir;—why, it appears, that in attempting to fulfil an assignation
with Mr. Webb's wife, the husband, who had got scent of the appointment,
as to place and time, lustily cudgelled the dandy Lord Whiskerphiz, and
rescued his own brows from certain other fashionable appendages, for
which he had no relish. His Lordship's whiskers were injured, by which
circumstance some people might conceive his features and appearance must
have been improved, however that was not his opinion; his bones were sore,
and his mind (that is to say, as the public supposed) hurt. The subject
became a general theme of conversation, a Commoner had thrashed a Lord!
—flesh and blood could not bear it—but then such flesh and blood could as
little bear the thought of a duel—Lord Polly was made the bearer of a
challenge—a meeting took place, and at the first fire his Lordship fell. A
fine subject for the caricaturists, and they have not failed to make a good
use of it. The fire of his Lordship's features was so completely obscured by
his whiskers and mustachios, that it was immediately concluded the shot
had proved mortal, till Lord Polly (who had taken refuge for safety behind a
neighbouring tree) advancing, drew a bottle from his pocket, which, upon
application to his nose, had the desired effect of restoring the half-dead
duellist to life and light. The Seconds interfered, and succeeded in bringing
the matter to a conclusion, and preventing the expected dissolution of
Shampetre, who, report says, has determined not to place himself in such a
perilous situation again. The fright caused him a severe illness, from which
he has scarcely yet recovered sufficiently to appear in public—I believe that
will do, Sir; will you look in the glass—can I make any alteration?”
“Perhaps not in your story,” replied Tom; “and as to my head, so as you
do not make it like the one you have been speaking of, I rely solely on your
taste and judgment.”
The Peruquier made his bow—“Sir, your politeness is well known!” then
turning to Tallyho, “Will you allow me the honour of officiating for you,
Sir?”

“Certainly,” replied Bob, who by this time had seen the alteration made
in his Cousin's appearance, as well as been delighted with the account of the
duel, at which they all laughed during the narration—and immediately
prepared for action, while Dashall continued his enquiries as to the
fashionable occurrences during his absence.
“There have been some other circumstances, of minor importance,”
continued the Peruquier—“it is said that a certain Lord, of high military
character, has lost considerable sums of money, and seriously impaired his
fortune—Lord —— and a friend are completely ruined at hazard—there
was a most excellent mill at Moulsey Hurst on Thursday last, between the
Gas-light man, who appears to be a game chicken, and a prime hammerer—
he can give and take with any man—and Oliver—Gas beat him hollow, it
was all Lombard-street to a china orange. The Masked Festival on the 18th
is a subject of considerable attraction, and wigs of every nature, style, and
fashion, are in high request for the occasion—The Bob, the Tye, the Natural
Scratch, the Full Bottom, the Queue, the Curl, the Clerical, the Narcissus,
the Auricula, the Capital, the Corinthian, the Roman, the Spanish, the
French, the Dutch—oh! we are full of business just now. Speaking of the
art, by the by, reminds me of a circumstance which occurred a very short
time back, and which shows such a striking contrast between the low-bred
citizens, and the True Blues of the West!—have the kindness to hold your
head a little on one side, Sir, if you please—a little more towards the light,
if you please—that will do excellently—why you'll look quite another
thing!—From the country, I presume?” “You are right,” said Bob, “but I
don't want a wig just yet.”
“Shall be happy to fit you upon all occasions—masquerade, ball, or
supper, Sir: you may perhaps wish to go out, as we say in the West, in coy.
—happy to receive your commands at any time, prompt attention and
dispatch.”
“Zounds! you are clipping the wig too close,” said Tom, impatient to hear
the story, “and if you go on at this rate, you won't leave us even the tail
(tale).”
“Right, Sir, I take—'and thereby hangs a tale.' The observation is in point,
verbum sat, as the latinist would say. Well, Sir, as I was saying, a citizen,
with a design to outdo his neighbours, called at one of the first shops in
London a very short time since, and gave particular orders to have his

pericranium fitted with a wig of the true royal cut. The dimensions of his
upper story were taken—the order executed to the very letter of the
instructions—it fitted like wax—it was nature—nay it soared beyond nature
—it was the perfection of art—the very acmé of science! Conception was
outdone, and there is no power in language to describe it. He was delighted;
his wife was charmed with the idea of a new husband, and he with his new
wig; but

“Now comes the pleasant joke of all,
?Tis when too close attack'd we fall.”

The account was produced—-would you believe it, he refused to have it
—he objected to the price.”
“The devil take it!” said Tom, “object to pay for the acme of perfection;
this unnaturally natural wig would have fetched any money among the
collectors of curiosities.”
“What was the price?” enquired Bob.
“Trifling, Sir, very trifling, to an artist 'of the first water,' as a jeweller
would say by his diamonds—only thirty guineas!!!”
“Thirty guineas!” exclaimed Bob, starting from his seat, and almost
overturning the modernizer of his head.
Then, recollecting Sparkle's account of Living in Style, and Good
Breeding, falling gently into his seat again.
“Did I hurt you, Sir?” exclaimed the Peruquier.
Dashall bit his lip, and smiled at the surprise of his Cousin, which was
now so visibly depicted in his countenance.
“Not at all,” replied Tallyho.
“In two minutes more, Sir, your head will be a grace to; Bond Street or
St. James's; it cuts well, and looks well; and if you will allow me to attend
you once a month, it will continue so.”
Tom hummed a tune, and looked out of the window; the other two were
silent till Bob was released. Tom tip'd the blunt, and the interesting young
man made his congé, and departed.
“A very interesting and amusing sort of person,” said Bob.

“Yes,” replied Tom, “he is a walking volume of information: he knows
something of every thing, and almost of every body. He has been in better
circumstances, and seen a great deal of life; his history is somewhat
remarkable, and some particulars, not generally known, have excited a
considerable portion of interest in his fate among those who are acquainted
with them. He is the son, before marriage, of a respectable and worthy
tradesman, a celebrated vender of bear's grease,{1} lately deceased, who

1 The infallibility of this specimen cannot possibly be
doubted, after reading the following

Advertisement:
“Bear's grease has virtues, many, great and rare;
To hair decay'd, life, health, and vigour giving;

?Tis sold by——, fam'd for cutting hair,

At ——-.—————————————————- living.

Who then would lose a head of hair for trying?
A thousand tongues are heard 'I won't,' replying;

T——r no doubt with bear's grease can supply
A thousand more, when they're dispos'd to buy.

No deception!—Seven Bears publicly exhibited in seven
months, and not an agent on the globe's surface.—Sold upon
oath, from 1L. to 10s. 6d. The smallest child will direct
to ——, near the church—a real Bear over the door,
where a good peruke is charged 1L.. 10s. equal to those
produced by Mr. T., at B——ss's, for 2L. 12s. 6d.—Scalp
10s. 6d. and 6d. only for hair-cutting—never refusing one
shilling.

N. B. Bear's-grease effects wonders for the knees &c. of
horses.”

resided in the vicinity of Cornhill, and was for many years brought up
under his roof as his nephew; in which situation, the elegance of his person,
the vivacity of his disposition, and the general information he acquired,
became subjects of attraction. His education was respectable for his
situation, and his allowance liberal. His father however marrying a young
lady of some property, and he, 'gay, light, and airy,' falling into bad hands,
found his finances not sufficient to support the company he kept, and by
these means involved himself in pecuniary difficulties, which, however, (if
report say true) were more than once or twice averted by the indulgent
parent. In the course of time, the family was increased by two sons, but he
continued the flower of the flock. At length it was intended by his father to
retire, in part, from business, and leave its management to this young man,
and another who had been many years in his service, and whose successful
endeavours in promoting his interest were well deserving his consideration;
and the writings for this purpose were actually drawn up. Previous however
to their execution, he was dispatched to Edinburgh, to superintend an
extensive concern of his father's in that city, where, meeting with an
amiable young lady with some expectations, he married without the consent
of his parent, a circumstance which drew down upon him the good man's
displeasure.
“Not at all dismayed at this, he almost immediately left his father's shop,
and set up business for himself in the same neighbourhood, where he
continued for two or three years, living, as it was supposed, upon the
produce of his matrimonial connexion. At length, however, it was
discovered that he was insolvent, and bankruptcy became the consequence.
Here he remained till affairs were arranged, and then returned to London
with his wife and two children.
“In the mean time, the legitimate family of his father had become useful
in the business, and acquainted with his former indiscretions, which,
consequently, were not likely to be obliterated from the old gentleman's
recollection. Without money and without prospect, he arrived in London,
where, for some unliquidated debt, he was arrested and became a resident in
the King's Bench, from which he was liberated by the Insolvent Debtor's
Act. Emancipated from this, he took small shops, or rather rooms, in
various parts of the city, vainly endeavouring to support the character he
had formerly maintained. These however proved abortive. Appeals to his

father were found fruitless, and he has consequently, after a series of
vicissitudes, been compelled to act as a journeyman.
In the career of his youth, he distinguished himself as a dashing, high-
spirited fellow. He was selected as fuegel man to a regiment of Volunteers,
and made himself conspicuous at the celebrated O. P. row, at the opening of
Covent Garden Theatre, on which occasion he attracted the notice of the
Caricaturists,{1} and was generally known in the circles of High Life, by
his attendance on the first families on behalf of his father.
But perhaps the most remarkable circumstance took place at his deceased
parent's funeral. Being so reduced at that time as to have no power even of
providing the necessary apparel to manifest the respect, gratitude, and
affection, he had ever entertained for the author of his being; and as a
natural son has no legal claims upon his father, so naturally nothing was left
for him; he applied by letter to the legitimates for a suit of mourning, and
permission to attend the remains of their common father to the last
receptacle of mortality, which being peremptorily refused, he raised a
subscription, obtained clothing, with a gown and hatband, and, as the
melancholy procession was moving to the parish church, which was but a
few yards distance, he rushed from his hiding-place, stationed himself
immediately in the front of the other attendants upon the occasion, and
actually accompanied the corpse as chief mourner, having previously
concerted with his own mother to be upon the spot. When the body was
deposited in the vault, he took her by the hand, led her down the steps, and
gave some directions to the bearers as to the situation of the coffin, while
the other mourners, panic-struck at the extraordinary circumstances in
which they found themselves, turned about and walked in mournful silence
back, ruminating on the past with amazement, and full of conjecture for the
future.

1 A caricature of a similar nature to the one alluded to by
Dashall in this description, was certainly exhibited at the
time of the memorable 0. P. row, which exhibited a young man
of genteel appearance in the pit of Covent Garden Theatre,
addressing the audience. It had inscribed at the bottom
of it,

Is this Barber-Ross-a?

in allusion (no doubt) to the tragedy of Barbarossa.
"It was an extraordinary situation for all parties,” said Bob; “but hold,
who have we here?—Egad! there is an elegant carriage drawn up to the
door; some Lord, or Nobleman, I'll be bound for it—We can't be seen in this
deshabille, I shall make my escape.” And saying this, he was hastening out
of the room.
“Ha! ha! ha!” exclaimed Tom, “you need not be so speedy in your flight.
This is one of the fashionable requisites of London, with whom you must
also become acquainted; there is no such thing as doing without them—
dress and address are indispensables. This is no other than one of the
decorators.”
“Decorators!” continued Bob, not exactly comprehending him.
“Monsieur le Tailleur—'Tin Mr. W——, from Cork Street, come to
exhibit his Spring patterns, and turn us out with the new cut—so pray
remain where you are.”
“Tailor—decorator,” said Bob—“Egad! the idea is almost as ridiculous as
the representation of the taylor riding to Brentford.”
By this time the door was opened, and Mr. W. entered, making his bow
with the precision of a dancing-master, and was followed by a servant with
pattern-books, the other apparatus of his trade. The first salutations over,
large pattern-books were displayed upon the table, exhibiting to view a
variety of fancy-coloured cloths, and measures taken accordingly. During
which time, Tom, as on the former occasion, continued his enquiries
relative to the occurrences in the fashionable world.
“Rather tame, Sir, at present: the Queen's unexpected visit to the two
theatres was for a time a matter of surprise—the backwardness of Drury
Lane managers to produce 'God Save the King,' has been construed into
disloyalty to the Sovereign—and a laughable circumstance took place on
his going to the same house a few nights back, which has already been
made the subject of much merriment, both in conversation and caricature. It
appears that Mr. Gloss'em, who is a shining character in the theatrical
world, at least among the minors of the metropolis; and whose father was
for many years a wax-chandler in the neighbourhood of Soho, holds a
situation as clerk of the cheque to the Gentlemen Pensioners of his

Majesty's household, as well as that of Major Domo, manager and
proprietor of a certain theatre, not half a mile from Waterloo Bridge.
A part of his duty in the former capacity is to attend occasionally upon
the person of the King, as one of the appendages of Royalty; in which
character he appeared on the night in question. The servants of the
attendants who were in waiting for their masters, had a room appropriated
to their use. One of these latter gentry, no other than Gloss'em's servant,
being anxious to have as near a view of the sacred person of his Majesty as
his employer, had placed himself in a good situation at the door, in order to
witness his departure, when a Mr. Winpebble, of mismanaging notoriety,
and also a ponderous puff, assuming managerial authority, espying him,
desired the police-officers and guards in attendance to turn out the lamp-
lighter's boy, pointing to Gloss'em's servant. This, it seems, was no sooner
said than done, at the point of the bayonet. Some little scuffle ensued—His
Majesty and suite departed—Hold up your arm, Sir.”
“But did the matter end there?” enquired Dashall.
“O dear, no—not exactly.”
“Because if it did,” continued Tom, “in my opinion, it began with a wax
taper, and ended in the smoke of a farthing rushlight. You have made it
appear to be a gas-receiver without supplies.”
“I beg pardon,” said Mr. W.; “the pipes are full, but the gas is not yet
turned on.”
This created a laugh, and Mr. W. proceeded:—
“The next day, the servant having informed his Master of the treatment
he had received, a gentleman was dispatched from Gloss'em to Winpebble,
to demand an apology: which being refused, the former, with a large
horsewhip under his arm, accosted the latter, and handsomely belaboured
his shoulders with lusty stripes. That, you see, Sir, sets the gas all in a blaze.
—That will do, Sir.—Now, Sir, at your service,” addressing himself to
Tallyho.
“Yes,” said Tom, “the taper's alight again now; and pray what was the
consequence?”
“Winpebble called for assistance, which was soon obtained, and away
they went to Bow-street. Manager Taper, and Manager Vapour—the one
blazing with fire, and the other exhausted with thrashing;—'twas a laughing

scene. Manager Strutt, and Manager Butt, were strutting and butting each
other. The magistrate heard the case, and recommended peace and quietness
between them, by an amicable adjustment. The irritated minds of the now
two enraged managers could not be brought to consent to this. Gloss'em
declared the piece should be repeated, having been received with the most
rapturous applause. Winpebble roundly swore that the piece was ill got up,
badly represented, and damn'd to all intents and purposes—that the author
had more strength than wit—and though not a friend to injunctions himself,
he moved for an injunction against Gloss'em; who was at length something
like the renowned John Astley with his imitator Rees:
“This great John Astley, and this little Tommy Rees, Were both bound
over to keep the King's Peas.”
Gloss'em was bound to keep the peace, and compelled to find security in
the sum of twenty pounds. Thus ended the farce of The Enraged Managers
—Drury Lane in a Blaze, or Bow Street bewildered.”
“Ha! ha! ha! an animated sort of vehicle for public amusement truly,”
said Tom, “and of course produced with new scenery, music, dresses, and
decorations; forming a combination of attractions superior to any ever
exhibited at any theatre—egad! it would make a most excellent scene in a
new pantomime.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Mr. W. “true, Sir, true; and the duel of Lord Shampetre
would have also its due portion of effect; but as his Lordship is a good
customer of mine, you must excuse any remarks on that circumstance.”
“We have already heard of his Lordship's undaunted courage and
firmness, as well as the correctness of his aim.”
“He! he! he!” chuckled W.; “then I fancy your information is not very
correct, for it appears his lordship displayed a want of every one of those
qualities that you impute to him; however, I venture to hope no unpleasant
measures will result from the occurrence, as I made the very pantaloons he
wore upon the occasion. It seems he is considerably cut up; but you must
know that, previous to the duel, I was consulted upon the best mode of
securing his sacred person from the effects of a bullet: I recommended a
very high waistband lined with whale-bone, and well padded with horse-
hair, to serve as a breast-plate, and calculated at once to produce warmth,
and resist penetration. The pantaloons were accordingly made, thickly
overlaid with extremely rich and expensive gold lace, and considered to be

stiff enough for any thing—aye, even to keep his Lordship erect. But what
do you suppose was the effect of all my care? I should not like to make a
common talk of it, but so it certainly was: his Lordship had no objection to
the whalebone, buckram, &c. outside of him, but was fearful that if his
antagonist's fire should be well-directed, his tender body might be
additionally hurt by the splinters of the whalebone being carried along with
it, and actually proposed to take them off before the dreadful hour of
appointment came on. In this however he was fortunately overruled by his
Second, who, by the by, was but a goose in the affair, and managed it
altogether very badly, except in the instance of being prompt with the
smelling-bottle, which certainly was well-timed; and it would have been a
hissing hot business, but for the judicious interference of the other Second.”
A loud laugh succeeded this additional piece of information relative to
the affair of honour; and Snip having finished his measurement, colours
were fixed upon, and he departed, promising to be punctual in the delivery
of the new habiliments on the next day.
“I am now convinced,” said Bob, “of the great importance and utility of a
London tradesman, and the speed of their execution is wonderful!”
“Yes,” replied Tom, “it is only to be equalled by the avidity with which
they obtain information, and the rapidity with which they circulate it—why,
in another half hour your personal appearance, the cut of your country coat,
your complexion and character, as far as so short an interview would allow
for obtaining it, will be known to all his customers—they are generally
quick and acute discerners. But come, we must be making ready for our
walk, it is now half-past ten o'clock—Sparkle will be here presently. It is
time to be dressing, as I mean to have a complete ramble during the day,
take a chop somewhere on the road, and in the evening, my boy, we'll take a
peep into the theatre. Lord Byron's tragedy of Marino Faliero is to be
performed to-night, and I can, I think, promise you a treat of the highest
kind.”
Tallyho, who had no idea of dressing again, having already been obliged
to dress twice, seemed a little surprised at the proposition, but supposing it
to be the custom of London, nodded assent, and proceeded to the dressing-
room. As he walked up stairs he could not help casting his visual orbs over
the banisters, just to take a bird's eye view of the scene of his morning
disasters, of which, to his great astonishment and surprise, not a vestige

remained—a new lamp had been procured, which seemed to have arisen
like a phoenix from its ashes, and the stone passage and stairs appeared as
he termed it, “as white as a cauliflower.” At the sight of all this, he was
gratified and delighted, for he expected to find a heap of ruins to reproach
him. He skipped, or rather vaulted up the stairs, three or four at a stride,
with all the gaiety of a race-horse when first brought to the starting-post.
The rapid movements of a Life in London at once astonished and
enraptured him; nor did he delay his steps, or his delight, until he had
reached the topmost story, when bursting open the door, lie marched boldly
into the room. Here again he was at fault; a female shriek assailed his ear,
which stopped his course, and looking around him, he could not find from
whence the voice proceeded. “Good God!” continued the same voice, “what
can be the meaning of this intrusion?—Begone, rash man.” In the mean
time, Tom, who was in a room just under the one into which he had
unfortunately made so sudden an entrance, appeared at the door.
“What the devil is the matter now?” said Tom; when spying his cousin in
the centre of the room, without seeming to know whether to return or
remain, he could not restrain his laughter. Tallyho looked up, like one in a
dream—then down—then casting his eyes around him, he perceived in the
corner, peeping out from the bed-curtains in which she had endeavoured to
hide her almost naked person, the head of the old Housekeeper. The picture
was moving, and at the same time laughable. The confusion of Bob—the
fright of the Housekeeper, and the laughter of Tom, were subjects for the
pencil of a Hogarth!
“So,” said Tom, “you are for springing game in all parts of the house, and
at all times too. How came you here?”—“Not by my appointment, Sir,”
replied the old lady, who still remained rolled up in the curtain. “I never did
such a thing in all my born days: I'm an honest woman, and mean to remain
so. I never was so ashamed in all my life.”
"I believe the house is enchanted,” cried Bob; “d—— me, I never seem
to step without being on a barrel of gunpowder, ready to ignite with the
touch of my foot. I have made some cursed blunder again, and don't seem to
know where I am.”
“Come, come,” said Dashall, “that won't do—I'm sure you had some
design upon my Housekeeper, who you hear by her own account is a good
woman, and won't listen to your advances.”

By this time the servants had arrived at the door, and were alternately
peeping in, wondering to see the two gentlemen in such a situation, and
secretly giggling and enjoying the embarrassment of the old woman, whose
wig lay on the table, and who was displaying her bald pate and shrivelled
features from the bed-curtains, enveloped in fringe and tassels, which only
served to render them still more ludicrous.
Bob affected to laugh; said it was very odd—he could not account for it
at all—stammered out something like an apology—begg'd pardon—it was
—a mistake—he really took it for his own room—he never was so
bewildered in his life—was very sorry he should cause so much alarm—but
really had no sort of intention whatever.
“Well,” said Dashall, “the best reparation you can now make for your
intrusion is a speedy retreat. Time is escaping, so come along;” and taking
him by the arm, they walked down the stairs together, and then proceeded to
re-fit without further obstruction, in order to be ready for Sparkle, who was
expected every minute.
The first day of Bob's residence in London had already been productive
of some curious adventures, in which he, unfortunately as he considered,
had sustained the principal character—a character not altogether suitable to
is inclinations or wishes, though productive of much merriment to his ever
gay and sprightly Cousin, who had witnessed the embarrassment of his
pupil upon his first entrance into Life with ungovernable laughter. It was to
him excellent sport, while it furnished a good subject of speculation and
conversation among the servants below, but was not so well relished by the
affrighted old house-keeper. Indeed, the abrupt entrance of a man into her
bed-chamber had so deranged her ideas, that she was longer than usual in
decking her person previous to her re-appearance. The tender frame of the
old lady had been subjected to serious agitations at the bare idea of such a
visit, and the probable imputations that might in consequence be thrown
upon her sacred and unspotted character; nor could she for some time
recover her usual serenity.
Such was the situation of the parties at the moment we are now
describing; but as our Heroes are preparing for an extensive, actual survey
of men, manners, and tilings, we shall for the present leave them in peace
and quietness, while we proceed to the next chapter.

CHAPTER VII

What shows! and what sights! what a round of delights
You'll meet in the gay scene of London;
How charming to view” amusements still new,
Twenty others you'll find soon as one's done.
At the gay scene at Court—Peers and gentry resort,
In pleasure you'll never miss one day:
There's the Opera treat, the parade in Bond Street,
And the crowd in Hyde Park on a Sunday.
TOM, whose wardrobe was extensive, found no difficulty, and lost no
time in preparing for the promenade; while, on the other hand, Tallyho was
perplexed to know how to tog himself out in a way suitable to make his
appearance in the gay world of fashion. Dashall had therefore rapidly
equipped himself, when, perceiving it was half-past eleven, he was the
more perplexed to account for the absence of Sparkle; for although it was
an early hour, yet, upon such an occasion as that of initiating a new recruit,
it was very extraordinary that he should not have been prompt. However, he
entered Tallyho's room, and found him looking out of the window in a
posture of rumination, probably revolving in his mind the events of the
morning.
“Come,” said Tom, as he entered, “'tis time to be on the move, and if
Sparkle don't show in a few minutes, we'll set sail and call in upon him at
Long's, in Bond Street. Perhaps he is not well, or something prevents his
appearance—we'll make it in our way, and we have a fine day before us.”
“I am at your service,” replied Bob, who could not help viewing the
elegance of his Cousin's appearance: the style of his dress, and the neatness
with which his garments fitted him, were all subjects of admiration, and
formed so strong a contrast with his own as almost to excite envy. He had
however attired himself in a way that befits a fashionable country
gentleman: a green coat, white waistcoat, buckskin breeches, and boots,
over which a pair of leggings appeared, which extended below the calf of
the leg and half up the thigh, surmounted with a Lily Shallow. Such was the
costume in which he was destined to show off; and thus equipped, after a

few minutes they emerged from the house in Piccadilly on the proposed
ramble, and proceeded towards Bond Street.
The first object that took their particular attention was the Burlington
Arcade. “Come,” said Tom, “we may as well go this way,” and immediately
they passed the man in the gold-laced hat, who guards the entrance to
prevent the admission of boys and improper persons. The display of the
shops, with the sun shining through the windows above, afforded much for
observation, and attracted Bob from side to side—to look, to wonder and
admire. But Tom, who was intent upon finding his friend Sparkle, urged the
necessity of moving onward with more celerity, lest he should be gone out,
and consequently kept drawing his Cousin forward. “Another and a better
opportunity will be afforded for explanation than the present, and as speed
is the order of the day, I hope you will not prove disorderly; we shall soon
reach Long's, and when we have Sparkle with us, we have one of the most
intelligent and entertaining fellows in the world. He is a sort of index to
every thing, and every body; his knowledge of life and character, together
with a facetiousness of whim and manner, which he has in delineating them,
are what we call in London—Prime and bang up to the mark. There is
scarcely a Lane, Court, Alley, or Street, in the Metropolis, but what he
knows, from the remotest corners of Rag-Fair, to the open and elegant
Squares of the West, even to Hyde Park Corner. Memory, mirth, and magic,
seem at all times to animate his tongue, and, as the Song says,

“He is the hoy for bewitching 'em,
Whether good-humour'd or coy.”

Indeed, he is the admiration of all who know him; wit, whim, frolic, and
fun, are constant companions with him, and I really believe, in a dungeon or
a palace, he would always appear the same.”
By this time they had reached Bond Street, in their way to which, each
step they had taken, the streets and avenues of every description appeared to
Bob to be crowded to an excess; the mingling cries which were vociferated
around them produced in his mind uncommon sensations. The rattling of
the carriages, the brilliance of the shops, and the continual hum of the
passengers, contributed to heighten the scene.

“Bond Street,” said Dashall, “is not one of the most elegant streets in the
vicinity of London, but is the resort of the most fashionable people, and
from about two o'clock till five, it is all bustle—all life—every species of
fashionable vehicle is to be seen dashing along in gay and gallant pride.
From two to five are the fashionable shopping-hours, for which purpose the
first families resort to this well-known street—others, to shew their
equipage, make an assignation, or kill a little time; which is as much a
business with some, as is the more careful endeavours of others to seize him
in his flight, and make the most of his presence. The throng is already
increasing; the variety, richness, and gaiety of the shops in this street, will
always be attractive, and make it a popular rendezvous of both sexes. It will
shortly be as crowded as Rag Fair, or the Royal Exchange; and the magic
splendour has very peculiar properties.
“It makes the tradesman forget—while he is cheating a lovely and
smiling Duchess—that in all probability her ladyship is endeavouring to
cheat him. It makes the gay and airy, the furbelowed and painted lady of the
town, forget that she must pay a visit to her uncle,{1} in order to raise the
wind before she can make her appearance at the theatre at half-price. It
makes the dashing prisoner forget, that while “he is sporting his figure in
the bang-up style of appearance, he is only taking his ride on a day-rule
from the King's Bench. It makes the Lord who drives four-in-hand forget
his losses of the night before at some of the fashionable gaming-houses. It
makes one adventurer forget that the clothes in which he expects to obtain
respect and attention, are more than likely to be paid for in Newgate;
another for a time forgets that John Doe and Richard Roe have expelled him
from his

1 My Uncle is a very convenient and accommodating sort of
friend, who lives at the sign of the Three Balls, indicative
of his willingness to lend money upon good security, for the
payment of enormous interest. The original meaning of the
sign has puzzled the curious and antiquarians, and the only
probable meaning they can discover is, that it implies the
chances are two to one against any property being redeemed
after being once committed to the keeping of this tender
hearted and affectionate relative.

lodgings; and a third that all his worldly possessions are not equal to the
purchase of a dinner. It is an ignis fatuus—a sort of magic lantern replete
with delusive appearances—of momentary duration—an escape to the
regions of noise, tumult, vanity, and frivolity, where the realities of Life, the
circumstances and the situation of the observer, are not suffered to intrude.
“But to be seen in this street at a certain hour, is one of the essentials to
the existence of haut-ton—it is the point of attraction for greetings in
splendid equipages, from the haughty bend or familiar nod of arrogance, to
the humble bow of servility. Here mimicry without money assumes the
consequential air of independence: while modest merit creeps along
unheeded through the glittering crowd. Here all the senses are tantalized
with profusion, and the eye is dazzled with temptation, for no other reason
than because it is the constant business of a fashionable life—not to live in,
but out of self, to imitate the luxuries of the affluent without a tithe of their
income, and to sacrifice morality at the altar of notoriety.”
“Your description of this celebrated street, of which I have heard so
much,” said Tallyho, “is truly lively.”
“But it is strictly true,” continued Tom.
They had now arrived at Long's, and found a barouche and four waiting
at the door. Upon entering, the first person they met was Lord Cripplegate,
whom they passed, and proceeded to the coffee-room; in one of the boxes
of which Tom immediately directed his Cousin's attention to a well-dressed
young man, who was reading the newspaper, and sipping his coffee—“Take
notice of him,” said Tom.
Bob looked at him for a moment, marked his features, and his dress,
which was in the extreme of fashion; while Tom, turning to one of the
Waiters, enquired for his friend Sparkle.
“He has not been here since yesterday morning!” said the Waiter.
“I have been waiting for him these two hours!” exclaimed the young
Sprig of Fashion, laying down the newspaper almost at the same moment,
“and must wait till he comes—Ah! Mr. Dashall, how d'ye do?—-very glad
to see you—left all well in the country, I hope!—Mr. Sparkle was to have
met me this morning at eleven precisely, I should judge he is gone into the
country.”

“It must have been late last night, then,” said Dashall, "for he left us
about half-past ten, and promised also to meet us again this morning at
eleven; I can't think what can have become of him—but come,” said he,
taking Bob by the arm, “we must keep moving—Good morning—good
morning.” And thus saying, walked directly out of the house, turning to the
right again towards Piccadilly.
“There is a remark made, I think by Goldsmith,” said Tom, “that one half
of the world don't know how the other half lives; and the man I spoke to in
the coffee-room, whose name I am unacquainted with, though his person is
recognized by almost every body, while his true character, residence, and
means of subsistence, remain completely in obscurity, from what I have
seen of him, I judge is what may be termed a hanger on.”
“A hanger on,” said Bob—“what can that mean? I took him for a man of
property and high birth—but I saw you take so little notice of him.”
“Ah! my good fellow, I have already cautioned you not to be duped by
appearances. A hanger on is a sort of sycophant, or toad-eater, and, in the
coffee-houses and hotels of London, many such are to be found—men who
can spin out a long yarn, tell a tough story, and tip you a rum chant—who
invite themselves by a freedom of address bordering on impudence to the
tables and the parties of persons they know, by pretending to call in by mere
accident, just at the appointed time: by assuming great confidence, great
haste, little appetite, and much business; but, at the same time, requiring but
little pressure to forego them all for the pleasure of the company present.
What he can have to do with Sparkle I am at a loss to conceive; but he is an
insinuating and an intriguing sort of fellow, whom I by no means like, so I
cut him.”
Bob did not exactly understand the meaning of the word cut, and
therefore begged his Cousin to explain.
“The cut,” said Tom, “is a fashionable word for getting rid, by rude or
any means, of any person whose company is not agreeable. The art of
cutting is reduced to a system in London; and an explanatory treatise has
been written on the subject for the edification of the natives.{1} But I am so
bewildered to think what can have detained Sparkle, and deprived us of his
company, that I scarcely know how to think for a moment on any other
subject at present.”

