~204~~

musical amateur B——-h, supported by the director De R-s on one hand, and the communicative manager, John Ebers, of Bond-street, on the other; in a snug corner on the right hand of the mirror was seated one of his majesty's most honourable privy council, the Earl of W——-d, with a double Dollond's operatic magnifier in his hand, studying nature from this most delightful of all miniature models. "A most perfect divinity," whispered the exquisite. "A glorious fine study," said Transit,—and, pulling out his card-case and pencil, retired to one corner of the room, to make a mem., as he called it, of the scene. (See Plate.) "Who the deuce is that eccentric-looking creature with the Marquis of Hertford?" said I. "Hush," replied the exquisite, "for heaven's sake, don't expose yourself! Not to know the superlative roue of the age, the all-accomplished Petersham, would set you down for a barbarian at once." "And who," said I, "is the amiable fair bending before the admiring Worter?" "An old and very dear acquaintance of the Earl of F-e, Mademoiselle Noblet, who, it is said, displays much cool philosophy at the inconstancy of her once enamoured swain, consoling herself for his loss, in the enjoyment of a splendid annuity." A host of other bewitching forms led my young fancy captive by turns, as my eye travelled round the magic circle of delight: some were, I found, of that yielding spirit, which can pity the young heart's fond desire; with others had secured honourable protection: and if his companion's report was to be credited, there were very few among the enchanting spirits before yet with whom that happiness which springs from virtuous pure affection was to be anticipated. If was no place to moralize, but, to you who know my buoyancy of spirit, and susceptibility of mind, I must confess, the reflection produced a momentary pang of the keenest misery.



THE ROYAL SALOON.

Visit of Heartly, Lionise, and Transit—Description of the Place—Sketches of Character—The Gambling Parsons—Horse Chaunting, a true Anecdote—Bang and her Friends—Moll Raffle and the Marquis W.—The Play Man—The Touter—The Half-pay Officer—Charles Rattle, Esq.—Life of a modern Roue-B——— the Tailor—The Subject—Jarvey and Brooks the Dissector— "Kill him when you want him"

205~ After the opera, Bob Transit proposed an adjournment to the Royal Saloon, in Piccadilly, a place of fashionable resort (said Bob) for shell-fish and sharks, Greeks and pigeons, Cyprians and citizens, noble and ignoble—in short, a mighty rendezvous, where every variety of character is to be found, from the finished sharper to the finished gentleman; a scene pregnant with subject for the pencil of the humorist, and full of the richest materials for the close observer of men and manners. Hither we retired to make a night of it, or rather to consume the hours between midnight and morning's dawn. The place itself is fitted up in a very novel and attractive style of decoration, admirably calculated for a saloon of pleasure and refreshment; but more resembling a Turkish kiosk than an English tavern. On the ground floor, which is of an oblong form and very spacious, are a number of divisions enclosed on each side with rich damask curtains, having each a table and seats for the reception of supper or drinking parties; at the extreme end, and ~206~~ on each side, mirrors of unusual large dimensions give an infinity of perspective, which greatly increases the magnificence of the place. In the centre of the room are pedestals supporting elegant vases filled with choice exotics. A light and tasteful trellis-work surrounds a gallery above, which forms a promenade round the room, the walls being painted to resemble a conservatory, in which the most luxuriant shrubs are seen spreading their delightful foliage over a spacious dome, from the centre of which is suspended a magnificent chandelier. Here are placed, at stated distances, rustic tables, for the accommodation of those who choose coffee and tea; and leading from this, on each side, are several little snug private boudoirs for select parties, perfectly secure from the prying eye of vulgar curiosity, and where only the privileged few are ever permitted to enter. It was in this place, surrounded by well-known Greeks, with whom he appeared to be on the most intimate terms, that Transit pointed out to my notice the eccentric Vicar of K**, the now invisible author of L****, whose aphorisms and conduct bear not the slightest affinity to each other—nor was he the only clerical present; at the head of a jolly party, at an adjoining table, sat the ruby-faced Parson John A——-e, late proprietor of the notorious Gothic Hall, in Pall Mall, a man of first rate wit and talent, but of the lowest and most depraved habits. "The Divine is a character" said Bob, "who, according to the phraseology of the ring, is 'good at every thing:' as he came into the world without being duly licensed, so he thinks himself privileged to pursue the most unlicensed conduct in his passage through it. As a specimen of his ingenuity in horse-dealing, I'll give you an anecdote.—It is not long since that the parson invited a party of bucks to dinner, at his snug little villa on the banks of the Thames, near Richmond, in Surrey. Previous to the repast, the reverend 207~ led his visitors forth to admire the gardens and surrounding scenery, when just at the moment they had reached the outer gate, a fine noble-looking horse was driven past in a tilbury by a servant in a smart livery.—'What a magnificent animal!' said the parson; 'the finest action I ever beheld in my life: there's a horse to make a man's fortune in the park, and excite the envy and notice of all the town.' 'Who does he belong to?' said a young baronet of the party, who had just come out. 'I'll inquire,' said the parson: 'the very thing for you, Sir John.' Away posts the reverend, bawling after the servant, 'Will your master sell that horse, my man?' 'I can't say, sir,' said the fellow, 'but I can inquire, and let you know.' 'Do, my lad, and tell him a gentleman here will give a handsome price for him.' Away trots the servant, and the party proceed to dinner. As soon as the dessert is brought in, and the third glass circulated, the conversation is renewed relative to the horse—the whole party agree in extolling his qualities; when, just in the nick of time, the servant arrives to say his master being aged and infirm, the animal is somewhat too spirited for him, and if the gentleman likes, he may have him for one hundred guineas. 'A mere trifle,' vociferates the company. 'Cheap as Rivington's second-hand sermons,' said the parson. The baronet writes a check for the money, and generously gives the groom a guinea for his trouble—drives home in high glee—and sends his servant down next morning to the parson's for his new purchase—orders the horse to be put into his splendid new tilbury, built under the direction of Sir John Lade—just reaches Grosvenor-gate from Hamilton-place in safety, when the horse shows symptoms of being a miller. Baronet, nothing daunted, touches him smartly under the flank, when up he goes on his fore-quarters, smashes the tilbury into ten thousand pieces, bolts away with the traces and shafts, and leaves the baronet with a broken head ~208~~ on one side of the road, and his servant with a broken arm on the other. 'Where the devil did you get that quiet one from, Sir John!' said the Honourable Fitzroy St——-e, whom the accident had brought to the spot.

'The parson bought him of an old gentleman at Richmond yesterday for me.' 'Done, brown as a berry,' said Fitzroy: 'I sold him only on Saturday last to the reverend myself for twenty pounds as an incurable miller. Why the old clerical's turned coper{1}—;a new way of raising the wind—letting his friends down easy—gave you a good dinner, I suppose, Sir John, and took this method of drawing the bustle{2} for it: an old trick of the reverend's.' After this it is hardly necessary to say, the servant was a confederate, and the whole affair nothing more or less than a true orthodox farce of horse chaunting,{3} got up for the express purpose of raising a temporary supply."{4}

1 A horse-dealer.

2 Money.

3 Tricking persons into the purchase of unsound or vicious horses.

4 A practice by no means uncommon among a certain description of dashing characters, who find chaunting a horse to a green one, a snug accidental party at chicken hazard, or a confederacy to entrap some inexperienced bird of fashion, where he may be plucked by Greek banditti, pay exceedingly well for these occasional dinner parties.

At this moment our attention was engaged by the entrance of a party of exquisites and elegantes, dressed in the very extreme of opera costume, who directed their steps to the regions above us. "I'll bet a hundred," said the honourable, "I know that leg," eyeing a divine little foot and a finely turned ankle that was just then discernible from beneath a rich pink drapery, as the possessor ascended the gallery of the conservatory, lounging on the arm of the Irish Earl of C———; " the best leg in England, and not a bad figure for an ancient," continued Lionise: "that is the celebrated Mrs. Bertram, alias Bang—everybody 209~ knows Bang; that is, every body in the fashionable world. She must have been a most delightful creature when she first came out, and has continued longer in bloom than any of the present houris of the west; but I forgot you were fresh, and only in training, Heartly—I must introduce you to Bang: you will never arrive at any eminence among the haut classe unless you can call these beauties by name." "And who the deuce is Bang?" said I: "not that elegantly-dressed female whom I see tripping up the gallery stairs yonder, preceded by several other delightful faces." "The same, my dear fellow: a fallen star, to be sure, but yet a planet round whose orbit move certain other little twinkling luminaries whose attractive glimmerings are very likely to enlighten your obscure sentimentality. Bang was the daughter of a bathing-woman at Brighton, from whence she eloped early in life with a navy lieutenant-has since been well known as a dasher of the first water upon the pave—regularly sports her carriage in the drive—and has numbered among her protectors, at various times, the Marquis W———, Lord A———, Colonel C———, and, lastly, a descendant of the mighty Wallace, who, in an auto-biographical sketch, boasts of his intimacy with this fascinating cyprian. She has, however, one qualification, which is not usually found among those of her class—she has had the prudence to preserve a great portion of her liberal allowances, and is now perfectly independent of the world. We must visit one of her evening parties in the neighbourhood of Euston-square, when she invites a select circle of her professional sisters to a ball and supper, to which entertainment her male visitors are expected to contribute liberally. She has fixed upon the earl, I should think, more for the honour of the title than with any pecuniary hopes, his dissipation having left him scarce enough to keep up appearances." "The amiable who precedes her," said I, "is of the same class, I ~210~~ presume—precisely, and equally notorious." "That is the celebrated Mrs. L———, better known as Moll Raffle, from the circumstance of her being actually raffled for, some years since, by the officers of the seventh dragoons, when they were quartered at Rochester: like her female friend, she is a woman of fortune, said to be worth eighteen hundred per annum, with which she has recently purchased herself a Spanish cavalier for a husband. A curious anecdote is related of Moll and her once kind friend, the Marquis of W————, who is said to have given her a bond for seven thousand pounds, on a certain great house, not a mile from Hyde-park corner, which he has since assigned to a fortunate general, the present possessor; who, thinking his title complete, proceeded to take possession, but found his entry disputed by the lady, to whom he was eventually compelled to pay the forfeiture of the bond. Come along, my boy," said Lionise; "I'll introduce you at once to the whole party, and then you can make your own selection." "Not at present: I came here for general observation, not private intrigue, and must confess I have seldom found a more diversified scene."

