Tattersall in the Rostrum.—“Gentlemen, what can you hesitate about? Only look at her! She is one of the most beautiful creatures that I have ever had the honour of submitting to your notice! So gentle in her paces; indeed, so safe a goer, that a child might ride her. Her pedigree is excellent—she is thorough-bred from her ear to her hoof; and the Herald’s College could not produce a more sound and satisfactory one—she comes from a good house, I pledge, my word, gentlemen. My Lord Duke, will you allow me to say £250 for your Grace? She will, notwithstanding the excellence of your Grace’s stud, be an ornament to it. She is a picture—complete to a shade; in fact, I could gaze upon her for ever, and always be struck with some new beauty she possesses. Thank you, My Lord Duke, I was certain your Grace would not let such an opportunity pass. There is not a horse-dealer in the kingdom who can show such a fine creature! She is above competition—I may say, she is matchless! The Regent’s Park might be betted to a mole-hill with safety that she has no parallel. Sir Henry, let me call your attention to Cleopatra! She is like her namesake in the olden times—but beautiful without paint! She is pure Nature, and no vice! Her action, Sir Henry—yes, her action—I could dilate upon it for a quarter of an hour—but puffing is out of the question—you shall judge for yourself. Run her down, John—The Graces, I am sure, Sir Harry, were they to behold her movements, would be out of temper with her captivating excellence! Taglioni, I must admit, can perform wonders with her pretty feet, but Cleopatra, my Lord Duke, can distance the whole of them put together; and positively leave the Opera House with all its talent, in the back ground. In fact, I am deficient in words to display her immense capabilities—£300, Going! £300. Thank you, my Lord Duke, she must be yours. For the last time, going at £310; but I will do the handsome thing, I will allow you five minutes to compose your mind—I am well aware that such unparalleled beauty is very dazzling—therefore, before you lose sight of this handsome creature, I do impress upon you, to remember that the opportunity once lost—£320; Sir Harry, I am obliged to you—the world has always acknowledged you as a man of great taste in matters of this kind; and without flattery, you have never shown it more than in the present instance—according to the poet, ‘Beauty; or, Loveliness, needs not the foreign aid of ornament, but is, when unadorned, adorned the most!’ Going—Cleopatra, my Lord Duke, will be in other hands if your Grace does not make up your mind in your usual princely style of doing things—a good bidding will make Cleopatra your own for ever, therefore, now’s the time to put on the distancing power, and your Grace will win the race in a canter! £340, my Lord Duke, I can only express my gratitude to say, that you have done me honour—Going!—Going!!—Going!!!—in fact, gentlemen, I am like an artist in this case, I do not like to leave such a delightful picture and I could dwell upon the qualities of Cleopatra to the very echo that applauds again and again! But most certainly I have given you all a fair chance—Cleopatra is on the go—are you all silent—going for £340, after all, what is that sum for one of the greatest English beauties ever submitted to the inspection of the public! £350, thank you, Sir Charles—worth your money at any price. I have witnessed your notice of Cleopatra for some time past—she will bear looking at, again and again! Charming Cleopatra! I am glad to see she has so many suitors for her hand—I beg pardon, gentlemen—a slip will happen to the best of us—her feet I should have said, but nevertheless, I am happy to see she has a host of admirers. I cannot bid myself, or else I would ‘make play’ and Cleopatra should become a noble prize—£370. Bravo! my Lord Duke! for £370 positively, yes, positively, ’pon my honour, positively the last time—or else the beautiful Cleopatra goes into the keeping of my Lord Duke. You are sure, gentlemen, that you have all done? Don’t blame me, but blame yourselves! Going once! Going twice! Going three times—Going—Gone!!! Cleopatra belongs to the Duke. ‘Jerry expressed himself so much pleased with his visit to Tattersall’s, that he observed to Logic, during his stay in London he should often frequent it.’ ‘I delight,’ said Hawthorn, ‘to be in the company of sportsmen; and no objects afford me greater satisfaction than the sight of a fine hunter,—the view of a high-mettled racer,—and the look of a perfect greyhound.’ ‘I admire them also,’ replied the Corinthian; ‘and Tattersall’s will always prove an agreeable lounge, if no direct purpose call a person thither. If nothing more than Information be acquired, that alone, Jerry, to a man of the world, is valuable at all times. Besides, Tattersall’s gives a tone to the sporting world, in the same way that the transactions on the Royal Exchange influence the mercantile part of society. It has likewise its ‘settling days,’ after the great races at Newmarket, Doncaster, Epsom, Ascot, &c. I do not know about the bulls and bears;[41] but if it has no lame ducks to waddle out, it has sometimes Levanters that will not show for a time, and others that will brush off altogether. But this does not happen very often; and Tattersall’s has its ‘good MEN’ as well as the ’Change, and whose ‘word,’ will be taken for any amount. It has also its Subscription-room, which is extremely convenient for gentlemen and other persons who feel any inclination to become acquainted with the events of the sporting world, at the moderate charge of one guinea a year. Indeed,’ continued Tom, ‘there is an air of sporting about this place altogether; elegance, cleanliness, and style, being its prominent features. The company, I admit, is a mixture of persons of nearly all ranks in life; but, nevertheless, it is that sort of mixture which is pleasingly interesting; there is no intimacy or association about it. A man may be well known here; he may also in his turn know almost everybody that visits Tattersall’s; and yet be quite a stranger to their habits and connections with society. It is no matter who sells or who purchases at this repository. A bet stands as good with a Leg, and is thought as much of, as with a Peer,—Money being the touchstone of the circumstance. The ‘best judge’ respecting sporting events is acknowledged the ‘best man’ here; every person being on the ‘look out’ to see how he lays his blunt. The Duke and the Parliamentary Orator, if they do not know the properties of a horse, are little more than cyphers; it is true they may be stared at, if pointed out as great characters, but nothing more. The nod from a stable-keeper is quite as important, if not more so, to the Auctioneer, as the wink of a Right Honourable. Numbers of persons who visit Tattersall’s are, or wish to, appear knowing: from which ‘self’ importance they are often most egregiously duped. In short, if you are not as familiar with the odds upon all events as Chitty in quoting precedents—show as intimate an acquaintance with the pedigree and speed of race-horses as a Gulley—and also display as correct a knowledge of the various capabilities of the prize pugilists as a Jackson—if Gain is your immediate object, you are ‘of no use’ at Tattersall’s,’ ‘Yes,’ said Logic, with a grin, interrupting Tom; ‘there are to be found here as many flats and sharps as would furnish the score of a musical composer; and several of these instruments have been so much played upon, and are so wretchedly out of tune, that the most skilful musician in the world cannot restore them to perfect harmony.’ ‘It is,’ resumed the Corinthian, ‘an excellent mart for the disposal of carriages, horses, dogs, &c., and many a fine fellow’s stud has been floored by the hammer of Tattersall. There is a capacious Tap attached to the premises, for the convenience of servants of gentlemen in attendance upon their masters, or for any person who stands in need of refreshment. Tattersall’s, for the purposes intended, is the most complete place in the Metropolis; and if you have any desire to witness ‘real life’—to observe character—and to view the favourite hobbies of mankind, it is the resort of the pinks of the Swells,—the tulips of the Goes,—the dashing heroes of the military,—the fox hunting clericals,—sprigs of nobility,—stylish coachmen,—smart guards,—saucy butchers,—natty grooms,—tidy helpers,—knowing horse-dealers,—betting publicans,—neat jockeys,—sporting men of all descriptions,—and the picture is finished by numbers of real gentlemen. It is the tip-top sporting feature in London.’ ‘It must have been the work of some time,’ said Jerry, ‘to have formed such a famous connection.’ ‘Yes,’ replied Tom; ‘you are quite right. It is not the work of a day. The name of Tattersall is not only high, but of long standing in the sporting world; and everything connected with this splendid establishment is conducted in the most gentlemanly manner. The founder of these premises was during his time, viewed as one of the best judges of horse-flesh in the kingdom; and, as a proof of it, he made his fortune by a horse called Highflyer.’”
Tattler.—A watch. “Time’s a tell tale.”
Teazer of the Catgut.—A hardworking fiddler.
Thames.—“He’ll never set the Thames on fire,” i.e., He will never make any figure in the world. This popular phrase is as to the word “Thames” altogether a misapplication. The temse was a corn sieve which was worked in former times over the receiver of the sifted flour. A hard-working active man would not unfrequently ply the temse so quickly as to set fire to the wooden hoop at the bottom; but a lazy fellow would never—no never set the temse on fire! The play on the word temse has engendered many stupid imitations as “He will never set the Mersey—or the Humber, &c., on fire,” which has no meaning. Dutch, teme; French, tamis; Italian, tamiso, a sieve.
Thigh of Mutton and Smash.—A boiled leg of mutton, with turnips and caper sauce, &c. A prominent article among pot-house gamblers.
Thimble.—A watch.
Third of Daffy.—Third part of a quartern of gin.
Timber Merchant.—A dealer in the old-fashioned brimstone matches.
Tip your Rags a Gallop.—To run away.
Tip.—Money. To be in Tip-street, to have plenty of money, “a consummation devoutly to be wished.”