The long protracted visit to Vauxhall being at length finally arranged, our party soon found themselves in the midst of this gay and fascinating scene of amusement.

“These charming gardens,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall, “which you may perhaps have some recollection of upon a masquerade occasion, having lately fallen into new hands, have assumed, under their direction and management, a new appearance of additional splendour and magnificence perhaps scarcely ever surpassed, and the present proprietors appear to have studied the comfort and gratification of their visitors as well as their own advantage; but of this we shall be better judges before the night is spent.”

“Right,” replied Sparkle, “I am not fond of far fetched descriptions, which may upon investigation prove to have originated more in the imagination of the author than in reality to exist.”

“At all events,” continued Tom, “the Gardens themselves are beautiful and extensive, and contain a variety of walks, which, if but tastefully illuminated, and attended by rank, fashion, and beauty, can never fail to be attractive.”

Our heroes rushed forward to the splendid scene of enchantment, which had drawn forth the previous observations, mingling with the crowds of well dressed persons, who like themselves were upon the alert to witness this delightful place of summer amusement in the new form which it has recently assumed: the virandas tastefully festooned with painted canvass—the brilliantly illuminated orchestra, and the animated countenances of the company, conspired to produce an effect almost inconceivable, while new objects of delight were continually bursting upon their view. The illuminated colonade newly decorated with carved and painted flowers, fruit, and foliage, and Mr. Singleton's original whole length transparent portrait of his Majesty in his coronation robes, alternately attracted attention, as well as the four cosmoramas constructed in various parts of the gardens, consisting of some very pretty views of the New Exchange at Paris, scenes in Switzerland, &c. In the musical department, Sparkle was much pleased to find some of the old favourites, particularly Mr. Charles Taylor and Mrs. Bland, as well as with the performance of a Miss Graddon, who possesses a rich voice, with considerable power and flexibility, and of Madame Georgina, an East Indian Lady, who afterwards sung very charmingly in the Rotunda, accompanying herself on the piano forte, in a style which proved her to be a most skilful performer.

But the grand subject of their admiration was what is rather affectedly called “The Heptaplasiesoptron,” or fancy reflective proscenium, which is placed in the long room fronting the orchestra of the Rotunda. It is entirely lined with looking glass, and has in all probability originated in the curious effect produced by the kaleidoscope, and the looking glass curtains lately exhibited at our theatres. This splendid exhibition is fitted up with ornamented draperies, and presents a fountain of real water illuminated, revolving pillars, palm trees, serpents, foliage, and variegated lamps; and the mirrors are so placed as to reflect each object seven times. This novelty appeared to excite universal admiration, inspiring the company with ideas of refreshing coolness. The bubbling of water, the waving of the foliage, and the seven times reflected effulgence of the lamps, gave the whole an appearance of enchantment, which sets all description at defiance.

Having taken a complete circle through this round of delights, interrupted only by the congratulations and inquiries of friends, the appointed hour for exhibiting the fire-works arrived, when they were additionally gratified by a display of the most splendid description, and the famous ascent a la Saqui was admirably executed by Longuemarc; after witnessing which, they quickly retired to a box, where they gave directions for supper. It is but justice to say, that upon this being furnished, they found the refreshments to be of the best quality, and supplied upon moderate terms; the wines by the London Wine Company, and the viands by Mr. Wayte.

About two o'clock in the morning, our friends took their departure from this romantic spot, after an excursion fraught with pleasure and delight.

On the following morning, Sparkle received a letter from Merrywell, with information of the death of his uncle, and of his succession to the estate, having arrived just in time to prevent his decease without a will. This was a subject of exultation to all the party, though to none more so than Sparkle, particularly as the estate alluded to was situated in the neighbourhood of his own residence.

“Merrywell,” said Dashall, “will become a gay fellow now, as he will have ample means, as well as inclination (which I know he has never been wanting of) to sport his figure in good style, without resorting to any scheme to keep the game alive.”

“True,” said Sparkle, “without crossing and jostling, and if he has his own good in view, he will reside chiefly in the country, choose an amiable partner for life, and only pay a visit to the metropolis occasionally; for to live in this land of temptations, where you can hardly step across the way without getting into error, must be baneful in effect to a young man like him, of an ardent mind. What say you, friend Tallyho?”

“I confess,” replied Bob, “that I entertain thoughts very similar to yours; besides, I apprehend that our old friend Merrywell has had sufficient experience himself to admit the justice of your observation.”

