A smart, clever-looking boy of about fifteen years of age darted forward to execute the honourable's commands; when having received the requisite information from the waiter, he approached the lieutenant and his friend, and with great politeness, but no lack of confidence, made the wishes of his master known to the bon vivants; the consequence was, an immediate interchange of civilities, which brought the honourable into close contact with his merry neighbours; and the result, a unanimous resolution to make a night of it.
At this moment our tête-à-tête was interrupted by the appearance of old Crony, who, stanch as a well-trained pointer to the scent of game, had tracked me hither from my lodgings; from him I learned the lieutenant was a fellow of infinite jest and sterling worth; a descendant of the O'Farellans of Tipperary, whose ancestry claimed precedence of King Bryan Baroch; a specimen of the antique in his composition, robust, gigantic, and courageous; time and intestine troubles had impaired the fortunes of his house, but the family character remained untainted amid the conflicting revolutions that had convulsed the emerald isle. Enough, however, was left to render the lieutenant independent of his military expectations: he had joined the army when young; seen service and the world in many climates; but the natural uncompromising spirit which distinguished him, partaking perhaps something too much of the pride of ancestry, had hitherto prevented his soliciting the promotion he was fairly entitled to. Like a majority of his countrymen, he was cold and sententious as a Laplander when sober, and warm and volatile as a Frenchman when in his cups; half a dozen duels had been the natural consequence of an equal number of intrigues; but although the scars of honour had seared his manly countenance, his heart and person were yet devoted to the service of the ladies. Fame had trumpeted forth his prowess in the wars of Venus, until notoriety had marked him out an object of general remark, and the king's lieutenant was as proud of the myrtle-wreath as the hero of Waterloo might be of the laurel crown.
But see, the door opens; how perfumed, what style! Long bows to the earth. What an exquisite smile! Such a coffee-house visitor banishes pain: While Optimus rising, cries "Welcome, Joe Hayne! May you never want cash, boy—here, waiter, a glass; Lieutenant, you'll join us in toasting a lass. I'll give you an actress—Maria the fair." "I'll drink her; but, Tom, you have ruined me there. By my hopes! I am blown, cut, floor'd, and rejected, At the critical moment, sirs, when I expected To revel in bliss. But, here's white-headed Bob, My prime minister; he shall unravel the job. And if Jackson determines you've not acted well, I'll mill you, Tom Optimus, though you're a swell." "Sit down, Joe; be jolly—'twas Carter alone That has every obstacle in your way thrown. Nay, never despair, man—you'll yet be her liege; But rally again, boy, you'll carry the siege." Thus quieted, Joe sat him down to get mellow; For Joe at the bottom's a hearty good fellow.
"Have you heard the report," said Optimus, "that Harborough is actually about to follow your example, and marry an actress? ay, and his old flame, Mrs. Stonyhewer, is ready to die of love and a broken heart in consequence."
"Just as true, my jewel, as that I shall be gazetted field-marshal; or that you, Mr. Optimus, will be accused of faithfulness to Lady Emily. Our young friend here, the rich commoner, has given currency to such a variety of common reports, that the false jade grows bold enough to beard us in our very teeth."
"Why, zounds! lieutenant," said Lionise, "how very sentimental you are becoming."
"It's a way of mine, jewel, to appear singular in some sort of society."
"And satirical in all, I'll vouch for you, lieutenant;" said Optimus.
"By Jasus, you've hit it! if truth be satire, it's a language I love, although it's not very savoury to some palates."
"Will the duke marry the banker's widow, Joel that's the grand question at Tattersall's, now your match with Maria's off, and Earl Rivers's greyhounds are disposed of. Only give me the office, boy, in that particular, and I'll give you a company to-morrow, if money will purchase one; and realize a handsome fortune by betting on the event."
"Then I'll bet Cox and Greenwood's cash account against the commander-in-chief's, that the widow marries a Beau-clerc, becomes in due time Duchess of St. Alban's, and dies without issue, leaving her immense property as a charitable bequest to enrich a poor dukedom; and thus, having in earlier life degraded one part of the peerage, make amends to the Butes, the Guildfords, and the Burdetts, by a last redeeming act to another branch of the aristocracy."
