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

Horse-dealer has nothing to do with all this: How could he help it? he sold the horse for a good horse, and a good horse he was. This is all in the way of fair dealing. Again, if a horse is sold as sound, and he prove broken-winded, lame, or otherwise, not worth one fortieth part of the purchase-money, still it is only a piece of jockeyship—a fair manouvre, affording opportunities of merriment.”

      “A very laudable sort of company,” said Bob.

      “It is rather a mixed one,” replied Tom—“it is indeed a complete mixture of all conditions, ranks, and orders of society. But let us take a peep at some of them. Do you observe that stout fellow yonder, with a stick in his hand? he has been a Daisy-kicker, and, by his arts and contrivances having saved a little money, is now a regular dealer, and may generally be seen here on selling days.”

      “Daisy-kicker,” said Bob, “I don't comprehend the term.”

      “Then I will explain,” was the reply. “Daisy-kickers are Ostlers belonging to large inns, who are known to each other by that title, and you may frequently hear them

      1 Bit—A cant term for money.

      2 Do—Any successful endeavour to over-reach another is by

      these gentlemen call'd a do, meaning—so and so has been

      done.

      ask—When did you sell your Daisy-kicker or Grogham?—for these terms are made use of among themselves as cant for a horse. Do you also observe, he is now in close conversation with a person who he expects will become a purchaser.”

      “And who is he?”

      “He is no other than a common informer, though in high life; keeps his carriage, horses, and servants—lives in the first style—he is shortly to be made a Consul of, and perhaps an Ambassador afterwards. The first is to all intents and purposes a Lord of Trade, and his Excellency nothing more than a titled spy, in the same way as a Bailiff is a follower of the law, and a man out of livery a Knight's companion or a Nobleman's gentleman.”

      Their attention was at this moment attracted by the appearance of two persons dressed in the extreme of fashion, who, upon meeting just by them, caught eagerly hold of each other's hand, and they overheard the following—'Why, Bill, how am you, my hearty?—where have you been trotting your galloper?—what is you arter?—how's Harry and Ben?—haven't seen you this blue moon.'{1}

      ?All tidy,' was the reply; 'Ben is getting better, and is going to sport a new curricle, which is now building for him in Long Acre, as soon as he is recovered.'

      ?Why what the devil's the matter with him, eh?'

      ?Nothing of any consequence, only he got mill'd a night or two ago about his blowen—he had one of his ribs broke, sprained his right wrist, and sports a painted peeper{2} upon the occasion, that's all.'

      ?Why you know he's no bad cock at the Fancy, and won't put up with any gammon.'

      ?No, but he was lushy, and so he got queer'd—But I say, have you sold your bay?'

      ?No, d——n me, I can't get my price.'

      ?Why, what is it you axes?'{3}

      ?Only a hundred and thirty—got by Agamemnon. Lord, it's no price at all—cheap as dirt—But I say, Bill,

      1 Blue moon—This is usually intended to imply a long time.

      2 Painted peeper—A black eye.

      3 Axes—Among the swell lads, and those who affect the

      characters of knowing coveys, there is a common practice of

      endeavouring to coin new words and new modes of expression,

      evidently intended to be thought wit; and this affectation

      frequently has the effect of creating a laugh.

      how do you come on with your grey, and the pie-bald poney?'

      ?All right and regular, my boy; matched the poney for a light curricle, and I swapped{1} the grey for an entire horse—such a rum one—when will you come and take a peep at him?—all bone, fine shape and action, figure beyond compare—I made a rare good chop of it.'

      ?I'm glad to hear it; I'll make a survey, and take a ride with you the first leisure day; but I'm full of business, no time to spare—I say, are, you a dealer?'

      ?No, no, it won't do, I lost too much at the Derby—besides, I must go and drive my Girl out—Avait, that's the time of day,{2} my boys—so good by—But if you should be able to pick up a brace of clever pointers, a prime spaniel, or a greyhound to match Smut, I'm your man—buy for me, and all's right—price, you know, is out of the question, I must have them if they are to be got, so look out—bid and buy; but mind, nothing but prime will do for me—that's the time of day, you know, d——n me—so good by—I'm off.' And away he went.

      “Some great sporting character, I suppose,” said Bob—“plenty of money.”

      “No such thing,” said Tom, drawing him on one side—“you will hardly believe that Bill is nothing more than a Shopman to a Linen-draper, recently discharged for malpractices; and the other has been a Waiter at a Tavern, but is now out of place; and they are both upon the sharp look-out to gammon the flats. The former obtains his present livelihood by gambling—spends the most of his time in playing cards with greenhorns, always to be picked up at low flash houses, at fairs, races, milling-matches, &c. and is also in the holy keeping of the cast-off mistress of a nobleman whose family he was formerly in as a valet-de-chambre. The other pretends to teach sparring in the City, and occasionally has a benefit in the Minories, Duke's Place, and the Fives Court.”

      “They talk it well, however,” said Bob.

      1 Swapp'd—Exchanged.

      2 That's the time of day—That's your sort—that's the

      barber—keep moving—what am you arter—what am you up to—

      there never was such times—that's the Dandy—Go along Bob,

      &c. are ex-pressions that are frequently made use of by the

      people of the Metropolis; and indeed fashion seems almost to

      have as much to do with our language as with our dress or

      manners.

      "Words are but wind, many a proud word comes off a weak stomach,” was the reply; “and you may almost expect not to hear a word of truth in this place, which may be termed The Sporting Repository—it is the grand mart for horses and for other fashionable animals—for expensive asses, and all sorts of sporting-dogs, town-puppies, and second-hand vehicles. Here bets are made for races and fights—matches are made up here—bargains are struck, and engagements entered into, with as much form, regularity, and importance, as the progress of parliamentary proceedings—points of doubt upon all occasions of jockeyship are decided here; and no man of fashion can be received into what is termed polished society, without a knowledge of this place and some of the visitors. The proceedings however are generally so managed, that the ostlers, the jockeys, the grooms, and the dealers, come best off, from a superiority of knowledge and presumed judgment—they have a method of patching up deep matches to diddle the dupes, and to introduce throws over, doubles, double doubles, to ease the heavy pockets of their burdens. The system of puffing is also as much in use here as among the Lottery-office Keepers, the Quack Doctors, or the Auctioneers; and the __Knowing ones, by an understanding amongst each other, sell their cattle almost for what they please, if it so happens they are not immediately in want of the ready,{1} which, by the way, is an article too frequently in request—and here honest poverty is often obliged to sell at any rate, while the rich black-leg takes care only to sell to a good advantage, making a point at the same time not only to make the most of his cattle, but also of his friend or acquaintance.”

      “Liberal and patriotic-minded men!” said Bob; “it is a noble Society, and well worthy of cultivation.”