Valentine and Orson
| Valentine | Mr. Power. | |
| Orson | Mr. S. Chapman. |
Creasy, Printer, Gazette Office, Brighton.
The notoriety which Tom and Jerry obtained in England, became the topic of conversation amongst our Gallic neighbours—nay, it crept so much into favour with the gay folks of Paris, Life in London was speedily translated into French, under the title of “The Diorama; or, Picturesque Rambles in London—containing the most faithful Notices of the Character, Manners, and Customs of the English Nation, in the various classes of Society. By M. S——.” The translation had a most extensive circulation in France.
The reception of Tom and Jerry was equally flattering—notwithstanding the great prejudices that had previously existed against it—in Dublin. Mr. Wrench, from the Adelphi Theatre, was specially engaged to play the part of Corinthian Tom. The first seven nights produced £1300; and the house, on Mr. Wrench’s benefit night, held £345.
The great success of “Life in London,” in its dramatic form in the Irish capital lead up to the publication of:—
“Real Life in Ireland; or, the Day and Night Scenes, Rovings, Rambles, and Sprees, Bulls, Blunders, Bodderation, and Blarney of Brian Born, Esq., and his elegant friend Sir Shawn O’Dogherty. 1829. Coloured plates.”
In which the pictorial style of the Brothers Cruikshank was imitated from an Hibernian point of view and colouring.
At both the Theatres in Edinburgh, Tom and Jerry attracted crowded audiences, according to the Editor of the Edinburgh Dramatic Review, who states thus:—
“At length the public of Edinburgh had opportunity of judging of the merits of the above celebrated Extravaganza. From the general tendency of the remarks which appeared in the newspapers, we were led to suppose that this piece consisted of indecency and gross vulgarity. From what we heard reported as to the numerous indelicacies which this sketch of Fun, Frolic, Fashion, and Flash contained, we were afraid that its success with our sober citizens would have been precarious; but, we are happy to say, that the applause which was bestowed on it by the unprecedentedly numerous assemblage on Saturday evening, January 25, 1823, which crowded the Caledonian Theatre, is a sufficient answer to the chimerical doubts which were industriously circulated against its propriety. There is nothing, as we before remarked, associated with disgust or offence. There is neither one word, action, or situation, in the whole course of the piece, that can possibly raise a blush, or offend the most fastidious moralist!”
The Burletta of Tom and Jerry had been repeated so often all over the kingdom, and particularly in the metropolis, that the performers, notwithstanding the great applause they nightly received in the above piece, absolutely became tired and worn-out with the repetition of their characters, when the following piece of satire, written by T. Greenwood, Esq., was published, entitled, “The Tears of Pierce Egan, Esq., for the Death of ‘Life in London’; or, The Funeral of Tom and Jerry. Dedicated to Robert and George Cruikshank, Esqs. Price Two Shillings, with an engraving by George Cruikshank.”
“Beat out of the Pit, and thrown over the Ropes,
Tom and Jerry resign’d their last breath,
With them, too, expired the Manager’s hopes,
Who are left to deplore their sad death!
“Odd and various reports of the cause are about,
But the real one was this I opine:
They were run to a standstill, and, therefore, no doubt,
That the cause was a rapid decline.
“When death showed his Nob, out of Time they were beat,
And neither would come to the scratch;
They hung down their heads and gave up the last heat,
Not prepared with the Spectre to match.
“All wept at the Funeral! the Fancy and all—
Some new, but a great many mended:
And Egan, while Cruikshank and Bob held the pall,
As Chief Mourner in person attended!!!
“Their Sprees and their Rambles no more shall amuse,
Farewell to all nocturnal parleys:
The Town felt regret, as the bell tolled the news,
And no one rejoiced—but the Charleys!
“A monument, too, their kind Patrons will raise,
Inscribed on—‘Here lies TOM and JERRY,
Who, departing the Stage, to their immortal praise,
ONE THOUSAND NIGHTS made the Town merry!!!’
“May their souls rest in peace, since they’ve chosen to flit,
Like other great heroes departed;
May no mischief arise from their sudden exit,
Nor Pierce Egan die—broken-hearted!”
In reference to the above, Pierce Egan states that Jemmy Catnach, the renowned Ballad-monger of the Seven Dials, in less than twelves hours after the publication, produced a pirated edition for street sale, for two-pence.
