Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.

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Scarcely had this important operation been performed, when entered Thady
Mac Dermott and his son, the origin of the accident. "The devil burn
your trampers, you imp of the Mac Dermotts," cried the father: "couldn't
you run against the gentleman without dirtying his boots? Never mind it
at all at all; I'll be after giving you a walloping for it, any how."

1 The fastidious delicacy of English cookery, when
contrasted with that of Irish culinary preparation in the
Holy-land, is surprising. The wife of an Irish laborer who
is desirous of giving her husband a delectable meal, and of
various description, bodders not her brain with a diversity
of utensils; but from the same pot or pan will produce, as
if by enchantment, potatoes, (without which an Irishman
cannot possibly make a dinner,) salt-herrings, and apple-
dumplings; nor, does this extraordinary union of opposites
affect the appetite of those partaking the oglio.

~106~~ The first instrument of attack that comes to hand is an
Irishman's weapon.--Thady brandished in _terrorem_ a red hot poker, and
his son with the agility of a cat took sanctuary under the bed, but at
the intercession of the Squire was allowed to emerge with impunity, and
admitted to a participation of the salt-herrings and apple-dumplings.
The two friends declining an invitation to taste of these dainties,
now departed, Tallyho not forgetting the "outlay, and the ill-wind that
blows nobody good."

Winding the mazes of the holy land, which may not unaptly be considered
a colony of Irish emigrants, our perambulators without further
occurrence worthy of notice, threaded their way through streets, lanes,
and alleys, until they emerged at the bottom of Tottenham-court Road,
close by the extensive brewery of Read and Co. Entering the premises,
they were gratified with a view of every thing interesting in the
establishment; and the Squire, to whom the spectacle was entirely new,
stood wrapt in wonder at the vast magnitude of its immense vats
and boilers, containing, as he observed, of the fluid of Sir John
Barleycorn, a sufficiency to inundate the whole neighbourhood! "Such a
circumstance," said the attendant, "actually occurred a few years
ago, when the vat burst, and an ocean of beer rushed forth, with such
impetuous force as to bear down, in its resistless progress, the side of
a house, and fill, to the imminent hazard of drowning the astonished and
alarmed occupants, all the cellars in the vicinity."{1}

1 Scarcely any thing contributes so much to characterize the
enterprising spirit of the present age, as the vast scale on
which many branches of manufacture are carried on in this
country. Every one has heard of the celebrated tun of
Heidelberg, but that monument of idle vanity is rivalled by
the vessels now employed in the breweries of this
metropolis.

Having seen all that is remarkable in this spacious concern, the two
associates turned into Oxford Street, where their attention was directed
to a gay female in an elegant equipage, pair in hand, dashing along, in
the manner of royal celerity.

"Observe that lady," said Dashall, "She is the celebrated Mrs. C*r*y,
the favourite sultana of a certain Commander in Chief, and I shall give
you her history in a few words."

~107~~ "Sutherland, a bombadier at Woolwich, obtained a commission, but
was less successful in securing the fidelity of his wife, who eloped
with an officer to Gibraltar; the produce of this intercourse was the
amoroso whom we observed _en passant_; in process of time she married
C*r*y, an officer in a veteran battalion, but shortly afterwards getting
tired of the connection, she adopted the laudable example set by her
respectable mamma, deserted her husband and came to England, under the
protection of a surgeon in the army, whose embraces she relinquished for
those of her present illustrious possessor. How long she may keep him in
captivation, is a surmise of rather equivocal import; however ardent
at present, his attachment, Mrs. C*r*y must be aware of the versatile
propensities of his R*y*l H*ghn*ss of Y**k, and sans doubt like her
predecessor, Mary Ann C***ke, will make the most of a favourable
opportunity."

