Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
“Go along Bob!” exclaimed Tom.
Tallyho conceiving himself addressed by this, looked up with an air
of surprise and enquiry, which excited the risibility of Dashall and
Sparkle, till it was explained to him as a common phrase in London, with
which he would soon become more familiar. Sparkle continued.
“The gay young Peerling, who is scarcely entitled to the honours and
immunities of manhood, is satisfied he is _doing things in style_, by
raising large sums of money on _post-obit_ bonds, at the very moderate
premium of 40 per cent.--in _queering_ the clergyman at his father's
table, and leaving the marks of his finger and thumb on the article
of matrimony in his aunt's prayer-book--in kicking up a row at the
theatre, when he knows he has some roaring bullies at his elbow, though
humble and dastardly when alone--in keeping a dashing _impure_,
who publicly squanders away his money, and privately laughs at
his follies--in buying a phaeton as high as a two pair of stairs
~44~~window, and a dozen of spanking bays at Tattersall's, and in
dashing through St. James's Street, Pall Mall, Piccadilly, and Hyde
Park, thus accompanied and accoutred, amidst the contumelies of the
coxcombs and the sighs of the worthy. And these are pictures of high
life, of which the originals are to be seen daily.
“The haberdasher of Cheapside, whose father, by adherence to the
most rigid economy, had amassed a competence, and who transmitted his
property, without his prudence, to his darling son, is determined to
shew his spirit, by buying a _bit of blood_, keeping his gig, his girl,
and a thatched cottage on the skirts of Epping Forest, or Sydenham
Common; but as keeping a girl and a gig would be a nothing unless
all the world were _up to it_, he regularly drives her to all the
boxing-matches, the Epping hunt, and all the races at Barnet, Epsom,
Egham, and Ascot Heath, where he places himself in one of the most
conspicuous situations; and as he knows his racing, &c. must eventually
distinguish his name in the Gazette with a whereas! he rejoices in the
progress and acceleration of his own ruin, and, placing his arms akimbo,
he laughs, sings, swears, swaggers, and vociferates--'What d'ye think o'
that now,--is'nt this doing it in stile, eh?'
“Prime of life to go it, where's a place like London? Four in hand
to-day, the next you may be undone.”
“Well, Sir, the mercer's wife, from Watling Street, thinks living
in style is evinced by going once a year to a masquerade at the new
Museodeum, or Argyle Rooms; having her daughters taught French, dancing,
and music--dancing a minuet at Prewterers' Hall, or Mr. Wilson's{1}
annual benefit--in getting a good situation in the green boxes--going
to Hampstead or Copenhagen House in a glass coach on a Sunday--having
card-parties at home
1 Mr. Wilson's flaming bills of “Dancing at the Old Bailey,”
which are so profusely stuck up about the city, are said to
have occasioned several awkward jokes and blunders; among
others related, is that of a great unintellectual Yorkshire
booby, who, after staring at the bills with his mouth open,
and his saucer eyes nearly starting out of his head with
astonishment, exclaimed, “Dang the buttons on't, I zee'd urn
dangling all of a row last Wednesday at t' Ould Bailey, but
didn't know as how they call'd that danzing,--by gum there
be no understanding these here Lunnun folk!”
~45~~during Lent, declaring she never drinks any thing else but the
_most bestest_ gunpowder tea, that she has a most _screwciating_ cold,
and that the country air is always _salubrus_, and sure to do her good.
“So much for living in style, and good breeding.”
“That's your true breeding--that's your sort my boys--
Fun, fire, and pathos--metre, mirth, and noise;
To make you die with laughter, or the hiccups,
Tickle your favourites, or smash your tea-cups.”
“By the way, in former times the term _good-breeding_ meant a
combination of all that was amiable and excellent; and a well-bred
person would shrink from an action or expression that could possibly
wound the feelings of another; its foundation was laid in truth, and
its supporting pillars were justice and integrity, sensibility and
philanthropy; but
“In this gay age--in Taste's enlighten'd times,
When Fashion sanctifies the basest crimes;
E'en not to swear and game were impolite,
Since he who sins in _style_ must sure be right.”
A well-bred person must learn to smile when he is angry, and to laugh
even when he is vexed to the very soul.
“It would be the height of _mauvaise honte_ for a wellbred person to
blush upon any occasions whatever; no young lady blushes after eleven
years of age; to study the expression of the countenance of others, in
order to govern your own, is indispensably necessary.
“In former times, no well-bred person would have uttered a falsehood;
but now such ideas are completely exploded, and such conduct would now
be termed a _bore_. My Lord Portly remarks, 'It is a cold day.' 'Yes, my
Lord, it is a very cold day,' replies Major Punt. In two minutes after,
meeting Lord Lounge, who observes he thinks the weather very warm--'Yes,
very warm, my Lord,' is the reply--thus contradicting himself almost in
the same breath. It would be perfectly inconsistent in a well-bred
man to think, for fear of being absent. When he enters or leaves a
drawing-room, he should round his shoulders, drop his head, and
imitate a clown or a coachman. This has the effect of the best _ruse
de guerre_--for it serves to astonish the ladies, when they afterwards
~46~~discover, by the familiarity of his address, and his unrestrained
manners, what a well-bred man he is; for he will address every fair one
in the room in the most enchanting terms, except her to whom in the same
party he had previously paid the most particular attention; and on her
he will contrive to turn his back for the whole evening, and if he is a
man of fashion, he will thus cause triumph to the other ladies, and save
the neglected fair one from envious and slanderous whisperings.”