"I beg pardon, gentlemen," said an easy good-looking fellow, with something rather imposing in his manner—"Shall I intrude here?—will 'you permit me to take a seat in your box?" "By all means," replied I; Bob, at the same moment, pressing his elbow into my side, and the exquisite raising his glass very significantly to his eye, the stranger continued—"A very charming saloon this, gentlemen, and the company very superior to the general assemblage at such places: my friend, the Earl of C———, yonder, I perceive, amorously engaged; Lord P———, too, graces the upper regions with the delightful Josephine: really this is quite the cafe royal of London; the accommodation, too, admirable—not merely confined to refreshments; I am told there are excellent billiard ~211~~ tables, and snug little private rooms for a quiet rubber, or a little chicken hazard. Do you play, gentlemen? very happy to set you for a main or two, by way of killing time." That one word, play, let me at once into the secret of our new acquaintance's character, and fully explained the distant reception and cautious bearing of my associates. My positive refusal to accommodate produced a very polite bow, and the party immediately retired to reconnoitre among some less suspicious visitants. "A nibble," said Transit, "from an ivory turner."{5} "By the honour of my ancestry," said Lionise, "a very finished sharper; I remember Lord F——— pointing him out to me at the last Newmarket spring meeting, when we met him, arm in arm, with a sporting baronet. What the fellow was, nobody knows; but he claims a military title—captain, of course—perhaps has formerly held a lieutenancy in a militia regiment: he now commands a corps of sappers on the Greek staff, and when he honoured us with a call just now was on the recruiting service, I should think; but our friend, Heartly, here, would not stand drill, so he has marched off on the forlorn hope, and is now, you may perceive, concerting some new scheme with a worthy brother touter,{6} who is on the half pay of the British army, and receives full pay in the service of the Greeks. We must make a descent into hell some night," said Transit, "and sport a few crowns at roulette or rouge et noir, to give Heartly his degree. We shall proceed regularly upon college principles, old fellow: first, we will visit the Little Go in King-street, and then drop into the Great Go, alias Watiers, in Piccadilly; after which we can sup in Crockford's pandemonium among parliamentary pigeons, unfledged

5 A tats man, a proficient with the bones, one who knows every chance upon the dice.

6 A decoy, who seduces the young or inexperienced to the gaming table, and receives a per centage upon their losses.

212~ ensigns of the guards, broken down titled legs, and ci-devant bankers, fishmongers, and lightermen; and here comes the very fellow to introduce us—an old college chum, Charles Rattle, who was expelled Brazennose for smuggling, and who has since been pretty well plucked by merciless Greek banditti and Newmarket jockeys, but who bears his losses with the temper of a philosopher, and still pursues the destructive vice with all the infatuation of the most ardent devotee." "How d'ye do, old fellows?—how d'ye do? Who would have thought to have met the philosopher (pointing to me) at such a place as this, among the impures of both sexes, legs and leg-ees? Come to sport a little blunt with the table or the traders, hey! Heartly? Always suspected you was no puritan, although you wear such a sentimental visage. Well, old fellows, I am glad to see you, however,—come, a bottle of Champagne, for I have just cast off all my real troubles—had a fine run of luck to-night—broke the bank, and bolted with all the cash. Just in the nick of time-off for Epsom to-morrow—double my bets upon the Derby, and if the thing comes off right, I'll give somebody a thousand or two to tie me up from playing again above five pounds stakes as long as I live. The best thing you ever heard in your life—a double to do. Ned C——-d having heard I had just received a few thousands, by the sale of the Yorkshire acres, planned it with Colonel T——- to introduce me to the new club, where a regular plant was to be made, by some of his myrmidons, to clear me out, by first letting me win a few thousands, when they were to pounce upon me, double the stakes, and finish me off in prime style, fleecing me out of every guinea—very good-trick and tie, you know, is fair play—and for this very honest service, my friend, the colonel, was to receive a commission, or per centage, in proportion to my losses: the very last man in the world that the old pike could ~213~~ have baited for in that way—the colonel's down a little, to be sure, but not so low as to turn confederate to a leg—so suppressed his indignation at the proposition, and lent himself to the scheme, informing me of the whole circumstances—well, all right—we determined to give the old one a benefit—dined with him to-day—a very snug party—devilish good dinner—superb wines—drank freely—punished his claret—and having knocked about Saint Hugh's bones{7} until I was five thousand in pocket, politely took my leave, without giving the parties their revenge. Never saw a finer scene in the course of my life-such queer looks, and long faces, and smothered wailings when they found themselves done by a brace of gudgeons, whom they had calculated upon picking to the very bones! Come, old fellows, a toast: Here's Fishmonger's Hall, and may every suspected gudgeon prove a shark."

The bottle now circulated freely, and the open-hearted Rattle delighted us with the relation of some college anecdotes, which I shall reserve for a hearty laugh when we meet. The company continued to increase with the appearance of morning; and here might be seen the abandoned profligate, with his licentious female companion, completing the night's debauch by the free use of intoxicating liquors—the ruined spendthrift, fresh from the gaming-table, loudly calling for wine, to drown the remembrance of his folly, and abusing the drowsy waiter only to give utterance to his irritated feelings. In a snug corner might be seen a party of sober, quiet-looking gentlemen, taking their lobster and bucellas, whose first appearance would impress you with the belief of their respectability, but whom, upon inquiry, you would discover to be Greek banditti, retired hither to divide their ill gotten spoils. It was among a party of this description that Rattle pointed out a celebrated writer, whose lively style and accurate description of

7 Saint Hugh's bones, a cant phrase for dice.

214~ men and manners display no common mind. Yet here he was seen associated with the most depraved of the human species—the gambler by profession, the common cheat! What wonder that such connexions should have compelled him for a time to become an exile to his country, and on his return involved him in a transaction that has ended in irretrievable ruin and disgrace? "By the honour of my ancestry," said Lionise, "yonder is that delectable creature, old Crony, the dinner many that is the most surprising animal we have yet found among the modern discoveries—polite to and point—always well dressed—keeps the best society—or, I should say, the best society keeps him: to an amazing fund of the newest on dits and anecdotes of ton, always ready cut and dried, he joins a smattering of the classics, and chops logic with the learned that he may carve their more substantial fare gratis; has a memory tenacious as a chief judge on matter of invitation, and a stomach capacious as a city alderman in doing honour to the feast; pretends to be a connoisseur in wines, although he never possessed above one bottle at a time in his cellaret, I should think, in the whole course of his life; talks about works of art and virtu as if Sir Joshua Reynolds had been his nurse—Claude his intimate acquaintance—or Praxiteles his great great grandfather. The fellow affects a most dignified contempt for the canaille, because, in truth, they never invite him to dinner—is on the free list of all the theatres, from having formerly been freely hiss'd upon their boards—a retired tragedy king on a small pension, with a republican stomach, who still enacts the starved apothecary at home, from penury, and liberally crams his voracious paunch, stuffing like Father Paul, when at the table of others. With these habits, he has just managed to scrape together some sixty pounds per annum, upon which, by good management, he contrives to live like an emperor; for instance, he keeps a regular book of ~215 invitations, numbers his friends according to the days of the year, and divides and subdivides them in accordance with their habits and pursuits, so that an unexpected invitation requires a reference to his journal: if you invite him for Saturday next, he will turn to his tablets, apologise for a previous engagement, run his eye eagerly down the column for an occasional absentee, and then invite himself for some day in the ensuing week, to which your politeness cannot fail to accede. You will meet him in London, Brighton, Bath, Cheltenham, and Margate during the fashionable periods; at all of which places he has his stated number of dinner friends, where his presence is as regularly looked for as the appearance of the swallow. Among the play men he is useful as a looker on, to make one at the table when they are thin of customers, or to drink a young one into a proper state for plucking: in other society he coins compliments for the fair lady of the mansion, extols his host's taste and good fellowship at table, tells a smutty story to amuse the bon vivants in their cups, or recites a nursery rhyme to send the children quietly to bed; and in this manner Crony manages to come in for a good dinner every day of his life. Call on him for a song, and he'll give you, what he calls, a free translation of a Latin ode, by old Walter de Mapes, Archdeacon of Oxford in the eleventh century, a true gourmands prayer—

1 Mihi est propositum in taberna mon.' I'll try and hum you Crony's English version of the CANTILENA.

'I'll in a tavern end my days, midst boon companions merry, Place at my lips a lusty flask replete with sparkling sherry, That angels, hov'ring round, may cry, when I lie dead as door-nail, 'Rise, genial deacon, rise, and drink of the well of life eternal.'

*****

~216~~ 'Various implements belong to ev'ry occupation; Give me an haunch of venison—and a fig for inspiration! Verses and odes without good cheer, I never could indite 'em; Sure he who meagre, days devised is d——-d ad infinitum!

*****

'Mysteries and prophetic truths, I never could unfold 'em Without a flagon of good wine and a slice of cold ham; But when I've drained my liquor out, and eat what's in the dish up, Though I am but an arch-deacon, I can preach like an arch- bishop.'"

"A good orthodox ode," said Transit, "and admirably suited to the performer, who, after all, it must be allowed, is a very entertaining fellow, and well worthy of his dinner, from the additional amusement he affords. I remember meeting him in company with the late Lord Coleraine, the once celebrated Colonel George Hanger, when he related an anecdote of the humorist, which his lordship freely admitted to be founded on fact. As I have never seen it in print, or heard it related by any one since, you shall have it instanter: It is well known that our present laughter-loving monarch was, in earlier years, often surrounded, when in private, by a coruscation of wit and talent, which included not only the most distinguished persons in the state, but also some celebrated bon vivants and amateur vocalists, among whom the names of the Duke of Orleans, Earl of Derby, Charles James Fox, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the facetious poet laureat to the celebrated Beefsteak club, Tom Hewardine, Sir John Moore, Mr Brownlow, Captain Thompson, Bate Dudley, Captain Morris, and Colonel George Hanger, formed the most conspicuous characters at the princely anacreontic board. But

'Who would be grave—when wine can save The heaviest soul from thinking, And magic grapes give angel's shapes To every girl we're drinking!'

