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| Volume I. Part 1 |
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| Volume II. Part 2 |
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INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND VOLUME. ODE, CONGRATULATORY AND ADVISIORY, |
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE ENGLISH SPY.
to face page
I.
A SHORT SET-TO AT LONG'S HOTEL; OR,
STOPFORD NOT GETTING THE BEST OF IT. 14
II.
COURTIERS CAROUSING IN A CADGER'S KEN. 28
III.
THE WAKE; OR, TEDDY O'RAFFERTY'S LAST
APPEARANCE. A Scene in the Holy Land. 30
IV.
THE CYPRIAN'S BALL AT THE ARGYLL ROOM. 42
V.
JOHN LISTON AND THE LAMBKINS; OR, THE
CITIZEN'S TREAT. 57
VI.
THE GREAT ACTOR; OR, MR PUNCH IN ALL HIS
GLORY. 62
Amusements of the lower orders. Scene in Leicester-fields.
VII.
COLLEGE GHOSTS. 66
A Frolic of the Westminster Blacks. A Scene in Dean's
Yard.
VIII.
THE MARIGOLD FAMILY ON A PARTY OF PLEA-
SURE; OR, THE EFFECT OF A STORM IN THE
LITTLE BAY OF BISCAY, otherwise, CHELSEA
REACH. 68
Hints to Fresh Water Sailors, the Alderman and family
running foul of the Safety. A bit of Fun for the Westminster
Scholars. How to make Ducks and Geese swim after they
are cooked. Calamities of a Cit's Water Party to Richmond.
IX.
THE EPPING HUNT ON EASTER MONDAY; OR,
COCKNEY COMICALITIES IN FULL CHASE. 73
Lots of Characters and Lots of Accidents, Runaways and
Fly-aways, No Goes and Out and Outers, the Flask and the
Foolish, Gibs, Spavins, Millers and Trumpeters. The Stag
against the Field. Bob Transit's Excursion with the Nacker
man.
X.
THE TEA-POT ROW AT HARROW; OR, THE BATTLE
OF HOG LANE. 81
Harrow boys making a smash among the Crockery, a Scene
Sketched from the Life, dedicated to the Sons of Noblemen
and Gentlemen participators in the Sport.
XI.
THE CIT'S SUNDAY ORDINARY AT THE GATE
HOUSE, HIGHGATE; OR, EVERY HOG TO HIS
OWN APPLE. 89
Another Trip with the Marigold Family. Specimens of
Gormandizing. Inhabitants of Cockayne ruralizing. Cits and
their Cubs. Cutting Capers, a scramble for a Dinner.
XII.
BULLS AND BEARS IN HIGH BUSTLE; OR, BILLY
WRIGHT'S PONY MADE A MEMBER OF THE
STOCK EXCHANGE. 124
Interior view of the Money Market. Portraits of well-known
Stock Brokers. A Scene Sketched from the Life.
XIII.
THE PROMENADE AT COWES. 162
With Portraits of noble Commanders and Members of the
Royal Yacht Club.
XIV.
THE RETURN TO PORT. 184
Sailors Carousing, or a Jollification on board the Piranga.
XV.
POINT STREET, PORTSMOUTH. 188
Chairing the Cockswain. British Tars and their Girls in
high Glee.
XVI.
EVENING AND IN HIGH SPIRITS, A SCENE AT
LONG'S HOTEL, BOND-STREET. 192
Well-known Roués and their Satellites. Portraits from the
Life, including the Pea Green Hayne, Tom Best, Lord W.
Lennox, Colonel Berkeley, Mr. Jackson, White Headed Bob,
Hudson the Tobacconist, John Long, &c. &c.
XVII.
MORNING, AND IN LOW SPIRITS, A LOCK UP
SCENE IN A SPONGING HOUSE, CAREY STREET.—
A BIT OF GOOD TRUTH. 206
For Particulars, see Work; or inquire of Fat Radford, the
Domini of the Domxts.
XVIII.
THE HOUSE OF LORDS IN HIGH DEBATE. 210
Sketched at the time when II. R. H. the Duke of York was
making his celebrated Speech upon the Catholic Question.
Portraits of the Dukes of York, Gloucester, Wellington, De-
vonshire, Marquesses of Anglesea and Hertford, Earls of Liver-
pool, Grey, Westmorland, Bathurst, Eldon, and Pomfret,
Lords Holland, King, Ellenborough, &c. &c. and the whole
Bench of Bishops.
XIX.
THE POINT OF HONOUR DECIDED; OR, THE LEADEN
ARGUMENTS OF A LOVE AFFAIR. 214
View in Hyde Park. Tom Echo engaged in an affair of
honour. A Chapter on Duelling.
XX.
THE GREAT SUBSCRIPTION ROOM AT BROOKES'S. 217
Opposition Members engaged upon Hazardous Points. Por-
traits of the Great and the Little well-known Parliamentary
Characters.
XXI.
THE EVENING IN THE CIRCULAR ROOM; OR, A
SQUEEZE AT CARLTON PALACE. 219
Exquisites and Elegantes making their way to the Presence
Chamber. Portraits of Stars of Note and Ton, Blue Ribands
and Red Ribands, Army and Navy.
XXII.
THE HIGH STREET, CHELTENHAM. 222
Well-known characters among the Chelts.
XXIII.
GOING OUT. 226
A View of Berkeley Hunt Kennel.
XXIV.
THE ROYAL WELLS AT CHELTENHAM; OR, SPAS-
MODIC AFFECTIONS FROM SPA WATERS. 245
Chronic Affections and Cramp Comicalities.
XXV.
THE BAG-MEN'S BANQUET. 248
A View of the Commercial Room at the Bell Inn, Chelten-
ham. Portraits of well-known Travellers.
XXVI.
THE OAKLAND COTTAGES, CHELTENHAM; OR, FOX
HUNTERS AND THEIR FAVOURITES, A TIT BIT,
DONE FROM THE LIFE. 268
Dedicated to the Members of the Berkeley Hunt.
XXVII.
DONCASTER RACE COURSE DURING THE GREAT
ST. LEGER RACE, 1825. 269
Well-known Heroes of the Turf. Legs and Loungers.
XXVIII.
THE COMICAL PROCESSION FROM GLOUCESTER
TO BERKELEY. 288
XXIX.
THE POST OFFICE, BRISTOL. 293
Arrival of the London Mail. Lots of News, and New
Characters. Portraits of well-known Bristolians.
XXX.
FANCY BALL AT THE UPPER ROOMS, BATH. 302
XXXI.
THE PUMP ROOM, BATH. 311
Visitors taking a sip with King Bladud.
XXXII.
THE OLD BEAU AND FALSE BELLE; OR, MR. B.
AND MISS L. 316
A Bath Story.
XXXIII.
THE PUBLIC BATHS AT BATH; OR, STEWING
ALIVE. 320
Bernard BlackmantlE and Bob Transit taking a Dip with
King Bladud. Union of the Sexes. Welsh Wigs and
Decency. No Swimming or Plunging allowed.
XXXIV.
MILSOM STREET AND BOND STREET, OR BATH
SWELLS. 326
Well-known Characters at the Court of King Bladud.
XXXV.
THE BUFF CLUB AT THE PIG AND WHISTLE,
AVON STREET, BATH. 332
A Bit of Real Life in the Territories of old King Bladud.
XXXVI.
THE BOWLING ALLEY AT WORCESTER; OR, THE
WELL-KNOWN CHARACTERS OF THE HAND AND
GLOVE CLUB. 335
ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.
1. The Gate House, Highgate, Citizens toiling up the Hill
to the Sunday Ordinary 109
2. A Lame Duck waddling out of the Stock Exchange 139
3. The Dandy Candy Man, a Cheltenham Vignette 283
4. The Floating Harbour and Welsh Back, Bristol. 292
5. Bath Market-place, with Portraits of the celebrated
Orange Women 295
6. The Sporting Club at the Castle Tavern. Portraits of
Choice Spirits 300
7. The Battle of the Chairs 306
8. Vignette. Portraits of Blackmantle the English Spy,
and Transit 343
Nor rank, nor order, nor condition,
Imperial, lowly, or patrician,
Shall, when they see this volume, cry,
"The satirist has pass'd us by:"
But, with good humour, view our page
Depict the manners of the age.
Vide Work.
"The Muse's office was by Heaven design'd
To please, improve, instruct, reform mankind."
—Churchill.
Readers!—friends, I may say, for your flattering support has enabled me to continue my Sketches of Society to a second volume with that prospect of advantage to all concerned which makes labour delightful—accept this fresh offering of an eccentric, but grateful mind, to that shrine where alone he feels he owes any submission—the tribunal of Public Opinion. In starting for the goal of my ambition, the prize of your approbation, I have purposely avoided the beaten track of other periodical writers, choosing for my subjects scenes and characters of real life, transactions of our own times, characteristic, satirical, and humorous, confined to no particular place, and carefully avoiding every thing like personal ill-nature or party feeling. My associates, the Artists and Publishers, are not less anxious than myself to acknowledge their gratitude; and we intend to prove, by our united endeavours, how highly we appreciate the extensive patronage we have already obtained.
"I smell a rat."—Book of Common Parlance.
"More sinned against than sinning."—William Shakspeare.
"The very Spy o' the time."—Ibid.
Well done, my lad, you've run on strong
Amidst the bustle of life's throng,
Nor thrown a spavin yet;
You've gone at score, your pace has told;
I hope, my boy, your wind will hold—
You've others yet to fret.
You've told the town that you are fly
To cant, and rant, and trickery;
And that whene'er you doze,
Like Bristol men, you never keep
But one eye closed—so you can tweak
E'en then a scoundrel's nose.
Pull up, and rinse your mouth a bit;
It is hot work, this race of wit,
And sets the bellows piping;
Next Vol. you'll grind the flats again,
And file the sharps unto the grain,
Their very stomachs griping.
But why, good Bernard, do you dream
That we Reviewers scorn the cream{1}
Arising from your jokes?
Upon my soul, we love some fun
As well as any 'neath the sun,
Although we fight in cloaks.
Heav'n help thee, boy, we are not they
Who only go to damn a play,
And cackle in the pit;
Like good Sir William Curtis{2} we
Can laugh at nous and drollery,
Though of ourselves 'twere writ.
Was yours but sky blue milk and water,
We'd hand you over to the slaughter
Of cow committee-men{3};
For butterflies, and "such small deer,"
Are much beneath our potent spear—
The sharp gray goose-wing'd pen.
1 See my friend Bernard's cracker to the reviewers in No.
12, a perfect fifth of November bit of firework, I can
assure you, good people. But it won't go off with me without
a brand from the bonfire in return. "Bear this bear all."
2 Have you ever dared the "salt sea ocean," my readers, with
the alderman admiral? If not, know that he has as pretty a
collection of caricatures in his cabin, and all against his
own sweet self, as need be wished to heal sea-sickness. Is
not this magnanimity? I think so. The baronet is really "a
worthy gentleman."
3 Vide advertisements of "Alderney Milk Company." What
company shall we keep next, my masters? Mining companies, or
steam brick companies, or washing companies? How many of
them will be in the suds anon? Pshaw! throw physic to the
projectors—I prefer strong beer well hopped.
But yours we feel is sterner stuff,
And though perchance too much in huff,
More natural you will swear;
It really shows such game and pluck,
That we could take with you "pot luck,"
And deem it decent fare.
But, 'pon our conscience, bonny lad,
(We've got some, boy), it is too bad
So fiercely to show fight;
Gadzooks, 'tis time when comes the foe
To strip and sport a word and blow,
My dear pugnacious wight!
'Tis very wise, T own, to pull
Fast by the horns some butting bull,
When 'gainst yourself he flies;
But to attack that sturdy beast,
When he's no thoughts on you to feast,
Is very otherwise.
