“The alarm was so strong. So loud and so long,
?Twas surely some robber, or sprite,
Who without any doubt
Was prowling about
To fill ev'ry heart with affright.”
 
[47]THE smiles of a May morning, bedecked with the splendid rays of a rising sun, awakened Tallyho about five o'clock, and being accustomed to rise early in the country, he left the downy couch of soft repose, and sought his way down stairs. Not a sound of any kind was to be heard in the house, but the rattling of the carts and the coaches in the streets, with the deep-toned accompaniment of a dustman's bell, and an occasional ab libitum of “Clothes—clothes sale,” gave Bob an idea that all the world was moving. However he could find nobody up; he walked into the drawing-room, amused himself for some time by looking out of the window, indulging his observations and remarks, without knowing what to make of the moving mass of incongruities which met his eye, and wondering what time the servants of the house would wake: he tried the street-door, but found it locked, bolted, and chained; and if he had known where to have found his friend Tom, he would have aroused him with the View halloo.
“It is strange,” thought he to himself, “all the world seems abroad, and yet not a soul stirring here!” Then checking the current of his reflections, “But this,” said he, “is Life in London. Egad! I must not make a noise, because it will not be good breeding.” In this wray he sauntered about the house for near two hours, till at last espying his portmanteau, which had been left in the passage by the servants the previous evening—“I'll carry this up stairs,” said he, “by way of amusement;” and carelessly shouldering the portmanteau, he was walking [48]deliberately up stairs, when his ears were suddenly attracted by a loud cry of “Murder, murder, thieves, murder!” and the violent ringing of a bell. Alarmed at these extraordinary sounds, which appeared to be near him at a moment when he conceived no soul was stirring, he dropped his portmanteau over the banisters, which fell, (demolishing in its way an elegant Grecian patent lamp with glass shades, drops, &c.) into the passage below with a hideous crash, while the cry of Murder, thieves, murder, was repeated by many voices, and rendered him almost immoveable. In the next moment, the butler, the cook, the groom, and indeed every person in the house, appeared on the stair-case, some almost in a state of nudity, and shrinking from each other's gaze, and all armed with such weapons as chance had thrown in their way, to attack the supposed depredator.
Among the rest, fortunately for Tallyho, (who stood balancing himself against the banisters in a state of indecision whether he should ascend or descend) Tom Dashall in his night-gown burst out of his room in alarm at the noise, with a brace of pistols, one in his hand in the very act of cocking it, and the other placed in convenient readiness under his left arm. “Why, what the devil is the matter?” vociferated he, and at that moment his eye caught the agitated figure of his Cousin Bob, on the half-landing place below him. At the sound of his well-known voice, the innocent and unsuspecting cause of this confusion and alarm looked up at his friend, as if half afraid and half ashamed of the occurrence, and stammered out, “Where is the thief?—Who is murdered?—I'll swear there is something broke somewhere—tell me which way to go!” Tom looked around him at the group of half-clad nymphs and swains, (who were now huddling together, conceiving their security lay in combination, and finding all eyes were placed with astonishment and wonder on Bob) began to see through what had happened, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; which relieved the frightened damsels, but so confounded poor Tallyho, that he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels. “Why,” said Tom, addressing himself to his Cousin, “you will get yourself murdered if you go wandering about people's houses at the dead of the night in this manner—are you asleep or awake?—who have you made an assignation with—or [49]where are you going to—what are you up to, Master Bobby, eh?—These tricks won't do here!”
“Is't Love's unhallow'd flame invites to roam,
And bids you from your pillow creep?
Or say, why thus disturb my peaceful home,
Like Macbeth, who doth murder sleep.”
 
