Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II. Egan Pierce

that nightly rob and shoot men,

      Hangmen, aldermen, and footmen;

      Lawyers, poets, priests, physicians,

      Noble, simple, all conditions;

      Worth beneath a thread-bare cover,

      Villainy bedaubed all over;

      Women, black, red, fair, and grey,

      Prudes, and such as never pray;

      Handsome, ugly, noisy still,

      Some that will not, some that will;

      Many a beau without a shilling,

      Many a widow not unwilling;

      Many a bargain, if you strike it:—

      This is London—How d'ye like it?

      ON entering the Public Office, Bow-street, we must leave our readers to guess at the surprise and astonishment with which the Hon. Tom Dashall and his Cousin beheld their lost friend, Charles Sparkle, who it appeared had been kindly accommodated with a lodging gratis in a neighbouring watch-house, not, as it may readily be supposed, exactly suitable to his taste or inclination. Nor was wonder less excited in the mind of Sparkle at this unexpected meeting, as unlooked for as it was fortunate to all parties. There was however no opportunity at the present moment for an explanation, as the worthy Magistrate immediately proceeded to an investigation of the case just brought before him, upon which there was no difficulty in deciding. The charge was made, the handkerchief sworn to, and the men, who were well known as old hands upon the town, committed for trial. The most remarkable feature in the examination being the evidence of Pat Murphy, who by this time had recollected that the man who was taken with the property about his person, was the very identical aggressor who had offended him while the hod of mortar was on his shoulder, before the conversation commenced between himself and Tom opposite the Opera-house.

      “Sure enough, your Honour,” said he, “its a true bill. I'm an Irishman, and I don't care who knows it—I don't fight under false colours, but love the land of potatoes, and honour St. Patrick. That there man with the blue toggery{1} tipp'd me a bit of blarney, what did not suit my stomach. I dropp'd my load, which he took for an order to quit, and so mizzled{2} out of my way, or by the big bull of Ballynafad, I'd have powdered his wig with brick-dust, and bothered his bread-basket with a little human kindness in the shape of an Irishman's fist; and then that there other dirty end of a shelalah, while the Jontleman—long life to your Honour, (bowing to Tom Dashall)—was houlding a bit of conversation with Pat Murphy, grabb'd{3} his pocket-handkerchief, and was after shewing a leg,{4} when a little boy that kept his oglers upon 'em, let me into the secret, and let the cat out of the bag by bawling—Stop thief! He darted off like a cow at the sound of the bagpipes, and I boulted a'ter him like a good'un; so when I came up to him, Down you go, says I, and down he was; and that's all I know about the matter.”

      As the prisoners were being taken out of court, the Hibernian followed them. “Arrah,” said he, “my lads, as I have procured you a lodging for nothing, here's the half-a-crown, what the good-looking Jontleman gave me; it may sarve you in time of need, so take it along with you, perhaps you may want it more than I do; and if you know the pleasure of spending money that is honestly come by, it may teach you a lesson that may keep you out of the clutches of Jock Ketch, and save

      1 Blue toggery—Toggery is a flash term for clothing in

      general, but is made use of to describe a blue coat.

      2 Mizzled—Ran away.

      3 Grabb'd—Took, or stole.

      4 Shewing a leg—or, as it is sometimes called, giving leg-

      bail—making the best use of legs to escape detection.

      you from dying in a horse's night-cap{1}—there, be off wid you.”

      The Hon. Tom Dashall, who had carefully watched the proceedings of Pat, could not help moralizing upon this last act of the Irishman, and the advice which accompanied it. “Here,” said he to himself, “is a genuine display of national character. Here is the heat, the fire, the effervescence, blended with the generosity and open-heartedness, so much boasted of by the sons of Erin, and so much eulogized by travellers who have visited the Emerald Isle.” And slipping a sovereign into his hand, after the execution of a bond to prosecute the offenders, each of them taking an arm of Sparkle, they passed down Bow-street, conversing on the occurrences in which they had been engaged, of which the extraordinary appearance of Sparkle was the most prominent and interesting.

      “How in the name of wonder came you in such a scrape?” said Tom.

      “Innocently enough, I can assure you,” replied Sparkle—“with my usual luck—a bit of gig, a lark, and a turn up.{2}

      “… 'Twas waxing rather late,

      And reeling bucks the street began to scour,

      While guardian watchmen, with a tottering gait,

      Cried every thing quite clear, except the hour.”

      1 Horse's night-cap—A halter.

      2 A bit of gig—a lark—a turn up—are terms made use of to

      signify a bit of fun of any kind, though the latter more

      generally means a fight. Among the bucks and bloods of the

      Metropolis, a bit of fun or a lark, as they term it, ending

      in a milling match, a night's lodging in the watch-house,

      and a composition with the Charleys in the morning, to avoid

      exposure before the Magistrate, is a proof of high spirit—a

      prime delight, and serves in many cases to stamp a man's

      character. Some, however, who have not courage enough to

      brave a street-row and its consequences, are fond of fun of

      other kinds, heedless of the consequences to others. “Go it,

      my boys,” says one of the latter description, “keep it up,

      huzza! I loves fun—for I made such a fool of my father last

      April day:—but what do you think I did now, eh?—Ha! ha!

      ha!—I will tell you what makes me laugh so: we were

      keeping it up in prime twig, faith, so about four o'clock in

      the morning 1 went down into the kitchen, and there was Dick

      the waiter snoring like a pig before a blazing fire—done

      up, for the fellow can't keep it up as we jolly boys do: So

      thinks 1, I'll have you, my boy—and what does I do, but I

      goes softly and takes the tongs, and gets a red hot coal as

      big as my head, and plumpt it upon the fellow's foot and run

      away, because I loves fun, you know: So it has lamed him,

      and that makes me laugh so—Ha! ha! ha!—it was what I call

      better than your rappartees and your bobinâtes. I'll tell you more too: you must know I was in high tip-top spirits, faith, so I stole a dog from a blind man—for I do loves fun: so then the blind man cried for his dog, and that made me laugh heartily: So says I to the blind man—Hallo, Master, what a you a'ter, what is you up to? does you want your dog?—Yes, Sir, says he. Now only you mark what I said to the blind man—Then go and look for him, old chap, says I—Ha! ha! ha!—that's your sort, my boy, keep it up, keep it up, d—— me. That's the worst of it, I always turn sick when I think of a Parson—I always do; and my brother he is a parson too, and he hates to hear any body swear: so you know I always swear like a trooper when I am near him, on purpose to roast him. I went to dine with him one day last week, and there was my sisters, and two or three more of what you call your modest women; but I sent 'em all from the table, and then laugh'd at 'em, for I loves fun, and that was fun alive 0. And so there was nobody in the room but my brother and me,