K.
Kean.—“Hear Kean speak.” Edmund Kean, the celebrated tragedian, 1787-1833.
Kean’s Head—The.—Was a well-known theatrical tavern in Russell Court, Drury Lane. It had previously been called the O.P. and P.S. but re-christened in honour! to the celebrated tragedian—then in the zenith of his fame, the late Edmund Kean:—
Then off again, no fear or dread,
To the once famed O.P.
In better taste—chang’d to Kean’s Head—
And noted for a spree!
Pierce Egan’s The Show Folks.
The tavern was much frequented by all persons directly and indirectly connected with the theatrical profession. And was at one time kept by Tom Hudson, a jolly bon vivant, and famous comic song writer and singer, of whom Pierce Egan, wrote—“his facility in producing songs is astonishing—he also sings them with a peculiar naiveté, and tells his ‘story’ to his company better than most men, who are not regular performers. In his line, he is a second Charles Dibdin, senr.—The above tavern,” continues Pierce Egan—“afforded considerable amusement to its visitors, as a few wags, fond of a bit of fun, frequented the coffee-room every evening, and, in concert together, represented themselves as managers from the country, in want of performers, and waiting in turn to engage young men for different ‘lines of business,’ to complete their companies. This had the desired effect; and numerous ludicrous scenes was the result, which defy anything like communication, and enthusiastic, stage-struck, inexperienced youths afforded these pretended managers sport and roars of laughter, night after night. The plan generally adopted was, that one of the party kept on the look out to pick up a simple youth—having a soul above buttons!—and having got one in tow, he was formally introduced to the assumed proprietor of a country theatre. The latter person, with a face of gravity, then inquired whether he wished to engage for the light or heavy business of the stage, or if singing was his forte; or, perhaps, he could undertake the general line, and assist in melo-dramas, spectacles, &c., &c. The manager then, with a polite request, wished to have a ‘taste’ of the young man’s quality, before he finally settled his engagement, and fixed his salary. And several young aspiring heroes, anxious to obtain an engagement, have been prevailed upon to mount the table, and to give selections from Romeo, Hamlet, and Octavian, &c., amidst the shouts of pretended applause from country actors, wags of all sorts, and men of the world, who nightly resorted to this tavern, to pick up anecdotes, and spend a pleasant hour. When the managers! thought they had had enough of this burlesque, ‘the exit—the exit,’ would be whispered one to another, and while the hero on the table was spouting out some impassioned speech from Shakespeare, his back would be readily assailed with the contents of their jugs; and upon the unfortunate wight hastily looking round for the authors of such an assault, his front, from another part of the company, would be attacked in the same manner. Redress was out of the question, and the more passion and rage exhibited by the youth, produced the more laughter; when he was informed it was the way to teach him how to make his ‘exit’ in a rage! and that no person would deny him the title of being a wet actor. It was Tom Hudson who altered the sign of the tavern to the Kean’s Head: a remarkable likeness of the great tragedian was hung over the fireplace, and he was wont to visit Tom and take a drink after the fatigue of the night’s performance. The mere rumour of this attracted many to the house. A capital harmonic meeting took place late at night—or rather early in the morning, which was supported by a mixture of professionals from the theatres, and amateurs of talent and celebrity. Vain endeavours were seldom entered upon at Tom Hudson’s; a pretender was soon coughed down. Amongst the leaders of the vocal department who contributed to the musical attractions were Morton Box; Jem Savern; Little Harris; Joe Wells, so popular afterwards in connection with the Coal Hole; Mr. John Hart, late of the Cider Cellars; Tom Prynn, Belasco, and others of great vocal talent and celebrity. Apropos of Edmund Kean, the late Mr. Leman Rede, author and dramatist, in his ‘Sketch of the Life of John Reeve,’ relates the following anecdote—‘Kean’s name was the ’open sesame’ to all night houses near the theatres; and ere John Reeve came upon the stage, he was apt to indulge much in the ’little hours.’ He and his friends, lads of his own age, could not have got admission, but he knew the secret, and acted accordingly. After giving a mystic knock, he applied his mouth to the keyhole, and with an exactitude of imitation that defied detection, exclaimed—‘’Tis I——Kean—Edmund Kean!’ In an instant the door was opened; in glided Reeve, saying, with an easy assurance, ‘Ned’s just gone round the corner—back in a moment.’”