"London exhibits Real Life in all its forms and gradations, from the
hireling of royalty in a curricle, to the passive spouse of all the
town, on the pavement; from the splendour of affluence to the miseries
of penury; even Mendicity itself has its shades of variety, its success
being less frequently derived from the acuteness of distress than the
caprice of Nature, in having gifted the mendicant with some peculiar
eccentricity of person or character, to attract attention and sympathy.
He who is without these endowments passes unnoticed; but the diminutive
and deformed creature, seated on a child's cart, who with the help
of crutches shoves himself along the street, and whose whole height,
including his machine, does not exceed two feet; this minikin, _ecce
homo_, is gazed at by the casual passenger as a prodigy, and seldom
fails to benefit by the excitation of curiosity."--

Approaching the tiny personage alluded to,--"Well, Mr. Andrew Whiston,"
said Dashall, "what important business brings you so far westward? I
thought that your migrations from Bankside had never extended beyond the
precincts of Temple-bar."

"I wot weel, your honor, that I have strayed far frae hame, and to
little purpose,--better fortune has not lit on me this wearisome day,
than meeting wi' your honor, for God bless you many a time has the poor
dwarfish body tasted your bounty."

During this colloquy, Tallyho gazed on the poor dwarfish body with
commiseration, intermixed with no small portion of surprise, at this
fresh display of general knowledge by his intelligent and amusing coz,
to whom all of interest and curiosity in the metropolis, animate and
inanimate, seemed perfectly familiar.

~108~~ "And whither away now, Master Whiston; do you mean to look in at
the rendezvous to night?"{1}

"Faith no, sir,--I got a fright there some few years since, and I shall
be very cautious of getting into the like disaster a second time."

The conversation had so far proceeded, to the entertainment of
congregated passengers, when the auditory getting rather inconveniently
numerous, the two friends left each his mite of benevolence with
Maister Andrew Whiston, gaining home without further incident or
interruption.{2}

1 Recurring to the holy land, the rendezvous is a noted
house in St. Giles's, where, after the labors of the day,
the mendicant fraternity assemble, enjoy the comfort of a
good supper; amongst other items, not unfrequently an
alderman in chains, alias a roast turkey, garnished with
pork-sausages; elect their chairman, and spend the night as
jolly beggars ought to do, in mirth and revelry.

2 Andrew Whiston was born at Dundee in Scotland, February
10th, 1770, and has, during the last twenty-eight years,
resided in London. The person of this man is well known to
the perambulators of the metropolis. He forms altogether a
disgusting little figure, pushing himself about on a small
cart, which moves upon wheels, and wearing an apron to
conceal the deformity of his legs. His whole height,
including his vehicle, does not exceed two feet. To avoid
the penalties attached to begging and vagrancy, he carries a
few pens stuck between his coat and waistcoat, and declares
that the dealing in those articles is the only trade to
which he has been brought up. It is not improbable, that by
means of this, and other arts and mysteries which he
exercises, Andrew has been enabled to procure something more
than salt to his porridge. It cannot be supposed that his
person is calculated to excite the tender passion; it must
therefore be to the idea of his having accumulated wealth,
that we are to attribute the following circumstance. A short
time since, Andrew began to think seriously of taking unto
himself a wife, and having looked round among his female
acquaint-ance for a desirable partner, he fixed his choice
on a Mrs. Marshall, the widow of a waterman, who follows the
trade of a retail dealer in fish, at the corner of Spiller's
public-house, on that side of the Surrey Road which he
usually frequents. This fair lady, who might perhaps have
been dead as a roach to his addresses, if he had possessed
nothing but his deformed person to offer, proved leaping
alive, ho! at the thought of Andrew's little hoard, of which
she hoped to become mistress. Several presents attested the
seriousness of the lover's proposals, and his charmer was
all compliance to his wishes, till he had actually sent the
money to pay for publishing the banns at Christ Church, when
the ridicule of all her acquaintance urged her to abandon
the design of so preposterous a match.

CHAPTER VII

Gae him strong drink until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;
And liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grief and care;--
Then let him boose and deep carouse,
Wi' bumpers flowing o'er;
'Till he forgets his fears and debts,
And minds his ills no more.

~109~~ DASHALL, during a stroll with his relation round the
neighbourhood of Covent Garden, learning that several of his friends had
formed a select party to dine at the Shakespear that day, sent in the
names of himself and Coz, and they were received by the social and
convivial assemblage with acclamation.

