ENGLISH MINSTRELSY.
There is suddenly a discordant hum and a party of strolling minstrels halt before a carriage and commence to serenade the fair lady listeners, who fling sixpences to them languidly. These minstrels have their faces blacked, and are appareled in hideous check coats with very small bodies, and have very large buttons sewed to the skirts, which are ornamented with ridiculously long tails. The songs generally sung by those wretched minstrels, are slangy, and sound senseless to an American's ear, as witness the following stanza which they chant with wide-mouthed refrain:—
"Button up your waistcoat, button up your shoes,
Have another liquor and throw away the blues,
Be like me and good for a spree,
From now till the day is dawning.
For I am a member of the Rollicking Rams,
Come and be a member of the Rollicking Rams,
The only boys to make a noise,
From now till the day is dawning."
The course was lined and packed with every known manner of vehicle and equipage. There were drags, four-in-hands, dog-carts, landaus, tandem teams, ladies' pony chaises, phætons, carryalls, clarences, broughams, and open barouches. Many of the turn-outs were adorned with the crests of noble families, and some few bore the princely cognizances of great Continental houses.
One of these large, roomy, and handsomely-constructed, open barouches, drawn by four grey horses, served as a focus for many glances drawn toward it. Some of the glances bestowed on the female occupants of the handsome barouche were very unfriendly—and when some proud patrician girl rode by, her eyes shot fire at the borrowed splendor of the three Scarlet Women, who reclined lazily upon the softly-cushioned seats, and no less hostile were the glances thrown on the graceful wavy figure of the handsome girl who sat her thoroughbred and silken-eared and shapely chestnut bay mare by the side of the barouche, and who bent over like a reed to chat with the principal female figure leaning back on the cushions.
I looked at these four gaily dressed, handsome women, with their loud chatty manners, their indescribably bold flashes of the eye, their familiar and free conversation with the titled fools and giddy young lordlings, and baronets and rich young commoners, and as I looked I saw that these four women represented the Great Social Plague Spot of England. While I looked, a police inspector, from London, who had come down to this ordinarily quiet, Sussex town, to keep an eye on some distinguished pickpockets who were to attend the races, sauntered to where I stood with my friend, and as I had made his acquaintance in the English capital he was not long in informing me as to the character of the magnificently attired women.
"They are the four gayest women in England, Sir," said he, "Those four ladies—we call them ladies because we dare not call them anything else, they have so many protectors of rank and influence—are "Mabel Grey," "Anonyma," "Baby Hamilton," and "Alice Gordon."
"Mabel Gray?" said my friend enquiringly, "I think I've heard of her before—which is she?"
