THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE GENT.

PREFACE.

In the Sunday newspapers of May 24, of the past year, 1846, appeared the following paragraph:—

A “Gent.”—A respectable-looking man, named James Dickenson, was charged by Brooks, 169 S, who said, “Please your worship, at two o’clock yesterday morning (Monday), I found this ‘gent’ drunk in Park Road, and took him into custody.”

Mr. Rawlinson: Who do you say you found drunk?

Constable: This “gent,” your worship.

Mr. Rawlinson: What do you mean by “gent?” There is no such word in our language. I hold a man who is called a “gent” to be the greatest viblackguard there is. (To the prisoner): What do you say to this? I hope you are not a “gent.”

Prisoner: I am not, sir, and I trust that I know the distinction between a “gent” and a “gentleman.”

Mr. Rawlinson: I dare say you do, sir, and I look upon the word “gent” as one of the most blackguard expressions that can be used.

The prisoner was fined 5s., which he directly paid.

We were exceedingly delighted when we read this police report. We had laboured, for three or four years, to bring the race of Gents into universal contempt; and we at last found that an intelligent and respected London magistrate had publicly stated, from the bench, his opinion of the miserable class in question; and that it exactly coincided with our own. But fearing—from seeing the odious word still starting up in shops, ticketed to wild viiarticles of dress, to be hereafter alluded to, as well as hearing it every now and then applied by one “party” to another of his acquaintance—that the species was not yet extinct; fearing this, in spite of our direct attacks in Punch and Bentley’s Miscellany, and our side-wind blows through the medium of our esteemed friend John Parry, certain burlesques at the Lyceum, and various other channels—we determined upon reconsidering all we had ever propounded on the subject, and publishing it in the form now presented to the reader, that all might clearly see who the Gents were, and shun them accordingly.

And so we leave our little book in your hands, published at a price, as a prospectus always says, “that will bring it within the viiireach of all classes.” And we request your co-operation towards the great end of putting Gents out altogether. For they form an offensive body, of more importance than you would at first conceive; and both public and private society will be much benefited by their extinction.

CHAPTER I. WHAT THE GENT IS GENERALLY.

The species of the human race, to the consideration of which we are about to draw the attention of the reader, is of all others the most unbearable, principally from an assumption of 2style about him—a futile aping of superiority that inspires us with feelings of mingled contempt and amusement, when we contemplate his ridiculous pretensions to be considered “the thing.”

The Gent is of comparatively late creation. He has sprung from the original rude untutored man by combinations of chance and cultivation, in the same manner as the later varieties of fancy pippins have been produced by the devices of artful market-gardeners, from the original stock wild crab of the hedges. The fashion which Gents have of occasionally addressing one another as “my pippin” favours this analogy: and when they use this figure of speech, they pronounce it as follows,—placing great stress on the first letter, and then waiting awhile for the rest,—“Ullo, my P—ippin!”

After much diligent investigation, we find no mention made of the Gent in the writings of authors who flourished antecedent to the last ten years.

3In the older works we meet with “bucks” and “gay blades” and “pretty fellows;” and later with “men upon town,” “swells” and “downy ones,” or “knowing coves:” but the pure Gent comes not under any of these orders. He was not known in these times. He is scarcely understood now so universally as we could wish; but we trust that his real character will, before long, be properly appreciated. He is evidently the result of a variety of our present condition of society—that constant wearing struggle to appear something more than we in reality are, which now characterizes every body, both in their public and private phases.

Our attention was first called to the Gents in the following manner:—

We were in the habit of occasionally coming into contact with certain individuals, who when they spoke of their acquaintances were accustomed to say “I know a Gent,” or, “A Gent 4told me.” Never by any good luck did we hear them speak of Gentlemen. But it occurred that we chanced, on future occasions, to see one or two of the Gents above alluded to, and then we understood what they were.