1 Vide a small volume entitled “The Cutter.”

"It is somewhat strange!” cried Bob, “that he was not with you this
morning.”
“There is some mystery in it,” said Tom, “which time alone can unravel;
but however, we will not be deprived of our intended ramble.” At this
moment they entered Piccadilly, and were crossing the road in their way to
St. James's Street, when Dashall nodded to a gentleman passing by on the
opposite side, and received a sort of half bow in return. “That,” said Tom,
“is a curious fellow, and a devilish clever fellow too—for although he has
but one arm, he is a man of science.”
“In what way?” enquired Bob.
“He is a pugilist,” said Tom—“one of those courageous gentlemen who
can queer the daylights, tap the claret, prevent telling fibs, and pop the
noddle into chancery; and a devilish good hand he is, I can assure you,
among those who

——“can combat with ferocious strife,
And beat an eye out, or thump out a life;
Can bang the ribs in, or bruise out the brains,
And die, like noble blockheads, for their pains.”

“Having but one arm, of course he is unable to figure in the ring—though
he attends the mills, and is a constant visitor at the Fives Court exhibitions,

and generally appears a la Belcher. He prides himself upon flooring a
novice, and hits devilish hard with the glove. I have had some lessons from
this amateur of the old English science, and felt the force of his fist; but it is
a very customary thing to commence in a friendly way, till the knowing one
finds an opportunity which he cannot resist, of shewing the superiority he
possesses. So it was with Harry and me, when he put on his glove. I use the
singular number, because he has but one hand whereon to place a glove
withal. Come, said he, it shall only be a little innocent spar. I also put on a
glove, for it would not be fair to attack a one-armed man with two, and no
one ought to take the odds in combat. To it we went, and I shewed first
blood, for he tapped the claret in no time.
“Neat milling we had, what with clouts on the nob, Home hits in the
bread-basket, clicks in the gob, And plumps in the daylights, a prettier treat
Between two Johnny Raws 'tis not easy to meet.”
"I profited however by Harry's lessons, and after a short time was
enabled to return the compliment with interest, by sewing up one of his
glimmers.
“This is St. James's Street,” continued he, as they turned the corner rather
short; in doing which, somewhat animated by the description he had just
been giving, Tom's foot caught the toe of a gentleman, who was mincing
along the pathway with all the care and precision of a dancing-master,
which had the effect of bringing him to the ground in an instant as
effectually as a blow from one of the fancy. Tom, who had no intention of
giving offence wantonly, apologized for the misfortune, by—“I beg pardon,
Sir,” while Bob, who perceived the poor creature was unable to rise again,
and apprehending some broken bones, assisted him to regain his erect
position. The poor animal, or nondescript, yclept Dandy, however had only
been prevented the exercise of its limbs by the stiffness of certain
appendages, without which its person could not be complete—the stays,
lined with whalebone, were the obstacles to its rising. Being however
placed in its natural position, he began in an affected blustering tone of
voice to complain that it was d——d odd a gentleman could not walk along
the streets without being incommoded by puppies—pulled out his quizzing
glass, and surveyed our heroes from head to foot—then taking from his
pocket a smelling bottle, which, by application to the nose, appeared to
revive him, Tom declared he was sorry for the accident, had no intention,

and hoped he was not hurt. This, however, did not appear to satisfy the
offended Dandy, who turned upon his heel muttering to himself the
necessity there was of preventing drunken fellows from rambling the streets
to the annoyance of sober and genteel people in the day-time.
Dashall, who overheard the substance of his ejaculation, broke from the
arm of Bob, and stepping after him without ceremony, by a sudden wheel
placed himself in the front of him, so as to impede his progress a second
time; a circumstance which filled Mr. Fribble with additional alarm, and his
agitation became visibly' depicted on his countenance.
“What do you mean?” cried Dashall, with indignation, taking the
imputation of drunkenness at that early hour in dudgeon. “Who, and what
are you, Sir?{1} Explain instantly, or by the honour of a gentleman, I'll
chastise this insolence.”

1 “What are you?” is a formidable question to a dandy of the
present day, for

“Dandy's a gender of the doubtful kind;
A something, nothing, not to be defined;
?Twould puzzle worlds its sex to ascertain,
So very empty, and so very vain.”

It is a fact that the following examination of three of
these non-descripts took place at Bow Street a very short
time back, in consequence of a nocturnal fracas. The report
was thus given:

“Three young sprigs of fashion, in full dress, somewhat
damaged and discoloured by a night's lodging in the cell of
a watch-house, were yesterday brought before Mr. Birnie,
charged with disorderly conduct in the streets, and with
beating a watchman named Lloyd.

“Lloyd stated that his beat was near the Piazza, and at a
very late hour on Thursday night, the three defendants came
through Covent Garden, singing, and conducting themselves in

the most riotous manner possible. They were running, and
were followed by three others, all in a most uproarious
state of intoxication, and he thought proper to stop them;
upon which he was floored san-ceremonie, and when he
recovered his legs, he was again struck, and called 'a b——y
Charley,' and other ungenteel names. He called for
the assistance of some of his brethren, and the defendants
were with some trouble taken to the watch-house. They were
very jolly on the way, and when lodged in durance, amused
themselves with abusing the Constable of the night, and took
especial care that no one within hearing of the watch-house
should get a wink of sleep for the remainder of the night.

Mr. Birnie.—“Well young gentleman, what have you to say to
this?” The one who undertook to be spokesman, threw himself
in the most familiar manner possible across the table, and
having fixed himself perfectly at his ease, he said, “The
fact was, they had been dining at a tavern, and were rather
drunk, and on their way through the Piazza, they endeavoured
by running away to give the slip to their three companions,
who were still worse than themselves. The others, however
called out Stop thief! and the watchman stopped them;
whereat they naturally felt irritated, and certainly gave
the watchman a bit of a thrashing.”

Mr. Birnie.—“How was he to know you were not the thieves?
He did quite right to stop you, and I am very glad he has
brought you here—Pray, Sir, what are you?” Defendant.—“I
am nothing, Sir.” Mr. Birnie (to another).—“And what are
you?” Defendant.—“Why, Sir, I am—I am, Sir, nothing.” Mr.
Birnie.—“Well, this is very fine. Pray, Sir, (turning to
the third, who stood twirling his hat) will you do me the
favour to tell what you are?”

This gentleman answered in the same way. “I am, as my
friends observed, nothing.”

Mr. Birnie.—“Well, gentlemen, I must endeavour to make
something of you. Here, gaoler, let them he locked up, and I
shall not part with them until I have some better account of
their occupations.”

We have heard it asserted, that Nine tailors make a man. How
many Dandies, professing to be Nothing, may be required to
accomplish the proposed intention of making Something, may
(perhaps by this time) be discovered by the worthy
Magistrate. We however suspect he has had severe work of it.
"Leave me alone,” exclaimed the almost petrified Dandy.
“Not till you have given me the satisfaction I have a right to demand,”
cried Tom. “I insist upon an explanation and apology—or demand your card
—who are you, Sir? That's my address,” instantly handing him a card. “I
am not to be played with, nor will I suffer your escape, after the insulting
manner in which you have spoken, with impunity.”
Though not prepared for such a rencontre, the Dandy, who now perceived
the inflexible temper of Tom's mind—and a crowd of people gathering
round him—determined at least to put on as much of the character of a man
as possible, and fumbled in his pocket for a card; at length finding one, he
slipped it into Tom's hand. “Oh, Sir,” said he, “if that's the case, I'm your
man, demmee,—how, when, or where you please, ?pon honor.” Then
beckoning to a hackney coach, he hobbled to the door, and was pushed in
by coachee, who, immediately mounted the box and flourishing his whip,
soon rescued him from his perilous situation, and the jeers of the
surrounding multitude.
Tom, who in the bustle of the crowd had slipped the card of his
antagonist into his pocket, now took Bob's arm, and they pursued their way
down St. James's Street, and could not help laughing at the affair: but
Tallyho, who had a great aversion to duelling, and was thinking of the
consequences, bit his lips, and expressed his sorrow at what had occurred;
he ascribed the hasty imputation of drunkenness to the irritating effects of
the poor creature's accident, and expressed his hope that his cousin would
take no further notice of it. Tom, however, on the other hand, ridiculed
Bob's fears—told him it was a point of honour not to suffer an insult in the
street from any man—nor would he—besides, the charge of drunkenness

from such a thing as that, is not to be borne. “D——n it, man, drunkenness
in the early part of the day is a thing I abhor, it is at all times what I would
avoid if possible, but at night there may be many apologies for it; nay in
some cases even to avoid it is impossible. The pleasures of society are
enhanced by it—the joys of love are increased by the circulation of the
glass—harmony, conviviality and friendship are produced by it—though I
am no advocate for inebriety, and detest the idea of the beast—

“Who clouds his reason by the light of day,
And falls to drink, an early and an easy prey.”

“Well,” said Bob, “I cannot help thinking this poor fellow, who has
already betrayed his fears, will be inclined to make any apology for his
rudeness to-morrow.”
“If he does not,” said Tom, “I'll wing him, to a certainty—a jackanapes—
a puppy—a man-milliner; perhaps a thing of shreds and patches—he shall
not go unpunished, I promise you; so come along, we will just step in here,
and I'll dispatch this business at once: I'll write a challenge, and then it will
be off my hands.” And so saying, they entered a Coffee-house, where,
calling for pen, ink and paper, Tom immediately began his epistle, shrewdly
hinting to his Cousin, that he expected he would act as his Second. “It will
be a fine opportunity for introducing your name to the gay world—the
newspapers will record your name as a man of ton. Let us see now how it
will appear:—On —— last, the Honourable Tom Dashall, attended by his
Cousin, Robert Tallyho, Esq. of Belleville Hall, met—ah, by the bye, let us
see who he is,” here he felt in his pocket for the card.
Bob, however, declared his wish to decline obtaining popularity by being
present upon such an occasion, and suggested the idea of his calling upon
the offender, and endeavouring to effect an amicable arrangement between
them.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Tom with surprise, as he drew the card from his
pocket, and threw it on the table—“Ha, ha, ha,—look at that.”
Tallyho looked at the card without understanding it. “What does it
mean?” said he.
"Mean,” replied Tom, “why it is a Pawnbroker's duplicate for a Hunting
Watch, deposited with his uncle this morning in St. Martin's Lane, for two

pounds—laughable enough—well, you may dismiss your fears for the
present; but I'll try if I can't find my man by this means—if he is worth
finding—at all events we have found a watch.”
Bob now joined in the laugh, and, having satisfied the Waiter, they sallied
forth again.
Just as they left the Coffee-house, “Do you see that Gentleman in the
blue great coat, arm in arm with another? that is no other than the ——. You
would scarcely conceive, by his present appearance, that he has
commanded armies, and led them on to victory; and that having retired
under the shade of his laurels, he is withering them away, leaf by leaf, by
attendance at the hells{1} of the metropolis; his unconquerable spirit still
actuating him in his hours of relaxation. It is said that the immense sum
awarded to him for his prowess in war, has been so materially reduced by
his inordinate passion for play, that although he appears at Court, and is a
favourite, the demon Poverty stares him in the face. But this is a vile world,
and half one hears is not to be believed. He is certainly extravagant, fond of
women, and fond of wine; but all these foibles are overshadowed with so
much glory as scarcely to remain perceptible. Here is the Palace,” said Tom,
directing his Cousin's attention to the bottom of the street.
Bob was evidently struck at this piece of information, as he could
discover no mark of grandeur in its appearance to entitle it to the dignity of
a royal residence.
“It is true,” said Tom, “the outside appearance is not much in its favour;
but it is venerable for its antiquity, and for its being till lately the place at
which the Kings of this happy Island have held their Courts. On the site of
that palace originally stood an hospital, founded before the conquest, for
fourteen leprous females, to whom eight brethren were afterwards added, to
assist in the performance of divine service.”
“Very necessary,” said Bob, “and yet scarcely sufficient.”

1 Hells—The abode or resort of black-legs or gamblers,
where they assemble to commit their depredations on the
unwary. But of these we shall have occasion to enlarge
elsewhere.
"You seem to quiz this Palace, and are inclined to indulge your wit upon
old age. In 1532, it was surrendered to Henry viii. and he erected the

present Palace, and enclosed St. James's Park, to serve as a place of
amusement and exercise, both to this Palace and Whitehall. But it does not
appear to have been the Court of the English Sovereigns, during their
residence in town, till the reign of Queen Ann, from which time it has been
uniformly used as such.
“It is built of brick; and that part which contains the state apartments,
being only one story high, gives it a regular appearance outside. The State-
rooms are commodious and handsome, although there is nothing very
superb or grand in the decorations or furniture.
“The entrance to these rooms is by a stair-case which opens into the
principal court, which you now see. At the top of the stair-case are two
rooms; one on the left, called the Queen's, and the other the King's Guard-
room, leading to the State-apartments. Immediately beyond the King's
Guard-room is the Presence-chamber, which contains a canopy, and is hung
with tapestry; and which is now used as a passage to the principal rooms.
“There is a suite of five rooms opening into each other successively,
fronting the Park. The Presence-chamber opens into the centre room, which
is denominated the Privy-chamber, in which is a canopy of flowered-
crimson velvet, generally made use of for the King to receive the Quakers.
“On the right are two drawing-rooms, one within the other. At the upper
end of the further one, is a throne with a splendid canopy, on which the
Kings have been accustomed to receive certain addresses. This is called the
Grand Drawing-room, and is used by the King and Queen on certain state
occasions, the nearer room being appropriated as a kind of ante-chamber, in
which the nobility, &c. are permitted to remain while their Majesties are
present in the further room, and is furnished with stools, sofas, &c. for the
purpose. There are two levee-rooms on the left of the privy-chamber, on
entering from the King's guard-room and presence-chamber, the nearer one
serving as an ante-chamber to the other. They were all of them, formerly,
meanly furnished, but at the time of the marriage of our present King, they
were elegantly fitted up. The walls are now covered with tapestry, very
beautiful, and of rich colours—tapestry which, although it was made for
Charles II. had never been used, having by some accident lain unnoticed in
a chest, till it was discovered a short time before the marriage of the Prince.
“The canopy of the throne was made for the late-Queen's birth-day, the
first which happened after the union of Great Britain and Ireland. It is made

of crimson velvet, with very broad gold lace, embroidered with crowns set
with fine and rich pearls. The shamrock, emblematical of the Irish nation,
forms a part of the decorations of the British crown, and is executed with
great taste and accuracy.
“The grand drawing-room contains a large, magnificent chandelier of
silver, gilt, but I believe it has not been lighted for some years; and in the
grand levee-room is a very noble bed, the furniture of which is of
Spitalfields manufacture, in crimson velvet. It was first put up with the
tapestry, on the marriage of the present King, then Prince of Wales.
“It is upon the whole an irregular building, chiefly consisting of several
courts and alleys, which lead into the Park. This, however, is the age of
improvement, and it is said that the Palace will shortly be pulled down, and
in the front of St. James's Street a magnificent triumphal arch is to be
erected, to commemorate the glorious victories of the late war, and to form
a grand entrance to the Park.
“The Duke of York, the Duke of Clarence, the King's servants, and many
other dignified persons, live in the Stable-yard.”
“In the Stable-yard!” said Bob, “dignified persons reside in a Stable-yard,
you astonish me!”
“It is quite true,” said Tom, “and remember it is the Stable-yard of a
King.”
“I forgot that circumstance,” said Bob, “and that circumstances alter
cases. But whose carriage is this driving with so much rapidity?”
“That is His Highness the Duke of York, most likely going to pay a visit
to his royal brother, the King, who resides in a Palace a little further on:
which will be in our way, for it is yet too early to see much in the Park: so
let us proceed, I am anxious to make some inquiry about my antagonist, and
therefore mean to take St. Martin's Lane as we go along.”
With this they pursued their way along Pall Mall. The rapidity of Tom's
movements however afforded little opportunity for observation or remark,
till they arrived opposite Carlton House, when he called his Cousin's
attention to the elegance of the new streets opposite to it.
“That,” said he, “is Waterloo Place, which, as well as the memorable
battle after which it is named, has already cost the nation an immense sum
of money, and must cost much more before the proposed improvements are

completed: it is however, the most elegant street in London. The want of
uniformity of the buildings has a striking effect, and gives it the appearance
of a number of palaces. In the time of Queen Elizabeth there were no such
places as Pall Mall, St. James's-street, Piccadilly, nor any of the streets or
fine squares in this part of the town. That building at the farther end is now
the British Fire-office, and has a pleasing effect at this distance. The cupola
on the left belongs to a chapel, the interior of which for elegant simplicity is
unrivalled. To the left of the centre building is a Circus, and a serpentine
street, not yet finished, which runs to Swallow Street, and thence directly to
Oxford Road, where another circus is forming, and is intended to
communicate with Portland Place; by which means a line of street,
composed of all new buildings, will be completed. Of this dull looking
place (turning to Carlton House) although it is the town-residence of our
King, I shall say nothing at present, as I intend devoting a morning, along
with you, to its inspection. The exterior has not the most lively appearance,
but the interior is magnificent.”—During this conversation they had kept
moving gently on.

Bob was charmed with the view down Waterloo Place.
“That,” said his Cousin, pointing to the Arcade at the opposite corner of
Pall Mall, “is the Italian Opera-house, which has recently assumed its
present superb appearance, and may be ranked among the finest buildings
in London. It is devoted to the performance of Italian operas and French
ballets, is generally open from December to July, and is attended by the
most distinguished and fashionable persons. The improvements in this part

are great. That church, which you see in the distance over the tops of the
houses, is St. Martin's in the fields.”
“In the fields,” inquired Bob; “what then, are we come to the end of the
town?”
"Ha! ha! ha!” cried Tom—“the end—no, no,—I was going to say there is
no end to it—no, we have not reached any thing like the centre.”
“Blood an owns, boderation and blarney,” (said an Irishman, at that
moment passing them with a hod of mortar on his shoulder, towards the
new buildings, and leaving an ornamental patch as he went along on Bob's
shoulder) “but I'll be a'ter tipping turnups{l} to any b——dy rogue that's tip
to saying—Black's the white of the blue part of Pat Murphy's eye; and for
that there matter,” dropping the hod of mortar almost on their toes at the
same time, and turning round to Bob—“By the powers! I ax the Jontleman's
pardon—tho' he's not the first Jontleman that has carried mortar—where is
that big, bully-faced blackguard that I'm looking after?” During this he
brushed the mortar off Tallyho's coat with a snap of his fingers, regardless
of where or on whom he distributed it.
The offender, it seemed, had taken flight while Pat was apologizing, and
was no where to be found.
“Why what's the matter?” inquired Tom; “you seem in a passion.”
“Och! not in the least bit, your honour! I'm only in a d——d rage. By the
mug of my mother—arn't it a great shame that a Jontleman of Ireland can't
walk the streets of London without having poratees and butter-milk throw'd
in his gums?”—Hitching up the waistband of his breeches—“It won't do at
all at all for Pat: its a reflection on my own native land, where—

“Is hospitality,
All reality,
No formality
There you ever see;
The free and easy
Would so amaze ye,
You'd think us all crazy,
For dull we never be.”

These lines sung with an Irish accent, to the tune of “Morgan Rattler,”
accompanied with a snapping of his fingers, and concluded with a
something in imitation of

1 Tipping Turnups—This is a phrase made use of among the
prigging fraternity, to signify a turn-up—which is to
knock down.
an Irish jilt, were altogether so truly characteristic of the nation to which
he belonged, as to afford our Heroes considerable amusement. Tom threw
him a half-crown, which he picked up with more haste than he had thrown
down the mortar in his rage.
“Long life and good luck to the Jontleman!” said Pat. “Sure enough, I
won't be after drinking health and success to your Honour's pretty picture,
and the devil pitch into his own cabin the fellow that would be after picking
a hole or clapping a dirty patch on the coat of St. Patrick—whiskey for ever,
your Honour, huzza—

“A drop of good whiskey
Would make a man frisky.”

By this time a crowd was gathering round them, and Tom cautioned Bob
in a whisper to beware of his pockets. This piece of advice however came
too late, for his blue bird's eye wipe{l} had taken flight.
“What,” said Bob, “is this done in open day?” “Are you all right and tight
elsewhere?” said Tom—“if you are, toddle on and say nothing about it.—
Open day!” continued he, “aye, the system of frigging{2}

1 Blue bird's eye wipe—A blue pocket handkerchief with
white spots.

2 A cant term for all sorts of thieving. The Life of the
celebrated George Barrington, of Old Bailey notoriety, is
admirably illustrative of this art; which by a more recent
development of Hardy Vaux, appears to be almost reduced to
a system, notwithstanding the wholesomeness of our laws and
the vigilance of our police in their administration. However

incredible it may appear, such is the force of habit and
association, the latter, notwithstanding he was detected and
transported, contrived to continue his depredations during
his captivity, returned, at the expiration of his term, to
his native land and his old pursuits, was transported a
second time, suffered floggings and imprison-ments, without
correcting what cannot but be termed the vicious
propensities of his nature. He generally spent his mornings
in visiting the shops of jewellers, watch-makers,
pawnbrokers, &c. depending upon his address and appearance,
and determining to make the whole circuit of the metropolis
and not to omit a single shop in either of those branches.
This scheme he actually executed so fully, that he believes
he did not leave ten untried in London; for he made a point
of commencing early every day, and went regularly through
it, taking both sides of the way. His practice on entering a
shop was to request to look at gold seals, chains,
brooches, rings, or any other small articles of value,
and while examining them, and looking the shopkeeper in the
face, he contrived by sleight of hand to conceal two or
three, sometimes more, as opportunities offered, in the
sleeve of his coat, which was purposely made wide. In this
practice he succeeded to a very great extent, and in the
course of his career was never once detected in the fact,
though on two or three occa-sions so much suspicion arose
that he was obliged to exert all his effrontery, and to use
very high language, in order, as the cant phrase is, to
bounce the tradesman out of it; his fashionable appearance,
and affected anger at his insinuations, always had the
effect of inducing an apology; and in many such cases he has
actually carried away the spoil, notwithstanding what passed
between them, and even gone so far as to visit the same shop
again a second and a third time with as good success as at
first. This, with his nightly attendance at the Theatres and
places of public resort, where he picked pockets of watches,
snuff-boxes, &c. was for a length of time the sole business
of his life. He was however secured, after secreting himself

for a time, convicted, and is now transported for life—as
he conceives, sold by another cele-brated Prig, whose real
name was Bill White, but better known by the title of Conky
Beau.
will be acted on sometimes by the very party you are speaking to—the
expertness with which it is done is almost beyond belief.”
Bob having ascertained that his handkerchief was the extent of his loss,
they pursued their way towards Charing Cross.
“A line of street is intended,” continued Tom, “to be made from the
Opera House to terminate with that church; and here is the King's Mews,
which is now turned into barracks.”
“Stop thief! Stop thief!” was at this moment vociferated in their ears by a
variety of voices, and turning round, they perceived a well-dressed man at
full speed, followed pretty closely by a concourse of people. In a moment
the whole neighbourhood appeared to be in alarm. The up-stairs windows
were crowded with females—the tradesmen were at their shop-doors—the
passengers were huddled together in groups, inquiring of each other
—“What is the matter?—who is it?—which is him?—what has he done?”
while the pursuers were increasing in numbers as they went. The bustle of
the scene was new to Bob—Charing Cross and its vicinity was all in
motion.
“Come,” said Tom, “let us see the end of this—they are sure to nab{l}
my gentleman before he gets much

1 Nabbed or nibbled—Secured or taken.
farther, so let us brush{1} on.” Then pulling his Cousin by the arm, they
moved forward to the scene of action.
As they approached St. Martin's Lane, the gathering of the crowd, which
was now immense, indicated to Tom a capture.
“Button up,” said he, “and let us see what's the matter.”
“Arrah be easy” cried a voice which they instantly recognized to be no
other than Pat Murphy's. “I'll hold you, my dear, till the night after
Doomsday, though I can't tell what day of the year that is. Where's the man
wid the gould-laced skull-cap? Sure enough I tought I'd be up wi' you, and
so now you see I'm down upon you.”

At this moment a Street-keeper made way through the crowd, and Tom
and Bob keeping close in his rear, came directly up to the principal
performers in this interesting scene, and found honest Pat Murphy holding
the man by his collar, while he was twisting and writhing to get released
from the strong and determined grasp of the athletic Hibernian.
Pat no sooner saw our Heroes, than he burst out with a lusty “Arroo!
arroo! there's the sweet-looking jontleman that's been robbed by a dirty
spalpeen that's not worth the tail of a rotten red-herring. I'll give charge of
dis here pick'd bladebone of a dead donkey that walks about in God's own
daylight, dirting his fingers wid what don't belong to him at all at all. So
sure as the devil's in his own house, and that's London, you've had your
pocket pick'd, my darling, and that's news well worth hearing”—addressing
himself to Dashall.
By this harangue it was pretty clearly understood that Murphy had been
in pursuit of the pickpocket, and Tom immediately gave charge.
The man, however, continued to declare he was not the right person
—“That, so help him G——d, the Irishman had got the wrong bull by the
tail—that he was a b——dy snitch{2} and that he would sarve him out{3}
—that he wished

1 Brush—Be off.

2 Snitch—A term made use of by the light-fingered tribe,
to signify an informer, by whom they have been impeached or
betrayed—So a person who turns king's evidence against his
accomplices is called a Snitch.

3 Serve him out—To punish, or be revenged upon any person
for any real or supposed injury.
he might meet him out of St. Giles's, and he would wake{ 1} him with an
Irish howl.”

1 Wake with an Irish howl—An Irish Wake, which is no
unfrequent occurrence in the neighbourhood of St. Giles's
and Saffron Hill, is one of the most comically serious
ceremonies which can well be conceived, and certainly

baffles all powers of description. It is, however,
considered indispensable to wake the body of a de-ceased
native of the sister kingdom, which is, by a sort of mock
lying in state, to which all the friends, relatives, and
fellow countrymen and women, of the dead person, are
indiscriminately admitted; and among the low Irish this duty
is frequently performed in a cellar, upon which occasions
the motley group of assembled Hibernians would form a
subject for the pencil of the most able satirist.

Upon one of these occasions, when Murtoch Mulrooney, who had
suffered the sentence of the law by the common hangman, for
a footpad robbery, an Englishman was induced by a friend of
the deceased to accompany him, and has left on record the
following account of his entertainment:—

“When we had descended (says he) about a dozen steps, we
found ourselves in a subterraneous region, but fortunately
not uninhabited. On the right sat three old bawds, drinking
whiskey and smoking tobacco out of pipes about two inches
long, (by which means, I conceive, their noses had become
red,) and swearing and blasting between each puff. I was
immediately saluted by one of the most sober of the ladies,
and invited to take a glass of the enlivening nectar, and
led to the bed exactly opposite the door, where Murtoch was
laid out, and begged to pray for the repose of his precious
shoul. This, however, I declined, alleging that as the
parsons were paid for praying, it was their proper business.
At this moment a coarse female voice exclaimed, in a sort of
yell or Irish howl, 'Arrah! by Jasus, and why did you die,
honey?—Sure enough it was not for the want of milk, meal,
or tatoes.'

“In a remote corner of the room, or rather cellar, sat three
draymen, five of his majesty's body guards, four sailors,
six haymakers, eight chairmen, and six evidence makers,
together with three bailiffs' followers, who came by turns

to view the body, and take a drop of the cratur to drink
repose to the shoul of their countryman; and to complete the
group, they were at-tended by the journeyman Jack Ketch. The
noise and confusion were almost stupefying—there were
praying—swearing—crying-howling—smoking—and drinking.

“At the head of the bed where the remains of Murtoch were
laid, was the picture of the Virgin Mary on one side, and
that of St. Patrick on the other; and at the feet was
depicted the devil and some of his angels, with the blood
running down their backs, from the flagellations which they
had received from the disciples of Ketigern. Whether the
blue devils were flying around or not, I could not exactly
discover, but the whiskey and blue ruin were evidently
powerful in their effects.

“One was swearing—a second counting his beads—a
third descanting on the good qualities of his departed
friend, and about to try those of the whiskey—a fourth
evacuating that load with which he had already overloaded
himself—a fifth, declaring he could carry a fare, hear
mass, knock down a member of parliament, murder a peace
officer, and after all receive a pension: and while the
priest was making an assignation with a sprightly female
sprig of Shelalah, another was jonteelly picking his pocket.
I had seen enough, and having no desire to continue in such
company, made my escape with as much speed as I could from
this animated group of persons, assembled as they were upon
so solemn an occasion.”

With conversation of this kind, the party were amused up St. Martin's
lane, and on the remainder of the road to Bow-street, followed by many
persons, some of whom pretended to have seen a part of the proceedings,
and promised to give their evidence before the magistrate, who was then
sitting.
On arriving in Bow Street, they entered the Brown Bear,{1} a public-
house, much frequented by the officers, and in which is a strong-room for

the safe custody of prisoners, where they were shewn into a dark back-
parlour, as they termed it, and the officer proceeded to search the man in
custody, when lo and behold! the handkerchief was not to be found about
him.
Pat d——d the devil and all his works—swore “by the fiery furnace of
Beelzebub, and that's the devil's own bed-chamber, that was the man that
nibbled the Jontleman's dive,{2} and must have ding'd away the wipe,{3}
or else what should he bolt{4} for?—that he was up to the rum slum,{5}

1 A former landlord of the house facetiously christened it
the Russian Hotel, and had the words painted under the sign
of Bruin.

2 Nibbled the Jontleman's dive—Picked the gentleman's
pocket.

3 Ding'd away the wipe—Passed away the handkerchief to
another, to escape detection. This is a very common practice
in London: two or three in a party will be near, without
appearing to have the least knowledge of, or connexion with
each other, and the moment a depredation is committed by
one, he transfers the property to one of his pals, by whom
it is conveyed perhaps to the third, who decamps with it to
some receiver, who will immediately advance money upon it;
while, if any suspicion should fall upon the first, the
second will perhaps busy himself in his endeavours to secure
the offender, well knowing no proof of possession can be
brought against him.

4 Bolt—Run away; try to make an escape.

5 Rum slum—Gammon—queer talk or action, in which some
fraudulent intentions are discoverable or suspected.
and down upon the kiddies{1}—and sure enough you're boned,{2} my
dear boy.”

Some of the officers came in, and appeared to know the prisoner well, as
if they had been acquainted with each other upon former official business;
but as the lost property was not found upon him, it was the general opinion
that nothing could be done, and the accused began to exercise his wit upon
Murphy, which roused Pat's blood:
“For the least thing, you know, makes an Irishman roar.”
At length, upon charging him with having been caught blue-pigeon
flying,{3} Pat gave him the lie in his teeth—swore he'd fight him for all the
blunt{4} he had about him, “which to be sure,” said he, “is but a sweet
pretty half-a-crown, and be d——d to you—good luck to it! Here goes,”
throwing the half-crown upon the floor, which the prisoner attempted to
pick up, but was prevented by Pat's stamping his foot upon it, while he was
doffing his jacket,{5} exclaiming—
“Arrah, be after putting your dirty fingers in your pocket, and don't spoil
the King's picture by touching it—devil burn me, but I'll mill your mug to
muffin dust{6} before I'll give up that beautiful looking bit; so tip us your
mauley,{7} and no more blarney.”

1 Down upon the Kiddies—To understand the arts and
manouvres of thieves and sharpers.

2 Boned—Taken or secured.

s Blue pigeon flying—The practice of stealing lead from
houses, churches, or other buildings. A species of
depredation very prevalent in London and its vicinity, and
which is but too much encouraged by the readiness with which
it can be disposed of to the plumbers in general.

4 Blunt—A flash term for money.

5 Doffing his Jacket—Taking off his jacket.

6 Mill your mug to muffin dust—The peculiarity of the Irish
character for overstrained metaphor, may perhaps, in some
degree, account for the Hibernian's idea of beating his head

to flour, though he was afterwards inclined to commence his
operations in the true style and character of the prize
ring, where

“Men shake hands before they box, Then give each other
plaguy knocks, With all the love and kindness of a brother.”