Tallyho was unable to reply: he looked down over the banister—he looked up at the risible features of Tom Dashall, who was almost bursting at the ludicrous situation in which he found his friend and his servants. “Come,” said Tom, “there are no thieves—all's right”—to the servants, “you may quiet your minds and go to business. Bob, I'll be down with you presently.” Upon this, the stair-case was cleared in an instant of all but the unfortunate Tallyho; and peace appeared to be restored in the family, but not to Bob's mind, conceiving he had committed a gross violation of good breeding, and shewn but a bad specimen of his aptitude to become a learner of London manners. It must be confessed, it was rather an awkward commencement; however, in a few minutes, recovering himself from the fright, he crawled gently down the stairs, and took a survey of the devastation he had made—cursed the lamp, d——d the portmanteau—then snatching it from the ruin before him, and again placing his luggage on his shoulder, he quietly walked up stairs to his bed-room.
It is much to be lamented in this wonderful age of discovery and continual improvement, that our philosophers have not yet found out a mode of supplying the place of glass (as almost every thing else) with cast-iron. The substitution of gas for oil has long been talked of, as one of national importance, even so much so, that one man, whose ideas were as brilliant as his own experiments, has endeavoured to shew that its produce would in a short time pay off the national debt!{1}
“A consummation devoutly to be wished;” and experience has taught the world at large there is nothing impossible, nor is there any one in existence more credulous than honest John Bull. But we are
1 Mr. Winsor, the original lecturer on the powers of gas, in
Pall Mall.
[50]digressing from the adventure of the lamp, however it was occasioned, by clearly proving it was not a patent safety-lamp: and that among the luxuries of the Hon. Tom Dashall's habitation, gas had not yet been introduced, will speedily be discovered.
Upon arriving in his bed-room, wondering within himself how he should repair the blundering mistake, of which he had so unluckily been the unwilling and unconscious author, he found himself in a new dilemma, as the receptacle of the oil had fallen with the lamp, and plentifully bedewed the portmanteau with its contents, so that he had now transferred the savoury fluid to his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. What was to be done in such a case? He could not make his appearance in that state; but his mortifications were not yet at an end—
“Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arise.”
 
The key of his portmanteau was missing; he rummaged all his pockets in vain—he turned them inside out—it was not here—it was not there; enraged at the multiplicity of disappointments to which he was subjected, he cut open the leathern carriage of his wardrobe with a penknife; undressed, and re-dressed himself; by which time it was half-past eight o'clock. His Cousin Tom, who had hurried down according to promise, had in the mean time been making enquiry after him, and now entered the room, singing,
“And all with attention would eagerly mark:
When he cheer'd up the pack—Hark! to Rockwood hark! hark!”
 
At the sight of Dashall, he recovered himself from his embarrassment, and descended with him to the breakfast-parlour.
“Did you send to Robinson's?” enquired Tom of one of the servants, as they entered the room. “Yes, Sir,” was the reply; “and Weston's too?” continued he; being answered in the affirmative, “then let us have breakfast directly.” Then turning to Bob, “Sparkle,” said he, “promised to be with us about eleven, for the purpose of taking a stroll; in the mean time we must dress and make ready.”—“Dress,” said Bob, “Egad! I have dressed and made ready twice already this morning.” He then [51]recounted the adventures above recorded; at which Dashall repeatedly burst into fits of immoderate laughter. Breakfast being over, a person from Mr. Robinson's was announced, and ushered into the room.
A more prepossessing appearance had scarcely met Bob's eye—a tall, elegant young man, dressed in black, cut in the extreme of fashion, whose features bespoke intelligence, and whose air and manner were indicative of a something which to him was quite new. He arose upon his entrance, and made a formal bow; which was returned by the youth. “Good morning, gentlemen.”—“Good morning, Mr. R——,” said Tom, mentioning a name celebrated by
Pope in the following lines:
“But all my praises, why should lords engross?
Bise, honest Muse, and sing the man of Boss.”
 
“I am happy to have the honour of seeing you in town again, Sir! The fashionables are mustering very strong, and the prospect of the approaching coronation appears to be very attractive.” During this time he was occupied in opening a leathern case, which contained combs, brushes, &c.; then taking off his coat, he appeared in a jacket with an apron, which, like a fashionable pinafore of the present day, nearly concealed his person, from his chin to his toes. “Yes,” replied Dashall, “the coronation is a subject of deep importance just now in the circles of fashion,” seating himself in his chair, in readiness for the operator,{1} who, Bob now discovered, was no other than the Peruquier.
1 The progress of taste and refinement is visible in all
situations, and the language of putting has become so well
understood by all ranks of society, that it is made use of
by the most humble and obscure tradesmen of the metropolis.
One remarkable instance ought not to be omitted here. In a
narrow dirty street, leading from the Temple towards
Blackfriars, over a small triangular-fronted shop, scarcely
big enough to hold three persons at a time, the eye of the
passing traveller is greeted with the following welcome
information, painted in large and legible characters, the
letters being each nearly a foot in size:—
 
HAIR CUT AND MODERNIZED!!!
 