“Pshaw,” rejoined Dashall, “you are getting completely unfashionable. What can be more bang up than a Life in London—high life and low life—shake the castor, tip the flash, and nibble the blunt. Look for instance at young Lord Lappit—cares for nothing—all blood and spirit—fire and tow—up to every thing, and down as a hammer.”

“His is a general case,” replied Sparkle, “and is only one among numerous others, to prove that many of the disorders which are daily visible in high life, may be traced to the education, or rather the want of education of the youthful nobility and gentry. It would be a shocking and insupportable degradation to send a sprig of fashion to school among common boys, where probably he might learn something really useful. No, no,—he must have a private tutor, who is previously instructed to teach him nothing more than what will enable him to pass muster, as not quite a fool. Under this guidance, he skims over a few authors almost without reading, and at all events without knowing what they have written, merely with a view to acquaint him that there were once such persons in existence; after which, this tutor accompanies him to one of the public schools, Westminster, Harrow, or Eton, where the tutor writes his thesis, translates the classics, and makes verses for him, as well as he is able. In the new situation, the scholar picks up more of the frailties of the living, than he does of the instructions of departed characters. The family connections and the power of purse, with which the students are aided, embolden them to assume an unbounded license, and to set at complete defiance all sober rules and regulations; and it may be justly remarked that our public seminaries are admirably situated for the indulgence of their propensities: for instance, Westminster School is fortunately situated in the immediate neighbourhood of a famous place of instruction called Tothill (vulgarly Tuttle) Fields, where every species of refined lewdness and debauchery, and manners the most depraved, are constantly exhibited; consequently they enjoy the great advantages of learning the slang language, and of hearing prime chaunts, rum glees, and kiddy catches, in the purest and most bang up style. He has likewise a fine opportunity of contracting an unalterable penchant for the frail sisterhood, blue ruin, milling, cock fighting, bull and badger baiting, donkey racing, drinking, swearing, swaggering, and other refined amusements, so necessary to form the character of an accomplished gentleman.”

“Again, Harrow School is happily so near to the metropolis, as to afford frequent opportunities for occasional visits to similar scenes of contagion and fashionable dissipation, that the scholars do not fail to seek advantages of taking lessons in all those delectable sciences.

“Eton, it is true, is somewhat farther removed from the nursery of improvement, but it is near enough to Windsor, of which place it is not necessary to say much, for their Bacchanalian and Cyprian orgies, and other fashionable festivities, are well known. So that notwithstanding they are not in the immediate vicinity of the metropolis, there can scarcely be a doubt of their being able to sport their figures to advantage, whenever they are let loose upon society.

“Cambridge is but a short distance from that place of sporting notoriety, Newmarket, consequently it is next to impossible but that a youth of an aspiring mind should be up to all the manouvres of a race course—understanding betting, hedging off, crossing and jostling, sweating and training—know all the jockeys—how to give or take the odds—lay it on thick, and come it strong. Some have an unconquerable ambition to distinguish themselves as a whip, sport their tits in tip top style, and become proficients in buckish and sporting slang—to pitch it rum, and astonish the natives—up to the gab of the cad. They take upon themselves the dress and manners of the Varment Club, yet noted for the appearance of their prads, and the dexterity with which they can manage the ribbons, and, like Goldfinch, pride themselves on driving the long coaches—'mount the box, tip coachee a crown, dash along at full speed, rattle down the gateway, take care of your heads—never kill'd but one woman and a child in all my life—that's your sort.'”

“Fine pictures of a University Education,” said Tom, “but Sparkle always was a good delineator of real character; and there is one thing to be said, he has been an eye witness of the facts, nay a partaker of the sports.”

“True,” continued Sparkle, “and, like many others, have had something like enjoyment in them too.”

“Aye, aye, no doubt of that,” said Bob, dryly,—“but how does it happen that you have omitted Oxford altogether?”

“Nay,” said Sparkle, “there is not much difference in any of them. The students hate all learning but that which they acquire in the brothel, the ring, or the stable.

They spend their terms somehow or other in or near the University, and their vacations at Jackson's Rooms in London; so that they know nothing more of mathematics than sufficient to calculate odds and chances. This, however, depends upon the wealth of the parties; for notwithstanding there are some excellent statutes by which they ought to be guided, a nobleman or wealthy commoner is indulged according to his titles or riches, without any regard to the rules and regulations in such cases made and provided.