Mr. Pierce Egan, in his “Finish,” states that he reckoned no less than sixty-five separate publications, which he enumerates in extenso, all derived from his own work, and adds, with his usual amount of large and small Capitals and italics—“We have been pirated, COPIED, traduced; but, unfortunately, not ENRICHED by our indefatigable exertions; therefore NOTORIETY must satisfy us, instead of the smiles of FORTUNE. Our efforts have given rise to numerous productions in the market of literature, yet we can assert, with a degree of confidence hitherto unshaken, that none of our Imitators have dared to think for themselves during the long period of seven years, neither have they shown any originality upon the subject of ‘Life in London’; but who have left it—disinterested souls!—to the Author and Artist to put a CLIMAX to the adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic.” The last remark is in reference to the publication of “Pierce Egan’s Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their Pursuits through Life in and Out of London. With numerous coloured illustrations by Robert Cruikshank. London: George Virtue & Co., Ivy Lane, Paternoster Row.” Seven years after the date of “The Life in London.” In common with almost all other sequels, or “continuations” it was not successful—the fact being that Pierce Egan, and the subject of his work were alike literally and financially “used up!”
Old Jemmy Catnach, true to his line of life, soon joined what Pierce Egan designates as the “Mob of Literary Pirates” who irritate the poor author almost to madness, blast his prospects, impose on the unwary by their imitations, and render his cash account all but nugatory, and, just as he may be congratulating himself on the success of his genius, receiving the smiles of Fame, and a trifling sweetener from Threadneedle Street, as a reward for his exertions, he may be attacked by Sappers and Miners—those pickers and stealers who do not absolutely come under the denomination of pickpockets, yet thieves to all intents and purposes, and, certainly, robbers of the most unprincipled description—a set of vampires—living upon “the brains” of other persons, and who dare not to think for themselves.
Catnach brought out a broadside, or “whole-sheet,” for street-sale, entitled:—
The “broadside,” which Pierce Egan calls—“Another wicked piracy, by Catnach,” consists of twelve woodcuts,—of which we have given facsimiles in our pages—it will be seen that they are reduced and very roughly executed copies of the original plates by the Brothers Cruikshank, but in reverse. Therefore the swaggering Notice to Pirates which Jemmy Catnach published reads funny enough. The letter-press matter consists of flash songs, and a poetical epitome of the plot and design of the original work of “Life in London.” And taking it as it stands, and from where it emanated, rather a creditable performance, particularly when we take into consideration—as duly announced by the street-patterer, that it was—“Just printed and pub—lish—ed, all for the low charge of “Twopence.”
On the rarity of this Catnachian and piratical edition of “Life in London” it is superfluous to enlarge, and it is easy to account for this circumstance, if we reflect that the broadside form of publication is by no means calculated for preservation; hundreds of similar pieces printed at the “Catnach Press” and at other offices publishing for street-sale must have perished. The more generally acceptable a broadside or street-ballad became, and was handed about for perusal, the more it was exposed to the danger of destruction. No copy of Catnach’s version is preserved in the British Museum, therefore, and for reason above stated, it must be considered as a great “Literary Curiosity.”38
Old Stage Waggon.
As we have before observed, “Life in London” was dedicated by permission to George IV., and it is a circumstance in itself which looks singular enough in this Victorian age, that royalty should have condescended to have had such a work dedicated to it. One paragraph, which we are about to quote, strikes us as being a very peculiar and free-and-easy style for an author to address himself to a King of England. It is as follows:—
“Indeed, the whole chapter of ‘Life in London’ has been so repeatedly perused by your Majesty in such a variety of shapes—from the elegant A, the refined B, the polite C, the lively D, the eloquent E, the honest F, the stately G, the peep-o’-day H, the tasteful I, the manly J, the good K, the noble L, the stylish M, the brave N, the liberal O, the proud P, the long-headed Q, the animated R, the witty S, the flash T, the knowing U, the honourable V, the consummate W, the funny X, the musical Y, and the poetical Z,—that it would only be a waste of your Majesty’s valuable time to expatiate further upon this subject.”
One notable effect of “Life in London,” particularly in its dramatised form, must be recorded. It broke the heart of poor Billy Waters, the one-legged musical negro, who died in St. Giles’s workhouse, on Friday, March 21, 1823, whispering with his ebbing breath, a mild anathema, which sounded very much like: “Cuss him, dam Tom—meē—Tom—meē Jerry!”
