Читать книгу Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II - Egan Pierce - Страница 11
CHAPTER IV
Оглавление“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.