The first Gent we ever saw, we encountered on the roof of an omnibus, with his hat a little on one side, and a staring shawl round his 5neck. He was also smoking a cigar, as he sat next to the driver, in order that he might reap the benefit of his anecdotes and remarks concerning the horses and vehicle, to which the Gent replied at intervals, “Ah,” and “Yes,” and “I should say not,” and “Just so,” with other similar phrases used to fill up unmeaning dialogue. We heard him speak of “a Party he knew,” and he was very much interested at hearing that the off-horse worked “in the fust bus as ever Shillibeer started, and was took from the Angel to be put on the Elephant.” He was also informed of the singular speculation in which “the guvner give a fippun note for that little mare, and was offered eight sovrins for her within a week, though she was a reg’lar bag o’ bones;” upon which the Gent observed that “very often those sort of horses were the best.” Having delivered himself of which opinion, he rolled his cigar about in his

mouth, gave a whiff in our face, and then 6removed it between his middle and ring-finger, to offer it to another Gent on the roof, who begged the favour of a light.

The next Gent we met was in the street. He wore large check trowsers of the true light comedian pattern, which appeared to have been made expressly for Mr. Walter Lacy, or Mr. Wright: and he had on a short odd coat; such a one as that in which Mr. Buckstone might be expected to go to a ball. He carried a little stick of no earthly use, with a horse’s silver hoof on the top of it, which he kept to his lips always; and he also patronised the staring shawl and cigar; and he evidently imagined that he was “rather the Stilton than otherwise”—“Stilton” or “cheese” being terms by which Gents imply style or fashion. He was pursuing a pretty girl of modest deportment, who was possibly going home—for it was evening, when Gents and cheap umbrellas chiefly flourish—after her hard day’s toil at a bonnet-shop. The Gent 7had not the sense to see that his advances were repulsed with scorn and indignation. He 8imagined that by addressing his coarse annoying gallantry to an unprotected girl, he was acting as if he was “upon town,” “a fast

man,” “up to a thing or two,” or some other such epithet, which it is the ambition of the Gent to get attached to his name.

We met the next Gent in the boxes at one of the theatres, whither he had come in the full-dress of a light blue stock, and cleaned white gloves re-dirtied. We knew they had been cleaned; they exhaled a faint camphine odour, as he put his hand on the brass rail and leant over us, and there was none of that sharpness of outline in their dirt which new gloves evince: it was denser, cloudier, more universal; and the knuckles and nails were remarkably so. This Gent also had a little stick. He lighted a cigar at the lobby-lamp on leaving the house, and pulled a staring shawl out of his hat as he whistled an air from one of the burlesques. He went over to the Albion, 9the room of which was quite full; and after standing in the centre for a few seconds—tapping 10his teeth with his stick, whilst his left hand was thrust into the hinder pocket of his coat, dragged round to his hip—apparently disgusted at not creating any sensation, he turned round on his heel, and crossing Covent Garden, ultimately dived into Evans’s.

Then we thought that the Gents must be a race by themselves, which social naturalists had overlooked, deserving some attention; and we determined to study their habits, and allot to them a certain position which at that time they did not appear to have.

CHAPTER II. OF THE MANNER BY WHICH GENTS ARE KNOWN.

Experience proves that pictures are the best media for conveying information at the outset of tuition. Hence, in the study of Natural History, for instance, tyros learn the animals with their letters: their hornbooks have zoological alphabets, coloured in tints more or less eccentric; and, although led away by the representations, they sometimes read “A for donkey, B for great cow, C for poor puss,” yet, on the whole, the way is a good one.

12So, we will teach those not yet well up in the manner, by pictures, how they may know the Gents.