Poor Billy endeavoured, up to the period of his last illness, to obtain for a wife and two children what he termed, “An honest living by scraping de cat-gut!” by which he originally collected considerable sums of money at the West-end of the town, where his ribbon-decked cocked hat and feathers, with the grin on his countenance, and sudden turn and kick out of his wooden limb, and other antics and efforts to please, excited much mirth and attention, and were well rewarded from the pockets of John Bull. The burden of Billy’s ditty “from morn to dewy eve,” and from January to December, was:—
Polly will you marry me—Polly don’t you cry,
Polly will you marry me—Polly don’t you cry:—
Cry—cry—cry!
BILLY WATERS.
Mr. W. T. Moncrieff, the dramatist, is responsible for the following biographical notice of this old London Street Character:—“Of this meritorious and lamented individual, we had with great trouble collected from various sources, an ample and interesting Biography. But unfortunately for posterity, in the same classic regions where he lost his life, we also lost his life; and, to tell the truth under the influence of the same seductive fluid too—Daffy!—we can therefore only present our reader with a few brief notices from memory.”
Billy Waters, was born in the powerful African kingdom of Tongocongotaboo, where he was a native Prince, and bore the name of Pokikokiquanko; from this place he was at an early age, to the universal regret of his loving subjects, kidnapped, by ‘an auld Quaker,’ who bought him from his treacherous attendants, for two axes, a frying-pan and a bag of nails. This black piece of business made him a slave, in the French settlement, at Demarara, from whence however he speedly took French leave, and entered, we believe, the British navy as a cook par excellence on board the Ganymede sloop of war, under the command of Sir John Purvis, where, during a fierce engagement, he lost a leg, some say gallantly fighting the enemies of old England, though others insinuate it was through falling down the cockpit ladder, in his great hurry to hide himself. His own version was that he fell from the top-sail yard to the quarter deck during a storm, we cannot pretend to decide which was the fact, it however occasioned his being sent to England, as unfit for service. Arriving in London, he betook himself to that wild mode of life, which best suited his origin; the trammels of civilized society, had no charm for him; he scorned the mechanical rules of man, and picked up his living wherever he could find it. Born a Prince, and bearing a native princeliness in his appearance it is not to be wondered at that his associates should speedly elect him to the regal dignity of their tribe.
In the year 1812 Billy was solemnly inauguared ex cathedra into the sovereignty of mendicityship—King of the Beggars—at the cellar of St. Patrick in St Giles’, a rank he supported with great satisfaction and majesty, till the luckless period when a rival Billy (Bodkin), by being placed at the head of the mendicity society, virtually became King of the Beggars in his own right. This—as he conceived it, cruel usurpation by Bodkin, pricked Billy just a leetle too hard. From that moment he drooped as a blighted lily, and like another black hero he exclaimed—‘Othello’s occupation’s gone.’ The fickle British public refused to be as liberal as they had been, which he attributed to the production of “Tom and Jerry” with whom he was made to partake of:—
“Shoulder of veal and garnish—Turkey and appendages—Parmesan and Filberts—Port and Madeira.” Billy on hearing the above list given out as forming the “peck and booze for the evening,” exclaimed “Dat dam goot, me like a de Madery—Landlord, here, you give this bag of broken wittals, vot I had give to me to day, to some genteel dog vot pass your door: and you make haste wid de supper, you curse devil you.”
Enter LANDLORD with Supper.
Landlord. Now, your honours, here’s the rum peck, here’s the supper.
Billy. Eh, de supper! de supper! come along. (After striking Creeping Jack on the fingers with a knife) you damn nasty dog! what for you put yur dirty fingers in de gravy? you call dat gentlemans? you want your fingers in de pie, now you got him dere!
Jack. I only wish’d to taste the stuffining.
Billy. And now you taste de carver knife instead! (Takes candle, and looks at supper). Vy, what him call dis?
Landlord. Why the turkey and the pie, to be sure.
Billy. De turkey and de pie! I tink you said de turkey and de pie,——what! de turkey widout de sassinger! him shock——him wouldn’t give pin for turkey widout dem——me like a de Alderman in chain.
Landlord. I’m very sorry, Mr. Waters, but——
Billy. You sorry!——I sorry for my supper, you damn dog, you serve up de turkey without de sassinger—no lemon to de weal—no hoyster saase to de rum’-steaks, who you tink eat rum’-steaks widout de hoyster saase? You send no filberts to de Port, nor debils to de Madery nather. Mee must use some other hot-hell—you dog.
