REAL LIFE IN LONDON Project Gutenberg's Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II., by Pierce Egan This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II. 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 (1821) Author: Pierce Egan Illustrator: Heath, Aiken, Dighton, and Rowlandson Release Date: January 30, 2007 [EBook #20484] Last Updated: February 28, 2018 Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REAL LIFE IN LONDON *** Produced by David Widger Titlepage1 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 Titlepage1 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 Frontispiece titlepage1a (92K) COLOR PLATES [Click on any image to enlarge it to full size.] page010th (9K) page016th (10K) page044th (10K) page046th (10K) page062th (10K) page071th (9K) page079th (11K) page092th (7K) page130th (11K) page138th (12K) page148th (9K) page160th (11K) page196th (7K) page200th (8K) page240th (12K) page250th (11K) page263th (10K) page286th (12K) page298th (10K) page349th (9K) page385th (12K) page386th (9K) page387th (11K) page398th (11K) page402th (10K) page410th (11K) page434th (11K) page390th (10K) 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 [1] [2] 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— [3] [4] [5] [6] 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, [8] [9] 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 [10] [11] [12] 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. [13] [14] [15] 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.” Page16 Hyde-park 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, [16] [17] [18] (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 goo...