Keep the Line.—To behave in a becoming manner: not to forget one’s self.
Keep it Up.—To prolong the debauch, or game. A term made popular by frequent reiteration.
Keep up the Ball.—Be jolly. Keep the ball rolling, is also used in the same sense.
Kick.—A sixpence. Quite the Kick, quite a dandy.
Kick the Bucket.—To die.
Kick over the Traces.—To become unmanagable.
Kicksies.—Small clothes, from the appetency of their contents, to the exercise of kicking, and from being the kick—the fashion.—Take my advice, never resist the law, if a man claims your coat and vestcoat, let him have ’em, or you’ll lose your kicksies in trying the argument. And if a man kicks you rub the place, but don’t go to law, that’s my advice.
Kid.—A knowing boy or man, in a low or flash point of view—a thief.
Kiddy.—A thief of the lower order, who, when he is well breeched by a course of successful depredations, dresses in the extreme of vulgar gentility, and effects a knowingness in his air and conversation, which renders him in reality an object of ridicule:—
Poor Tom was once a Kiddy upon town,
A thorough varmint and a real swell.
Byron’s Don Juan.
Kiddy.—Tasty. Kiddy Artist, a tasty workman.
Kidney.—Men of the same thoughts and kind—kindred spirits, &c. Men of another Kidney.—The opposites.
Kinchin Cove.—A paltry thief who robs children—even of their bread and butter; or, a caged-bird of its lump sugar!
King of Bath.—Beau Nash, master of the ceremonies at that city for some fifteen years (1674-1761).
Kite Flying.—To fly a Kite is to “raise the wind,” or obtain money on bills, whether good or bad. The phrase means as a Kite flutters in the air by reason of its lightness, and is a mere toy, so these bills fly about, but are light and worthless.
Knacker.—One who sings Psalms over a dead horse.
Knight of the Cleaver.—A butcher.
Knight of the Pestle and Mortar.—An apothecary.
Knight of the Post.—A man in the pillory, or that has been tied to a whipping-post.
Knight of the Rainbow.—A cant phrase for a footman in livery, in allusion to the various colours of his clothes—also said of a master tailor. See Rainbow.
Knights of the Road.—Highwaymen.—Dick Turpins!!
Knights of the Whip.—Long stage coachmen.
Knowing.—Skilful, well-informed, sharp, shrewd, artful, or cunning.
Knowing one.—Vide Bob Logic.
Knowledge Box.—The head.
L
Lace.—To beat. I’ll lace your jacket for you—I will beat you.
Laced Mutton.—See Shakespeare’s: The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act i., Scene 1.
Lady Birds.—Cyprians, female peripatetics. Light or lewd women.
The merchant’s daughter died soon after,
Tears she shed, but spoke no words,
So all young men a warning take,
And don’t go with the naughty Lady Birds.
Lady in Mourning.—A negress, a black woman.
Lag.—A returned transport. Bill has been out of the country for some time past studying botany!—That is he has been to Botany Bay as a transport, but now returned.
Laid on the Shelf.—For further particulars consult any unmarried woman under the age of ——!!!—— If I know more of any man alive than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, let all my sins lack mercy.—Shakespeare.
Lamp.—The human eye! The cove has a queer Lamp, the man has a blind or squinting eye.
Lark.—A frolic, joke, spree. Cut your larks, leave off larking.
Lawful Blanket.—A wife.—’Till I have no wife, I’ll have nothing else.
Lay.—A scheme or trick. Shabby genteel lay, a scheme of beggars to excite compassion by dressing as decayed tradesmen.
Leading strings.—The restraint of friends.
Leery.—To look sharp and knowing—from the rolling of the eye.
Leg Bail.—Running away.—Your legs did better service than your hands.
Legs.—Men who live by cheating. Blacklegs, gamblers, &c.
Levanters.—Persons who run away to avoid paying their debts of honour.