But we'll forgive your paper balls,
Which on our jackets hurtless falls,
Like hail upon a tower:
Pray put wet blankets on your ire;
Really, good sir, we've no desire
To blight so smart a flower.
Well, then, I see no reason why
There should be war, good Mister Spy
So, faith! we'll be allies;
And if we must have fights and frays,
We'll shoot at pride and poppinjays,
And folly as it flies.
There's field enough for both to beat
Employment for our hands, eyes, feet,
To mark the quarry down,
Black game and white game a full crop,
Fine birds, fine feathers for to lop,
In country and in town.
New city specs, new west-end rigs,
New gas-blown boots, new steam-curl'd wigs,
New fashionable schools,
New dandies, and new Bond-street dons,
And new intrigues, and new crim cons,
New companies of fools.{4}
Maria Foote and Edmund Kean,
The "lions" just now of the scene,
Shall yield to newer fun;
For all our wonders at the best
Are cast off for a newer vest,
After a nine days' run.
Old beaux at Bath, manoeuvring belles,
And pump-room puppies, Melsom swells,
And Mr. Heaviside,{5}
And Cheltenham carders,{6} every runt,
4 See note 3, page 6.
5 Mr. Heaviside, the polite M. C. of Bath. He has the finest
cauliflower head of hair I over remember; but it covers a
world of wit, for all that, and therefore however it may
appear, it certainly is not the heavy side of him.
6 Cards, cards, cards, nothing but cards from "rosy morn to
dewy eve" at the town of Cheltenham. Whist, with the sun
shining upon their sovereigns, one would think a sovereign
remedy for their waste of the blessed day—écarte, whilst
the blue sky is mocking the blue countenances of your thirty
pound losers in as many seconds. Is it not marvellous?
Fathers, husbands, men who profess to belong to the Church.
By Jupiter! instead of founding the new university they talk
about, they had better make it for the pupilage of perpetual
card-players, and let them take their degrees by the
cleverness in odd tricks, or their ability in shuffling. "No
offence, Gregory." "No wonder they have their decrepit ones,
their ranters."
The playhouse, Berkeley, and "the hunt,"
With Marshall{7} by their side.
All these and more I should be loth
To let escape from one or both,
So saddle for next heat:
The bell is rung, the course is cleared,
Mount on your hobby, "nought afear'd,"
Black-jacket can't be beat.
"Dum spiro spero" shout, and ride
Till you have 'scalp'd old Folly's hide,
And none a kiss will waft her;
Bind all the fools in your new book,
That "I spy!" may lay my hook,
And d—n them nicely after.
An Honest Reviewer.{8}
Given at my friend, "Sir John Barleycorn's"
Chambers, Tavistock, Covent Garden, this the
19th, day of February, 1825, "almost at odds
with morning."
7 Mr. Marshall, the M. C. of Cheltenham. "Wear him in your
heart's core, Horatio." I knew him well, a "fellow of
infinite jest." A long reign and a merry one to him.
8 My anonymous friend will perceive that I estimate his wit
and talent quite as much as his honesty: had he not been
such a rara avis he would have been consigned to the "tomb
of all the Capulets."
"The trav'ller, if he chance to stray,
May turn uncensured to his way;
Polluted streams again are pure,
And deepest wounds admit a cure;
But woman no redemption knows—
The wounds of honour never close."
—Moore.
[10]Tremble not, ye fair daughters of chastity! frown not, ye moralists! as your eyes rest upon the significant title to our chapter, lest we should sacrifice to curiosity the blush of virtue. We are painters of real life in all its varieties, but our colouring shall not be over-charged, or our characters out of keeping. The glare of profligacy shall be softened down or so neutralized as not to offend the most delicate feelings. In sketching the reigning beauties of the time, we shall endeavour to indulge the lovers of variety without sacrificing the fair fame of individuals, or attempting to make vice respectable. Pleasure is our pursuit, but we are accompanied up the flowery ascent by Contemplation and Reflection, two monitors that shrink back, like sensitive plants, as the thorns press upon them through the ambrosial beds of new-blown roses. In our record of the daughters of Pleasure, we shall only notice those who are distinguished as belles of ton—stars of the first magnitude in the hemisphere of Fashion; and of these the reader may say, with one or two exceptions, they "come like shadows, so depart." We would rather excite sympathy and pity for the [11]unfortunate, than by detailing all we know produce the opposite feelings of obloquy and detestation.
"Unhappy sex! when beauty is your snare,
Exposed to trials, made too frail to bear."
Then, oh! ye daughters of celestial Virtue, point not the scoffing glance at these, her truant children, as ye pass them by—but pity, and afford them a gleam of cheerful hope: so shall ye merit the protection of Him whose chief attribute is charity and universal benevolence. And ye, lords of the creation! commiserate their misfortunes, which owe their origin to the baseness of the seducer, and the natural depravity of your own sex.
"Simplex sigillum veri."
"Nought is there under heav'n's wide hollowness
That moves more dear, compassion of the mind,
Than beauty brought t' unworthy wretchedness."
[12]If ever there was a fellow formed by nature to captivate and conquer the heart of lovely woman, it is that arch-looking, light-hearted Apollo, Horace Eglantine, with his soul-enlivening conversational talents, his scraps of poetry, and puns, and fashionable anecdote; his chivalrous form and noble carriage, joined to a mirth-inspiring countenance and soft languishing blue eye, which sets half the delicate bosoms that surround him palpitating between hope and fear; then a glance at his well-shaped leg, or the fascination of an elegant compliment, smilingly overleaping a pearly fence of more than usual whiteness and regularity, fixes the fair one's doom; while the young rogue, triumphing in his success, turns on his heel and plays off another battery on the next pretty susceptible piece of enchanting simplicity that accident may throw into his way. "Who is that attractive star before whose influential light he at present seems to bow with adoration?" "A fallen one," said Crony, to whom the question was addressed, as he rode up the drive in Hyde Park, towards Cumberland-gate, accompanied by Bernard Blackmantle. "A fallen one" reiterated the Oxonian—"Impossible!" "Why, I have marked the fair daughter of Fashion myself for the last fortnight constantly in the drive with one of the most superb [13]equipages among the ton of the day." "True," responded Crony, "and might have done so for any time these three years." In London these daughters of Pleasure are like physicians travelling about to destroy in all sorts of ways, some on foot, others on horseback, and the more finished lolling in their carriages, ogling and attracting by the witchery of bright eyes; the latter may, however, very easily be known, by the usual absence of all armorial bearings upon the panel, the chariot elegant and in the newest fashion, generally dark-coloured, and lined with crimson to cast a rich glow upon the occupant, and the servants in plain frock liveries, with a cockade, of course, to imply their mistresses have seen service. I know but of one who sports any heraldic ornament, and that is the female Giovanni, who has the very appropriate crest of a serpent coiled, and preparing to spring upon its prey, à la Cavendish. The elegante in the dark vis, to whom our friend Horace is paying court, is the ci-devant Lady Ros—b—y, otherwise Clara W——.
By the peer she has a son, and from the plebeian a pension of two hundred pounds per annum: her origin, like most of the frail sisterhood, is very obscure; but Clara certainly possesses talents of the first order, and evinces a generosity of disposition to her sisters and family that is deserving of commendation. In person, she is plump and well-shaped, but of short stature, with a fine dark eye and raven locks that give considerable effect to an otherwise interesting countenance. A few years since she had a penchant for the stage, and played repeatedly at one of the minor theatres, under the name of "The Lady;" a character Clara can, when she pleases, support with unusual gaieté: instance her splendid parties in Manchester-street, Manchester-square, where I have seen a coruscation of beauties assembled together that must have made great havoc in their time among the hearts of the young, the gay, and the generous. Like [14]most of her society, Clara has no idea of prudence, and hence to escape some pressing importunities, she levanted for a short time to Scotland, but has since, by the liberal advances of her present delusive, been enabled to quit the interested apprehensions of the Dun family. The swaggering belle in the green pelisse yonder, on the pavé, is the celebrated courtezan, Mrs. St*pf**d, of Curzon-street, May-fair. How she acquired her present cognomen I know not, unless it was for her stopping accomplishment in the polite science of pugilism and modern patter, in both of which she is a finished proficient, as poor John D———, a dashing savoury chemist, can vouch for.
On a certain night, she followed this unfaithful swain, placing herself (unknown to him) behind his carriage, to the house of a rival sister of Cytherea, Mrs. St**h**e, and there enforced, by divers potent means, due submission to the laws of Constancy and Love; but as such compulsory measures were not in good taste with the protector's feelings, the contract was soon void, and the lady once more liberated to choose another and another swain, with a pension of two hundred pounds per annum, and a well-furnished house into the bargain. She was formerly, and when first she came out, the chère amie of Tom B——-, who had, in spite of his science recently, in a short affair at Long's hotel, not much the Best of it. (See plate).
From him she bolted, and enlisted with an officer of the nineteenth Lancers; but not liking the house of Montague, she obtained the Grant of a furlough, and has since indulged in a plurality of lovers, without much attention to size, age, persons, or professions. Of her talent in love affairs, we have given some specimens; and her courage in war can never be doubted after the formidable attack she recently made upon General Sir John D***e, returning through Hounslow from a review, from which rencontre she has obtained the appropriate appellation of the Brazen [15] Bellona. A pretty round face, dark hair, and fine bushy eyebrows, are no mean attractions; independent of which the lady is always upon good terms with herself. The belle whip driving the cabriolet, with a chestnut horse and four white legs, is the Edgeware Diana Mrs. S***h, at present engaged in a partnership affair, in the foreign line, with two citizens, Messrs O. R. and S.; the peepholes at the side of her machine imply more than mere curiosity, and are said to have been invented by General Ogle, for the use of the ladies when on active service. The beautiful little Water Lily in the chocolate-coloured chariot, with a languishing blue eye and alabaster skin, is Mrs. Ha****y, otherwise K**d***k, of Gr—n-street, a great favourite with all who know her, from the elegance of her manners and the attractions of her person (being perfect symmetry); at present she is under the special protection of a city stave merchant, and has the reputation of being very sincere in her attachments.
"You must have been a desperate fellow in your time, Crony," said I, "among the belles of this class, or you could never have become so familiar with their history." "It is the fashion," replied the veteran, "to understand these matters; among the bons vivants of the present day a fellow would be suspected of chastity, or regarded as uncivilized, who could not run through the history of the reigning beauties of the times, descanting upon their various charms with poetical fervor, or illuminating, as he proceeds, with some choice anecdotes of the Paphian divinities, their protectors and propensities; and to do the fair Citherians justice, they are not much behindhand with us in that respect, for the whole conversation of the sisterhood turns upon the figure, fortune, genius, or generosity of the admiring beaux. To a young and ardent mind, just emerging from scholastic discipline, with feelings uncontaminated by [16]fashionable levities, and a purse equal to all pleasurable purposes, a correct knowledge of the mysteries of the Citherian principles of astronomy may be of the most essential consequence, not less in protecting his morals and health than in the preservation of life and fortune. One half the duels, suicides, and fashionable bankruptcies spring from this polluted source. The stars of this order rise and fall in estimation, become fixed planets or meteors of the most enchanting brilliancy, in proportion not to the grace of modesty, or the fascination of personal beauty, but to the notoriety and number of their amours, and the peerless dignity of their plurality of lovers.
"Place the goddess of Love on the pedestal of Chastity, in the sacred recesses of the grove of Health, veiled by virgin Innocence, and robed in celestial Purity, and who among the cameleon race of fashionable roués would incur the charge of Vandalism, or turn aside to pay devotion at her shrine? but let the salacious deity of Impurity mount the car of Profligacy, and drive forth in all the glare of crimson and gold, and a thousand devotees are ready to sacrifice their honour upon her profligate altars, or chain themselves to her chariot wheels as willing slaves to worship and adore."