7 Tip us your mauley—Give me your hand. Honour is so sacred
a thing with the Irish, that the rapid transition from a
violent expression to the point of honour, is no uncommon
thing amongst them; and in this instance it is quite clear
that although he meant to mill the mug of his opponent to
muffin dust, he had a notion of the thing, and intended to
do it in an honourable way.
During this conversation, the spectators, who were numerous, were
employed in endeavouring to pacify the indignant Hibernian, who by this
time had buffid it, or, in other words, peeled in prime twig,{1} for a regular
turn to.{2} All was noise and confusion, when a new group of persons
entered the room—another capture had been made, and another charge
given. It was however with some difficulty that honest Pat Murphy was
prevailed upon to remain a little quiet, while one of the officers beckoned
Dashall out of the room, and gave him to understand that the man in
custody, just brought in, was a well-known pal{3} of the one first
suspected, though they took not the least notice of each other upon meeting.
In the mean time, another officer in the room had been searching the person
of the last captured, from whose bosom he drew the identical handkerchief
of Bob; and the Irishman recollected seeing him in the crowd opposite the
Opera House.
This cleared up the mystery in some degree, though the two culprits
affected a total ignorance of each other. The property of the person who had
given the last charge was also discovered, and it was deemed absolutely
necessary to take them before the Magistrate. But as some new incidents
will arise on their introduction to the office, we shall reserve them for the
next Chapter.

1 Buff'd it, or peeled in prime twig—Stripped to the skin

in good order. The expressions are well known, and
frequently in use, among the sporting characters and lovers
of the fancy.

2 Turn to, or set to—The commencement of a battle.

3 Pal—A partner or confederate.

CHAPTER VIII

Houses, churches, mixt together,
Streets unpleasant in all weather;
Prisons, palaces contiguous,
Gates, a bridge—the Thames irriguous;
Gaudy things, enough to tempt ye,
Showy outsides, insides empty;
Bubbles, trades, mechanic arts,
Coaches, wheelbarrows, and carts;
Warrants, bailiffs, bills unpaid,
Lords of laundresses afraid;
Rogues, that nightly rob and shoot men,
Hangmen, aldermen, and footmen;
Lawyers, poets, priests, physicians,
Noble, simple, all conditions;
Worth beneath a thread-bare cover,
Villainy bedaubed all over;
Women, black, red, fair, and grey,
Prudes, and such as never pray;
Handsome, ugly, noisy still,
Some that will not, some that will;
Many a beau without a shilling,
Many a widow not unwilling;
Many a bargain, if you strike it:—
This is London—How d'ye like it?
ON entering the Public Office, Bow-street, we must leave our readers to
guess at the surprise and astonishment with which the Hon. Tom Dashall
and his Cousin beheld their lost friend, Charles Sparkle, who it appeared
had been kindly accommodated with a lodging gratis in a neighbouring
watch-house, not, as it may readily be supposed, exactly suitable to his taste
or inclination. Nor was wonder less excited in the mind of Sparkle at this
unexpected meeting, as unlooked for as it was fortunate to all parties. There
was however no opportunity at the present moment for an explanation, as
the worthy Magistrate immediately proceeded to an investigation of the

case just brought before him, upon which there was no difficulty in
deciding. The charge was made, the handkerchief sworn to, and the men,
who were well known as old hands upon the town, committed for trial. The
most remarkable feature in the examination being the evidence of Pat
Murphy, who by this time had recollected that the man who was taken with
the property about his person, was the very identical aggressor who had
offended him while the hod of mortar was on his shoulder, before the
conversation commenced between himself and Tom opposite the Opera-
house.
“Sure enough, your Honour,” said he, “its a true bill. I'm an Irishman, and
I don't care who knows it—I don't fight under false colours, but love the
land of potatoes, and honour St. Patrick. That there man with the blue
toggery{1} tipp'd me a bit of blarney, what did not suit my stomach. I
dropp'd my load, which he took for an order to quit, and so mizzled{2} out
of my way, or by the big bull of Ballynafad, I'd have powdered his wig with
brick-dust, and bothered his bread-basket with a little human kindness in
the shape of an Irishman's fist; and then that there other dirty end of a
shelalah, while the Jontleman—long life to your Honour, (bowing to Tom
Dashall)—was houlding a bit of conversation with Pat Murphy, grabb'd{3}
his pocket-handkerchief, and was after shewing a leg,{4} when a little boy
that kept his oglers upon 'em, let me into the secret, and let the cat out of the
bag by bawling—Stop thief! He darted off like a cow at the sound of the
bagpipes, and I boulted a'ter him like a good'un; so when I came up to him,
Down you go, says I, and down he was; and that's all I know about the
matter.”
As the prisoners were being taken out of court, the Hibernian followed
them. “Arrah,” said he, “my lads, as I have procured you a lodging for
nothing, here's the half-a-crown, what the good-looking Jontleman gave me;
it may sarve you in time of need, so take it along with you, perhaps you
may want it more than I do; and if you know the pleasure of spending
money that is honestly come by, it may teach you a lesson that may keep
you out of the clutches of Jock Ketch, and save

1 Blue toggery—Toggery is a flash term for clothing in
general, but is made use of to describe a blue coat.

2 Mizzled—Ran away.

3 Grabb'd—Took, or stole.

4 Shewing a leg—or, as it is sometimes called, giving leg-
bail—making the best use of legs to escape detection.
you from dying in a horse's night-cap{1}—there, be off wid you.”
The Hon. Tom Dashall, who had carefully watched the proceedings of
Pat, could not help moralizing upon this last act of the Irishman, and the
advice which accompanied it. “Here,” said he to himself, “is a genuine
display of national character. Here is the heat, the fire, the effervescence,
blended with the generosity and open-heartedness, so much boasted of by
the sons of Erin, and so much eulogized by travellers who have visited the
Emerald Isle.” And slipping a sovereign into his hand, after the execution of
a bond to prosecute the offenders, each of them taking an arm of Sparkle,
they passed down Bow-street, conversing on the occurrences in which they
had been engaged, of which the extraordinary appearance of Sparkle was
the most prominent and interesting.
“How in the name of wonder came you in such a scrape?” said Tom.
“Innocently enough, I can assure you,” replied Sparkle—“with my usual
luck—a bit of gig, a lark, and a turn up.{2}

“... 'Twas waxing rather late,
And reeling bucks the street began to scour,
While guardian watchmen, with a tottering gait,
Cried every thing quite clear, except the hour.”

1 Horse's night-cap—A halter.

2 A bit of gig—a lark—a turn up—are terms made use of to
signify a bit of fun of any kind, though the latter more
generally means a fight. Among the bucks and bloods of the
Metropolis, a bit of fun or a lark, as they term it, ending
in a milling match, a night's lodging in the watch-house,
and a composition with the Charleys in the morning, to avoid
exposure before the Magistrate, is a proof of high spirit—a

prime delight, and serves in many cases to stamp a man's
character. Some, however, who have not courage enough to
brave a street-row and its consequences, are fond of fun of
other kinds, heedless of the consequences to others. “Go it,
my boys,” says one of the latter description, “keep it up,
huzza! I loves fun—for I made such a fool of my father last
April day:—but what do you think I did now, eh?—Ha! ha!
ha!—I will tell you what makes me laugh so: we were
keeping it up in prime twig, faith, so about four o'clock in
the morning 1 went down into the kitchen, and there was Dick
the waiter snoring like a pig before a blazing fire—done
up, for the fellow can't keep it up as we jolly boys do: So
thinks 1, I'll have you, my boy—and what does I do, but I
goes softly and takes the tongs, and gets a red hot coal as
big as my head, and plumpt it upon the fellow's foot and run
away, because I loves fun, you know: So it has lamed him,
and that makes me laugh so—Ha! ha! ha!—it was what I call
better than your rappartees and your bobinâtes. I'll
tell you more too: you must know I was in high tip-top
spirits, faith, so I stole a dog from a blind man—for I do
loves fun: so then the blind man cried for his dog, and that
made me laugh heartily: So says I to the blind man—Hallo,
Master, what a you a'ter, what is you up to? does you want
your dog?—Yes, Sir, says he. Now only you mark what I said
to the blind man—Then go and look for him, old chap, says
I—Ha! ha! ha!—that's your sort, my boy, keep it up, keep
it up, d—— me. That's the worst of it, I always turn
sick when I think of a Parson—I always do; and my brother
he is a parson too, and he hates to hear any body swear: so
you know I always swear like a trooper when I am near him,
on purpose to roast him. I went to dine with him one day
last week, and there was my sisters, and two or three more
of what you call your modest women; but I sent 'em all from
the table, and then laugh'd at 'em, for I loves fun, and
that was fun alive 0. And so there was nobody in the room
but my brother and me, and I begun to swear most sweetly: I
never swore so well in all my life—I swore all my new

oaths; it would have done you good to have heard me swear;
till at last my brother looked frightened, and d—— me that
was good fun. At last, he lifted up his hands and eyes to
Heaven, and calls out O tempora, O mores! But I was not to
be done so. Oh! oh! Brother, says I, what you think to
frighten me by calling all your family about you; but I
don't care for you, nor your family neither—so stow it—
I'll mill the whole troop—Only bring your Tempora and Mores
here, that's all—let us have fair play, I'll tip 'em the
Gas in a flash of lightning—I'll box 'em for five pounds,
d—— me: here, where's Tempora and Mores, where are they?
My eyes, how he did stare when he see me ready for a set to—
I never laugh'd so in my life—he made but two steps out of
the room, and left me master of the field. What d'ye
think of that for a lark, eh?—Keep it up—keep it up, d——
me, says I—so I sets down to the table, drank as much as I
could—then I mix'd the heel-taps all in one bottle, and
broke all the empty ones—then bid adieu to Tempora and
Mores, and rolled home in a hackney-coach in prime and
plummy order, d—— me.”

“Coming along Piccadilly last night after leaving you, I was overtaken at
the corner of Rupert-street by our old college-companion Harry Hartwell,
pursuing his way to the Hummums, where it seems he has taken up his
abode. Harry, you remember, never was exactly one of us; he studies too
much, and pores everlastingly over musty old volumes of Law Cases,
Blackstone's Commentaries, and other black books, to qualify himself for
the black art, and as fit and proper person to appear at the Bar. The length of
time that had elapsed since our last meeting was sufficient inducement for
us to crack a bottle together; so taking his arm, we proceeded to the place of
destination, where we sat talking over past times, and indulging our humour
till half-past one o'clock, when I sallied forth on my return to Long's,
having altogether abandoned my original intention of calling in Golden-
square. At the corner of Leicester-square, my ears were assailed with a little
of the night music—the rattles were in full chorus, and the Charleys, in
prime twig,{1} were mustering from all quarters.

“The street was all alive, and I made my way through the crowd to the
immediate scene of action, which was rendered peculiarly interesting by the
discovery of a dainty bit of female beauty shewing fight with half a dozen
watchmen, in order to extricate herself from the grasp of these guardians of
our peace. She was evidently under the influence of the Bacchanalian god,
which invigorated her arm, without imparting discretion to her head, and
she laid about her with such dexterity, that the old files{2} were fearful of
losing their prey; but the odds were fearfully against her, and never did I
feel my indignation more aroused, than when I beheld a sturdy ruffian aim a
desperate blow at her head with his rattle, which in all probability, had it
taken the intended effect, would have sent her in search of that peace in the
other world, of which she was experiencing so little in this. It was not
possible for me to stand by, an idle spectator of the destruction of a female
who appeared to have no defender, whatever might be the nature of the
offence alleged or committed. I therefore warded off the blow with my left
arm, and with my right gave him a well-planted blow on the conk,{3}
which sent him piping into the kennel. In a moment I was surrounded and
charged with a violent assault upon the charley,{4} and interfering with the
guardians of the night in the execution of their duty. A complete diversion
took place from the original object of their fury, and in the bustle to secure
me, the unfortunate girl made her escape, where to, or how, heaven

1 Prime twig—Any thing accomplished in good order, or with
dexterity: a person well dressed, or in high spirits, is
considered to be in prime twig.

2 Old Jiles—A person who has had a long course of

experience in the arts of fraud, so as to become an adept in
the manouvres of the town, is termed a deep file—a rum
file, or an old file.

3 Conk—The nose.

4 Charley—A watchman.
only knows. Upon finding this, I made no resistance, but marched boldly
along with the scouts{1} to St. Martin's watch-house, where we arrived just
as a hackney coach drew up to the door.
“Take her in, d——n her eyes, she shall stump up the rubbish{2} before I
leave her, or give me the address of her flash covey,{3} and so here goes.”
By this time we had entered the watch-house, where I perceived the awful
representative of justice seated in an arm chair, with a good blazing fire,
smoking his pipe in consequential ease. A crowd of Charleys, with broken
lanterns, broken heads, and other symptoms of a row, together with several
casual spectators, had gained admittance, when Jarvis entered, declaring—
By G——he wouldn't be choused by any wh——re or cull in Christendom,
and he would make 'em come down pretty handsomely, or he'd know the
reason why: “And so please your Worship, Sir”—then turning round,
“hallo,” said he, “Sam, what's becom'd of that there voman—eh—vhat,
you've been playing booty eh, and let her escape.” The man to whom this
was intended to be addressed did not appear to be present, as no reply was
made. However, the case was briefly explained.
“But, by G——, I von't put any thing in Sam's vay again,” cried Jarvey.
{4} For my own part, as I knew nothing of the occurrences adverted to, I
was as much in the dark as if I had gone home without interruption. The
representations of the Charleys proved decisive against me—in vain I urged
the cause of humanity, and the necessity I felt of protecting a defenceless
female from the violence of accumulating numbers, and that I had done no
more than every man ought to have done upon such an occasion. Old puff
and swill, the lord of the night, declared that I must have acted with malice
afore-thought—that I was a pal in the concern, and that I had been
instrumental in the design of effecting a rescue; and, after a very short
deliberation, he concluded that I must be a notorious rascal, and desired me

to make up my mind to remain with him for the remainder of the night. Not
relishing this, I proposed to send for bail, assuring him of my

1 Scouts—Watchmen.

3 Stump up the rubbish—Meaning she (or he) shall pay, or
find money.

3 Flash covey—A fancy man, partner or protector

4 Jarvey—A coachman.
attendance in the morning; but was informed it could not be accepted of,
as it was clearly made out against me that I had committed a violent breach
of the peace, and nothing at that time could be produced that would prove
satisfactory. Under these circumstances, and partly induced by a desire to
avoid being troublesome in other quarters, I submitted to a restraint which it
appeared I could not very well avoid, and, taking my seat in an arm-chair
by the fire-side, I soon fell fast asleep, from which I was only aroused by
the occasional entrances and exits of the guardians, until between four and
five o'clock, when a sort of general muster of the Charleys took place, and
each one depositing his nightly paraphernalia, proceeded to his own
habitation. Finding the liberation of others from their duties would not have
the effect of emancipating me from my confinement, which was likely to be
prolonged to eleven, or perhaps twelve o'clock, I began to feel my situation
as a truly uncomfortable one, when I was informed by the watch-house
keeper, who resides upon the spot, that he was going to turn in,{1} that
there was fire enough to last till his wife turn'd out, which would be about
six o'clock, and, as I had the appearance of a gentleman, if there was any
thing I wanted, she would endeavour to make herself useful in obtaining it.
“But Lord,” said he, “there is no such thing as believing any body now-a-
days—there was such sets out, and such manouvering, that nobody knew
nothing of nobody.”
“I am obliged to you, my friend,” said I, “for this piece of information,
and in order that you may understand something of the person you are
speaking to beyond the mere exterior view, here is half-a-crown for your
communication.”

“Why, Sir,” said he, laying on at the same moment a shovel of coals,
“this here makes out what I said—Don't you see, said I, that 'are Gentleman
is a gentleman every inch of him, says I—as don't want nothing at all no
more nor what is right, and if so be as how he's got himself in a bit of a
hobble, I knows very well as how he's got the tip{2} in his pocket, and
does'nt want for spirit to pull it out—Perhaps you might like some
breakfast, sir?”

1 Turn in—Going to bed. This is a term most in use among
seafaring men.

2 Tip is synonymous with blunt, and means money.
"Why yes,” said I—for I began to feel a little inclined that way.
“O my wife, Sir,” said he, “will do all you want, when she rouses
herself.”
“I suppose,” continued I, “you frequently have occasion to accommodate
persons in similar situations?”
“Lord bless you! yes, sir, and a strange set of rum customers we have too
sometimes—why it was but a few nights ago we had 'em stowed here as
thick as three in a bed. We had 'em all upon the hop{1}—you never see'd
such fun in all your life, and this here place was as full of curiosities as
Pidcock's at Exeter Change, or Bartlemy-fair—Show 'em up here, all alive
alive O!”
“Indeed!” said I, feeling a little inquisitive on the subject; “and how did
this happen?”
“Why it was a rummish piece of business altogether. There was a large
party of dancing fashionables all met together for a little jig in St. Martin's
lane, and a very pretty medley there was of them. The fiddlers wagg'd their
elbows, and the lads and lasses their trotters, till about one o'clock, when,
just as they were in the midst of a quadrille, in burst the officers, and
quickly changed the tune. The appearance of these gentlemen had an
instantaneous effect upon all parties present: the cause of their visit was
explained, and the whole squad taken into custody, to give an account of
themselves, and was brought here in hackney-coaches. The delicate Miss
and her assiduous partner, who, a short time before had been all spirits and
animation, were now sunk in gloomy reflections upon the awkwardness of

their situation; and many of our inhabitants would have fainted when they
were informed they would have to appear before the Magistrate in the
morning, but for the well-timed introduction of a little drap of the cratur,
which an Irish lady ax'd me to fetch for her. But the best of the fun was, that
in the group we had a Lord and a Parson! For the dignity of the one, and the
honour of the other, they were admitted to bail—Lord have mercy upon us!
said the Parson—Amen, said the Lord; and this had the desired effect upon
the Constable of the night, for he let them off on the sly, you understand:
But my eyes what work there was in the morning! sixteen Jarveys, full of
live lumber,

1 Hop—A dance.
were taken to Bow-street, in a nice pickle you may be sure, dancing-
pumps and silk-stockings, after setting in the watch-house all night, and
surrounded by lots of people that hooted and howled, as the procession
passed along, in good style. They were safely landed at the Brown Bear,
from which they were handed over in groups to be examined by the
Magistrate, when the men were discharged upon giving satisfactory
accounts, and the women after some questions being put to them. You see
all this took place because they were dancing in an unlicensed room. It was
altogether a laughable set-out as ever you see'd—the Dandys and the
Dandyzettes—the Exquisites—the Shopmen—the Ladies' maid and the
Prentice Boys—my Lord and his Reverence—mingled up higgledy-
piggledy, pigs in the straw, with Bow-street Officers, Runners and
Watchmen—Ladies squalling and fainting, Men swearing and almost
fighting. It would have been a pleasure to have kick'd up a row that night, a
purpose to get admission—you would have been highly amused, I'll assure
you—good morning, Sir.” And thus saying, he turned the lock upon me, and
left me to my meditations. In about a couple of hours the old woman made
her appearance, and prepared me some coffee; and at eleven o'clock came
the Constable of the night, to accompany me before the Magistrate.
“Aware that the circumstances were rather against me, and that I had no
right to interfere in other persons' business or quarrels, I consulted him upon
the best mode of making up the matter; for although I had really done no
more than becomes a man in protecting a female, I had certainly infringed
upon the law, in effecting the escape of a person in custody, and

consequently was liable to the penalty or penalties in such cases made and
provided. On our arrival at the Brown Bear, I was met by a genteel-looking
man, who delivered me a letter, and immediately disappeared. Upon
breaking the seal, I found its contents as follows:
Dear Sir, Although unknown to me, I have learned enough of your
character to pronounce you a trump, a prime cock, and nothing but a good
one. I am detained by John Doe and Richard Roe with their d——d fieri
facias, or I should be with you. However, I trust you will excuse the liberty
I take in requesting you will make use of the enclosed for the purpose of
shaking yourself out of the hands of the scouts and their pals. We shall have
some opportunities of meeting, when I will explain: in the mean time,
believe me I am
Your's truly,
Tom.
“With this advice, so consonant with my own opinion, I immediately
complied; and having satisfied the broken-headed Charley, and paid all
expences incurred, I was induced to walk into the office merely to give a
look around me, when by a lucky chance I saw you enter. And thus you
have a full, true, and particular account of the peregrinations of your
humble servant.”
Listening with close attention to this narrative of Sparkle's, all other
subjects had escaped observation, till they found themselves in the Strand.
“Whither are we bound?” inquired Sparkle.
“On a voyage of discoveries,” replied Dashall, “and we just wanted you
to act as pilot.”
“What place is this?” inquired Bob.
“That,” continued Sparkle, “is Somerset-house. It is a fine old building; it
stands on the banks of the Thames, raised on piers and arches, and is now
appropriated to various public offices, and houses belonging to the various
offices of the Government.”
“The terrace, which lies on the river, is very fine, and may be well
viewed from Waterloo Bridge. The front in the Strand, you perceive, has a
noble aspect, being composed of a rustic basement, supporting a Corinthian
order of columns crowned with an attic in the centre, and at the extremities

with a balustrade. The south front, which looks into the court, is very
elegant in its composition.
“The basement consists of nine large arches; and three in the centre open,
forming the principal entrance; and three at each end, filled with windows
of the Doric order, are adorned with pilasters, entablatures, and pediments.
On the key-stones of the nine arches are carved, in alto relievo, nine
colossal masks, representing the Ocean, and the eight main Rivers of
England, viz. Thames, Humber, Mersey, Dee, Medway, Tweed, Tyne, and
Severn, with appropriate emblems to denote their various characters.
“Over the basement the Corinthian order consists of ten columns upon
pedestals, having their regular entablature. It comprehends two floors, and
the attic in the centre of the front extends over three intercolomniations, and
is divided into three parts by four colossal statues placed on the columns of
the order. It terminates with a group consisting of the arms of the British
empire, supported on one side by the Genius of England, and by Fame,
sounding the trumpet, on the other. These three open arches in the front
form the principal entrance to the whole of the structure, and lead to an
elegant vestibule decorated with Doric columns.
“The terrace, which fronts the Thames, is spacious, and commands a
beautiful view of part of the river, including Blackfriars, Waterloo, and
Westminster Bridges. It is reared on a grand rustic basement, having thirty-
two spacious arches. The arcade thus formed is judiciously relieved by
projections ornamented with rusticated columns, and the effect of the whole
of the terrace from the water is truly grand and noble. There is however, at
present, no admission for the public to it; but, in all probability, it will be
open to all when the edifice is completed, which would form one of the
finest promenades in the world, and prove to be one of the first luxuries of
the metropolis.
“That statue in the centre is a representation of our late King, George the
Third, with the Thames at his feet, pouring wealth and plenty from a large
Cornucopia. It is executed by Bacon, and has his characteristic cast of
expression. It is in a most ludicrous situation, being placed behind, and on
the brink of a deep area.
“In the vestibule are the rooms of the Royal Society, the Society of
Antiquarians, and the Royal Academy of Arts, all in a very grand and
beautiful style. Over the door of the Royal Academy is a bust of Michael

Angelo; and over the door leading to the Royal Society and Society of
Antiquarians, you will find the bust of Sir Isaac Newton.
“The Government-offices, to which this building is devoted, are objects
of great astonishment to strangers, being at once commodious and elegant,
and worthy the wealth of the nation to which they belong. The hall of the
Navy office is a fine room with two fronts, one facing the terrace and river,
and the other facing the court. On the right is the Stamp-office: it consists of
a multitude of apartments: the room in which the stamping is executed is
very interesting to the curious. On the left you see the Pay-office of the
Navy.
“The principal thing to attract notice in this edifice is the solidity and
completeness of the workmanship in the masonry, and indeed in every other
part.”
After taking a rather prolonged view of this elegant edifice, they again
sallied forth into the Strand, mingling with all the noise and bustle of a
crowded street, where by turns were to be discovered, justling each other,
parsons, lawyers, apothecaries, projectors, excisemen, organists, picture-
sellers, bear and monkey-leaders, fiddlers and bailiffs. The barber and the
chimney-sweeper were however always observed to be careful in avoiding
the touch of each other, as if contamination must be the inevitable
consequence.
“My dear fellow!” exclaimed a tall and well-dressed person, who
dragged the Honourable Tom Dashall on one side—“you are the very
person I wanted—I'm very glad to see you in town again—but I have not a
moment to spare—the blood-hounds are in pursuit—this term will be ended
in two days, then comes the long vacation—liberty without hiring a horse—
you understand—was devilishly afraid of being nabb'd just now—should
have been dished if I had—lend me five shillings—come, make haste.”
“Five shillings, Diddler, when am I to be paid? you remember—' When I
grow rich' was the reply.”
“Know—yes, I know all about it—but no matter, I'm not going to settle
accounts just now, so don't detain me, I hate Debtor and Creditor. Fine sport
to-morrow, eh—shall be at the Ring—in cog.—take no notice—disguised
as a Quaker—Obadiah Lankloaks—d——d large beaver hat, and hide my
physog.—Lend me what silver you have, and be quick about it, for I can't
stay—thank you, you're a d——a good fellow, Tom, a trump—shall now

pop into a hack, and drive into another county—thank ye—good day—by
by.”
During this harangue, while Tost was counting his silver, the ingenious
Mr. Diddler seized all he had, and whipping it speedily into his pocket, in a
few minutes was out of his sight.
Sparkle observing Dashall looking earnestly after Diddler, approached,
and giving him a lusty slap on the shoulder—“Ha! ha! ha!” exclaimed he,
“what are you done again?”
“I suppose so,” said Dashall; “confound the fellow, he is always
borrowing: I never met him in my life but he had some immediate necessity
or other to require a loan of a little temporary supply, as he calls it.”
“I wonder,” said Sparkle, “that you are so ready to lend, after such
frequent experience—how much does he owe you?”
“Heaven only knows,” continued Tom, “for I do not keep account against
him, I must even trust to his honour—so it is useless to stand here losing
our time—Come, let us forward.”
“With all my heart,”, said Sparkle, “and with permission I propose a visit
to the Bonassus, a peep at St. Paul's, and a chop at Dolly's.”
This proposition being highly approved of, they continued their walk
along the Strand, towards Temple Bar, and in a few minutes were attracted
by the appearance of men dressed in the garb of the Yeomen of the Guards,
who appeared active in the distribution of hand-bills, and surrounded a
house on the front of which appeared a long string of high and distinguished
names, as patrons and patronesses of the celebrated animal called the
Bonassus. Crossing the road in their approach to the door, Tallyho could not
help admiring the simple elegance of a shop-front belonging to a grocer,
whose name is Peck.
“Very handsome and tasty, indeed,” replied Sparkle; “that combination of
marble and brass has a light and elegant effect: it has no appearance of
being laboured at. The inhabitant of the house I believe is a foreigner, I
think an Italian; but London boasts of some of the most elegant shops in the
world.” And by this time they entered the opposite house.

CHAPTER IX

“In London my life is a ring of delight,
In frolics I keep up the day and the night;
I snooze at the Hummums till twelve, perhaps later,
I rattle the bell, and I roar up the Waiter;
?Your Honour,' says he, and he makes me a leg;
He brings me my tea, but I swallow an egg;
For tea in a morning's a slop I renounce,
So I down with a glass of good right cherry-bounce.
With—swearing, tearing—ranting, jaunting—slashing,
smashing—smacking, cracking—rumbling, tumbling
—laughing, quaffing—smoking, joking—swaggering,
Staggering:
So thoughtless, so knowing, so green and so mellow,
This, this is the life of a frolicsome fellow.”

UPON entering the house, and depositing their shilling each to view this
newly discovered animal from the Apalachian mountains of America, and
being supplied with immense long bills descriptive of his form and powers
—“Come along (said Sparkle,) let us have a look at the most wonderful
production of nature—only seventeen months old, five feet ten inches high,
and one of the most fashionable fellows in the metropolis.”
“It should seem so,” said Tallyho, “by the long list of friends and visitors
that are detailed in the commencement of the bill of fare.”
“Perhaps,” said Tom, “there are more Bon asses than one.”
“Very likely (continued Sparkle;) but let me tell you the allusion in this
case does not apply, for this animal has nothing of the donkey about him,
and makes no noise, as you will infer from the following lines in the Bill:

“As the Bonassus does not roar,
His fame is widely known,
For no dumb animal before

Has made such noise in town.”

At this moment the barking of a dog assailed their ears, and suspended
the conversation. Passing onward to the den of the Bonassus, they found a
dark-featured gentleman of middling stature, with his hair, whiskers, and
ears, so bewhitened with powder as to form a complete contrast with his
complexion and a black silk handkerchief which he wore round his neck,
holding a large brown-coloured dog by the collar, in order to prevent
annoyance to the visitors.
“D——n the dog, (exclaimed he) although he is the best tempered
creature in the world, he don't seem to like the appearance of the Bonassus
“—and espying Sparkle, “Ha, my dear fellow! how are you?—I have not
seen you for a long while.”
“Why, Sir D—n—ll, I am happy to say I never was better in my life—
allow me to introduce you to my two friends, the Hon. Mr. Dashall, and
Robert Tallyho—Sir D—n—ll Harlequin.”
The mutual accompaniments of such an introduction having passed
among them, the Knight, who was upon the moment of departure as they
entered, expressed his approbation of the animal he had been viewing, and,
lugging his puppy by one hand, and his cudgel in the other, wished them a
good morning.
“There is an eccentric man of Title,” continued Sparkle.
“I should judge,” said Bob, “there was a considerable portion of
eccentricity about him, by his appearance. Is he a Baronet?”
“A Baronet,” (replied Sparkle) “no, no, he is no other than a Quack
Doctor."{1}

1 Of all the subjects that afford opportunities for the
satiric pen in the Metropolis, perhaps there is none more
abundant or prolific than that of Quackery. Dr. Johnson
observes, that “cheats can seldom stand long against
laughter.” But if a judgment is really to be formed from
existing facts, it may be supposed that times are so
materially changed since the residence of that able writer
in this sublunary sphere, that the reverse of the position

may with greater propriety be asserted. For such is the
prevailing practice of the present day, that, according to
the opinion of thousands, there is nothing to be done
without a vast deal more of profession and pretence than
actual power, and he who is the best able to bear laughing
at, is the most likely to realize the hopes he entertains of
obtaining celebrity, and of having his labours crowned with
success. Nothing can be more evident than this in the
Medical profession, though there are successful Quacks of
all kinds, and in all situations, to be found in London.
This may truly be called the age of Quackery, from the
abundance of impostors of every kind that prey upon society;
and such as cannot or will not think for themselves, ought
to be guarded in a publication of this nature, against the
fraudulent acts of those persons who make it their business
and profit to deteriorate the health, morals, and amusements
of the public. But, in the present instance, we are speaking
of the Medical Quack only, than which perhaps there is none
more remarkable.

The race of Bossys, Brodrums, Solomons, Perkins, Chamants,
&c. is filled by others of equal notoriety, and no doubt of
equal utility. The Cerfs, the Curries, the Lamerts, the
Ruspinis, the Coopers, and Munroes, are all equally entitled
to public approbation, particularly if we may credit the
letters from the various persons who authenticate the
miraculous cures they have performed in the most inveterate,
we hail almost said, the most impossible, cases. If those
persons are really in existence (and who can doubt it?) they
certainly have occasion to be thankful for their escapes,
and we congratulate them; for in our estimation Quack
Doctors seem to consider the human frame merely as a subject
for experiments, which if successful will secure the
reputation of the practitioner. The acquisition of fame and
fortune is, in the estimation of these philosophers, cheaply
purchased by sacrificing the lives of a few of the vulgar,
to whom they prescribe gratis; and the slavish obedience of

some patients to the Doctor, is really astonishing. It is
said that a convalescent at Bath wrote to his Physician in
London, to know whether he might eat sauce with his pork;
but we have not been able to discover whether he expected an
answer gratis; that would perhaps have been an experiment
not altogether grateful to the Doctor's feelings.