“From this situation they are at length let loose, thoroughly accomplished in every thing but what they ought to know. Some make their appearance as exquisites or dandies—a sort of indescribable being, if being such things may be called. Others take the example of the bang ups—make themselves perfect in milling, swearing, greeking, talking flash, and mail coach driving, until John Doe and Richard Roe drive them into Abbot's preserve, a circumstance which puts a temporary check upon the sports—though if the Collegian is but up to the logic, he is very soon down upon the coves his creditors,{1} bowls them out by harassing expenses, and walks out himself, up to snuff, and fly.”

“I perceive,” said Tom, “that your imagination is flying away from your subject; though I admit the justice of your remarks, as generally applicable to what is termed the higher ranks of society, and that they are imitated or aped in succession to those of the lower orders; but we appear to have imperceptibly got into a long descriptive conversation, instead of pursuing our usual plan of drawing inferences from actual observation. Let us forth and walk awhile.”

“With all my heart,” said Sparkle, “I see you wish to change the subject: however, I doubt not there will be a time when you will think more seriously, and act more usefully.”

By the time Bob had concluded his verse, they were on the move, and taking their direction through St. James's-street, turning the corner of which,—“there,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall, “that is the celebrated Lord Shampetre, of whose name and character you have before heard.”

“Indeed,” said Bob. “Well, I must say, that if I met him in the street, I should have supposed him to be an old clothesman.”

“Hush,” said Sparkle, “don't be too severe in your observations, for I have been given to understand his Lordship has expressed his indignation upon a former occasion at such a comparison; though I must acknowledge it is not altogether an unjust one; and if exalted, I beg pardon, I mean popular characters, will force themselves into public notice by their follies, their vices or their eccentricities, they can have no right to complain.”

“And pray,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall, “where is one to be found who has made himself more conspicuous than the one in question, and especially by a very recent occurrence. The fashionable world is full of the subject of his amatory epistles to the sister of a celebrated actress,{1} and her very 'commodious mother;' but I dare say

his Lordship is displeased with no part of the eclat, except the quiz that his liberal offer of £500. would be about £25. per annum, or 9s. 7d. a week—a cheap purchase of a young lady's honour, and therefore a good bargain.”

“I believe,” continued Sparkle, “there is little about him, either as to person or to character, which entitles him to occupy more of our time, which may be better devoted to more agreeable and deserving subjects.”

“Apropos,” said Dashall, taking Sparkle at his word, “do you observe a person on the other side of the way with a blue nose and a green coat, cut in the true jockey style, so as to render it difficult to ascertain whether he is a gentleman or a gentleman's groom? That is Mr. Spankalong, who has a most unconquerable attachment to grooms, coachmen, and stable assistants; whose language and manners it is one of the principal studies of his life to imitate. He prides himself on being a good driver of four in hand, and tickling the tits along the road in a mail carriage, is the ne plus ultra of his ambition. He will take a journey of an hundred miles out of town, merely to meet and drive up a mail coach, paying for his own passage, and feeing the coachmen for their permission. Disguised in a huge white coat, with innumerable capes and mother o'pearl buttons, he seats himself on the box—Elbows square, wrists pliant—all right—Hayait—away they go. He takes his glass of gin and bitters on the road—opens the door for the passengers to get in—with 'now my masters—you please;' and seems quite as much at home as Mr. Matthews at the Lyceum, with 'all that sort of thing, and every thing in the world.' He is, however, not singular in his taste, for many of our hereditary statesmen are to be found among this class, save and except that he carries his imitations to a farther extent than any person I ever knew; and it is a fact, that he had one of his fore teeth punched out, in order to enable the noble aspirant to give the true coachman's whistle, and to spit in a Jehu-like manner, so as to project the saliva from his lips, clear of the cattle and traces, into the hedge on the near side of the road.”

“Accomplishments that are truly deserving the best considerations of a noble mind,” rejoined Tallyho.

“And absolutely necessary to the finished gentleman of the present day, of course,” continued Sparkle; “and as I have not had a lounge in these Corinthian regions for some little time, I am glad to be thus furnished with a key to characters that may be new to me.”

