Lack a day! what a gay What a wonderful great town!
In each street, thousands meet,
All parading up and down.
Crossing—jostling—strutting—running,
Hither—thither—going—coming;
Hurry—scurry—pushing—driving,
Ever something new contriving.
Oh! what a place, what a strange London Town,
On every side, both far and wide, we hear of its renown.
[353] Escorting to the ever-varying promenade of fashion, the Hon. Tom Dashall and his Cousin Bob, whose long protracted investigation of Life in London was now drawing to a close, proceeded this morning to amuse themselves with another lounge in Bond-street: this arcadia of dignified equality was thronged, the carriage-way with dashing equipages, and the pave with exquisite pedestrians. Here was one rouged and whiskered; there another in petticoats and stays, while his sister, like an Amazon, shewed her nether garments half way to the knee. Then “passed smiling by” a Corinthian bear, in an upper benjamin and a Jolliffe shallow. A noted milliner shone in a richer pelisse than the Countess, whom the day before she had cheated out of the lace which adorned it. The gentleman with the day-rule, in new buckskins and boots, and mounted on a thorough-bred horse, quizzed his retaining creditor, as he trotted along with dusty shoes and coat; the “lady of easy virtue” stared her keeper's wife and daughter out of countenance. The man milliner's shop-boy, en passant, jogged the duke's elbow; and the dandy pickpocket lisped and minced his words quite as well as my lord.
Tom pointed out some of the more dashing exhibitants; and Bob inquiring the name of a fine woman, rather en bon point, with a French face, who was mounted on a chesnut hunter, and whom he had never before seen in the haunts [354] of fashion—“That lady,” said he, “goes by the name of Speculator; her real name is Mademoiselle Leverd, of the Theatre Fran?ais at Paris: she arrived in this country a month since, to “have an opportunity of displaying her superior talents; though it is whispered that the object of her journey was not altogether in the pursuit of her profession, but for the purpose of making an important conquest.”
“And who is that charming woman,” continued Bob, “in the curricle next to L———d F———?”
“That,” returned Tom, “is Mrs. Orbery Hunter. The beautiful man next you, is the “commercial dandy,” or as Lord G——l styles him, Apollo; and his Lordship is a veracious man, on which account R——— calls G——— his lyre.”
“Ah, do you see that dashing fellow in the Scotch cloak, attended by a lad with his arm in a sling? That is the famous Sir W. M———,who doubles his income by gambling speculations; and that's one of his decoys, to entrap young country squires of fortune to dine with him, and be fleeced. In return, he is to marry him (on condition of receiving ￡100. for every thousand) to an heiress, the daughter of his country banker.”
“Why, all the first whips in the female world are abroad to-day. There is the flower of green Erin, Lady Foley. See with what style she fingers the ribbans. Equally dexterous at the use of whip and tongue; woe to the wight who incurs the lash of either.
“That reverend divine in the span new dennet and the Jolliffe shallow, who squares his elbows so knowingly, as he rubs on his bit of blood, is Parson A———. He is the proprietor of the temple of gaming iniquity, at No. 6, Pall Mall. He is a natural son of Lord B———re, by whom he was brought up, liberally educated, and presented with church preferments of considerable value. He married, in early life, the celebrated singer, Miss M—h—n, whom he abandoned, with his infant family. This lady found a protector for herself and children in the person of the Rev. Mr. P———s, and having since obtained a divorce from her former husband, has been married to him. The parson boasts of his numerous amours, and, a few years since, took the benefit of the act. Before he ventured upon the splendid speculations at the Gothic Hall, with F———r T———n, Mr. Charles S———, and Lord D———, he used to frequent the most notorious g———g houses, [355] occasionally picking up a half crown as the pigeons were knocked down by the more wealthy players. But, chousing his colleagues out of their shares, and getting the Gothic Hall into his own hands, he has become the great man you see, and may truly be called by the title of autocrat of all the Greeks.
“And who,” inquired Bob, “is that gay careless young fellow in the Stanhope, who sits so easy while his horse plunges?”
“That,” replied Tom, “is the Hon. and Rev. Fitz S———, with the best heart, best hand, and the best leg in Bond-street. He is really one of the most fascinating men in polished society, and withal, the best judge of a horse at Tattersalls, of a dennet at Long Acre, or a segar in Maiden Lane.”
“You need not tell me who that is on the roan horse, with red whiskers and florid complexion. (The Earl of Y———, of course). Madame B. tells a curious story of him and a filly belonging to Prince Paul. His Lordship had a great desire to ride the said filly, and sent Madam B. to know the terms. 'Well!' said his Lordship, when she returned—'Fifty pounds,' she replied.—'Hem!' said his lordship, 'I will wait till next year, and can have her for five-and-twenty.'”
“By this hand, another female equestrian de figure.' That tall young woman on the chesnut, is Lady Jane P———, sister of Lord U———. They say, that she has manifested certain pawnbroking inclinations, and has shewn a partiality in partnership at Almack's, to the golden balls. “That fine young woman, leaning out of the carriage window, whose glossy ringlets are of the true golden colour, so much admired by the dandies of old Rome, is his Lordship's wife. He's not with her. But you know he shot Honey at Cumberland Gate, when he was two hundred miles off, and therefore he may be in the carriage, though he's away.
“The person in the shabby brown coat is the Duke of Argyle. The pair of horses that draw his carriage is the only job that Argyle ever condescended to engage in.”
“And who is that fat ruddy gentleman, in the plain green coat, and the groom in grey?”
[356] “What, you're not up to the change of colour? That's our old friend the Duke again, and the grey livery augurs, (if I mistake not), a visit to Berkeley square. His R——— H——— must take good care, or that bit of blood will be seized while standing at the door of the Circe, as his carriage was the other day, by the unceremonious nabman. But that's nothing to what used to occur to the Marquis of W———. They say, that if he deposited a broach, a ring, or a watch upon his table, a hand and arm, like that of a genius in a fairy tale, was seen to introduce itself bon-gre, mal-gre, through the casement, and instantly they became 'scarce.'”
“But I have heard,” said Bob, “of a fashionable nabman asking the Duke the time, and politely claiming the watch as soon as it was visible.”
The most prominent characters of the lounge had now disappeared, and Tom and Bob pursuing their course, found themselves in a few minutes in Covent Garden, from whence, nothing occurring of notice, they directed their steps towards Bow-street, with the view of deriving amusement from the proceedings of justice in the principal office on the establishment of the metropolitan police, and in this anticipation they were not disappointed.{1}
1 More Life in St. Giles's.—Mr. Daniel Sullivan, of
Tottenham Court Road, green-grocer, fruiterer, coal and
potatoe merchant, salt lish and Irish pork-monger, was
brought before the magistrate on a peace-warrant, issued at
the suit of his wife, Mrs. Mary Sullivan. Mrs. Sullivan is
an Englishwoman, who married Mr. Sullivan for love, and has
been “blessed with many children by him.” But
notwithstanding she appeared before the magistrate with her
face all scratched and bruised, from the eyes downward to
the tip of her chin; all which scratches and bruises, she
said, were the handy-work of her husband.
 
