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

seats by any means, regardless of politeness or even of decorum—Bucks and Bloods warm from the pleasures of the bottle—dashing Belles and flaming Beaux, squabbling and almost fighting—rendered the amusements before the curtain of a momentary interest, which appeared to obliterate the recollection of what they had previously witnessed. In the mean time, the Gods in the Gallery issued forth an abundant variety of discordant sounds, from their elevated situation. Growling of bears, grunting of hogs, braying of donkeys, gobbling of turkeys, hissing of geese, the catcall, and the loud shrill whistle, were heard in one mingling concatenation of excellent imitation and undistinguished variety: During which, Tom led the way to the upper Boxes, where upon arriving, he was evidently disappointed at not meeting the party who had been seen occupying a seat on the left side of the House, besides having sacrificed a front seat, to be now compelled to take one at the very back part of a side Box, an exchange by no means advantageous for a view of the performance. However, this was compensated in some degree by a more extensive prospect round the House; and his eyes were seen moving in all directions, without seeming to know where to fix, while Sparkle and Bob were attracted by a fight in the Gallery, between a Soldier and a Gentleman's Servant in livery, for some supposed insult offered to the companion of the latter, and which promised serious results from the repeated vociferations of those around them, of “Throw 'em over—throw 'em over;” while the gifts of the Gods were plentifully showered down upon the inhabitants of the lower regions in the shape of orange-peelings, apples, &c. The drawing up of the curtain however seemed to have some little effect upon the audience, and in a moment the Babel of tongues was changed into a pretty general cry of “Down—down in the front—hats off—silence, &c. which at length subsided in every quarter but the Gallery, where still some mutterings and murmurings were at intervals to be heard.

      “——one fiddle will

      Produce a tiny flourish still.”

      Sparkle could neither see nor hear the performance—Tom was wholly engaged in observing the company, and Bob alternately straining his neck to get a view of the Stage, and then towards the noisy inhabitants of the upper regions. “We dined at the Hummums,” said a finicking little Gentleman just below him—“Bill, and I, and Harry—drank claret like fishes—Harry was half-sprung—fell out with a Parson about chopping logic; you know Harry's father was a butcher, and used to chopping, so it was all prime—the Parson would'n't be convinced, though Harry knock'd down his argument with his knuckles on the table, almost hard enough to split it—it was a bang-up lark—Harry got in a passion, doff'd his toggery, and was going to show fight—so then the Parson sneak'd off—Such a bit of gig.'”

      “Silence there, behind.”

      “So then,” continued the Dandy, “we went to the Billiard-rooms, in Fleet Street, played three games, diddled the Flats, bilk'd the Marker, and bolted—I say, when did you see Dolly?"{1}

      1 To the frequenters of Drury-lane Theatre, who occasionally

      lounge away a little of their time between the acts in

      sipping soda-water, negus, &c. the party here alluded to

      cannot but be well known—we mean particularly the laffing-

      boys and the lads of the village. We are aware that

      fictitious names are assumed or given to the Ladies of

      Saloon notoriety, originating in particular circum-stances,

      and we have reason to believe that Dolly K——lly has been

      so denominated from the propensity she almost invariably

      manifests of painting, as remarked particularly by one of

      the parties in conversation.

      "Last night,” replied the other—“she'll be here presently—d——nd fine girl, arn't she?”

      “Very well,” said the first; “a nice plump face, but then she paints so d—n—bly, I hate your painted Dollys, give me natural flesh and blood—Polly H—ward for me.”

      “Gallows Tom{1} will speak to you in plain terms if you trespass there, my boy; you know he has out-general'd the Captain in that quarter, and came off victorious, so——”

      “Come,” said Sparkle, “let us adjourn into the Saloon, for, Heaven knows, it is useless staying here.” And taking their arms, they immediately left the Box.

      “The theatre,” continued he, “is a sort of enchanted island, where nothing appears as it really is, nor what it should be. In London, it is a sort of time-killer, or exchange of looks and smiles. It is frequented by persons of all degrees and qualities whatsoever. Here Lords come to laugh and be laughed at—Knights to learn the amorous smirk and a-la-mode grin, the newest fashion in the cut of his garments, the twist of his body, and the adjustment of his phiz.

      “This House{2} was built upon a grand and extensive scale, designed and executed under the inspection of Mr. Benj. Wyatt, the architect, whose skill was powerfully and liberally aided by an intelligent and public spirited Committee, of which the late Mr. Whitbread was the Chairman. It is altogether a master-piece of art, and an ornament to the Metropolis. You perceive the interior is truly delightful, and the exterior presents the idea of solidity and security: it affords sitting room for 2810 persons, that is, 1200 in the Boxes, 850 in the Pit, 480

      1 It appears that the adoption of fictitious names is not

      wholly confined to the female visitors of these regions of

      fashion and folly. Gallows Tom is a character well known,

      and is a sort of general friend, at all times full of fun,

      fire, and spirit. We have not been able to discover whether

      he holds any official situation under government, though it

      is generally believed he is safely anchored under the croum,

      a stanch friend to the British constitution—probably more

      so than to his own. And we should judge from what is to be

      inferred from the conversation overheard, that he is the

      acknowledged friend of Miss H——d. Capt. T——pe is

      supposed to hold a Commission in the Navy, a gay and gallant

      frequenter of the Saloon, and, till a short time back, the

      chere ami of Miss H——d.

      2 The building of this Theatre was completed for 112,000L.

      Including lamps, furniture, &c. 125,000L.; and including

      scent ry, wardrobe, properties, &c. 150,000L.

      in the Lower Gallery, and 280 in the Upper Gallery. The talents of the celebrated Mr. Kean (who has recently left us for the shores of the Atlantic) first blazed forth to astonish the world beneath this roof. Old Drury immortalized the name of Garrick, and has also established the fame of Mr. Kean; and the House at the present moment has to boast of a combination of histrionic{1} talent, rich and excellent.”

      “Come along, come along,” said Tom, interrupting him, “leave these explanations for another opportunity—here is the Saloon. Now for a peep at old particulars. There is no seeing nor hearing the Play—I have no inclination for histories, I am just alive for a bit of gig.”

      On entering the Saloon, Bob was additionally gratified at viewing the splendour of its decorations. The arched ceiling, the two massy Corinthian columns of vera antique, and the ten corresponding pilasters on each side, struck him as particularly beautiful, and he was for some moments lost in contemplation, while his friends Sparkle and Tom were in immediate request to receive the congratulations of their acquaintance.

      “Where the d——l have you been to?” was the first question addressed to Dashall—“rusticating, I suppose, to the serious loss of all polished society.”

      “You are right in the first part of your reply,” said Tom; “but, as I conceive, not exactly so in the inference you draw from it.”