However, by a combination of events, Billy became very poor, and was obliged, prior to his going into the workhouse, to part with his old friend, the fiddle.—“Him lend him ole fiddle to him uncle at de pop shop,” and the wooden pin (leg) which had so often supported Billy, would have shared the same fate, but its extensive service had rendered it worthless though it had twice saved poor Billy from the penalties of the Treadmill. At length, in the full belief that his spirit was about to flee to meet his coloured ancestors in the realms of bliss and a free hunting ground, he duly made his will, in which he bequeathed to W. Bodkin, Esq,—Billy Bodkin, the Hon. Sec. to the Mendicity Society: a bodkin that had so often pierced Billy to the heart—his wooden leg, earnestly desiring he might receive it in his latter end.
In life he had been accustomed to wear a military cocked hat, a judge’s full-bottomed cauliflower wig, and a naval officer’s jacket and trousers, symbolical of his being the head and arbiter of the naval, military, and judicial departments in his eleemosynary kingdom, these he bequeathed in the following manner: His wig he left to the Court of Chancery, in the vague hope that they might obtain with it a little of his decision in equity, and promptness in justice. His military hat he left to the Heads of the Horse Guards, and his naval jacket and trousers to the old washerwomen that manage the Greenwich Hospital. The Deal Fiddle, on which he had been used to scrape his native WOOD notes wild, we are happy to state, was taken out of lavender, and is now in the possession of the Tyburn Ketch and Glee Club—the duplicate having been bequeathed to them for that purpose.
In conclusion we have only to state, that Billy was an accomplished cadger, a skilful musician, and adroit dancer—doing more on one leg than many others on two, and possessed abilities that as an actor would have rendered him a shining ornament to the stage—“to hold, as t’were, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own black image!”
Billy was considered of sufficient public importance, when in the flesh, to be moulded and well baked by a Potter, who taking up and moistening a lump of clay, said, “Be ware!” and then turned Billy out in one of his happiest moods and positions, with a broad grin on his black mug—a perfect image, suitable for a chimney or sideboard ornament; which found a ready sale at the time of its manufacture, but has now become very rare in perfect condition, and, much coveted by collectors to add to their Class, or Section of “English Characters.” Specimens of this style of ware are exhibited in the Bethnal Green Museum, London. Henry Willett, Esq. of Brighton, also exhibits his fine collection of the same class of ware at the Brighton Free Public Library.
LINES ON BILLY WATERS.
By W. Reeves, June, 1823.
Peace to the manes of Black Billy Waters,
Well-known throughout the Town!
The reason that he left these quarters—
Is plain—He was by Death done brown.
His life was one continu’d round
Of pleasure and of glee;
His fiddle caus’d the hearts to bound
Of children as big as me.
Mags came thick, this made him merry;
Fortune changes in a crack—
Folks they went t’see Tom and Jerry,
And on Billy turn’d their back.
Justice, at length, seiz’d on poor Bill,
Who quickly took his peg off;
So they didn’t send him to the Mill,
’Cause, why? he’d got a leg off.
His day was o’er, he soon found out
Poverty with rapid stride
Follow’d him, and clamor’s shout
Meant poor Billy to deride.
In vain he fiddl’d, danc’d and sung,
Until he was out of breath;
Starving he was, his bow unstrung,
Till he danc’d—The Dance of Death.
The real name of this notorious street-character was Andrew Whiston. He was a born cripple, and in every respect a most miserable object of charity. Moncrieff imported him into his Adelphi version of “Tom and Jerry; or, Life in London,” as “Little Jemmy,” and there figures in the Scene: Back Slums in the Holy Land: in company with Mr. Jenkins, Soldier Suke, Dingy Bet, Creeping Jack, Billy Waters, Ragged Dick, and other well-known characters.—Vide page 46.
For many years Andrew, alias “Little Jemmy,” had been in the habit of propelling himself about the streets of London in a little truck, or box on wheels, assisted by the aid of two small crutches. He always wore a white apron to conceal the deformity of his legs, which were curved, and had the appearance of thin planks, having no calves.
