This is a new and freshly published edition of this culturally important work by Pierce Egan, which is now, at last, again available to you.
Enjoy this classic work today. These selected paragraphs distill the contents and give you a quick look inside Real Life In London:
The party were regaling themselves after the dangers and fatigues of a very hard days fox-chace; and, while the sparkling glass circulated, each, anxious to impress on the minds of the company the value of the exploits and amusements in which he felt most delight, became more animated and boisterous in his oratory-forgetting that excellent regulation which forms an article in some of the rules and orders of our Free and Easies in London, that no more than three gentlemen shall be allowed to speak at the same time.
... Tom Dashall, of Bond Street notoriety, had in some measure led to an indecision of character, and often when perusing the lively and fascinating descriptions which the latter drew of the passing scenes in the gay metropolis, Bob would break out into an involuntary exclamation of-Curse me, but after all, this only is Real Life; -while, for the moment, horses, dogs, and gun, with the whole paraphernalia of sporting, were annihilated.
...It was not, however, the mere representations of Bobs 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.
...However, it shall be so: adieu, my dear little roan filly,-Snow-ball, good by,-my new patent double-barrelled percussion-ah, I give you all up!-Order the tandem, my dear Tom, whenever you please; whisk me up to the fairy scenes you have so often and admirably described; and, above all things, take me as an humble and docile pupil under your august auspices and tuition.
...tumble your hero neck and heels into the midst of a drunken fox-hunting party, and then carry him off from his paternal estate, without even noticing his ancestors, relatives, friends, connexions, or prospects-without any description of romantic scenery on the estate-without so much as an allusion to the female who first kindled in his breast the tender passion, or a detail of those incidents with which it is usually connected!-a strange, very strange way indeed this of commencing.