Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
Some strive, what creditors intend, to know;
And some the moments on their love bestow.”
“Thus you have a full, true, and particular, as well as amusing account,
of a Day Rule, or what in the cant language of the day is termed hiring
a horse, which sometimes proves a bolter.”
“And what is meant by a bolter?”
“He is one,” replied Dashall, “who, having obtained the privilege of a
Day Rule, brushes off, and leaves his bondsmen, or the Marshal, to
pay his debt; or one who transgresses the bounds; but such a one when
retaken, usually undergoes some discipline from the inhabitants of the
College, who being all honourable men, set their faces against such
ungentleman-like proceedings.”
“Then they do sometimes make an escape?”
“Yes, notwithstanding their restrictive arrangements, such things have
occurred, and you must recollect that of Lord Cochrane, confined for
the memorable Stock Exchange hoax. The means by which it was effected,
I believe, have never been discovered; but certain it is, that he was in
the House of Commons, while a prisoner in the King's Bench, and on the
first night of his subsequent liberation, gave the casting vote against
a proposed grant to a certain Duke.”
“I remember it very well, and also remember that the generality of
thinking persons considered his Lordship harshly treated.”
~37~~ “However, he is now bravely fighting the battles of independence,
increasing both his fame and fortune, while some of the Ministerial
hirelings are subjected to a similar privation. We shall have a view of
some of the residents in this renowned place of fashionable resort; the
interior of which perhaps exhibits a spectacle far more diversified,
and if possible more immoral and vicious, than the exterior. There are
quondam gentlemen of fortune, reduced either so low as not to be able to
pay for the Rules, or so unprincipled and degraded as to have no friend
at command who could with safety become their surety. Shop-keepers,
whose knavery having distanced even their extravagance, dread the
appearance of ease exhibited in the Rules and the detection of fraud,
by producing the reverse of their independence, and who even grudge
the expenditure of money, to obtain limited liberty.
Uncertificated bankrupts, and unconvicted felons; Jews--gamblers by
trade--horse-dealers--money scriveners--bill discounters--annuity
procurers--disinterested profligates--unemployed and branded
attorneys--scandal mongers and libel writers--Gazetted publicans,
and the perhaps less culpable sinners of broken officers--reduced
mechanics--starving authors, and cast-off Cyprians.”
“A very comprehensive and animated account truly,” said Tallyho.
“And you will find it accurate,” continued Dashall, “for the turn-out of
this dwelling of crime and misery, resembles the Piazza de Sant Marco at
Venice, in the Carnival time. There are all descriptions and classes in
society, all casts and sects, all tribes and associations, all colours,
complexions and appearances, not only of human and inhuman beings, but
also all shades, features, and conformations of vice. The Spendthrift,
or degraded man of fortune, lives by shifts, by schemes, by loans, by
sponging on the novice, by subscription, or on commiseration's uncertain
aid. He has however in perspective some visionary scheme of emolument
and dishonour blended, to put into execution as soon as he obtains his
discharge. The uncertificated Bankrupt has many opportunities left yet;
he has other dupes, other tricks of trade, other resources in reserve.
The Swindler mellows, refines, and sublimates his plan of future
operations, and associates in it, perchance, a fallen fair one, or
an incipient Greek, ~38~~ put up in the Bench. Horse-dealers, money
scriveners, bill doers, attorneys, &c. have either the means of setting
up again, or some new system of roguery to be put in practice, in fresh
time and place, which may conduct them to the harbour of Fortune, or
waft them over the herring pond at the expence of the public purse. The
disinterested Profligate here either consumes, corrupts, and festers,
under the brandy fever and despair, or is put up by a gambler, who sells
his art to his brother debtors, and thus lives in hope of yet turning
the honest penny in imitation of those who have gone before him. The
Cyprian, still exercising her allurements, lingers and decays
until persecution loses the point of its arrow, and drops from the
persecutor's hand, grasping more hardly after money, and opening from
the clenched attitude of revenge. Then, to conclude the picture, there
are youths living upon the open infamy of easy-hearted women, who
disgrace and ruin themselves without the walls, in order to pamper the
appetite and humour the whims of a favourite within, thus sacrificing
one victim to another. Partners carrying on trade in the world,
communing with their incarcerated partners in durance vile. Misery and
extravagance, rude joy and frantic fear, with more passions than the
celebrated Collins ever drew, and with more scenes, adventures, and
vicissitudes, than ever Jonathan Wild or any other Jonathan exhibited.”
“Excellent description,” exclaimed Bob.
“And you shall have ocular demonstration of its absolute existence; nay,
this sketch might serve for many other places of confinement, the Fleet,
&c. They are like the streets of the Metropolis, constantly varying in
their company, according to entrances and exits of their visitors.”
“This, however,” continued the Hon. Tom Dashall, “is rather a mental
picture of what we shall presently witness in reality, a sort of
introductory sketch by way of passport through the doors of this
Panorama of Beal Life, to which you will shortly be introduced; a sort
of ideal, or dramatic sketch of its inhabitants _en masse_, before the
drawing up of the curtain.”