To avoid the penalties attached to begging and vagrancy he usually carried a few quill pens stuck in his coat and apron; declaring it to be the only trade to which he had been brought up, whence he was called The Penmaker! He has been heard to acknowledge he derived as much in his perambulations through the streets as amounted to £2 per week. It was his custom every morning to cross over Blackfriars Bridge for the purpose of gathering alms. He always prided himself as leader of the “Cadgers,” in the metropolis, and was one of the most dissipated of the class to which he belonged; never returning to the hovel, in which he took up his abode, in the Borough, except in a state of intoxication. In his fits of inebriety, when at a distance from home, and incapable of proceeding, he was generally picked up by some of the numerous coalheavers, residing in the same quarter of the town, and carried to his dwelling on their shoulders; this, from his diminutive stature, was no very difficult task to perform.
On the night of his death, which occurred Monday, April 3, 1826, he had been drinking spirits, and porter, during the day, and was as usual carried home by two men; for which they were to receive a pot of beer. On setting down their burden, the unfortunate man—who had been conveyed with his head downwards, was discovered to be in a dying state. Surgical assistance was immediately procured, but poor “Little Jemmy,” was quite dead ere it arrived. Information of his death was given at 11 o’clock to the night constable of St. Saviour’s Parish, who proceeded to the house, the inmates of which refused to give up the body, on the ground that their late lodger died in their debt a month’s rent. Another strong reason for their refusal in delivering up the corpse, was a report that prevailed in the neighbourhood, that the surgeons of both the hospitals in the Borough had offered no less a sum than £100 for the body after death, for the purpose of dissection, in consequence of its extraordinary formation. The constable, however, claimed the body of the deceased, as none of his relations were on the spot, and conveyed it away to the watch-house, clearly perceiving that if it was left behind, the inmates would dispose of it to the highest bidder.
On Friday, April 7, an inquest was held at the Rose and Ball public-house, Bankside, Southwark, before R. Carter, Esq. Upon the return of the jury after viewing the body, all of whom expressed their astonishment at the decrepitude and peculiar formation of the singular little man. The surgeon in attendance having described the death to have occurred in consequence of apoplexy. The jury brought in a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence that the deceased died of “Apoplexy.”
The day after the inquest sat on the body it was conveyed to St. Saviour’s Burial ground, and interred in a grave dug 14 feet in depth from the surface, over which were placed three other coffins, in order to secure it against the resurrection-men, who were anxious to have the corpse to dispose of.
Subsequently to the death of Billy Waters, the notorious black mendicant fiddler—March, 1823; “Little Jemmy” acquired the soubriquet of The King of the Beggars.
The Tread-Mill at Brixton.
In the year 1817, Mr.—afterwards Sir William—Cubitt, of Ipswich, erected a Tread-Mill at Brixton Gaol—and soon afterwards in other large prisons, as a species of preventive punishment, which excited much attention and terror to evil doers, and proved eminently useful in decreasing the number of commitments; the strict discipline had a most salutary effect upon the prisoners not easily to be forgotten. Yet, the inventor’s name gave rise to many jokes on the subject among such of the prisoners who could laugh at their own crimes, who said that they were now punished by the cubit!
In nearly all the new and fa—vour—ite comic songs of the day allusion was made to the Treadmill of Brixton as—The Everlasting Stairs!—The Stepping Mill!—The New Dancing Academy! &c. A street-ballad on the subject was issued from the “Catnach Press” and had a most unprecedented sale, keeping the pressmen and boys working for weeks:—
“And we’re all treading, tread, tread, treading,
And we’re all treading, at fam’d Brixton Mill.”
The following punning ditty was very popular at the period:—
The Treadmill.
This Brixton Mill’s a fearful ill,
And he who brought the Bill in,
Is threatn’d by the cribbing coves,
That he shall have a milling.
They say he shew’d a simple pate,
To think of felons mending:
As every step which here they take,
They’re still in crime ascending.
And when releas’d, and in the streets
Their former snares they’re spreading,
They swear ’tis Parliament, which wills
They must their old ways tread in.
The Radicals begin to think
’Twill touch the Constitution,
For as the wheel moves round and round,
It brings a Revolution.
But though these snarlers show their teeth,
And try to vex the nation,
Their actions soon are tried and judg’d,
And grinding is their station.
The Gambling swells who near St. James’
Have play’d their double dealings,
Say ’tis not fair that Bow-street should
Thus work upon their feelings.
Tom, Jerry, Logic, three prime sprigs,
Find here they cannot come it,
For though their fancy soars aloft,
They ne’er will reach the summit.
