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

a perusal of the following fact:—

      A very respectable young man, a Clerk in the office of an

      eminent Solicitor, was recently brought before Mr. Alderman

      Atkins, upon the charge of being disorderly. The prisoner,

      it seemed, on his return home from a social party, where he

      had been sacrificing rather too freely to the jolly god, was

      struck with the appearance of a showy wooden figure of a

      Highlander, at the door of Mr. Micklan's snuff-shop, No. 12,

      Fleet Street. The young Attorney, who is himself a

      Scotchman, must needs claim acquaintance with his

      countryman. He chucked him familiarly under the chin, called

      him a very pretty fellow, and, in the vehemence of his

      affection, embraced him with so much violence, as to force

      him from his station. Mr. Micklan ran to the assistance of

      his servant, and in the scuffle the unfortunate Highlander

      had both his arms dislocated, the frill that adorned his

      neck damaged, besides other personal injuries, which his

      living countryman not being in the humour to atone for, Mr.

      Micklau gave him in charge to the watchman. Before the

      Magistrate in the morning, the young man appeared heartily

      sick of his folly, and perfectly willing to make every

      reparation, but complained of the excessive demand, which he

      stated to be no less than thirteen guineas. Mr. Micklan

      produced the remains of the unfortunate Highlander, who

      excited a compound fracture of both arms, with a mutilation

      of three or four fingers, and such other bodily wounds, as

      to render his perfect recovery, so as to resume his

      functions at Mr. Micklan's door, altogether hopeless. The

      Highlander, the complainant stated, cost him thirteen

      guineas, and was entirely new. The sum might seem large for

      the young gentleman to pay for such a frolic, but it would

      not compensate him for the injury he should sustain by the

      absence of the figure; for, however strange it might appear,

      he did not hesitate to say, that without it he should not

      have more than half his business. Since he had stationed it

      at his door, he had taken on an average thirty shillings a

      day more than he had done previous to exhibiting his

      attractions.

      There being no proof of a breach of the peace, Mr. Alderman

      Atkins advised the gentleman to settle the matter upon the

      best terms he could. They withdrew together, and on their

      return the complainant reported that the gentleman had

      agreed to take the figure, and furnish him with a new one.

      Mr. Alderman Atkins, in discharging the prisoner,

      recommended to him to get the figure repaired, and make a

      niche for him in his office, where, by using it as a proper

      memorial, it would probably save him more than it cost him.

      The broken figure has since been exhibited in his old

      station, and excited considerable notice; but we apprehend

      he is not yet able to afford all the attractions of his

      occupation, for he has formerly been seen inviting his

      friends to a pinch of snuff gratis, by holding a box

      actually containing that recreating powder in his hand, in

      the most obliging and condescending manner—a mark of

      politeness and good breeding well worthy of respectful

      attention.

      “Come,” said Sparkle, “we are now in one of the principal thoroughfares of the Metropolis, Fleet Street, of which you have already heard much, and is at all times thronged with multitudes of active and industrious persons, in pursuit of their various avocations, like a hive of bees, and keeping up, like them, a ceaseless hum. Nor is it less a scene of Real Life worth viewing, than the more refined haunts of the noble, the rich, and the great, many of whom leave their splendid habitations in the West in the morning, to attend the money-getting, commercial men of the City, and transact their business.—The dashing young spendthrift, to borrow at any interest; and the more prudent, to buy or to sell. The plodding tradesman, the ingenious mechanic, are exhausting their time in endeavours to realize property, perhaps to be left for the benefit of a Son, who as ardently sets about, after his Father's decease, to get rid of it—nay, perhaps, pants for an opportunity of doing this before he can take possession; for the young Citizen, having lived just long enough to conceive himself superior to his father, in violation of filial duty and natural authority, affects an aversion to every thing that is not novel, expensive, and singular. He is a lad of high spirit; he calls the city a poor dull prison, in which he cannot bear to be confined; and though he may not intend to mount his nag, stiffens his cravat, whistles a sonata, to which his whip applied to the boot forms an accompaniment; while his spurs wage war with the flounces of a fashionably-dressed belle, or come occasionally in painful contact with the full-stretched stockings of a gouty old gentleman; by all which he fancies he is keeping” up the dignity and importance of his character. He does not slip the white kid glove from his hand without convincing the spectator that; his hand is the whiter skin; nor twist his fingers for the introduction of a pinch of Maccaba, without displaying to the best advantage his beautifully chased ring and elegantly painted snuff-box lid; nor can the hour of the day be ascertained without discovering his engine-turned repeater, and hearing its fascinating music: then the fanciful chain, the precious stones in golden robes, and last of all, the family pride described in true heraldic taste and naïveté. Of Peter Pindar's opinion, that

      “Care to our coffin adds a nail,

      But every grin so merry draws one out,”

      he thinks it an admirable piece of politeness and true breeding to give correct specimens of the turkey or the goose in the serious scenes of a dramatic representation, or while witnessing her Ladyship's confusion in a crowd of carriages combating for precedence in order to obtain an early appearance at Court. Reading he considers quite a bore, but attends the reading-room, which he enters, not to know what is worth reading and add a little knowledge to his slender stock from the labours and experience of men of letters—no, but to quiz the cognoscenti, and throw the incense over its learned atmosphere from his strongly perfumed cambric handkerchief, which also implies what is most in use for the indulgence of one of the five senses. When he enters a coffee-room, it is not for the purpose of meeting an old friend, and to enjoy with him a little rational conversation over his viands, but to ask for every newspaper, and throw them aside without looking at them—to call the Waiter loudly by his name, and shew his authority—to contradict an unknown speaker who is in debate with others, and declare, upon the honour of a gentleman and the veracity of a scholar, that Pope never understood Greek, nor translated Homer with tolerable justice. He considers it a high privilege to meet a celebrated pugilist at an appointed place, to floor him for a quid,{1} a fall, and a high delight to talk of it afterwards for the edification of his friends—to pick up a Cyprian at mid-day—to stare modest women out of countenance—to bluster at a hackney-coachman—or to upset a waterman in the river, in order to gain the fame of a Leander, and prove himself a Hero.

      “He rejects all his father's proposed arrangements for his domestic comforts and matrimonial alliance. He wanders in his own capricious fancy, like a fly in summer,