"Let us take another turn up the drive," said I, "for I am willing to confess myself much interested in this new system of astronomy, and perhaps we may discover a few more of the terrestrial planets, and observe the stars that move around their frail orbits." "I must first make you acquainted with the signs of the Paphian zodiac," said Crony; "for every one of these attractions have their peculiar and appropriate fashionable appellations. I have already introduced you to the Bang Bantum, Mrs Bertram; the London Leda, Moll Raffles; the Spanish Nun, St. Margurite; the Sparrow Hawk, Augusta C****e{1}; the Golden
1 See vol. i.
[17]Pippin, Mrs. C.; the White Crow, Clara W****; the Brazen Bellona, Mrs. St**f**d; the Edgeware Diana, Mrs. S**th; and the Water Lily Symmeterian, Ha**l*y—all planets of the first order, carriage curiosities. Let us now proceed to make further observations. The jolie dame yonder, in the phaeton, drawn by two fine bays, is called the White Doe, from her first deer protector; and although somewhat on the decline, she is yet an exhibit of no mean attraction, and a lady of fortune. Thanks to the liberality of an old hewer of stone, and the talismanic powers of the golden Ball, deserted by her last swain since his marriage, she now reclines upon the velvet cushion of Independence, enjoying in the Kilburn retreat, her otium cum dignitate, secure from the rude winds of adversity, and in the occasional society of a few old friends. The lovely Thais in the brown chariot, with a fine Roman countenance, dark hair, and sparkling eyes, is the favourite elect of a well-known whig member; here she passes by the name of the Comic Muse, the first letter of which will also answer for the leading initial of her theatrical cognomen. Her, private history is well-known to every son of old Etona who has taken a toodle over Windsor-bridge on a market-day within the last fifteen years, her parents being market gardeners in the neighbourhood; and her two unmarried sisters, both fine girls, are equally celebrated with the Bath orange-women for the neatness of their dress and comeliness of their persons. There is a sprightliness and good-humour about the Comic Muse that turns aside the shafts of ill-nature; and had she made her selection more in accordance with propriety, and her own age, she might have escaped our notice; but, alas!" said Crony, "she forgets that
'The rose's age is but a day;
Its bloom, the pledge of its decay,
Sweet in scent, in colour bright,
It blooms at morn and fades at night.
[18]At this moment a dashing little horsewoman trotted by in great style, followed by a servant in blue and gold livery; her bust was perfection itself, but studded with the oddest pair of ogles in the world, and Crony assured me (report said) her person was supported by the shortest pair of legs, for an adult, in Christendom. "That is the queen of the dandysettes," said my old friend, "Sophia, Selina, or, as she is more generally denominated, Galloping W****y, from a long Pole, who settled the interest of five thousand upon her for her natural life; she is since said to have married her groom, with, however, this prudent stipulation, that he is still to ride behind her in public, and answer all demands in propria persona. She is constantly to be seen at all masquerades, and may be easily known by her utter contempt for the incumbrance of decent costume." "How d'ye do? How d'ye do?" said a most elegant creature, stretching forth her delicate white kid-covered arm over the fenêtre of Lord Hxxxxxxx*h's vis à vis. "Ah! bon jour, ma chère amie," said old Crony, waving his hand and making one of his best bows in return. "You are a happy dog," said I, "old fellow, to be upon such pleasant terms with that divinity. No plebeian blood there, I should think: a peeress, I perceive, by the coronet on the panels." "A peine cognoist, ou la femme et le melon," responded Crony, "you shall hear. Among the ton she passes by the name of Vestina the Titan, from her being such a finished tactician in the campaigns of Venus;. her ordinary appellation is Mrs. St—h—pe: whether this be a nom de guerre or a nom de terre, I shall not pretend to decide; if we admit that la chose est toute, et que la nom n'y fait rien, the rest is of no consequence. It would be an intricate task to unravel the family web of our fashionable frail ones, although that of many frail fashionables stands high in heraldry. The lady in question, although in 'the sear o' the leaf,' is yet in high request; 'fat, fair, and forty' shall I say?
[19]Alas! that would have been more suitable ten years since; but, n'importe, she has the science to conceal the ravages of time, and is yet considered attractive. No one better understands the art of intrigue; and she is, moreover, a travelled dame, not deficient in intellect, full of anecdote; and as conjugation and declension go hand in hand with some men of taste, she has risen into notice when others usually decline. A sporting colonel is said to have formerly contributed largely to her comforts, and her tact in matters of business is notorious; about two hundred per annum she derived from the Stock Exchange, and her present peerless protector no doubt subscribes liberally. To be brief, Laura has money in the funds, a splendid house, carriage, gives her grand parties, and lives proportionably expensive and elegant; yet with all this she has taken care that the age of gold may succeed to the age of brass, that the retirement of her latter days may not be overclouded by the storms of adversity. She had two sisters, both gay, who formerly figured on the pavé, Sarah and Louisa; but of late they have disappeared, report says, to conjugate in private. Turn your eyes towards the promenade," said Crony, "and observe that constellation of beauties, three in number, who move along le verd gazon: they are denominated the Red Rose, the Moss Rose, and the Cabbage Rose. The first is Rose Co*l**d, a dashing belle, who has long figured in high life; her first appearance was in company with Lord William F***g***ld, by whom she has a child living; from thence we trace her to the protection of another peer, Lord Ty*****], and from him gradually declining to the rich relative of a northern baronet, sportive little Jack R*****n, whose favourite lauda finem she continued for some time; but as the law engrossed rather too much of her protector's affairs, so the fair engrossed rather too much of the law; whether she has yet given up [20]practice in the King's Bench I cannot determine, but her appearance here signifies that she will accept a fee from any side; Rose has long since lost every tint of the maiden's blush, and is now in the full blow of her beauty and maturity, but certainly not without considerable personal attractions; with some her nom de guerre is Rosa longa, and a wag of the day says, that Rose is a beauty in spite of her teeth. The Moss Rose has recently changed her cognomen with her residence, and is now Mrs. F**, of Beaumout-street; she was never esteemed a planet, and may be now said to have sunk into a star of the second order, a little twinkling light, useful to assist elderly gentlemen in finding their way to the Paphian temple. The Cabbage Rose is one of your vulgar beauties, ripe as a peach, and rich in countenance as the ruby: if she has never figured away with the peerage, she has yet the credit of being entitled to three balls on her coronet, and an old uncle to support them: she has lately taken a snug box in Park-place, Regent's-park, and lives in very good style. The belle in the brown chariot, gray horses, and blue liveries is now the lady of a baronet, and one of three graceless graces, the Elxxxxx's, who, because their father kept a livery stable, must needs all go to rack: she has a large family living by Mr. V*l*b***s, whom she left for the honour of her present connexion. That she is married to the baronet, there is no doubt; and it is but justice to add, she is one among the many instances of such compromises in fashionable life who are admitted into society upon sufferance, and falls into the class of demi-respectables. Among the park beaux she is known by the appellation of the Doldrums her two sisters have been missing some time, and it is said are now rusticating in Paris." My friend Eglantine had evidently fled away with the white crow, and the fashionables were rapidly decreasing in the drive, when Crony, whose scent of [21]dinner hour is as staunch as that of an old pointer at game, gave evident symptoms of his inclination to masticate. "We must take another opportunity to finish our lecture on the principles of Citherian astronomy," said the old beau, "for as yet we are not half through the list of constellations. I have a great desire to introduce you to Harriette Wilson and her sisters, whose true history will prove very entertaining, particularly as the fair writer has altogether omitted the genuine anecdotes of herself and family in her recently published memoirs." At dinner we were joined by Horace Eglantine and Bob Transit, from the first of whom we learned, that a grand fancy ball was to take place at the Argyll Rooms in the course of the ensuing week, under the immediate direction of four fashionable impures, and at the expense of General Trinket, a broad-shouldered Milesian, who having made a considerable sum by the commissariat service, had returned home to spend his Peninsular pennies among the Paphian dames of the metropolis. For this entertainment we resolved to obtain tickets, and as the ci-devant lady H***e was to be patroness, Crony assured us there would be no difficulty in that respect, added to which, he there promised to finish his sketches of the Citherian beauties of the metropolis, and afford my friend Transit an opportunity of sketching certain portraits both of Paphians and their paramours.
'Twas at Teddy O'Rafferty's wake,
Just to comfort ould Judy, his wife,
The lads of the hod had a frake.
And kept the thing up to the life.
There was Father O'Donahoo, Mr. Delany,
Pat Murphy the doctor, that rebel O'Shaney,
Young Terence, a nate little knight o' the hod,
And that great dust O'Sullivan just out o' quod;
Then Florence the piper, no music is riper,
To all the sweet cratures with emerald fatures
Who came to drink health to the dead.
Not Bryan Baroo had a louder shaloo
When he gave up his breath, to that tythe hunter death,
Than the howl over Teddy's cowld head:
'Twas enough to have rais'd up a saint.
All the darlings with whiskey so faint,
And the lads full of fight, had a glorious night,
When ould Teddy was wak'd in his shed.
—Original.
He who has not travelled in Ireland should never presume to offer an opinion upon its natives. It is not from the wealthy absentees, who since the union have abandoned their countrymen to wretchedness, for the advancement of their own ambitious views, that we can form a judgment of the exalted Irish: nor is it from the lowly race, who driven forth by starving penury, crowd our more prosperous shores, [23]that we can justly estimate the true character of the peasantry of that unhappy country. The Memoirs of Captain Rock may have done something towards removing the national prejudices of Englishmen; while the frequent and continued agitation of that important question, the Emancipation of the Catholics, has roused a spirit of inquiry in every worthy bosom that will much advantage the oppressed, and, eventually, diffuse a more general and generous feeling towards the Irish throughout civilized Europe. I have been led into this strain of contemplation, by observing the ridiculous folly and wasteful expenditure of the nobility and fashionables of Great Britain; who, neglecting their starving tenantry and kindred friends, crowd to the shores of France and Italy in search of scenery and variety, without having the slightest knowledge of the romantic beauties and delightful landscapes, which abound in the three kingdoms of the Rose, the Shamrock, and the Thistle. How much good might be done by the examples of a few illustrious, noble, and wealthy individuals, making annual visits to Ireland and Scotland! what a field does it afford for true enjoyment! how superior, in most instances, the accommodations and security; and how little, if at all inferior, to the scenic attractions of foreign countries. Then too the gratification of observing the progress of improvement in the lower classes, of administering to their wants, and consoling with them under their patient sufferings from oppressive laws, rendered perhaps painfully necessary by the political temperature of the times or the unforgiving suspicions of the past. But I am becoming sentimental when I ought to be humorous, contemplative when I should be characteristic, and seriously sententious when I ought to be playfully satirical. Forgive me, gentle reader, if from the collapse of the spirit, I have for a moment turned aside from the natural gaiety of my [24]style, to give utterance to the warm feelings of an eccentric but generous heart. But, allons to the wake.