"At it again, lieutenant; firing ricochet shot, and knocking down duck and drake at the same time."
"Sure, that has been the great amusement of my life; in battle and abroad I have contrived to knock down my share of the male enemies of my country; in peace and at home I've a mighty pleasant knack of winging a few female bush fighters."
"But the widow, my dear fellow, is now a woman of high {2} character; has not the moral Marquis of Hertford undertaken to remove all ———and disabilities? and did he not introduce the lady to the fashionable world at his own hotel, the Piccadilly (peccadillo) Guildhall? Was not the fête at Holly Grove attended by H.R.H. the Duke of York, and Mrs. C—y, and all the virtuous portion of our nobility? and has she not since been admitted to the parties at the Duke of "Query—did Mr. Optimus mean high as game is high?
Devonshire's, and what is still more wonderful, been permitted to appear at court, and since, in the royal presence, piously introduced to the whole bench of Bishops?"
"By Jasus, that's true; and I beg belle Harriette's pardon. But, I well remember, I commanded the cityguard in the old corn-market, Dublin, on the very night her reputed father, jolly Jack Kinnear, as the rebels called him, contrived to wish us good morning very suddenly, and took himself off to the sate of government."
I shall be obliged to entertain the world with a few of her eccentricities some day or other; the ghost of poor Ralph Wewitzer cries loudly for revenge. The sapient police knight, when he secured the box of letters for his patroness, little suspected that they had all been previously copied by lieutenant Terence O'Farellan of the king's own. A mighty inquisitive sort of a personage, who will try his art to do her justice, spite of "leather or prunella."
The party was at this moment increased by the arrival of Lord William, on whose friendly arm reposed the Berkley Adonis—"par nobile fratrum."
"Give me leave, lieutenant," said his lordship, "to introduce my friend the colonel." "And give me leave," whispered Optimus, "to withdraw my friend Hayne, for 'two suns shine not in the same hemisphere.'"
"The man that makes a move in the direction of the door makes me his enemy," said the lieutenant, loudly. And the whole party were immediately seated.
Hitherto, my friend Crony and myself had been too pleasantly occupied with the whim, wit, and anecdote of the lieutenant, to pay much attention to the individuality of character that surrounded the festive board; but, having now entered upon our second bottle, the humorist commenced his satirical sketches.—
"Holding forth to the gaze of this fortunate time The extremes of the beautiful and the sublime."
"Suppose I commence with the pea-green count," said Crony. "I know the boy's ambition is notoriety; and an artist who means to rise in his profession should always aim at painting first-rate portraits, well-known characters; because they are sure to excite public inquiry, thus extending the artist's fame, and securing the good opinion of his patrons by the gratification of their unlimited vanity. The sketch too may be otherwise serviceable to the rising generation; the Mr. Greens and Newcomes of the world of fashion, if they would avoid the sharks who infest the waters of pleasure, and are always on the anxious look-up for a nibble at a new 'come out.'