217~ It was on one of these festive occasions, when whim, and wit, and sparkling wine combined to render the festive scene the 'Feast of reason and the flow of soul,' that the Prince of Wales invited himself and his brother, the Duke of York, to dine with George Hanger. An honour so unlooked for, and one for which George was so little prepared (as he then resided in obscure lodgings near Soho-square), quite overpowered the Colonel, who, however, quickly recovering his surprise, assured his royal highness of the very high sense he entertained of the honour intended him, but lamented it was not in his power to receive him, and his illustrious brother, in a manner suitable to their royal dignity. 'You only wish to save your viands, George,' said the prince: 'we shall certainly dine with you on the day appointed; and whether you reside on the first floor or the third, never mind—the feast will not be the less agreeable from the altitude of the apartment, or the plainness of the repast.' Thus encouraged, George was determined to indulge in a joke with his royal visitors. On the appointed day, the prince and duke arrived, and were shown up stairs to George's apartments, on the second floor, where a very tasteful banquet was set out, but more distinguished by neatness than splendour: after keeping his illustrious guests waiting a considerable period beyond the time agreed on, by way of sharpening their appetites, the prince good-humouredly inquired what he meant to give them for dinner?' Only one dish,' said George; 'but that one will, I flatter myself, be a novelty to my royal guests, and prove highly palatable.' 'And what may that be?' said the prince. 'The wing of a wool-bird,' replied the facetious colonel. It was in vain the prince and duke conjectured what this strange title could import, when George appeared before them with a tremendous large red baking dish, ~218~~ smoking hot, in which was supported a fine well-browned shoulder of mutton, dropping its rich gravy over some crisp potatoes. The prince and his brother enjoyed the joke amazingly, and they have since been heard to declare, they never ate a heartier meal in their life, or one (from its novelty to them in the state in which it was served up), which they have relished more. George had, however, reserved a bonne bouche, in a superb dessert and most exquisite wines, for which the prince had heard he was famous, and which was, perhaps, the principal incitement to the honour conferred."

After a night spent in the utmost hilarity, heightened by the vivacity and good-humour of my associates, to which might be added, the full gratification of my prevailing penchant for the observance of character, we were on the point of departing, when Transit, ever on the alert in search of variety, observed a figure whom (in his phrase) he had long wished to book; in a few moments a sketch of this eccentric personage was before us. "That is the greatest original we have yet seen," said our friend Bob: "he is now in the honourable situation of croupier to one of the most notorious hells in the metropolis. This poor devil was once a master tailor of some respectability, until getting connected with a gang of sharpers, he was eventually fleeced of all his little property: his good-natured qualifications, and the harmless pleasantries with which he abounds, pointed him out as a very proper person to act as a confederate to the more wealthy legs; from a pigeon he became a bird of prey, was enlisted into the corps, and regularly initiated into all the diabolical mysteries of the black art. For some time he figured as a decoy upon the town, dressed in the first style of fashion, and driving an unusually fine horse and elegant Stanhope, until a circumstance, arising out of a ~219~~ joke played off upon him by his companions, when in a state of intoxication, made him so notorious, that his usefulness in that situation was entirely frustrated, and, consequently, he has since been employed within doors, in the more sacred mysteries of the Greek temple. The gentleman I mean is yonder, with the Joliffe tile and sharp indented countenance: his real name is B———; but he has now obtained the humorous cognomen of 'The subject' from having been, while in a state of inebriety, half stripped, put into a sack, and in this manner conveyed to the door of Mr. Brooks, the celebrated anatomist in Blenheim-street, by a hackney night-coachman, who was known to the party as the resurrection Jarvey. On his being deposited in this state at the lecturer's door, by honest Jehu, who offered him for sale, the surgeon proceeded to examine his subject, when, untying the sack, he discovered the man was breathing: 'Why, you scoundrel,' said the irritable anatomist, 'the man's not dead.' 'Not dead!' re-echoed coachee, laughing at the joke, 'Why, then, kill him when you want him!' The consequence of this frolic had, however, nearly proved more serious than the projectors anticipated: the anatomist, suspecting it was some trick to enter his house for burglarious purposes, gave the alarm, when Jarvey made his escape; but poor B———was secured, and conveyed the next morning to Marlborough-street, where it required all the ingenuity of a celebrated Old Bailey solicitor to prevent his being committed for the attempt to rob a bonehouse."

After this anecdote, we all agreed to separate. Transit would fain have led us to the Covent-garden finish, which he describes as being unusually rich in character; but this was deferred until another night, when I shall introduce you to some new acquaintances.—Adieu. Lady Mary Oldstyle and the D'Almaine family are off to-morrow for Brighton, from which place expect some few descriptive sketches.

Horatio Heartly.



THE SPREAD,{1} OR WINE PARTY AT BRAZEN-NOSE.

~220~~

"Hear, Momus, hoar! blithe sprite, whose dimpling cheek Of quips, and cranks ironic, seems to speak, Who lovest learned victims, and whose shrine Groans with the weight of victims asinine. Nod with assent! thy lemon juice infuse! Though of male sex, I woo thee for a Muse."

A College Wine Party described—Singular Whim of Horace Eglantine—Meeting of the Oxford Crackademonians—Sketches of eccentric Characters, drawn from the Life—The Doctor's Daughter—An old Song—A Round of Sculls—Epitaphs on the Living and the Dead—Tom Tick, a College Tale—The Voyagers —Notes and Anecdotes.

A college wine party I could very well conceive from the specimen I had already of my companion's frolicsome humours, was not unlikely to produce some departure from college rules which might eventually involve me in rustication, fine, or imposition. To avoid it was impossible; it was the first invitation of an early friend, and must be obeyed. The anticipation of a bilious head-ache on the morrow, or perhaps a first appearance before, or lecture from, the vice-chancellor, principal, or proctor, made me somewhat tardy in my appearance at the spread. The butler was just marching a second

1 A spread. A wine party of from thirty to one hundred and twenty persons. The party who gives the spread generally invites all the under-graduates he is acquainted with; a dessert is ordered either from Jubber's, or Sadler's, for the number invited, for which he is charged at per head.

~221~~ reinforcement of black men, or heavy artillery from the college magazine, across the quadrangle, for the use of the dignitaries' table; when I, a poor solitary freshman, advanced with sentimental awe and fearful stride beneath the arched entrance of Brazen-nose. Where Eglantine's rooms were situated I had no means of knowing, his card supplying only the name of his college; to make some inquiry would be necessary, but of whom, not a creature but what appeared much too busily employed, as they ran to and fro laden with wine and viands, to answer the interrogatories of a stranger. I was on the point of retreating to obtain the requisite information from the waiter at the Mitre, when old Mark Supple made his appearance, with "Your servant, sir: I have been in search of you at your inn, by command of Mr. Eglantine, take notice—who with a large party of friends are waiting your company to a spread." "A large party, Mark?" said I, suspecting there was some secret drama in rehearsal, in which I was to play a principal part. "A very large party, sir, and a very extraordinary one too, take notice—such a collection as I never saw before within the walls of a college—living curiosities, take notice—all the comicals of Oxford brought together,{2} and this 2 This adventure, strange as it may appear, actually occurred a short time since, when Mr. J*****n of Brazen-nose invited the characters here named to an entertainment in the College. Sir Richard Steele, when on a visit to Edinburgh, indulged in a similar freak: he made a splendid feast, and whilst the servants were wondering for what great personages it was intended, he sent them into the streets, to collect all the eccentrics, beggars, and poor people, that chance might throw in their way, and invite them to his house. A pretty large party being mustered, they were well plied with whiskey-punch and wine; when, forgetting their cares, and free from all restraint, they gave loose to every peculiarity of their respective characters. When the entertainment was over, Sir Richard declared, that besides the pleasure of filling so many hungry bellies, and enjoying an hour of rich amusement, he had gleaned from them humour enough to form a good comedy, or at least a farce.

THE SPREAD, OR WINE PARTY AT BRAZEN-NOSE 223

is what Mr. Eglantine calls his museum of character, but which I should call a regiment of caricatures, take notice—but I heard him say, that he had invited them on purpose to surprise you; that he knew you was fond of eccentricity, and that he thought he had prepared a great treat. I only wish he may get rid of them as easily as he brought them there, for if the bull-dogs should gain scent of them there would be a pretty row, take notice." Mark's information, instead of producing the alarm he evidently anticipated, had completely dispelled all previous fears, and operated like the prologue to a rich comedy, from which I expected to derive considerable merriment: following, therefore, my conductor up one flight of stairs on the opposite side of the space from which I had entered, I found myself at the closed oak of my friend. "Mr. Eglantine is giving them a chaunt" said Mark, who had applied his ear to the key-hole of the door: "we must wait till the song is over, or you will be fined in a double bumper of bishop, for interrupting the stave, take notice." Curiosity prompted me to follow Mark's example, when I overheard Horace chanting part of an old satirical ballad on John Wilkes, to the tune of the Dragon of Wantley; commencing with—

And ballads I have heard rehearsed By harmonists itinerant, Who modern worthies celebrate, Yet scarcely make a dinner on't. Some of whom sprang from noble race, And some were in a pig-sty born, Dependent upon royal grace Or triple tree of Tyburn.

CHORUS. John Wilkes he was for Middlesex, They chose him knight of the shire: He made a fool of alderman Bull, And call'd parson Home a liar.

~224~~ The moment silence was obtained, old Mark gave three distinct knocks at the door, when Horace himself appeared, and we were immediately admitted to the temple of the Muses; where, seated round a long table, appeared a variety of characters that would have rivalled (from description) the Beggars' Club in St. Giles's—the Covent-Garden Finish—or the once celebrated Peep o' day boys in Fleet-lane. At the upper end of the table were Tom Echo and Bob Transit, the first smoking his cigar, the second sketching the portraits of the motley group around him on the back of his address cards; at the lower end of the room, on each side of the chair from which Eglantine had just risen to welcome me, sat little Dick Gradus, looking as knowing as an Old Bailey counsel dissecting a burglary case, and the honourable Lillyman Lionise, the Eton exquisite, looking as delicate and frightened as if his whole system of ethics was likely to be revolutionized by this night's entertainment. To such a society a formal introduction was of course deemed essential; and this favour Horace undertook by recommending me to the particular notice of the crackademonians (as he was pleased to designate the elegant assemblage by whom we were then surrounded), in the following oration: "Most noble cracks, and worthy cousin trumps—permit me to introduce a brother of the togati, fresh as a new-blown rose, and innocent as the lilies of St. Clement's. Be unto him, as ye have been to all gownsmen from the beginning, ever ready to promote his wishes, whether for spree or sport, in term or out of term—against the Inquisition and their bull-dogs—the town raff and the bargees—well blunted or stiver cramped—against dun or don—nob or big wig—so may you never want a bumper of bishop: and thus do I commend him to your merry keeping." "Full charges, boys," said Echo, "fill up their glasses, Count Dennett{3}; 3 Count Dennett, hair-dresser at Corpus and Oriel Colleges, a very eccentric man, who has saved considerable property; celebrated for making bishops' wigs, playing at cribbage, and psalm-singing.