"Plaze ye'r honor," said Barney O'Finn (my groom of the chambers), "may I be axing a holiday to-night?" "It will be very inconvenient, Barney; but———" "But, your honor's not the jontleman to refuse a small trate o' the sort," said Barney, anticipating the conclusion of my objection. There was some thing unusually anxious about the style of the poor fellow's request that made me hesitate in the refusal. "It's not myself that would be craving the favor, but a poor dead cousin o' mine, heaven rest his sowl!" "And how can the granting of such a request benefit your departed relation, Barney?" quoth I, not a little puzzled by the strangeness of the application. "Sure, that's mighty dare of comprehension, your honor. Teddy O'Rafferty was my own mother's brother's son, and devil o' like o' him there was in all Kilgobbin: we went to ould Father O'Rourke's school together when we were spalpeens, and ate our paraters and butter-milk out o' the same platter; many's the scrape we've been in together: bad luck to the ould schoolmaster, for he flogged all the larning out o' poor Teddy, and all the liking for't out of Barney O'Finn, that's myself, your honor—so one dark night we took advantage of the moon, and having joined partnership in property put it all into a Limerick silk handkerchief, with which we made the best of our way to Dublin, travelling stage arter stage by the ould-fashioned conveyance, Pat Adam's ten-toed machine. Many's the drap we got on the road to drive away care. All the wide world before us, and all the fine family estate behind,—pigs, poultry, and relations,—divil a tenpenny did we ever touch since. It's not your honor that will be angry to hear a few family misfortins," said Barney, hesitating to proceed with his narration, "Give me my hat, fellow," said [25]I, "and don't torture me with your nonsense."— "May be it an't nonsense your honor means?" "And why not, sirrah?"—"Bekase it's not in your nature to spake light o' the dead." Up to this point, my attention had been divided between the Morning Chronicle which lay upon my breakfast table, and Barney's comical relation; a glance at the narrator, however, as he finished the last sentence, convinced me that I ought to have treated him with more feeling. He was holding my hat towards me, when the pearly drop of affliction burst uncontrollably forth, and hung on the side of the beaver, like a sparkling crystal gem loosed from the cavern's roof, to rest upon the jasper stone beneath. I would have given up my Mastership of Arts to have recalled that word nonsense: I was so touched with the poor fellow's pathos.—" Shall I tell your onor the partikilars?" "Ay, do, Barney, proceed."—"Well, your onor, we worked our way to London togither—haymaking and harvesting: 'Taste fashions the man' was a saw of ould Father O'Rourke's; 'though divil a taste had he, but for draining the whiskey bottle and bating the boys, bad luck to his mimory! 'Is it yourself?' said I, to young squire O'Sullivan, from Scullanabogue, whom good fortune threw in my way the very first day I was in London.—'Troth, and it is, Barney,' said he: 'What brings you to the sate of government?' 'I'm seeking sarvice and fortune, your onor,' said I. 'Come your ways, then, my darling,' said he; and, without more to do, he made me his locum tenens, first clerk, messenger, and man of all work to a Maynooth Milesian. There was onor enough in all conscience for me, only it was not vary profitable. For, altho' my master followed the law, the law wouldn't follow him, and he'd rather more bags than briefs:—the consequence was, I had more banyan days than the man in the wilderness. Divil a'care, I got a character by my conduct, and a good place when I left him, as your [26]govonor can testify. As for poor Teddy, divil a partikle of taste had he for fashionable life, but a mighty pratty notion of the arts, so he turned operative arkitekt; engaged himself to a layer of bricks, and skipped nimbly up and down a five story ladder with a long-tailed box upon his shoulder—pace be to his ashes! He was rather too fond of the crature—many's the slip he had for his life—one minute breaking a jest, and the next breaking a joint; till there wasn't a sound limb to his body. Arrah, sure, it was all the same to Teddy—only last Monday, he was more elevated than usual, for he had just reached the top of the steeple of one of the new churches with a three gallon can of beer upon his knowledge-box, and, perhaps a little too much of the crature inside o! it. 'Shout, Teddy, to the honour of the saint,' said the foreman of the works (for they had just completed the job). Poor Teddy's religion got the better of his understanding, for in shouting long life to the dedicatory saint, he lost his own—missed his footing, and pitched over the scaffold like an odd chimney-pot in a high wind, and came down smash to the bottom with a head as flat as a bump. Divil a word has he ever spake since; for when they picked him up, he was dead as a Dublin bay herring—and now he lies in his cabin in Dyot-street, St. Giles, as stiff as a poker,—and to-night, your onor, we are going to wake him, poor sowl! to smoke a pipe, and spake an horashon over his corpse before we put him dacently to bed with the shovel. Then, there's his poor widow left childless, and divil a rap to buy paraters wid—bad luck to the eye that wouldn't drap a tear to his mimory, and cowld be the heart that refuses to comfort his widow!" Here poor Barney could no longer restrain his feelings, and having concluded the family history, blubbered outright. It was a strange mixture of the ludicrous and the sorrowful; but told with such an artless simplicity and genuine traits of feeling, that I would have defied the most [27]volatile to have felt uninterested with the speaker. "You shall go, by all means, Barney," said I: "and here is a trifle to comfort the poor widow with." "The blessings of the whole calendar full on your onor!" responded the grateful Irishman. What a scene, thought I, for the pencil of my friend Bob Transit!"Could a stranger visit the place," I inquired, without molestation or the charge of impertinence, Barney?" "Divil a charge, your onor; and as to impertinence, a wake's like a house-warming, where every guest is welcome." With this assurance, I apprised Barney of my intention to gratify curiosity, and to bring a friend with me; carefully noted down the direction, and left the grateful fellow to pursue his course.
The absurdities of funeral ceremonies have hitherto triumphed over the advances of civilization, and in many countries are still continued with almost as much affected solemnity and ridiculous parade as distinguished the early processions of the Pagans, Heathens, and Druids. The honours bestowed upon the dead may inculcate a good moral lesson upon the minds of the living, and teach them so to act in this life that their cold remains may deserve the after-exordium of their friends; but, in most instances, funeral pomp has more of worldly vanity in it than true respect, and it is no unusual circumstance in the meaner ranks of life, for the survivors to abridge their own comforts by a wasteful expenditure and useless parade, with which they think to honour the memory of the dead. The Egyptians carry this folly perhaps to the most absurd degree; their catacombs and splendid tombs far outrivalling the habitations of their princes, together with their expensive mode of embalming, are with us matters of curiosity, and often induce a sacrilegious transfer of some distinguished mummy to the museums of the connoisseur. The Athenians, Greeks, and Romans, had each their peculiar funeral ceremonies in the exhumation, [28]sacrifices, and orations performed on such occasions; and much of the present customs of the Romish church are, no doubt, derivable from and to be traced to these last-mentioned nations. In the present times, no race of people are more superstitious in their veneration for the ancient customs of their country and funeral rites, than the lower orders of the Irish, and that folly is often carried to a greater height during their domicile in this country than when residing at home.
It was about nine o'clock at night when Eglantine, Transit, and myself sallied forth to St. Giles's in search of the wake, or, as Bob called it, on a crusade to the holy land. Formerly, such a visit would have been attended with great danger to the parties making the attempt, from the number of desperate characters who inhabited the back-slums lying in the rear of Broad-street: where used to be congregated together, the most notorious thieves, beggars, and bunters of the metropolis, amalgamated with the poverty and wretchedness of every country, but more particularly the lower classes of Irish, who still continue to exist in great numbers in the neighbourhood. Here was formerly held in a night-cellar, the celebrated Beggars' Club, at which the dissolute Lord Barrymore and Colonel George Hanger, afterwards Lord Coleraine, are said to have often officiated as president and vice-president, attended by their profligate companions, and surrounded by the most extraordinary characters of the times; the portraits and biography of whom may be seen in Smith's 'Vagabondiana,' a very clever and highly entertaining work. It was on this spot that George Parker collected his materials for 'Life's Painter of Variegated Characters,' and among its varieties, that Grose and others obtained the flash and patter which form the cream of their humorous works. Formerly, the Beggars' ordinary, held in a cellar was a scene worthy [29]of the pencil of a Hogarth or a Cruikshank; notorious impostors, professional paupers, ballad-singers, and blind fiddlers might here be witnessed carousing on the profits of mistaken charity, and laughing in their cups at the credulity of mankind; but the police have now disturbed their nightly orgies, and the Mendicant Society ruined their lucrative calling. The long table, where the trenchers consisted of so many round holes turned out in the plank, and the knives, forks, spoons, candle-sticks, and fire-irons all chained to their separate places, is no longer to be seen. The night-cellar yet exists, where the wretched obtain a temporary lodging and straw bed at twopence per head; but the Augean stable has been cleansed of much of its former impurities, and scarce a vestige remains of the disgusting depravity of former times.
A little way up Dyot-street, on the right hand from Holborn, we perceived the gateway to which Barney had directed me, and passing under it into a court filled with tottering tenements of the most wretched appearance, we were soon attracted to the spot we sought, by the clamour of voices apparently singing and vociferating together. The faithful Barney was ready posted at the door to receive us, and had evidently prepared the company to show more than usual respect. An old building or shed adjoining the deceased's residence, which had been used for a carpenter's shop, was converted for the occasion from its general purpose to a melancholy hall of mourning. At one end of this place was the corpse of the deceased, visible to every person from its being placed on a bed in a sitting posture, beneath a tester of ragged check-furniture; large sheets of white linen were spread around the walls in lieu of tapestries, and covered with various devices wrought into fantastic images of flowers, angels, and seraphim. A large, fresh-gathered posy in the bosom of the deceased had a most striking effect, when contrasted [30]with the pallidness of death; over the lower parts of the corpse was spread a counterpane, covered with roses, marigolds, and sweet-smelling flowers; whilst on his breast reposed the cross, emblematical of the dead man's faith; and on a table opposite, at the extreme end, stood an image of our Redeemer, before which burned four tall lights in massive candlesticks, lent by the priest upon such occasions to give additional solemnity to the scene. There is something very awful in the contemplation of death, from which not even the strongest mind can altogether divest itself. But at a wake the solemn gloom which generally pervades the chamber of a lifeless corpse is partially removed by the appearance of the friends of the deceased arranged around, drinking, singing, and smoking tobacco in profusion. Still there was something unusually impressive in observing the poor widow of O'Rafferty, seated at the feet of her deceased lord with an infant in her arms, and all the appearance of a heart heavily charged with despondency and grief. An old Irishwoman, seated at the side of the bed, was making the most violent gesticulations, and audibly calling upon the spirit of the departed "to see how they onor'd his mimory," raising the cross before her, while two or three others came up to the head, uttered a short prayer, and then sat down to drink his sowl out of purgation. (See Plate.)
But the most extraordinary part of the ceremony was the howl, or oration spoken over the dead man by a rough-looking, broad-shouldered Emeralder, who descanted upon his virtues as if he had been an hero of the first magnitude, and invoked every saint in the calendar to free the departed from perdition. For some time decorum was pretty well preserved; but on my friends Bob Transit and Horace Eglantine sending Barney out for a whole gallon of whiskey, and a proportionate quantity of pipes and tobacco, the dull scene of silent meditation [31]gave way to sports and spree, more accordant with their feelings; and the kindred of the deceased were too familiar with such amusements to consider them in any degree disrespectful. There is a volatile something in the Irish character that strongly partakes of the frivolity of our Gallic neighbours; and it is from this feature that we often find them gay amidst the most appalling wants, and humorous even in the sight of cold mortality. A song was soon proposed, and many a ludicrous stave sung, as the inspiring cup made the circle of the company. "Luke Caffary's Kilmainham Minit," an old flash chant, and "The Night before Larry was stretched," were among the most favourite ditties of the night. A verse from the last may serve to show their peculiar character.
"The night before Larry was stretch'd,
The boys they all paid him a visit;
And bit in their sacks too they fetch'd,
They sweated their duds till they riz it.
For Larry was always the lad,
When a friend was condemn'd to the squeezer.
But he'd fence all the foss that he had
To help a poor friend to a sneezer,
And moisten his sowl before he died."