Corinthian Kate and buxom Sue
Must change their warm direction,
For if they make one false step more
They’ll have Cold Bath Correction.
The moon-struck youths who haunt the stage,
And spend their master’s siller,
Must here play to another tune,
’Tis called the Dusty Miller.
Ye bits of blood (the watchman’s dread)
Who love to floor a Charley,
As you delight to strip and fight,
Come forth and mill the barley.
John Barleycorn’s a stout old blade,
As every man puts trust in,
And you will make no meal of him,
But he’ll give you a dusting.
But here we’ll stay, for puns they say,
Are bad as stealing purses
And I to Brixton may be sent,
To grind some floury verses.
Going to the Mill!
THE WARNING.
Supposed to have been sung by a Cadger to his Companions on his Return from “The New Dancing Academy,” Brixton.
Tune.—“Bow wow, &c.”
You Cadgers all, both great and small,
Attend to vat I say, Sirs,
All prigging stow, or you vill go
Where I com’d from to day, Sirs.
As down the Strand, a Gent so grand,
Was strutting, mighty fine, Sirs,
His hankercher hung out so fur,
I really thought ’twas mine, Sirs.
Tol de rol, &c.
I made a grab—he did me nab,
To quod I quick vas taken;
The magistrate he sat in state:
I trembl’d for my bacon.
Evidence o’er—oh vhat a bore!—
His eyes on me he fix’d on;
Says he to me, “Go, have a spree
At the Treading Mill at Brixton.”
Tol de rol, &c.
Vhen I reach’d there, a surly bear,
The steps he bid me mount, Sirs—
From Dirty Dick, up to the kick,
Ve’d a swelling black legg’d Count, Sirs.
Both high and low, they have a go:
Oh! ’tis a decent pill, Sirs.
They step avay, and cry all day,
“The devil take the Mill, Sirs.”
Tol de rol, &c.
Then varning take, and keep avake,
For Traps are not asleep, Sirs;
They prowl about, to find us out,
Like volves do after sheep, Sirs.
My life I’ll change—don’t think it strange,
I’ll vork, that’s vat I vill, Sirs,
Both night and day, to keep away
From the curs’d Treading Mill, Sirs,
Tol de rol, &c.
In the Adelphi version of “Tom & Jerry,” there is as follow:—
Black Slums in the Holy Land.
Mr. J. Does any gemmen understand these here Tread Mills, that have lately got such a footing?
Jack. Silence! Gemmen: I’m a-going to make a hobservation, Mr. Jenkins means them there Mills as makes you vork vether there’s any vork or no—I can only say this here, gemmen, if them there Mills are encouraged, it von’t be vorth no body’s vile to exercise vone’s calling—because, vy, von may as vell go and vork for vone’s living at once—but the subject von’t bear not no thinking on.
Omnes. Not by no means. (General groans).
Billy Waters. Oh, curse a de Tread Mill, me no like a de “here we go up, up, up,” and “down you go down, down, down,”—an’ if you no work, a great big lump of wood come and knock you down so—(Strikes beggar on head with his fiddle, who falls down). Poor fellow, him werry sorry.
Tom and Jerry; or, Life in London.
Tune.—“Picture of a Playhouse.”
Of Life in London, Tom, Jerry, and Logic I sing,
’Tis a subject (I hope it will please)
Men and boys in my ears long time they did ding,
So I determined to risk a good squeeze—
To the Strand then I toddled—the mob it was great—
My watch I found gone—pockets undone:
I fretted, at first, and rail’d against fate,
For I paid well to see “Life in London.”
Spoken.-“La, vel now, if I a’n’t all of a perspiration,—positively, I’m in a melting mood;” this was uttered by a tallow chandler’s fat wife. Her hubby, Mr. Wicks, cries out “What the devil are you talking about melting?—for my part, I hate mention of business when I’m out on pleasure.” “Come, don’t be dipping in my pocket, if you please, Sir.” “Vat, vat is de matter?” “Wat! who’s talking of wats?” “Vy, my dear Mr. Vicks, I think this man’s making a reticule of me.” “By the powers! it is a very fortunate circumstance he be making a reticule for you, Ma’am, for that there young man, in the drab great coat, has just cut yours from the chain, and put it in his pocket.” “Mind what you’re arter, mind your pockets.” “Where are you pushing to?” “Where am I pushing to? I’m pushing
To see Tom and Jerry,
The lads who delight in
A bottle of Sherry
And watch to be fighting,
For that’s the time o’ day.