Lifter.—A thief.—Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter?—Shakespeare.
Lighthouse.—The watch-house.
Lily.—A black.—To paint the lily is wasteful—and very silly.
Lilywhite.—A chimney sweeper or negro.
Limbo.—Prison.—As far from help as limbo is from bliss.—Shakespeare.
Line.—An awkward thing to get into. To give any one Line enough, to let him go his lengths. To keep the Line, to be correct.
Lion’s Share.—The larger part; all or nearly all. In “Æsop’s Fables,” several beasts joined the lion in a hunt, but when the spoil was divided, the lion claimed one quarter in right of his prerogative, one for his superior courage, one for his dam and cubs—“as for the other fourth, let who will dispute it with me.” Awed by his frown, the other beasts silently withdrew.
Listener.—The ear.—Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice.
Little Shilling.—Love money:—Just another little shilling ducky!
Lob’s Pound.—A prison, the stocks, or any other place of confinement.
Lothario.—A gay libertine, a seducer of female modesty, a debauchee. The character is from “The Fair Penitent,” by Nicholas Rowe, 1673-1718.
Is this that haughty gallant, gay Lothario? Act v., Sc. 1.
Low Water Mark.—Without cash. “A most damnable condition.”
Lug.—The ear from its being very often lugged.
Lump.—The workhouse.
Lush.—Beer and other intoxicating drinks, so called from Lushington the brewer. Lush-crib, a public-house.
Lushy.—Drunk. Introduced by Leigh Hunt and Keats, and others of the Cockney School into the service of poetry—“Trees lush with bliss,” i.e., Trees drunk with love, possibly of the succulent sort.
Lushington.—Intoxication—“the best of life is but intoxication,” so said Byron over his gin and water: “there is more truth in it than folks may generally imagine.” To join Captain Lushington, to get drunk—“See how snugley Captain Lushington’s getting aboard of Logic,” said Jerry to Corinthian Tom on the night of their visit to “All Max, in the East.”
M
Mab.—A cabriolet, from the projector, Mr. Maberly.
Mace.—To cheat, impose, rob.
Mace Cove.—A swindler, a sharper, a cheat. A gentleman from the Spice Islands, i.e., a fellow living on his wits. On the mace, to live by swindling.
Mag.—A halfpenny.
Malty Coves.—Porter patrons, heavy wet encouragers, beer drinkers—and thinkers!
Maulagaram.—An awkward knock.
Max.—Gin.—Oh! for a glass of Max. Byron’s Don Juan, Canto xi., Stanza 16. His Lordship added by way of a foot-note in explanation of the word Max! The advance of science and of language has rendered it unnecessary to translate the above good and true English, spoken in its original purity by the select mobility and their patrons.
Master of the Mint.—A punning term for a gardener.
Master of the Rolls.—A baker. Jack Martin, the renowned pugilist, who was a baker by trade, was well known to the Fancy as The Master of the Rolls.
Masquerade.—Masquerades were in fashion in the time of Edward III., 1340, and in the reign of Charles, 1660. The Bishops preached against them, and made such representations as occasioned their suppression, 9 Geo. I., 1724. They were revived, and carried to shameful excess in violation of the laws, and tickets of admission to a masquerade at Ranelagh were on some occasions subscribed for at twenty-five guineas each. Now, if the reader wishes to take the mask off this scene, let him go and take a glass of champagne with Charles Wright of the Haymarket, and he will fully initiate him into all its merry mysteries, he is at liberty to make use of the Author’s name in his enquiries.
Mazzard.—Head. Rap on the Mazzard, a thump on the head.
Men are but Children of a Larger Growth.—From Dryden’s, “All for Love,” Act iv., Sc. 1.
Mendicity Society.—Red Lion-square, London, was established in 1818, for the suppression of public begging, and other impositions.
Mill.—A fight. Millers, pugilists. Mill the Glaze, break a window.