"The young exquisite's connexion with the fancy, or rather with the lowest branch of that illustrious body, the bruising fraternity and their boon companions, had been, though not an avowed, a real source of jealousy to many of his dear bosom friends at Long's hotel, from the moment of the count's making his début,
into the fashionable world. That he would be ultimately floored by his milling protégés it did not require the sagacity of a conjurer to foresee; nor was it likely that the term of such a catastrophe would be so tediously delayed, as to subject any one who might be eager to witness its arrival to that sickness of the heart which arises from hope deferred. But this process for scooping out the Silver (or Foote) Ball, as he has since been designated, by no means suited the ideas of the worthies before alluded to. The learned Scriblerus makes mention of certain doctors,{3} frequently seen at White's in his day, of a modest and upright appearance, with no air of overbearing, and habited like true masters of arts in black and white only. They were justly styled, says the above high authority,
subtiles and graves, but not always irrefragabiles, being sometimes examined and, by a nice distinction, divided and laid open. The descendants of these doctors still exist, and have not degenerated, either in their numbers or their merits, from their predecessors. They take up their principal residence in some well-known mansions about the neighbourhood of the court, and many of the gentlemen who honoured the count with their especial notice on his entrée into public life are understood to be familiarly acquainted with them. Now could they have only instilled into the young gentleman a wish to be introduced to these doctors, or once prevailed upon him to take them in hand for the purpose of deciding what might be depending upon the result of the investigation; nay, could they even have spurred him on to an exhibition of his tactics, in manoeuvring
they could have so delightfully abridged the task which to their impatient eyes appeared to be much too slow in executing, could have spared their dear friend so much unnecessary time and labour in disencumbering himself of the superfluity of worldly dross which had fallen to his share. A little cogging, sleeving, and palming; nay, a mere spindle judiciously planted, or a few long ones introduced on the weaving system, could have effected in one evening what fifty milling matches, considering the 'glorious uncertainty' attaching to pugilistic as well as legal contests, might fail to accomplish. By this method, too, the person in whom they kindly took so strong an interest would, even when he had lost every thing, have escaped the imputation of having dissipated his property. It would have been comfortably distributed in respectable dividends among a few gentlemen of acknowledged talent, instead of floating in air like the leaves of the
Sibyl, and alighting in various parts of the inner and outer ring; now depositing a few cool hundreds in the pockets of a sporting Priestley bookseller, or the brother of a Westminster Abbott; now contributing a small modicum to brighten the humbler speculations of the Dean-street casemen, or the Battersea gardener.
"But to this conclusion Horatio would not come. He was good for backing and betting on pugilists, but on the turf he would do little, and at the tables nothing. His zealous friends had therefore no chance in the way they would have liked best; but being men of the world, and knowing, like Gay's bear, that
they did not disdain to make the most in their power by watching the motions of his hobby, and if this was not a sufficient prize to furnish much cause for exultation, it was at least one that it would have been unwise to reject.
"A contemporary writer has exerted to the utmost the very little talent he possesses to represent the peagreen's uniform resistance to all the temptations of cards and dice, as a proof of his possessing a strength of mind and decision of character rarely found in young men of his fortune and time of life. In the elegant language of this apologist, the count, by this prudent abstinence, 'has shown himself not half so green as some supposed, and the sharps, and those who have tried on the grand mace with him, have discovered that he was no flat.' How far this negative eulogium may be gratifying to the feelings of the individual on whom it is bestowed, I will not say; in my character of English Spy I have been under the necessity of carefully observing this fortunate youth, depuis que la rose venait d'eclore, in other words, from the time that he became, or rather might have become, his own master; and I should certainly not attribute his refraining from the tables to any superior strength of mind: indeed, it would be singular if such a characteristic belonged to a man whose own hired advocate could only vindicate his client's heart at the expense of his head. Pope tells us, that to form a just estimate of any one's character, we must study his ruling passion; and by adopting this rule, we shall soon obtain a satisfactory clew both to the exquisite count's penchant for the prize-ring, and his aversion to the hells. Some persons exhibit an inexplicable union of avarice and extravagance, of parsimony and prodigality—something of this kind is observable in the gentleman in question. But self predominates with him in all; and being joined to rather alow species of vanity, and a strong inclination to be what is vulgarly called cock of the walk, it has uniformly displayed itself in an insatiate thirst for notoriety. Now pugilists, from the very nature of their profession, must be public characters; while the gamester, to the utmost of his power, does what he does 'by stealth, and blushes to find it fame.' To be the patron of some noted bruiser, to bear him to the field of action in your travelling barouche, accompanied by Tom Crib the XX champion, Tom Spring the X champion, Jack Langan and Tom Cannon the would-be champions, and Lily White Richmond, is sure to make your name as notorious, though perhaps not much more reputable, than those of your associates; but the man who, like 'the youth that fired the Ephesian dome,' aims at celebrity alone, in frequenting the purlieus of the gaming-house only 'wastes his sweetness on the desert air.' Moreover, the members of the Ebony Clubs being compelled to assume the appearance, and adopt the manners, insensibly imbibe too much of the feelings of gentlemen, to be likely to pay, to the most passive pigeon that ever submitted to rooking, the cap in hand homage rendered by a practitioner within the pins and binders of the prize-ring to the swell who takes five pounds worth of benefit tickets, or stands a fifty in the stakes for a milling match.
