OF THE GENT WHO GOES TO THE RACES.
THE Gent who goes to the races must not be confounded with the Sporting
Gent, of whom we may speak by-and-by. He knows nothing in the world
about the running, nor indeed does he care much about it, beyond the
manner in which it may affect a chance he has in a “Derby Sweep.” But he
thinks the fact of being seen there gives him a position in society, and
he would not miss the races for any thing.
As the Gent who goes to the races is closely allied to the Gent we saw
at the night taverns, we will describe him in the same fashion.
He buyeth a “D’Orsay blouse,” which he believeth to have been made under
the Count’s own eye; a blue cravat, spotted with white wafers; a whip,
and a pair of short patent boots, to produce an effect; in which he
mounteth a “fast four-horse coach” from the “Garrick’s Head.” At the
“Elephant and Castle,” being called “my noble sportsman” by the vender
of the cards, he buyeth one, and conceiveth that he is taken for Lord
Chesterfield. He asketh the vender, with a severe look, “if it is
Dorling’s?” to show that he is “a downy cove,” and not to be done. He
also hath a glass of pale ale. On Clapham Common he seeth a ladies’
school, and boweth to the tall pupil; whereupon the tall pupil receiveth
a chiding from the English teacher for unseemly levity, and the tall
pupil accuseth the half-boarder of being the true culprit. At Mitcham he
hath another pale ale, and delighteth in being recognised by a man on a
pony, whom he sayeth is “Bob Croft;” after which, he winketh or kisseth
his hand to all the housemaids, who, on the Derby Day, invariably take
two hours and a half to make the front-room bed; swinging his legs over
the side seat of the roof, that his boots may dazzle the rustics. At
Sutton he hath another pale ale. This fully openeth his heart, and he
carolleth lustily until he reacheth the Downs, when he hopeth to be
taken for one of the Guards. A gipsy woman telleth him that he hath a
wicked eye, and that his company is agreeable to various female
Christian names; whereon he giveth her a shilling and the tail of a
lobster, the large claw of which he putteth to his nose, and in his
imagination doeth the “fast thing.”
[Illustration]
After the race (than which he sayeth he never saw a better, albeit he
hath seen but few) he thinketh it “nobby” to throw at the sticks, and
insisteth that the merchant do set up a bell, a feathered cock, and a
pear that discourseth music most unhappily, by pulling out the stalk,
and blowing through it. He seeth Lord ——, whom he knoweth by sight, next
to him, laden with crockery, dogs, and Napoleons, pincushions,
money-boxes, and soldiers in remarkable uniforms, partaking of the
Grenadier’s, Highlander’s, and Turk’s; and he striveth to knock down
more things than the patrician. But in this he faileth, and intruding on
the other’s aim, is called a “snob,” which, in the kindness of his
heart, he resenteth not, but carrieth his winnings in his hat back to
the coach, after which he walketh about “to see the fine women.” Next he
hath more lunch, until his heart openeth wider than ever, and he
thinketh, “This is life rather; what a fast one I am, and can’t I do it
when I choose! Hurrah!” He then challengeth strange men on the roofs of
distant vehicles to take wine, because he knoweth “they are the right
sort,” and finisheth by trying a hornpipe on the roof of his own, in all
the enthusiasm of ale, sun, lobster salad, dust, champagne, and a
post-horn.
Going home, his humour knoweth no bounds. He tieth his handkerchief to
his stick for a flag, until he loseth his hat, when he tieth his
handkerchief round his head. He sitteth on the post-horn, and causeth it
to resemble a ram’s. He pelteth old gentlemen driving four-wheeled
chaises with snuff-boxes, and distributeth pincushions to the domestics,
breaking windows withal. He liketh to know who any one is who upsetteth
him by offensive speech; and tumbleth to the ground at Sutton, where he
wisheth for several pale ales while the coach stoppeth to cool the
wheels, which follow the example of the passengers, and begin to smoke.
Here he danceth a lively measure in the road before a landau, and
smileth wickedly at the occupants. Getting troublesome, he is put in the
inside, with the helper, the hamper, and the dirty plates, where he
remaineth until he reacheth London, when he sayeth, “Let’s make a night
of it.” But the manufacturing process is scarcely worthy the reader’s
attention. The next day he sayeth, “I must dine at Berthollini’s for two
months to come, and give up suppers.”
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------