~225~~Here's Brother Blackmantle of Brazen-nose." "A speech, a speech!" vociferated all the party. "Yes, worthy brother cracks," replied I, "you shall have a speech, the very acme of oratory; a brief speech, composed by no less a personage than the great Lexicographer himself, and always used by him on such occasions at the club in Ivy-lane. Here's all your healths, and Esto perpetua." "Bravo!" said Eglantine;" the boy improves. Now a toast, a university lass—come, boys, The Doctor's Daughter; and then a song from Crotchet C—ss."{4}

BURTON ALE. AN ANCIENT OXFORD DITTY.

Of all the belles who Christ Church bless, None's like the doctor's daughter{5}; Who hates affected squeamishness Almost as much as water. Unlike your modern dames, afraid Of Bacchus's caresses; She far exceeds the stoutest maid Of excellent queen Bess's.

Hers were the days, says she, good lack, The days to drink and munch in; When butts of Burton, tuns of sack, Wash'd down an ox for luncheon. Confound your nimpy-pimpy lass, Who faints and fumes at liquor; Give me the girl that takes her glass Like Moses and the vicar.

4 Mr. C—ss, otherwise Crotchet C—ss, bachelor of music, and organist of Christ Church College, St. John's College, and St. Mary's Church. An excellent musician, and a jolly companion: he published, some time since, a volume of chants.

5 A once celebrated university toast, with whose eccentricities we could fill a volume; but having received an intimation that it would be unpleasant to the lady's feelings, we gallantly forbear.

~226~~

True emblem of immortal ale, So famed in British lingo; Stout, beady, and a little stale— Long live the Burton stingo!

"A vulgar ditty, by my faith," said the exquisite, "in the true English style, all fol de rol, and a vile chorus to split the tympanum of one's auricular organs: do, for heaven's sake, Echo, let us have some divertissement of a less boisterous character." "Agreed," said Eglantine, winking at Echo; "we'll have a round of sculls. Every man shall sing a song, write a poetical epitaph on his right hand companion, or drink off a double dose of rum booze."{6} "Then I shall be confoundedly cut," said Dick Gradus, "for I never yet could chant a stave or make a couplet in my life." "And I protest against a practice," said Lionise, "that has a tendency to trifle with one's transitory tortures." "No appeal from the chair," said Eglantine: "another bumper, boys; here's The Fair Nuns of St. Clement's." "To which I beg leave to add," said Echo, "by way of rider, their favourite pursuit, The Study of the Fathers." By the time these toasts had been duly honoured, some of the party displayed symptoms of being moderately cut, when Echo commenced by reciting his epitaph on his next friend, Bob Transit:—

Here rests a wag, whose pencil drew Life's characters of varied hue, Bob Transit—famed in humour's sphere For many a transitory year. Though dead, still in the "English Spy" He'll live for ever to the eye. Here uncle White{7} reclines in peace, Secure from nephew and from niece.

6 Rum booze—Flip made of white or port wine, the yolks of eggs, sugar and nutmeg.

7 Uncle White, a venerable bed-maker of All Souls' College, eighty-three years of age; has been in the service of the college nearly seventy years: is always dressed in black, and wears very largo silver knee and shoe-buckles; his hair, which is milk-white, is in general tastefully curled: he is known "to, and called uncle by, every inhabitant of the university, and obtained the cog-nomen from his having an incredible number of nephews and nieces in Oxford. In appearance he somewhat resembles a clergyman of the old school.

~227~~

Of All-Souls' he, alive or dead; Of milk-white name, the milk-white head. By Uncle White. Here lies Billy Chadwell,{8} Who perform'd the duties of a dad well.

BY BILLY CHADWELL. Ye maggots, now's your time to crow: Old Boggy Hastings{9} rests below.

BY BOGGY HASTINGS. A grosser man ne'er mix'd with stones Than lies beneath—'Tis Figgy Jones.{10}

BY FIGGY JONES. Here Marquis Wickens{11} lies incrust, In clay-cold consecrated dust: No more he'll brew, or pastry bake; His sun is set—himself a cake.

8 Billy Chadwell, of psalm-singing notoriety, since dead; would imitate syncope so admirably, as to deceive a whole room full of company—in an instant he would become pale, motionless, and ghastly as death; the action of his heart has even appeared to be diminished: his sham fits, if possible, exceeded his fainting. He was very quarrelsome when in his cups; and when he had aggravated any one to the utmost, to save himself from a severe beating would apparently fall into a most dreadful fit, which never failed to disarm his adversary of his rage, and to excite the compassion of every by-stander.

9 Old Boggy Hastings supplies members of the university and college servants who are anglers with worms and maggots.

10 Tommy J***s, alias Figgy Jones, an opulent grocer in the High-street, and a common-councilman in high favour with the lower orders of the freemen; a sporting character.

11 Marquis Wickens formerly a confectioner, and now a common brewer. He accumulated considerable property as a confectioner, from placing his daughters, who were pretty genteel girls, behind his counter, where they attracted a great many gownsmen to the shop. No tradesman ever gained a fortune more rapidly than this man: as soon as he found himself inde-pendent of the university, he gave up his shop, bought the Sun Inn, built a brewhouse, and is now gaining as much money by selling beer as he formerly did by confectionery.

~228~~

BY MARQUIS WICKENS. Ye roues all, be sad and mute; Who now shall cut the stylish suit? Buck Sheffield's{12 }gone—Ye Oxford men, Where shall ye meet his like again?

BY BUCK SHEFFIELD. MacLean{13} or Tackle, which you will, In quiet sleeps beneath this hill. Ye anglers, bend with one accord; The stranger is no more abroad.

BY MACLEAN. Here rests a punster, Jemmy Wheeler{14} In wit and whim a wholesale dealer; Unbound by care, he others bound, And now lies gathered underground.

12 Sheffield, better known by the name of Buck Sheffield, a master tailor and a member of the common council.

13 MacLean, an old bacchanalian Scotchman, better known by the name of Tackle: a tall thin man, who speaks the broad Scotch dialect; makes and mends fishing-tackle for members of the university; makes bows and arrows for those who belong to the Archery Society; is an indifferent musician, occasionally amuses under-graduates in their apartments by playing to them country dances and marches on the flute or violin. He published his Life a short time since, in a thin octavo pamphlet, entitled "The Stranger Abroad, or The History of Myself," by MacLean.

14 Jemmy Wheeler of Magpie-lane, a bookbinder, of punning celebrity; has published two or three excellent versified puns in the Oxford Herald. He is a young man of good natural abilities, but unfortunately applies them occasionally to a loose purpose.

~229~~

BY JEMMY WHEELER. A speedy-man, by nimble foe, Lies buried in the earth below: The Baron Perkins,{15} Mercury To all the university. Men of New College, mourn his fate, Who early died by drinking late.

BY BARON PERKINS. Ye Oxford duns, you're done at last; Here Smiler W——d{16} is laid fast. No more his oak ye need assail; He's book'd inside a wooden jail.

BY SMILER W—— OF C—— COLLEGE. A thing called exquisite rests here: For human nature's sake I hope, Without uncharitable trope, 'Twill ne'er among us more appear.

15 William Perkins, alias Baron Perkins, alias the Baron, a very jovial watchman of Holywell, the New College speedy- man,{*} and factotum to New College.

16 Mr. W——d, alias Smiler W——d, a commoner of ——. This gentleman is always laughing or smiling; is long-winded, and consequently pestered with duns, who are sometimes much chagrined by repeated disappointments; but let them be ever so crusty, he never fails in laughing them into a good humour before they leave his room.

It was over Smiler's oak in——, that some wag had printed and stuck up the following notice:

Men traps and spring guns Set here to catch duns.

* A speedy-man at New College is a person employed to take a letter to the master of Winchester school from the warden of New College, acquaint-ing him that a fellowship or scholarship is become vacant in the college, and requiring him to send forthwith the next senior boy. The speedy-man always performs his journey on foot, and within a given time.

~230~~

BY LILLYMAN LIONISE. Here rests a poet—heaven keep him quiet, For when above he lived a life of riot; Enjoy'd his joke, and drank his share of wine— A mad wag he, one Horace Eglantine.{17}

The good old orthodox beverage now began to display its potent effects upon the heads and understandings of the party. All restraint being completely banished by the effect of the liquor, every one indulged in their characteristic eccentricities. Dick Gradus pleaded his utter incapability to sing or produce an impromptu rhyme, but was allowed to substitute a prose epitaph on the renowned school-master of Magdalen parish, Fatty T—b,{18} who lay snoring under the table. "It shall be read over him in lieu of burial service," said Echo. "Agreed, agreed," vociferated all the party; and Jemmy

17 This whim of tagging rhymes and epitaphs, adopted by Horace Eglantine, is of no mean authority. During the convivial administration of Lord North, when the ministerial dinners were composed of such men as the Lords Sandwich, Weymouth, Thurlow, Richard Rigby, &c, various pleasantries passed current for which the present time would be deemed too refined. Among others, it was the whim of the day to call upon each member, after the cloth was drawn, to tag a rhyme to the name of his left hand neighbour. It was first proposed by Lord Sandwich, to raise a laugh against the facetious Lord North, who happened to sit next to a Mr. Mellagen, a name deemed incapable of a rhyme. Luckily, however, for Lord North, that gentleman had just informed him of an accident that had befallen him near the pump in Pall Mall; when, therefore, it came to his turn, he wrote the following distich:—

Oh! pity poor Mr. Mellagen, Who walking along Pall Mall, Hurt his foot when down he fell, And fears he won't get well again.