"These motives seem to me sufficient to have prompted the count's predominating attachment to the prize-ring and its heroes, which, however, having as I have before remarked, been viewed with no favourable eye by some of his comrades, his recent ill-luck at Warwick could hardly be expected to escape the jests and sarcasms of his bottle companions."
"'Fore God," said Optimus, "this backing of your man against the black diamond has been but a bad spec. Out heavyish I suppose, ay, Joe?"
Count. Why, a stiffish bout, I must confess; and what's more, I'm not by any means without my suspicions about the correctness of the thing.
Optimus. What, cross and jostle work again? a second edition of Virginia Water? But I thought you felt assured that Cannon would not do wrong for the wealth of Windsor Castle?
Count. True, I did feel so, and others confirmed me in my assurance, but I believe I was wofully mistaken; and curse me if I don't think they were all in the concern of doing me.
Optimus. Was not there a floating report about the bargeman receiving a thousand to throw it over?
Count. Something of the sort; but I don't believe it. Two bills for five hundred, but so drawn that they could not be negotiated. I shall certainly, said the count, give notice to the stake-holders not to give up the battle-money for the present.
Optimus. Pshaw! that will never do. A thing of that nature must be done at the time. Besides, Cannon stood two hundred in his own money, and says he will freely pay his losses.
Count. A pretty do that, when he had a cheque of mine for the sum he put down. But I've stopped payment of that at my banker's.
Optimus. And will as surely be obliged to revoke that order, as well as to give up disputing the stakes. No, no, Joe; get out of the business now as you can, and cut it. I always thought and told you, that I thought your man had no chance. But his going to fight so out of condition, in a contest where all his physical powers were necessary, does look as if you had been put in for a piece of ready made luck. But what could you expect? Can any good thing come out of Nazareth? That a gentleman can patronize such fellows!
Count. I am still of opinion that the spirit of national courage is much promoted————
Optimus. Spirit of a fiddle-stick! Nonsense, man; that card will win no trick now. You, like others might have thought so once; but you have seen enough by this time to know that the system is on altogether a different tack; that its stanchest upholders and admirers are bullies, sharpers, pickpockets, pothouse keepers, coachmen, fradulent bankrupts, the Jon Bee's and big B's, and all the lowest B's of society in station and character, whose only merit, if such it can be called, is the open disclaiming of any thing like honour or principle. And after having been a patron of such a set of wretches, you will end by becoming, according to circumstances, the object of their vulgar abuse, or the butt of their coarse ridicule.
"The latter, I understand,"said Lord William, "is pretty much the case already. A friend of mine was telling me, that one of the precious brotherhood, on hearing that Joe meant to dispute his bets, asked what better could be expected from a Foote-mam out of place?"
"No more of that, Hal, if thou lovest him," exclaimed Optimus, who immediately perceived, by his countenance, that the last hit had been too hard. Much more has been said upon this affair than it is worth. Let us change the subject.
"By my conscience," exclaimed the lieutenant, "and here's an excellent episode to wind up the drama with, headed, 'The Foote Ball's farewell to the Ring:' I'll read it you, with permission, and afterwards, colonel, you shall have a copy of it for next Sunday's 'Age;' it will save the magnanimous little B., your accommodating editor, or his locum tenens, the fat Gent, the trouble of straining their own weak noddles to produce any more soft attempts at the scandalous and the sarcastic.
"By the honour of my ancestry," rejoined the Gloucestershire colonel, "do you take me for a reporter to the paper in question?"
"Why not?" said the lieutenant, coolly: "if you are not a reporter and a supporter too, my gallant friend, by the powers of Poll Kelly but you are the most ill-used man in his majesty's dominions!"
"Sir, I stand upon my honour," said the colonel, petulantly.
