The True History of Tom & Jerry: or, Life in London (continued 4)

B.

Babes in the Wood.—Persons confined in the stocks or pillory, said also of dice.

Babes of Grace.—Puritanical, sanctified-looking persons; also drunken psalm-smiting cobblers.

Back-slums.—Beggars’ meeting places; Dyot Street, St. Giles’; Kent Street, in the Borough, &c. The expression applies to all Metropolitan receptacles of mendicants, prostitutes, thieves, and rogues of every degree to get a night’s lodging. Back Slummers, dirty, common, low, and vagrant people who reside in the Back-slums.

Bag the Swag.—Pocket, or put into a bag, the plunder, or hide the stolen property.

Baked.—Done up, exhausted, tired out, “When I got to the top of the hill I was regularly—Baked!”—Soft-baked in also employed to persons who lack worldly wisdom.

Baker, Charles.—Comedian, died November 26, 1844.

Bang-up.—Quite right, the thing! the go! done complete, in handsome style, quite fashionable, at the top of the mode.

Bank.—A snug and secure place to deposit plunder; Bank the rag, to take care of money.

Barbers’ Clerks.—Shopmen, and poor ill-paid and half-starved apprentices, or conceited ignorant shop-boys.

Barking Irons.—Pistols, from the explosions being supposed to resemble the barking of a dog.

Baron Nab’em.—Otherwise Nicholas Borrowbody. The individual bearing this name who devotes his attentions to Logic, in his moments of retirement, is Mr. James Soares, more familiarly termed Jemmy Soares; well-known in the sporting world, particularly among the friends and supporters of the Ring, and long the President of the Daffy Club, a society held at Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn. Events have occurred to prevent his occupying so prominent a place, as formerly, in the list of milling amateurs: but his open heartedness, his native humour, his liberal temper, and convivial disposition, will long be remembered with pleasure, by the numerous pals, who were wont to surround him.

Barrymore, W.—Comedian, died in America, November 24, 1846.

Baxter’s Hats.—A celebrated Topper-maker to the Fancy. Formerly in high repute with the amateurs, in respect to giving the knowledge-box an important look!

Beaks.—Justices, from their former cormorantish qualities—“Your vulture hath a devil of a beak!” But things are different. The Magistrates of the present day, that is the Metropolitan ones, are, with some few exceptions an honour to the Bench. Beaksmen, constables, or police officers.

Beat.—A watchman’s walk, the district in which he is licensed to beat at will all Her Majesty’s peaceable and loving subjects.

Beaver.—A hat; probably from generally possessing very little beaver. My last beaver turned out to be all silk, as Jack Bannister said, “The loss was felt”:—I cleft his beaver with a downright blow.—Shakespeare.

Beeswax.—Cheese, generally Gloucester, from the similarity between them—“Lets have a twopenny burster, half a quartern o’ beesvax, an ha’p’oth o’ ingens, and a dollop o’ salt along vith it, vill you?”—Dusty Bob.

Beggars.—Our street beggars have existed from time immemorial; their profession had become, in some measure, sanctioned by long tolerance. They were a merry, ingenious, persevering, and almost innoxious race. They are associated with our earliest recollections; like Springlove in Brome’s healthful and truly old English opera, “The Jovial Crew!” we at certain seasons feel almost a yearning to join them. Their wild free life, their careless revelry, present charms to us in retrospection, to which we are not wholly proof!—we think upon the “Beggar’s Bush” of those twin stars Beaumont and Fletcher. Classic recollections bring Belisarius with his “Date Obolum” to our mind. Bamfylde Moore Carew; Sir Simon Montford, The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green; King Cophueta, who loved the Beggar Maid, the valiant beggar who beat the redoubted Robin Hood to a standstill are among the most favourite heroes of our childhood. The race whose cause we are attempting to advocate, had at least the claim of destitution on our attention; as Lubin Log has it, our bounty was at all events “hobtional.” But what shall we say of the wealthy and the great, who have become beggars upon the public purse for the purpose of putting these their now persecuted rivals down? They have no claim, no excuse—away with them—shame on such monopoly!

Beggar’s Opera.—There were two public-houses in Church Lane, St. Giles’s; chiefly supported by beggars, one, called the Beggar’s Opera, which was the Rose and Crown, and the other the Robin Hood—at both of which Noah Ark Societies—that is “Motley-Crew Societies”—were held. The number that frequented these houses at various times, was computed to be from two to three hundred, and the receipts at a moderate calculation could not be less than from three to five shillings a day each person, frequently more.

Bellamy, William.—Bass Singer, died January 3, 1843, aged 74.

Belch.—All sorts of malt liquor, beer and porter being apt to cause uncomfortable eructations:—The bitterness of it I now belch forth from my heart.—Shakespeare.