This is the true “Multum in parvo “—a combination of
the “Utile et dulce,” the very acme of perfection.
Surely, after this, to Robinson, Vickery, Boss, and Cryer, we
may say—“Ye lesser stars, hide your diminished heads.”
 
The art of puffing may be further illustrated by the
following specimen of the Sublime, which is inserted here
for the information of such persons as, residing in the
country, have had no opportunity of seeing the original.
“R—— makes gentlemen's and ladies' perukes on an entire
new system; which for lightness, taste, and ease, are
superior to any other in Europe. He has exerted the genius
and abilities of the first artists to complete his
exhibition of ornamental hair, in all its luxuriant
varieties, where the elegance of nature and convenience of
art are so blended, as at once to rival and ameliorate each
other. Here his fair patrons may uninterruptedly examine the
effects of artificial tresses, or toupees of all
complexions, and, in a trial on themselves, blend the
different tints with their own!”
 
The strife for pre-eminence in this art is not however
confined to this country; for we find an instance recorded
in an American newspaper, which may perhaps be equally
amusing and acceptable:—
 
“A. C. D. La vigne, having heard of the envious expressions
uttered by certain common barbers, miserable chin-scrapers,
and frizulary quacks, tending to depreciate that superiority
which genius is entitled to, and talents will invariably
command, hereby puts them and their vulgar arts at defiance;
and, scorning to hold parley with such sneaking imps,
proposes to any gentleman to defend and maintain, at his
shop, the head quarters of fashion, No. 6, South Gay Street,
against all persons whomsoever, his title to supremacy in
curlery, wiggery, and razory, to the amount of one hundred
dollars and upwards. As hostile as he is to that low style
of puffery adopted by a certain adventurer, 'yclept Higgins,
Lavigne cannot avoid declaring, in the face of the world,
that his education has been scientifical; that after having
finished his studies at Paris, he took the tour of the
universe, having had the rare fortune of regulating the
heads of Catherine the Second, and the Grand Turk; the King
of Prussia, and the Emperor of China; the Mamelukes of
Egypt, and the Dey of Algiers; together with all the ladies
of their respective Courts. He has visited the Cape of Good
Hope, India, Java, Madagascar, Tartary, and Kamschatka,
whence he reached the United States by the way of Cape Horn.
In England he had previously tarried, where he delivered
Lectures on Heads in great style. He has at last settled in
Baltimore, determined to devote the remainder of his days to
the high profession to which his des-tiny has called him;
inviting all the literati, the lovers of the arts and
sciences, to visit him at his laboratory of beauty, where he
has separate rooms for accommodating ladies and gentlemen,
who desire to adorn their heads with hairudition. “Can
France, England—nay, the world itself, produce such
another specimen of puffing and barberism?
[53]"And pray,” continued Tom, “what is there new in the haut ton? Has there been any thing of importance to attract attention since my absence? “Nothing very particular,” was the reply—“all very dull and flat. Rumour however, as usual, has not been inactive; two or three trifling faux pas, and—oh!—yes—two duels—one in the literary world: two authors, who, after attacking each other with the quill, chose to decide their quarrel with the pistol, and poor Scot lost his life! But how should authors understand such things? The other has made a great noise in the world—You like the Corinthian cut, I believe, Sir?”
“I believe so too,” said Tom—“but don't you cut the duel so short—who were the parties?”
“Oh! aye, why one, Sir, was a celebrated leader of ton, no other than Lord Shampêtre, and the other Mr. Webb, a gentleman well known: it was a sort of family affair. His lordship's gallantry and courage, however, were put to the test, and the result bids fair to increase his popularity. The cause was nothing very extraordinary, but the effect had nearly proved fatal to his Lordship.”
“What, was he wounded?” enquired Tom.
“It was thought so at first,” replied the Peruquier, “but it was afterwards discovered that his Lordship had only fainted at the report of his opponent's pistol.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Tom, “then it was a bloodless battle—but I should like to know more of the particulars.”