The eagerness of Bob to listen to his Cousin's sketches of London
society, on the one hand, and the earnestness with which Dashall
had been exercising his imaginary powers, on the other, had led our
perambulators to the ~39~~ foot of Blackfriar's Bridge, on their road
to the King's Bench, without any particular circumstance exciting their
attention; when Bob, suddenly twitching his Cousin by the arm, and
directing his eye at the same time to a thin spare figure of a man,
without hat or coat, who was rapidly passing towards Fleet market,
enquired who it was, and what was his occupation or calling.
“Don't you hear his calling?” was the reply.
“Hot, hot, hot, pudding hot!” was in a moment vociferated in his ears,
while the active and industrious mercantile pedestrian, with a swing of
his head, which was in continual motion from right to left, gave Bob a
wipe in the eye with his tail, which by the velocity of the wearer was
kept in full play like the pendulum of a clock, or the tail of Matthews
in his admirable delineation of Sir Fretful Plagiary.
“Zounds,” cries Bob, “it is true I may hear, but I can't pretend to say
I can see; who the devil is he? there is no looking at him, he seems to
leave time and space behind him; where is he?”
Tom laughed heartily, while Bob rubbed his eyes in vain to obtain
another view.
“That,” said Dashall, “is a sort of Commissary, a dealer in stores for
the stomach--red hot pudding, all hot, and commonly called the Flying
Pieman.”{1}~40~~
1 James Sharpe Eglaud, more commonly known in the streets of
the Metropolis by the appellation of the Flying Pieman, may
fairly be held forth as an example of what may be effected
by persevering industry and activity, especially in a large
and populous city. Those qualities, joined with a moderate
share of prudence, cannot fail to ensure to every man at
least comfort and respectability, it” not competence and
wealth, however humble his sphere, and however unpromising
his beginnings. He was bred to the sedentary trade of a
tailor, and worked for some years with his relation, Mr.
Austerbury, of Friday Street, Cheapside; but love, which
works so many changes, and which has ere now transformed
blacksmiths into painters, and which induced Hercules to
exchange his club for the distaff, caused this Knight of the
Steel Bar to relinquish the shop-board and patch up his
fortune by the patty-pan. He married his landlady, a widow,
who resided in Turnmill Street, Clerkenwell. He had a soul
above buttons, and abandoned the making of garments to cover
the outside, in order to mould cakes, pies, and other small
pastry, to comfort the internals. His active genius,
however, could not brook the tedious task of serving his
customers behind the counter; he therefore took up his
eatables and went abroad in quest of them, and we doubt not
he has found this practice, which he has continued ever
since, very profitable. The neatness and cleanliness of his
appearance at all times are truly pleasing. Hail, rain, or
shine, he may be seen abroad without coat or hat; his hair
powdered, his shirt sleeves turned up to his elbows, and a
steel hanging on his apron-string. Originally he carried a
tin case, something like a Dutch oven, in which he
constantly kept a lire, but is now generally seen with a
small tray. In serving a customer, he never touches his
pudding with his hands, but has a knife for the purpose of
presenting it to the purchasers, and his sale is so
extensive, that he is obliged to replenish several times in
a day; and in order to secure a regular and ready supply,
his female partner and himself convey a quantity of pudding
to a certain distance, and deposit their load at some
public-house, where she takes care to keep it “all hot,”
while Egland scours the neighbourhood in search of
customers. The first cargo being disposed of he returns for
more, and by this method he has it always fresh, and is
never in want of goods.
Many laughable anecdotes are told of this flying pieman, and
perhaps a day's excursion in following him during his
peregrinations would furnish much of curious and interesting
amusement. We shall however select one, authenticated by his
appearance at Marlborough Street Police Office on Monday,
July 8, 1821, as most intimately connected with Real Life in
London; when he preferred a serious charge against a Beggar,
no other than the president of a smoking club in the Holy
Land, and others, for stealing his mutton pies, cutting off
his tail, and otherwise disfiguring his person. By the
evidence of Egland, it appeared that he was introduced, with
his goods for sale, to a company chiefly consisting of
street beggars in St. Giles's, the chair at that moment
being filled by a beggar without hands, well known in the
vicinity of the Admiralty as a chalker of the pavement. The
dignity of the chair was well sustained by this ingenious
colourer, who was smoking a pipe as great as an alderman
over a bason of turtle soup; but no sooner did Egland make
his appearance, than the company seized upon his goods and
crammed them down their throats, in spite of the repeated
vociferations of “honour, honour, Gentlemen,” from the
assailed. Resistance was vain, and Egland in this dilemma
began to consider that his only safety lay in flight. This,
however, he found equally impracticable; he was detained,
and by way of consolation for his loss, was called upon for
a song. His lungs were good, and although his spirits were
not much exhilarated by the introductory part of the
entertainment, he began to “tip 'em a stave;” but whilst he