“There is one on the opposite side of the way not altogether new, as he has made some noise in the world during his time—I mean the gentleman whose features exhibit so much of the rouge—it is the celebrated Sir George Skippington, formerly well known in Fop's Alley, and at the Opera; not so much on account of his elegant person, lively wit, or polished address, as for his gallantries, and an extraordinary affectation of dress, approaching very nearly to the ridiculous, the chief part of his reputation being derived from wearing a pea-green coat, and pink silk stockings: he has, however, since that time become a dramatic writer, or at least a manufacturer of pantomime and shew; and—ah, but see—speaking of writers—here we have a Hook, from which is suspended a certain scandalous Journal, well known for its dastardly attacks upon private character, and whose nominal conductors are at this moment in durance vile; but a certain affair in the fashionable way of defaulting, has brought him down a peg or two. His ingenuity has been displayed on a variety of occasions, and under varying circumstances. His theatrical attempts have been successful, and at Harrow he was called the Green Man, in consequence of his affected singularity of wearing a complete suit of clothes of that colour. He appears to act at all times upon the favourite recommendation of Young Rapid, 'keep moving;' for he is always in motion, in consequence of which it is said, that Lord Byron wittily remarked, 'he certainly was not the Green Man and Still.'”{1}

“Why,” cried Bob, “there seems to be as little of still life about him just now, as there is about Hookey Walker. But pray who is that dingy gentleman who passed us within the last minute, and who appeared to be an object of attraction to some persons on the opposite side—he appears to have been cut out for a tailor.”

“That,” replied Tom, “is a Baronet and cornuto, who married the handsome daughter of a great Marquis. She, however, turned out a complete termagant, who one day, in the heat of her rage, d———d her rib for a sneaking puppy, dashed a cup of coffee in his face, and immediately after flew for protection to a Noble Lord, who entertained a penchant for her. This, however, proved to be a bad speculation on her part; and having seriously reflected on the consequences of such conduct, she made her appearance again at her husband's door a few nights afterwards, and in the spirit of contrition sought forgiveness, under a promise of never transgressing any more, little doubting but her claim to admission would be allowed. Here, however, it seems she had reckoned without her host,—for the Baronet differing in opinion, would not listen to her proposition: her entreaties and promises were urged in vain, and the deserted though still cara sposa, has kept the portals of his door, as well as the avenues to his heart, completely closed to her since.”

At this moment they were interrupted by the approach of a gaily dressed young man, who seizing Dashall by the hand, and giving him a hearty shake, exclaimed,—

“Ha, my dear fellow, what Dashall, and as I live, Mr. Sparkle, you are there too, are you: d———me, what's the scent—up to any thing—going any where—or any thing to do—eh—d———me.”

“Quite ad libitum,” replied Dashall, “happy to see Gayfield well and in prime twig,—allow me to introduce my Cousin, Robert Tallyho, Esq.”

“You do me proud, my dear fellow. Any thing new—can't live without novelty—who's up, who's down—what's the wonder of the day—how does the world wag—where is the haven of destination, and how do you weather the point.”

“Zounds,” replied Tom, “you ask more questions in a breath than we three can answer in an hour.”

“Never mind—don't want you to answer; but at all events must have something to say—hate idleness either in speech or action—hate talking in the streets, can't bear staring at like a new monument or a statue. Talking of statues—I have it—good thought, go see Achilles, the ladies man—eh! what say you. D———me, made of cannons and other combustibles—Waterloo to wit—Come along, quite a bore to stand still—yea or nay, can't wait.”

“With all my heart,” said Sparkle, twitching Dashall by the arm, “it is quite new since my departure from town; “and joining arms, they proceeded towards the Park.

“Been out of town,” continued Gayfield,—“thought so—lost you all at once—glad you have not lost yourself. Any thing new in the country—always inquire—can't live without novelty—go to see every thing and every body, every where. Nothing new in the papers—Irish distresses old, but very distressing for a time: how the devil can you live in the country—can't imagine.”

“And I apprehend,” replied Sparkle, “it will be of little use to explain; for a gentleman of so much information as yourself must know every thing.”

“Good, but severe—never mind, I never trouble my head with other people's thoughts—always think for myself, let others do as they like. Hate inquisitive people, don't choose to satisfy all inquirers. Never ask questions of any one, don't expect answers. Have you seen the celebrated ventriloquist, Alexandre,—the Egyptian Tomb,—the———”

Sparkle could hold no longer: the vanity and egotism of this everlasting prater, this rambler from subject to subject, without manner, method, or even thought, was too much; and he could not resist the temptation to laugh, in which he was joined by Tom and Bob.