The Dinner-party comprised Sir Felix O'Grady, an Irish baronet just
imported from the province of Munster; the honorable Frederick
Fitzroy, a luminary in the constellation of Fashion; Colonel Mc. Can,
a distinguished Scotch Officer; an amateur Poet; a member of the
Corps Dramatique; and our old friends Sparkle and Mortimer, with the
augmentation of Dashall and Tallyho, as already mentioned.

The viands were excellent, and the wines of the first quality.
Conviviality was the order of the evening, and its whimsicalities were
commenced during the repast, by the player, who, taking up a goblet
of wine, and assuming the attitude of Macbeth in the banquet scene,
exclaimed--

"I drink
To the general joy of the whole table;--
May good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both."----

~110~~The bottle was now put into quick circulation; harmony and
hilarity prevailed; and the poet, availing himself of the moments of
inspiration, gave the following chant, _extempore_.--

Song.

Air. Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen.

Here's to the land where fair Freedom is seen,

Old England,--her glory and trade, aye;--
Here's to the island of Erin so green,
And here's to Sir Felix O'Grady;
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.

Here's to the beaus and the belles of the day,

The pleasures of life who enjoy, sir;--
Here's to the leaders of fashion, so gay,
And here's to the dashing Fitzroy, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.

Here's to our sailors who plough the salt wave,

And never from battle have ran, sir;--
Here's to our soldiers who nobly behave,
And here's to brave Colonel Mc. Can, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.

Here's to the joys that our reason engage,

Where Truth shines our best benefactress;
Here's to the triumph of Learning,--the Stage,-
And here's to each actor and actress.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.

Here's to the man with a head to discern,

And eke with a heart to bestow, sir,
Tom Dashall, well skill'd Life in London to learn;
And here's to the Squire Tallyho, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.

Here's to the friendship united and true,

That paces variety's round, sir;
To Sparkle and Mortimer fill then, anew,
And let us with pleasure abound, sir.
Let the toast pass,
Flinch not the glass
That warms like the kiss of your favorite lass.

This complimentary bag-a-telle was well received, and Sir Felix,
shaking the amateur cordially by the hand, observed, that amongst other
attainments before he left London, he meant to acquire the art of making
verses, when he should give the poet a Rowland for his Oliver!

The player having but recently returned to Town, after completing his
engagements with some of the Irish provincial theatres, proceeded to
amuse his auditory, the baronet excepted, with accounts of the manner of
posting in the sister kingdom.--

"Travelling," said he, "in the province of Munster, having got into a
chaise, I was surprised to hear the driver knocking at each side of the
carriage.--"What are you doing?"--"A'n't I nailing your honor?"--"Why do
you nail me up? I don't wish to be nailed up."--"Augh! would your honor
have the doors fly off the hinges?" When we came to the end of the
stage, I begged the man to unfasten the doors.--"Ogh! what would I be
taking out the nails for, to be racking the doors?"--"How shall I get
out then?"--"Can't your honor get out of the window like any other
jontleman?" I then began the operation; but having forced my head
and shoulders out, could get no farther, and called again to the
postillion.--"Augh! did any one ever see any one get out of a chay head
foremost? Can't your honor put out your feet first, like a Christian?"

Here the baronet manifested considerable impatience, and was about
to interrupt the narrator, when the latter requesting permission,
continued:

"Next day four horses were attached to the crazy vehicle;--one,
unfortunately, lost a shoe; and as I refused to go on until the
poor animal was shod, my two postillions commenced, in my hearing, a
colloquy.--"Paddy, where will I get a shoe, and no smith nigh
hand?"--"Why don't you see yon jontleman's horse in the field; can't you
go and unshoe him?"--"True for ye," said Jem, "but that horse's shoe
will never fit him." "Augh! you can but try it," said Paddy. So the
gentleman's horse was actually unshod, and his shoe put upon the posting
hack; and fit or not fit, Paddy went off with it.

~112~~ "Same day, during a violent storm of wind and rain, 1 found that
two of the windows were broken, and two could not, by force or art of
man, be pulled up. I ventured to complain to Paddy of the inconvenience
I suffered from the storm pelting in my face. His consolation was,
"Augh! God bless your honour, and can't you get out and set behind the
carriage, and you'll not get a drop at all, I'll engage!"