In the course of the piece is the parlour of Cribb,
There they chaunted their songs full of glee;
In the chair sits blythe Tom, he’s the real boy to fib,
And he’s also the boy for a spree.
The street-row comes next, and is kept up so well,
That I laugh’d and never wish’d the fun done,
Those who play Charlies, I’m sure they can tell
What a street-row is in fam’d London.
Spoken.—“La! now, is this not a delightful picture of life! how do you like it, my dear?” “Oh Mamma, I likes it very well, only one thing is, I’m sorry I didn’t bring some hapennies out of my money-box, to give the poor beggar-people.” “Dear little innocent!” “Was you innocent when you was little, Mamma?” “Yes, my love.” “But, are you innocent now, Mamma?” “Why, yes—that is to say—as most women of my age are, my dear.” “Well. Mr. O’Quiz, how do you like the piece?” “Faith, now, the piece is very well, only one thing.” “And what may that be, pray?” “Why, I’m not inclined to make any objection at all, at all: but, by my soul! this is the first time I ever saw or heard of Life in St. Giles’s, without an Irishman being concerned in it.” “Hollo! what is all this hubbubboo?” “Why, it’s the half price, pushing in To see Tom and Jerry, &c.
High life and low life are correctly pourtrayed
At Almack’s, I mean both the East and the West.
The actor’s look life, they so well are arrayed,
But the Back Slums to my mind is surely the best.
Logic a party invites to give them a treat,
The bailiff comes in and Bob’s undone;
He by Nab’em is press’d and ta’en to the Fleet,
Which brings to a close Life in London.
Spoken.—The piece being over, there’s a grand rush to the doors: then, hey for the pleasures of a soaking wet night. “Well, positively, ’pon honor, if it does’nt rain; its enough to make any one cross when one’s going out to a ball.” “Want a coach your honor?” “Yes, drive me to St. Paul’s.” “What, in the name of St. Patrick, can he want at the cross and ball of St. Paul’s at this time of night?” “Oh! bless my soul! I think I’ve broken my leg.” “Coach to Cripplegate.” “I say, look at that Cove diving at that Gent’s pocket.” “I hope you’ll excuse me, but I’ve got a cold, therefore want my hankerchief; but, as you’re so fond of diving, I’ll accommodate you—the Thames is near, and you shall have a dam’d good ducking.” “All right, Coachee.” “Watch! Watch!” “Hark! the Pianos going.” “Watch! Watch!” “What’s the row?” “Oh! only some fancy Lads, who, having seen the Charlies well mill’d inside, have already commenced milling them outside, and the word with them is
We’re like Tom and Jerry, &c.
The following ballad is from the “Catnach Press:”—
PIERCE EGAN; OR, LIFE IN LONDON.
Written by a Corinthian, and sung in Prime Twig by an Out-and-Outer.
In the country, our squire
Had a very large book,
Which into my hands
I quite often had took;
Life in London, I think,
Were the name that it had,
And ’twas wrote by Pierce Egan,
That comical lad.
Oh, Pierce Egan! knowing Pierce Egan,
You must in your time have seen wonderful fun.
When I first came from country
Into this great town,
I laugh’d at each joke
As I walked up and down;
Till three fellows I met,
They were bold as could be;
And Tom, Jerry, and Logic,
Say they, you now see.
Oh, Pierce Egan! &c.
At night, in the street,
You are sure of a row,
And the Charlies are bother’d
I cannot tell how;
But if to the watch-house
The chaps be all taken,
You’ll find Egan’s heroes
To be there, sure as bacon.
Oh, Pierce Egan &c.
E’en the boys in the street
Do talk flash, you must know,
And the real out-and-outers
Do strut to and fro;
While a gemmen in powder
From none will retreat,
But will peel, a coal-heaver,
Or dustman to beat.
Oh, Pierce Egan! &c.
And since Life in London
Has been all the rage,
There’s nothing else now
That will do for the stage;
And parsons, and tailors,
And barbers likewise
Go to Spring, Cribb, or Belcher,
To learn to black eyes.
Oh, Pierce Egan! &c.
But this I must say
To my friends in this place,
That chaffing and milling
Does puppies disgrace;
And if they would know
How such knaves may be undone,
They’ll read that same book
Which is called Life in London.
Oh, Pierce Egan! &c.
J. Catnach, Printer, 2, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.