“Hold your head a little more this way, Sir, if you please—that will do, I thank you, Sir;—why, it appears, that in attempting to fulfil an assignation with Mr. Webb's wife, the husband, who had got scent of the appointment, as to place and time, lustily cudgelled the dandy Lord Whiskerphiz, and rescued his own brows from certain other fashionable appendages, for which he had no relish. His Lordship's whiskers were injured, by which circumstance some people might conceive his features and appearance must have been improved, however that was not his opinion; his bones were sore, and his mind (that is to say, as the public supposed) hurt. The subject became a general theme of conversation, a Commoner had thrashed a Lord!—flesh and blood could not bear it—but then such flesh and blood could as little bear the thought of a duel—Lord Polly was made the bearer of a challenge—a meeting took place, and at the first fire his Lordship fell. A fine subject for the caricaturists, and they have not failed to make a good use of it. The fire of his Lordship's features [54]was so completely obscured by his whiskers and mustachios, that it was immediately concluded the shot had proved mortal, till Lord Polly (who had taken refuge for safety behind a neighbouring tree) advancing, drew a bottle from his pocket, which, upon application to his nose, had the desired effect of restoring the half-dead duellist to life and light. The Seconds interfered, and succeeded in bringing the matter to a conclusion, and preventing the expected dissolution of Shampetre, who, report says, has determined not to place himself in such a perilous situation again. The fright caused him a severe illness, from which he has scarcely yet recovered sufficiently to appear in public—I believe that will do, Sir; will you look in the glass—can I make any alteration?”
“Perhaps not in your story,” replied Tom; “and as to my head, so as you do not make it like the one you have been speaking of, I rely solely on your taste and judgment.”
The Peruquier made his bow—“Sir, your politeness is well known!” then turning to Tallyho, “Will you allow me the honour of officiating for you, Sir?”
“Certainly,” replied Bob, who by this time had seen the alteration made in his Cousin's appearance, as well as been delighted with the account of the duel, at which they all laughed during the narration—and immediately prepared for action, while Dashall continued his enquiries as to the fashionable occurrences during his absence.
“There have been some other circumstances, of minor importance,” continued the Peruquier—“it is said that a certain Lord, of high military character, has lost considerable sums of money, and seriously impaired his fortune—Lord —— and a friend are completely ruined at hazard—there was a most excellent mill at Moulsey Hurst on Thursday last, between the Gas-light man, who appears to be a game chicken, and a prime hammerer—he can give and take with any man—and Oliver—Gas beat him hollow, it was all Lombard-street to a china orange. The Masked Festival on the 18th is a subject of considerable attraction, and wigs of every nature, style, and fashion, are in high request for the occasion—The Bob, the Tye, the Natural Scratch, the Full Bottom, the Queue, the Curl, the Clerical, the Narcissus, the Auricula, the Capital, the Corinthian, the Roman, the Spanish, the French, the Dutch—oh! we are full of business just now. Speaking of the art, by the by, reminds me of a circumstance which occurred a very [55]short time back, and which shows such a striking contrast between the low-bred citizens, and the True Blues of the West!—have the kindness to hold your head a little on one side, Sir, if you please—a little more towards the light, if you please—that will do excellently—why you'll look quite another thing!—From the country, I presume?” “You are right,” said Bob, “but I don't want a wig just yet.”
“Shall be happy to fit you upon all occasions—masquerade, ball, or supper, Sir: you may perhaps wish to go out, as we say in the West, in coy.—happy to receive your commands at any time, prompt attention and dispatch.”
“Zounds! you are clipping the wig too close,” said Tom, impatient to hear the story, “and if you go on at this rate, you won't leave us even the tail (tale).”
“Right, Sir, I take—'and thereby hangs a tale.' The observation is in point, verbum sat, as the latinist would say. Well, Sir, as I was saying, a citizen, with a design to outdo his neighbours, called at one of the first shops in London a very short time since, and gave particular orders to have his pericranium fitted with a wig of the true royal cut. The dimensions of his upper story were taken—the order executed to the very letter of the instructions—it fitted like wax—it was nature—nay it soared beyond nature—it was the perfection of art—the very acmé of science! Conception was outdone, and there is no power in language to describe it. He was delighted; his wife was charmed with the idea of a new husband, and he with his new wig; but
“Now comes the pleasant joke of all,
?Tis when too close attack'd we fall.”
 