“What is the matter,” inquired Gayfield, unconscious of being the cause of their risibility. “I see nothing to laugh at, d———me, but I do love laughing, so I'll enjoy a little with you at all events; “and immediately he became a participator in their mirth, to the inexpressible delight of his companions; “but,” continued he, “I see nothing to laugh at, and it is beneath the character of a philosopher to laugh at any thing.”

“Never mind,” said Dashall, “we are not of that description—and we sometimes laugh at nothing, which I apprehend is the case in the present instance.”

“I perfectly agree with the observation,” rejoined Sparkle; “it is a case in point, and very well pointed too.”

“Nothing could be better timed,” said Tallyho.

“What than a horse laugh in the public streets! D———d vulgar really—-quite outre, as we say. No, no, you ought to consider where you are, what company you are in, and never laugh without a good motive—what is the use of laughing.”

“A philosopher,” said Tom Dashall, “need scarcely ask such a question. The superiority of his mind ought to furnish a sufficient answer.”

“Then I perceive you are not communicative, and I always like to be informed; but never mind, here we shall have something to entertain us.”

“And at least,” said Sparkle, “that is better than nothing.”

The observation, however, was lost upon the incorrigible fribble, who produced his snuff-box, and took a pinch, with an air that discovered the diamond ring upon his finger—pulled up his shirt collar—and at the same time forced down his waistcoat; conceiving no doubt that by such means he increased his consequence, which however was wholly lost upon his companions.

“And this,” said Sparkle, “is the so much talked of statue of Achilles—The Wellington Trophy—it is placed in a very conspicuous situation, however—and what says the pedestal—

“Beautiful,” said Gayfield—“Elegant—superb.” “Bold,” said Dashall, “but not very delicate.” “A naked figure, truly,” continued Bob, “in a situation visited by the first circles of rank and fashion, is not to be considered as one of the greatest proofs either of modesty or propriety; but perhaps these ideas, as in many other instances, are exploded, or they are differently understood to what they were originally. A mantle might have been thought of by the ladies, if not the artist.”

“For my part,” said Sparkle, “I see but little in it to admire.”

During this conversation, Gayfield was dancing round the figure with his quizzing glass in his hand, examining it at all points, and appearing to be highly amused and delighted.

“It affords opportunities for a variety of observations,” said Dashall, “and, like many other things, may perhaps be a nine days wonder. The public prints have been occupied upon the subject for a few days, and I know of but one but what condemns it upon some ground or other."{1}

On their return from the Park, our party looked in at Tattersal's, where it proved to be settling day. Dashall and his Cousin had previously made a trip to Ascot Races, to enjoy a day's sport, and were so fortunate as to let in a knowing one for a considerable sum, by taking the long odds against a favourite horse. They therefore expected now to toutch the blunt, and thus realize the maxim of the poet, by “uniting profit and delight in one.”

“Yonder,” says Dashall, pointing out to his Cousin a very stout man, “is H. R. H.; he is said to have been a considerable winner, both at the late, as well as Epsom races; but the whole has since vanished at play, with heavy additions, and the black legs are now enjoying a rich harvest. The consequences have been, not only the sale of the fine estate of O—t—ds by the hammer, but even the family plate and personal property have been knocked down to the highest bidders, at Robbins's Rooms.”

“I should have expected,” replied Bob, “that so much fatal experience, which is said to make even fools wise, would have taught a useful lesson, and restrained this gambling propensity, however violent.”

“Psha, man,” continued his Cousin, “you are a novice indeed to suppose any thing of the kind. No one uninitiated in these mysteries, can form an idea of the inextricable labyrinth, or the powerful spell which binds the votaries of play; and unfortunately this fatal passion seems to pervade in an unusual degree our present nobility: indeed it may be said there are comparatively but few of the great families who are not either reduced to actual poverty, or approximating towards it, in consequence of the inordinate indulgence of this vice.”

Having succeeded in their object, Dashall and his Cousin pursued their course homeward; and thus terminated another day spent in the developement of Real Life in the British Metropolis.

We cannot quit this subject without paying a compliment to the virtues of the Court. We understand there has not been one royal carriage seen in the Park since the erection of the statue; and if report speaks true, the Marchioness of C——-m's delicacy is so shocked, that she intends to quit Hamilton Place, which is close by, as early as a more modest site can be chosen!