The practice of advertising and billing the town has become
so common, that a man scarcely opens a coal-shed, or a
potatoe-stall, without giving due notice of it in the
newspapers, and distributing hand-bills: and frequently with
great success. But our Doctors, who make no show of their
commodities, have no mode of making themselves known without
it. Hence the quantity of bills thrust into the hand of the
passenger through the streets of London, which divulge the
almost incredible performances of their publishers. A high-
sounding name, such as The Chevalier de diamant, the
Chevalier de Ruspini, or The Medical Board, well bored behind
and before, are perhaps more necessary, with a few paper
puffs—as “palpable hits, my Lord,” than either skill or
practice, to obtain notice and secure fame.

The Chevalier de Chamant, who was originally a box-maker,
and a man of genius, considering box-making a plebeian
occupation, was for deducing a logical position, not exactly
perhaps by fair argument, but at all events through the
teeth, and was determined, although he could not, like Dr.
Pangloss, mend the cacology of his friends, at least to give
them an opportunity for plenty of jaw-work. With this
laudable object in view, he obtained a patent for making
artificial teeth of mineral paste; and in his advertisements
condescended not to prove their utility as substitutes for
the real teeth, when decayed or wanting, (this was beneath
his notice, and would have been a piece of mere plebeian
Quackery unworthy of his great genius,) but absolutely
assured the world that his mineral teeth were infinitely
superior to any production of nature, both for mastication

and beauty! How this was relished we know not; but he
declared (and he certainly ought to know) that none but
silly and timid persons would hesitate for one moment to
have their teeth drawn, and substitute his minerals: and it
is wonderful to relate, that although his charges were
enormous, and the operation (as may be supposed) not the
most pleasant, yet people could not resist the ingenious
Chevalier's fascinating and drawing puffs; in consequence of
which he soon became possessed of a large surplus of
capital, with which he determined to speculate in the Funds.

For this purpose he employed old Tom Bish, the Stockbroker,
to purchase stock for the amount; but owing to a sudden
fluctuation in the market, a considerable depreciation took
place between the time of purchase and that of payment; a
circumstance which made the Chevalier grin and show his
teeth: Determining however, not to become a victim to the
fangs of Bulls and Bears, but rather to dive like a duck, he
declared the bargain was not legal, and that he would not be
bound by it. Bish upon this occasion proved a hard-mouthed
customer to the man of teeth, and was not a quiet subject to
be drawn, but brought an action against the mineral monger,
and recovered the debt. Tom's counsel, in stating the case,
observed, that the Defendant would find the law could bite
sharper aud hold tighter than any teeth he could make; and
so it turned out.

The Chevalier de R—sp—ni is another character who has cut
no small figure in this line, but has recently made his
appearance in the Gazette, not exactly on so happy an
occasion as such a circumstance would be to his brother
chip, Dr. D—n—ll, now (we suppose) Sir Francis—though
perhaps equally entitled to the honour of knighthood. The
Chevalier has for some years looked Royalty in the face by
residing opposite Carlton House, and taken every precaution
to let the public know that such an important public
character was there to be found, by displaying his name as

conspicuously as possible on brass plates, &c. so that the
visitors to Carlton House could hardly fail to notice him as
the second greatest Character of that great neighbourhood.
But what could induce so great a man to sport his figure in
the Gazette, is as unaccountable as the means by which he
obtained such happy celebrity. Had it occurred immediately
after the war, it might have been concluded without much
stretch of imagination, that the Chevalier, who prides
himself on his intimacy with all the great men of the day,
had, through the friendship of the Duke of Wellington, made
a contract for the teeth and jaw-bones of all who fell at
the battle of Waterloo, and that by bringing to market so
great a stock at one time, the article had fallen in value,
and left the speculating Chevalier so great a loser as to
cause his bankruptcy. Whether such is the real cause or not,
it is difficult to ascertain what could induce the Chevalier
to descend from his dealings with the head to dabble with
lower commodities.

Among other modes of obtaining notoriety, usually resorted
to by Empirics, the Chevalier used to job a very genteel
carriage and pair, but his management was so excellent, that
the expenses of his equipage were very trifling; for as it
was not intended to run, but merely to stand at the door
like a barker at a broker's shop, or a direction-post, he
had the loan on very moderate terms, the job-master taking
into account that the wind of the cattle was not likely to
be injured, or the wheels rattled to pieces by velocity, or
smashed by any violent concussion.

The Chevalier had a Son, who unfortunately was not endowed
by nature with so much ambition or information as his
father; for, frequently when the carriage has been standing
at the door, he has been seen drinking gin most cordially
with Coachee, without once thinking of the evils of example,
or recollecting that he was one of the family. Papa used to
be very angry on these occasions, because, as he said, it

was letting people know that Coachee was only hired as &job,
and not as a family domestic.

For the great benefit and advantage of the community,
Medical Boards have recently been announced in various parts
of the Metropolis, where, according to the assertions of the
Principals, in their advertisements, every disease incident
to human nature is treated by men of skilful practice; and
among these truly useful establishments, those of Drs.
Cooper, Munro, and Co. of Charlotte house, Blackfriars, and
Woodstock-house, Oxford-road, are not the least conspicuous.
Who these worthies are, it is perhaps difficult to
ascertain. One thing however is certain, that Sir
F——s C——e D—n—ll, M.D. is announced as Treasurer,
therefore there can be no doubt but that all is fair above
board, for

“Brutus is an honourable man,
So are they all—all honourable men.”

And where so much skill derived from experience is
exercised, it cannot be doubted but great and important
benefits may result to a liberal and enlightened people. Of
the establishment itself we are informed by a friend, that
having occasion to call on the Treasurer, upon some
business, the door was opened by a copper-coloured servant,
a good-looking young Indian—not a fuscus Hydaspes, but a
serving man of good appearance, who ushered him up stairs,
and introduced him to the front room on the first floor,
where all was quackery, bronze and brass, an electrical
machine, images, pictures and diplomas framed and glazed,
and a table covered with books and papers. In a short time,
a person of very imposing appearance entered the room, with
his hair profusely powdered, and his person, from his chin
to his toes, enveloped in a sort of plaid roquelaure, who,
apologizing for the absence of the Doctor, began to assure
him of his being in the entire confidence of the Board, and

in all probability would have proceeded to the operation of
feeling the pulse in a very short time, had not the visitor
discovered in the features of this disciple of Esculapius a
person he had known in former times. 'Why, good God!'
cried he, 'is that you?—What have you done with the Magic-
lantern, and the Lecture on Heads?—am I right, or am I in
fairy-land?' calling him by his name. It was in vain to
hesitate, it was impossible to escape, the discovery was
complete. It was plain however that the dealer in magical
delusions had not altogether given up the art of
legerdemain, which, perhaps, he finds the most profitable of
the two.

Of the worthy Knight himself, (and perhaps the Coopers and
Munros have been consumed by the electrical fluid of their
own Board) much might be said. He is the inventor of a life-
preserver, with which it may be fairly presumed he has
effected valuable services to his country by the
preservation of Royalty, as a proof of deserving the honour
he has obtained. He is patriotic and independent, masonic
and benevolent, a great admirer of fancy horses and fancy
ladies, a curer of incurables, and has recently published
one of the most extraordinary Memoirs that has ever been
laid before the public, embellished with two portraits:
which of the two is most interesting must be left to the
discrimination of those who view them. It must however be
acknowledged, that after reading the following extract,
ingratitude is not yet eradicated from our nature, since,
notwithstanding he has obtained the dignified appellation of
Sir Francis, the Gazette says, that “in future no improper
person shall be admitted to the honour of knighthood, in
consequence of two surreptitious presentations lately”—the
one an M.D. the other F.R.C. Surgeons, particularly if it
were possible that this Gentleman may be one of the persons
alluded to. For, what says the Memoir?

“The utility of Sir Francis's invention being thus fully

established, and its ingenuity universally admired, it
excited the interest of the first characters among the
nobility, and an introduction to Court was repeatedly
offered to Sir Francis on this account. After a previous
communication with one of the Royal Family, and also with
the Secretary of State, on the 14th June last, he had the
honour of being presented to His Majesty, who, justly
appreciating the merit of the discovery, was pleased to
confer upon him the honour of knighthood.

“Thus it is pleasing, in the distribution of honours by the
hand of the Sovereign, to mark where they are conferred on
real merit. This is the true intention of their origin; but
it has been too often departed from, and they have been
given where no other title existed than being the friend of
those who had influence to gain the Royal ear. From the
above statement, it will be seen this honour was conferred
on Sir Francis by his Majesty for an invention, which has
saved since its discovery the lives of many hundreds, and
which may be considered as having given the original idea to
the similar inventions that have been attempted since that
time. Its utility and importance we have also seen
acknowledged and rewarded by the two leading Societies in
this country, and perhaps in Europe, viz. the Royal Humane,
and the Society of Arts. The Sovereign therefore was only
recognizing merit which had been previously established; and
the honour of knighthood, to the credit of the individual,
was conferred by his Majesty in the most liberal and
handsome manner, without any other influence being used by
Sir Francis than simply preferring the claim.”

Thus the subject of Knighthood is to be nursed; and as the
Doctor and the Nurse are generally to be recognized
together, no one can read this part of the Memoir without
exclaiming—Well done, Nussey. But why not Gazetted, after
this liberal and hand-some manner of being rewarded? or why
an allusion to two surreptitious presentations, the names of

which two persons, so pointedly omitted, cannot well be
misunderstood? This is but doing things by halves, though no
such an observation can be applied to the proceedings of
Charlotte-house, where Cooper, Munro, and Co. (being well
explained) means two or three persons, viz. a black, a white
man, and a mahogany-coloured Knight—a barber by trade, and
a skinner by company—a dealer in mercurials—a puff by
practice and an advertiser well versed in all the arts of
his prototype—a practitioner in panygyric—the puff direct—
the puff preliminary—the puff collateral—the puff
collusive—and the puff oblique, or puff by implication.
Whether this will apply to Sir Charles Althis or not, is
perhaps not so easy to ascertain; but as birds of a feather
like to flock together, so these medical Knights in
misfortune deserve to be noticed in the same column,
although the one is said to be a Shaver, and the other a
Quaker. It seems they have both been moved by the same
spirit, and both follow (a good way off) the profession of
medicine.

Among the various improvements of these improving times, for
we are still improving, notwithstanding complaint, a learned
little Devil, inflated with gas, has suggested a plan for
the establishment of a Medical Assurance-office, where
person and property might be insured at so much per annum,
and the advantages to be derived from such an Institution
would be, that instead of the insurance increasing with
years, it would grow less and less. How many thousand
grateful patients would it relieve annually! but we fear it
would be a daily source of sorrow to these knightly
medicals, and would by them be considered a devilish hard
case.
But hush, here is other company, and I will give you an account of him as
we go along.”
They now attended the Keeper, who explained the age, height, weight,
species, size, power, and propensities of the animal, and then departed on
their road towards Temple Bar,—on passing through which, they were

overtaken again by Sir Francis, in a gig drawn by a dun-coloured horse,
with his puppy between his legs, and a servant by his side, and immediately
renewed the previous conversation.
“There he goes again,” said Sparkle, “and a rare fellow he is too.”
“I should think so,” said Bob; “he must have quacked to some good
purpose, to obtain the honour of knighthood.”
"Not positively that,” continued Sparkle; “for to obtain and to deserve are
not synonymous, and, if report say true, there is not much honour attached
to his obtaining it.
“——In the modesty of fearful duty,

I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence:
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
At least speak most to my capacity.”

And, according to my humble conception, he who talks much about
himself, or pays others to talk or write about him, is generally most likely to
be least deserving of public patronage; for if a man possesses real and
evident abilities in any line of profession, the public will not be long in
making a discovery of its existence, and the bounty, as is most usually the
case, would quickly follow upon the heels of approbation. But many a
meritorious man in the Metropolis is pining away his miserable existence,
too proud to beg, and too honest to steal, while others, with scarcely more
brains than a sparrow, by persevering in a determination to leave no stone
unturned to make themselves appear ridiculous, as a first step to popularity;
and having once excited attention, even though it is merely to be laughed at
by the thinking part of mankind, he finds it no great difficulty to draw the
money out of their pockets while their eyes are riveted on a contemplation
of his person or conduct. And there are not wanting instances of effrontery
that have elevated men of little or no capacity to dignified situations. If
report say true, the present Secretary of the Admiralty, who is admirable for
his poetry also, was originally a hair-dresser, residing somewhere in
Blackfriar's or Westminster-road; but then you must recollect he was a man
who knew it was useless to lose a single opportunity; and probably such has
been the case with Sir Daniel Harlequin, who, from keeping a small shop in

Wapping, making a blaze upon the water about his Life-preserver, marrying
a wife with a red face and a full pocket, retired to a small cottage at Mile
End, and afterwards establishing a Medical Board, has got himself dubbed a
Knight. To be sure he has had a deal of puffing and blowing work to get
through in his progress, which probably accounts for his black looks, not a
little increased by the quantity of powder he wears. But what have we
here?” finding the bustle of the streets considerably increased after passing
Temple Bar.
“Some political Bookseller or other, in all probability,” said Tom—“I'll
step forward and see.” And in passing through the numerous body of
persons that crowded on every side, the whole party was separated. Bob,
who had hung a little back while his two friends rushed forward, was
lingering near the corner of the Temple: he was beckoned by a man across
the way, to whom he immediately went.
“Do you happen to want a piece of fine India silk handkerchiefs, Sir? I
have some in my pocket that I can recommend and sell cheap—for money
must be had; but only keep it to yourself, because they are smuggled goods,
of the best quality and richest pattern.” During this opening speech, he was
endeavouring to draw Tallyho under the archway of Bell-yard, when
Sparkle espying him, ran across to him, and taking him by the arm—“Come
along (said he;) and if you don't take yourself off instantly, I'll put you in
custody,” shaking his stick at the other.
All this was like Hebrew to Bob, who, for his part, really conceived the
poor fellow, as he termed him, might be in want of money, and compelled
to dispose of his article for subsistence.
“Ha, ha, ha,” cried Sparkle, “I see you know nothing about them: these
are the locusts of the town.” At this moment they were joined by the Hon.
Tom Dashall.
“Egad!” continued Sparkle, “I just saved your Cousin from being
trepanned, and sent for a soldier.”
Tallyho appeared all amazement.
“What,” cried Tom, “in the wars of Venus then, I suppose I know he has a
fancy for astronomy, and probably he was desirous of taking a peep into
Shire-lane, where he might easily find the Sun, Moon, and Seven Stars.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” replied Sparkle, “not exactly so; but I rescued him from the
hands of a Buffer,{1} who would

1 Buffers miscalled Duffers—Persons who adopt a species of
swindling which is rather difficult of detection, though it
is daily practised in London. The term Buffer takes its
derivation from a custom which at one time prevailed of
carrying Bandanas, sarsnets, French stockings, and silk of
various kinds, next the shirts of the sellers; so that upon
making a sale, they were obliged to undress in order to come
at the goods, or in other words, to strip to the skin, or
buff it; by which means they obtained the title of Buffers.
This trade (if it may be so termed) is carried on in a
genteel manner. The parties go about from house to house,
and attend public-houses, inns, and fairs, pretending to
sell smuggled goods, such as those already mentioned; and by
offering their goods for sale, they are enabled by practice
to discover the proper objects for their arts.

Buffers, or Duffers, who are not rogues in the strict sense
of the word, only offer to sell their goods to the best
advantage, and by this means evade the detection of the
police, but are equally subversive or destructive of common
honesty under a cloak or disguise; for if they can persuade
any person that the article offered is actually better or
cheaper than any other person's, they are doing no more than
every tradesman does; but then as they pay no rent or taxes
to the State, the principal objection to them lies in the
mode of operation, and an overstrained recommendation of
their goods, which are always, according to their account,
of the most superior quality; and they have a peculiar
facility of discovering the novice or the silly, to whom
walking up with a serious countenance and interesting air,
they broach the pleasing intelligence, that they have on
sale an excellent article well worth their attention, giving
a caution at the same time, that honour and secrecy must be
implicitly observed, or it may lead to unpleasantness to

both parties. By these means persons from the country are
frequently enticed into public-houses to look at their
goods; and if they do not succeed in one way, they are
almost sure in another, by having an accomplice, who will
not fail to praise the articles for sale, and propose some
gambling scheme, by which the party is plundered of his
money by passing forged Bank-notes, base silver or copper,
in the course of their dealings.
doubtless have fleeced him in good style, if he could only have induced
him to attend to his story.”
“The mob you see collected there,” said the Hon. Tom Dashalll, “is
attracted by two circumstances—Money's new Coronation Crop, just
lanched—and a broken image of a Highlander, at the door of a snuff-shop;
each of them truly important and interesting of course, the elevation of one
man, and the destruction of another. The poor Scotchman seems dreadfully
bruised, and I suppose is now under the Doctor's hands, for he has two or
three plasters on his face.”
“Yes,” continued Sparkle, “he has been out on a spree,{1} had a bit of a
turn-up, and been knock'd down.”
Upon hearing this conversation, Tallyho could not help inquiring into the
particulars.
“Why the facts are simply as follows,” continued

1 Spree—A bit of fun, or a frolicsome lark.
Sparkle—“in London, as you perceive, tradesmen are in the habit of
exhibiting signs of the business or profession in which they are engaged.
The Pawnbroker decorates his door with three gold balls—the Barber, in
some places, (though it is a practice almost out of date) hangs out a long
pole—the Gold-beater, an arm with a hammer in the act of striking—the
Chemist, a head of Glauber, or Esculapius—the Tobacconist, a roll of
tobacco, and of late it has become customary for these venders of
pulverised atoms called snuff, to station a wooden figure of a Highlander, in
the act of taking a pinch of Hardham's, or High-dried, as a sort of inviting
introduction to their counters; and a few nights back, a Scotchman,
returning from his enjoyments at a neighbouring tavern, stopped to have a
little friendly chat with this gentleman's Highlander, and by some means or

other, I suppose, a quarrel ensued, upon which the animated young
Scotchman took advantage of his countryman—floored him, broke both his
arms, and otherwise did him considerable bodily injury, the effects of which
are still visible; and Johnny Bull, who is fond of a little gape-seed, is
endeavouring to console him under his sufferings.”
“Very kind of him, indeed,” replied Bob.
“At any rate,” said Tom, “the Tobacconist will have occasion to be
grateful to the Highlander{1} for some portion of his popularity.”

1 It is matter of astonishment to some, but not less true,
that many tradesmen in the Metropolis have to ascribe both
fame and fortune to adventitious circumstances. It is said
that Hardham, of Fleet Street, had to thank the celebrated
Comedian, Foote, who, in one of his popular characters,
introducing his snuffbox, offered a pinch to the person he
was in conversation with on the stage, who spoke well of it,
and inquired where he obtained it?—“Why, at Hardham's, to
be sure.” And to this apparently trifling circumstance,
Hardham was indebted for his fortune.

The importance of a Highlander to a snuff-shop will appear
by a perusal of the following fact:—

A very respectable young man, a Clerk in the office of an
eminent Solicitor, was recently brought before Mr. Alderman
Atkins, upon the charge of being disorderly. The prisoner,
it seemed, on his return home from a social party, where he
had been sacrificing rather too freely to the jolly god, was
struck with the appearance of a showy wooden figure of a
Highlander, at the door of Mr. Micklan's snuff-shop, No. 12,
Fleet Street. The young Attorney, who is himself a
Scotchman, must needs claim acquaintance with his
countryman. He chucked him familiarly under the chin, called
him a very pretty fellow, and, in the vehemence of his
affection, embraced him with so much violence, as to force
him from his station. Mr. Micklan ran to the assistance of

his servant, and in the scuffle the unfortunate Highlander
had both his arms dislocated, the frill that adorned his
neck damaged, besides other personal injuries, which his
living countryman not being in the humour to atone for, Mr.
Micklau gave him in charge to the watchman. Before the
Magistrate in the morning, the young man appeared heartily
sick of his folly, and perfectly willing to make every
reparation, but complained of the excessive demand, which he
stated to be no less than thirteen guineas. Mr. Micklan
produced the remains of the unfortunate Highlander, who
excited a compound fracture of both arms, with a mutilation
of three or four fingers, and such other bodily wounds, as
to render his perfect recovery, so as to resume his
functions at Mr. Micklan's door, altogether hopeless. The
Highlander, the complainant stated, cost him thirteen
guineas, and was entirely new. The sum might seem large for
the young gentleman to pay for such a frolic, but it would
not compensate him for the injury he should sustain by the
absence of the figure; for, however strange it might appear,
he did not hesitate to say, that without it he should not
have more than half his business. Since he had stationed it
at his door, he had taken on an average thirty shillings a
day more than he had done previous to exhibiting his
attractions.

There being no proof of a breach of the peace, Mr. Alderman
Atkins advised the gentleman to settle the matter upon the
best terms he could. They withdrew together, and on their
return the complainant reported that the gentleman had
agreed to take the figure, and furnish him with a new one.

Mr. Alderman Atkins, in discharging the prisoner,
recommended to him to get the figure repaired, and make a
niche for him in his office, where, by using it as a proper
memorial, it would probably save him more than it cost him.

The broken figure has since been exhibited in his old

station, and excited considerable notice; but we apprehend
he is not yet able to afford all the attractions of his
occupation, for he has formerly been seen inviting his
friends to a pinch of snuff gratis, by holding a box
actually containing that recreating powder in his hand, in
the most obliging and condescending manner—a mark of
politeness and good breeding well worthy of respectful
attention.
“Come,” said Sparkle, “we are now in one of the principal thoroughfares
of the Metropolis, Fleet Street, of which you have already heard much, and
is at all times thronged with multitudes of active and industrious persons, in
pursuit of their various avocations, like a hive of bees, and keeping up, like
them, a ceaseless hum. Nor is it less a scene of Real Life worth viewing,
than the more refined haunts of the noble, the rich, and the great, many of
whom leave their splendid habitations in the West in the morning, to attend
the money-getting, commercial men of the City, and transact their business.
—The dashing young spendthrift, to borrow at any interest; and the more
prudent, to buy or to sell. The plodding tradesman, the ingenious mechanic,
are exhausting their time in endeavours to realize property, perhaps to be
left for the benefit of a Son, who as ardently sets about, after his Father's
decease, to get rid of it—nay, perhaps, pants for an opportunity of doing
this before he can take possession; for the young Citizen, having lived just
long enough to conceive himself superior to his father, in violation of filial
duty and natural authority, affects an aversion to every thing that is not
novel, expensive, and singular. He is a lad of high spirit; he calls the city a
poor dull prison, in which he cannot bear to be confined; and though he
may not intend to mount his nag, stiffens his cravat, whistles a sonata, to
which his whip applied to the boot forms an accompaniment; while his
spurs wage war with the flounces of a fashionably-dressed belle, or come
occasionally in painful contact with the full-stretched stockings of a gouty
old gentleman; by all which he fancies he is keeping” up the dignity and
importance of his character. He does not slip the white kid glove from his
hand without convincing the spectator that; his hand is the whiter skin; nor
twist his fingers for the introduction of a pinch of Maccaba, without
displaying to the best advantage his beautifully chased ring and elegantly
painted snuff-box lid; nor can the hour of the day be ascertained without
discovering his engine-turned repeater, and hearing its fascinating music:

then the fanciful chain, the precious stones in golden robes, and last of all,
the family pride described in true heraldic taste and naïveté. Of Peter
Pindar's opinion, that

“Care to our coffin adds a nail,
But every grin so merry draws one out,”

he thinks it an admirable piece of politeness and true breeding to give
correct specimens of the turkey or the goose in the serious scenes of a
dramatic representation, or while witnessing her Ladyship's confusion in a
crowd of carriages combating for precedence in order to obtain an early
appearance at Court. Reading he considers quite a bore, but attends the
reading-room, which he enters, not to know what is worth reading and add a
little knowledge to his slender stock from the labours and experience of
men of letters—no, but to quiz the cognoscenti, and throw the incense over
its learned atmosphere from his strongly perfumed cambric handkerchief,
which also implies what is most in use for the indulgence of one of the five
senses. When he enters a coffee-room, it is not for the purpose of meeting
an old friend, and to enjoy with him a little rational conversation over his
viands, but to ask for every newspaper, and throw them aside without
looking at them—to call the Waiter loudly by his name, and shew his
authority—to contradict an unknown speaker who is in debate with others,
and declare, upon the honour of a gentleman and the veracity of a scholar,
that Pope never understood Greek, nor translated Homer with tolerable
justice. He considers it a high privilege to meet a celebrated pugilist at an
appointed place, to floor him for a quid,{1} a fall, and a high delight to talk
of it afterwards for the edification of his friends—to pick up a Cyprian at
mid-day—to stare modest women out of countenance—to bluster at a
hackney-coachman—or to upset a waterman in the river, in order to gain the
fame of a Leander, and prove himself a Hero.
“He rejects all his father's proposed arrangements for his domestic
comforts and matrimonial alliance. He wanders in his own capricious fancy,
like a fly in summer, over the fields of feminine beauty and loveliness; yet
he declares there is so much versatility and instability about the fair sex,
that they are unworthy his professions of regard; and, perhaps, in his whole

composition, there is nothing deserving of serious notice but his good-
nature. Thus you have a short sketch of a young Citizen.”
“Upon my word, friend Sparkle, you are an admirable delineator of
Society,” said Dashall.
“My drawings are made from nature,” continued Sparkle.
“Aye, and very naturally executed too,” replied Tom. Having kept
walking on towards St. Paul's, they were by this time near the end of Shoe
Lane, at the corner of which sat an elderly woman with a basket of
mackerel for sale; and as they approached they saw several persons rush
from thence into the main street in evident alarm.
“Come up, d——n your eyes,” said an ill-favoured fellow with an
immense cudgel in his fist, driving an ass laden

1 Quid—A. Guinea.
with brick-dust, with which he was belabouring him most unmercifully.
The poor beast, with an endeavour to escape if possible the cudgelling
which awaited him, made a sudden turn round the post, rubbing his side
against it as he went along, and thereby relieving himself of his load, which
he safely deposited, with a cloud of brick-dust that almost blinded the old
woman and those who were near her, in the basket of fish. Neddy then
made the best of his way towards Fleet-market, and an over-drove bullock,
which had terrified many persons, issued almost at the same moment from
Shoe Lane, and took the direction for Temple-bar. The whistling, the
hooting, the hallooing, and the running of the drovers in pursuit—men,
women, and children, scampering to get out of the way of the infuriated
beast—the noise and rattling of carriages, the lamentations of the poor fish-
fag, and the vociferations of the donkey-driver to recover his neddy—
together with a combination of undistinguishable sounds from a variety of
voices, crying their articles for sale, or announcing their several occupations
—formed a contrast of characters, situations, and circumstances, not easily
to be described. Here, a poor half-starved and almost frightened-to-death
brat of a Chimney-sweeper, in haste to escape, had run against a lady whose
garments were as white as snow—there, a Barber had run against a Parson,
and falling along with him, had dropped a pot of pomatum from his apron-
pocket on the reverend gentleman's eye, and left a mark in perfect unison
with the colour of his garments before the disaster, but which were now of a

piebald nature, neither black nor white. A barrow of nuts, overturned in one
place, afforded fine amusement for the scrambling boys and girls—a Jew
old clothes-man swore upon his conscience he had losht the pest pargain
vhat he ever had offered to him in all his lifetime, by dem tam'd bears of
bull-drivers—a Sailor called him a gallows half-hung ould crimp,{1} d——
d his

1 Crimp—Kidnappers, Trappers, or Procurers of men for the
Merchant Service; and the East-India company contract with
them for a supply of sailors to navigate their ships out and
home. These are for the most part Jews, who have made
advances to the sailors of money, clothes, victuals, and
lodgings, generally to a very small amount, taking care to
charge an enormous price for every article. The poor
fellows, by these means, are placed under a sort of
espionage, if not close confinement, till the ship is ready
to receive them; and then they are conducted on board at
Gravesend by the Crimp and his assistants, and a receipt
taken for them.

In this process there is nothing very reprehensible—the men
want births, and have no money—the Crimp keeps a lodging-
house, and wishes to be certain of his man: he therefore
takes him into the house, and after a very small supply of
cash, the grand do, is to persuade him to buy watches,
buckles, hats, and jackets, to be paid for on his receiving
his advance previous to sailing. By this means and the
introduction of grog, the most barefaced and unblushing
robberies have been committed.

With the same view of fleecing the unwary poor fellows, who

“... at sea earn their money like horses,
To squander it idly like asses on shore,”

they watch their arrival after the voyage, and advance small
sums of money upon their tickets, or perhaps buy them out

and out, getting rid at the same time of watches, jewellery,
and such stuff, at more than treble their real value. Not
only is this the case in London, but at all the out-ports it
is practised to a very great extent, particularly in war
time.

Happy would it be for poor Jack were this all; he is some-
times brought in indebted to the Crimp to a large nominal
amount, by what is called a long-shore attorney, or more
appropriately, a black shark, and thrown into jail!!! There
he lies until his body is wanted, and then the incarcerator
négociâtes with him for his liberty, to be permitted to
enter on board again.
eyes if he was not glad of it, and, with a sling of his arm, deposited an
enormous quid he had in his mouth directly in the chaps of the Israelite,
then joined the throng in pursuit; while the Jew, endeavouring to call Stop
thief, took more of the second-hand quid than agreed with the delicacy of
his stomach, and commenced a vomit, ejaculating with woful lamentations,
that he had lost his bag mit all his propertish.
The old mackarel-woman, seeing her fish covered with brick-dust, set off
in pursuit of the limping donkey-driver, and catching him by the neck,
swore he should pay her for the fish, and brought him back to the scene of
action; but, in the mean time, the Street-keeper had seized and carried off
the basket with all its contents—misfortune upon misfortune!
“D——n your ass, and you too,” said the Fish-woman, “if you doesn't
pay me for my fish, I'll quod{1} you—that there's all vat I ar got to say.”
“Here's a bit of b——dy gammon—don't you see as how I am lost both
my ass and his cargo, and if you von't leave

1 Quod—A Jail—to quod a person is to send him to jail.
me alone, and give me my bags again, I'll sarve you out—there now,
that's all—bl——st me! fair play's a jewel—let go my hair, and don't kick
up no rows about it—see vhat a mob you're a making here—can't you sell
your mackarel ready sauced, and let me go ater Neddy?”
“Vhat, you thinks you are a flat-catching,{1} do you, Limping Billy—
but eh, who has run away with my basket offish?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” cried Limping Billy, bursting into a horse-laugh at the
additional distress of the old woman, in which he was joined by many of the
surrounding spectators; and which so enraged her, that she let go her hold,
and bursting through the crowd with an irresistible strength, increased
almost to the fury of madness by her additional loss, she ran some paces
distance in search of, not only her stock in trade, but her shop, shop-board,
and working-tools; while the donkey-driver boisterously vociferated after
her—“Here they are six a shilling, live mackarel O.”
This taunt of the brick-dust merchant was too much to be borne, and
brought her back again with a determination to chastise him, which she did
in a summary way, by knocking him backwards into the kennel. Billy was
not pleased at this unexpected salute, called her a drunken ——, and
endeavoured to get out of her way—“for,” said he, “I know she is a b——
dy rum customer when she gets lushy."{2} At this moment, a sturdy youth,
about sixteen or seventeen years of age, was seen at a short distance riding
the runaway-ass back again. Billy perceiving this, became a little more
reconciled to his rough usage—swore he never would strike a voman, so
help him G——d, for that he was a man every inch of him; and as for
Mother Mapps, he'd be d——nd-if he vouldn't treat her with all the pleasure
of life; and now he had got his own ass, he vould go along with her for to
find her mackarel. Then shaking a cloud of brick-dust from the dry parts of
his apparel, with sundry portions of mud from those parts which had most
easily reached the kennel, he took the bridle of his donkey, and bidding her
come along, they toddled{3} together to a gin-shop in Shoe Lane.

1 Flat-catching—Is an expression of very common use, and
seems almost to explain itself, being the act of taking
advantage of any person who appears ignorant and
unsuspicious.