The unfortunate Mary, it appeared, married Mr. Sullivau
about seven years ago; at which time he was as polite a
young Irishman as ever handled a potatoe on this side the
Channel; he had every thing snug and comfortable about him,
and his purse and his person, taken together, were
“ondeniable.” She herself was a young woman genteely brought
up—abounding in friends and acquaintance, and silk gowns,
with three good bonnets always in use, and black velvet
shoes to correspond. Welcome wherever she went, whether to
dinner, tea, or supper, and made much of by every body. St.
Giles' bells rang merrily at their wedding—a fine fat leg
of mutton and capers, plenty of pickled salmon, three ample
dishes of salt fish and potatoes, with pies, pudding and
porter of the best, were set forth for the bridal supper;
all the most “considerablest” families in Dyott Street and
Church Lane, were invited, and every thing promised a world
of happiness—and for five long years they were happy. She
loved, as Lord Byron would say, “she loved and was beloved;
she adored and she was worshipped;” but Mr. Sullivau was too
much like the hero of the Lordship's tale—his affections
could not “hold the bent,” and the sixth year had scarcely
commenced, when poor Mary discovered that she had “outlived
his liking.” From that time to the present he had treated
her continually with the greatest cruelty; and, at last,
when by this means he had reduced her from a comely young
person to a mere handful of a poor creature, he beat her,
and turned her out of doors.
 
This was Mrs. Sullivan's story; and she told it with such
pathos, that all who heard it pitied her, except her
husband.
 
It was now Mr. Sullivan's turn to speak. Whilst his wife was
speaking, he had stood with his back towards her, his arms
folded across his breast to keep down his choler; biting his
lips and staring at the blank wall; but the moment she had
ceased, he abruptly turned round, and, curiously enough,
asked the magistrate whether Mistress Sullivau had done
spaking.
 
“She has,” replied his worship; “but suppose you ask her
whether she has any thing more to say.”
 
“I shall, Sir!” exclaimed the angry Mr. Sullivan. “Mistress
Sullivan, had you any more of it to say '!”
 
Mrs. Sullivan raised her eyes to the ceiling, clasped her
hands together, a............