“Here I am in the street agin; the air feels handsum. I have another invitation to-night, shall I go? Guess I will. All the world is at these two last places, I reckin there will be breathin’ room at the next; and I want an ice cream to cool my coppers, shockin’ bad.—Creation! It is wus than ever; this party beats t’other ones all holler. They ain’t no touch to it. I’ll jist go and make a scrape to old uncle and aunty, and then cut stick; for I hante strength to swiggle my way through another mob.
“‘You had better get in fust, though, hadn’t you, Sam? for here you are agin wracked, by gosh, drove right slap ashore atween them two fat women, and fairly wedged in and bilged. You can’t get through, and can’t get out, if you was to die for it.’ ‘Can’t I though? I’ll try; for I never give in, till I can’t help it. So here’s at it. Heave off, put all steam on, and back out, starn fust, and then swing round into the stream. That’s the ticket, Sam.’ It’s done; but my elbow has took that lady that’s two steps furder down on the stairs, jist in the eye, and knocked in her dead light. How she cries! how I apologize, don’t I? And the more I beg pardon, the wus she carries on. But it’s no go; if I stay, I must fust fight somebody, and then marry her; for I’ve spiled her beauty, and that’s the rule here, they tell me.’
“So I sets studen sail booms, and cracks on all sail, and steers for home, and here I am once more; at least what’s left of me, and that ain’t much more nor my shader. Oh dear! I’m tired, shockin’ tired, almost dead, and awful thirsty; for Heaven’s sake, give me some lignum vitae, for I am so dry, I’ll blow away in dust.
“This is a Swoi-ree, Squire, this is London society; this is rational enjoyment, this is a meeting of friends, who are so infarnal friendly they are jammed together so they can’t leave each other. Inseparable friends; you must choke ‘em off, or you can’t part ‘em. Well, I ain’t jist so thick and intimate with none o’ them in this country as all that comes to nother. I won’t lay down my life for none on ‘em; I don’t see no occasion for it, do you?
“I’ll dine with you, John Bull, if you axe me; and I ain’t nothin’ above particular to do, and the cab hire don’t cost more nor the price of a dinner; but hang me if ever I go to a Swoi-ree agin. I’ve had enough of that, to last me my life, I know. A dinner I hante no objection to, though that ain’t quite so bright as a pewter button nother, when you don’t know you’re right and left, hand man. And an evenin’ party, I wouldn’t take my oath I wouldn’t go to, though I don’t know hardly what to talk about, except America; and I’ve bragged so much about that, I’m tired of the subject. But a Swoi-ree is the devil, that’s a fact.”
CHAPTER XII. TATTERSALL’S OR, THE ELDER AND THE GRAVE DIGGER.
“Squire,” said Mr. Slick, “it ain’t rainin’ to-day; suppose you come along with me to Tattersall’s. I have been studyin’ that place a considerable sum to see whether it is a safe shop to trade in or no. But I’m dubersome; I don’t like the cut of the sportin’ folks here. If I can see both eends of the rope, and only one man has hold of one eend, and me of the tother, why I know what I am about; but if I can only see my own eend, I don’t know who I am a pullin’ agin. I intend to take a rise out o’ some o’ the knowin’ ones here, that will make ‘em scratch their heads, and stare, I know. But here we are. Cut round this corner, into this Lane. Here it is; this is it to the right.”
We entered a sort of coach-yard, which was filled with a motley and mixed crowd of people. I was greatly disappointed in Tattersall’s. Indeed, few things in London have answered my expectations. They have either exceeded or fallen short of the description I had heard of them. I was prepared, both from what I was told by Mr. Slick, and heard, from others, to find that there were but very few gentlemen-like looking men there; and that by far the greater number neither were, nor affected to be, any thing but “knowing ones.” I was led to believe that there would be a plentiful use of the terms of art, a variety of provincial accent, and that the conversation of the jockeys and grooms would be liberally garnished with appropriate slang.
The gentry portion of the throng, with some few exceptions, it was said, wore a dissipated look, and had that peculiar appearance of incipient disease, that indicates a life of late hours, of excitement, and bodily exhaustion. Lower down in the scale of life, I was informed, intemperance had left its indelible marks. And that still further down, were to be found the worthless lees of this foul and polluted stream of sporting gentlemen, spendthrifts, gamblers, bankrupts, sots, sharpers and jockeys.