2 Lushy—Drunk.

3 Toddle—To toddle is to walk slowly, either from
infirmity or choice—“Come, let us toddle,” is a very
familiar phrase, signifying let us be going.

Desirous of seeing an end to this bit of gig—“Come along,” said Sparkle,
“they'll all be in prime twig presently, and we shall have some fun.

“I'm the boy for a bit of a bobbery,
Nabbing a lantern, or milling a pane;
A jolly good lark is not murder or robbery,
Let us be ready and nimble.”

Hark, (said he) there's a fiddle-scraper in the house—here goes;” and
immediately they entered.
They had no occasion to repent of their movements; for in one corner of
the tap-room sat Billy Waters, a well-known character about town, a Black
Man with a wooden leg was fiddling to a Slaughterman from Fleet-market,
in wooden shoes, who, deck'd with all the paraphernalia of his occupation, a
greasy jacket and night-cap, an apron besmeared with mud, blood, and
grease, nearly an inch thick, and a leathern girdle, from which was
suspended a case to hold his knives, and his sleeves tuck'd up as if he had
but just left the slaughter-house, was dancing in the centre to the infinite
amusement of the company, which consisted of an old woman with
periwinkles and crabs for sale in a basket—a porter with his knot upon the
table—a dustman with his broad-flapped hat, and his bell by his side—an
Irish hodman—and two poor girls, who appeared to be greatly taken with
the black fiddler, whose head was decorated with an oil-skinned cock'd hat,
and a profusion of many coloured feathers: on the other side of the room sat
a young man of shabby-genteel appearance, reading the newspaper with
close attention, and purring forth volumes of smoke. Limping Billy and
Mother Mapps were immediately known, and room was made for their
accommodation, while the fiddler's elbow and the slaughterman's wooden
shoes were kept in motion.
Max{l} was the order of the day, and the sluicery{2} in good request.
Mother Mapps was made easy by being informed the Street-keeper had her
valuables in charge, which Limping Billy promised he would redeem.
“Bring us a

1 Max—A very common term for gin.

2 Sluicery—A gin-shop or public-house: so denominated from
the lower orders of society sluicing their throats as it
were with gin, and probably derived from the old song
entitled “The Christening of Little Joey,” formerly sung
by Jemmy Dodd, of facetious memory.

“And when they had sluiced their gobs
With striving to excel wit,
The lads began to hang their nobs,*

* Nobs—Heads.

** Frows—Originally a Dutch word, meaning wives, or girls.

*** Velvet—The tongue.
noggin of white tape,{1} and fill me a pipe,” said he—“d——n my eyes,
I knowed as how it vou'd be all right enough, I never gets in no rows
whatever without getting myself out again—come, ould chap,{2} vet your
vistle, and tip it us rum—go it my kiddy, that are's just vat I likes.”
“Vat's the reason I an't to have a pipe?” said Mother Mapps.
“Lord bless your heart,” said the Donkey-driver, “if I did'nt forget you,
never trust me—here, Landlord, a pipe for this here Lady.”
“Which way did the bull run?” said the Irishman.
“Bl——st me if I know,” replied Limping Billy, “for I was a looking out
for my own ass—let's have the Sprig of Shelalah, ould Blackymoor—come,
tune up.”
The old woman being supplied with a pipe, and the fiddler having
rosined his nerves with a glass of blue ruin{3} to it they went, some
singing, some whistling, and others drumming with their hands upon the
table; while Tom, Bob, and Sparkle, taking a seat at the other side of the
room, ordered a glass of brandy and water each, and enjoyed the merriment
of the scene before them, perhaps more than those actually engaged in it.
Bob was alive to every movement and every character, for it was new, and
truly interesting: and kept growing more so, for in a few minutes Limping
Billy and Mother Mapps joined the Slaughterman in the dance, when

nothing could be more grotesque and amusing. Their pipes in their mouths
—clapping of hands and snapping of fingers, formed a curious
accompaniment to the squeaking of the fiddle—the broad grin of the
Dustman, and the preposterous laugh of the

1 White Tape—Also a common term for gin, particularly among
the Ladies.

2 Ould Chap, or Ould Boy—Familiar terms of address among
flash lads, being a sort of contraction of old acquaintance,
or old friend.

3 Blue Ruin—Gin.
Irishman at the reelers in the centre, heightened the picture—more gin—
more music, and more tobacco, soon ad a visible effect upon the party, and
reeling became unavoidable. The young man reading the paper, found it
impossible to understand what he was perusing, and having finished his
pipe and his pint, made his exit, appearing to have no relish for the
entertainment, and perhaps heartily cursing both the cause and the effect.
Still, however, the party was not reduced in number, for as one went out
another came in.
This new customer was a young-looking man, bearing a large board on a
high pole, announcing the residence of a Bug-destroyer in the Strand. His
appearance was grotesque in the extreme, and could only be equalled by the
eccentricities of his manners and conversation. He was dressed in a brown
coat, close buttoned, over which he had a red camlet or stuff surtout,
apparently the off-cast of some theatrical performer, but with a
determination to appear fashionable; for

“Folks might as well be dead—nay buried too,
As not to dress and act as others do.”

He wore mustachios, a pair of green spectacles, and his whole figure was
surmounted with a fur-cap. Taking a seat directly opposite our party at the
same table—“Bring me a pint,” said he; and then deliberately searching his
pockets, he produced a short pipe and some tobacco, with which he filled it

—“You see,” said he, “I am obliged to smoke according to the Doctor's
orders, for an asthma—so I always smokes three pipes a day, that's my
allowance; but I can eat more than any man in the room, and can dance,
sing, and act—nothing conies amiss to me, all the players takes their
characters from me.”
After this introduction—“You are a clever fellow, I'll be bound for it,”
said Dashall.
“O yes, I acts Richard the Third sometimes—sometimes Macbeth and
Tom Thumb. I have played before Mr. Kean: then I acted Richard the Third
—'Give me a horse! '—(starting into the middle of the room)—'no, stop, not
so—let me see, let me see, how is it?—ah, this is the way—Give me a horse
—Oh! Oh! Oh!—then you know I dies.”—And down he fell on the floor,
which created a general roar of laughter; while Billy Waters struck up, “See
the conquering Hero conies!” to the inexpressible delight of all around him
—their feet and hands all going at the same time.
Mother Mapps dropp'd her pipe, and d——d the weed, it made her sick,
she said.
Limping Billy was also evidently in queer-street.
“Come,” said Sparkle, “won't you have a drop more?”
“Thank ye, Sir,” was the reply; and Sparkle, intent upon having his gig
out, ordered a fresh supply, which soon revived the fallen hero of
Bosworth-field, and Richard was himself again.
“Now,” said he, “I'll sing you a song,” and immediately commenced as
follows:—

“My name's Hookey Walker, I'm known very well,
In acting and eating I others excel;
The player-folks all take their patterns from me,
And a nice pattern too!—Don't you see? don't you see?
Oh! [glancing at his fingers] It will do—it will do.

At Chippenham born, I was left quite forlorn,
When my father was dead and my mother was gone;
So I came up to London, a nice little he,
And a nice pattern too!—Don't you see? don't you see?

Oh! it will do—it will do.

A courting I went to a girl in our court,
She laugh'd at my figure, and made me her sport;
I was cut to the soul,—so said I on my knee,
I'm a victim of love!—Don't you see? don't you see?
Oh! it won't do—it won't do.

Now all day I march to and fro in the street,
And a candle sometimes on my journey I eat;
So I'll set you a pattern, if you'll but agree,
And a nice pattern too! you shall see—you shall see.
Oh! it will do—it will do.”

This Song, which he declared was all made out of his own head, was
sung with grotesque action and ridiculous grimace, intended no doubt in
imitation of Mr. Wilkinson in his inimitable performance of this strange
piece of whimsicality. The dancing party was knock'd up and were lobbing
their lollys,{1} half asleep and half awake, on the table, bowing as it were
to the magnanimous influence

1 Lobbing their lollys—Laying their heads.
of Old Tom.{1} The Dustman and the Irishman laugh'd heartily; and Das
hall, Tallyho, and Sparkle, could not resist the impulse to risibility when
they contemplated the group before them. The Bug-destroyer munched{2} a
candle and sluiced{3} his greasy chops{4} with Jacky{5} almost as fast as
they could supply him with it, when Sparkle perceiving the boy was still at
the door with the runaway ass,
“Come,” said he, “we'll start 'em off home in high style—here, you Mr.
Bugman, can you ride?”
“Ride, aye to be sure I can, any of Mr. Astley's horses as well as the
Champion of England,"{6} was the reply.

1 Old Tom—It is customary in public-houses and gin-shops
in London and its vicinity to exhibit a cask inscribed with
large letters—OLD TOM, intended to indicate the best gin in

the house.

2 Munched—Eat.

3 Sluiced—Washed. See Sluicery.

4 Chops—The mouth.

5 Jacky—A vulgar term for gin.

6 Any person would almost suspect that Hookey had been
reading the newspapers by this allusion; but that certainly
could not be the case, for, spurning all education in early
life, this representative of the immortal bard—this
character of characters from Shakespeare, could neither read
nor write, but made all he acted, as he said, from his own
head: however, it may fairly be presumed, that in the course
of his travels during the day he had heard something of the
Champion intended to appear at the approaching Coronation,
of whom the following account has recently been circulated
through the daily press, and, with his usual consistency,
conceived his own innate abilities equal to those which
might be acquired by Mr. Dymocke, though his claims were not
equally honourable or advantageous.

Mr. Dymocke, the nephew of the gentleman (who is a
Clergyman) entitled by hereditary right to do the service of
the Champion to his Majesty, is still in hopes he may be
permitted to act under his Uncle's nomination, although he
wants a few months of being of age. A petition is before the
King on the subject; and Mr. Dymocke, by constant practice
at Astley's Hiding-school, is endeavouring to qualify
himself for the due fulfilment of the office. On Thursday
lie went through his exercise in a heavy suit of armour with
great celerity. The horse which will be rode by the Champion
has been selected from Mr. Astley's troop. It is a fine

animal, pieballed black and white, and is regularly
exercised in the part he will have to perform.
“Walk in—walk in, Ladies and Gentlemen, just going to begin—come,
Mr. Merryman, all ready—Ladies and Gentlemen, please to observe, this
here horse is not that there horse.”
“So we laugh at John Bull a little.”
"Come, then,” continued Sparkle, “another glass—half-a-crown to ride to
the bottom of the lane and up Holboru-hill on that donkey at the door, and
you shall be our Champion.”
“A bargain—a bargain,” said the assumed Hookey Walker, rubbing the
tallow from his gills.{1}
“Here goes then,” said Sparkle; then slipping half-a-crown into the boy's
hand, desiring him to run as far as the Traveller-office, in Fleet-street, and
get him a newspaper, promising to take care of his ass till his return. The lad
nibbled the bait, and was off in a pig's whisper{2} Sparkle called to Tom
and Bob, and putting them up to his scheme, Hookey was quickly mounted,
while Dashall and his Cousin, assisted by the Hibernian and Dust-ho,
succeeded in getting Mother Mapps out, who was placed in the front of the
Champion, astride, with her face towards him and Limping Billy, who
though beat to a stand still,{3} was after some difficulty lifted up behind.
Hookey was then supplied with his board, the pole of which he placed on
his foot, in the manner of a spear or lance. Then giving the Irishman and the
Dustman some silver, to act as Supporters or Esquires, one on each side,
they proceeded along Shoe-lane, preceded by Billy Waters flourishing his
wooden-leg and feathers, and fiddling as he went—the Irishman roaring out
with Stentorian lungs,

“Sure won't you hear
What roaring cheer
Was spread at Paddy's wedding O,
And how so gay
They spent the day,
From the churching to the bedding O.
First book in hand came Father Quipes,
With the Bride's dadda, the Bailey O,

While all the way to church the pipes
Struck up a jilt so gaily O.
“Kim ap—be after sitting fast in the front there, old Mapps, or you'll
make a mud-lark of yourself.” The Dustman rang his bell; and thus
accompanied with an immense assemblage of boys, girls, men, women, and

1 Gills—The mouth.

2 Pig's Whisper—A very common term for speed.

3 Beat to a dead stand still—Means completely unable to
assist himself.
children, collected from all the courts and alleys in the neighbourhood,
joining in a chorus of shouts that rent the air, poor Balaam continued to bear
his load; while our party, after watching them till nearly out of sight, passed
down Harp-alley into Fleet-market,” and turning to the right, very soon
regained Fleet-Street, laughing heartily at the bull's cookery of mackarel
buttered with brick-dust, and very well satisfied with their spree.
Engaged in conversation upon this adventure, they found nothing of
interest' or amusement to attract their notice till they arrived at the
warehouse of the London Genuine Tea Company, except merely remarking
the grand appearance of St. Paul's, from that situation.
“Genuine tea” said Bob; “what can that mean—Is tea any thing but tea?”
“To be sure it is,” said Sparkle, “or has been—anything but tea,"{l}
strongly marking the latter part of the

1 Tea and Coffee—The adulteration of articles of human food
is a practice of the most nefarious description, and cannot
be too strongly deprecated, although it has been carried to
an alarming extent. There is scarcely an article of ordinary
consumption but has been unlawfully adulterated, and in many
cases rendered injurious by the infamous and fraudulent
practice of interested persons. Bread, which is considered
to be the staff of life, and beer and ale the universal
beverage of the people of this country, are known to be
frequently mixed with drugs of the most pernicious quality.

Gin, that favourite and heart-inspiring cordial of the lower
orders of society, that it may have the grip, or the
appearance of being particularly strong, is frequently
adulterated with the decoction of long pepper, or a small
quantity of aqua-fortis, a deadly poison. Sugar has been
known to be mixed with sand; and tobacco, for the public-
houses, undergoes a process for making it strong and
intoxicating; but the recent discovery of the nefarious
practice of adulterating tea and coffee, articles of the
most universal and extensive consumption, deserves
particular reprehension.

Tea has been adulterated by the introduction of dried sloe
leaves; the practice is not very new, but its extensive
adoption, and the deleterious properties ascribed to them by
physicians, have been, at length, successfully exposed by
the conviction of many of the venders, so, it is hoped, as
to prevent a repetition of the crime. The sloe leaf, though
a spurious commodity when sold as tea, might afford a
harmless vegetable infusion, and be recommended to the poor
and frugal as a cheap succedaneum for the Chinese vegetable.
The establishment of the Genuine Tea Company on Ludgate-hill
originated in the recent discoveries, promising to sell
nothing but the Unadulterated Tea, and it is sincerely to be
hoped has done some good.
sentence as he spoke it: “horse-beans have been converted to coffee, and
sloe-leaves have been transformed into tea; hog's lard has been
manufactured for butter; an ingenious gentleman wishes to persuade us
Periwinkles{1} are young Lobsters; and another has proposed to extract
sugar, and some say brandy, out of pea-shells! London is the mart for
inventions and discoveries of all kinds, and every one of its inhabitants
appears to have studied something of the art of Legerdemain, to catch the
eye and deceive the senses.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Bob.
“Not more wonderful than true,” continued Sparkle; “invention is always
on the stretch in London. Here we have cast-iron Bridges{2}—a cast-iron

Sugar-house—

1 Sparkle appears to have been rather sceptical on the
subject of Periwinkles being young Lobsters, though the
opinion is not very new. A gentleman, whose indefatigable
research appears to be deserving of encouragement and
support, has recently issued the following advertisement,
inviting the curious and the learned to inspect the result
of his discoveries, which seems, at least, to warrant
something more than conjecture.

“J. Cleghorne having in his possession some specimens which
prove, in his opinion, a circumstance before suggested, but
treated by the scientific as a vulgar error, any known
naturalist willing to view them, by noticing by letter,
within a week, may have J. C. attend with his specimens. The
subject is a curious change in the formation of Lobsters
from various species of the Winkle, the Winkle being
considered the larva;.

The only advantage J. C. desires from the communication is,
the credit of advancing his proofs, and the stimulating
further enquiry.—A line addressed to J. Cleghorne,
Architectural Engraver, No. 19, Chapman-street, Black-road,
Islington, will have immediate attention.”

It is sincerely to be hoped that proper notice will be taken
of this advertisement, for in times of general scarcity like
the present, such a discovery might be turned to great
national advantage, by the establishment of proper depots
for the cultivation of lobsters, as we have preserves for
game, &c.

2 Cast-iron has become an object of general utility. The
Southwark or New London Bridge consists of three arches, the
centre of which is a span of 240 feet, and the other two 210
feet each; the Vauxhall Bridge consists of nine arches, over

a width of 809 feet; and it is a fact, that a Sugar-house is
building with cast-iron floors, window-frames, and rafters,
to prevent fire. Cast-iron holds fire and resists fire; but
it is probable that all its properties and powers are not
yet discovered, and that we may some day or other witness
the ascension of a cast-iron balloon inflated with steam!
coaches running, and barges, packets, and sailing-boats navigated, by
Steam{1}—St. Paul's, as you perceive, without its ball—smoke burning
itself, and money burning men's consciences.”
“Well done, Sparkle!” cried Tom; “your ideas seem to flow like gas,
touch but the valve and off you go; and you are equally diffusive, for you
throw a light upon all subjects.”
Bob was now suddenly attracted by a full view of himself and his friends
at the further end of Everington's{2}

1 Steam—Here is a subject that evaporates as we approach;
it soars beyond finite comprehension, and appears to be
inexhaustible—every thing is done by it—machinery of every
kind is set in motion by it—a newspaper of the most
extensive circulation in the kingdom is printed by it, and
the paper supplied sheet by sheet to receive the impression.
Tobacco is manufactured, and sausage-meat cut, by steam—
nay, a celebrated Vender of the latter article had asserted,
that his machinery was in such a state of progressive
improvement, that he had little doubt before long of making
it supply the demands of his customers, and thereby save the
expense of a Shopman; but, it is much to be regretted, his
apparatus made sausage-meat of him before the accomplishment
of his project.

Considering the increasing, and by some Philosophers almost
overwhelming population of the country at the present
moment, it is certainly an alarming circumstance, that when
employment is so much required, mechanical science should so
completely supersede it to the injury of thousands,
independent of the many who have lost their lives by the

blowing up of steam-engines. It is a malady however which
must be left to our political economists, who will
doubtless at the same time determine which would prove the
most effectual remedy—the recommendation of Mr. Malthus to
condemn the lower orders to celibacy—the Jack Tars to a
good war—or the Ministers to emigration.

2 If an estimate of the wealth or poverty of the nation
were to lie formed from the appearance of the houses in the
Metropolis, no one could be induced to believe that the
latter had any existence among us. The splendour and taste
of our streets is indescribable, and the vast improvements
in the West are equally indicative of the former.

The enormous increase of rents for Shops, particularly in
the leading thoroughfares of London, may in a great measure
be attributed to the Linen-drapers. The usual method
practised by some of these gentry, is to take a shop in the
first-rate situation, pull down the old front, and erect a
new one, regardless of expense, a good outside being
considered the first and indispensable requisite. This is
often effected, either upon credit with a builder, or, if
they have a capital of a few hundreds, it is all exhausted
in external decorations. Goods are obtained upon credit, and
customers procured by puffing advertisements, and exciting
astonishment at the splendid appearance of the front. Thus
the concern is generally carried on till the credit obtained
has expired, and the wonder and novelty of the concern has
evaporated; when the stock is sold off at 30 per cent,
under prime cost for the benefit of the creditors! This is
so common an occurrence, that it is scarcely possible to
walk through London any day in the year, without being
attracted by numerous Linen-drapers' shops, whose windows
are decorated with bills, indicating that they are actually
selling off under prime cost, as the premises must be
cleared in a few days.

The most elegant Shop of this description in the Metropolis
is supposed to be one not a hundred miles from Ludgate-hill,
the front and fitting up of which alone is said to have cost
several thousand pounds. The interior is nearly all of
looking-glass, with gilt mouldings; even the ceiling is
looking-glass, from which is appended splendid cut-glass
chandeliers, which when lighted give to the whole the
brilliance of enchantment; however it is not very easy to
form an idea of what is sold, for, with the exception of a
shawl or two carelessly thrown into the window, there is
nothing to be seen, (the stock being all concealed in
drawers, cupboards, &c. ) except the decorations and the
Dandy Shopmen, who parade up and down in a state of ecstasy
at the reflection of their own pretty persons from every
part of the premises!

This concealment of the stock has occasioned some laughable
occurrences. It is said that a gentleman from the country
accidentally passing, took it for a looking-glass
manufactory, and went in to inquire the price of a glass.
The Shopmen gathered round him with evident surprise,
assured him of his mistake, and directed him to go to
Blades,{1} lower down the Hill. The Countryman was not
disconcerted, but, after surveying them somewhat minutely,
informed them it was glass he wanted, not cutlery; but as
for blades, he thought there were enow there for one street,
at least.

Another is said to have been so pleased with a row of
grotesque Indian-China jars, which embellish one side of the
entrance, and which he mistook for pots de chambre, that
after returning home and consulting his rib, he sent an
order per post for one of the most elegant pattern to be
forwarded to him!

There is a similar Shop to this, though on a smaller scale,
to be seen in a great leading thoroughfare at the West end

of the Town; the owner of which, from his swarthy complexion
and extravagant mode of dress, has been denominated The
Black Prince, a name by which he is well known in his own
neighbourhood, and among the gentlemen of the cloth. This
dandy gentleman, who affects the dress and air of a military
officer, has the egregious vanity to boast that the numerous
families of rank and fashion who frequent his shop, are
principally attracted to view his elegant person, and seems
to consider that upon this principally depends the success
of his trade.

1 A large Glass-manufacturer.
128—shop, and without observing the other persons about him, saw
himself surrounded with spectators, unconscious of being in their company.
He look'd up—he look'd down—he gazed around him, and all was
inconceivable light. Tom's allusion to the gas flashed upon him in a moment
—“What—what is this?” said he—“where, in the name of wonder, am I?”
A flash of lightning could not have operated more suddenly upon him.
“Why,” said Sparkle, “don't you see?
“You are not here, for you are there,”
pointing to his reflection, in the looking-glass.
“Egad,” said Bob, under evident surprise, and perhaps not without some
apprehension they were playing tricks with him—“I wish you would
explain—is this a Drawing-room, or is it the Phantasmagoria we have
heard so much of in the country?”
“No, no, it is not the Phantasmagoria, but it forms a part of metropolitan
magic, which you shall be better acquainted with before we part. That is no
other than a Linen-draper's shop, 'papered,' as an Irishman one day
remarked, 'vvid nothing at all at all but looking-glass, my dear '—one of the
most superb things of the kind that perhaps ever was seen—But come, I
perceive it is getting late, let us proceed directly to Dolly's, take our chop,
then a rattler,{1} and hey for the Spell."{2}
Bob appeared almost to be spell-bound at the moment, and, as they
moved onward, could not help casting
“One longing, lingering look behind.”

1 Rattler—A coach.

2 Spell—The Play-house; so denominated from its variety of
attractions, both before and behind the curtain.

CHAPTER X

“What various swains our motley walls contain!
Fashion from Moorfields, honour from Chick-lane;
Bankers from Paper-buildings here resort,
Bankrupts from Golden-square and Riches-court;
From the Haymarket canting rogues in grain,
Gulls from the Poultry, sots from Water-lane;
The lottery cormorant, the auction shark,
The full-price master, and the half-price clerk;
Boys, who long linger at the gallery-door,
With pence twice live, they want but twopence more,
Till some Samaritan the twopence spares,
And sends them jumping up the gallery-stairs.
Critics we boast, who ne'er their malice baulk,
But talk their minds—we wish they'd mind their talk;
Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live,
Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give;
Jews from St. Mary-Axe, for jobs so wary,
That for old clothes they'd even axe St. Mary;
And Bucks with pockets empty as their pate,
Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.
Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues?
Who's that calls “Silence” with such leathern lungs?
He, who, in quest of quiet, “Silence” hoots,
Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes.”

IN a few minutes they entered Dolly's, from whence, after partaking of a
cheerful repast and an exhilarating glass of wine, a coach conveyed them to
Drury-lane. ',
“Now,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall, “I shall introduce you to a new scene
in Real Life, well worth your close observation. We have already taken a
promiscuous ramble from the West towards the East, and it has afforded
some amusement; but our stock is abundant, and many objects of curiosity
are still in view.”

“Yes, yes,” continued Sparkle, “every day produces novelty; for although
London itself is always the same, the inhabitants assume various forms, as
inclination or necessity may induce or compel. The Charioteer of to-day,
dashing along with four in hand, may be an inhabitant of the King's-bench
to-morrow, and—but here we are, and Marino Faliero is the order of the
night. The character of its author is so well known, as to require no
observation; but you will be introduced to a great variety of other
characters, both in High and Low Life, of an interesting nature.”
By this time they had alighted, and were entering the House. The rapid
succession of carriages arriving with the company, the splendour of the
equipages, the general elegance of the dresses, and the blazing of the lamps,
alternately became objects of attraction to Bob, whose eyes were kept in
constant motion—while “A Bill of the Play for Covent Garden or Drury
Lane,” still resounded in their ears.

On arriving at the Box-lobby, Tom, who was well known, was
immediately shewn into the centre box with great politeness by the Box-
keeper,{1} the second scene of the Tragedy being just over. The appearance
of the House was a delicious treat to Bob, whose visual orbs wandered
more among the delighted and delightful faces which surrounded him, than
to the plot or the progress of the performances before him. It was a scene of
splendour of which lie had not the least conception; and Sparkle perceiving
the principal objects of attraction, could not resist the impulse to deliver, in
a sort of half-whisper, the following lines:—

“When Woman's soft smile all our senses bewilders,
And gilds while it carves her dear form on the heart,

What need has new Drury of carvers and gilders?
With nature so bounteous, why call upon art?

1 The Box-keeper to a public Theatre has many duties to
perform to the public, his employer, and himself; but,
perhaps, in order to be strictly correct, we ought to have
reversed the order in which we have noticed them, since of
the three, the latter appears to be the most important, (at
least) in his consideration; for he takes care before the
commencement of the performance to place one of his
automaton figures on the second row of every box, which
commands a good view of the House, who are merely intended
to sit with their hats off, and to signify that the two
first seats are taken, till the conclusion of the second
act; and so in point of fact they are taken by himself, for
the accommodation of such friends as he is quite aware are
willing to accommodate him with a quid pro quo.

How well would our Actors attend to their duties,
Our House save in oil, and our Authors in wit,

In lieu of yon lamps, if a row of young Beauties
Glanc'd light from their eyes between us and the Pit.

The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
By Woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize,

To tempt us in Theatre, Senate, or College—
I mean the Love-apples that bloom in the eyes.

There too is the lash which, all statutes controlling,
Still governs the slaves that are made by the Fair,

For Man is the pupil who, while her eye's rolling,
Is lifted to rapture, or sunk in despair.”

Tallyho eagerly listened to his friend's recitation of lines so consonant
with his own enraptured feelings; while his Cousin Dashall was holding a
conversation in dumb-show with some person at a distance, who was
presently recognized by Sparkle to be Mrs. G——den,{1} a well-known
frequenter of the House.
“Come,” said he, “I see how it is with Tom—you may rely upon it he will
not stop long where he is, there is other game in view—he has but little
taste for Tragedy fiction, the Realities of Life are the objects of his regard.
“Tis a fine Tragedy,” continued he, addressing himself to Tom.
“Yes—yes,” replied the other, “I dare say it is, but, upon my soul, I know
nothing about it—that is—I have seen it before, and I mean to read it.”
“Bless my heart!” said a fat lady in a back seat, “what a noise them 'are
gentlemen does make—they talk so loud there 'ant no such thing as seeing
what is said—I wonder they don't make these here boxes more bigger, for I
declare I'm so scrouged I'm all in a—Fanny, did you bring the rumperella
for fear it should rain as we goes home?”
“Hush, Mother,” said a plump-faced little girl, who sat along side of her
—“don't talk so loud, or otherwise every body will hear you instead of the
Performers, and that would be quite preposterous.”
“Don't call me posterous Miss; because you have been to school, and
learnt some edification, you thinks you are to do as you please with me.”

1 Mrs. G——den, a dashing Cyprian of the first order, well
known in the House, a fine, well-made woman, always ready
for a lark, and generally well togged.
This interesting conversation was interrupted by loud vociferations of
Bravo, Bravo, from all parts of the House, as the drop-scene fell upon the
conclusion of the second act. The clapping of hands, the whistling and noise
that ensued for a few minutes, appeared to astonish Tallyho. “I don't much
like my seat,” said Dashall. “No,” said Sparkle, “I did not much expect you
would remain long—you are a mighty ambitious sort of fellow, and I
perceive you have a desire to be exalted.”
“I confess the situation, is too confined,” replied Tom—“come, it is
excessively warm here, let us take a turn and catch a little air.”

The House was crowded in every part; for the announcement of a new
Tragedy from the pen of Lord Byron, particularly under the circumstances
of its introduction to the Stage, against the expressed inclination of its
Author, the

1 At an early hour on the evening this Tragedy was first
pro-duced at Drury Lane, Hand-bills were plentifully
distributed through the Theatre, of which the following is a
copy:

“The public are respectfully informed, that the
representation of Lord Byron's Tragedy, The Doge of Venice,
this evening, takes place in defiance of the injunction from
the Lord Chancellor, which was not applied for until the
remonstrance of the Publisher, at the earnest desire of the
noble Author, had failed in protecting that Drama from its
intrusion on the Stage, for which it was never intended.”

This announcement had the effect of exciting public
expectation beyond its usual pitch upon such occasions. The
circumstances were somewhat new in the history of the Drama:
the question being, whether a published Flay could be
legally brought on the Stage without the consent, or rather
we should say, in defiance of the Author. “We are not aware
whether this question has been absolutely decided, but this
we do know, that the Piece was performed several nights, and
underwent all the puffing of the adventurous Manager, as
well as all the severity of the Critics. The newspapers of
the day were filled with histories and observations upon it.
No subject engrossed the conversation of the polite and
play-going part of the community but Lord Byron, The Doge of
Venice, and Mr. Elliston. They were all bepraised and
beplastered—exalted and debased—acquitted and condemned;
but it was generally allowed on all hands, that the printed
Tragedy contained many striking beauties, notwithstanding
its alleged resemblance to Venice Preserved. We are,
however, speaking of the acted Tragedy, and the magnanimous

Manager, who with such promptitude produced it in an altered
shape; and having already alluded to the theatrical puffing
so constantly resorted to upon all occasions, we shall drop
the curtain upon the subject, after merely remarking, that
the Times of the same day has been known to contain the
Manager's puff, declaring the piece to have been
received with rapturous applause, in direct opposition
to the Editor's critique, which as unequivocally pronounced
its complete failure!
will of its publisher, and the injunction{1} of the Lord Chancellor, were
attractions of no ordinary nature; and

1 Injunction—The word injunction implies a great deal, and
has in its sound so much of the terrific, as in many
instances to paralyze exertion on the part of the supposed
offending person or persons. It has been made the instrument
of artful, designing, and malicious persons, aided by
pettifogging or pretended attorneys, to obtain money for
themselves and clients by way of compromise; and in numerous
instances it is well known that fear has been construed into
actual guilt. Injunctions are become so common, that even
penny printsellers have lately issued threats, and promised
actual proceedings, against the venders of articles said to
be copies from their original drawings, and even carried it
so far as to withhold (kind souls!) the execution of their
promises, upon the payment of a 5L. from those who were
easily to be duped, having no inclination to encounter the
glorious uncertainty of the law, or no time to spare for
litigation. We have recently been furnished with a curious
case which occurred in Utopia, where it appears by our
informant, that the laws hold great similarity with our own.
A certain house of considerable respectability had imported
a large quantity of Welsh cheese, which were packed in
wooden boxes, and offered them for sale (a great rarity in
Eutopia) as double Gloucester.