The player having thus closed his narrative, and the laughter of the
company having subsided, the baronet very candidly admitted, that the
sister kingdom in many parts, was miserably deficient in the requisites
of travelling, and other conveniences to which the English were
accustomed. But in process of time (he continued) we shall get more
civilized. Nevertheless, we have still an advantage over you; we have
more hospitality, and more honesty. Nay, by the powers! but it is so, my
good friends. However much we unhappily may quarrel with each other, we
respect the stranger who comes to sojourn amongst us; and long would he
reside, even in the province of Munster, before a dirty spalpeen would
rob him of his great coat and umbrella, and be after doing that same
thing when he was at a friend's house too, from which they were taken,
along with nearly all the great coats, cloaks, shawls, pelisses, hats
and umbrellas, belonging to the company."{1}

1 We are inclined to believe that Sir Felix alludes to the
fol-lowing instance of daring depredation.

Extraordinary Robbery. On Thursday night, whilst a large party of young
folks were assembled at the house of Mr. Gregory, in Hertford Street,
Fitzroy Square, to supper, a young man was let in by a servant, who said
he had brought a cloak for his young mistress, as the night was cold.
The servant left him in the hall, and went up stairs; when shortly
after, a second arrived with a hackney coach, and on his being
questioned by the servant, he said he brought the coach to take his
master and mistress home. The servant was not acquainted with the names
of half the company, and therefore credited what was told her. The two
strangers were suffered to stand at the stairs head, to listen to the
music and singing, with which they appeared highly delighted, and
also had their supper and plenty to drink. But while festive hilarity
prevailed above, the villains began to exercise their calling below, and
the supper table in a trice they unloaded of four silver table spoons,
a silver sauce-boat, knives and forks, &c. and from off the pegs and
banisters they stole eight top-coats, several cloaks, shawls, pelisses
and hats, besides a number of umbrellas, muffs, tippets, and other
articles, all of which they carried off in the coach which was in
waiting. To complete the farce, the watchman shut the coach door, and
wished "their honours" good night. The robbery was not discovered until
the company was breaking up. No trace of the thieves can be found.

~113~~ There was certainly somewhat of an _Irishism_ in the baronet's
remark.--Of eight great coats stolen, the thieves could not discriminate
who were the respective owners, and if it had been possible that they
could have discriminated, it is not likely that any regard for the laws
of hospitality would have induced them to make an exception of Sir Felix
O'Grady's property amidst the general depredation.

The company, although secretly amused by the baronet's remarks, condoled
with him on the loss he had sustained; and the player protesting that
in stating the facts of Irish posting, he had no intention of giving the
baronet the least offence, unanimity was restored, and the conviviality
of the evening proceeded without further interruption.

Sir Felix made Irish bulls, and gave Irish anecdotes; the amateur
occasionally gave a song or a stanza impromptu; the player spouted,
recited, and took off several of his brother performers, by exhibiting
their defects in close imitations,--

"Till tired at last wi' mony a farce,"
They sat them down--

and united with the remaining company in an attentive hearing to a
conversation which the honorable Frederick Fitzroy had just commenced
with his friend Dashall.--

"You have now," said the honourable Frederick Fitzroy, addressing
himself to Dashall, "You have now become a retired, steady,
contemplative young man; a peripatetic philosopher; tired with the
scenes of ton, and deriving pleasure only from the investigation of
Real Life in London, accompanied in your wanderings, by your respectable
relative of Belville-Hall; and yet while you were one of us, you shone
like a star of the first magnitude, and participated in all the follies
of fashion with a zest of enjoyment that forbid the presage of satiety
or decline."

"Neither," answered Dashall, "have I now altogether relinquished those
pleasures, but by frequent repetition they become irksome; the mind is
thus relieved by opposite pursuits, and the line of observation which
I have latterly chosen has certainly afforded me much substantial
information and rational amusement."

