“Innocently enough, I can assure you,” replied Sparkle—“with my usual luck—a bit of gig, a lark, and a turn up.{2}
“... 'Twas waxing rather late, And reeling bucks the street began to scour, While guardian watchmen, with a tottering gait, Cried every thing quite clear, except the hour.” 1 Horse's night-cap—A halter. 2 A bit of gig—a lark—a turn up—are terms made use of to signify a bit of fun of any kind, though the latter more generally means a fight. Among the bucks and bloods of the Metropolis, a bit of fun or a lark, as they term it, ending in a milling match, a night's lodging in the watch-house, and a composition with the Charleys in the morning, to avoid exposure before the Magistrate, is a proof of high spirit—a prime delight, and serves in many cases to stamp a man's character. Some, however, who have not courage enough to brave a street-row and its consequences, are fond of fun of other kinds, heedless of the consequences to others. “Go it, my boys,” says one of the latter description, “keep it up, huzza! I loves fun—for I made such a fool of my father last April day:—but what do you think I did now, eh?—Ha! ha! ha!—I will tell you what makes me laugh so: we were keeping it up in prime twig, faith, so about four o'clock in the morning 1 went down into the kitchen, and there was Dick the waiter snoring like a pig before a blazing fire—done up, for the fellow can't keep it up as we jolly boys do: So thinks 1, I'll have you, my boy—and what does I do, but I goes softly and takes the tongs, and gets a red hot coal as big as my head, and plumpt it upon the fellow's foot and run away, because I loves fun, you know: So it has lamed him, and that makes me laugh so—Ha! ha! ha!—it was what I call better than your rappartees and your bobinâtes. I'll tell you more too: you must know I was in high tip-top spirits, faith, so I stole a dog from a blind man—for I do loves fun: so then the blind man cried for his dog, and that made me laugh heartily: So says I to the blind man—Hallo, Master, what a you a'ter, what is you up to? does you want your dog?—Yes, Sir, says he. Now only you mark what I said to the blind man—Then go and look for him, old chap, says I—Ha! ha! ha!—that's your sort, my boy, keep it up, keep it up, d—— me. That's the worst of it, I always turn sick when I think of a Parson—I always do; and my brother he is a parson too, and he hates to hear any body swear: so you know I always swear like a trooper when I am near him, on purpose to roast him. I went to dine with him one day last week, and there was my sisters, and two or three more of what you call your modest women; but I sent 'em all from the table, and then laugh'd at 'em, for I loves fun, and that was fun alive 0. And so there was nobody in the room but my brother and me, and I begun to swear most sweetly: I never swore so well in all my life—I swore all my new oaths; it would have done you good to have heard me swear; till at last my brother looked frightened, and d—— me that was good fun. At last, he lifted up his hands and eyes to Heaven, and calls out O tempora, O mores! But I was not to be done so. Oh! oh! Brother, says I, what you think to frighten me by calling all your family about you; but I don't care for you, nor your family neither—so stow it— I'll mill the whole troop—Only bring your Tempora and Mores here, that's all—let us have fair play, I'll tip 'em the Gas in a flash of lightning—I'll box 'em for five pounds, d—— me: here, where's Tempora and Mores, where are they? My eyes, how he did stare when he see me ready for a set to— I never laugh'd so in my life—he made but two steps out of the room, and left me master of the field. What d'ye think of that for a lark, eh?—Keep it up—keep it up, d—— me, says I—so I sets down to the table, drank as much as I could—then I mix'd the heel-taps all in one bottle, and broke all the empty ones—then bid adieu to Tempora and Mores, and rolled home in a hackney-coach in prime and plummy order, d—— me.”