It is said that two of a trade seldom agree; how far the

adage may apply to Eutopia, will be seen in the sequel. A
tradesman, residing in the next street, a short time after,
received an importation from Gloucester, of the favourite
double production of that place, packed in a similar way,
and (as was very natural for a tradesman to do, at least we
know it is so here,) the latter immediately began to vend
his cheese as the real Double Gloucester. This was an
offence beyond bearing. The High Court of Equity was moved,
similar we suppose to our High Court of Chancery, to
suppress the sale of the latter; but as no proof of
deception could be produced, it was not granted. This only
increased the flame already excited in the breasts of the
first importers; every effort was made use of to find a good
and sufficient excuse to petition the Court again, and at
length they found out one of the craft to swear, that as the
real Gloucester had been imported in boxes of a similar
shape, make, and wood, it was quite evident that the
possessor must have bought similar cheeses, and was imposing
on the public to their great disadvantage, notwithstanding
they could not find a similarity either of taste, smell, or
appearance. In the mean time the real Gloucester cheese
became a general favourite with the inhabit-ants of Utopia,
and upon this, though slender ground, the innocent tradesman
was served with a process, enjoining him not to do that,
which, poor man, he never intended to do; and besides if he
had, the people of that country were not such ignoramuses as
to be so deceived; it was merely to restrain him from
selling his own real double Gloucester as their Welsh
cheeses, purporting, as they did, to be double Gloucester,
or of mixing them together (than which nothing could be
further from his thoughts,) and charging him at the same
time with having sold his cheeses under their name. But the
most curious part of the business was, the real cheeseman
brought the investigation before the Court, cheeses in boxes
were produced, and evidence was brought forward, when, as
the charges alleged could not be substantiated, the

restraint was removed, and the three importers of Welsh
cheese hung their heads, and retired in dudgeon.
the Hon. Tom availed himself of the circumstance to leave the Box,
though the truth was, there were other attractions of a more enlivening cast
in his view.
“Come,” said he, “we shall have a better opportunity of seeing the House,
and its decorations, by getting nearer to the curtain; besides, Ave shall have
a bird's-eye view of the company in all quarters, from the seat of the Gods
to the Pit.”
The influx of company, (it being the time of half-price), and the rush and
confusion which took place in all parts at this moment, were indescribable.
Jumping over boxes and obtaining seats by any means, regardless of
politeness or even of decorum—Bucks and Bloods warm from the pleasures
of the bottle—dashing Belles and flaming Beaux, squabbling and almost
fighting—rendered the amusements before the curtain of a momentary
interest, which appeared to obliterate the recollection of what they had
previously witnessed. In the mean time, the Gods in the Gallery issued forth
an abundant variety of discordant sounds, from their elevated situation.
Growling of bears, grunting of hogs, braying of donkeys, gobbling of
turkeys, hissing of geese, the catcall, and the loud shrill whistle, were heard
in one mingling concatenation of excellent imitation and undistinguished
variety: During which, Tom led the way to the upper Boxes, where upon
arriving, he was evidently disappointed at not meeting the party who had
been seen occupying a seat on the left side of the House, besides having
sacrificed a front seat, to be now compelled to take one at the very back part
of a side Box, an exchange by no means advantageous for a view of the
performance. However, this was compensated in some degree by a more
extensive prospect round the House; and his eyes were seen moving in all
directions, without seeming to know where to fix, while Sparkle and Bob
were attracted by a fight in the Gallery, between a Soldier and a
Gentleman's Servant in livery, for some supposed insult offered to the
companion of the latter, and which promised serious results from the
repeated vociferations of those around them, of “Throw 'em over—throw
'em over;” while the gifts of the Gods were plentifully showered down upon
the inhabitants of the lower regions in the shape of orange-peelings, apples,
&c. The drawing up of the curtain however seemed to have some little

effect upon the audience, and in a moment the Babel of tongues was
changed into a pretty general cry of “Down—down in the front—hats off—
silence, &c. which at length subsided in every quarter but the Gallery,
where still some mutterings and murmurings were at intervals to be heard.

“——one fiddle will
Produce a tiny flourish still.”

Sparkle could neither see nor hear the performance—Tom was wholly
engaged in observing the company, and Bob alternately straining his neck
to get a view of the Stage, and then towards the noisy inhabitants of the
upper regions. “We dined at the Hummums,” said a finicking little
Gentleman just below him—“Bill, and I, and Harry—drank claret like
fishes—Harry was half-sprung—fell out with a Parson about chopping
logic; you know Harry's father was a butcher, and used to chopping, so it
was all prime—the Parson would'n't be convinced, though Harry knock'd
down his argument with his knuckles on the table, almost hard enough to
split it—it was a bang-up lark—Harry got in a passion, doff'd his toggery,
and was going to show fight—so then the Parson sneak'd off—Such a bit of
gig.'”
“Silence there, behind.”
“So then,” continued the Dandy, “we went to the Billiard-rooms, in Fleet
Street, played three games, diddled the Flats, bilk'd the Marker, and bolted
—I say, when did you see Dolly?"{1}

1 To the frequenters of Drury-lane Theatre, who occasionally
lounge away a little of their time between the acts in
sipping soda-water, negus, &c. the party here alluded to
cannot but be well known—we mean particularly the laffing-
boys and the lads of the village. We are aware that
fictitious names are assumed or given to the Ladies of
Saloon notoriety, originating in particular circum-stances,
and we have reason to believe that Dolly K——lly has been
so denominated from the propensity she almost invariably
manifests of painting, as remarked particularly by one of
the parties in conversation.

"Last night,” replied the other—“she'll be here presently—d——nd fine
girl, arn't she?”
“Very well,” said the first; “a nice plump face, but then she paints so d—
n—bly, I hate your painted Dollys, give me natural flesh and blood—Polly
H—ward for me.”
“Gallows Tom{1} will speak to you in plain terms if you trespass there,
my boy; you know he has out-general'd the Captain in that quarter, and
came off victorious, so——”
“Come,” said Sparkle, “let us adjourn into the Saloon, for, Heaven
knows, it is useless staying here.” And taking their arms, they immediately
left the Box.
“The theatre,” continued he, “is a sort of enchanted island, where nothing
appears as it really is, nor what it should be. In London, it is a sort of time-
killer, or exchange of looks and smiles. It is frequented by persons of all
degrees and qualities whatsoever. Here Lords come to laugh and be laughed
at—Knights to learn the amorous smirk and a-la-mode grin, the newest
fashion in the cut of his garments, the twist of his body, and the adjustment
of his phiz.
“This House{2} was built upon a grand and extensive scale, designed
and executed under the inspection of Mr. Benj. Wyatt, the architect, whose
skill was powerfully and liberally aided by an intelligent and public spirited
Committee, of which the late Mr. Whitbread was the Chairman. It is
altogether a master-piece of art, and an ornament to the Metropolis. You
perceive the interior is truly delightful, and the exterior presents the idea of
solidity and security: it affords sitting room for 2810 persons, that is, 1200
in the Boxes, 850 in the Pit, 480

1 It appears that the adoption of fictitious names is not
wholly confined to the female visitors of these regions of
fashion and folly. Gallows Tom is a character well known,
and is a sort of general friend, at all times full of fun,
fire, and spirit. We have not been able to discover whether
he holds any official situation under government, though it
is generally believed he is safely anchored under the croum,
a stanch friend to the British constitution—probably more
so than to his own. And we should judge from what is to be

inferred from the conversation overheard, that he is the
acknowledged friend of Miss H——d. Capt. T——pe is
supposed to hold a Commission in the Navy, a gay and gallant
frequenter of the Saloon, and, till a short time back, the
chere ami of Miss H——d.

2 The building of this Theatre was completed for 112,000L.
Including lamps, furniture, &c. 125,000L.; and including
scent ry, wardrobe, properties, &c. 150,000L.
in the Lower Gallery, and 280 in the Upper Gallery. The talents of the
celebrated Mr. Kean (who has recently left us for the shores of the Atlantic)
first blazed forth to astonish the world beneath this roof. Old Drury
immortalized the name of Garrick, and has also established the fame of Mr.
Kean; and the House at the present moment has to boast of a combination
of histrionic{1} talent, rich and excellent.”
“Come along, come along,” said Tom, interrupting him, “leave these
explanations for another opportunity—here is the Saloon. Now for a peep at
old particulars. There is no seeing nor hearing the Play—I have no
inclination for histories, I am just alive for a bit of gig.”
On entering the Saloon, Bob was additionally gratified at viewing the
splendour of its decorations. The arched ceiling, the two massy Corinthian
columns of vera antique, and the ten corresponding pilasters on each side,
struck him as particularly beautiful, and he was for some moments lost in
contemplation, while his friends Sparkle and Tom were in immediate
request to receive the congratulations of their acquaintance.
“Where the d——l have you been to?” was the first question addressed
to Dashall—“rusticating, I suppose, to the serious loss of all polished
society.”
“You are right in the first part of your reply,” said Tom; “but, as I
conceive, not exactly so in the inference you draw from it.”
“Modesty, by Jove! well done Dashall, this travelling appears to improve
your manners wonderfully; and I dare say if you had staid away another
month, your old friends would not have known you.”
This created a laugh among the party, which roused Bob from his reverie,
who, turning round rather hastily, trod with considerable force upon the
gouty toe of an old debauchee in spectacles, who, in the height of ecstasy,

was at that moment entering into a treaty of amity with a pretty rosy-faced
little girl, and chucking her under the

1 The names of Elliston, Pope, Johnston, Powell, Dowton,
Munden, Holland, Wallack, Knight, T. Cooke, Oxberry, Smith,
Bromley, &c. are to be found on the male list of Performers,
and it is sincerely to be hoped that of Mr. Kean will not
long be absent. The females are, Mrs. Davison, Mrs. Glover,
Miss Kelly, Mrs. Bland, Mrs. Orger, Mrs. Sparks, Miss
Wilson, Miss Byrne, Miss Cubitt, &c.
chin, as a sort of preliminary, to be succeeded by a ratification; for in all
probability gratification was out of the question. However this might be, the
pain occasioned by the sudden movement of Tallyho, who had not yet
learned to trip it lightly along the mutton walk,{1} induced the sufferer to
roar out most lustily, a circumstance which immediately attracted the
attention of every one in the room, and in a moment they were surrounded
by a group of lads and lasses.

“Upon my soul, Sir,” stammer'd out Bob, “I beg your pardon, I—I—did
not mean—”
“Oh! oh! oh!” continued the gouty Amoroso. Mother K——p{2} came
running like lightning with a glass of water; the frail sisterhood were
laughing, nodding, whispering, and winking at each other; while St——ns,
{3} who pick'd up the spectacles the unfortunate victim of the gout had
dropp'd, swore that fellow in the green coat and white hat ought to be sent
to some dancing-school, to learn to step without kicking people's shins.

Another declared he was a Johnny-raw,{4} just catched, and what could
be expected.
Tom, who, however, kept himself alive to the passing occurrences,
stepping up to Bob, was immediately recognized by all around him, and
passing a significant wink, declared it was an accident, and begged to assist
the Old Buck to a seat, which being accomplished, he declared he had not
had his shoe on for a week, but as he found himself able to walk, he could
not resist the temptation of taking a look around him.
Over a bottle of wine the unpleasant impressions made by this
unfortunate occurrence appeared to be removed. In the mean time, Tom
received a hundred congratulations and salutations; while Sparkle, after a
glass or two, was missing.
Dashall informed the friends around him, that his Cousin was a pupil of
his, and begged to introduce him

1 Mutton Walk—A flash term recently adopted to denominate
the Saloon.

2 A well known fruit-woman, who is in constant attendance,
well acquainted with the girls and their protectors, and
ready upon all occasions to give or convey information for
the benefit of both parties.

3 St——ns—A very pretty round-faced young lady-bird, of
rather small figure, inclining to be lusty.

4 Johnny Raw—A country bumpkin.
as a future visitor to this gay scene. This had an instantaneous effect upon
the trading fair ones, who began immediately to throw out their lures. One
declared he had a sweet pretty brooch; another, that she knew he was a
trump by the cut of his jib; a third, that he look'd like a gentleman, for she
liked the make of his mug; a fourth, that his hat was a very pretty shaped
one, although it was of a radical colour; and while Tom and the ladybird{l}
were soothing the pains of the grey-headed wanton, Bob was as busily
employed in handing about the contents of the bottle. A second and a third
succeeded, and it was not a little astonishing to him that every bottle

improved his appearance; for, though not one of his admirers remained long
with him, yet the absence of one only brought another, equally attracted by
his look and manner: every one declared he was really a gentleman in every
respect, and in the course of their short parley, did not fail to slip a card into
his hand. By this time he began to grow chatty, and was enabled to rally in
turn the observations they made. He swore he lov'd them all round, and
once or twice hummed over,

“Dear creatures, we can't do without them,
They're all that is sweet and seducing to man,
Looking, sighing about, and about them,
We doat on them—do for them, all that we can.”

The play being over, brought a considerable influx of company into the
Saloon. The regular covies paired off with their covesses, and the moving
panorama of elegance and fashion presented a scene that was truly
delightful to Bob.
The Ladybird, who had been so attentive to the gouty customer, now
wished him a good night, for, said she, “There is my friend,{2} and so I am
off.” This seemed only to increase the agony of his already agonized toe,
notwithstanding which he presently toddled off, and was seen no more for
the evening.
“What's become of Sparkle,” enquired Tom. “Stole away,” was the reply.
“Tipp'd us the double, has he,” said Dashall. “Well, what think you of
Drury-lane?”

1 Lady-bird—A dashing Cyprian.

2 The term friend is in constant use among accessible
ladies, and signifies their protector or keeper.
“'Tis a very delightful tragedy indeed, but performed in the most comical
manner I ever witnessed in my life.”
“Pshaw!” said Bob, “very few indeed, except the critics and the plebs,
come here to look at the play; they come to see and be seen.”

“Egad then,” said Bob, “a great many have been gratified to-night, and
perhaps I have been highly honoured, for every person that has passed me
has complimented me with a stare.”
“Which of course you did not fail to return?”
“Certainly not; and upon my soul you have a choice show of fruit here.”
“Yes,” continued Tom, “London is a sort of hot-house, where fruit is
forced into ripeness by the fostering and liberal sun of Folly, sooner than it
would be, if left to its natural growth. Here however, you observe nothing
but joyful and animated features, while perhaps the vulture of misery is
gnawing at the heart. I could give you histories of several of these
unfortunates,{1}

1 A life of prostitution is a life fraught with too many
miseries to be collected in any moderate compass. The mode
in which they are treated, by parties who live upon the
produce of their infamy, the rude and boisterous, nay, often
brutal manner in which they are used by those with whom they
occasionally associate, and the horrible reflections of
their own minds, are too frequently and too fatally
attempted to be obliterated by recourse to the Bacchanalian
fount. Reason becomes obscured, and all decency and
propriety abandoned. Passion rules predominantly until it
extinguishes itself, and leaves the wretched victim of early
delusion, vitiated both in body and mind, to drag on a
miserable existence, without character, without friends, and
almost without hope. There is unfortunately, however, no
occasion for the exercise of imagination on this subject.
The annals of our police occurrences, furnish too many
examples of actual circumstances, deeply to be deplored; and
we have selected one of a most atrocious kind which recently
took place, and is recorded as follows:—

Prostitution.

“An unfortunate girl, apparently about eighteen years of
age, and of the most interesting and handsome person, but

whose attire indicated extreme poverty and distress, applied
to the sitting magistrate, Richard Bimie, Esq. under the
following circum-stances:—It appeared from the statement,
that she had for the last three weeks been living at a house
of ill fame in Exeter-street, Strand, kept by a man named
James Locke: this wretch had exacted the enormous sum of
three guineas per week for her board and lodging, and in
consequence of her not being able to pay the sum due for the
last week, he threatened to strip her of her cloaths, and
turn her naked into the street. This threat he deferred
executing until yesterday morning (having in the mean time
kept her locked up in a dark room, without any covering
whatever,) when in lieu of her cloaths, he gave her the
tattered and loathsome garments she then appeared in, which
were barely sufficient to preserve common decency, and then
brutally turned her into the street. Being thus plunged into
the most abject wretchedness, without money or friends, to
whom she could apply in her present situation, her bodily
strength exhausted by the dissipated life she had led, and
rendered more so by a long abstinence from food; her spirits
broken and overcome by the bitter and humiliating
reflection, that her own guilty conduct debarred her from
flying to the fostering arms of affectionate parents, whom
she had loaded with disgrace and misery; and the now
inevitable exposure of her infamy, it was some time ere her
wandering senses were sufficiently composed to determine
what course she should pursue in the present emergency, when
she thought she could not do better than have recourse to
the justice of her country against the villain Lock, who had
so basely treated her; and after extreme pain and
difficulty, she succeeded in dragging her enfeebled limbs to
the Office. During the detail of the foregoing particulars,
she seemed overwhelmed with shame and remorse, and at times
sobbed so violently as to render her voice inarticulate. Her
piteous case excited the attention and sympathy of all
present; and it was much to the general satisfaction that
Mr. Bimie ordered Humphries, one of the conductors of the

Patrol, to fetch Lock to the Office. On being brought there,
the necessary proceedings were gone into for the purpose of
indicting the house as a common brothel.

“It was afterwards discovered that this unhappy girl was of
the most respectable parents, and for the last six years had
been residing with her Aunt. About three months ago, some
difference having arisen between them, she absconded, taking
with her only a few shillings, and the clothes she then
wore. The first night of her remaining from home she went to
Drury-lane Theatre, and was there pick'd up by a genteel
woman dressed in black, who having learned her situation,
enticed her to a house in Hart-street, Covent-garden, where
the ruin of the poor girl was finally effected. It was not
until she had immersed herself in vice and folly that she
reflected on her situation, and it was then too late to
retract; and after suffering unheard of miseries, was, in
the short space of three months, reduced to her present
state of wretchedness.

“The worthy Magistrate ordered that proper care should be
taken of the girl, which was readily undertaken on the part
of the parish.

“The Prisoner set up a defence, in which he said, a friend
of the girl's owed him 14L. and that he detained her clothes
for it—but was stopped by Mr. Bimie.

“He at first treated the matter very lightly; but on
perceiving the determination on the part of the parish to
proceed, he offered to give up the things. This however he
was not allowed to do.”

(who are exercising all their arts to entrap customers) apparently full of
life and vivacity, who perhaps dare not approach their homes without the
produce of their successful blandishments. But this is not a place for

moralizing—a truce to Old Care and the Blue Devils—Come on, my boy,
let us take a turn in the Lobby—

“Banish sorrow, griefs a folly;
Saturn, bend thy wrinkled brow;
Get thee hence, dull Melancholy,
Mirth and wine invite us now.

Love displays his mine of treasure,
Comus brings us mirth and song!;
Follow, follow, follow pleasure,
Let us join the jovial throng.”

Upon this they adjourned to the Lobby, where a repetition of similar
circumstances took place, with only this difference, that Tally ho having
already been seen in the Saloon, and now introduced, leaning upon the arm
of his Cousin, the enticing goddesses of pleasure hung around them at every
step, every one anxious to be foremost in their assiduities to catch the new-
comer's smile; and the odds were almost a cornucopia to a cabbage-net that
Bob would be hook'd.
Tom was still evidently disappointed, and after pacing the Lobby once or
twice, and whispering Bob to make his observations the subject of future
inquiry, they returned to the Saloon, where Sparkle met them almost out of
breath, declaring he had been hunting them in all parts of the House for the
last half hour.
Tom laugh'd heartily at this, and complimented Sparkle on the ingenuity
with which he managed his affairs. “But I see how it is,” said he, “and I
naturally suppose you are engaged.”
“'Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind,' and I perceive clearly that you
are only disappointed that you are not engaged—where are all your
golden{1} dreams now?”
“Pshaw! there is no such thing as speaking to you,” said Tom, rather
peevishly, “without feeling a lash like a cart-whip.”

1 This was a touch of the satirical which it appears did not
exactly suit the taste of Dashall, as it applied to the

Ladybird who had attracted his attention on entering the
house.
"Merely in return,” continued Sparkle, “for the genteel, not to say gentle
manner, in which you handle the horse-whip.”
“There is something very mulish in all this,” said Bob, interrupting the
conversation, “I don't understand it.”
“Nor I neither,” said Tom, leaving the arm of his Cousin, and stepping
forward.
This hasty dismissal of the subject under debate had been occasioned by
the appearance of a Lady, whose arm Tom immediately took upon leaving
that of his cousin, a circumstance which seemed to restore harmony to all
parties. Tallyho and Sparkle soon joined them, and after a few turns for the
purpose of seeing, and being seen, it was proposed to adjourn to the Oyster-
shop directly opposite the front of the Theatre; and with that view they in a
short time departed, but not without an addition of two other ladies, selected
from the numerous frequenters of the Saloon, most of whom appeared to be
well known both to Tom and Sparkle.
The appearance of the outside was very pleasing—the brilliance of the
lights—the neat and cleanly style in which its contents were displayed
seemed inviting to appetite, and in a very short time a cheerful repast was
served up; while the room was progressively filling with company, and
Mother P——was kept in constant activity.
Bob was highly gratified with the company, and the manner in which
they were entertained.
A vast crowd of dashing young Beaux and elegantly dressed Belles,
calling about them for oysters, lobsters, salmon, shrimps, bread and butter,
soda-water, ginger-beer, &c. kept up a sort of running accompaniment to
the general conversation in which they were engaged; when the mirth and
hilarity of the room was for a moment delayed upon the appearance of a
dashing Blade, who seemed as he entered to say to himself,
“Plebeians, avaunt! I have altered my plan, Metamorphosed completely,
behold a Fine Man! That is, throughout town I am grown quite the rage,
The meteor of fashion, the Buck of the age.”
He was dressed in the extreme of fashion, and seemed desirous of
imparting the idea of his great importance to all around him: he had a light-

coloured great-coat with immense mother o' pearl buttons and double capes,
Buff or Petersham breeches, and coat of sky-blue,{1} his hat cocked on one
side, and stout ground-ashen stick in his hand. It was plain to be seen that
the juice of the grape had been operative upon the upper story, as he reeled
to the further end of the room, and, calling the attendant, desired her to
bring him a bottle of soda-water, for he was lushy,{2} by G——d; then
throwing himself into a box, which he alone occupied, he stretched himself
at length on the seat, and seemed as if he would go to sleep.
“That (said Sparkle) is a distinguished Member of the Tilbury Club, and
is denominated a Ruffian, a kind of character that gains ground, as to
numbers, over the Exquisite, but he is very different in polish.

1 A partiality to these coloured habits is undoubtedly
intended to impress upon the minds of plebeian beholders an
exalted idea of their own consequence, or to prove, perhaps,
that their conceptions are as superior to common ones as the
sky is to the earth.

2 The variety of denominations that have at different times
been given to drunkenness forms an admirable specimen of
ingenuity well worthy of remark. The derivation of Lushy, we
believe, is from a very common expression, that a drunken
man votes for Lushington; but perhaps it would be rather
difficult to discover the origin of many terms made use of
to express a jolly good fellow, and no flincher under the
effects of good fellowship. It is said—that he is drunk,
intoxicated, fuddled, muddled, flustered, rocky, reely,
tipsy, merry, half-boosy, top-heavy, chuck-full, cup-sprung,
pot-valiant, maudlin, a little how came you so, groggy,
jolly, rather mightitity, in drink, in his cups, high, in
uubibus, under the table, slew'd, cut, merry, queer, quisby,
sew'd up, over-taken, elevated, cast away, concerned, half-
coek'd, exhilarated, on a merry pin, a little in the suds,
in a quandary, wing'd as wise as Solomon.
It is also said, that he has business on both sides of the way, got his little
hat on, bung'd his eye, been in the sun, got a spur in his head, (this is

frequently used by brother Jockeys to each other) got a crumb in his beard,
had a little, had enough, got more than he can carry, been among the
Philistines, lost his legs, been in a storm, got his night-cap on, got his skin
full, had a cup too much, had his cold tea, a red eye, got his dose, a pinch of
snuff in his wig, overdone it, taken draps, taking a lunar, sugar in his eye,
had his wig oil'd, that he is diddled, dish'd and done up.
He clips the King's English, sees double, reels, heels a little, heels and
sets, shews his hob-nails, looks as if he couldn't help it, takes an
observation, chases geese, loves a drap, and cannot sport a right line, can't
walk a chalk.
He is as drunk as a piper, drunk as an owl, drunk as David's sow, drunk
as a lord, fuddled as an ape, merry as a grig, happy as a king.
"In the higher circles, a Ruffian is one of the many mushroom-
productions which the sun of prosperity brings to life. Stout in general is his
appearance, but Dame Nature has done little for him, and Fortune has spoilt
even that little. To resemble his groom and his coachman is his highest
ambition. He is a perfect horseman, a perfect whip, but takes care never to
be a perfect gentleman. His principal accomplishments are sporting,
swaggering, milling, drawing, and greeking.{1} He takes the ribands in his
hands, mounts his box, with Missus by his side—“All right, ya hip, my
hearties”—drives his empty mail with four prime tits—cuts out a Johnny-
raw—shakes his head, and lolls out his tongue at him; and if he don't break
his own neck, gets safe home after his morning's drive.
“He is always accompanied by a brace at least of dogs in his morning
visits; and it is not easy to determine on these occasions which is the most
troublesome animal of the two, the biped or the quadruped.”
This description caused a laugh among the Ladybirds, who thought it
vastly amusing, while it was also listened to with great attention by Tallyho.
The Hon. Tom Dashall in the mean time was in close conversation with
his mott{2} in the corner of the Box, and was getting, as Sparkle observed,
“rather nutty{3} in that quarter of the globe.”
The laugh which concluded Sparkle's account of the Tilbury-club man
roused him from his sleep, and also attracted the attention of Tom and his
inamorata.

“D——n my eyes,” said the fancy cove, as he rubbed open his peepers,
{4}” am I awake or asleep?—what a h——ll of a light there is!”

1 Greeking—An epithet generally applied to gambling and
gamblers, among the polished hells of society, principally
to be found in and near St. James's: but of this more
hereafter.

2 Mott—A blowen, or woman of the town. We know not from
whom or whence the word originated, but we recollect some
lines of an old song in which the term is made use of, viz.

“When first I saw this flaming Mutt,
?Twas at the sign of the Pewter Pot;
We call'd for some Purl, and we had it hot,
With Gin and Bitters too.”

3 Nutty—Amorous.

4 An elegant and expressive term for the eyes.
This was followed immediately by the rattling of an engine with two
torches, accompanied by an immense concourse of people following it at
full speed past the window.
“It is well lit, by Jove,” said the sleeper awake, “where ever it is;” and
with that he tipp'd the slavey{1}1 a tanner,{2} and mizzled.
The noise and confusion outside of the House completely put a stop to all
harmony and comfort within.
“It must be near us,” said Tom.
“It is Covent Garden Theatre, in my opinion,” said Sparkle.
Bob said nothing, but kept looking about him in a sort
of wild surprise.
“However,” said Tom, “wherever it is, we must go and have a peep.”
“You are a very gallant fellow, truly,” said one of the bewitchers—“I
thought—”

“And so did I,” said Tom—“but 'rest the babe—the time it shall come'—
never mind, we won't be disappointed; but here, (said he) as I belong to the
Tip and Toddle Club, I don't mean to disgrace my calling, by forgetting my
duty.” And slipping a something into her hand, her note was immediately
changed into,
“Well, I always thought you was a trump, and I likes a man that behaves
like a gentleman.”
Something of the same kind was going on between the other two, which
proved completely satisfactory.
“So then, Mr. Author, it seems you have raised a fire to stew the oysters,
and leave your Readers to feast upon the blaze.”
“Hold for a moment, and be not so testy, and for your satisfaction I can
solemnly promise, that if the oysters are stewed, you shall have good and
sufficient notice of the moment they are to be on table—But, bless my
heart, how the fire rages!—I can neither spare time nor wind to parley a
moment longer—Tom and Bob have already started off with the velocity of
a race-horse, and if I lose them, I should cut but a poor figure with my
Readers afterward.
“Pray, Sir, can you tell me where the fire is?” 'Really, Sir, I don't know,
but I am told it is somewhere by Whitechapel.'

1 Slaveys—Servants of either sex.

2 Tanner—A flash term for a sixpence.
"Could you inform me Madam, whereabouts the fire is?”
?Westminster Road, Sir, as I am informed.' “Westminster, and
Whitechapel—some little difference of opinion I find as usual—however, I
have just caught sight of Tom, and he's sure to be on the right scent; so
adieu, Mr. Reader, for the present, and have no doubt but I shall soon be
able to throw further light on the subject.”

CHAPTER XI

“Some folks in the streets, by the Lord, made me stare,
So comical, droll, is the dress that they wear,
For the Gentlemen's waists are atop of their backs,
And their large cassock trowsers they tit just like sacks.
Then the Ladies—their dresses are equally queer,
They wear such large bonnets, no face can appear:
It puts me in mind, now don't think I'm a joker,
Of a coal-scuttle stuck on the head of a poker.
In their bonnets they wear of green leaves such a power,
It puts me in mind of a great cauliflower;
And their legs, 1 am sure, must be ready to freeze,
For they wear all their petticoats up to their knees.
They carry large bags full of trinkets and lockets,
?Cause the fashion is now not to wear any pockets;
“While to keep off the flies, and to hide from beholders,
A large cabbage-net is thrown over their shoulders.”

IN a moment all was consternation, confusion, and alarm. The brilliant
light that illuminated the surrounding buildings presented a scene of
dazzling splendour, mingled with sensations of horror not easily to be
described. The rattling of engines, the flashing of torches, and the shouting
of thousands, by whom they were followed and surrounded, all combined to
give lively interest to the circumstance.
It was quickly ascertained that the dreadful conflagration had taken place
at an extensive Timber-yard, within a very short distance of the Theatres,
situated as it were nearly in the centre, between Covent Garden and Drury
Lane. Men, women, and children, were seen running in all directions; and
report, with his ten thousand tongues, here found an opportunity for the
exercise of them all; assertion and denial followed each other in rapid
succession, while the flames continued to increase. Our party being thus
abruptly disturbed in their anticipated enjoyments, bade adieu to their
Doxies,{1}

1 Doxies—A flash term frequently made use of to denominate
ladies of easy virtue.
and rushed forward to the spot, where they witnessed the devouring
ravages of the yet unquenched element, consuming with resistless force all
that came in its way.
“Button up,” said Tom, “and let us keep together, for upon these
occasions,
“The Scamps,{1} the Pads,{2} the Divers,{3} are all upon the lay."{4}
The Flash Molishers,{5} in the vicinity of Drury Lane, were out in
parties, and it was reasonable to suppose, that where there was so much
heat, considerable thirst must also prevail; consequently the Sluiceries were
all in high request, every one of those in the neighbourhood being able to
boast of overflowing Houses, without any imputation upon their veracity.
We say nothing of elegant genteel, or enlightened audiences, so frequently
introduced in the Bills from other houses in the neighbourhood; even the
door-ways were block'd up with the collectors and imparters of information.
Prognostications as to how and where it began, how it would end, and the
property that would be consumed, were to be met at every corner—Snuffy
Tabbies, and Boosy Kids, some giving way to jocularity, and others
indulging in lamentations.
“Hot, hot, hot, all hot,” said a Black man, as he pushed in and out among
the crowd; with “Hoot awa', the de'il tak your soul, mon, don't you think we
are all hot eneugh?—gin ye bring more hot here I'll crack your croon—I've
been roasting alive for the last half hoor, an' want to be ganging, but I can't
get out.”
“Hot, hot, hot, all hot, Ladies and Gentlemen,” said the dingy dealer in
delicacies, and almost as soon disappeared among the crowd, where he
found better opportunities for vending his rarities.
“Lumps of pudding,” said Tom, jerking Tallyho by the arm, “what do you
think of a slice? here's accommodation for you—all hot, ready dress'd, and
well done.”
“Egad!” said Bob, “I think we shall be well done ourselves presently.”
“Keep your hands out of my pockets, you lousy beggar,”

1 Scamps—Highwaymen.

2 Pads—Foot-pads.

3 Divers—Pickpockets.

4 The Lay—Upon the look-out for opportunities for the
exercise of their profession.

5 Flash Molishers—a term given to low Prostitutes.
said a tall man standing near them, “or b—— me if I don't mill you.”
“You mill me, vhy you don't know how to go about it, Mr. Bully Brag,
and I doesn't care half a farden for you—you go for to say as how I—”
“Take that, then,” said the other, and gave him a floorer; but he was
prevented from falling by those around him.
The salute was returned in good earnest, and a random sort of fight
ensued. The accompaniments of this exhibition were the shrieks of the
women, and the shouts of the partisans of each of the Bruisers—the cries of
“Go it, little one—stick to it—tip it him—sarve him out—ring, ring—give
'em room—foul, foul—fair, fair,” &c.” At this moment the Firemen, who
had been actively engaged in endeavours to subdue the devouring flames,
obtained a supply of water: the engines were set to work, and the Foreman
directed the pipe so as to throw the water completely into the mob which
had collected round them. This had the desired effect of putting an end to
the squabble, and dispersing a large portion of the multitude, at least to
some distance, so as to leave good and sufficient room for their operations.
“The Devil take it,” cried Sparkle, “I am drench'd.”
“Ditto repeated,” said Tom.
“Curse the fellow,” cried Bob, “I am sopp'd.”
“Never mind,” continued Tom,

. . . “By fellowship in woe,
Scarce half our pain we know.”