"By the powers, you may, and very easily too," whispered O'Farellan, in a side speech to his left hand companion; "for it has been trodden under Foote by others these many months. To be plain with you, colonel, there are certain big whispers abroad, that you and your noble associate, the amiable yonder, with that beautiful obliquity of vision, which is said to have pierced the heart of a northern syren, are the joint Telegraphs of the Age. Sure no man in his senses can suspect Messieurs the Conducteurs of knowing any thing of what passes in polished life, or think—
"Ah, my dear Wewitzer," said Belle Harriet, now Mrs. Goutts, speaking to the late comedian, of some female friend, "she has an eye! an eye, that would pierce through a deal board." "By heavens," said Wewitzer, "that must be then a gimhlet eye." of charging them with any personal knowledge of the amusing incidents they pretend to relate, beyond a certain little wanton's green room on dits, or the chaste conversations of the blushless naiads who sport and frolic in the Cytherian mysteries which are nightly performed in the dark groves of Vauxhall. Take a word of advice from an old soldier, colonel: It is worse than leading a forlorn hope to attempt to storm a garrison single handed; club secrets must be protected by club laws, for 'tis an old Eton maxim, that tales told out of school generally bring the relater to the block. But my friend Stanhope will no doubt explain this matter with a much better grace when he comes in contact with the tale-bearer."
"Hem," instinctively ejaculated Horace C——-t, the once elegant Apollo of Hyde Park, "thereby hangs a tale; 'tis a vile Age, and the sooner we forget it, the better—I am for love and peace." "i.e. a piece" responded the lieutenant. Horace smiled, and continued, "Come, Tom Duncombe, I'll give our mutual favourite, the female Giovanni. Lads, fill your glasses; we toast a deity, and one, too, who has equal claims upon most of us for the everlasting favours she has conferred."
"'Fore Gad, lieutenant," simpered out Lord William, squaring himself round to resume the conversation with the veteran, "if you do not mind your hits, we must positively cut. My friend, the colonel, will certainly set his blacks{5} upon you, and I shall be obliged to speak to little magnanimous, the ex-Brummagem director, to strike off a counterfeit impression of you in his scandalous Sunday chronicle, 'pon honour, I must."
"The divil a care," said the lieutenant, laughingly; "to arms with you, my lord William; my fire engine will soon damp the ardour of little magnanimous, and an extra dose of Tom Bish's compounds put his friend, the fat Gent, where his readers have long been, in sweet somniferous repose. But zounds, gentlemen, I am forgetting the count, whose pardon I crave, for bestowing my attention on minor constellations while indulged with the overpowering brilliancy of his meteoric presence."
"The 'Farewell to the Ring,'" vociferated the count. "Come, lieutenant, give us the episode: I long to hear all my misfortunes strung together in rhyme."
"By the powers, you shall have it, then; and a true history it is, as ever was said or sung in church, chapel, or conventicle, with only one little exception—by the free use of poetic license, the satirist has fixed his hero in a very embarrassing situation—just locked him up at Radford's steel Hotel in Carey Street, Chancery Lane, coning over a long bill of John Long's, and a still longer one of the lawyers, with a sort of codicil, by way of refresher, of the house charges, and a smoking detainer tacked on to its tail, by Hookah Hudson, long enough to put any gentleman's pipe out.
There's the argument, programme, or fable. Now for the characters; they are all drawn from the life by the English Spy (see plate), under the amusing title of 'Morning, and in Low Spirits, a scene in a Lock-up House;' a very appropriate spot for a lament to the past, and
The reading of this morceau produced, as might have been expected, considerable merriment on the one hand, and some little discussion upon the other; the angry feelings of the commander in chief and his pals overbalancing the mirthful by their solemnly protesting against the exposure of the secrets of the prison house, which, in this instance, they contended, were violently distorted by some enemy to the modern accomplishment of pugilism. In a few moments all was chaos, and the stormy confusion of tongues, prophetk: of the affair ending in a grand display and milling catastrophe; the apprehensions of which induced John Long, and John Long's man, to be on the alert in removing the service, en suite, of superb cut glass, which had given an additional lustre to the splendour of the dessert. The arrival of other characters, and the good humour of the count, joined to a plentiful supply of soda water and iced punch, had, however, the effect of cooling the malcontents, who had no sooner recovered their wonted hilarity, than old Crony proceeded to particularize, by a comparison of the past with the present, interspersing his remarks with anecdotes of the surrounding group. "These are your modern men of fashion," said Crony; "and the specimen you have this day had of their conduct and pursuits an authority you may safely quote as one generally characteristic.
