Real Life In London, Volumes I and II | Page 7

Back-gammon: I suppose you never see any thing in
this quarter but the old heavy Bridgewater--why we have half a dozen
new launches every week, and as great a variety of names, shape, size,
and colour, as there are ships in the navy--we have the heavy coach,
light coach, Caterpillar, and Mail--the Balloon, Comet, Fly, Dart,
Regulator, Telegraph, Courier, Times, High-flyer, Hope, with as many
others as would fill a list as long as my tandem-whip. What you now
see is one of the new patent safety-coaches--you can't have an overturn
if you're ever so disposed for a spree. The old city cormorants, after a
gorge of mock-turtle, turn into them for a journey, and drop off in a
~~10~~nap, with as much confidence of security to their neck and
limbs as if they had mounted a rocking-horse, or drop't into an
arm-chair."--"Ah! come, the scene improves, and becomes a little like
Life--here's a dasher making up to the Safety--why its--no,
impossible--can't be--gad it is tho'--the Dart, by all that's good! and
drove by Hell-fire Dick!--there's a fellow would do honour to any
box--drove the Cambridge Fly three months--pass'd every thing on the
road, and because he overturned in three or four hard matches, the
stupid rascals of proprietors moved him off the ground. Joe Spinum,
who's at Corpus Christi, matched Dick once for 50, when he carried
five inside and thirteen at top, besides heavy luggage, against the other
Cambridge--never was a prettier race seen at Newmarket--Dick must
have beat hollow, but a d----d fat alderman who was inside, and felt
alarmed at the velocity of the vehicle, moved to the other end of the
seat: this destroyed the equilibrium--over they went, into a four-feet
ditch, and Joe lost his match. However, he had the satisfaction of
hearing afterwards, that the old cormorant who occasioned his loss, had
nearly burst himself by the concussion."
"See, see!--Dick's got up to, and wants to give the Safety the go

by--gad, its a race--go it Dick--now Safety--d----d good cattle both--lay
it in to 'em Dick--leaders neck and neck--pretty race by G----! Ah, its of
no use Safety--Dick wont stand it--a dead beat--there she goes--all
up--over by Jove "----"I can't see for that tree--what do you say Tom, is
the race over?"--"Race, ah! and the coach too--knew Dick would beat
him--would have betted the long odds the moment I saw it was him."
The tandem had by this time reached the race-course, and the disaster
which Tom had hardly thought worth noticing in his lively description
of the sport, sure enough had befallen the new 'patent Safety, which
was about mid way between an upright and a side position, supported
by the high and very strong quicksett-hedge against which it hath fallen.
Our heroes dismounted, left Flip at the leader's head, and with Ned, the
other groom, proceeded to offer their services. Whilst engaged in
extricating the horses, which had become entangled in their harness,
and were kicking and plunging, their attention was arrested by the
screams and outrageous vociferations of a very fat, middle-aged
woman, who had ~11~~been jerked from her seat on the box to one not
quite so smooth--the top of the hedge, which, with the assistance of an
old alder tree, supported the coach. Tom found it impossible to resist
the violent impulse to risibility which the ludicrous appearance of the
old lady excited, and as no serious injury was sustained, determined to
enjoy the fun.
"If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view, At once o'er hedge and ditch
away he flew, Nor left the game till he had run it down."
Approaching her with all the gravity of countenance he was master
of--"Madam," says he, "are we to consider you as one of the Sylvan
Deities who preside over these scenes, or connected in any way with
the vehicle?"--"Wehicle, indeed, you hunhuman-brutes, instead of
assisting a poor distressed female who has been chuck'd from top of
that there safety-thing, as they calls it, into such a dangerous pisition,
you must be chuckling and grinning, must you? I only wish my
husband, Mr. Giblet, was here, he should soon wring your necks, and
pluck some of your fine feathers for you, and make you look as foolish
as a peacock without his tail." Mrs. Giblet's ire at length having

subsided, she was handed down in safety on terra firma, and our heroes
transferred their assistance to the other passengers. The violence of the
concussion had burst open the coach-door on one side, and a London
Dandy, of the exquisite genus, lay in danger of being pressed to a jelly
beneath the weight of an infirm and very stout old farmer, whom they
had pick'd up on the road; and it was impossible to get at, so as to
afford relief