Ere eleven o'clock had arrived, the copious potations of whiskey and strong beer, joined to the fumes of the tobacco, had caused a powerful alteration in the demeanor of the assembled group, who now became most indecorously vociferous. "By the powers of Poll Kelly!" said the raw-boned fellow who had howled the lament over the corpse, "I'd be arter making love to the widow mysel', only it mightn't be altogether dacent before Teddy's put out o' the way." "You make love to the widow!" responded the smart-looking Florence M'Carthy; "to the divil I pitch you, you bouncing bogtrotter! it's myself alone that will have that onor, bekase Teddy O'Rafferty wished me to take his wife as a legacy. 'It's all I've got, Mr. Florence,' [32]said he to me one day, 'to lave behind for the redemption of the small trifle I owe you.'" "It aint the like o' either of you that will be arter bamboozling my cousin, Mrs. Judy O'Rafferty, into a blind bargain," said Barney O'Finn; in whose noddle the whiskey began to fumigate with the most valorous effect. "You're a noble-spirited fellow, Barney," said Horace Eglantine, who was using his best exertions to produce a row. "At them again, Barney, and tell them their conduct is most indecent." Thus stimulated and prompted, Barney was not tardy in re-echoing the charge; which, as might have been expected, produced an instantaneous explosion and general battle. In two minutes the company were thrown into the most appalling scene of confusion—chairs and tables upset, bludgeons, pewter pots, pipes, glasses, and other missiles flying about in all directions, until broken heads and shins were as plentiful as black eyes, and there was no lack of either—women screaming and children crying, making distress more horrible. In this state of affairs, Bob Transit had climbed up and perched himself upon a beam to make observations; while the original fomenter of the strife, that mad wag Eglantine, had with myself made our escape through an aperture into the next house, and having secured our persons from violence were enabled to become calm observers of the affray, by peeping through the breach by which we had entered. In the violence of the struggle, poor Teddy O'Rafferty was doomed to experience another upset before his remains were consigned to the tomb; for just at the moment that a posse of watchmen and night-constables arrived to put an end to the broil, such was the panic of the assailants that in rushing towards the bed to conceal themselves from the charlies, they tumbled poor Teddy head over heels to the floor of his shed, leaving his head's antipodes sticking up where his head should have been; a [33]circumstance that more than any thing else contributed to appease the inflamed passions of the group, who, shocked at the sacrilegious insult they had committed, immediately sounded a parley, and united to reinstate poor Teddy O'Rafferty in his former situation. This was the signal for Horace and myself to proceed round to the front door, and pretending we were strangers excited by curiosity, succeeded, by a little well-timed flattery and a small trifle to drink our good healths, in freeing the assailants from all the horrors of a watch-house, and eventually of restoring peace and unanimity. It was now past midnight; leaving therefore poor Barney O'Finn to attend mass, and pay the last sad tribute to his departed relative, on the morning of the morrow we once more bent our steps towards home, laughing as we went at the strange recollections of the wake, the row, and last appearance of Teddy O'Rafferty.{1}
1 As the reader might not think this story complete without
gome account of the concluding ceremonies, I have
ascertained from Barney that his cousin Teddy was quietly
borne on the shoulders of his friends to the church of St.
Paneras, where he was safely deposited with his mother-
earth, a bit of a bull, by the by; and after the mourners
had made three circles round his ashes, and finished the
ceremony by a most delightful howl and prayers said over the
crossed spades, they all retired peaceably home, moderately
laden with the juice of the crature.
Sketches of Characters
Scene.—Argyll Rooms.
"Hymen ushers the lady Astrea,
The jest took hold of Latona the cold,
Ceres the brown, with bright Cytherea,
Thetis the wanton, Bellona the bold;
Shame-faced Aurora
With witty Pandora,
And Maia with Flora did company bear;"
(And many 'tis stated
Went there to be mated,
Who all their lives have been hunting the fair. )
Blackmantle, Transit, Eglantine, and Crony's Visit to the
Venetian Carnival—Exhibits—Their Char-acters drawn from
the Life—General Trinket, the M.C.—Crony's singidar
Anecdote of the great Earl of Chesterfield, and Origin of
the Debouchettes—The Omissions in the Wilson Memoirs
supplied—Biographical Reminiscences of the Amiable Mrs.
Debouchette—Harriette and lier Sisters—Amy—Mary—Fanny—
Julia—Sophia—Charlotte and Louisa—Paphians and their
Paramours—Peers and Plebeians—The Bang Bantam—London Leda
—Spanish Nun—Sparrow Hawk—Golden Pippin—White Crow—
Brazen Bellona—Edgeware Diana
Water Lily—White Doe—Comic Muse—Queen of the
Dansysettes—Vestina the Titan—The Red Rose—Moss Rose and
Cabbage Rose—The Doldrum Stars of Erin—Wren of Paradise—
Queen of the Amazons—Old Pomona—Venus Mendicant—Venus
Callypiga—Goddess of the Golden Locks—Mocking Bird—Net
Perdita—Napoleon Venus—Red Swan—Black Swan—Blue-eyed
Luna—Tartar Sultana The Bit of Rue—Brompton Ceres—
Celestina Conway—Lucy Bertram—Water Wagtail—Tops and
Bottoms—The Pretenders—The Old Story—Lady of the Priory—
Little White Morose—Queen of Trumps—Giovanni the Syren,
with Ileal Names "unexed—Original Portraits and Anecdotes
of the Dukes of M———and D———, Marquisses II——— and
II ——, Earls W———, F———, and C———, Lords
P———, A———, M———, and N———, llonourables
B———c, L———s, and F———s—General Trinket—Colonel
Caxon—Messrs. II—b—h, R———, D———, and B———,
and other Innumerables.
It was during the fashionable season of the year 1818, when Augusta Corri, ci-devant Lady Hawke,{1} shone forth under her newly-acquired title a planet of the first order, that a few amorous noblemen and wealthy dissolutes, ever on the qui vive for novelty, projected and sanctioned the celebrated Venetian carnival given at the Argyll-rooms under the patronage of her ladyship and four other equally celebrated courtezans. Of course, the female invitations were confined exclusively to the sisterhood, but restricted to the planets and stars of Cytherea, the carriage curiosities, and fair impures of the most dashing order and notoriety; and never were the revels of Terpsichore kept up with more spirit, or graced with a more choice collection of beautiful, ripe, and wanton fair ones.
1 In page 315 of our first volume we have given a brief
biographical sketch of her ladyship and her amours.
[36]Nor was there any lack of distinguished personages of the other sex; almost all the leading roués of the day being present, from Lord p******** Tom B***, including many of the highest note in the peerage, court calendar, and army list. The elegance and superior arrangement of this Cytherean fête was in the most exquisite taste; and such was the number of applications for admissions, and the reported splendour of the preparations, that great influence in a certain court was necessary to insure a safe passport into the territories of the Paphian goddess. The enormous expense of this act of folly has been estimated at upwards of two thousand pounds; and many are the dupes who have been named as bearing proportions of the same, from a royal duke to a Hebrew star of some magnitude in the city; but truth will out, and the ingenuity of her ladyship in raising the wind has never been disputed, if it has ever been equalled, by any of her fair associates. The honour of the arrangement and a good portion of the expense were, undoubtedly, borne by a broad-shouldered Milesian commissary-general, who has since figured among the ton under the quaint cognomen of General Trinket, from his penchant for filling his pockets with a variety of cheap baubles, for the purpose of making presents to his numerous Dulcineas; a trifling extravagance, which joined to his attachment to rouge et noir has since consigned him to durance vile. The general is, however, certainly a fellow of some address, and, as a master of the ceremonies, deserves due credit for the superior genius he on that occasion displayed.
During dinner, Crony had been telling us a curious anecdote of the great Earl of Chesterfield and Miss Debouchette, the grandmother of the celebrated courtezans, Harriette Wilson and sisters. "At one of the places of public entertainment at the Hague, a very beautiful girl of the name of Debouchette, who [37]acted as limonadière, had attracted the notice of a party of English noblemen, who were all equally anxious to obtain so fair a prize. Intreaties, promises of large settlements, and every species of lure that the intriguers could invent, had been attempted and played off without the slightest success; the fair limonadière was proof against all their arts. In this state of affairs arrived the then elegant and accomplished Earl of Chesterfield, certainly one of the most attractive and finished men of his time, but, without doubt, equally dissipated, and notorious for the number of his amours. Whenever a charming girl in the humbler walks of life becomes the star of noble attraction and the reigning toast among the roués of the day, her destruction may be considered almost inevitable. The amorous beaux naturally inflame the ardour of each other's desires by their admiration of the general object of excitement; until the honour of possessing such a treasure becomes a matter of heroism, a prize for which the young and gay will perform the most unaccountable prodigies, and, like the chivalrous knights of old, sacrifice health, fortune, and eventually life, to bear away in triumph the fair conqueror of hearts. Such was the situation of Miss Debouchette, when the Earl of Chesterfield, whose passions had been unusually inflamed by the current reports of the lady's beauty, found himself upon inspection that her attractions were irresistible, but that it would require no unusual skill to break down and conquer the prudence and good sense with which superior education had guarded the mind of the fair limonadière. To a man of gallantry, obstacles of the most imposing import are mere chimeras, and readily fall before the ardour of his impetuosity; 'faint heart never won fair lady,' is an ancient but trite proverb, that always encourages the devotee. The earl had made a large bet that he would carry off the lady. In [38]England, among the retiring and the most modest of creation's lovely daughters, his success in intrigues had become proverbial; yet, for a long time, was he completely foiled by the fair Debouchette. No specious pretences, nor the flattering attentions of the most polished man in Europe, could induce the lady to depart from the paths of prudence and of virtue; every artifice to lure her into the snare of the seducer had been tried and found ineffectual, and his lordship was about to retire discomfited and disgraced from the scene of his amorous follies, with a loss of some thousands, the result of his rashness and impetuosity, when an artifice suggested itself to the fertile brain of his foreign valet, who was an experienced tactician in the wars of Venus. This was to ascertain, if possible, in what part of the mansion the lady slept; to be provided with a carriage and four horses, and in the dead of the night, with the assistance of two ruffians, to raise a large sheet before her window dipt in spirits, which being lighted would burn furiously, and then raising the cry of fire, the fair occupant would, of course, endeavour to escape; when the lover would have nothing more to do than watch his opportunity, seize her person, and conveying it to the carriage in waiting, drive off secure in his victory. The scheme was put in practice, and succeeded to the full extent of the projector's wishes; but the affair, which made considerable noise at the time, and was the subject of some official remonstrances, had nearly ended in a more serious manner. The brother of the lady was an officer in the army, and both the descendants of a poor but ancient family; the indignity offered to his name, and the seduction of his sister, called forth the retributive feelings of a just revenge; he sought out the offender, challenged him, but gave him the option of redeeming his sister's honour and his own by marriage. Alas! that was impossible; the earl was already engaged. A meeting took place, [39]when, reflection and good sense having recovered their influence over the mind of the dissipated lover, he offered every atonement in his power, professed a most unlimited regard for the lady, suggested that his destruction would leave her, in her then peculiar state, exposed to indigence, proposed to protect her, and settle an annuity of two hundred pounds per annum upon her for her life; and thus circumstanced the brother acceded, and the affair was, by this interposition of the seconds, amicably arranged. There are those yet living who remember the fair limonadière first coming to this country, and they bear testimony to her superior attractions. The lady lived for some years in a state of close retirement, under the protection of the noble earl, in the neighbourhood of Chelsea, and the issue of that connexion was a natural son, Mr. Debouchette, whom report states to be the father of Harriette Wilson and her sisters.
'Ere man's corruptions made him wretched, he
Was born most noble, who was born most free.'
—Otway.