'To support this new fashion in circles of ton. New habits, new thoughts, must of course be put on; Taste, feeling, and friendship, laid by on the shelf, And nothing or worshipp'd, or thought of, but—self.'
"It was not thus in the days of our ancestors: the farther we look back, the purer honour was. In the days of chivalry, a love promise was a law; the braver the knight, the truer in love: then, too, religion, delicacy, sentiment, romantic passion, disinterested friendship, loyalty to king, love of country, a thirst for fame, bravery, nay, heroism, characterized the age, the nation, the noble, the knight, and esquire. Mercy! what 'squires we have now-a-days! At a more recent date, all was courtliness, feeling, high sentiment, proud and lofty bearing, principle, the word inviolable, politeness at its highest pitch of refinement: lovers perished to defend their ladies' honour; now they live to sully it: the nobility and the people were distinct in dress and address; but, above all, amenity and good-breeding marked the distinction, and the line was unbroken. Now, dress is all confusion, address far below par, amenity is a dead letter, and as to breeding, it is confined to the breeding of horses and dogs, except when law steps in to encourage the breeding of disputes; not to mention the evils arising from crossing the old breed; nor can we much wonder at it, when we reflect on the altered way of life, the change of habits, and the declension of virtue, arising from these very causes.
"Men of family and fashion, in those golden days, passed their time in courts, in dancing-rooms, and at clubs composed of the very cream of birth and elegance. You heard occasionally of Lord Such-a-one being killed in a duel, or of the baronet or esquire dying from cold caught at a splendid fête, or by going lightly clad to his magnificent vis-à-vis, after a select masquerade; but you never read his death in a newspaper from a catarrh caught in the watch-house, from & fistic fight, or in a row at a hell—things now not astonishing, since even men with a title and a name of rank pass their time in the stable, at common hells, at the Fives-court—the hall of infamy; in the watch-house, the justice-room, and make the finish in the Fleet, King's Bench, or die in misery and debt abroad. In the olden times, a star of fashion was quoted for dancing at court, for the splendour of his equipages, his running footmen and black servants, his expensive dress, his accomplishments, his celebrity at foreign courts, his fine form, delicate hand, jewels, library, &c. &c. Now fame (for notoriety is so called) may be obtained by being a Greek, or Pigeon, by being mistaken for John the coachman, when on the box behind four tits; by being a good gentleman miller, by feeding the fancy, standing in print for crim. con., breaking a promise of marriage once or twice, and breaking as many tradesmen as possible afterwards; breaking the watchman's head on the top of the morn; and lastly, breaking away (in the skirmish through life) for Calais, or the Low Countries. There is as much difference between the old English gentleman and him who ought to be the modern representative of that name, as there is between a racer and a hack, a fine spaniel and a cross of the terrier and bull dog. In our days of polish and refinement, we had a Lord Stair, a Sedley, a Sir John Stepney, a Sir William Hamilton, and many others, as our ambassadors, representing our nation as the best bred in the world; and by their grace and amiability, gaining the admiration of the whole continent. We had, in remoter times, our Lords Bolingbroke, Chesterfield, and Lyttleton, our Steele, &c, the celebrated poets, authors, and patterns of fashion and elegance of the age. We had our Argyle,
We had our virtuosi of the highest rank, our rich and noble authors in abundance. The departed Byron stood alone to fill their place. The classics were cultivated, not by the learned profession only, but by the votaries of fashion. Now, our Greek scholars are of another cast.{6} In earlier days the chivalrous foe met his opponent in open combat, and broke a lance for the amusement of the spectators, while he revenged his injuries in public. Now, the practice of duelling{7} has become almost a profession, and the privacy with which it is of necessity conducted renders it always subject to suspicion (see plate); independent of which, the source of quarrel is too often beneath the dignity of gentlemen, and the wanton sacrifice of life rather an act of bravado than of true courage.{7}