Some persons exhibit
an inexplicable union of avarice and extravagance, of parsimony and
prodigality--something of this kind is observable in the gentleman in
question. But self predominates with him in all; and being joined to
rather alow species of vanity, and a strong inclination to be what is
vulgarly called _cock of the walk_, it has uniformly displayed itself in
an insatiate thirst for notoriety. Now pugilists, from the very nature
of their profession, must be public characters; while the gamester, to
the utmost of his power, does what he does 'by stealth, and blushes to
find it fame.' To be the patron of some noted bruiser, to bear him to
the field of action in your travelling barouche, accompanied by Tom Crib
the XX champion, Tom Spring the X champion, Jack Langan and Tom Cannon
the would-be champions, and Lily White Richmond, is sure to make your
name as notorious, though perhaps not much more reputable, than those
of your associates; but the man who, like 'the youth that fired the
Ephesian dome,' aims at celebrity alone, in frequenting the purlieus
of the gaming-house only 'wastes his sweetness on the desert air.'
Moreover, the members of the Ebony Clubs being compelled to assume the
appearance, and adopt the manners, insensibly imbibe too much of the
feelings of gentlemen, to be likely to pay, to the most passive _pigeon_
that ever submitted to _rooking_, the cap in hand homage rendered by a
~203~~practitioner within the pins and binders of the prize-ring to the
swell who takes five pounds worth of benefit tickets, or stands a fifty
in the stakes for a milling match.
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