18 Fatty T——, better known as the sixpenny schoolmaster: a little fat man, remarkable for his love of good living.

~231~~

Jumps,{19} the parish clerk of Saint Peter's, was instantly mounted on a chair, at the head of the defunct schoolmaster, to recite the following whim:—

Epitaph on a Glutton.

Beneath this table lie the remains of Fatty T***; Who more than performed the duties of An excellent eater, an unparalleled drinker, and A truly admirable sleeper. His stomach was as disinterested As his appetite was good; so that His impartial tooth alike chewed The mutton of the poor,and The turtle of the rich.

19 James James, alias Jemmy Jumps, alias the Oxford Caleb Quotum, a stay-maker, and parish-clerk of Saint Peter le Bailey—plays the violin to parties on water excursions, attends public-house balls—is bellows-blower and factotum at the music-room—attends as porter to the Philharmonic and Oxford Choral Societies—is constable of the race-course and race balls—a bill distributor and a deputy collector of poor rates—calls his wife his solio. He often amuses his companions at public-houses by reciting comic tales in verse. A woman who had lost a relative desired Jemmy Jumps to get a brick grave built. On digging up a piece of ground which had not been opened for many years, he discovered a very good brick grave, and, to his great joy, also discovered that its occupant had long since mouldered into dust. He cleaned the grave out, procured some reddle and water, brushed the bricks over with it, and informed the person that he had a most excellent second-hand grave to sell as good as new, and if she thought it would suit her poor departed friend, would let her have it at half the price of a new one: this was too good an offer to be rejected; but Jemmy found, on measuring the coffin, that his second-hand grave was too short, and consequently was obliged to dig the earth away from the end of the grave and beat the bricks in with a beetle, before it would admit its new tenant.

~232~~

He was a zealous opposer of the Aqua-arian heresy, A steady devourer of beef-steaks, A stanch and devout advocate for spiced bishop, A firm friend to Bill Holland's double X, and An active disseminator of the bottle, He was ever uneasy unless employed upon The good things of this world; and The interment of a swiss or lion, Or the dissolution of a pasty, Was his great delight. He died Full of drink and victuals, In the undiminished enjoyment of his digestive faculties, In the forty-fifth year of his appetite. The collegians inscribed this memento, In perpetual remembrance of His pieous knife and fork.

"Very well for a trencher man," said Horace; "now we must have a recitation from Strasburg.{20} Come, you jolly old teacher of Hebrew, mount the rostrum, and "give us a taste of your quality." "Ay, or by heavens we'll baptize him with a bumper of bishop," said Echo. "For conscience sake, mishter Echo, conshider vat it is you're about; I can no more shpeek in English than I can turn Christian—I've drank so much of your red port to-day as voud make anoder Red Sea." "Ay, and you shall be drowned in it, you old Sheenie," said Tom, "if you don't give us a speech." "A speech, a speech!" resounded from all

{20} Strasburg, an eccentric Jew, who gave lessons in Hebrew to members of the university.

~233~~the yet living subjects of the party. "Veil, if I musht, I musht; but I musht do it by shubstitute then; my old friend, Mark Supple here, vill give you the history of Tom Tick." To this Echo assented, on account of the allusions it bore to the Albanians, some of whom were of the party. Old Mark, mounted on the chair at the upper end of the table, proceeded with the tale.



THE OXFORD RAKE'S PROGRESS.

Tom was a tailor's heir, A dashing blade, Whose sire in trade Enough had made, By cribbage, short skirts, and little capes, Long bills, and items for buckram, tapes, Buttons, twist, and small ware; Which swell a bill out so delightfully, Or perhaps I should say frightfully,

~234~~

That is, if it related to myself. Suffice it to be told In wealth he roll'd, And being a fellow of some spirit, Set up his coach; To 'scape reproach, He put the tailor on the shelf, And thought to make his boy a man of merit. On old Etona's classic ground, Tom's infant years in circling round Were spent 'mid Greek and Latin; The boy had parts both gay and bright, A merry, mad, facetious sprite, With heart as soft as satin. For sport or spree Tom never lack'd; A con{21} with all, his sock he crack'd With oppidan or gownsman: Could smug a sign, or quiz the dame, Or row, or ride, or poach for game, With cads, or Eton townsmen. Tom's admiral design'd, Most dads are blind To youthful folly, That Tom should be a man of learning, To show his parent's great discerning, A parson rich and jolly. To Oxford Tom in due time went, Upon degree D.D. intent, But more intent on ruin: A Freshman, steering for the Port of Stuff's,{22} Round Isle Matricula, and Isthmus of Grace, Intent on living well and little doing. Here Tom came out a dashing blood, Kept Doll at Woodstock, and a stud For hunting, race, or tandem; Could bag a proctor, floor a raff, Or stifle e'en a hull-dog's gaff, Get bosky, drive at random.

21 Eton phraseology—A friend.

22 Oxford phraseology—All these terms have been explained in an earlier part of the work.

~235~~



But long before the first term ended, Tom was inform'd, unless he mended, He'd better change his college. Which said, the Don was hobbling to the shelf Where college butler keeps his book of Battell; Tom nimbly ran, erased his name himself, To save the scandal of the students' prattle. In Oxford, be it known, there is a place Where all the mad wags in disgrace Retire to improve their knowledge; The town raff call it Botany Bay, Its inmates exiles, convicts, and they say Saint Alban takes the student refugees: Here Tom, to 'scape Point Non plus, took his seat After a waste of ready—found his feet Safe on the shores of indolence and ease; Here, 'mid choice spirits, in the Isle of Flip, Dad's will, and sapping, valued not young snip; Scapula, Homer, Lexicon, laid by, Join'd the peep-of-day boys in full cry.{23} A saving sire a sad son makes This adage suits most modern rakes,

23 It was in the actual participation of these bacchanalian orgies, during the latter days of Dr. W——y, the former head of the Hall, when infirmities prevented his exercising the necessary watchful-ness over the buoyant spirits committed to his charge, that my friend Bob Transit and myself were initiated into the mysteries of the Albanians. The accompanying scene, so faithfully delineated by his humorous pencil, will be fresh in the recollection of the choice spirits who mingled in the joyous revelry. To particularise character would be to "betray the secrets of the prison-house," and is besides wholly unnecessary, every figure round the board being a portrait; kindred souls, whose merrie laughter-loving countenances and jovial propensities, will be readily recognised by every son of Alma Mater who was at Oxford during the last days of the beaux esprits of Alban Hall. (See Plate.) In justice to the learned Grecian who now presides, it should be told, that these scenes are altogether suppressed.

~236~~

And Tom above all others. I should have told before, he was an only child, And therefore privileged to be gay and wild, Having no brothers, Whom his example might mislead Into extravagance, or deed Ridiculous and foolish. Three tedious years in Oxford spent, In midnight brawl and merriment, Tom bid adieu to college, To cassock-robe of orthodox, To construe and decline—the box, Supreme in stable knowledge; To dash on all within the ring, Bet high, play deep, or rioting, At Long's to sport his figure In honour's cause, some small affair Give modern bucks a finish'd air, Tom pull'd the fatal trigger. He kill'd his friend—but then remark, His friend had kill'd another spark, So 'twas but trick and tie. The cause of quarrel no one knew, Not even Tom,—away he flew, Till time and forms of law, To fashionable vices blind, Excuses for the guilty find, Call murder a faux pas. The tinsell'd coat next struck his pride, How dashing in the Park to ride A cornet of dragoons; Upon a charger, thorough bred, To show off with a high plumed head, The gaze of Legs and Spoons; To rein him up in all his paces, Then splash the passing trav'lers' faces, And spur and caper by;

~237~~

Get drunk at mess, then sally out To Lisle-street fair, or beat a scout, Or black a waiter's eye. Of all the clubs,—the Clippers, Screws, The Fly-by-nights, Four Horse, and Blues, The Daffy, Snugs, and Peep-o-day, Tom's an elect; at all the Hells, At Bolton-Row, with tip-top swells, And Tat's men, deep he'd play. His debts oft paid by Snyder's{24} pelf, Who paid at last a debt himself, Which all that live must pay. Tom book'd{25} the old one snug inside, Wore sables, look'd demure and sigh'd Some few short hours away; Till from the funeral return'd, Then Tom with expectation burn'd To hear his father's will:— "Twice twenty thousand pounds in cash,"— "That's prime," quoth Tom, "to cut a dash "At races or a mill,"— "All my leaseholds, house and plate, My pictures and freehold estate, I give my darling heir; Not doubting but, as I in trade By careful means this sum have made, He'll double it with care."— "Ay, that I will, I'll hit the nick, Seven's the main,—here Ned and Dick Bring down my blue and buff; Take off the hatband, banish grief, 'Tis time to turn o'er a new leaf, Sorrow's but idle stuff." Fame, trumpet-tongued, Tom's wealth reports, His name is blazon'd at the courts Of Carlton and the Fives. His equipage, his greys, his dress, His polish'd self, so like noblesse, "Is ruin's sure perquise."

24 Flash for tailor.

25 Screwed up in his coffin.

~238~~

Beau Brummell's bow had not the grace, Alvanly stood eclipsed in face, The Roues all were mute, So exquisite, so chaste, unique, The mark for every Leg and Greek, Who play the concave suit.{26} At Almack's, paradise o' the West, Tom's hand by prince and peer is press'd, And fashion cries supreme. His Op'ra box, and little quean, To lounge, to see, and to be seen, Makes life a pleasant dream. Such dreams, alas! are transient light, A glow of brightness and delight, That wakes to years of pain. Tom's round of pleasure soon was o'er, And clam'rous duns assail the door When credit's on the wane. His riches pay his folly's price, And vanish soon a sacrifice, Then friendly comrades fly; His ev'ry foible dragg'd to light, And faults (unheeded) crowd in sight, Asham'd to show his face. Beset by tradesmen, lawyers, bums,{21} He sinks where fashion never comes, A wealthier takes his place. Beat at all points, floor'd, and clean'd out, Tom yet resolv'd to brave it out,

36 Cards cut in a peculiar manner, to enable the Leg to fleece his Pigeon securely.

27 "Persons employed by the sheriff to hunt and seize human prey: they are always bound in sureties for the due execution of their office, and thence are called Bound Bailiff's, which the common people have corrupted into a much more homely ex-pression—to wit, Bum-Bailiffs or Bums."—l Black Com. 346.