Belcher.—A large red neckerchief spotted with yellow and black, and first worn by Jem Belcher the famous pugilist, 1781-1811. “The Kiddy flashes his Belcher.” Tom Belcher’s colour was yellow, with white and black spots.

Bell’s Life in London.—And Sporting Chronicle, a rich Repository of Fashion, Wit, and Humour, and the interesting Incidents of Real Life:—Was founded March 3, 1822, by Mr. John Bell, one of the most spirited publishers of his time, and the printer and proprietor of “Bell’s Edition of Plays,”—“Bell’s Edition of the Poets,”—“Bell’s Weekly Messenger,” &c., &c. Mr. Vincent Dowling, was first installed Editor August, 1824. On Sunday, November 4, 1827, it was publicly announced that—“Pierce Egan’s Life in London and Sporting Guide” is this day incorporated with “Bell’s Life in London.” All communications for the Editor, therefore, are requested to be transmitted, in future, to the Office, No. 169, Strand.... Let it not be forgotten, that “Bell’s Life in London,” is the largest, and best, and the cheapest, Sporting Journal in the Kingdom. “Compare and Judge.” ☞ “The Price is but Sevenpence.”—“Mr. Vincent Dowling, the Editor, was well known in the Sporting World and in him the Fancy found a sincere friend. He is a most excellent companion; cheerful, witty, and satirical at all times, but, in the latter display of his talents, the feather appears more than the razor—he tickles his adversaries, rather than wounds their feelings”—Pierce Egan.—A service of plate value 100 gs. was presented to Mr. Vincent Dowling, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, July 18, 1833.

Beef.—To cry Beef is to give the alarm.—“A mot in the regency below, bolted out into the hairy and cried beef on us; just as ve had sacked the swag; so Tim Snooks who vos vide awake in the rum pad in front; giv’d as the office to scarper! and ve cut like blazes! Squinting Bill piked through the glaze, and vos out of sight in less than no time, and I got over the balcony, and slides down the vater shoot, and makes good my hexit, but leaving all the tools and the swag behind in the old coveys snoozing-ken.”

Beer and Britannia.—What two ideas are more inseparable than Beer and Britannia? What event more awfully important to an English colony than the erection of its first brewhouse!:—

Big ones.—Men of consequence: such as Tom Cribb,—The Duke of Wellington,—John Jackson,—The Lord Chancellor,—John Gully,—The Chancellor of the Exchequer,—Tom Spring,—The Master of the Rolls, &c.

Big Wigs.—Judges, &c.,:—“The wisdom’s in the wig.” If you doubt it, play the part of Paul Pry for half-an-hour in any of the Courts of Law, or ask the Vice-Chancellor. You’ll soon be convinced.

Bilk the Schoolmaster.—Not to stand your regulars, i.e., not to pay for being let into the secret.

Billing and Cooing.—Courting; the two sexes humbugging one another—faking the sweetner, kissing, &c.:—What billing again?—Shakespeare.

Bill of Sale.—A widow’s weeds.

Billy.—The cant term for a silk pocket handkerchief.

Billy Buzman.—A class of pickpockets who confine their attention exclusively to silk pocket handkerchiefs. In thieving as in other professions and arts of life in this highly civilized age, “Division of Labour,” as political economists term it, is particularly attended to in the London School of gonnofs, not only for the sake of convenience, but from the well-known principle that “Practice makes perfect.” Accordingly, it would be considered as untradesman-like for a Billy Buzman to go out of his own line of business, as for an ironmonger to sell treacle, or a silk mercer to deal in or sell neat’s foot oil.

Bird-cage.—Small country watch-houses, or gaols. Come, let’s away to prison; we two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:—Shakespeare.

Birds of Prey.—Lawyers.—The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.—Jack Cade.

Bit.—Taken in, one half the world bite the other. Also money of any kind or quantity. Queer-bit, bad money. Rum-bit, good money. “He grabbed the Cull’s-bit.” He seized the man’s money.

Bit of Cavalry.—A horse.—An two men ride a horse, one must ride behind.

Bit of good Truth.—The plain facts.—Facts are stubborn things.

Bit of Muslin.—A sweetheart.—Love me little, love me long.

Biting one’s name in it.—Taking a good draught out of a pot of heavy wet.

Black Beetles.—The Lower orders—the rabble (Canaille).

Black Diamonds.—Coals. Black diamonds Lords, owners of coal mines. Black diamond merchant, a coal merchant. Black diamond polisher, a coalheaver.

Black Miller.—The—The brave and somewhat ill used Molineux. The Black pugilist who was twice beaten by Tom Cribb, 1810-11.

Black Sharks.—Attorneys and Lawyers.—Arcades ambo!

Black Strap.—Port wine. “What will you lay it is a lie!”