Misfortunes.—If “misfortunes” as the saying has it, “attend the righteous,” the wicked as a matter of course cannot expect to go unpunished: although a man might have the “Old One’s luck and his own too!” “If,” said Logic to Jerry—after the latter hero had been complaining to him on getting up rather late one morning after a night’s spree, that he thought his constitution had got a little scratch since he had left Hawthorn Hall,—“people who are fond of a lark; enjoy a row; love a bit of fun; take a peep at a fair; join in a hop; go to a mill; play at rouge et noir; parade the lobby; stroll through the back slums; visit the cock and dog pits; spend a few interesting moments at gaffing; blow a cloud at a free and easy; meet with Mr. Lushington; drop in on the sly at a case; floor the charleys, and, after all, nothing be the matter, why then it is a prime circumstance in the career of a man indeed. But it is five hundred to one, that All the above events do not come off right, with the most experienced and skilful sportsman: that is to say, my dear friend, if you do not get punished in your person, yet you may be most preciously physicked in your cly; and, if you have even the good fortune to keep your peepers from being measured for a suit of mourning; your canister from being cracked; and your face from being spoiled among the low coveys of St. Kitts; you are, perhaps, even in more real danger among the refined heroes of the creation, from paying too much “attention” to their ladies which has often occasioned more than one John Bull sort of ill-natured unaccommodating husband to give such very polite gallants a dose of leaden powder, that has cooled their courage, or, at least, checked their importunities. In society where politeness of that sort is measured out to the extreme nicety of splitting a hair as at the West End assemblies, it will at all times, be well to remember that Misfortunes are in morals, what bitters are in medicine: each is at first disagreeable; but as the bitters act as corroborants to the stomach, so Adversity chastens and ameliorates the disposition. Therefore it is much better to endeavour to forget one’s Misfortunes, than to speak of them, and ever to bear in mind that:—
“Misfortunes tell us what fortune is.”
Mizzle.—To disappear, to leave the company.
Mob.—A contraction of the Latin mobile—the fickle crowd. Query: As Mob is mobility, is Nob nobility?
Moisten your Chaffers.—To drink.
Mollishers.—A slang term made use of by thieves and police officers for low prostitutes.
Moncrieff, W. G. T.—Otherwise William George Thomas, author of between two and three hundred dramas, &c., died in the Charter-house, December 8, 1857, aged 63.
Money-Lenders.—Bob Logic termed those persons Brags in consequence of their repeatingly advertising to render embarrassed individuals assistance, yet making them pay well for it; something after the old adage, that “Brag’s a good dog; but Holdfast is a better!”
Mot.—A prostitute. A Leary Mot, a knowing one:—
Rum old Mog was a leary flash mot, and she was round and fat,
With twangs in her shoes, a wheel-barrow too, and an oil skin round her hat;
A blue birds-eye o’er dairies fine, as she mizzled through Temple Bar—
Of vich side of the vay, I cannot say, but she boned it from a Tar.
Singing Fol-lol-lol-lido.
Now Mog’s flash com-pan-ion was a Chick-lane gill, and he garter’d below his knee,
He had twice been pull’d, and nearly lagg’d, but got off by going to sea;
With his pipe and quid, and chaunting voice, Potatoes he would cry;
For he valued neither cove nor swell, for he had wedge snug in his cly.
Singing Fol-lol-lol.
One night they went to a Cock-and-Hen Club, at the sign of the Mare and Stallion,
But such a sight was never seen as Mog and her flash com-pan-ion;
Her covey was an am’rous blade, and he buss’d young Bet on the sly,
When Mog up with her daddle bang-up to the mark, and she black’d the Bunter’s eye.
Singing Fol-lol-lol.
Now this brought on a general fight, Lord, what a gallows row—
With whacks and thumps throughout the night, till drunk as David’s sow—
Milling up and down—with cut heads, and lots of broken ribs,
But the lark being over—they ginned themselves at jolly Tom Cribb’s.
Singing Fol-lol-lol.
Mother Cummins.—In Dyott Street, St. Giles’s—now George Street, after George Prince of Wales—but called Dyott Street after Sir Thomas Dyott, temp. Charles II., lived that most notorious and world-renowned lodging-house keeper “Mother Cummins,” so well-known to all the Bucks about town, in their hot youth, when George the Third was King.