So thought young Debouchette; for a more wild and giddy fellow.in early life has seldom figured among the medium order of society. Whether the mother of the Cyprians was really honoured with the ceremony of the ritual, I have no means of knowing," said Crony; "but I well remember the lady, before these her beauteous daughters had trodden the slippery paths of pleasure: there was a something about her that is undefinable in language, but conveys to the mind impressions of no very pure principles of morality; a roving eye, salacious person, and swaggering carriage, with a most inviting condescension, always particularized the elder silk-stocking grafter of Chelsea, while yet the fair offspring of her house were lisping infants, innocent and beautiful as playful lambs. Debouchette himself was a right jolly fellow, careless of domestic [40]happiness, and very fond of his bottle; and indeed that was excusable, as during a long period of his life he was concerned in the wine trade. To the conduct and instructions of the mother the daughters are indebted for their present share of notoriety, with all the attendant infamy that attaches itself to Harriette and her sisters:—and this perhaps is the reason why Mrs. Rochford, alias Harriette Wilson, so liberally eulogises, in her Memoirs, a parent whose purity of principle is so much in accordance with the exquisite delicacy of her accomplished daughter. As the girls grew up, they were employed, Amy and Harriette, at their mother's occupation, the grafting of silk stockings, while the junior branches of the family were operative clear starchers, as the old board over the parlour window used to signify, which Brummel would facetiously translate into getters up of fine linen, when Petersham did him the honour of driving him past the door, that he might give his opinion upon the rising merits of the family, who, like fragrant exotics, were always placed at the window by their judicious parent, to excite the attention of the curious. But, allons" said Crony, "we shall be late at the carnival, and I would not miss the treat of such an assemblage for the honour of knighthood."
A very few minutes brought Transit, Eglantine, Crony, and myself, within the vortex of this most seductive scene. Waltzing was the order of the night—
"Endearing waltz! to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig and ancient rigadoon;
Scotch reels avaunt! and country dance forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe.
Waltz—Waltz alone both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet and lavish of her hands.
Hands, which may freely range in public sight,
Where ne'er before—but—pray 'put out the light.'"
A coruscation of bright eyes and beauteous forms shed a halo of delight around, that must have warmed the cyprian's ball [41]the heart and animated the pulse of the coldest stoic in Christendom. The specious M. C, General O'M***a, introduced us in his best style, quickly bowing each of us into the graces of some fascinating fair, than whom
"Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck
Display'd so much of leg or more of neck."
For myself, I had the special honour of being engaged to the Honourable Mrs. J— C******y, otherwise Padden, who, whatever may have been her origin,{2} has certainly acquired the ease and elegance of
2 Mrs. Padden is said to have been originally a servant-maid
at Plymouth, and the victim of early seduction. When very
young,
coming to London with her infant in search of a Captain D——- in the D————e Militia, her first but inconstant swain, chance threw her in her abandoned condition into the way of Colonel C——-, who was much interested by her tale of sorrow, and more perhaps by her then lovely person, to obtain possession of which, he took a house for her, furnished it, and (as the phrase is) set her up. How long the duke's aide-de-camp continued the favourite lover is not of any consequence; but both parties are known to have been capricious in affaires de cour. Her next acknowledged protector was the light-hearted George D——-d, then a great gun in the fashionable world: to him succeeded an amorous thane, the Irish Earl of F——-e; and when his lordship, satiated by possession, withdrew his eccentric countenance, Lord Mo—f—d succeeded to the vacant couch. The Venetian masquerade is said to have produced a long carnival to this belle brunette, who seldom kept Lent; and who hero met, for the first time, a now noble Marquess, then Lord Y————, to whose liberality she was for some time indebted for a very splendid establishment; but the precarious existence of such connexions is proverbial, and Mrs. Padden has certainly had her share of fatal experience. Her next paramour was a diamond of the first water, but no star, a certain dashing jeweller, Mr. C——-, whose charmer she continued only until kind fortune threw in her way her present constant Jack. With the hoy-day of the blood, the fickleness of the heart ceases; and Mrs. Padden is now in the "sear o' the leaf," and somewhat passée with the town. It does therefore display good judgment in the lady to endeavour, by every attention and correct conduct, to preserve an attachment that has now existed for some considerable time. [42]Indeed it is hardly possible to find a more conversational or attractive woman, or one less free from the vulgarity which usually accompanies ladies of her caste. With this fair I danced a waltz, and then danced off to my friend Crony, who had been excused a display of agility on the score of age, and from whom I anticipated some interesting anecdotes of the surrounding stars. (See Plate.)
The Montagues, five sisters, all fine women, and celebrated as the stars of Erin, shone forth on this occasion with no diminished ray of their accustomed brilliancy; Mrs. Drummond, otherwise H—n Dr—y Ba—y, Me—t—o, or Bulkly, the last being the only legal cognomen of the fair, led the way, followed by Maria Cross, otherwise Latouche, Matilda Chatterton, Isabella Cummins, and Amelia Hamilton, all ladies of high character in the court of Cytherea, whose amours, were I to attempt them, would exceed in volumes, if not in interest, the chronicles of their native isle. Among the most interesting of the fairy group was the beautiful Louisa Rowley, since married to Lord L**c**les, and that charming little rosebud, the captivating Josephine, who, although a mere child, was introduced under the special protection of the celebrated Mr. B***, who has since been completely duped by the little intriguante, as also was hep second lover Lord p********? who succeeded in the lady's favour afterwards; but from whom she fled to Lord H****t, since whose death, an event which occurred in Paris, I hear she has reformed, and is now following the example of an elder sister, by preparing herself for the stage. "Who is that dashing looking brunette in the turban, that is just entering the room?" inquired Transit, who appeared to be mightily taken with the fair incognita. "That lady, with the mahogany skin and piquant appearance, is the favourite mistress of the poor Duke of Ma**b****h," responded Crony, "and is no other than [43]the celebrated Poll——-Pshaw! everybody has heard of the Queen of the Amazons, a title given to the lady, in honour, as I suppose, of his grace's fighting ancestor. Poll is said to be a great voluptuary; but at any rate she cannot be very extravagant, that is, if she draws all her resources from her protector's present purse. Do you observe that jolie dame yonder sitting under the orchestra? that is the well-known Nelly Mansell, of Crawford-street, called the old Pomona, from the richness of her first fruits. Nelly has managed her affairs with no trifling share of prudence, and although in the decline of life, she is by no means in declining circumstances. H**re the banker married her niece, and the aunt's cash-account is said to be a very comfortable expectancy.
The elegante waltzing so luxuriantly with H——— B——— H——— is the lovely Emma Richardson, sometime since called Standish or Davison, a Cytherean of the very first order, and the sister planet to the equally charming Ellen Hanbury, otherwise Bl——-g——-ve, constellations of the utmost brilliancy, very uncertain in their appearance, and equally so, if report speaks truth, in their attachment to either Jupiter, Mars, Vulcan, or Apollo. The first is denominated Venus Mendicant, from her always pleading poverty to her suitors, and thus artfully increasing their generosity towards her. Sister Ellen has obtained the appellation of Venus Callipyga, from her elegant form and generally half-draped appearance in public. Do you perceive the swarthy amazon waddling along yonder, whom the old Earl of W——-d appears to be eyeing with no little anticipation of delight? that is a lady with a very ancient and most fish-like flavor, odoriferous in person as the oily female Esquimaux, or the more fragrant feminine inhabitants of Russian Tartary and the Crimea; she has with some of her admirers obtained the name of Dolly Drinkwater, from her known dislike to any [44]thing stronger than pure French Brandy. Her present travelling cognomen is Mrs. Sp**c*r, otherwise Black Moll; and a wag of the day, who is rather notorious for the variety of his taste, has recently insisted upon re-christening her by the attractive nom de guerre of Nux Vomica. The little goddess of the golden locks, dancing with a well-known roué, is Fanny My*rs, a very efficient partner in the dance, and if report be true not less engaging in the sacred mysteries of Cytherea." It would fill the ample page to relate the varied anecdote with which Crony illustrated, as he proceeded to describe the Scyllo and Charybdes of the unwary and the gay; who in their voyage through life are lured by the syrens of sweet voice, and the Pyrrhas of sweet lip, the Cleopatras of modern times, the conquerors of hearts, and the voluptuous rioters in pleasurable excesses, of those of whom Byron has sung,—
"Round all the confines of the yielding waist,
The strangest hand may wander undisplaced.
* * *
Till some might marvel with the modest Turk,
If 'nothing follows all this palming work.'"
To draw all the portraits who figured in the fascinating scene of gay delight would be a task of almost equal magnitude with the Herculean labours, and one which in attempting, I fear some of my readers may censure me for already dwelling too long upon: but let them remember, I am a professed painter of real life, not the inventor or promoter of these delectable nocte Attici and depraved orgies; that in faithfully narrating scenes and describing character, the object of the author and artist is to show up vice in all its native deformity; that being known, it may be avoided, and being exposed, despised. But I must crave permission to extend my notice of the Cythereans to a few more characters, ere yet the mirth-inspiring notes of the band have ceased to vibrate, or the graceful [45]fair ones to trip it lightly on fantastic toe; this done, I shall perhaps take a peep into the supper-room, drink Champagne, and pick the wing of a chicken while I whisper a few soft syllables into the ear of the nearest elegante; and then—gentle reader, start not—then——-
"The breast thus publicly resign'd to man
In private may resist him—if it can."
But here the curtain shall drop upon all the fairy sirens who lead the young heart captive in their silken chains; and the daughters of pleasure and the sons of profligacy may practise the mysteries of Cytherea in private, undisturbed by the pen of the satirist or the pencil of the humorist.
"The scandalizing group in close conference in the left-hand corner, behind Lord William Lenox and another dashing ensign in the guards, is composed," said Crony, "of Mrs. Nixon, the ci-devant Mrs. Baring, Nugent's old.flame, Mrs. Christopher Harrison, the two sisters, Mesdames Gardner and Peters, and the well-known Kitty Stock, all minor constellations, mostly on the decline, and hence full of envious jealousy at the attention paid by the beaux to the more attractive charms of the newly discovered planets, the younger sisterhood of the convent." "If we could but get near enough to overhear their conversation," said Transit, "we should, no doubt, obtain possession of a few rich anecdotes of the Paphians and their paramours." "I have already enough of the latter," said I, "to fill a dozen albums, without descending to the meanness of becoming a listener. Amorous follies are the least censurable of the sins of men, when they are confined to professed courtezans. The heartless conduct of the systematic seducer demands indignation; but the trifling peccadillos of the sons of fortune and the stars of fashion may be passed by, without any serious personal exposure, since time, [46]cash, and constitution are the three practising physicians who generally effect a radical cure, without the aid of the satirist. But come, Crony, you must give us the nom de guerre of the last-mentioned belles: you have hitherto distinguished all the Cythereans by some eccentric appellation; let us therefore have the list complete." "By all means, gentlemen," replied the old beau: "if I must stand godfather to the whole fraternity of Cyprians, I think I ought, at least, to have free access to every convent in Christendom; but I must refer to my tablets, for I keep a regular entry of all the new appearances, or I should never remember half their designations. Mrs. N———has the harmonious appellation of the mocking bird, from her silly habit of repeating every word you address to her. Mrs. B———is called the New Perdita, from a royal conquest she once made, but which we have only her own authority for believing; at any rate, she is known to be fond of a New-gent, and the title may on that account be fairly her own. Mrs. C——-H——— has the honour of being distinguished by the appropriate name of the Napoleon Venus, from the similarity of her contour with the countenance of that great man.
