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

      Approaching her with all the gravity of countenance he was master of—“Madam,” says he, “are we to consider you as one of the Sylvan Deities who preside over these scenes, or connected in any way with the vehicle?”—“Wehicle, indeed, you hunhuman-brutes, instead of assisting a poor distressed female who has been chuck'd from top of that there safety-thing, as they calls it, into such a dangerous pisition, you must be chuckling and grinning, must you? I only wish my husband, Mr. Giblet, was here, he should soon wring your necks, and pluck some of your fine feathers for you, and make you look as foolish as a peacock without his tail.” Mrs. Giblet's ire at length having subsided, she was handed down in safety on terra firma, and our heroes transferred their assistance to the other passengers. The violence of the concussion had burst open the coach-door on one side, and a London Dandy, of the exquisite genus, lay in danger of being pressed to a jelly beneath the weight of an infirm and very stout old farmer, whom they had pick'd up on the road; and it was impossible to get at, so as to afford relief to the sufferers, till the coach was raised in a perpendicular position. The farmer was no sooner on his legs, than clapping his hand with anxious concern into an immense large pocket, he discovered that a bottle of brandy it contained was crack'd, and the contents beginning to escape: “I ax pardon, young gentleman,” says he, seizing a hat that the latter held with great care in his hand, and applying it to catch the liquor—“I ax pardon for making so free, but I see the hat is a little out of order, and can't be much hurt; and its a pity to waste the liquor, such a price as it is now-a-days.”—“Sir, what do you mean, shouldn't have thought of your taking such liberties indeed, but makes good the old saying—impudence and ignorance go together: my hat out of order, hey! I'd have you to know, Sir, that that there hat was bought of Lloyd, in Newgate-street,{1} only last Thursday,-and cost eighteen shillings; and if you look at the book in his vindow on hats, dedicated to the head, you'll find that this here hat is a real exquisite; so much for what you know about hats, my old fellow—I burst my stays all to pieces in saving it from being squeezed out of shape, and now this old brute has made a brandy-bottle of it.”—“Oh! oh! my young Miss in disguise,” replied the farmer, “I thought I smelt a rat when the Captain left the coach, under pretence of walking up the hill—what, I suppose vou are bound for Gretna, both of vou, hev young Lady?”

      Every thing appertaining to the coach being now righted, our young friends left the company to adjust their quarrels and pursue their journey at discretion, anxious to reach the next town as expeditiously as possible, where they purposed sleeping for the night. They mounted the tandem, smack went the whip, and in a few minutes the stage-coach and its motley group had disappeared.

      Having reached their destination, and passed the night comfortably, they next morning determined to kill an hour or two in the town; and were taking a stroll arm in arm, when perceiving by a playbill, that an amateur of fashion from the theatres royal, Drury Lane and Haymarket, was just come in, and would shortly come out,

      1 It would be injustice to great talents, not to notice,

      among other important discoveries and improvements of the

      age, the labours of Lloyd, who has classified and arranged

      whatever relates to that necessary article of personal

      elegance, the Hat. He has given the world a volume on the

      subject of Hats, dedicated to their great patron, the Head,

      in which all the endless varieties of shape, dependent

      before on mere whim and caprice, are reduced to fixed

      principles, and designated after the great characters by

      which each particular fashion was first introduced. The

      advantages to gentlemen residing in the country must be

      incalculable: they have only to refer to the engravings in

      Mr. Lloyd's work, where every possible variety is clearly

      defined, and to order such as may suit the rank or character

      in life they either possess, or wish to assume. The

      following enumeration comprises a few of the latest fashions:

      —The Wellington—The Regent—The Caroline—The

      Bashful—The Dandy—The Shallow—The Exquisite—The Marquis

      —The New Dash—The Clerieus—The Tally-ho—The Noble Lord—

      The Taedum—The Bang-up—The Irresistible—The Bon Ton—The

      Paris Beau—The Baronet—The Eccentric—The Bit of Blood,

      &c.

      in a favourite character, they immediately directed their steps towards a barn, with the hope of witnessing a rehearsal. Chance introduced them to the country manager, and Tom having asked several questions about this candidate, was assured by Mr. Mist:

      “Oh! he is a gentleman-performer, and very useful to us managers, for he not only finds his own dresses and properties, but 'struts and frets his hour on the stage without any emoluments. His aversion to salary recommended him to the lessee of Drury-lane theatre, though his services had been previously rejected by the sub-committee.”

      “Can it be that game-cock, the gay Lothario,” said Tom, “who sports an immensity of diamonds?”—

      Of Coates's frolics he of course well knew, Rare pastime for the ragamuffin crew! Who welcome with the crowing of a cock, This hero of the buskin and sock.

      “Oh! no,” rejoined Mr. Mist, “that cock don't crow now: this gentleman, I assure you, has been at a theatrical school; he was instructed by the person who made Master Bettv a young Roscius.”

      Tom shook his head, as if he doubted the abilities of this instructed actor. To be a performer, he thought as arduous as to be a poet; and if poeta nascitur, non fit—consequently an actor must have natural abilities.

      “And pray what character did this gentleman enact at Drury-lane Theatre?”

      “Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,” answered Mr. Mist—“Shakespeare is his favourite author.”

      “And what said the critics—'to be, or not to be'—I suppose he repeated the character?”

      “Oh! Sir, it was stated in the play-bill, that he met with great applause, and he was announced for the character again; but, as the Free List was not suspended, and our amateur dreaded some hostility from that quarter, he performed the character by proxy, and repeated it at the Little Theatre in the Haymarket.”

      “Then the gentlemen of the Free List,” remarked Bob, “are free and easy?”

      “Yes—yes—they laugh and cough whenever they please: indeed, they are generally excluded whenever a full house is expected, as ready money is an object to the poor manager of Drury-lane Theatre. The British Press, however, is always excepted.”

      “The British press!—Oh! you mean the newspapers,” exclaimed Tom—“then I dare say they were very favourable to this Amateur of Fashion?”

      “No—not very—indeed; they don't join the manager in his puffs, notwithstanding his marked civility to them: one said he was a methodist preacher, and sermonized the character—another assimilated him to a school-boy saying his lesson—in short, they were very ill-natured—but hush—here he is—walk in, gentlemen, and you