~239~~

If die he must, die game. Some few months o'er, again he strays 'Midst scenes of former halcyon days, On other projects bent; No more ambitious of a name, Or mere unprofitable fame, On gain he's now intent, To deal a flush, or cog a die, Or plan a deep confed'racy To pluck a pigeon bare. Elected by the Legs a brother, His plan is to entrap some other In Greeting's fatal snare. Here for a time his arts succeed, But vice like his, it is decreed, Can never triumph long: A noble, who had been his prey, Convey'd the well cogg'd bones away, Exposed them to the throng. Now blown, "his occupation's" o'er, Indictments, actions, on him pour, His ill got wealth must fly; And faster than it came, the law Can fraud's last ill got shilling draw, Tom's pocket soon drain'd dry. Again at sea, a wreck, struck down, By fickle fortune and the town, Without the means to bolt. His days in bed, for fear of Bums, At night among the Legs he comes, Who gibe him for a dolt. He's cut, and comrades, one by one, Avoid him as they would a dun. Here finishes our tale— Tom Tick, the life, the soul, the whim Of courts and fashion when in trim, Is left— WAITING FOR BAIL.

~240~~



By the time old Mark Supple had finished his somewhat lengthy tale, the major part of the motley group of eccentrics who surrounded us were terribly cut: the garrulous organ of Jack Milburn was unable to articulate a word; Goose B——l, the gourmand, was crammed full, and looked, as he lay in the arms of Morpheus, like a fat citizen on the night of a lord mayor's dinner—a lump of inanimate mortality. In one corner lay a poor little Grecian, papa Chrysanthus Demetriades, whom Tom Echo had plied with bishop till he fell off his chair; Count Dennet was safely deposited beside him; and old Will Stewart,{28} the poacher, was just humming himself to sleep with the fag end of an old ballad as he sat upon the ground

28 Portraits of the three last-mentioned eccentrics will be found in page 245, sketched from the life.

~241~~

resting his back against the defunct Grecian. A diminutive little cripple, Johnny Holloway, was sleeping between his legs, upon whose head Tom had fixed a wig of immense size, crowned with an opera hat and a fox's tail for a feather. "Now to bury the dead," said Eglantine; "let in the lads, Mark." "Now we shall have a little sport, old fellows," said Echo: "come, Transit, where are your paints and brushes?" In a minute the whole party were most industriously engaged in disfiguring the objects around us by painting their faces, some to resemble tattooing, while others were decorated with black eyes, huge mustachios, and different embellishments, until it would have been impossible for friend or relation to have recognised any one of their visages. This ceremony being completed, old Mark introduced a new collection of worthies, who had been previously instructed for the sport; these were, I found, no other than the well-known Oxford cads, Marston Will, Tom Webb, Harry Bell, and Dick Rymal,{29} all out and outers, as Echo reported, for a spree with the gown, who had been regaled at some neighbouring public house by Eglantine, to be in readiness for the wind-up of his eccentric entertainment; to the pious care of these worthies were consigned the strange-looking mortals who surrounded us. The plan was, I found, to carry them out quietly between two men, deposit them in a cart which they had in waiting, and having taken them to the water-side, place them in a barge and send them drifting down the water in the night to Iffley, where their consternation on recovering the next morning and strange appearance would be sure to create a source of merriment both for the city and university. The instructions were most punctually obeyed, and the amusement the freak afterwards afforded the good people of Oxford will not very

29 Well-known sporting cads, who are always ready to do a good turn for the togati, either for sport or spree.

~242~~quickly be forgotten. Thus ended the spread—and now having taken more than my usual quantity of wine, and being withal fatigued by the varied amusements of the evening, I would fain have retired to rest: but this, I found, would be contrary to good fellowship, and not at all in accordance with college principles. "We must have a spree" said Echo, "by way of finish, the rum ones are all shipped off safely by this time—suppose we introduce Blackmantle to our grandmamma, and the pretty Nuns of St. Clement's." "Soho, my good fellows," said Transit; "we had better defer our visit in that direction until the night is more advanced. The old don{30} of——, remember, celebrates the Paphian mysteries in that quarter occasionally, and we may not always be able to shirk him as effectually as on the other evening, when Echo and myself were snugly enjoying a tete-a-tete with Maria B——and little Agnes S——{31}; we accidentally caught a glimpse of old Morality cautiously toddling after the pious Mrs. A—ms, vide-licet of arts,{32} a lady who has been regularly matriculated at this university, and taken up her degrees some years since. It was too rich a bit to lose, and although at the risk of discovery, I booked it immediately eo instunti. 'Exegi monumentum aere perennius'—and here it is."

30 We all must reverence dons; and I'm about To talk of dons—irreverently I doubt. For many a priest, when sombre evening gray Mantles the sky, o'er maudlin bridge will stray— Forget his oaths, his office, and his fame, And mix in company I will not name.

Aphrodisiacal Licenses. 31 Paphian divinities in high repute at Oxford.

32 Pretty much in the same sense, probably, in which Moore's gifted leman Fanny is by him designated Mistress of Arts.

And oh!—if a fellow like me May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal your degree, My divine little Mistress of Arts.

For an account of Fan's proficiency in astronomy, ethics, (not the Nicomachean), and eloquence, see Moore's Epistles, vol. ii. p. 155.

~243~~



"An excellent likeness, i'faith, is it," said Eglantine; whose eyes twinkled like stars amid the wind-driven clouds, and whose half clipped words and unsteady motion sufficiently evinced that he had paid due attention to the old laws of potation. "There's nothing like the cloth for comfort, old fellows; remember what a man of Christ Church wrote to George Colman when he was studying for the law.

'Turn parson, Colman, that's the way to thrive; Your parsons are the happiest men alive. Judges, there are but twelve; and never more, But stalls untold, and Bishops twenty-four. Of pride and claret, sloth and venison full, Yon prelate mark, right reverend and dull!

~244~~

He ne'er, good man, need pensive vigils keep To preach his audience once a week to sleep; On rich preferment battens at his ease, Nor sweats for tithes, as lawyers toil for fees.'

If Colman had turned parson he would have had a bishoprick long since, and rivalled that jolly old ancient Walter de Mapes. Then what an honour he would have been to the church; no drowsy epistles spun out in lengthened phrase,

'Like to the quondam student, named of yore, Who with Aristotle calmly choked a boar;'

but true orthodox wit: the real light of grace would have fallen from his lips and charmed the crowded aisle; the rich epigrammatic style, the true creed of the churchman; no fear of canting innovations or evangelical sceptics; but all would have proceeded harmoniously, ay, and piously too—for true piety consists not in purgation of the body, but in purity of mind. Then if we could but have witnessed Colman filling the chair in one of our common rooms, enlivening with his genius, wit, and social conversation the learned dromedaries of the Sanctum, and dispelling the habitual gloom of a College Hospitium, what chance would the sectarians of Wesley, or the infatuated followers even of that arch rhapsodist, Irving, have with the attractive eloquence and sound reasoning of true wit?" "Bravo! bravo!"vociferated the party. "An excellent defence of the church," said Echo, "for which Eglantine deserves to be inducted to a valuable benefice; suppose we adjourn before the college gates are closed, and install him under the Mitre." A proposition that met with a ready acquiescence from all present.{33}

33 The genius of wit, mirth, and social enjoyment, can never find more sincere worshippers than an Oxford wine-party seated round the festive board; here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, the gaiety of hearts made glad with wine and revelry, the brilliant flashes of genius, and the eye beaming with delight, are found in the highest perfection. The merits of the society to which the youthful aspirant for fame and glory happens to belong often afford the embryo poet the theme of his song. Impromptu parodies on old and popular songs often add greatly to the enjoy-ment of the convivial party. The discipline of the university prohibits late hours; and the evenings devoted to enjoyment are not often disgraced by excess.



~245~~



TOWN AND GOWN, AN OXFORD ROW.

Battle of the Togati and the Town-Raff—A Night-Scene in the High-Street, Oxford—Description of the Combatants—Attack of the Gunsmen upon the Mitre—Evolutions of the Assailants—Manoeuvres of the Proctors and Bull Dogs— Perilous Condition of Blackmantle and his associates, Eglantine, Echo, and Transit—Snug Retreat of Lionise—The High-Street after the Battle—Origin of the Argotiers, and Invention of Cant-phrases—History of the Intestine Wars and Civil Broils of Oxford, from the Time of Alfred—Origin of the late Strife—Ancient Ballad—Retreat of the Togati— Reflections of a Freshman—Black Matins, or the Effect of late Drinking upon early Risers—Visit to Golgotha, or the Place of Sculls—Lecture from the Big-Wigs—Tom Echo receives Sentence of Rustication.



The clocks of Oxford were echoing each other in proclaiming the hour of midnight, when Eglantine led the way by opening the door of his hospitium to descend into the quadrangle of Brazen-nose. "Steady, steady, old fellows," said Horace; "remember the don on the first-floor—hush, all be silent as the grave till you pass his oak." "Let us row him—let us fumigate the old fellow," said Echo; "this is the night of purification, lads—bring some pipes, and a little frankincense, Mark." And in this laudable 247~enterprise of blowing asafoetida smoke through the don's key-hole the whole party were about to be instantly engaged, when an accidental slip of Eglantine's spoiled the joke. While in the act of remonstrating with his jovial companions on the dangerous consequences attending detection, the scholar sustained a fall which left him suddenly deposited against the oak of the crabbed old Master of Arts, who inhabited rooms on the top of the lower staircase; fortunately, the dignitary had on that evening carried home more liquor than learning from the common room, and was at the time of the accident almost as sound asleep as the original founder. "There lies the domini of the feast," said Echo, "knocked down in true orthodox style by the bishop—follow your leader, boys; and take care of your craniums, or you may chance to get a few phreno-lo-lo-logi-cal bu-lps—I begin to feel that hard study has somewhat impaired my artic-tic-u-u-la-tion, but then I can always raise a per-pendic-dic-u-u-lar, you see—always good at mathemat-tics. D—n Aristotle, and the rest of the saints! say I: you see what comes of being logical." All of which exultation over poor Eglantine's disaster, Echo had the caution to make while steadying himself by keeping fast hold of one of the balustrades on the landing; which that arch wag Transit perceiving, managed to cut nearly through with a knife, and then putting his foot against it sent Tom suddenly oft in a flying leap after his companion, to the uproarious mirth of the whole party. By the time our two friends had recovered their legs, we were all in marching order for the Mitre; working in sinuosities along, for not one of the party could have moved at right angles to any given point, or have counted six street lamps without at least multiplying them to a dozen. In a word, they were ripe for any spree, full of frolic, and bent on mischief; witness the piling a huge load of coals ~248~~against one man's door, screwing up the oak of another, and milling the glaze of a third, before we quitted the precincts of Brazen-nose, which we did separately, to escape observation from the Cerberus who guarded the portal.