The account was produced—-would you believe it, he refused to have it—he objected to the price.”
“The devil take it!” said Tom, “object to pay for the acme of perfection; this unnaturally natural wig would have fetched any money among the collectors of curiosities.”
“What was the price?” enquired Bob.
“Trifling, Sir, very trifling, to an artist 'of the first water,' as a jeweller would say by his diamonds—only thirty guineas!!!”
“Thirty guineas!” exclaimed Bob, starting from his seat, and almost overturning the modernizer of his head.
[56]Then, recollecting Sparkle's account of Living in Style, and Good Breeding, falling gently into his seat again.
“Did I hurt you, Sir?” exclaimed the Peruquier.
Dashall bit his lip, and smiled at the surprise of his Cousin, which was now so visibly depicted in his countenance.
“Not at all,” replied Tallyho.
“In two minutes more, Sir, your head will be a grace to; Bond Street or St. James's; it cuts well, and looks well; and if you will allow me to attend you once a month, it will continue so.”
Tom hummed a tune, and looked out of the window; the other two were silent till Bob was released. Tom tip'd the blunt, and the interesting young man made his congé, and departed.
“A very interesting and amusing sort of person,” said Bob.
“Yes,” replied Tom, “he is a walking volume of information: he knows something of every thing, and almost of every body. He has been in better circumstances, and seen a great deal of life; his history is somewhat remarkable, and some particulars, not generally known, have excited a considerable portion of interest in his fate among those who are acquainted with them. He is the son, before marriage, of a respectable and worthy tradesman, a celebrated vender of bear's grease,{1} lately deceased, who
1 The infallibility of this specimen cannot possibly be
doubted, after reading the following
 
Advertisement:
“Bear's grease has virtues, many, great and rare;
To hair decay'd, life, health, and vigour giving;
 
?Tis sold by——, fam'd for cutting hair,
 
At ——-.—————————————————- living.
 
Who then would lose a head of hair for trying?
A thousand tongues are heard 'I won't,' replying;
 
T——r no doubt with bear's grease can supply
A thousand more, when they're dispos'd to buy.
 
No deception!—Seven Bears publicly exhibited in seven
months, and not an agent on the globe's surface.—Sold upon
oath, from 1L. to 10s. 6d.   The smallest child will direct
to ——, near the church—a real Bear over the door,
where a good peruke is charged 1L.. 10s. equal to those
produced by Mr. T., at B——ss's, for 2L. 12s. 6d.—Scalp
10s. 6d. and 6d. only for hair-cutting—never refusing one
shilling.
 
N. B. Bear's-grease effects wonders for the knees &c. of
horses.”
 
[57]resided in the vicinity of Cornhill, and was for many years brought up under his roof as his nephew; in which situation, the elegance of his person, the vivacity of his disposition, and the general information he acquired, became subjects of attraction. His education was respectable for his situation, and his allowance liberal. His father however marrying a young lady of some property, and he, 'gay, light, and airy,' falling into bad hands, found his finances not sufficient to support the company he kept, and by these means involved himself in pecuniary difficulties, which, however, (if report say true) were more than once or twice averted by the indulgent parent. In the course of time, the family was increased by two sons, but he continued the flower of the flock. At length it was intended by his father to retire, in part, from business, and leave its management to this young man, and another who had been many years in his service, and whose successful endeavours in promoting his interest were well deserving his consideration; and the writings for this purpose were actually drawn up. Previous however to their execution, he was dispatched to Edinburgh, to superintend an extensive concern of his father's in that city, where, meeting with an amiable young lady with some expectations, he married without the consent of his parent, a circumstance which drew down upon him the good man's displeasure.
“Not at all dismayed at this, he almost immediately left his father's shop, and set up business for himself in the same neighbourhood, where he continued for two or three years, living, as it was supposed, upon the produce of his matrimonial connexion. At length, however, it was discovered that he was insolvent, and bankruptcy became the consequence. Here he remained till affairs were arranged, and then returned to London with his wife and two children.
“In the mean time, the legitimate family of his father had become useful in the business, and acquainted with his former indiscretions, which, consequently, were not likely to be obliterated from the old gentleman's recollection. Without money and without prospect, he arrived in London, where, for some unliquidated debt, he was arrested and became a resident in the King's Bench, from which he was liberated by the Insolvent Debtor's Act. Emancipated from this, he took small shops, or rather rooms, in various parts of the city, vainly endeavouring to [58]support the character he had formerly maintained. These however proved abortive. Appeals to his father were found fruitless, and he has consequently, after a series of vicissitudes, been compelled to act as a journeyman.
In the career of his youth, he distinguished himself as a dashing, high-spirited fellow. He was selected as fuegel man to a regiment of Volunteers, and made himself conspicuous at the celebrated O. P. row, at the opening of Covent Garden Theatre, on which occasion he attracted the notice of the Caricaturists,{1} and was generally known in the circles of High Life, by his attendance on the first families on behalf of his father.
But perhaps the most remarkable circumstance took place at his deceased parent's funeral. Being so reduced at that time as to have no power even of providing the necessary apparel to manifest the respect, gratitude, and affection, he had ever entertained for the author of his being; and as a natural son has no legal claims upon his father, so naturally nothing was left for him; he applied by letter to the legitimates for a suit of mourning, and permission to attend the remains of their common father to the last receptacle of mortality, which being peremptorily refused, he raised a subscription, obtained clothing, with a gown and hatband, and, as the melancholy procession was moving to the parish church, which was but a few yards distance, he rushed from his hiding-place, stationed himself immediately in the front of the other attendants upon the occasion, and actually accompanied the corpse as chief mourner, having previously concerted with his own mother to be upon the spot. When the body was deposited in the vault, he took her by the hand, led her down the steps, and gave some directions to the bearers as to the situation of the coffin, while the other mourners, panic-struck at the extraordinary circumstances in which they found themselves, turned about and walked in mournful silence back, ruminating on the past with amazement, and full of conjecture for the future.
1 A caricature of a similar nature to the one alluded to by
Dashall in this description, was certainly exhibited at the
time of the memorable 0. P. row, which exhibited a young man
of genteel appearance in the pit of Covent Garden Theatre,
addressing the audience.    It had inscribed at the bottom
of it,
 