“Coming along Piccadilly last night after leaving you, I was overtaken at the corner of Rupert-street by our old college-companion Harry Hartwell, pursuing his way to the Hummums, where it seems he has taken up his abode. Harry, you remember, never was exactly one of us; he studies too much, and pores everlastingly over musty old volumes of Law Cases, Blackstone's Commentaries, and other black books, to qualify himself for the black art, and as fit and proper person to appear at the Bar. The length of time that had elapsed since our last meeting was sufficient inducement for us to crack a bottle together; so taking his arm, we proceeded to the place of destination, where we sat talking over past times, and indulging our humour till half-past one o'clock, when I sallied forth on my return to Long's, having altogether abandoned my original intention of calling in Golden-square. At the corner of Leicester-square, my ears were assailed with a little of the night music—the rattles were in full chorus, and the Charleys, in prime twig,{1} were mustering from all quarters.
“The street was all alive, and I made my way through the crowd to the immediate scene of action, which was rendered peculiarly interesting by the discovery of a dainty bit of female beauty shewing fight with half a dozen watchmen, in order to extricate herself from the grasp of these guardians of our peace. She was evidently under the influence of the Bacchanalian god, which invigorated her arm, without imparting discretion to her head, and she laid about her with such dexterity, that the old files{2} were fearful of losing their prey; but the odds were fearfully against her, and never did I feel my indignation more aroused, than when I beheld a sturdy ruffian aim a desperate blow at her head with his rattle, which in all probability, had it taken the intended effect, would have sent her in search of that peace in the other world, of which she was experiencing so little in this. It was not possible for me to stand by, an idle spectator of the destruction of a female who appeared to have no defender, whatever might be the nature of the offence alleged or committed. I therefore warded off the blow with my left arm, and with my right gave him a well-planted blow on the conk,{3} which sent him piping into the kennel. In a moment I was surrounded and charged with a violent assault upon the charley,{4} and interfering with the guardians of the night in the execution of their duty. A complete diversion took place from the original object of their fury, and in the bustle to secure me, the unfortunate girl made her escape, where to, or how, heaven
1 Prime twig—Any thing accomplished in good order, or with dexterity: a person well dressed, or in high spirits, is considered to be in prime twig. 2 Old Jiles—A person who has had a long course of experience in the arts of fraud, so as to become an adept in the manouvres of the town, is termed a deep file—a rum file, or an old file. 3 Conk—The nose. 4 Charley—A watchman.
only knows. Upon finding this, I made no resistance, but marched boldly along with the scouts{1} to St. Martin's watch-house, where we arrived just as a hackney coach drew up to the door.
“Take her in, d——n her eyes, she shall stump up the rubbish{2} before I leave her, or give me the address of her flash covey,{3} and so here goes.” By this time we had entered the watch-house, where I perceived the awful representative of justice seated in an arm chair, with a good blazing fire, smoking his pipe in consequential ease. A crowd of Charleys, with broken lanterns, broken heads, and other symptoms of a row, together with several casual spectators, had gained admittance, when Jarvis entered, declaring—By G——he wouldn't be choused by any wh——re or cull in Christendom, and he would make 'em come down pretty handsomely, or he'd know the reason why: “And so please your Worship, Sir”—then turning round, “hallo,” said he, “Sam, what's becom'd of that there voman—eh—vhat, you've been playing booty eh, and let her escape.” The man to whom this was intended to be addressed did not appear to be present, as no reply was made. However, the case was briefly explained.
“But, by G——, I von't put any thing in Sam's vay again,” cried Jarvey.{4} For my own part, as I knew nothing of the occurrences adverted to, I was as much in the dark as if I had gone home without interruption. The representations of the Charleys proved decisive against me—in vain I urged the cause of humanity, and the necessity I felt of protecting a defenceless female from the violence of accumulating numbers, and that I had done no more than every man ought to have done upon such an occasion. Old puff and swill, the lord of the night, declared that I must have acted with malice afore-thought—that I was a pal in the concern, and that I had been instrumental in the design of effecting a rescue; and, after a very short deliberation, he concluded that I must be a notorious rascal, and desired me to make up my mind to remain with him for the remainder of the night. Not relishing this, I proposed to send for bail, assuring him of my