“Since we are all in it, there is no laughing allowed.”
In a short time, the water flowed through the street in torrents; the
pumping of the engines, and the calls of the Firemen, were all the noises
that could be heard, except now and then the arrival of additional
assistance.
Bob watched minutely the skill and activity of those robust and hardy
men, who were seen in all directions upon the tops of houses, &c. near the
calamitous scene, giving information to those below; and he was astonished
to see the rapidity with which they effected their object.
Having ascertained as far as they could the extent of the damage, and that
no lives were lost, Tom proposed a move, and Sparkle gladly seconded the
motion—“for,” said he, “I am so wet, though I cannot complain of being
cold, that I think I resemble the fat man who seemed something like two
single gentlemen roll'd into one,' and 'who after half a year's baking
declared he had been so cursed hot, he was sure he'd caught cold;' so come
along.”
“Past twelve o'clock,” said a Charley, about three parts sprung, and who
appeared to have more light in his head than he could shew from his
lantern.
“Stop thief, stop thief,” was vociferated behind them; and the night
music, the rattles, were in immediate use in several quarters—a rush of the
crowd almost knock'd Bob off his pins, and he would certainly have fell to
the ground, but his nob{l} came with so much force against the bread-
basket{2} of the groggy guardian of the night, that he was turn'd keel
upwards,{3} and rolled with his lantern, staff, and rattle, into the
overflowing kennel; a circumstance which perhaps had really no bad effect,
for in all probability it brought the sober senses of the Charley a little more
into action than the juice of the juniper had previously allowed. He was
dragged from his birth, and his coat, which was of the blanket kind, brought
with it a plentiful supply of the moistening fluid, being literally sous'd from
head to foot.
Bob fished for the darkey{4}—the musical instrument{5}—and the post
of honour, alias the supporter of peace;{6} but he was not yet complete, for
he had dropped his canister-cap,{7} which was at length found by a flash
molisher, and drawn from the pool, full of water, who appeared to know
him, and swore he was one of the best fellows on any of the beats round

about; and that they had got hold of a Fire-prigger,{8} and bundled{9} him
off to St. Giles's watch-house, because he was bolting with a bag of togs.

1 Nob—The head.

2 Bread-basket—The stomach.

3 Keel upwards—Originally a sea phrase, and most in use
among sailors, &c.

4 Darkey—Generally made use of to signify a dark lantern.

5 Musical instrument—a rattle.

6 Post of honour, or supporter of his peace—Stick, or
cudgel.

7 “Canister-cap—& hat.

8 Fire-prigger—No beast of prey can be more noxious to
society or destitute of feeling than those who plunder the
unfortunate sufferers under that dreadful and destructive
calamity, fire. The tiger who leaps on the unguarded
passenger will fly from the fire, and the traveller shall be
protected by it; while these wretches, who attend on fires,
and rob the unfortunate sufferers under pretence of
coming to give assistance, and assuming the style and manner
of neighbours, take advantage of distress and confusion.
Such wretches have a more eminent claim to the detestation
of society, than almost any other of those who prey upon it.

9 Bundled—Took, or conveyed.
The feeble old scout shook his dripping wardrobe, d——d the water and
the boosy kid that wallof'd him into it, but without appearing to know which
was him; till Bob stepped up, and passing some silver into his mawley, told
him he hoped he was not hurt. And our party then, moved on in the
direction for Russel-street, Covent-garden, when Sparkle again mentioned

his wet condition, and particularly recommended a glass of Cogniac by way
of preventive from taking cold. “A good motion well made (said Tom;) and
here we are just by the Harp, where we can be fitted to a shaving; so come
along.”
Having taken this, as Sparkle observed, very necessary precaution, they
pursued their way towards Piccadilly, taking their route under the Piazzas of
Covent-garden, and thence up James-street into Long-acre, where they were
amused by a circumstance of no very uncommon kind in London, but
perfectly new to Tallyho. Two Charleys had in close custody a sturdy young
man (who was surrounded by several others,) and was taking him to the
neighbouring watch-house “What is the matter?” said Tom.
“Oh, 'tis only a little bit of a dead body-snatcher,” said one of the
guardians. “He has been up to the resurrection rig.{1} Here,” continued he,
“I've got the bone-basket,”

1 Resurrection rig—This subject, though a grave one, has
been treated by many with a degree of comicality calculated
to excite considerable risibility. A late well known
humorist has related the following anecdote:

Some young men, who had been out upon the spree, returning
home pretty well primed after drinking plentifully, found
themselves so dry as they passed a public house where they
were well known, they could not resist the desire they had
of calling on their old friend, and taking a glass of brandy
with him by way of finish, as they termed it; and finding
the door open, though it was late, were tempted to walk in.
But their old friend was out of temper. “What is the
matter?”—“Matter enough,” replied Boniface; “here have I
got an old fool of a fellow occupying my parlour dead drunk,
and what the devil to do with him I don't know. He can
neither walk nor speak.”

“Oh,” said one of the party, who knew that a resurrection
Doctor resided in the next street, “I'll remove that
nuisance, if that's all you have to complain of; only lend

me a sack, and I'll sell him.”

A sack was produced, and the Bacchanalian, who
almost appeared void of animation, was without much
difficulty thrust into it. “Give me a lift,” said the
frolicsome blade, and away he went with the load. On
arriving at the doctor's door, he pulled the night bell,
when the Assistant made his appearance, not un-accustomed to
this sort of nocturnal visitant.
holding up a bag, “and it was taken off his shoulder as he went along
Mercer-street, so he can't say nothing at all.
“I have brought you a subject—all right.”
“Come in. What is it, a man or a woman?”
“A man.”
“Down with him—that corner. D——n it, I was fast asleep.
“Call for the sack in the morning, will you, for I want to get to bed.”
“With all my heart.”
Then going to a drawer, and bringing the customary fee, “Here, (said he)
be quick and be off.” This was exactly what the other wanted; and having
secured the rubbish,{1} the door was shut upon him. This, however, was no
sooner done, than the Boosy Kid in the sack, feeling a sudden internal turn
of the contents of his stomach, which brought with it a heaving, fell, from
the upright situation in which he had been placed, on the floor. This so
alarmed the young Doctor, that he ran with all speed after the vender, and
just coming up to him at the corner of the street.
“Why, (said he) you have left me a living man!”
“Never mind, (replied the other;) kill him when you want him.” And
making good use of his heels he quickly disappeared.
A Comedian of some celebrity, but who is now too old for theatrical
service, relates a circumstance which occurred to him upon his first arrival
in town:—
Having entered into an engagement to appear upon the boards of one of
the London Theatres, he sought the metropolis some short time before the
opening of the House; and conceiving it necessary to his profession to study

life—real life as it is,—he was accustomed to mingle promiscuously in
almost all society. With this view he frequently entered the tap rooms of the
lowest public houses, to enjoy his pipe and his pint, keeping the main object
always in view—
“To catch the manners living as they rise.”
Calling one evening at one of these houses, not far from Drury Lane, he
found some strapping fellows engaged in conversation, interlarded with
much flash and low slang; but decently dressed, he mingled in a sort of
general dialogue with them on the state of the weather, politics, &c. After
sitting some time in their company, and particularly noticing their persons
and apparent character—

“Come, Bill, it is time to be off, it is getting rather
darkish.” “Ah, very well (replied the other,) let us have
another quart, and then I am your man for a bit of a lark.”
By this time they had learned that the Comedian was but
newly arrived in town; and he on the other hand was desirous
of seeing what they meant to be up to. After another quart
they were about to move, when, said one to the other, “As we
are only going to have a stroll and a bit of fun, perhaps
that there young man would like to join us.”

“Ah, what say you, Sir? have you any objection? but perhaps
you have business on hand and are engaged—”

“No, I have nothing particular to do,” was the reply. “Very
well, then if you like to go with us, we shall be glad of
your company.”

“Well (said he,) I don't care if I do spend an hour with
you.” And with that they sallied forth.

After rambling about for some time in the vicinity of
Tottenham Court Road, shewing him some of the Squares, &c.
describing the names of streets, squares, and buildings,
they approached St. Giles's, and leading him under a

gateway, “Stop, (said one) we must call upon Jack, you know,
for old acquaintance sake,” and gave a loud knock at the
door; which being opened without a word, they all walked in,
and the door was instantly lock'd. He was now introduced to
a man of squalid appearance, with whom they all shook hands:
the mode of introduction was not however of so satis-factory
a description as had been expected, being very laconic, and
conveyed in the following language:—“We have got him.”

“Yes, yes, it is all right—come, Jack, serve us out some
grog, and then to business.”

The poor Comedian in the mean time was left in the utmost
anxiety and surprise to form an opinion of his situation;
for as he had heard something about trepanning, pressing,
&c. he could not help entertaining serious suspicion that he
should either be com-pelled to serve as a soldier or a
sailor; and as he had no intention “to gain a name in arms,”
they were neither of them suitable to his inclinations.

“Come,” (said one) walk up stairs and sit down—Jack, bring
the lush “—and up stairs they went.

Upon entering a gloomy room, somewhat large, with only a
small candle, he had not much opportunity of discovering
what sort of a place it was, though it looked wretched
enough. The grog was brought—“Here's all round the grave-
stone, (said one)—come, drink away, my hearty—don't be
alarm'd, we are rum fellows, and we'll put you up to a rig
or two—we are got a rum covey in the corner there, and you
must lend us a hand to get rid of him:” then, holding up the
light, what was the surprise of the poor Comedian to espy a
dead body of a man—“You can help us to get him away, and
by G——you shall, too, it's of no use to flinch now.”

A circumstance of this kind was new to him, so that his
perplexity was only increased by the discovery; but he

plainly perceived by the last declaration, that having
engaged in the business, it would be of no use to leave it
half done: he therefore remained silent upon the subject,
drank his grog, when Jack came up stairs to say the cart was
ready.

“Lend a hand, (said one of them) let us get our load down
stairs—come, my Master, turn to with a good heart, all's
right.”

With this the body was conveyed down stairs.

At the back of the house was a small yard separated from a
neighbouring street by a wall—a signal was given by some
one on the other side which was understood by those within—
it was approaching nine o'clock, and a dark night—“Come,
(said one of them,) mount you to the top of the wall, and
ding the covey over to the carcass-carter.” This being
complied with, the dead body was handed up to him, which was
no sooner done than the Carman outside, perceiving the
Watchman approach—“It von't do,” said he, and giving a
whistle, drove his cart with an assumed air of carelessness
away; while the poor Comedian, who had a new character to
support, in which he did not conceive himself well up,{1}
was holding the dead man on his lap with the legs projecting
over the wall; it was a situation of the utmost delicacy and
there was no time to recast the part, he was therefore,
obliged to blunder through it as well as he could; the
perspiration of the living man fell plentifully on the
features of the dead as the Charley approached in a position
to pass directly under him. Those inside had sought the
shelter of the house, telling him to remain quiet till the
old Scout was gone by. Now although he was not fully
acquainted with the consequences of discovery, he was
willing and anxious to avoid them: he therefore took the
advice, and scarcely moved or breathed—“Past nine o'clock,”
said the Watchman, as he passed under the legs of the dead

body without looking up, though he was within an inch of
having his castor brushed off by them. Being thus relieved,
he was happy to see the cart return; he handed over the
unpleasant burthen, and as quick as possible afterwards
descended from his elevated situation into the street,
determining at all hazards to see the result of this to him
extraordinary adventure; with this view he followed the cart
at a short distance, keeping his eye upon it as he went
along; and in one of the streets leading to Long Acre, he
perceived a man endeavouring to look into the back part of
the cart, but was diverted from his object by one of the men
who had introduced him to the house, while another of the
confederates snatched the body from the cart, and ran with
all speed down another street in an opposite direction. This
movement had attracted the notice of the Watchman, who,
being prompt in his movements, had sprung his rattle. Upon
this, and feeling himself too heavily laden to secure his
retreat, the fellow with the dead man perceiving the gate of
an area open, dropped his burden down the steps, slam'd the
gate after him, and continued to fly, but was stopped at the
end of the street; in the mean time the Charley in pursuit
had knock'd at the door of the house where the stolen goods
(as he supposed) were deposited.

1 A cant phrase for money.

It was kept by an old maiden lady, who, upon discovering the
dead body of a man upon her premises, had fainted in the
Watchman's arms. The detection of the running
Resurrectionist was followed by a walk to the watch-house,
where his companions endeavoured to make it appear that they
had all been dining at Wandsworth together, that he was not
the person against whom the hue and cry had been raised. But
old Snoosey{l} said it wouldn't do, and he was therefore
detained to appear before the Magistrate in the morning. The
Comedian, who had minutely watched their proceedings, took
care to be at Bow-street in good time; where he found upon

the affidavits of two of his comrades, who swore they had
dined together at Wandsworth, their pal was liberated.

1 The Constable of the night.
Bob could not very well understand what was the meaning of this lingo;
he was perfectly at a loss to comprehend the terms of deadbody snatching
and the resurrection rig. The crowd increased as they went along; and as
they did not exactly relish their company, Sparkle led. them across the way,
and then proceeded to explain.
“Why,” said Sparkle, “the custom of dead-body snatching has become
very common in London, and in many cases appears to be winked at by the
Magistrates; for although it is considered a felony in law, it is also
acknowledged in some degree to be necessary for the Surgeons, in order to
have an opportunity of obtaining practical information. It is however, at the
same time, a source of no slight distress to the parents and friends of the
parties who are dragg'd from the peaceful security of the tomb. The
Resurrection-men are generally well rewarded for their labours by the
Surgeons who employ them to procure subjects; they are for the most part
fellows who never stick at trifles, but make a decent livelihood by moving
off, if they can, not only the bodies, but coffins, shrouds, &c. and are
always upon the look-out wherever there is a funeral—nay, there have been
instances in which the bodies have been dug from their graves within a few
hours after being deposited there.”
“It is a shameful practice,” said Bob, “and ought not to be tolerated,
however; nor can I conceive how, with the apparent vigilance of the Police,
it can be carried on.”
“Nothing more easy,” said Sparkle, “where the plan is well laid. These
fellows, when they hear a passing-bell toll, skulk about the parish from ale-
house to ale-house, till they can learn a proper account of what the deceased
died of, what condition the body is in, &c. with which account they go to a
Resurrection Doctor, who agrees for a price, which is mostly five guineas,
for the body of a man, and then bargain with an Undertaker for the shroud,
coffin, &c. which, perhaps with a little alteration, may serve to run through
the whole family.”
“And is it possible,” said Bob, “that there are persons who will enter into
such bargains?”

“No doubt of it; nay, there was an instance of a man really selling his
own body to a Surgeon, to be appropriated to his own purposes when dead,
for a certain weekly sum secured to him while living; but in robbing the
church-yards there are always many engaged in the rig—for notice is
generally given that the body will be removed in the night, to which the
Sexton is made privy, and receives the information with as much ease as he
did to have it brought—his price being a guinea for the use of the grubbing
irons, adjusting the grave, &c. This system is generally carried on in little
country church-yards within a few miles of London. A hackney-coach or a
cart is ready to receive the stolen property, and there cannot be a doubt but
many of these depredations are attended with success, the parties escaping
with their prey undetected—nay, I know of an instance that occurred a short
time back, of a young man who was buried at Wesley's Chapel, on which
occasion one of the mourners, a little more wary than the rest, could not
help observing two or three rough fellows in the ground during the
ceremony, which aroused his suspicion that they intended after interment to
have the body of his departed friend; this idea became so strongly rooted in
his mind, that he imparted his suspicions to the remainder of those who had
followed him: himself and another therefore determined if possible to
satisfy themselves upon the point, by returning in the dusk of the evening to
reconnoitre. They accordingly proceeded to the spot, but the gates being
shut, one of them climbed to the top of the wall, where he discovered the
very parties, he had before noticed, in the act of wrenching open the coffin.
Here they are, said he, hard at it, as I expected. But before he and his friend
could get over the wall, the villains effected their escape, leaving behind
them a capacious sack and all the implements of their infernal trade. They
secured the body, had it conveyed home again, and in a few days re-buried
it in a place of greater security.{1}
Bob was surprised at this description of the Resurrection-rig, but was
quickly drawn from his contemplation of the depravity of human nature,
and what he could not help thinking the dirty employments of life, by a
shouting apparently from several voices as they passed the end of St.
Martin's Lane: it came from about eight persons, who appeared to be
journeymen mechanics, with pipes in their mouths, some of them rather
rorytorious,{2} who, as they approached, broke altogether into the
following

SONG.{3}

“I'm a frolicsome young fellow, I live at my ease,
I work when I like, and I play when I please;
I'm frolicsome, good-natured—I'm happy and free,
And I care not a jot what the world thinks of me.

With my bottle and glass some hours I pass,
Sometimes with my friend, and sometimes with my lass:
I'm frolicsome, good-natur'd—I'm happy and free,
And I don't care one jot what the world thinks of me.

By the cares of the nation I'll ne'er be perplex'd,
I'm always good-natur'd, e'en though I am vex'd;
I'm frolicsome, good-humour'd—I'm happy and free,
And I don't care one d——n what the world thinks of me.

1 A circumstance very similar to the one here narrated by
Sparkle actually occurred, and can be well authenticated.

2 Rorytorious—Noisy.

3 This song is not introduced for the elegance of its
composition, but as the Author has actually heard it in the
streets at the flight of night or the peep of day, sung in
full chorus, as plain as the fumes of the pipes and the
hiccups would allow the choristers at those hours to
articulate; and as it is probably the effusion of some
Shopmate in unison with the sentiments of many, it forms
part of Real Life deserving of being recorded in this Work.

Particular trades have particular songs suitable to the
employment in which they are engaged, which while at work
the whole of the parties will join in. In Spitalfields,
Bethnal-green, &c. principally inhabited by weavers, it is
no uncommon thing to hear twenty or thirty girls singing,

with their shuttles going—The Death of Barbary Allen—There
was an old Astrologer—Mary's Dream, or Death and the Lady;
and we remember a Watch-maker who never objected to hear his
boys sing; but although he was himself a loyal subject, he
declared he could not bear God Save the King; and upon being
ask'd his reason—Why, said he, it is too slow—for as the
time goes, so the fingers move—Give us Drops of Brandy,
or Go to the Devil and Shake Yourself—then I shall have
some work done.
This Song, which was repeated three or four times, was continued till
their arrival at Newport-market, where the Songsters divided: our party
pursued their way through Coventry-street, and arrived without further
adventure or interruption safely at home. Sparkle bade them adieu, and
proceeded to Bond-street; and Tom and Bob sought the repose of the pillow.
It is said that “Music hath charms to sooth the savage breast,” and it
cannot but be allowed that the Yo heave ho, of our Sailors, or the sound of a
fiddle, contribute much to the speed of weighing anchor.
It is an indisputable fact that there are few causes which more decidedly
form, or at least there are few evidences which more clearly indicate, the
true character of a nation, than its Songs and Ballads. It has been observed
by the learned Selden, that you may see which way the wind sets by
throwing a straw up into the air, when you cannot make the same discovery
by tossing up a stone or other weighty substance. Thus it is with Songs and
Ballads, respecting the state of public feeling, when productions of a more
elaborate nature fail in their elucidations: so much so that it is related of a
great Statesman, who was fully convinced of the truth of the observation,
that he said, “Give me the making of the national Ballads, and I care not
who frames your Laws.” Every day's experience tends to prove the power
which the sphere-born Sisters of harmony, voice, and verse, have over the
human mind. “I would rather,” says Mr. Sheridan, “have written Glover's
song of 'Hosier's Ghost' than the Annals of Tacitus."

CHAPTER XII

O what a town, what a wonderful Metropolis!
Sure such a town as this was never seen;
Mayor, common councilmen, citizens and populace,
Wand'ring from Poplar to Turnham Green.

Chapels, churches, synagogues, distilleries and county banks—
Poets, Jews and gentlemen, apothecaries, mountebanks—
There's Bethlem Hospital, and there the Picture Gallery;
And there's Sadler's Wells, and there the Court of Chancery.

O such a town, such a wonderful Metropolis,
Sure such a town as this was never seen!
O such a town, and such a heap of carriages,
Sure such a motley group was never seen;
Such a swarm of young and old, of buryings and marriages,
All the world seems occupied in ceaseless din.

There's the Bench, and there's the Bank—now only take a peep at her—
And there's Rag Fair, and there the East-London Theatre—
There's St. James's all so fine, St. Giles's all in tattery,
Where fun and frolic dance the rig from Saturday to Saturday.
O what a town, what a wonderful Metropolis,
Sure such a town as this was never seen!
A SHORT time after this day's ramble, the Hon. Tom Dash all and his
friend Tallyho paid a visit to the celebrated Tattersall's.

“This,” said Tom, “is a great scene of action at times, and you will upon
some occasions find as much business done here as there is on 'Change; the
dealings however are not so fair, though the profits are larger; and if you
observe the characters and the visages of the visitants, it will be found it is
most frequently attended by Turf-Jews and Greeks.{1} Any man indeed
who dabbles in horse-dealing, must, like a gamester, be either a rook or a
pigeon; {2} for horse-dealing is a species of gambling, in which as many

1 Turf-Jews and Greeks—Gamblers at races, trotting-
matches, &c.

2 Rooks and Pigeons are frequenters of gaming-houses: the
former signifying the successful adventurer, and the latter
the unfortunate dupe.
depredations are committed upon the property of the unwary as in any
other, and every one engaged in it thinks it a meritorious act to dupe his
chapman. Even noblemen and gentlemen, who in other transactions of life
are honest, will make no scruple of cheating you in horse-dealing: nor is
this to be wondered at when we consider that the Lord and the Baronet take
lessons from their grooms, jockeys, or coachmen, and the nearer approach
they can make to the appearance and manners of their tutors, the fitter the
pupils for turf-men, or gentlemen dealers; for the school in which they learn
is of such a description that dereliction of principle is by no means
surprising—fleecing each other is an every-day practice—every one looks
upon his fellow as a bite, and young men of fashion learn how to buy and
sell, from old whips, jockeys, or rum ostlers, whose practices have put them

up to every thing, and by such ruffian preceptors are frequently taught to
make three quarters or seventy-five per cent, profit, which is called turning
an honest penny. This, though frequently practised at country fairs, &c. by
horse-jobbers, &c. is here executed with all the dexterity and art
imaginable: for instance, you have a distressed friend whom you know must
sell; you commiserate his situation, and very kindly find all manner of
faults with his horse, and buy it for half its value—you also know a Green-
horn and an extravagant fellow, to whom you sell it for twice its value, and
that is the neat thing. Again, if you have a horse you wish to dispose of, the
same school will afford you instruction how to make the most of him, that
is to say, to conceal his vices and defects, and by proper attention to put him
into condition, to alter his whole appearance by hogging, cropping, and
docking—by patching up his broken knees—blowing gun-powder in his
dim eyes—bishoping, blistering, &c. so as to turn him out in good twig,
scarcely to be known by those who have frequently seen and noticed him:
besides which, at the time of sale one of these gentry will aid and assist
your views by pointing out his recommendations in some such observations
as the following:
?There's a horse truly good and well made.
?There's the appearance of a fine woman! broad breast, round hips, and
long neck.
?There's the countenance, intrepidity, and fire of a lion.
?There's the eye, joint, and nostril of an ox.
'There's the nose, gentleness, and patience of a lamb.
?There's the strength, constancy, and foot of a mule.
?There's the hair, head, and leg of a deer.
?There's the throat, neck, and hearing of a wolf.
?There's the ear, brush, and trot of a fox.
?There's the memory, sight, and turning of a serpent.
?There's the running, suppleness, and innocence of the hare.
“And if a horse sold for sound wind, limb, and eyesight, with all the
gentleness of a lamb, that a child might ride him with safety, should
afterwards break the purchaser's neck, the seller has nothing to do with it,
provided he has received the bit,{1} but laughs at the do.{2} Nay, they will

sometimes sell a horse, warranted to go as steady as ever a horse went in
harness, to a friend, assuring him at the same time that he has not a fault of
any kind—that he is good as ever shoved a head through a horse-collar; and
if he should afterwards rear up in the gig, and overturn the driver into a
ditch, shatter the concern to pieces, spill Ma'am, and kill both her and the
child of promise, the conscientious Horse-dealer has nothing to do with all
this: How could he help it? he sold the horse for a good horse, and a good
horse he was. This is all in the way of fair dealing. Again, if a horse is sold
as sound, and he prove broken-winded, lame, or otherwise, not worth one
fortieth part of the purchase-money, still it is only a piece of jockeyship—a
fair manouvre, affording opportunities of merriment.”
“A very laudable sort of company,” said Bob.
“It is rather a mixed one,” replied Tom—“it is indeed a complete mixture
of all conditions, ranks, and orders of society. But let us take a peep at some
of them. Do you observe that stout fellow yonder, with a stick in his hand?
he has been a Daisy-kicker, and, by his arts and contrivances having saved a
little money, is now a regular dealer, and may generally be seen here on
selling days.”
“Daisy-kicker,” said Bob, “I don't comprehend the term.”
“Then I will explain,” was the reply. “Daisy-kickers are Ostlers
belonging to large inns, who are known to each other by that title, and you
may frequently hear them

1 Bit—A cant term for money.

2 Do—Any successful endeavour to over-reach another is by
these gentlemen call'd a do, meaning—so and so has been
done.
ask—When did you sell your Daisy-kicker or Grogham?—for these
terms are made use of among themselves as cant for a horse. Do you also
observe, he is now in close conversation with a person who he expects will
become a purchaser.”
“And who is he?”
“He is no other than a common informer, though in high life; keeps his
carriage, horses, and servants—lives in the first style—he is shortly to be

made a Consul of, and perhaps an Ambassador afterwards. The first is to all
intents and purposes a Lord of Trade, and his Excellency nothing more than
a titled spy, in the same way as a Bailiff is a follower of the law, and a man
out of livery a Knight's companion or a Nobleman's gentleman.”
Their attention was at this moment attracted by the appearance of two
persons dressed in the extreme of fashion, who, upon meeting just by them,
caught eagerly hold of each other's hand, and they overheard the following
—'Why, Bill, how am you, my hearty?—where have you been trotting your
galloper?—what is you arter?—how's Harry and Ben?—haven't seen you
this blue moon.'{1}
?All tidy,' was the reply; 'Ben is getting better, and is going to sport a new
curricle, which is now building for him in Long Acre, as soon as he is
recovered.'
?Why what the devil's the matter with him, eh?'
?Nothing of any consequence, only he got mill'd a night or two ago about
his blowen—he had one of his ribs broke, sprained his right wrist, and
sports a painted peeper{2} upon the occasion, that's all.'
?Why you know he's no bad cock at the Fancy, and won't put up with any
gammon.'
?No, but he was lushy, and so he got queer'd—But I say, have you sold
your bay?'
?No, d——n me, I can't get my price.'
?Why, what is it you axes?'{3}
?Only a hundred and thirty—got by Agamemnon. Lord, it's no price at all
—cheap as dirt—But I say, Bill,

1 Blue moon—This is usually intended to imply a long time.

2 Painted peeper—A black eye.

3 Axes—Among the swell lads, and those who affect the
characters of knowing coveys, there is a common practice of
endeavouring to coin new words and new modes of expression,
evidently intended to be thought wit; and this affectation
frequently has the effect of creating a laugh.

how do you come on with your grey, and the pie-bald poney?'
?All right and regular, my boy; matched the poney for a light curricle,
and I swapped{1} the grey for an entire horse—such a rum one—when will
you come and take a peep at him?—all bone, fine shape and action, figure
beyond compare—I made a rare good chop of it.'
?I'm glad to hear it; I'll make a survey, and take a ride with you the first
leisure day; but I'm full of business, no time to spare—I say, are, you a
dealer?'
?No, no, it won't do, I lost too much at the Derby—besides, I must go
and drive my Girl out—Avait, that's the time of day,{2} my boys—so good
by—But if you should be able to pick up a brace of clever pointers, a prime
spaniel, or a greyhound to match Smut, I'm your man—buy for me, and all's
right—price, you know, is out of the question, I must have them if they are
to be got, so look out—bid and buy; but mind, nothing but prime will do for
me—that's the time of day, you know, d——n me—so good by—I'm off.'
And away he went.
“Some great sporting character, I suppose,” said Bob—“plenty of
money.”
“No such thing,” said Tom, drawing him on one side—“you will hardly
believe that Bill is nothing more than a Shopman to a Linen-draper, recently
discharged for malpractices; and the other has been a Waiter at a Tavern, but
is now out of place; and they are both upon the sharp look-out to gammon
the flats. The former obtains his present livelihood by gambling—spends
the most of his time in playing cards with greenhorns, always to be picked
up at low flash houses, at fairs, races, milling-matches, &c. and is also in
the holy keeping of the cast-off mistress of a nobleman whose family he
was formerly in as a valet-de-chambre. The other pretends to teach sparring
in the City, and occasionally has a benefit in the Minories, Duke's Place,
and the Fives Court.”
“They talk it well, however,” said Bob.

1 Swapp'd—Exchanged.

2 That's the time of day—That's your sort—that's the
barber—keep moving—what am you arter—what am you up to—
there never was such times—that's the Dandy—Go along Bob,

&c. are ex-pressions that are frequently made use of by the
people of the Metropolis; and indeed fashion seems almost to
have as much to do with our language as with our dress or
manners.
"Words are but wind, many a proud word comes off a weak stomach,”
was the reply; “and you may almost expect not to hear a word of truth in
this place, which may be termed The Sporting Repository—it is the grand
mart for horses and for other fashionable animals—for expensive asses, and
all sorts of sporting-dogs, town-puppies, and second-hand vehicles. Here
bets are made for races and fights—matches are made up here—bargains
are struck, and engagements entered into, with as much form, regularity,
and importance, as the progress of parliamentary proceedings—points of
doubt upon all occasions of jockeyship are decided here; and no man of
fashion can be received into what is termed polished society, without a
knowledge of this place and some of the visitors. The proceedings however
are generally so managed, that the ostlers, the jockeys, the grooms, and the
dealers, come best off, from a superiority of knowledge and presumed
judgment—they have a method of patching up deep matches to diddle the
dupes, and to introduce throws over, doubles, double doubles, to ease the
heavy pockets of their burdens. The system of puffing is also as much in
use here as among the Lottery-office Keepers, the Quack Doctors, or the
Auctioneers; and the __Knowing ones, by an understanding amongst each
other, sell their cattle almost for what they please, if it so happens they are
not immediately in want of the ready,{1} which, by the way, is an article
too frequently in request—and here honest poverty is often obliged to sell at
any rate, while the rich black-leg takes care only to sell to a good
advantage, making a point at the same time not only to make the most of his
cattle, but also of his friend or acquaintance.”
“Liberal and patriotic-minded men!” said Bob; “it is a noble Society, and
well worthy of cultivation.”
“It is fashionable Society, at least,” continued Tom, “and deserving of
observation, for it is fraught with instruction.”
“I think so, indeed,” was the reply; “but I really begin to suspect that I
shall scarcely have confidence to venture out alone, for there does not
appear to be any part of your wonderful Metropolis but what is infested
with some kind of shark or other.”