It is in a college wine-party that the true character of your early associates are easily discoverable: out of the excesses of the table very often spring the truest impressions, the first, but indelible affection which links kindred spirits together in after-time, and cements with increasing years into the most inviolable friendship. Here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, or fettered by restraint, give loose to mirth and revelry; and the brilliancy of genius and the warm-hearted gaiety of pure delight are found in the highest perfection.

The blue light of heaven illumined the magnificent square of Radcliffe, when we passed from beneath the porch of Brazen-nose, and tipping with her silvery light the surrounding architecture, lent additional beauty to the solemn splendour of the scene. Sophisticated as my faculties certainly were by the copious libations and occurrences of the day, I could yet admire with reverential awe the imposing grandeur by which I was surrounded.

A wayward being from my infancy, not the least mark of my eccentricity is the peculiar humour in which I find myself when I have sacrificed too freely to the jolly god: unlike the major part of mankind, my temperament, instead of being invigorated and enlivened by the sparkling juice of the grape, loses its wonted nerve and elasticity; a sombre gloominess pervades the system, the pulse becomes nervous and languid, the spirits flagging and depressed, and the mind full of chimerical apprehensions and ennui. It was in this mood that Eglantine found me ruminating on the noble works before me, while resting against a part of the pile of Radcliffe library, contemplating ~249~~the elegant crocketed pinnacles of All Souls, the delicately taper spire of St. Mary's, and the clustered enrichments and imperial canopies of masonry, and splendid traceries which every where strike the eye: all of which objects were rendered trebly impressive from the stillness of the night, and the flittering light by which they were illumined. I had enough of wine and frolic, and had hoped to have shirked the party and stolen quietly to my lodgings, there to indulge in my lucubrations on the scene I had witnessed, and note in my journal, according to my usual practice, the more prominent events of the day, when Horace commenced with—

"Where the devil, old fellow, have you been hiding yourself? I've been hunting you some time. A little cut, I suppose: never mind, my boy, you'll be better presently. Here's glorious sport on foot; don't you hear the war-cry?" At this moment a buzz of distant voices broke upon the ear like the mingled shouts of an election tumult. "There they are, old fellow: come, buckle on your armour—we must try your mettle to-night. All the university are out—a glorious row—come along, no shirking—-the togati against the town raff—remember the sacred cause, my boy." And in this way, spite of all remonstrance, was I dragged through the lane and enlisted with the rest of my companions into a corps of university men who were just forming themselves in the High-street to repel the daring attack of the very scum of the city, who had ill-treated and beaten some gownsmen in the neighbourhood of St. Thomas's, and had the temerity to follow and assail them in their retreat to the High-street with every description of villanous epithet, and still more offensive and destructive missiles. "Stand fast there, old fellows," said Echo; who, although devilishly cut, seemed to be the leader of the division. "Where's old Mark Supple?" "Here I am sir, take notice" said the old scout, who appeared as active as ~250~~an American rifleman. "Will Peake send us the bludgeons?" "He won't open his doors, sir, for anybody, take notice." "Then down with the Mitre, my hearties;" and instantly a rope was thrown across the bishop's cap by old Mark, and the tin sign, lamp, and all came tumbling into the street, smashed into a thousand pieces.

PEAKE (looking out of an upper window in his night-cap). Doey be quiet, and go along, for God's zake, gentlemen! I shall be ruinated and discommoned if I open my door to any body.

TOM ECHO. You infernal old fox-hunter! if you don't doff your knowledge bag and come to the door, we'll mill all your glaze, burst open your gates, and hamstring all your horses.

MRS. PEAKE (in her night-gown). Stand out of the way, Peake; let me speak to the gentlemen. Gentlemen, doey, gentlemen, consider my reputation, and the reputation of ray house. O dear, gentlemen, doey go somewhere else—we've no sticks here, I azzure ye, and we're all in bed. Doey go, gentlemen, pray do.

TRANSIT. Dame Peake, if you don't open your doors directly, we'll break them open, and unkennel that old bagg'd fox, your husband, and drink all the black strap in your cellar, and—and play the devil with the maids.

MRS. PEAKE. Don'te say so, don'te say so, Mr. Transit; I know you to be a quiet, peaceable gentleman, and I am zure you will befriend me: doey persuade 'em to go away, pray do,

~251~~

MARK SUPPLE. Dame Peake

MRS. PEAKE. Oh, Mr. Mark Supple, are you there I talk to the gentlemen, Mr. Mark, pray do.

MARK SUPPLE. It's no use, dame Peake; they won't be gammon'd, take notice. If you have any old broom-handles, throw 'em out directly, and if not, throw all the brooms you have in the house out of window—throw out all your sticks—throw Peake out. I'm for the gown, take notice. Down with the town! down with the town!

BILL MAGS. (The waiter, at a lower window.) Hist, hist, Mr. Echo; Mr. Eglantine, hist, hist; master's gone to the back of the house with all the sticks he can muster; and here's an old kitchen-chair you can break up and make bludgeons of (throwing the chair out of window), and here's the cook's rolling-pin, and I'll go and forage for more ammunition.

HORACE EGLANTINE. You're a right good fellow, Bill; and I'll pay you before I do your master; and the Brazen-nose men shall make your fortune.

TOM ECHO. But where's the academicals I sent old Captain Cook for 1 We shall be beating one another in the dark without caps and gowns.

CAPTAIN COOK. (A scout of Christ Church.) Here I be, zur. That old rogue, Dick Shirley, refuses to send any gowns; he says he has nothing but noblemen's gowns and gold tufts in his house.

~252~~

THE HON. LILLYMAN LIONISE. By the honour of my ancestry, that fellow shall never draw another stitch for Christ Church as long as he lives. Come along, captain: by the honour of my ancestry, we'll uncase the old snyder; we'll have gowns, I warrant me, noble or not noble, gold tufts or no tufts. Come along, Cook.

In a few moments old Captain Cook and the exquisite returned loaded with gowns and caps, having got in at the window and completely cleared the tailor's shop of all his academicals, in spite of his threats or remonstrances. In the interim, old Mark Supple and Echo had succeeded in obtaining a supply of broom-handles and other weapons of defence; when the insignia of the university, the toga and cap, were soon distributed indiscriminately: the numbers of the university men increased every moment; and the yell of the town raff seemed to gain strength with every step as they approached the scene of action. Gown! gown! Town! town! were the only sounds heard in every direction; and the clamour and the tumult of voices were enough to shake the city with dismay. The authorities were by no means idle; but neither proctors or pro's, or marshal, or bull-dogs, or even deans, dons, and dignitaries, for such there were, who strained their every effort to quell the disturbance, were at all attended to, and many who came as peace-makers were compelled in their own defence to take an active part in the fray.

From the bottom of the High-street to the end of the corn-market, and across again through St. Aldate's to the old bridge, every where the more peaceable and respectable citizens might be seen popping their noddles out of window, and rubbing their half-closed eyes with affright, to learn the cause of the alarming strife.

~253~~Of the strong band of university men who rushed on eager for the coming fray, a number of them were fresh light-hearted Etonians and old Westminsters, who having just arrived to place themselves under the sacred banners of Academus, thought their honour and their courage both concerned in defending the togati: most of these youthful zealots had as usual, at the beginning of a term, been lodged in the different inns and houses of the city, and from having drank somewhat freely of the welcome cup with old schoolfellows and new friends, were just ripe for mischief, unheedful of the consequences or the cause.

On the other hand, the original fomenters of the strife had recruited their forces with herds of the lowest rabble gathered from the purlieus of their patron saints, St. Clement and St. Thomas, and the shores of the Charwell,—the bargees, and butchers, and labourers, and scum of the suburbians: a huge conglomerated mass of thick sculls, and broad backs, and strengthy arms, and sturdy legs, and throats bawling for revenge, and hearts bursting with wrathful ire, rendered still more frantic and desperate by the magic influence of their accustomed war-whoop. These formed the base barbarian race of Oxford truands,{1} including every vile thing that passes under the generic name of raff. From college to college the mania spread with the rapidity of an epidemic wind; and scholars, students, and fellows were every where in motion: here a stout bachelor of arts might be seen knocking down the ancient Cerberus who opposed his passage; there the iron-bound college gates were forced open by the united power of the youthful inmates. In another quarter might be seen the heir of some noble family risking his neck in the headlong leap {2}; and near him, a party of the togati scaling the sacred battlements with as much energetic zeal as the ancient crusaders would have displayed against the ferocious Saracens.

1 The French truands were beggars, who under the pretence of asking alms committed the most atrocious crimes and excesses.

2 It was on one of these occasions that the celebrated Charles James Fox made that illustrious leap from the window of Hertford College.

~254~~Scouts flying in every direction to procure caps and gowns, and scholars dropping from towers and windows by bell-ropes and sheet-ladders; every countenance exhibiting as much ardour and frenzied zeal, as if the consuming elements of earth and fire threatened the demolition of the sacred city of Rhedycina.