Is this Barber-Ross-a?
 
in allusion (no doubt) to the tragedy of Barbarossa.
[59]"It was an extraordinary situation for all parties,” said Bob; “but hold, who have we here?—Egad! there is an elegant carriage drawn up to the door; some Lord, or Nobleman, I'll be bound for it—We can't be seen in this deshabille, I shall make my escape.” And saying this, he was hastening out of the room.
“Ha! ha! ha!” exclaimed Tom, “you need not be so speedy in your flight. This is one of the fashionable requisites of London, with whom you must also become acquainted; there is no such thing as doing without them—dress and address are indispensables. This is no other than one of the decorators.”
“Decorators!” continued Bob, not exactly comprehending him.
“Monsieur le Tailleur—'Tin Mr. W——, from Cork Street, come to exhibit his Spring patterns, and turn us out with the new cut—so pray remain where you are.”
“Tailor—decorator,” said Bob—“Egad! the idea is almost as ridiculous as the representation of the taylor riding to Brentford.”
By this time the door was opened, and Mr. W. entered, making his bow with the precision of a dancing-master, and was followed by a servant with pattern-books, the other apparatus of his trade. The first salutations over, large pattern-books were displayed upon the table, exhibiting to view a variety of fancy-coloured cloths, and measures taken accordingly. During which time, Tom, as on the former occasion, continued his enquiries relative to the occurrences in the fashionable world.
“Rather tame, Sir, at present: the Queen's unexpected visit to the two theatres was for a time a matter of surprise—the backwardness of Drury Lane managers to produce 'God Save the King,' has been construed into disloyalty to the Sovereign—and a laughable circumstance took place on his going to the same house a few nights back, which has already been made the subject of much merriment, both in conversation and caricature. It appears that Mr. Gloss'em, who is a shining character in the theatrical world, at least among the minors of the metropolis; and whose father was for many years a wax-chandler in the neighbourhood of Soho, holds a situation as clerk of the cheque to the Gentlemen Pensioners of his Majesty's household, as well as that of Major Domo, manager and proprietor of a certain theatre, not half a mile from Waterloo Bridge.
[60]A part of his duty in the former capacity is to attend occasionally upon the person of the King, as one of the appendages of Royalty; in which character he appeared on the night in question. The servants of the attendants who were in waiting for their masters, had a room appropriated to their use. One of these latter gentry, no other than Gloss'em's servant, being anxious to have as near a view of the sacred person of his Majesty as his employer, had placed himself in a good situation at the door, in order to witness his departure, when a Mr. Winpebble, of mismanaging notoriety, and also a ponderous puff, assuming managerial authority, espying him, desired the police-officers and guards in attendance to turn out the lamp-lighter's boy, pointing to Gloss'em's servant. This, it seems, was no sooner said than done, at the point of the bayonet. Some little scuffle ensued—His Majesty and suite departed—Hold up your arm, Sir.”
“But did the matter end there?” enquired Dashall.
“O dear, no—not exactly.”
“Because if it did,” continued Tom, “in my opinion, it began with a wax taper, and ended in the smoke of a farthing rushlight. You have made it appear to be a gas-receiver without supplies.”
“I beg pardon,” said Mr. W.; “the pipes are full, but the gas is not yet turned on.”
This created a laugh, and Mr. W. proceeded:—
“The next day, the servant having informed his Master of the treatment he had received, a gentleman was dispatched from Gloss'em to Winpebble, to demand an apology: which being refused, the former, with a large horsewhip under his arm, accosted the latter, and handsomely belaboured his shoulders with lusty stripes. That, you see, Sir, sets the gas all in a blaze.—That will do, Sir.—Now, Sir, at your service,” addressing himself to Tallyho.
“Yes,” said Tom, “the taper's alight again now; and pray what was the consequence?”
“Winpebble called for assistance, which was soon obtained, and away they went to Bow-street. Manager Taper, and Manager Vapour—the one blazing with fire, and the other exhausted with thrashing;—'twas a laughing scene. Manager Strutt, and Manager Butt, were strutting and butting each other. The magistrate heard the case, and recommended peace and quietness between [61]them, by an amicable adjustment. The irritated minds of the now two enraged managers could not be brought to consent to this. Gloss'em declared the piece should be repeated, having been received with the most rapturous applause. Winpebble roundly swore that the piece was ill got up, badly represented, and damn'd to all intents and purposes—that the author had more strength than wit—and though not a friend to injunctions himself, he moved for an injunction against Gloss'em; who was at length something like the renowned John Astley with his imitator Rees:
“This great John Astley, and this little Tommy Rees, Were both bound over to keep the King's Peas.”
Gloss'em was bound to keep the peace, and compelled to find security in the sum of twenty pounds. Thus ended the farce of The Enraged Managers—Drury Lane in a Blaze, or Bow Street bewildered.”
“Ha! ha! ha! an animated sort of vehicle for public amusement truly,” said Tom, “and of course produced with new scenery, music, dresses, and decorations; forming a combination of attractions superior to any ever exhibited at any theatre—egad! it would make a most excellent scene in a new pantomime.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Mr. W. “true, Sir, true; and the duel of Lord Shampetre would have also its due portion of effect; but as his Lordship is a good customer of mine, you must excuse any remarks on that circumstance.”
“We have already heard of his Lordship's undaunted courage and firmness, as well as the correctness of his aim.”
“He! he! he!” chuckled W.; “then I fancy your information is not very correct, for it appears his lordship displayed a want of every one of those qualities that you impute to him; however, I venture to hope no unpleasant measures will result from the occurrence, as I made the very pantaloons he wore upon the occasion. It seems he is considerably cut up; but you must know that, previous to the duel, I was consulted upon the best mode of securing his sacred person from the effects of a bullet: I recommended a very high waistband lined with whale-bone, and well padded with horse-hair, to serve as a breast-plate, and calculated at once to produce warmth, and resist [62]penetration. The pantaloons were accordingly made, thickly overlaid with extremely rich and expensive gold lace, and considered to be stiff enough for any thing—aye, even to keep his Lordship erect. But what do you suppose was the effect of all my care? I should not like to make a common talk of it, but so it certainly was: his Lordship had no objection to the whalebone, buckram, &c. outside of him, but was fearful that if his antagonist's fire should be well-directed, his tender body might be additionally hurt by the splinters of the whalebone being carried along with it, and actually proposed to take them off before the dreadful hour of appointment came on. In this however he was fortunately overruled by his Second, who, by the by, was but a goose in the affair, and managed it altogether very badly, except in the instance of being prompt with the smelling-bottle, which certainly was well-timed; and it would have been a hissing hot business, but for the judicious interference of the other Second.”
A loud laugh succeeded this additional piece of information relative to the affair of honour; and Snip having finished his measurement, colours were fixed upon, and he departed, promising to be punctual in the delivery of the new habiliments on the next day.
“I am now convinced,” said Bob, “of the great importance and utility of a London tradesman, and the speed of their execution is wonderful!”
“Yes,” replied Tom, “it is only to be equalled by the avidity with which they obtain information, and the rapidity with which they circulate it—why, in another half hour your personal appearance, the cut of your country coat, your complexion and character, as far as so short an interview would allow for obtaining it, will be known to all his customers—they are generally quick and acute discerners. But come, we must be making ready for our walk, it is now half-past ten o'clock—Sparkle will be here presently. It is time to be dressing, as I mean to have a complete ramble during the day, take a chop somewhere on the road, and in the evening, my boy, we'll take a peep into the theatre. Lord Byron's tragedy of Marino Faliero is to be performed to-night, and I can, I think, promise you a treat of the highest kind.”