“It is but too true, and it is therefore the more necessary to make yourself
acquainted with them; it is rather a long lesson, but really deserving of
being learnt. You

1 The ready—Money.
perceive what sort of company you are now in, as far as may be judged
from their appearances; but they are not to be trusted, for I doubt not but
you would form erroneous conclusions from such premises. The company
that assembles here is generally composed of a great variety of characters—
the Idler, the Swindler, the Dandy, the Exquisite, the full-pursed young Peer,
the needy Sharper, the gaudy Pauper, and the aspiring School-boy, anxious
to be thought a dealer and a judge of the article before him—looking at a
horse with an air of importance and assumed intelligence, bidding with a
trembling voice and palpitating heart, lest it should be knock'd down to him.
Do you see that dashing fellow nearly opposite to us, in the green frock-
coat, top-boots, and spurs?—do you mark how he nourishes his whip, and
how familiar he seems to be with the knowing old covey in brown?”
“Yes; I suppose he is a dealer.”
“You are right, he is a dealer, but it is in man's flesh, not horse flesh: he is
a Bum trap{1} in search of some friend

1 Bum trap—A term pretty generally in use to denominate a
Bailiff or his follower—they are also called Body-
snatchers. The ways and means made use of by these gentry to
make their captions are innumerable: they visit all places,
assume all characters, and try all stratagems, to secure
their friends, in order that they may have an opportunity of
obliging them, which they have a happy facility in doing,
provided the party can bleed free.* Among others, the
following are curious facts:

A Gentleman, who laboured under some peculiar difficulties,
found it desirable for the sake of his health to retire into
the country, where he secluded himself pretty closely from
the vigilant anxieties of his friends, who were in search of
him and had made several fruitless attempts to obtain an

interview. The Traps having ascertained the place of his
retreat, from which it appeared that nothing but stratagem
could draw him, a knowing old snatch determined to effect
his purpose, and succeeded in the following manner:

One day as the Gentleman came to his window, he discovered a
man, seemingly in great agitation, passing and re-passing;
at length, however, he stopped suddenly, and with a great
deal of attention fixed his eyes upon a tree which stood
nearly opposite to the window. In a few minutes he returned
to it, pulled out a book, in which he read for a few
minutes, and then drew forth a rope from his pocket, with
which he suspended himself from the tree. The Gentleman,
eager to save the life of a fellow-creature, ran out and cut
him down. This was scarcely accomplished, before he found
the man whom he had rescued (as he thought) from death,
slapp'd him on the shoulder, informed him that he was his
prisoner, and in return robbed him of his liberty!

Another of these gentry assumed the character of a poor
cripple, and stationed himself as a beggar, sweeping the
crossing near the habitation of his shy cock, who,
conceiving himself safe after three days voluntary
imprisonment, was seized by the supposed Beggar, who threw
away his broom to secure his man.

Yet, notwithstanding the many artifices to which this
profession is obliged to conform itself, it must be
acknowledged there are many of them who have hearts that
would do honour to more exalted situations; especially when
we reflect, that in general, whatever illiberality or
invective may be cast upon them, they rarely if at all
oppress those who are in their custody, and that they
frequently endeavour to compromise for the Debtor, or at
least recommend the Creditor to accept of those terms which
can be complied with.

* Bleed free—
or other, with a writ in his pocket. These fellows have some protean
qualities about them, and, as occasion requires, assume all shapes for the
purpose of taking care of their customers; they are however a sort of
necessary evil. The old one in brown is a well-known dealer, a deep old file,
and knows every one around him—he is up to the sharps, down upon the
flats, and not to be done. But in looking round you may perceive men
booted and spurred, who perhaps never crossed a horse, and some with
whips in their hands who deserve it on their backs—they hum lively airs,
whistle and strut about with their quizzing-glasses in their hands, playing a
tattoo upon their boots, and shewing themselves off with as many airs as if
they were real actors engaged in the farce, that is to say, the buyers and
sellers; when in truth they are nothing but loungers in search of
employment, who may perhaps have to count the trees in the Park for a
dinner without satisfying the cravings of nature, dining as it is termed with
Duke Humphrey—others, perhaps, who have arrived in safety, are almost
afraid to venture into the streets again, lest they should encounter those foes
to liberty, John Doe and Richard Roe.”
?If I do, may I be——' The remainder of the sentence was lost, by the
speaker removing in conversation with another, when Tom turn'd round.
“O,” said Tom, “I thought I knew who it was—that is one of the greatest
reprobates in conversation that I ever met with.”
“And who is he?”
“Why, I'll give you a brief sketch of him,” continued Dashall: “It is said,
and I fancy pretty well known, that he has retired upon a small property,
how acquired or accumulated I cannot say; but he has married a Bar-maid
of very beautiful features and elegant form: having been brought up to the
bar, she is not unaccustomed to confinement; but he has made her an
absolute prisoner, for he shuts her up as closely as if she were in a
monastery—he never dines at home, and she is left in complete solitude. He
thinks his game all safe, but she has sometimes escaped the vigilance of her
gaoler, and has been seen at places distant from home.{1}

1 It is related of this gentleman, whose severity and
vigilance were so harshly spoken of, that one day at table,

a dashing young Military Officer, who, while he was
circulating the bottle, was boasting among his dissipated
friends of his dexterity in conducting the wars of Venus,
that he had a short time back met one of the most lovely
creatures he ever saw, in the King's Road; but he had
learned that her husband so strictly confined and watched
her, that there was no possibility of his being admitted to
her at any hour.

“Behave handsome, and I'll put you in possession of a gun
that shall bring the game down in spite of locks, bolts and
bars, or even the vigilance of the eyes of Argus himself.”

“How? d——me if I don't stand a ten pound note.”

“How! why easy enough; I've a plan that cannot but succeed—
down with the cash, and I'll put you up to the scheme.”

No sooner said than done, and he pocketed the ten pound
note.

“Now,” said the hoary old sinner, little suspecting that he
was to be the dupe of his own artifice: “You get the husband
invited out to dinner, have him well ply'd with wine by your
friends: You assume the dress of a Postman—give a
thundering rap at her door, which always denotes either the
arrival of some important visitor or official communication;
and when you can see her, flatter, lie, and swear that her
company is necessary to your existence—that life is a
burden without her—tell her, you know her husband is
engaged, and can't come—that he is dining out with some
jolly lads, and can't possibly be home for some hours—fall
at her feet, and say that, having obtained the interview,
you will not leave her. Your friends in the mean time must
be engaged in making him as drunk as a piper. That's the way
to do it, and if you execute it as well as it is plann'd,
the day's your own.”

“Bravo, bravo!” echoed from every one present.

It was a high thing—the breach thus made, the horn-work was
soon to be carried, and there could be no doubt of a safe
lodgement in the covert-way.

The gay Militaire met his inamorata shortly afterwards in
Chelsea-fields, and after obtaining from her sundry
particulars of inquiry, as to the name of her husband, &c.
he acquainted her with his plan. The preliminaries were
agreed upon, and it was deter-mined that the maid-servant,
who was stationed as a spy upon her at all times, should be
dispatched to some house in the neighbour-hood to procure
change, while the man of letters was to be let in and
concealed; and upon her return it was to be stated that the
Postman was in a hurry, could not wait, and was to call
again. This done, he was to make his escape by a rope-ladder
from the window as soon as the old one should be heard upon
the stairs, which it of course was presumed would be at a
late hour, when he was drunk.

The train having been thus laid, Old Vigilance dined out,
and expected to meet the Colonel; but being disappointed,
and suspicious at all times, for

“Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind,”

The utmost endeavours of the party to make him drunk proved
ineffectual; he was restless and uncomfortable, and he could
not help fancying by the visible efforts to do him up, that
some mischief was brewing, or some hoax was about to be
played off. He had his master-key in his pocket, and retired
early.

His Lady, whose plan had succeeded admirably at home, was
fearful of having the door bolted till after twelve, lest

the servant's suspicions should be aroused. In the mean
time, the son of Mars considered all safe, and entertained
no expectation of the old Gentleman's return till a very
late hour. When lo and behold, to the great surprise and
annoyance of the lovers, he gently opened the street door,
and fearful of awaking his faithful charmer out of her first
slumber, he ascended the stairs unshod. His phosphoric
matches shortly threw a light upon the subject, and he
entered the apartment; when, what was the surprise and
astonishment of the whole party at the discovery of their
situation!

The old Gentleman swore, stormed, and bullied, declaring he
would have satisfaction! that he would commence a civil
suit! The Military Hero told him it would be too civil by
half, and was in fact more than he expected;—reminded him
of the ten pounds he had received as agency for promoting
his amours;—informed him he had performed the character
recommended by him most admirably. The old man was almost
choked with rage; but perceiving he had spread a snare for
himself, was compelled to hear and forbear, while the lover
bolted, wishing him a good night, and singing, “Locks,
bolts, and bars, I defy you,” as an admirable lesson in
return for the blustering manner in which he had received
information of the success of his own scheme.
“Mr. C—— on the opposite side is a Money-procurer or lender, a very
accommodating sort of person, who négociâtes meetings and engagements
between young borrowers, who care not what they pay for money, and old
lenders, who care not who suffers, so they can obtain enormous interest for
their loans. He is a venerable looking man, and is known to most of the
young Bloods who visit here. His father was a German Cook in a certain
kitchen. He set up for a Gentleman at his father's death, and was taken
particular notice of by Lord G——, and indeed by all the turf. He lived a
gay and fashionable life, soon run out his fortune, and is now pensioned by
a female whom he formerly supported. He is an excellent judge of a horse
and horse-racing, upon which subjects his advice is frequently given. He is
a very useful person among the generality of gentry who frequent this place

of public resort. At the same time it ought to be observed, that among the
various characters which infest and injure society, perhaps there are few
more practised in guilt, fraud, and deceit, than the Money-lenders.
“They advertise to procure large sums of money to assist those under
pecuniary embarrassment. They generally reside in obscure situations, and
are to be found by anonymous signatures, such as A. B. I. R. D. V. &c. They
chiefly prey upon young men of property, who have lost their money at
play, horse-racing, betting, &c. or other expensive amusements, and are
obliged to raise more upon any terms until their rents or incomes become
payable: or such as have fortunes in prospect, as being heirs apparent to
estates, but who require assistance in the mean time.
“These men avail themselves of the credit, or the ultimate responsibility
of the giddy and thoughtless young spendthrift in his eager pursuit of
criminal pleasures, and under the influence of those allurements, which the
various places of fashionable resort hold out; and seldom fail to obtain from
them securities and obligations for large sums; upon the credit of which
they are enabled, perhaps at usurious interest, to borrow money or discount
bills, and thus supply their unfortunate customers upon the most
extravagant terms.
“There are others, who having some capital, advance money upon bonds,
title-deeds, and other specialties, or tipon the bond of the parties having
property in reversion. By these and other devices, large sums of money are
most unwarrantably and illegally wrested from the dissipated and the
thoughtless; and misery and distress are perhaps entailed upon them as long
as they live, or they are driven by the prospect of utter ruin to acts of
desperation or the commission of crimes.
“It generally happens upon application to the advertising party, that he,
like Moses in The School for Scandal, is not really in possession of any
money himself, but then he knows where and how to procure it from a very
unconscionable dog, who may, perhaps, not be satisfied with the security
ottered; yet, if you have Bills at any reasonable date, he could get them
discounted. If you should suffer yourself to be trick'd out of any Bills, he
will contrive, in some way or other, to negotiate them—not, as he professes,
for you, but for himself and his colleagues; and, very likely, after you have
been at the additional expense of commencing a suit at law against them,
they have disappeared, and are in the King's Bench or the Fleet, waiting

there to defraud you of every hope and expectation, by obtaining their
liberty through the White-washing Act.
“These gentry are for the most part Attorneys or Pettifoggers, or closely
connected with such; and notwithstanding all legal provisions to preclude
them from exacting large sums, either for their agency and introduction, or
for the bonds which they draw, yet they contrive to bring themselves home,
and escape detection, by some such means as the following:
“They pretend that it is necessary to have a deed drawn up to explain the
uses of the Annuity-bond, which the grantor of the money, who is some
usurious villain, immediately acknowledges and accedes to; for
“The bond that signs the mortgage pays the shot; so that an Act which is
fraught with the best purposes for the protection of the honest, but
unfortunate, is in this manner subjected to the grossest chicanery of
pettifoggers and pretenders, and the vilest evasions of quirking low villains
of the law.
“There is also another species of money-lender, not inaptly termed the
Female Banker. These accommodate Barrow-women and others, who sell
fruit, vegetables, &c. in the public streets, with five shillings a day (the
usual diurnal stock in such cases;) for the use of which for twelve hours
they obtain the moderate premium of sixpence when the money is returned
in the evening, receiving at this rate about seven pounds ten shillings per
year for every five pounds they can so employ. It is however very difficult
to convince the borrowers of the correctness of this calculation, and of the
serious loss to which they subject themselves by a continuation of the
system, since it is evident that this improvident and dissolute class of people
have no other idea than that of making the day and the way alike long. Their
profits (often considerably augmented by dealing in base money as well as
the articles which they sell) seldom last over the day; for they never fail to
have a luxurious dinner and a hot supper, with a plentiful supply of gin and
porter: looking in general no farther than to keep the whole original stock
with the sixpence interest, which is paid over to the female Banker in the
evening, and a new loan obtained on the following morning to go to market,
and to be disposed of in the same way.
“In contemplating this curious system of banking, or money lending
(trifling as it may appear,) it is almost impossible not to be forcibly struck
with the immense profits that are derived from it. It is only necessary for

one of these sharpers to possess a capital of seventy shillings, or three
pounds ten shillings, with fourteen steady and regular customers, in order to
realize an income of one hundred guineas per year! So true it is, that one
half of the world do not know how the other half live; for there are
thousands who cannot have the least conception of the existence of such
facts.
“Here comes a Buck of the first cut, one who pretends to know every
thing and every body, but thinks of nobody but himself, and of that self in
reality knows nothing.
Captain P——is acknowledged by all his acquaintance to be one of the
best fellows in the world, and to beat every one at slang, but U——y and A
——se. He is the terror of the Charleys, and of the poor unfortunate
roofless nightly wanderers in the streets. You perceive his long white hair,
and by no means engaging features. Yet he has vanity enough to think
himself handsome, and that he is taken notice of on that account; when the
attractions he presents are really such as excite wonder and surprise,
mingled with disgust; yet he contemplates his figure in the looking-glass
with self satisfaction, and asks the frail ones, with a tremulous voice, if, so
help them——he is not a good-looking fellow 1 and they, knowing their
customer, of course do not fail to reply in the affirmative.
“He is a well known leg, and is no doubt present on this occasion to bet
upon the ensuing Epsom races; by the bye his losses have been very
considerable in that way. He has also at all times been a dupe to the sex. It
is said that Susan B——, a dashing Cyprian, eased his purse of a £500 bill,
and whilst he was dancing in pursuit of her, she was dancing to the tune of a
Fife; a clear proof she had an ear for music as well as an eye to business.
But I believe it was played in a different Key to what he expected; whether
it was a minor Key or not I cannot exactly say.
“At a ball or assembly he conceives himself quite at home, satisfied that
he is the admiration of the whole of the company present; and were he to
give an account of himself, it would most likely be in substance nearly as
follows:
“When I enter the room, what a whisp'ring is heard; My rivals,
astonish'd, scarce utter a word; “How charming! (cry all; ) how enchanting
a fellow! How neat are those small-clothes, how killingly yellow. Not for
worlds would I honour these plebs with a smile, Tho' bursting with pride

and delight all the while; So I turn to my cronies (a much honour'd few,);
Crying, “S—z—m, how goes it?—Ah, Duchess, how do? Ton my life,
yonder's B—uf, and Br—ke, and A—g—le, S-ff—d, W—tm—1—d, L—n,
and old codger C—ri—le.” Now tho', from this style of address, it appears
That these folks I have known for at least fifty years, The fact is, my
friends, that I scarcely know one, A mere “façon de parler,” the way of the
ton. What tho' they dislike it, I answer my ends, Country gentlemen stare,
and suppose them my friends.
But my beautiful taste (as indeed you will guess) Is manifest most in my
toilet and dress; My neckcloth of course forms my principal care, For by
that we criterions of elegance swear, And costs me each morning some
hours of flurry, To make it appear to be tied in a hurry. My boot-tops, those
unerring marks of a blade, With Champagne are polish'd, and peach
marmalade; And a violet coat, closely copied from B—ng, With a cluster of
seals, and a large diamond ring; And troisièmes of buckskin, bewitchingly
large, Give the finishing stroke to the “parfait ouvrage.”
During this animated description of the gay personage alluded to, Bob
had listened with the most undeviating attention, keeping his eye all the
time on this extravagant piece of elegance and fashion, but could not help
bursting into an immoderate fit of laughter at its conclusion. In the mean
time the crowd of visitors had continued to increase; all appeared to be
bustle and confusion; small parties were seen in groups communicating
together in different places, and every face appeared to be animated by
hopes or fears. Dashall was exchanging familiar nods and winks with those
whom lie knew; but as their object was not to buy, they paid but little
attention to the sales of the day, rather contenting themselves with a view of
the human cattle by which they were surrounded, when they were
pleasingly surprised to observe their friend Sparkle enter, booted and
spurred.
“Just the thing! (said Sparkle,) I had some suspicion of finding you here.
Are you buyers? Does your Cousin want a horse, an ass, or a filly?”
Tom smiled; “Always upon the ramble, eh, Sparkle. Why ask such
questions? You know we are well horsed; but I suppose if the truth was
known, you are prad sellers; if so, shew your article, and name your price.”
“Apropos,” said Sparkle; “Here is a friend of mine, to whom I must
introduce you, so say no more about articles and prices—I have an article in

view above all price—excuse me.” And with this he made his way among
the tribe of Jockeys, Sharpers, and Blacklegs, and in a minute returned,
bringing with him a well-dressed young man, whose manners and
appearance indicated the Gentleman, and whose company was considered
by Tom and his Cousin as a valuable acquisition.
“Mr. Richard Mortimer,” said Sparkle, as he introduced his friend—“the
Hon. Mr. Dashall, and Mr. Robert Tallyho.”
After the mutual interchanges of politeness which naturally succeeded
this introduction—“Come,” said Sparkle, “we are horsed, and our nags
waiting—we are for a ride, which way do you bend your course?”
“A lucky meeting,” replied Tom; “for we are upon the same scent; I
expect my curricle at Hyde-Park Corner in ten minutes, and have no
particular line of destination.”
“Good,” said Sparkle; “then we may hope to have your company; and
how disposed for the evening?”
“Even as chance may direct.”
“Good, again—all right—then as you are neither buyers nor sellers, let us
employ the remaining ten minutes in looking around us—there is nothing to
attract here—Epsom Races are all the talk, and all of business that is doing
—come along, let us walk through the Park—let the horses meet us at
Kensington Gate, and then for a twist among the briers and brambles.”
This was readily agreed to: orders were given to the servants, and the
party proceeded towards the Park.

CHAPTER XIII

What is Bon Ton? Oh d—— me (cries a Buck,
Half drunk, ) ask me, my dear, and you're in luck:
Bon Ton's to swear, break windows, beat the Watch,
Pick up a wench, drink healths, and roar a catch.
Keep it up, keep it up! d—— me, take your swing—
Bon Ton is Life, my boy! Bon Ton's the thing!
“Ah, I loves Life and all the joys it yields—
(Says Madam Fussock. warm from Spitalfields; )
Bon Ton's the space 'twixt Saturday and Monday,
And riding out in one-horse shay o' Sunday;
?Tis drinking tea on summer afternoons
At Bagnigge Wells, with china and gilt spoons;
?Tis laying by our stuffs, red cloaks and pattens,
To dance cowtillions all in silks and satins.”
“Vulgar! (cries Miss) observe in higher Life
The feather'd spinster and three feather'd wife;
The Club's Bon Ton—Bon Ton's a constant trade
Of rout, festino, ball and masquerade;
?Tis plays and puppet shows—'tis something new—
?Tis losing thousands every night at loo;
Nature it thwarts, and contradicts all reason;
?Tis stiff French stays, and fruit when out of season,
A rose, when half a guinea is the price;
A set of bays scarce bigger than six mice;
To visit friends you never wish to see—
Marriage 'twixt those who never can agree;
Old dowagers, dress'd, painted, patch'd and curl'd—
This is Bon Ton, and this we call the World!
AS they passed through the gate, Tom observed it was rather too early to
expect much company. “Never mind,” said Sparkle, “we are company
enough among ourselves; the morning is fine, the curricle not arrived, and
we shall find plenty of conversation, if we do not discover interesting
character, to diversify our promenade. Travelling spoils conversation,

unless you are squeezed like an Egyptian mummy into a stage or a mail-
coach; and perhaps in that case you may meet with animals who have
voices, without possessing the power of intellect to direct them to any
useful or agreeable purpose.”
Tallyho, who was at all times delighted with Sparkle's descriptions of
society and manners, appeared pleased with the proposition.
“Your absence from town,” continued Sparkle, addressing himself to
Dashall, “has prevented my introduction of Mr. Mortimer before, though
you have heard me mention his Sister. They are now inhabitants of our own
sphere of action, and I trust we shall all become better known to each
other.”
This piece of information appeared to be truly acceptable to all parties.
Young Mortimer was a good-looking and well made young man; his
features were animated and intelligent; his manners polished, though not
quite so unrestrained as those which are to be acquired by an acquaintance
with metropolitan associations.
“I am happy,” said he, “to be introduced to any friends of your's, and
shall be proud to number them among mine.”
“You may,” replied Sparkle, “with great safety place them on your list;
though you know I have already made it appear to you that friendship is a
term more generally made use of than understood in London—

“For what is Friendship but a name,
A charm which lulls to sleep,
A shade that follows wealth and fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?

And Love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.”

“These sentiments are excellently expressed,” said Tom, pinching him by
the arm—“and I suppose in perfect consonance with your own?”

Sparkle felt 'the rebuke, look'd down, and seem'd confused; but in a
moment recovering himself,
“Not exactly so,” replied he; “but then you know, and I don't mind
confessing it among friends, though you are aware it is very unfashionable
to acknowledge the existence of any thing of the kind, I am a pupil of
nature.”
“You seem to be in a serious humour all at once,” said young Mortimer.
"Can't help it,” continued Sparkle—“for,

“Let them all say what they will,
Nature will be nature still.”

“And that usurper, or I should rather say, would be usurper, Fashion, is in
no way in alliance with our natures. I remember the old Duchess of
Marlborough used to say 'That to love some persons very much, and to see
often those we love, is the greatest happiness I can enjoy;' but it appears
almost impossible for any person in London to secure such an enjoyment,
and I can't help feeling it.”
By the look and manner with which this last sentiment was uttered, Tom
plainly discovered there was a something labouring at his heart which
prompted it. “Moralizing!” said he. “Ah, Charley, you are a happy fellow. I
never yet knew one who could so rapidly change 'from grave to gay, from
lively to severe; and for the benefit of our friends, I can't help thinking you
could further elucidate the very subject you have so feelingly introduced.”
“You are a quiz” said Sparkle; “but there is one thing to be said, I know
you, and have no great objection to your hits now and then, provided they
are not knock down blows.”
“But,” said Mortimer, “what has this to do with friendship and love? I
thought you were going to give something like a London definition of the
terms.”
“Why,” said Sparkle, “in London it is equally difficult to get to love any
body very much, or often to meet those that we love. There are such
numbers of acquaintances, such a constant succession of engagements of
one sort or other, such a round of delights, that the town resembles
Vauxhall, where the nearest and dearest friends may walk round and round

all night without once meeting: for instance, at dinner you should see a
person whose manners and conversation are agreeable and pleasing to you;
you may wish in vain to become more intimate, for the chance is, that you
will not meet so as to converse a second time for many months; for no one
can tell when the dice-box of society may turn up the same numbers again. I
do not mean to infer that you may not barely see the same features again; it
is possible that you may catch a glimpse of them on the opposite side of
Pall Mall or Bond-street, or see them near to you at a crowded rout, without
a possibility of approaching.
“It is from this cause, that those who live in London are so totally
indifferent to each other; the waves follow so quick, that every vacancy is
immediately filled up, and the want is not perceived. The well-bred civility
of modern times, and the example of some 'very popular people,' it is true,
have introduced a shaking of hands, a pretended warmth, a dissembled
cordiality, into the manners of the cold and warm, alike the dear friend and
the acquaintance of yesterday. Consequently we continually hear such
conversation as the following:—' Ah, how d'ye do? I'm delighted to see
you! How is Mrs. M——?'
?She's very well, thank you.' 'Has she any increase in family?' 'Any
increase! why I've only been married three months. I see you are talking of
my former wife: bless you, she has been dead these three years.'—Or, ?Ah,
my dear friend, how d'ye do? You have been out of town some time; where
have you been? In Norfolk?' 'No, I have been two years in India.'”
This description of a friendly salutation appeared to interest and amuse
both Talltho and Mortimer. Tom laughed, shrugg'd up his shoulders,
acknowledged the picture was too true, and Sparkle continued.
“And thus it is, that, ignorant of one another's interests and occupations,
the generality of friendships of London contain nothing more tender than a
visiting card: nor are they much better, indeed they are much worse, if you
renounce the world, and determine to live only with your relations and
nearest connexions; for if you go to see them at one o'clock, they are not
stirring; at two, the room is full of different acquaintances, who talk over
the occurrences of the last night's ball, and, of course, are paid more
attention to than yourself; at three, they are out shopping; at four, they are in
this place dashing among the Pinks, from which they do not return till
seven, then they are dressing; at eight, they are dining with two dozen

friends; at nine and ten the same; at eleven, they are dressing for the ball;
and at twelve, when you are retiring to rest, they are gone into society for
the evening: so that you are left in solitude; you soon begin again to try the
world—and we will endeavour to discover what it produces.
“The first inconvenience of a London Life is the late hour of a
fashionable dinner. To pass the day in fasting, and then sit down to a great
dinner at eight o'clock, is entirely against the first dictates of common sense
and common stomachs. But what is to be done? he who rails against the
fashion of the times will be considered a most unfashionable dog, and
perhaps I have already said more than sufficient to entitle me to that
appellation.”
“Don't turn King's Evidence against yourself,” said Tom; “for, if you
plead guilty in this happy country, you must be tried by your Peers.”
“Nay,” said Mortimer, “while fashion and reason appear to be in such
direct opposition to each other, I must confess their merits deserve to be
impartially tried; though I cannot, for one moment, doubt but the latter must
ultimately prevail with the generality, however her dictates may be
disregarded by the votaries of the former.”
“You are a good one at a ramble” said Tom, “and not a bad one in a
spree, but I cannot help thinking you are rambling out of your road; you
seem to have lost the thread of your subject, and, having been disappointed
with love and friendship, you are just going to sit down to dinner.”
“Pardon me,” replied Sparkle, “I was proceeding naturally, and not
fashionably, to my subject; but I know you are so great an admirer of the
latter, that you care but little about the former.”
“Hit for hit,” said Tom; “but go on—you are certainly growing old,
Sparkle; at all events, you appear very grave this morning, and if you
continue in this humour long, I shall expect you are about taking Orders.”
“There is a time for all things, but the time for that has not yet arrived.”
“Well, then, proceed without sermonizing.”
“I don't like to be interrupted,” replied Sparkle; “and there is yet much to
be said on the subject. I find there are many difficulties to encounter in
contending with the fashionable customs. Some learned persons have
endeavoured to support the practice of late dinners by precedent, and
quoted the Roman supper; but it ought to be recollected that those suppers

were at three o'clock in the afternoon, and should be a subject of contempt,
instead of imitation, in Grosvenor Square. Women, however, are not quite
so irrational as men, in London, for they generally sit down to a substantial
lunch about three or four; if men would do the same, the meal at eight
might be relieved of many of its weighty dishes, and conversation would be
a gainer by it; for it must be allowed on all hands, that conversation suffers
great interruption from the manner in which fashionable dinners are
managed. First, the host and hostess (or her unfortunate coadjutor) are
employed during three parts of the dinner in doing the work of servants,
helping fish, or carving venison to twenty hungry guests, to the total loss of
the host's powers of amusement, and the entire disfigurement of the fair
hostess's face. Again, much time is lost by the attention every one is obliged
to pay, in order to find out (which, by the way, he cannot do if he is short-
sighted) what dishes are at the extreme end of the table; and if a guest is
desirous of a glass of wine, he must peep through the Apollos and Cupids of
the plateau, in order to find some one to take it with; otherwise he is
compelled to wait till some one asks him, which will probably happen in
succession; so that after having had no wine for half an hour, he will have to
swallow five glasses in five minutes. Convenience teaches, that the best
manner of enjoying society at dinner, is to leave every thing to the servants
that servants can do; so that no farther trouble may be experienced than to
accept the dishes that are presented, and to drink at your own time the wines
which are handed round. A fashionable dinner, on the contrary, seems to
presume beforehand on the silence, dulness, and insipidity of the guests,
and to have provided little interruptions, like the jerks which the Chaplain
gives to the Archbishop to prevent his going to sleep during a sermon.”
“Accurate descriptions, as usual,” said Tom, “and highly amusing.”
Tallyho and Mortimer were intent upon hearing the remainder of
Sparkle's account, though they occasionally joined in the laugh, and
observed that Sparkle seemed to be in a very sentimental mood. As they
continued to walk on, he resumed—
“Well then, some time after dinner comes the hour for the ball, or rout;
but this is sooner said than done: it often requires as much time to go from
St. James's Square to Cleveland Row, as to go from London to Hounslow.
It would require volumes to describe the disappointment which occurs on
arriving in the brilliant mob of a ball-room. Sometimes, as it has been

before said, a friend is seen squeezed like yourself, at the other end of the
room, without a possibility of your communicating, except by signs; and as
the whole arrangement of the society is regulated by mechanical pressure,
you may happen to be pushed against those to whom you do not wish to
speak, whether bores, slight acquaintances, or determined enemies.
Confined by the crowd, stifled by the heat, dazzled by the light, all powers
of intellect are obscured; wit loses its point, and sagacity its observation;
indeed, the limbs are so crushed, and the tongue so parched, that, except
particularly undressed ladies, all are in the case of the traveller, Mr. Clarke,
when he says, that in the plains of Syria some might blame him for not
making moral reflections on the state of the country; but that he must own
that the heat quite deprived him of all power of thought. Hence it is, that the
conversation you hear around you is generally nothing more than—“Have
you been here long?—Have you been at Mrs. H——'s?—Are you going to
Lady D——'s?”—Hence too,
Madam de Staël said very justly to an Englishman, “Dans vos routes le
corps fait plus de frai que l'esprit.” But even if there are persons of a
constitution robust enough to talk, they dare not do so, when twenty heads
are forced into the compass of one square foot; nay, even if, to your great
delight, you see a person to whom you have much to say, and by fair means
or foul, elbows and toes, knees and shoulders, have got near him, he often
dismisses you with shaking you by the hand, and saying—My dear Mr.——
how do you do? and then continues a conversation with a person whose ear
is three inches nearer. At one o'clock, however, the crowd diminishes; and if
you are not tired by the five or six hours of playing at company, which you
have already had, you may be very comfortable for the rest of the evening.
This however is the round of fashionable company. But I begin to be tired
even of the description.”
“A very luminous and comprehensive view of fashionable society
however,” said Tom, “sketched by a natural hand in glowing colours,
though not exactly in the usual style. I shall not venture to assert whether
the subjects are well chosen, but the figures are well grouped, and display
considerable ability and lively imagination in the painter, though a little
confused.”
“It appears to be a study from nature,” said Mortimer.