The two sisters, Mesdames G———and P———, are well known by the flattering distinctions of the red and the black Swan, from the colour of their hair and the stateliness of their carriage; and Kitty Stock has the poetical cognomen of blue-eyed Lima. Now, you have nearly the whole vocabulary of love's votaries," said old Crony; "and be sure, young gentlemen, you profit by the precepts of experience; for not one of these frail fair ones but in her time has made as many conquests as Wellington, and caused perhaps as much devastation among the sons of men as any hero in the world. But a new light breaks in upon us," said Crony, "in the person of Mrs. Simmons, the Tartar sultana, whom you may observe conversing with Lords H———d and P——-m in the centre of the room. Poor N—g—nt the cyprian's ball [47]will long remember her prowess in battle, when the strength of her passion had nearly brought matters to a point, and that not a very tender one; but the swain cut the affair in good time, or might have been cruelly cut himself. Messrs. H—h and R—s—w could also give some affecting descriptions of the Tartar sultana's rage when armed with jealousy or resentment. Her residence, No. 30, B—k—r-street, has long been celebrated as the three x x x; a name probably given to it by some spark who found the sultana three times more cross than even common report had stated her to be." The night was now fast wearing away, when Crony again directed our attention to the right-hand corner of the room, where, just under the orchestra, appeared the elder sister of the notorious Harriette Wilson seated, and in close conversation with the Milesian M. C, O'M————a, who, according to his usual custom, was dispensing his entertaining anecdotes of all his acquaintance who graced the present scene. "That is Amy Campbell, otherwise Sydenham, &e., &c, but now legally Bochsa, of whom Harriette has since told so many agreeable stories relative to the black puddings and Argyle; however, considerable suspicion attaches itself to Harriette's anecdotes of her elder sister, particularly as she herself admits they were not very good friends, and Harriette never would forgive Amy for seducing the Duke of Argyle from his allegiance to her. Mrs. Campbell was for some years the favourite sultana of his grace, and has a son by him, a fine boy, now about twelve years of age, who goes by the family name, and for whose support the kind-hearted duke allows the mother a very handsome annuity. Amy is certainly a woman of considerable talent; a good musician, as might have been expected from her attachment to the harpist, and an excellent linguist, speaking the French, Spanish, and Italian languages with the greatest fluency. In her person she begins to exhibit the ravages of time, is somewhat embonpoint, with [48]dark hair and fine eyes, but rather of the keen order of countenance than the agreeable; and report says, that the Signior composer, amid his plurality of wives, never found a more difficult task to preserve the equilibrium of domestic harmony.
By the side of this fair one, arm in arm with a well-known bookseller, you may perceive Harriette Kochforte, alias Wilson, who, according to her own account, has had as many amours as the Grand Seignor can boast wives, and with just as little of affection in the affaires de cour as his sublime highness, only with something more of publicity. Harriette gives the honour of her introduction into the mysteries of Cytherea to the Earl of Craven; but it is well known that a certain dashing solicitor's clerk then living in the neighbourhood of Chelsea, and near her amiable mamma's residence, first engrossed, her attention, and by whom she exhibited increasing symptoms of affection, which being properly engrafted on the person of the fair stockinger, in due time required a release from a practitioner of another profession; an innocent affair that now lies buried deep in an odd corner at the old churchyard at Chelsea, without a monumental stone or epitaph to point out the early virtues of the fair Cytherean. To this limb of the law succeeded the Honourable Be—1—y C———n, who was then too volatile and capricious to pay his devotions at any particular shrine for more than a week together. It was this cold neglect of the honourable's that has, perhaps, secured him from mention in her Memoirs; since Harriette never speaks of her beaux without giving the reader to suppose they were desperately in love with herself: then there was more of the dignified in an affair with an earl, and Madame Harriette has a great notion of preserving her consequence, although, it must be confessed, she has latterly shown the most perfect indifference to the preservation of character. The the cyprian's ball [49]circumstance which first gave Miss Wilson her great notoriety was the affair with the young Marquis of Worcester, then just come out, and a willing captive to her artful wiles. So successfully did she inveigle her noble swain, and so completely environ his heart, that in the fulness of his boyish adoration of the fair Cytherean, he executed in her favour a certain promise in writing, not a promise to pay, for that might have been of no consequence, nor a promise of settlement, nor a promise to protect, nothing so unsettled,—nothing less did the fair intriguante obtain than a full, clear, and definite promise of marriage, with a sufficient penalty thereunto attached to make the matter alarming and complete, with every appearance on his part to ratify the contract. In this state of things, information reached his Grace of B—f—t of his noble heir's intention, who not much relishing the intended honour, or perhaps doubting the permanency of his son's passion (for to question the purity of the lady was impossible), entered into a negotiation with Harriette, by which, on condition of her resigning the promise and pledging herself never to see the Marquis more on familiar terms, this disinterested woman was to receive eight hundred pounds per annum—so anxious was his grace to prevent a mes-alliance in his family. But, alas for Harriette! jealousy for once got the better of her love of gain; her pride was wounded to see a sister flirting with her affianced lord, and in a moment of irritation, she in a most unequivocal manner publicly asserted her right to his person: the gallant yielded, the bond was __null and void, the promise burnt, his grace relieved from the payment of eight hundred pounds per annum, and his son the Marquis, profiting by past experience, not so green as to renew the former obligation.
"My intention is not to pirate the lady's memoirs, and so rob her of the fair gain of her professional [50]experience," said Crony, when I mentioned these circumstances to him afterwards; "I only mean to supply certain trifling omissions in the biography of Harriette and her family, which the fair narrator has very modestly suppressed. It is but a few months since, that passing accidentally into Warwick-court, Holborn, to call upon an old friend, a navy lieutenant on half-pay, I thought I recognised the well-known superlative wig of the dandy Rochforte, thrust longitudinally forward from beneath the sash of a two pair of stairs window.—Can it be possible? thought I: and then again, I asked myself, why not? for the last time I saw him he was rusticating in Surrey, beating the balls about in Banco Regis; from which black place he did not escape without a little white-washing: however, he's a full Colonel of some unknown corps of South American Independents for all that, and was once in his life, although for a very short time, a full Cornet, in Lincoln Stanhope's regiment, the 17th dragoons, I think it was, and has never clipped his mustachios since, one would imagine, by their length and ferocious appearance. To be brief, I had scarcely placed my glass into the orifice before my imperfect vision, when Harriette appeared at the adjoining window, and instantly recognizing an old acquaintance, invited me up stairs. 'Times are a little changed,' said she, 'Mr. Crony, since last we met:' 'True, madam,' I responded; and then to cheer the belle a little, I added, 'but not persons, I perceive, for you are looking as young and as attractive as ever.' The compliment did not seem to please the Colonel in the wig, who turned round, looked frowningly, and then twirled the dexter side of his lip wing into a perfect circle. It is not possible that this thing can affect jealousy of such a woman as Harriette? thought I: so proceeded with our conversation: and he shortly resumed his polite amusement of spitting upon the children who were [51]playing marbles beneath his window. 'I am really married to that monster, yonder,' said she, in an under tone: 'How do you like my choice?' 'I am not old enough in the gentleman's acquaintance to hazard an opinion on his merits,' quoth I; 'but you are a woman of experience, belle Harriette, and should be a good judge of male bipeds, although I cannot say much in favour of your military taste.' 'And you was always a quiz, Crony,' retorted belle Harriette: 'remember my sister Mary, who is now Mrs. Bochsa,{3} how you used to annoy her about her gaudy style of dressing, when we used to foot it at Chelsea:—but I 3 There were in all eight sisters of the Debouchettes, and three brothers; but only one of the latter is living. Of the girls, Amy is now Mrs. Bochsa; Mary, married to a nephew of Sir Richard Bo****hs, a great Irish contractor; Harriette, actually married to Cornet Rochforte; Fanny expired in the holy keeping of the present Marquis of H——-; Sophia has been raised to the peerage, by the style and title of Lady B——-k, and by her subsequent conduct well deserves her elevation; Julia, an affectionate girl, clung to the house of Coventry through poor Tom's days of adversity, and died early, leaving some unprotected orphans; Charlotte and Louisa, younger sisters, the first now about eighteen and very beautiful, although a little lame, have been educated and brought up by their elder sister, the Baroness, and are by her intended for the church—vestals for Hymen's altar: at any rate, I hope they will escape the sacrifices of Cytherea. Harriette is now about forty years of age: she was, when at her zenith, always celebrated rather for her tact in love affairs, and her talent at invention, than the soft engaging qualifications of the frail fair, which fascinate the eye and lead the heart captive with delight: her conversational powers were admirable; but her temper was outrageous, with a natural inclination to the satirical:—to sum up her merits at once, she was what a connoisseur would have called a bold fine woman, rather than an engaging handsome one—more of the English Bellona than the Venus de Medici. Crony's account of the Round Room and belle Harriette's first views of publishing are, I have since learned, strictly correct. There is not a person mentioned in her Memoirs, or scarcely one of any note in the Court-guide, of whom she has at any time had the slightest knowledge, that have not been applied to repeatedly within the last three years, and received threats of exposure to compel them to submit to extortion. [52]want your assistance.' Egad, I dare say, I looked rather comical at this moment, for in truth I was somewhat alarmed at the last phrase. Harriette burst into a loud fit of laughter; the Colonel drew in his elegant wig, and deigned a smile; while I, involuntarily forcing my hand into the pocket of my inexpressibles, carefully drove the few sovereigns I had up into one corner, fearing the belle Harriette had a mighty notion of laying strong siege to them: in this, however, I was agreeably disappointed; for recovering herself, she acknowledged she had perceived my embarrassment, but assured me I need be under no alarm on this occasion, as, at present, she only wanted to borrow a few—ideas: what a relief the last short word afforded! 'I have been writing some sketches of my life,' said she, 'and am going to publish: give me your opinion, Crony, upon its merits;' and without more ceremony, she thrust a little packet of papers into my hand, headed 'Sketches in the Round Room at the Opera House;' in which all the characters of the Opera frequenters were tolerably well drawn, nor was the dialogue deficient in spirit; but the titles were all fictitious—such as my Lord Red Head, for the Marquess of H——-d, Lord Pensiveham, for P———m, and so on to the end of the chapter. Having glanced through the contents, I recommended her to Colburn, as the universal speculator in paper and print; but his highness is playing magnifico, à la Murray, in his new mansion, it would seem; for he, as I have since learned, refused to publish. At length, after trying Allman and others, belle Harriette hit upon Stockdale, who having made some bad hits in his time, thought a little courtesanish scandal could not make bad worse. Under his superintendence real names were substituted for the fictitious; and it is said, that the choice notes of the lady are interwoven and extended, connected and illustrated, by the same elegant Apollo who used to write love letters for Mary Ann, and [58]love epistles to half a thousand, including Bang and the Bantum, in the dark refectory of the celebrated mother Wood, the Lady of the Priory, or Lisle-street Convent." "If such is the case, 'how are the mighty fallen!'" said I.———But let us return to the ball-room. As the night advanced, a few more stars made their appearance in the firmament of beauty; among these, Crony pointed out some of the demirespectables, attracted thither either by curiosity or the force of old habit: among these was Charles Wy—h—m's bit of rue, that herb of grace, the once beautiful Mrs. Ho—g—s, since closely connected with the whiskered Lord P——-, to whose brother, the Honourable F———g, her daughter, the elegant Miss W————n, had the good fortune to be early married. In the same group appeared another star of no mean attraction, the Honourable Mrs. L——-g, whose present husband underwent the ordeal of a crim. con. trial to obtain her person. 'Par nobile fratum,' the world may well say of the brothers, P——— and L——-g; while F————y, with all his eccentricities, has the credit of being a very good husband. Three little affected mortals, the Misses St—ts, Crony introduced by the name of the pretenders, from the assumed modesty and great secrecy with which they carry on their amours. 'Pas à pas on va bien loin,' says the old French proverb, and rightly too," remarked our ancient; "for if you boys had not brought me here, I should never have known the extent of my experience, or have attempted to calculate the number of my female acquaintances." In the supper-room, which opened at four o'clock in the morning, Waud had spread forth a banquet every way worthy the occasion: a profuse display of the choicest viands of the season and delicacies of the most costly character graced the splendid board, where the rich juice of the grape, and the inviting ripeness of the dessert, were only equalled by the voluptuous votaries who [54]surrounded the repast. It was now that ceremony and the cold restraint of well regulated society were banished, by the free circulation of the glass. The eye of love shot forth the electric flash which animates the heart of young desire, lip met lip, and the soft cheek of violet beauty pressed the stubble down of manliness. Then, while the snowy orbs of nature undisguised heaved like old ocean with a circling swell, the amorous lover palmed the melting fair, and led her forth to where shame-faced Aurora, with her virgin gray, the blue-eyed herald of the golden morn, might hope in vain to draw aside the curtain and penetrate the mysteries of Cytherea. And now, gentle reader, be ye of the hardy sex, who dare the glories of the healthful chase and haunt the peopled stream of gay delight—or of that lovely race, from which alone man's earthly joys arise, the soft-skinned conquerors of hearts—be ye prudes or stoics, chaste as virgin gold, or cold as alpine snow—confess that I have strictly kept my promise here, nor strayed aside in all my wanderings among the daughters of pleasure, to give pain to worthy bosoms or offend the ear of nicest modesty. Pity for the unfortunate, and respect for the feelings of the relatives of the vicious and the dissolute, has prevented the insertion of many anecdotes, with which Crony illustrated his sketches of character. Enough, it is presumed, has been done to show vice in all its native deformity, without wounding the ear by one immoral or indelicate expression. For the unhappy fair ones who form the principal portraits, it should be remembered they have been selected from those only who are notorious, as belles of the first order, stars of fashion, and if not something indebted to fortune they would have escaped enrolment here. When beauty and poverty are allied, it must too often fall a victim to the eager eye of roving lust; for, even to the titled [55]profligate, beauty, when arrayed in a simple garb of spotless chastity, seems
"——Fairer she
In innocence and homespun vestments spread,
Than if cerulean sapphires at her ears
Shone pendent, or a precious diamond cross
Heaved gently on her panting bosom white.