Oh, she lives snug in the Holy Land
Right, tight, and merry in the Holy Land,
Search the globe round, none can be found
So accommodating! as Old Mother Cummins
Of the Holy Land.
It is related that Major Hanger accompanied George IV. to a beggar’s carnival in St. Giles’s. He had not been there long when the Chairman, Sir Jeffery Dunston, addressing the company, and pointing to the then Prince of Wales, said “I call upon that ’ere gemman with a shirt for a song.” The Prince, as well as he could, got excused upon his friend promising to sing for him, and he chaunted in a prime style a flash ballad full of “St. Giles’s Greek,” for which he received great applause. The Major’s health having been drunk with nine times nine, and responded to by him, wishing them “good luck till they were tired of it,” he departed with the Prince to afford the company time to fix their different routes for the ensuing day’s business.
Mother Emerson’s.—A night-house situate in the Haymarket, at one time called the Turk’s Head, but of later times named the Waterford Arms, out of compliment to the late generous-hearted and frolicsome Marquis of Waterford, who was a great patron and supporter of the house.
The late—self-styled—Lord Chief Baron Nicholson: who was intimately acquainted with “Mother Emerson,” wrote of her thus.—“In business Mrs. Emerson was a wonder. I cannot possibly do better than present a sketch of her in and out of her trade:—”
NIGHT-HOUSES AND THEIR KEEPERS.
Mrs. Emerson.
’Twas landlady Meg that made such rare flip;
Pull away, pull away, my hearties;
At Wapping she lived, at the sign of the Ship,
Where tars met in such jolly parties.
Dibdin.
The famous landlady, Meg of Wapping, might have been very celebrated, and a very great person, at the time she lived, and at the particular part of the town she resided in, namely, that Fashionable Watering-Place, Wapping; but all landladies of the present day are placed in the shade, totally eclipsed, by that all-accomplished and indefatigable woman of business, Mrs. Emerson, of the Waterford Arms, late the Turk’s Head, Haymarket.
Although she is not defunct, she may be properly termed the late Mrs. Emerson. Night after night she keeps her body up, and her appearance, every time we see her she seems to look younger and fresher. She is quite a character in her way, and the best flat-catcher in London. “How d’ye do, my dear?” is her general salutation to the swells who frequent her lush-crib. “Well, I thank you, mother,” is the reply. “What’ll you take?” For it is considered a great honour amongst the flats to get mother to drink with them. “Oh! Sherry, my son; Sherry for me,” says mother.
“A bottle of sherry here, waiter,” says the flat; and she makes the favoured few who have the right of entrée behind her bar, pay for the distinguished indulgence.
The Irishmen say, “Who has e’er had the luck to see Donnybrook Fair?” We ask, “Who has e’er had the luck to see Mistress Emerson on a race-course? We have, and a greater out-and-outer we never met—“Rich and rare were the gems she wore:”—and there you may see the gay old gal togged to the extreme of fashion, with pink silk stockings to display her well-shaped understandings—for we must inform our readers that mother don’t stand upon trifles—generally a nice satin shoe and dress; also lots-and-lots of jewellery, stated to be worth, including thimble, hoops, and chin-prop, something approaching a cool thousand. It is a great advantage to single gentlemen wot go to the races to be acquainted with mother; she always takes a plentiful supply of wittles, and an awful lot of the sparkling and still—not the private still; for amongst her friends and patrons she makes it as public as possible, and when she is really “standing sam,” as she facetiously calls it, you can’t make more free than welcome.
In conclusion, we must observe that we do justice to every one, and seek not to gain popularity by villifying those who are not in a situation to resent it. In many—very many instances the public little know—or care of whom they speak, and we are all too prone to come to hasty conclusions, and to speak with prejudice and without inquiry. Now be it known to all who care to know, that, Mrs. Emerson is really and truly a very kind-hearted and charitable person, in spite of the very disadvantageous position she stands in with the public by keeping a night-house. She strives as much as possible to prevent the ingress of improper characters, and so far she is successful, for no robbery has ever taken place in her house since she has been in business.