“An admirable picture of living in style, and good breeding, indeed!”
cried Tom. “The game is in view and well worth pursuit; so hark forward!
hark forward! my boys.”
Sparkle, now recollecting his engagement--with “you know who” as he
significantly observed in the last Chapter, withdrew, after promising to
take a stroll by way of killing an hour or two with them in the morning;
and Tom and his Cousin soon after retired to rest--
“Perchance to sleep, perchance to dream.”
CHAPTER VI
“The alarm was so strong.
So loud and so long,
'Twas surely some robber, or sprite,
Who without any doubt
Was prowling about
To fill ev'ry heart with affright.”
~47~~THE smiles of a May morning, bedecked with the splendid rays of a
rising sun, awakened Tallyho about five o'clock, and being accustomed to
rise early in the country, he left the downy couch of soft repose, and
sought his way down stairs. Not a sound of any kind was to be heard in
the house, but the rattling of the carts and the coaches in the streets,
with the deep-toned accompaniment of a dustman's bell, and an occasional
_ab libitum_ of “Clothes--clothes sale,” gave Bob an idea that all the
world was moving. However he could find nobody up; he walked into the
drawing-room, amused himself for some time by looking out of the window,
indulging his observations and remarks, without knowing what to make of
the moving mass of incongruities which met his eye, and wondering what
time the servants of the house would wake: he tried the street-door, but
found it locked, bolted, and chained; and if he had known where to have
found his friend Tom, he would have aroused him with _the View halloo_.
“It is strange,” thought he to himself, “all the world seems abroad,
and yet not a soul stirring here!” Then checking the current of his
reflections, “But this,” said he, “is Life in London. Egad! I must not
make a noise, because it will not be _good breeding_.” In this wray he
sauntered about the house for near two hours, till at last espying his
portmanteau, which had been left in the passage by the servants the
previous evening--“I'll carry this up stairs,” said he, “by way of
amusement;” and carelessly shouldering the portmanteau, he was walking
~48~~deliberately up stairs, when his ears were suddenly attracted by a
loud cry of “Murder, murder, thieves, murder!” and the violent ringing
of a bell. Alarmed at these extraordinary sounds, which appeared to be
near him at a moment when he conceived no soul was stirring, he dropped
his portmanteau over the banisters, which fell, (demolishing in its way
an elegant Grecian patent lamp with glass shades, drops, &c.) into the
passage below with a hideous crash, while the cry of Murder, thieves,
murder, was repeated by many voices, and rendered him almost immoveable.
In the next moment, the butler, the cook, the groom, and indeed every
person in the house, appeared on the stair-case, some almost in a state
of nudity, and shrinking from each other's gaze, and all armed with
such weapons as chance had thrown in their way, to attack the supposed
depredator.
Among the rest, fortunately for Tallyho, (who stood balancing himself
against the banisters in a state of indecision whether he should ascend
or descend) Tom Dashall in his night-gown burst out of his room in alarm
at the noise, with a brace of pistols, one in his hand in the very act
of cocking it, and the other placed in convenient readiness under his
left arm. “Why, what the devil is the matter?” vociferated he, and at
that moment his eye caught the agitated figure of his Cousin Bob, on the
half-landing place below him. At the sound of his well-known voice, the
innocent and unsuspecting cause of this confusion and alarm looked up
at his friend, as if half afraid and half ashamed of the occurrence, and
stammered out, “Where is the thief?--Who is murdered?--I'll swear there
is something broke somewhere--tell me which way to go!” Tom looked
around him at the group of half-clad nymphs and swains, (who were now
huddling together, conceiving their security lay in combination, and
finding all eyes were placed with astonishment and wonder on Bob) began
to see through what had happened, and burst into an immoderate fit of
laughter; which relieved the frightened damsels, but so confounded poor
Tallyho, that he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or
his heels. “Why,” said Tom, addressing himself to his Cousin, “you will
get yourself murdered if you go wandering about people's houses at the
dead of the night in this manner--are you asleep or awake?--who have you
made an assignation with--or ~49~~where are you going to--what are you
up to, Master Bobby, eh?--These tricks won't do here!”
“Is't Love's unhallow'd flame invites to roam,
And bids you from your pillow creep?
Or say, why thus disturb my peaceful home,
Like Macbeth, who doth murder sleep.”
Tallyho was unable to reply: he looked down over the banister--he looked
up at the risible features of Tom Dashall, who was almost bursting at
the ludicrous situation in which he found his friend and his servants.
“Come,” said Tom, “there are no thieves--all's right”--to the
servants, “you may quiet your minds and go to business. Bob, I'll be
down with you presently.” Upon this, the stair-case was cleared in an
instant of all but the unfortunate Tallyho; and peace appeared to
be restored in the family, but not to Bob's mind, conceiving he had
committed a gross violation of good breeding, and shewn but a bad