~114~~ "Some such pursuit I too must think of adopting," replied
Fitzroy, "else I shall sink into the gulph of ennuit to the verge
of which I am fast approaching. Independent of the frequent ruinous
consequences of the gaming-table, I have taken a dislike to its
associates, and therefore abandoned their society; nor will you be
surprised at my having adopted this resolution, when I inform you, that
at my last sitting in one of these nefarious haunts of dissipation, I
was minus to the extent, in a few hours, of several thousand pounds,
the prize of unprincipled adventurers, of swindlers, black-legs, and
pigeon-fanciers!"{1}

1 A pigeon-fancier is one of those speculators at the
Gambling Houses, whose object it is to lie in wait for
inexperienced noviciates, and under the pretext of fair and
honorable dealing pluck their feathers; that is to say,
strip them bare of their property. Days and nights are
passed at the gaming-table. "I remember," said the Earl
of G----, "spending three days and three nights in the
hazard room of a well-known house in St James's Street; the
shutters were closed, the curtains down, and we had candles
the whole time; even in the adjoining rooms we had candles,
that when our doors were opened to bring in refreshments, no
obtrusive gleam of day-light might remind us how the hours
had passed. How human nature supported the fatigue, I know
not. We scarcely allowed ourselves a moment's pause to take
the sustenance our bodies required. At last one of the
waiters, who had been in the room with us the whole time,
declared that he could hold out no longer, and that sleep he
must. With difficulty he obtained an hour's truce; the
moment he got out of the room he fell asleep, absolutely at
the very threshold of our door. By the rules of the house he
was entitled to a bonus on every transfer of property at the
hazard-table; and he made in the course of three days, up-
wards of Three hundred pounds! Sleep and avarice had
struggled to the utmost, but, with his vulgar habit, sleep
prevailed. We were wide awake. I never shall forget the
figure of one of my noble associates, who sat holding his
watch, his eager eyes fixed upon the minute-hand, whilst he
exclaimed continually, "This hour will never be over!" Then
he listened to discover whether his watch had stopped, then
cursed the lazy fellow for falling asleep, protesting, that
for his part, he never would again consent to such a waste
of time. The very instant the hour was ended, he ordered
"that dog" to be awakened, and to work we went. At this
sitting Thirty-five Thousand Pounds were lost and won. I was
very fortunate, for I lost a mere trifle--Ten Thousand
Pounds only!"

Dashall congratulated Fitzroy on his resolution, in having cut the
dangerous connexion, and expressed a hope that in due process of time he
would emancipate himself from the trammels of dissipation generally.

~115~~ "That," rejoined Fitzroy, "is already in a considerable degree
effected."

"In the higher and middle classes of society," says a celebrated writer,
"it is a melancholy and distressing sight to observe, not unfrequently,
a man of a noble and ingenuous disposition, once feelingly alive to a
sense of honor and integrity, gradually sinking under the pressure of
his circumstances, making his excuses at first with a blush of conscious
shame, afraid to see the faces of his friends from whom he may have
borrowed money, reduced to the meanest tricks and subterfuges to delay
or avoid the payment of his just debts, till ultimately grown familiar
with falsehood, and at enmity with the world, he loses all the grace and
dignity of man."--

"Such," continued Fitzroy, "was the acme of degradation to which I was
rapidly advancing, when an incident occurred to arrest the progress of
dissipation, and give a stimulus to more worthy pursuits.

"One morning having visited a certain nunnery in the precincts of
Pall-Mail, the Lady Abbess introduced me to a young noviciate, a
beautiful girl of sixteen.

"When we were left alone, she dropped on her knees, and in attitude
and voice of the most urgent supplication, implored me to save her from
infamy!"

"I am in your power," she exclaimed, "but I feel confident that you
will not use it to my dishonor.--I am yet innocent;--restore me to my
parents,--pure and unsullied,--and the benediction of Heaven will reward
you!"--

She then told me a most lamentable tale of distress;--that her father
was in prison for a small debt; and that her mother, her brothers and
sisters, were starving at home.--Under these disastrous circumstances
she had sought service, and was inveighd into that of mother W. from
whence she had no hope of extrication, unless through my generous
assistance! She concluded her pathetic appeal, by observing, that if the
honorable Frederick Fitzroy had listened to the call of humanity, and
paid a debt of long standing, her father would not now be breaking
his heart in prison, her family famishing, nor herself subject to
destruction.