The finest specimens may be seen in the coloured “Fashions,” with which certain comically-disposed tailors adorn their windows. In these presumed representations of prevalent style, some favourite west-end locality is taken for the background; and, in front, are many Gents, in such attitudes as may display their figures and little boots to the best advantage. Some are supposed to be arrayed for an evening party, in green dress-coats and puce tights. Some, again, are represented as sportsmen, with pinched-in waists, that the shock of the first leap, or the kick of the first shot, would knock in half; and others are promenade Gents, in frock coats and corded trowsers, bowing to one another with much grace, or leading little Gents by the hand, who look like animated daguerreotypes of themselves. Well, then, 13these are Gents, pur sang. Observe, as the showman says, observe their fashionably-shaped hats, their Lilliputian boots, their tiny gloves. There is no deception. Observe that all their positions are evidently the result of much study;

and that the greater part of them have one arm 14elevated, and the palm open, with the air of a conjurer when he says,—“You will perceive I have nothing in my hand.”

Of the same family as these Gents, are the fashionable loungers in pantomimes, who walk about with the distinguished females in the scanty visites of pink glazed calico, trimmed with ermine; and the lovers in the blue coats and white trowsers on the sixpenny valentines, who direct the attention of the adored one to the distant village church.

CHAPTER III. OF THE CHIEF OUTWARD CHARACTERISTICS OF THE GENT.

One has only to look into the advertisements of cheap tailors, and the windows of ticketed shops, to form a very good notion of the other principal marks by which the Gent may be distinguished.

16It should be borne in mind, that the main object of the Gent is to assume a position which he conceives to be superior to his own.

Now this, he fancies, is in a great measure accomplished by out-of-the-way clothes—a mark of superiority which has the advantage of requiring but a small outlay of intellect; and cunning manufacturers invent things on purpose to suit this taste, as the men of Manchester export gay-coloured, large-figured patterns for the negroes.

For him the cheap Tailor announces the “Gent’s Vest”—which is the Hebrew for “Snob’s Waistcoat”—as patronised by the nobility. To catch his eye alone, are the representations of men of ton put at the side of the advertisements; and, for his inspection, do the dummies stand at the doors of the shops, invested in the splendour of an entire suit, with an impossible waist, “made to measure for the same terms.”

17And we may observe that the Gents usually speak of their get-up as the ticket—the term possibly being used in allusion to the badge which distinguished their various articles of dress when exposed for sale. And, in writing these, the leaning of the Gents towards distinguished associations is very evident. A great coat must be a “Chesterfield,” a “Taglioni,” or a “Codrington;” a little rag of coloured silk for the neck is called a “Byron Tie;” and so on. If the things are not dignified by these terms, the Gent does not think much of them.

To his taste does the ready-made Shoemaker appeal in the short fancy Alberts, ticketed “The Fashion.” If you are accustomed to derive a little gratuitous amusement from shop windows, as you go along the streets, you will see in them the funniest things, meant for the Gents, that it is possible to conceive. The most favourite style of chaussure is a species of cloth-boot, with a shiny-leather toe, and 18a close row of little mother-of-pearl shirt-buttons down the front; not for any purpose, for they are simply sewn on, the real method of fastening on the brodequin being by the humble lace and tag of domestic life, at the side.

But it is with the Haberdashers that the toilet of the Gents comes out strongest.

You will see “Gents’ Dress Kid” ticketed in the window. Be ye sure that they are large sized, awkwardly cut, yellow kid gloves, at 19one-and-sixpence. The tint is evidently a weakness with the Gents, who think them dashing, and say they come from Hoobegongs. But the merchants, lacking discrimination, believe that the predisposition is general. We will wager a dozen pairs of them that you never went into one of these establishments, and simply and decidedly demanded a pair of white kid gloves, but you were immediately asked “if you would not prefer straw-coloured?”

And then the stocks—what marvellous cravats they form! Blue always the favourite colour—blue, with gold sprigs! blue, with a crimson floss-silk flower! blue Joinvilles, with rainbow ends! And, if they are black and long, they are fashioned into quaint conceits: Frills of black satin down the front, or bands of the same fabric looking like an imitation of crimped skate; or studs of jet made like buttons, as if the Gent wore a cheap, black 20satin shirt, and that was where it fastened. And the white stocks are more fanciful still. They are not very popular in their simple form; for the Gents feel that they cannot help looking like waiters in them; and so a little illegitimate finery is necessary. Hence they have lace ends, like the stamped papers from the top of bon-bon and French plum boxes. And the effect in society is very fine.