It was on the spot where once stood the ancient conduit of Carfax, flanked on the one side by the venerable church of St. Martin and the colonnade of the old butter-market, and on the other by the town-hall, from the central point of which terminate, south, west, and north, St. Aldate's, the butcher-row, and the corn-market, that the scene exhibited its more substantial character. It was here the assailants first caught sight of each other; and the yell, and noise, and deafening shouts became terrific. In a moment all was fury and confusion: in the onset the gown, confident and daring, had evidently the advantage, and the retiring raff fell back in dismay; while the advancing and victorious party laid about them with their quarter-staves, and knuckles drawing blood, or teeth, or cracking crowns at every blow, until they had driven them back to the end of the corn-market. It was now that the strong arm and still stronger science of the sturdy bachelors of Brazen-nose, and the square-built, athletic sons of Cambria, the Jones's of Jesus, proved themselves of sterling mettle, and bore the brunt of the battle with unexampled courage: at this instant a second reinforcement arriving from the canals and wharfs on the banks of the Isis, having forced their way by George-lane, brought timely assistance to the town raff, and enabled them again to rally and present so formidable an appearance, 255~that the togati deemed it prudent to retreat upon their reserve, who were every moment accumulating in immense numbers in the High-street: to this spot the townsmen, exulting in their trifling advantage, had the temerity to follow and renew the conflict, and here they sustained the most signal defeat: for the men of Christ Church, and Pembroke, and St. Mary's Hall, and Oriel, and Corpus Christi, had united their forces in the rear; while the front of the gown had fallen back upon the effective Trinitarians, and Albanians, and Wadhamites, and men of Magdalen, who had by this time roused them from their monastic towers and cells to fight the holy war, and defend their classic brotherhood: nor was this all the advantages the gown had to boast of, for the scouts, ever true to their masters, had summoned the lads of the fancy, and Marston Will, and Harry Bell, and a host of out and outers, came up to the scratch, and floored many a youkel with their bunch of fives. It was at this period that the conflict assumed its most appalling feature, for the townsmen were completely hemmed into the centre, and fought with determined courage, presenting a hollow square, two fronts of which were fully engaged with the infuriated gown. Long and fearful was the struggle for mastery, and many and vain the attempts of the townsmen to retreat, until the old Oxford night coach, in its way up the High-street to the Star Inn in the corn-market, was compelled to force its passage through the conflicting parties; when the bull-dogs and the constables, headed by marshal Holliday and old Jack Smith, united their forces, and following the vehicle, opened a passage into the very centre of the battle, where they had for some time to sustain the perilous attacks of oaths, and blows, and kicks from both parties, until having fairly wedged themselves between the combatants, they succeeded by threats and entreaties, and seizing a few of the ringleaders on ~256~~both sides, to cause a dispersion, and restore by degrees the peace of the city.

It was, however, some hours before the struggle had completely subsided, a running fight being kept up by the various straggling parties in their retreat; and at intervals the fearful cry of Town and Gown would resound from some plebeian alley or murky lane as an unfortunate wight of the adverse faction was discovered stealing homewards, covered with mud and scars. Of my college friends and merry companions in the fray, Tom Echo alone remained visible, and he had (in his own phraseology) dropped his sash: according to Hudibras, he looked

"As men of inward light are wont To turn their opticks in upon't;"

or, in plain English, had an invisible eye. The "disjecta fragmenta" of his academical robe presented a most pitiful appearance; it was of the ragged sort, like the mendicula impluviata of Plautus, and his under habiliments bore evident marks of his having bitten the dust (i.e. mud) beneath the ponderous arm of some heroic blacksmith or bargee; but yet he was lively, and what with blows and exertion, perfectly sobered. "What, Blackmantle? and alive, old fellow? Well clone, my hearty; I saw you set to with that fresh water devil from Charwell, the old Bargee, and a pretty milling you gave him. I had intended to have seconded you, but just as I was making up, a son of Vulcan let fly his sledge-hammer slap at my smeller, and stopped up one of my oculars, so I was obliged to turn to and finish him off; and when I had completed the job, you had bolted; not, however, without leaving your marks behind you. But where's Eglantine? where's Transit? where's the Honourable? By my soul the roue can handle his mauleys well; I saw him floor one of the raff in very prime style. But come along, my hearty; we must walk over the ~257~~field of battle and look after the wounded: I am desperately afraid that Eglantine is booked inside—saw him surrounded by the bull-dogs—made a desperate effort to rescue him—and had some difficulty to clear myself; but never mind, ''tis the fortune of war,' and there's very good lodging in the castle. Surely there's Mark Supple with some one on his back. What, Mark, is that you?" "No, sir—yes, sir—I mean, sir, it's a gentleman of our college—O dearey me, I thought it had been a proctor or a bull-dog—for Heaven's sake, help, sir! here's Mr. Transit quite senseless, take notice—picked him up in a doorway in Lincoln-lane, bleeding like a pig, take notice.

O dear, O dear, what a night this has been! We shall all be sent to the castle, and perhaps transported for manslaughter. For Heaven's sake, Mr. Echo, help! bear his head up—take hold of his feet, Mr. Blackmantle, and I'll go before, and ring at Dr. Tuckwell's bell, take notice." In this way poor Transit was conveyed to the surgery, where, after cleansing him from the blood and dirt, and the application of some aromatics, he soon recovered, and happily had not sustained any very serious injury. From old Mark we learned that Eglantine was a captive to the bull-dogs, and safely deposited in the castle along with Marston Will, who had fought nobly in his defence: of Lionise we could gain no other tidings than that Mark had seen him at the end of the fray climbing up to the first floor window of a tradesman's house in the High-street, whose daughter it was well known he had a little intrigue with, and where, as we concluded, he had found a balsam for his wounds, and shelter for the night. It was nearly three o'clock when I regained my lodging and found Mags, the waiter of the Mitre, on the look-out for me: Echo had accompanied me home, and in our way we had picked up a wounded man of University College, who had suffered severely in the contest. It was worthy ~258~~the pencil of a Hogarth to have depicted the appearance of the High-street after the contest, when we were cautiously perambulating from end to end in search of absent friends, and fearing at every step the approach of the proctors or their bull-dogs: the lamps were almost all smashed, and the burners dangling to and fro with the wind, the greater part extinguished, or just emitting sufficient light to make night horrible. On the lamp-irons might be seen what at first sight was most appalling, the figure of some hero of the togati dangling by the neck, but which, on nearer approach, proved to be only the dismembered academical of some gentleman-commoner hung up as a trophy by the town raff. Broken windows and shutters torn from their hinges, and missiles of every description covering the ground, from the terrific Scotch paving-pebble torn up from the roads, to the spokes of coach-wheels, and the oaken batons, and fragments of lanterns belonging to the town watch, skirts of coats, and caps, and remnants of togas both silken and worsted, bespoke the quality of the heroes of the fray; while here and there a poor terrified wretch was exposing his addle head to the mildews of the night-damp, fearing a revival of the contest, or anxiously watching the return of husband, brother, father, or son.{3}

3 This picture of an Oxford row is not, as the general reader might imagine, the mere fiction of the novelist, but the true description of a contest which occurred some few years since; the leading features of which will be (although the names have been, except in one or two instances, studiously suppressed) easily recognised by many of the present sons of Alma Mater who shared in the perils and glory of the battle. To those who are strangers to the sacred city, and these casual effervescences of juvenile spirit, the admirable graphic view of the scene by my friend Bob Transit (see plate) will convey a very correct idea.

To the credit of the more respectable and wealthy class of Oxford citizens it should be told, they are now too sensible of their own interest, and, besides, too well-informed to mix with these civil disturbances; the lower orders, therefore, finding themselves unequal to the contest without their support, submit to the togati; and thus the civil wars that have raged in Oxford with very little interruption from the days of Alfred seem for the present extinguished.

~259~~

On our arrival at the Mitre, poor Mrs. Peake, half frightened to death, was up and busy in administering to the sufferers various consolatory draughts composed of bishop, and flesh and blood{4} and rumbooze; while the chambermaids, and Peake, and the waiters were flying about the house with warm water, and basins, and towels, to the relief of the numerous applicants, who all seemed anxious to wash away the dirty remembrances of the disgusting scene.

Hitherto I had been so busily engaged in defending myself and preserving my friends, that I had not a moment for reflection. It has been well observed, that "place an Englishman in the field of battle, no matter what his political feelings, he will fight like a lion, by instinct, or the mere force of example;" so with the narrator of this contest. I had not, up to this time, the least knowledge of the original cause of the row. I have naturally an aversion to pugilistic contests and tumultuous sports, and yet I found by certain bruises, and bumps, and stains of blood, and stiffness of joints, and exhaustion, and the loss of my upper garment, which I had then only just discovered, that I must have borne a pretty considerable{5} part in the contest, and carried away no small share of victorious laurels, since I had escaped without any very visible demonstration of my adversaries' prowess; but for this I must acknowledge myself indebted to my late private tutor the Eton cad, Joe Cannon, whose fancy lectures on noseology, and the science of the milling system, had enabled me to

4 Brandy and port wine, half and half.

5 An Oxford phrase.

~260~~defend my bread-basket, cover up my peepers, and keep my nob out of chancery{6}: a merit that all

6 The use of a peculiar cant phraseology for different classes, it would appear, originated with the Argoliers, a species of French beggars or monkish impostors, who were notorious for every thing that was bad and infamous: these people assumed the form of a regular government, elected a king, established a fixed code of laws, and invented a language peculiar to themselves, constructed probably by some of the debauched and licentious youths, who, abandoning their scholastic studies, associated with these vagabonds. In the poetical life of the French robber Cartouche, a humorous account is given of the origin of the word Argot; and the same author has also compiled a dictionary of the language then in use by these people, which is annexed to the work. Hannan, in his very singular work, published in 1566, entitled "A Caveat, or Warning for Common Cursitors (runners), vulgarly called Vagabones," has described a number of the words then in use, among what he humorously calls the "lued lousey language of these lewtering beskes and lasy lovrels." And it will be remembered that at that time many of the students of our universities were among these cursitors, as we find by an old statute of the xxii of Hen. VIII.; "that scholars at the universities begging without licence, were to be punished like common cursi- tors." The vagabonds of Spain are equally celebrated for their use of a peculiar slang or cant, as will be seen on reference to a very curious work of Rafael Frianoro, entitled" Il Vagabondo, overo sferzo de bianti e Vagabondi." Viterbo, 1620, 12mo. As also in those excellent novels, "Lazarillo do Tormes," and "Guzman de Alfarache." The Romany or gipsies' dialect is given with the history of that singular people by Mr. Grellman; an English translation of which was published in 1787, by Roper, in quarto: from those works, Grose principally compiled his "Lexicon Ballatronicum." In the present day we have many professors of slang, and in more ways than one, too many of cant; the greater part of whom are dull impostors, who rather invent strange terms to astonish the vulgar than adhere to the peculiar phrases of the persons they attempt to describe. It has long been matter of regret with the better order of English sporting men, that the pugilistic contests and turf events of the day are not written in plain English, "which all those who run might read," instead of being rendered almost unintelligible by being narrated in the language of beggars, thieves, and pickpockets—a jargon as free from true wit as it is full of obscenity.