Mother H’s.—Was a notorious night-house opposite the front entrance of Drury Lane Theatre, and then the great rendezvous for the gay city birds, as well as the more fantastic dandies of the West-end. Mother H., or Mrs. Hoskins, was the remnant of Mr. Hoskins, who had, in the words of George Barrington, the pickpocket, par excellence! “Left his country for his country’s good.” Mother H. is described by a writer who knew her well as the “ugliest woman I ever beheld; but she dearly loved paint, dress, and decorations. Her attire was in the highest style of fashion, generally black velvet or satin, jewellery in profusion, silk stockings, and very neat kid shoes. She had rather a pretty ankle.” “Apropos of her shoes, I may remark that the old girl was artful, deceitful, and dishonest. I remember a half-drunken, foolish fellow dropping a handful of sovereigns in the large supper-room. A number of the fair and frail were present; Mother H. said, “Now girls, stand away, I’ll pick them up and see that the gentleman ain’t robbed;” she should have added, “By any one but myself,” for about every second sovereign she took from the floor she “welled” in her shoes. “Well,” said one of the girls; “I don’t blame you mother, but I should like to stand in your shoes.” Mother H. retired with an ample fortune. Turned—as a matter of course, very religious, married a highly respectable timber merchant at Brighton, who died and left her money. She again tried her luck in the matrimonial lottery, although nearly seventy years of age. Her third husband was a serious, calm, tall and respectable Dissenter, who outlived her.”
Mother’s Milk.—The liquor we like best.
Mouse.—Is a black—or perhaps, more correctly speaking, a swollen eye.
Move on the Board.—An action in life.
Mudlarks.—Men who rake about the mud on the banks of the Thames, when the tide is out, for what they can find.
Muff.—A soft article, a tool, a fool: a soft thing that holds a lady’s hand without squeezing it!
Munden, Joseph.—Comedian, died February 6, 1832, aged 74.
Mutton Walk.—The Saloons of Drury Lane and Covent Garden Theatres—“Upon the arrival of Tom and Jerry at Drury Lane Theatre, the performances did not operate on their feelings as a source of attraction. It is true they took a glimpse at the play, but as they did not go for anything like criticism on the abilities of the actors, or to descant upon the merits of the pieces, it was merely a glimpse indeed. Our heroes went upon another errand. Their eyes were directed to different parts of the house; and Tom not meeting with any of his acquaintances at ‘Old Drury,’ as he had anticipated, they immediately pushed off to take a peep at Covent Garden Theatre. A look at the stage was quite sufficient for their purpose; and without any more delay, the Corinthian and Jerry soon bustled into the Saloon.
“Tom and his Coz, had scarcely reached the place for refreshments, when the buz began, and they were surrounded by numbers of the gay Cyprians who nightly visit this place. Some of these delicate heroines, soon began to jeer the Corinthian on the cause of his absence; while others of these Lady Birds were offering their congratulations to him on his restoration to Society. Jerry being in company with so distinguished a hero as Tom was of itself a sufficient source of attraction to these Fancy Pieces to pay their court to Hawthorn; and, accordingly, their cards were presented to Jerry, in order to grace their lists with the addition of a new and rich Friend. These cards rather puzzled Jerry, who appeared astonished that such dashing females should keep Shops!!!?”
My Uncle.—The cant term for a pawnbroker:—
Who lives where hang those golden balls,
Where Dick’s poor mother often calls,
And leaves her dickey, gown, and shawls?—My Uncle.
Who, when you’re short of the short stuff,
Nose-Starving for an ounce of snuff,
Will “raise the wind” without a puff?
—My Uncle.
A poor Punster, who was hurrying through the streets one evening, was met by a friend, who asked him where he was going in such great haste? The humourist being rather shy in stating his errand, as well as anxious to conceal the poverty of his circumstances, and having only a few minutes left before his ticket or Mortgage-deed! expired as to date, which not being renewed, his property must have been forfeited, turned off the question, with a smile, observing, “To a place of amusement.” “What part of the house?” “To the private boxes.” “Is it a good piece?” “Excellent! It abounds with incidents; and you cannot depart without feeling an interest in it.” “What’s the name of it?”—“Just in Time!” “So I’m off at once,” replied the Punster.