Blade.—A man: who may be a brother blade as a butcher, a knowing blade, if a sharp fellow, wide awake and cunning.

Blinker.—A one-eyed horse.

Bloods, Bucks, and Choice Spirits.—Tria juncta in uno—A riotous disorderly set of young men who imagine that their noise, bluster, warwhoop, and impertinence impress those who come in contact with them with the opinion that they are men of spirit and fashion. The nocturnal exploits of the true high-mettled, and fast-going Blood: consists of throwing a waiter out of a tavern window lumpus! pinking a sedan-chairman, or a jarvey, who is so uncivil as to demand his fare, milling and boxing-up the charlies, kicking-up rows at Ranelagh and Vauxhall, driving stage coaches, getting up prize fights, breaking shop windows with penny pieces thrown from a Hackney coach, bilking a turnpike-man, and at other times painting-out in a very opposite colour his “List of Tolls payable,” Funking a cobbler, smoking cigars at divans and club-houses, fleecing each other in the Hells around Jermyn Street, drinking champagne at Charley Wright’s in the Haymarket, claret and brandy at Offley’s, and “early pearl” and dogsnose at the Coal Hole, wearing large whiskers, and false noses and moustachios, exchanging blackguard baninage with women of the town in and about Covent Garden, the Haymarket, and Piccadilly—“Dem’ee that’s yer sort!—Keep it up—keep it up!”

Blown.—Exposed, informed against.

Blow a Cloud.—Smoke a pipe. Cock a Broseley.

Blue Blazes.—Spirituous liquors in general, Gin in particular.

Blue Ruin.—Gin, called blue from its tint, and ruin from its effects. In the words of Otway most gin drinkers are “in love and pleased with ruin!”

Blunt.—Cash, or money of any value, or in any quantity. Lots of blunt, plenty of money—“Thou dear delightful evil.”

Bob, or Bobstick.—A shilling.

Bobbish.—Smart, active, clever.

Bodkin.—William Bodkin, Esq., or as he was familiarly termed Billy Bodkin, was originally a painstaking Broker and Auctioneer at Islington, he was the first Hon. Sec. to the Mendicity Society, which office it was said he found more lucrative. So neglected knocking down, for the sake of taking-up, giving the vagrants their quietus “With a bare Bodkin.”—For further particulars about this sharp Bodkin see Billy Waters.

Bolt.—Throat, Sluice your bolt—Drink.

Bone-setter.—A hackney-coach, also a hard trotting horse.

Booked.—The time fixed when a thief is ripe for the gallows, or when any one is likely to die from some mortal disease. “He’s booked for a ride in a Government omnibus, i.e., prison van.” “You are booked for a ride to Gravesend.” Secured, bespoke, in for it, dished!

Booze.—Liquor, “To drink.” “Rum booze,” good drink.

Boozey.—Drunk. Man being reasonable must get drunk.—Byron.

Boozing-ken.—An alehouse, or tavern.

Bosh.—A fiddle. To fake a bosh, to play the fiddle; Boshmen, fiddlers, or musicians in general.

Bought.—I have bought that and no mistake, i.e., paid too much for it. Bought and sold: taken in and done for.—It would make a man as mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.—Shakespeare.

Bouncing Chit.—A bottle, from the explosion in drawing the cork.

Boxed.—Locked up.—Cabin’d, cribb’d, and confined.

Boxing a Charley.—Upsetting a watchman in his box.

Box of Dominoes or Ivories.—The mouth, containing the teeth.

Box of Minutes.—A watch.—Watches you know, were made to go.

Brads.—Half-pence, also money in general.—Shell out the brads Jack.

Brass.—Money, also impudence,—“A man who carries plenty of brass in his face will never lack gold in his pocket.”

Bread Basket.—The stomach.

Breaking up of the Spell.—The breaking up of a party of long sitting: the nightly termination of performance at the theatres, which is regularly attended by pickpockets, who exercise their vocation about the doors and avenues leading thereto.

Broads-Cards, Swell Broad-Coves.—Elegantly dressed card-players; also possessing a good address with other requisites befitting them to keep company with gentlemen.