The Jewellers consult the Gents, and for them manufacture various dashing articles in electro-gold. Some of the ornaments for the cravat are like large white currants, with gilt eels twisting round them; and others like blanket-pins with water on the brain. We have also seen some sporting Gents—of whom we shall hereafter speak—with mosaic gold heads of horses and foxes stuck in their stocks. And they love rings in profusion, which we have seen them at times wear outside their gloves. But this, perhaps, was an advantage, 21as Gents are accustomed, in general, to wear their hands large and red, with flattened ends to the fingers.

It is for the Gents to buy, that the print-sellers put forward those dreary pictures of the Pets of the Ballet; consisting chiefly of chubby young persons, in short petticoats and ungraceful attitudes, like nothing ever seen on the 22stage anywhere; and coloured lithographs of housemaids cleaning steps; and chambermaids with flat candlesticks in their hands; and women with large black dots of eyes and heavy ringlets, trying on shoes. One was very popular a little time ago. It represented a young lady something between a hairdresser’s dummy and a barmaid, with a man’s coat and hat on over her own dress. She was looking through 23an eye-glass at the top of a whip, and underneath was written “damme!”—why, or wherefore, or in what relation to the singular mode of toilet she has adopted, or what the word itself meant in the abstract, we never could make out. But the Gents seemed to know all about it, and bought the picture furiously.

By the tokens above mentioned—including always the staring shawl and the al fresco cigar—you may know the Gent when you see him, even if you met him on the top of Mont Blanc—a place, however, where you are not very likely to encounter him. He prefers Windmill Hill.

CHAPTER IV. OF THE GENT AT THE THEATRE.

When the Promenade Concerts usurped the place of the regular Drama at our theatres, and Kœnig and Musard occupied the places of Kean and Macready—when Juliet was neglected for Jullien, Prospero for Prospère, and Viola for the violins, the Gent was exceedingly 25gratified thereby. The Promenade became his Paradise; and he used to walk round and round, keeping his face towards the audience (admiring the young ladies in the dress tier), 26with the pertinacity of the grand banners in stage processions; which, painted only on one side, appear to be endowed with some heliotropic principle, that causes their emblazoned surfaces to revolve always on the same plane with the footlights. But, whilst the Gent conceived that he was here “doing it—rather,” in the railway trowsers and dazzling stock, he totally forgot that the true flaneur would appear in something like evening costume, although he might not altogether adopt the extreme rigueur.

We were rather inquieted as to what the Gents would do when these concerts closed. We made great search, and found at length that the majority emigrated to the musical taverns, where they contrived to get through the evening under the combined influence of Bellini, bottled beer, and brandy-and-water; deriving additional excitement from the novelty of seeing Somnambula performed through a haze of tobacco-smoke.

But the theatre proper, is a favourite resort of the Gent, and half-price to the boxes his usual plan of patronising it; more especially when there is a ballet. Of the different parts of the house he prefers the slips. If you are seated opposite, you will see him come in about nine o’clock, and, leaving the panel door open, he stands on the seat, with his hands in his pockets, his stick under his arm, and thus makes his observations. Presently getting disgusted at the want of respect shown to him by an old gentleman in front, who is watching the performance most intently, with his head reclining on his arms, which are again supported by the rail, and who requests that he will have the goodness to shut the door, the Gent walks grandly away, and goes round to the other side, evidently conceiving that his dignity has been hurt. Here the same process of observation is repeated; and, if the Gent sees a pretty girl in a private box, he stares unflinchingly at her, 28until he thinks he has made an impression. And this is a strange lunatic notion with Gents

of every degree: they believe they have powers to fascinate every female upon whom they cast their eyes, never thinking of the utter contempt always excited by such obtrusiveness on the part of an entire stranger.

CHAPTER V. OF THE GENT, AFTER THE PLAY, AT A TAVERN.