Tallyho, who had no idea of dressing again, having already been obliged to dress twice, seemed a little surprised at the proposition, but supposing it to be the [63]custom of London, nodded assent, and proceeded to the dressing-room. As he walked up stairs he could not help casting his visual orbs over the banisters, just to take a bird's eye view of the scene of his morning disasters, of which, to his great astonishment and surprise, not a vestige remained—a new lamp had been procured, which seemed to have arisen like a phoenix from its ashes, and the stone passage and stairs appeared as he termed it, “as white as a cauliflower.” At the sight of all this, he was gratified and delighted, for he expected to find a heap of ruins to reproach him. He skipped, or rather vaulted up the stairs, three or four at a stride, with all the gaiety of a race-horse when first brought to the starting-post. The rapid movements of a Life in London at once astonished and enraptured him; nor did he delay his steps, or his delight, until he had reached the topmost story, when bursting open the door, lie marched boldly into the room. Here again he was at fault; a female shriek assailed his ear, which stopped his course, and looking around him, he could not find from whence the voice proceeded. “Good God!” continued the same voice, “what can be the meaning of this intrusion?—Begone, rash man.” In the mean time, Tom, who was in a room just under the one into which he had unfortunately made so sudden an entrance, appeared at the door.
“What the devil is the matter now?” said Tom; when spying his cousin in the centre of the room, without seeming to know whether to return or remain, he could not restrain his laughter. Tallyho looked up, like one in a dream—then down—then casting his eyes around him, he perceived in the corner, peeping out from the bed-curtains in which she had endeavoured to hide her almost naked person, the head of the old Housekeeper. The picture was moving, and at the same time laughable. The confusion of Bob—the fright of the Housekeeper, and the laughter of Tom, were subjects for the pencil of a Hogarth!
“So,” said Tom, “you are for springing game in all parts of the house, and at all times too. How came you here?”—“Not by my appointment, Sir,” replied the old lady, who still remained rolled up in the curtain. “I never did such a thing in all my born days: I'm an honest woman, and mean to remain so. I never was so ashamed in all my life.”
[64]"I believe the house is enchanted,” cried Bob; “d—— me, I never seem to step without being on a barrel of gunpowder, ready to ignite with the touch of my foot. I have made some cursed blunder again, and don't seem to know where I am.”
“Come, come,” said Dashall, “that won't do—I'm sure you had some design upon my Housekeeper, who you hear by her own account is a good woman, and won't listen to your advances.”
By this time the servants had arrived at the door, and were alternately peeping in, wondering to see the two gentlemen in such a situation, and secretly giggling and enjoying the embarrassment of the old woman, whose wig lay on the table, and who was displaying her bald pate and shrivelled features from the bed-curtains, enveloped in fringe and tassels, which only served to render them still more ludicrous.
Bob affected to laugh; said it was very odd—he could not account for it at all—stammered out something like an apology—begg'd pardon—it was—a mistake—he really took it for his own room—he never was so bewildered in his life—was very sorry he should cause so much alarm—but really had no sort of intention whatever.
“Well,” said Dashall, “the best reparation you can now make for your intrusion is a speedy retreat. Time is escaping, so come along;” and taking him by the arm, they walked down the stairs together, and then proceeded to re-fit without further obstruction, in order to be ready for Sparkle, who was expected every minute.
The first day of Bob's residence in London had already been productive of some curious adventures, in which he, unfortunately as he considered, had sustained the principal character—a character not altogether suitable to is inclinations or wishes, though productive of much merriment to his ever gay and sprightly Cousin, who had witnessed the embarrassment of his pupil upon his first entrance into Life with ungovernable laughter. It was to him excellent sport, while it furnished a good subject of speculation and conversation among the servants below, but was not so well relished by the affrighted old house-keeper. Indeed, the abrupt entrance of a man into her bed-chamber had so deranged her ideas, that she was longer than usual in decking her person previous to her [65]re-appearance. The tender frame of the old lady had been subjected to serious agitations at the bare idea of such a visit, and the probable imputations that might in consequence be thrown upon her sacred and unspotted character; nor could she for some time recover her usual serenity.
Such was the situation of the parties at the moment we are now describing; but as our Heroes are preparing for an extensive, actual survey of men, manners, and tilings, we shall for the present leave them in peace and quietness, while we proceed to the next chapter.