But let the frail remember, that the allurements of wealth and the blandishments of equipage fall off with possession and satiety; to the force of novelty succeeds the baseness of desertion. For a short time, the fallen one is fed like the silk-worm upon the fragrant mulberry leaf, and when she has spun her yellow web of silken attraction, sinks into decay, a common chrysalis, shakes her trembling and emaciated wings in hopeless agony, and then flutters and droops, till death steps in and relieves her from an accumulation of miseries, ere yet the transient summer of youth has passed over her devoted head.
Bernard Blackmantle.
Thoughts on the Philosophy of Laughter—Bernard Blackmantle
in Search of a Wife—First Visit to the Marigold Family—
Sketches of the Alderman, his Lady, and Daughter—Anecdote
of John Liston, and the Citizen's Dinner Party—Of the
Immortal Mr. Punch—Some Account of the Great Actor—A
Street Scene, sketched from the Life—The Wooden Drama—The
True Sublime.
You may sing of old Thespis, who first in a cart,
To the jolly god Bacchus enacted a part;
Miss Thalia, or Mrs. Melpomene praise,
Or to light-heel'd Terpsichore offer your lays.
But pray what are these, bind them all in a bunch,
Compared to the acting of Signor Punch?
Of Garrick, or Palmer, or Kemble, or Cooke,
Your moderns may whine, or on each write a book;
Or Mathews, or Munden, or Fawcett, suppose
They could once lead the town as they pleased by the nose;
A fig for such actors! tied all in a bunch,
Mere mortals compared to old deified Punch.
Not Chester can charm us, nor Foote with her smile,
Like the first blush of summer, our bosoms beguile,
Half so well, or so merrily drive caro away,
As old Punch with his Judy in amorous play.
Kean, Young, and Macready, though thought very good,
Have heads, it is true, but then they're not of wood.
Be ye ever so dull, full of spleen or ennui,
Mighty Punch can enliven your spirits with glee.
Not honest Jack Harley, or Liston's rum mug
Can produce half the fun of his juggity-jug:
For a right hearty laugh, tie thorn all in a bunch,
Not an actor among them like Signor Punch.
—Bernard Blackmantle.
It was the advice of the prophet Tiresias to Menippus, who had travelled over the terrestrial globe fend descended into the infernal regions in search of content, to be merry and wise;
"To laugh at all the busy farce of state,
Employ the vacant hour in mirth and jest."
"The merrier the heart the longer the life," says Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy. Mirth is the principal of the three Salernitan doctors, Dr. Merryman, Dr. Diet, and Dr. Quiet. The nepenthes of Homer, the bowl of Retenus, and the girdle of Venus, are only the ancient types of liveliness and mirth, by the free use of which the mind is dispossessed of dulness, and the cankerworm of care destroyed. Seneca calls the happiness of wealth bracteata félicitas, tinfoiled happiness, and infelix félicitas, an unhappy felicity. A poor man drinks out of a wooden dish, and eats his hearty meal with a wooden spoon; while the rich man, with a languid appetite, picks his dainties with a silver fork from plates of gold—but, in auro bibitur venenum; the one rinds health and happiness in his pottered jug, while the other sips disease and poison from his jewelled cup. A good laugh is worth a guinea, (to him who can afford to pay for it) at any time; but it is best enjoyed when it comes gratuitously and unexpectedly, and breaks in upon us like the radiant beams of a summer sun forcing its way through the misty veil of an inland fog.
I had been paying a morning visit to a wealthy [58]citizen, Mr. Alderman Marigold, and family, at the express desire of my father, who had previously introduced me for the purpose of fixing my—affection —tush—no, my attention, to the very weighty merits of Miss Biddy Marigold, spinster; a spoiled child, without personal, but with very powerful attractions to a poor Colebs. Two hours' hard fighting with the alderman had just enabled me to retreat from the persecution of being compelled to give an opinion upon the numerous bubble companies of the time, without understanding more than the title of either; to this succeeded the tiresome pertinacity of Mrs. Marigold's questions relative to the movements, ondits, and fashionable frivolities westward, until, fairly wearied out and disgusted, I sat down a lion exhausted, in the window seat, heartily wishing myself like Liston{1} safe out of purgatory; when the sound
1 John Liston, the comedian, is in private life not less
conspicuous for finished pleasantry and superior manners
than he is on the stage for broad humour; but nothing can
offend the actor more than an invitation given merely in the
expectation of his displaying at table some of his
professional excellences. John had, on one occasion,
accepted an invitation to dine with a wealthy citizen en
famille; the repast over—the wine had circulated—a snug
friend proposed the health of Mr. Liston; and John returned
thanks with as much dignity as a minister of state eating
white bait at Blackwall with the worshipful company of
fishmongers. Then came the amiable civilities of the lady of
the mansion, evidently intended to ingratiate herself with
the actor, the better to secure his assent to her request,
but not a muscle of the comedian gave the least
encouragement. The little citizens, who were huddled round
their mamma, and had been staring at the actor in anxious
expectation, were growing very impatient. The eldest boy had
already recited young Norval's speech to Lady Douglas, by
way of prologue; but the actor still continued mute, never
for a moment unbending to the smirking encourage-ment of his
hostess, or the jolly laugh-exciting reminiscences of his
ruby-faced host; as, for instance, "Lord, Mr. Liston, what a
funny figure you looked t'other night in Moll Flaggon!" or,
"How you made thorn laugh in Tony Lumpkin! and then what a
fright you was in Mrs. Cheshire. Couldn't you give us a
touch just now?" "Ay, do, Mr. Liston, pray do," vociferated
a dozen tongues at once, including mamma, the little misses
and mastery. "The children have been kept up two hours later
than usual on purpose," said the lady mother. "Ay, come, my
good fellow," reiterated the cit, "take another glass, and
then give us some-thing funny to amuse the young ones." This
was the finishing blow to Liston's offended dignity—to be
invited to dinner by a fat fleshmonger, merely to amuse his
uncultivated cubs, was too much for the nervous system of
the comedian to bear; but how to retreat?" I have it,"
thought John, "by the cut direct;" rising and bowing,
therefore, to the company, as if intending to yield to their
entreaties, he begged permission to retire to make some
little arrangement in his dress, to personate Vanish; when,
leaving them in the most anxious expectation for more than
half an hour, on ringing the bell, they learned from the
servant that Mr. Liston had suddenly Vanished by the street-
door, and was, of course, never seen in that direction more.
[59]of a cracked trumpet in the street arrested my attention. "I vonder vat that ere hinstrument can mean, my dear!" said Mrs. Alderman Marigold, (advancing to the window with eager curiosity). "It's wery likely some fire company's men marching to a bean-feast, or a freemason's funeral obscenities," replied the alderman. When another blast greeted our ears with a few notes of "See the Conquering Hero comes," "La, mamma," whined out Miss Biddy Marigold, "I declare, it's that filthy fellow Punch coming afore our vindow vith his imperence; I prognosticated how it voud be, ven the alderman patronised him last veek by throwing avay a whole shilling upon his fooleries." "You've no taste for fun, Biddy," replied the alderman; at the same time making his daughter and myself a substitute for crutches, by resting a hand upon each shoulder. "I never laid out a shilling better in the whole course of my life. A good laugh beats all the French medicine, and drives the gout out at the great toe. I mean to pension Mr. Punch at a shilling a veek to squeak before my vindow of a Saturday, in preference to paying six guineas for a [60]box to hear all that outlandish squeaking at the hopera." "La, pa, how ungenteel!" said Miss Biddy; "I declare you're bringing quite a new-sense to all the square, vat vith your hurdy-gurdy vonien, French true-baw-dears, and barrel organ-grinders, nobody has no peace not at all in the neighbourhood." During this elegant colloquy, the immortal Mr. Punch had reared his chequered theatre upon the pavement opposite, the confederate showman had concealed himself beneath the woollen drapery, and the Italian comedian had just commenced his merry note of preparation by squeaking some of those little snatches of tunes, which act with talismanic power upon the locomotive faculties of all the peripatetics within hearing, attracting everybody to the travelling stage, young and old, gentle and simple; all the crowd seem as if magic chained them to the spot, and each face exhibits as much anxiety, and the mind, no doubt, anticipates as much or more delight, than if they were assembled to see Charles Kemble, Young, and Macready, all three acting in one fine tragedy. There is something so indescribably odd and ridiculous about the whole paraphernalia of Mr. Punch, that we are irresistibly compelled to acknowledge the superiority of the lignum vito Roscius over the histrionic corps of mere flesh and blood. The eccentricity of this immortal personage, his foreign, funny dialogue, the whim and strange conceit exhibited in his wooden drama, the gratuitous display, and the unrestricted laugh he affords—all combine to make Mr. Punch the most popular performer in the world. Of Italian origin, he has been so long domiciled in England, that he may now be considered naturalized by common consent. Indeed, I much question, if a greater misfortune could befall the country, than the removal or suppression of Mr. Punch and his laugh-provoking drolleries:—it would be considered a national calamity; but Mirth protect [61]us from such a terrible mishap! Another sound from an old cracked trumpet, something resembling a few notes of "Arm, Arm, ye Brave," and an accompaniment by the great actor himself of a few more "tut, tut, tutura, lura, lu's," in his own original style, have now raised excitement to the highest pitch of expectation. The half inflated lungs of the alderman expand by anticipation, and his full foggy breathings upon the window-glass have already compelled me more than once to use my handkerchief to clear away the mist. The assembled group waiting the commencement of his adventures, now demands my notice. What a scene for my friend Transit! I shall endeavour to depict it for him. The steady looking old gentleman in the fire-shovel clerical castor, how sagaciously he leers round about him to see