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

(Stilletto) meaning his horse, (who in truth appeared to possess more fire and spirit than his rider could either boast of or command,) had cost him only 700 guineas, and was prime blood; that the horse his groom rode, was nothing but a good one, and had run at the Craven—that he had been prodigiously fortunate that season on the turf—that he was a bold rider, and could not bear himself without a fine high spirited animal—and, that being engaged to dine at three places that day, he was desperately at a loss to know how he should act; but that if her Ladyship dined at any one of the three, he would certainly join that party, and cut the other two.

      At this moment, a mad-brained ruffian of quality, with a splendid equipage, came driving by with four in hand, and exclaimed as he flew past, in an affected tone—“All! Tom, my dear fellow—why where the devil have you hid yourself of late?” The speed of his cattle prevented the possibility of reply. “Although you see him in such excellent trim,” observed Tom to Lady Jane, “though his cattle and equipage are so well appointed, would you suppose, it, he has but just made his appearance from the Bench after white-washing? But he is a noble spirited fellow,” remarked the exquisite, “drives the best horses, and is one of the first whips in town; always gallant and gay, full of life and good humour; and, I am happy to say, he has now a dozen of as fine horses as any in Christendom, bien entendu, kept in my name.” After this explanation of the characters of his friend and his horses, he kissed his hand to her Ladyship, and was out of sight in an instant, “Adieu, adieu, thou dear, delightful sprig of fashion!” said Lady Jane, as he left the side of the carriage.—“Fashion and folly,” said Tom, half whispering, and recalling to his mind the following lines:—

      “Oh! Fashion, to thy wiles, thy votaries owe

      Unnumber'd pangs of sharp domestic woe.

      What broken tradesmen and abandon'd wives

      Curse thy delusion through their wretched lives;

      What pale-faced spinsters vent on thee their rage,

      And youths decrepid e're they come of age.”

      His moralizing reverie was however interrupted by her Ladyship, who perceiving a group of females decked in the extreme of Parisian fashions, “there,” said she, “there is all that taffeta, feathers, flowers, and lace can do; and yet you see by their loud talking, their being unattended by a servant, and by the bit of straw adhering to the pettycoat of one of them, that they come all the way from Fish Street Hill, or the Borough, in a hackney-coach, and are now trying to play off the airs of women of fashion.”

      Mrs. Marvellous now drew up close to the party. “My dear Lady Jane,” said she, “1 am positively suffocated with dust, and sickened with vulgarity; but to be sure we have every thing in London here, from the House of Peers to Waterloo House. I must tell you about the trial, and Lady Barbara's mortification, and about poor Mr. R.'s being arrested, and the midnight flight to the Continent of our poor friend W——.”

      With this brief, but at the same time comprehensive introduction, she lacerated the reputation of almost all her acquaintance, and excited great attention from the party, which had been joined by several during her truly interesting intelligence. Every other topic in a moment gave way to this delightful amusement, and each with volubility contributed his or her share to the general stock of slander.

      Scandal is at all times the sauce piquante that currys incident in every situation; and where is the fashionable circle that can sit down to table without made dishes?—Character is the good old-fashioned roast beef of the table, which no one touches but to mangle and destroy.

      “Lord! who'd have thought our cousin D

      Could think of marrying Mrs. E.

      True I don't like such things to tell;

      But, faith, I pity Mrs. L,

      And was I her, the bride to vex,

      I would engage with Mrs. X.

      But they do say that Charlotte U,

      With Fanny M, and we know who,

      Occasioned all, for you must know

      They set their caps at Mr. O.

      And as he courted Mrs. E,

      They thought, if she'd have cousin D,

      That things might be by Colonel A

      Just brought about in their own way.”

      Our heroes now took leave, and proceeded through the Park. “Who is that fat, fair, and forty-looking dame, in the landau?” says Bob.—“Your description shews,” rejoined his friend, “you are but a novice in the world of fashion—you are deceived, that lady is as much made up as a wax-doll. She has been such as she now appears to be for these last five and twenty years; her figure as you see, rather en-bon point, is friendly to the ravages of time, and every lineament of age is artfully filled up by an expert fille de chambre, whose time has been employed at the toilette of a celebrated devotee in Paris. She drives through the Park as a matter of course, merely to furnish an opportunity for saying that she has been there: but the more important business of the morning will be transacted at her boudoir, in the King's Road, where every luxury is provided to influence the senses; and where, by daily appointment, she is expected to meet a sturdy gallant. She is a perfect Messalina in her enjoyments; but her rank in society protects her from sustaining any injury by her sentimental wanderings.

      “Do you see that tall handsome man on horseback, who has just taken off his hat to her, he is a knight of the … ribbon; and a well-known flutterer among the ladies, as well as a vast composer of pretty little nothings.”—“Indeed! and pray, cousin, do you see that lady of quality, just driving in at the gate in a superb yellow vis-à-vis—as you seem to know every body, who is she?”

      “Ha! ha! ha!” replied Tom, almost bursting with laughter, yet endeavouring to conceal it, “that Lady of Quality, as you are inclined to think her, a very few years since, was nothing more than a pot-girl to a publican in Marj'-le-bone; but an old debauchee (upon the look out for defenceless beauty) admiring the fineness of her form, the brilliancy of her eye, and the symmetry of her features, became the possessor of her person, and took her into keeping, as one of the indispensable appendages of fashionable life, after a month's ablution at Margate, where he gave her masters of every description. Her understanding was ready, and at his death, which happened, luckily for her, before satiety had extinguished appetite, she was left with an annuity of twelve hundred pounds—improved beauty—superficial accomplishments—and an immoderate share of caprice, insolence, and vanity. As a proof of this, I must tell you that at an elegant entertainment lately given by this dashing cyprian, she demolished a desert service of glass and china that cost five hundred guineas, in a fit of passionate ill-humour; and when her paramour intreated her to be more composed, she became indignant—called for her writing-desk in a rage—committed a settlement of four hundred a year, which he had made but a short time previously, to the flames, and asked him, with, a self-important air, whether he dared to suppose that paltry parchment gave him an authority to direct her actions?”

      “And what said the lover to this severe remonstrance?”

      “Say—why he very sensibly made her a low bow, thanked her for her kindness, in releasing him from his bond, and took his leave of her, determined to return no more.”

      "Turn to the right,” says Tom, “and yonder you will see on horseback, that staunch patriot, and friend of the people, Sir——, of whom you must have heard so much.”

      “He has just come out of the K——B——, having completed last week the term of imprisonment, to which he was sentenced for a libel on Government, contained in his address to his constituents on the subject of the memorable Manchester Meeting.”

      “Ah! indeed, and is that the red-hot patriot?—well, I must say I have often regretted he should have gone to such extremes in one or two instances, although I ever admired his general character for firmness, manly intrepidity, and disinterested conduct.”

      “You are right, Bob, perfectly right; but you know,