Captain Flasham.—A blustering, bounceable fellow.
Captain Queernabs.—A shabby ill-dressed fellow.
Carcase Lords.—Wholesale butchers who monopolise and forstall the markets.—“For wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together.”
Card.—A man, who may be a knowing, a downy, cunning, shifting, queer, or any other sort of Card according to circumstances.
Cart Wheel.—A five shilling piece.
Carving knife.—A sword.
Castle Tavern.—The Castle Tavern, Holborn, was first opened as a Sporting House by the well-known Bob Gregson; but designated at that period under the familiar title of Bob’s Chop House:—
His house is known to all the milling train;
He gives them liquor, and relieves their pain.
The appearance of Bob Gregson was prepossessing—he was in height six feet one inch and a half, weighing about fifteen stone six pounds. It is rather singular to relate that Bob Gregson rose in the estimation of the Sporting World, from defeat, he fought only three battles in the P.R., and lost them all—thus, beaten by John Gulley, 200 gns., 36 rds., near Newmarket, Oct. 14, 1807. Again beaten by John Gulley, 200 gns., 75 mins., 28 rds., May 10, 1808. Beaten by Tom Cribb, 500 gns., 23 rds., Moulsey Hurst, Oct. 25, 1808. The sun for a long time shone brilliantly over the “Temple of the Fancy,” but poor Bob, like too many of his class, did not make hay while it was in his power; when the scene changed, the clouds of misfortune overwhelmed him; and the once sprightly, gay Lancashire hero was compelled to beat an inglorious retreat. The stylish, well-conducted Tom Belcher, next appeared in the character of landlord of the Castle. The house had undergone some repairs, the rooms were all retouched by the painter; elegance with cleanliness, backed by civility, became the order of the day; a prime stock of liquors and wines were also laid in to command the attendance of the public. Tom’s opening dinner was completely successful, and the Fancy rallied round a hero who had so nobly contended for victory in thirteen prize battles. Tom was also considered the most accomplished boxer of the day; and the remembrance, likewise, that he was the brother of the renowned Jem Belcher, were points in themselves of great attractions in the Sporting World; and the above Tavern again became one of the most favourite resorts of the Fancy in general. Tom Belcher, after fourteen years residence at the Castle, was enabled by his civil conduct, attention to business, good luck, and a good quantity of the “Sweeteners of Life” with Bank! security against a rainy day, he retired to a very handsome cottage on Finchley Common, living at his ease like a man of fortune, with his dog and his gun. Tom Spring—Champion of England—next appeared in the character of “Mine Host” at the Castle Tavern. “His appearance” said Pierce Egan—“is very much in his favour; and there is a manly dignity about his person which is prepossessing, his language is also mild and perfectly correct; and his behavour at all times truly civil and attentive to his customers.” A night spent at Tom Spring’s may not be regretted by the most fastidious visitor. If the ears cannot at all times be gratified with the various topics of argument brought forward; the eyes have no cause for complaint, the coffee room and every part of it is covered over with some attractive device, and if there are not so many pictures for criticism as may be seen at the Exhibition, there are a number of most excellent sporting subjects well worthy the attention of the observer. One of the most prominent amongst them for a display of talent is a “Picture of the Road going to the Fight” drawn and etched from life by Robert Criukshank, Esq., but often attributed to his brother, George Cruikshank. As this is not the fact, and as the opportunity occurs we hasten to set the matter right, in order that every tub may stand upon its own bottom, or, in other words, that the saddle may be put on the right horse. Soon after the above “Picture of the Road to the Fight” was hung up at the Castle Tavern, I met there one evening my two friends, Mr. Hone (the very clever editor of the ‘Every Day Book’ and several other publications of merit) and Mr. George Cruikshank. On looking at the picture, Mr. Hone said to me, after praising it to the skies, “George has out-done himself!” “No,” I replied, “you mean Bob Cruikshank.” “Indeed, I do not,” answered Mr. H., “I repeat, that George has out-done himself; and more clever touches of art I never saw—they are beautiful!” “Well,” said I, “if you are so positive, Mr. Hone, I will bet you anything you like, from a glass of grog to a five pound note, that Bob Cruikshank accompanied myself down the Road to Moulsey Hurst, to accomplish the above picture.” Upon Mr. Hone appealing to George Cruikshank on the subject, the latter celebrated artist, without the least hesitation, answered, “I had no hand in it.” After this declaration, Mr. Hone did not attempt to retract the compliments he had paid to the merits of the picture in question; but, of course, they now operated with double effect on the talents of Mr. Robert Cruikshank. In conclusion, I have only to observe that the Castle Tavern is open at all times to the visitor, either to confute my representation of it, or to verify the truth of my assertion—but of this circumstance I feel strongly assured that an evening spent at the above sporting house will never prove a source of regret to the stranger who is anxious to witness some of the peculiarities of “Life in London.”
Castor.—A hat. To prig a castor, to steal a hat.