Real Life In London, Volumes I and II | Page 4

Dear Life! To tell the truth, I'd rather lose a wife, Should Heav'n e'er deem me worthy of possessing That best, that most invaluable blessing. I thank thee, that thou brought'st me into being; The things of this our world are well worth seeing; And let me add, moreover, well worth feeling; Then what the Devil would people have? These gloomy hunters of the grave, For ever sighing, groaning, canting, kneeling. Some wish they never had been born, how odd! To see the handy works of God, In sun and moon, and starry sky; Though last, not least, to see sweet Woman's charms,-- Nay, more, to clasp them in our arms, And pour the soul in love's delicious sigh, Is well worth coming for, I'm sure, Supposing that thou gav'st us nothing more. Yet, thus surrounded, Life, dear Life, I'm thine, And, could I always call thee mine, I would not quickly bid this world farewell; But whether here, or long or short my stay, I'll keep in mind for ev'ry day An old French motto, "Vive la bagatelle!" Misfortunes are this lottery-world's sad blanks; Presents, in my opinion, not worth thanks. The pleasures are the twenty thousand prizes, Which nothing but a downright ass despises.
It was not, however, the mere representations of Bob's friend, with which, (in consequence of the important result,) we commenced our chapter, that produced the powerful effect of fixing the wavering mind of Bob--No, it was the air--the manner--the je ne sais quoi, by which these representations were accompanied: the curled lip of contempt, and the eye, measuring as he spoke, from top to toe, his companions, with the cool elegant sang froid and self-possession displayed in his own person and manner, which became a fiat with Bob, and which effected the object so long courted by his cousin.
After the manner of Yorick (though, by the bye, no sentimentalist) Bob thus reasoned with himself:--"If an acquaintance with London is to give a man these airs of superiority--this ascendancy--elegance of manners, and command of enjoyments--why, London for me; and if pleasure is the game in view, there will I instantly pursue the sport."
The song and toast, in unison with the sparkling glass, followed each other in rapid succession. During which, our elegant London visitor favoured the company with the following effusion, sung in a style equal to (though unaccompanied with the affected airs and self-importance of) a first-rate professor:--
SONG.
If to form and distinction, in town you would bow, Let appearance of wealth be your care: If your friends see you live, not a creature cares how, The question will only be, Where? A circus, a polygon, crescent, or place, With ideas of magnificence tally; Squares are common, streets queer, but a lane's a disgrace; And we've no such thing as an alley. A first floor's pretty well, and a parlour so so; But, pray, who can give themselves airs, Or mix with high folks, if so vulgarly low To live up in a two pair of stairs? The garret, excuse me, I mean attic floor, (That's the name, and it's right you should know it,) Would he tenantless often; but genius will soar, And it does very well for a poet.
These amusements of the table were succeeded by a most stormy and lengthened debate, (to use a parliamentary phrase) during which, Bob's London friend had with daring heroism opposed the whole of the party, in supporting the superiority of Life in London over every pleasure the country could afford. After copious libations to Bacchus, whose influence at length effected what oratory had in vain essayed, and silenced these contending and jarring elements, "grey-eyed Morn" peeped intrusively amid the jovial crew, and Somnus, (with the cart before the horse) stepping softly on tip-toe after his companion, led, if not by, at least accompanied with, the music of the nose, each to his snoring pillow.
----"Glorious resolve!" exclaimed Tom, as soon as his friend had next morning intimated his intention,--"nobly resolved indeed!--"What! shall he whom Nature has formed to shine in the dance and sparkle in the ring--to fascinate the fair--lead and control the fashions--attract the gaze and admiration of the surrounding crowd!--shall he pass a life, or rather a torpid existence, amid country bumpkins and Johnny-raws? Forbid it all ye powers that rule with despotic sway where Life alone is to be found,--forbid it cards--dice--balls--fashion, and ye gay et coteras,--forbid"----"Pon my soul," interrupted Bob, "you have frightened me to death! I thought you were beginning an Epic,--a thing I abominate of all others. I had rather at any time follow the pack on a foundered horse than read ten lines of Homer; so, my dear fellow, descend for God's sake from the Heroics."
Calmly let me, at least, begin Life's chapter, Not panting for a hurricane of rapture; Calm