Broad Fencers.—The Cads and fellows who hawk Lists, or k’rect cards, at races,—Pierce Egan, in an account of—“The gallant and spirited Race at Knavesmire in Yorkshire, for 500 gs. and 1000 gs. bye—4 miles. Between the late Colonel Thornton’s Lady and Mr. Flint,” and reported by him in “Book of Sport,” thus graphically describes the Broad Fencer of the period:—“The Cads, and fellows with the Race Lists, were thus hawking their bills and cards over the race ground to obtain purchasers. Come my worthy sporting gentlemen from all parts of the kingdom—now’s your time to open your eyes and look about you, when you will see to-day what you never saw before in your life, and, perhaps, you may never see again, if you live as long as Old Methuselah. Come, I say, who’s for a list—the whole list, and nothing else but a true list—besides, you will have a correct and particlar account of the terrible, terrible, terrible high-bred female—the good-lady of Colonel Thornton; there is nothing like her in the universal world. Old Astley’s troupe are mere patches upon her managing a horse, she will this day ride a match like a lady, over the four mile course for 500 guineas, and 1000 guineas bye; and some hundreds of thousands are likewise depending upon this most extraordinary match between the “Jockey in Petticoats” against the well-known sporting character Mr. Flint, in his “doe skins and top boots;” and looked upon as one of the best gentlemen riders in the nation. You have also the names of the horses, and the colours of the riders, with every other particular that can enlighten your minds, and make you gentlemen sportsmen acquainted with this lively race. You have now the opportunity to lay out your money according to your inclination. The gentleman allows the lady to ride what weight she likes, there being a mutual understanding between them upon the subject; therefore, she will not, like commoners go “to scale” as she will not be handled by any body before she starts for the prize; indeed, the Female Jockey is not considered any weight at all. Her importance and self-possession are the only objects for consideration. What does spirit, fire, blood, and gaiety weigh, I should like to ask? I answer nothing,—my masters! Such high bred qualities are as light as air—brisk as the wind—and 2 to 1 towards winning. You have also at the same price, the plain and simple pedigree of the female Jockey. Her “sire” was a capital “good un;” her dam, a prime fleet “un,” an Eclipse in character; her brother, all that could be wished upon the turf, for getting over the ground like a sky rocket, her sister, a Nonpareil at all points, and above any price, but her owner, her out-and-out owner, the Colonel from his “upper crust” down to his “walker,” is a match for all England against any thing—for every thing alive—either on the turf or turnpike,—from a mouse to an elephant: and nothing else but winning belongs to his stable. And lastly, though not the least in the above Catalogue of Excellence,—every point of the Female Jockey is tip-top, her agility is captivating; and she mounts her prad like the most accomplished horseman in the world. Her movements defy expression; her nods to the females, as she rides over the Course, delightful! but her smiles to the applauding gentlemen, in answer to the winks, bows, and other marks of politeness towards her, as compliments for her daring exploits, are fascinating, elegant, and nothing else but winning. She is seated upon her high-bred animal with all the firmness of a Nimrod; she holds her reins with the most perfect ease and style; and Chifney, in the best of his days, never displayed a better knowledge of horsemanship than the Female Jockey, and she flourishes her whip with all the good taste of the leader of a band at a concert. In fact, she is a Nonesuch! a Paragon!! a PHENOMENON!!! Her prad too, Old Vingarillo, is also a picture of goodness, from his peepers down to his fetlocks! Therefore, my worthy sportsmen, do not lose this opportunity—be not too late—but purchase this great curiosity—this List of lists—nothing like it having occurred in Yorkshire, or, in any other part of the globe since Noah’s flood—either before or since the wet season of the year; and it is York Minster to a brass farden that nothing like it can occur again till we have a new generation of the human race? That’s a fact!!!”

Buckingham, Thomas.—Comedian and Comic-singer, died September 2, 1847, aged 52.

Buffers.—Dogs. Buff-napper, a dog stealer.

Broom.—To brush, to run away.

Browns.—Half-pence and pence—“Got any browns, Jem, for a drop o’ Max? No, Bill, not never a von left; s’elp me criky.”

Buffs—Buffaloes—and Buffaloism.—A society held at the Harp Tavern in Great Russell Street, opposite Drury Lane Theatre, and was first established in August, 1822, by an eccentric young man of the name of Joseph Lisle, an artist, in conjunction with Mr. W. Sinnett, a comedian, to perpetuate, according to their ideas upon the subject, of that hitherto neglected ballad of “We’ll chase the Buffalo!” The society is composed of numerous Performers, and other “comical wights” resident in the metropolis. The ceremony of making a Buffalo is very simple, yet extremely ludicrous, and productive of great laughter. At first the person intended to become a Buffalo, is seated on a chair in the middle of the room, with a bandage placed over his eyes. The initiated Buffaloes are waiting outside of the door: the orator being decorated with a wig, &c., for the occasion. On a given signal, they all enter the room, with what they term the Kangaroo Leap, and jump round the chair of the “Degraded wretch,”—as the victim is termed. This is succeeded by a solemn march, and the following chaunt; the Buffaloes carrying brooms, shovels, mops, and a large kettle by way of a kettledrum:—

The CHARGE is then given to the “victim” by the Primo Buffo, accompanied by the most extravagant and ridiculous gestures:—

“DEGRADED WRETCH!—Miserable Ashantee!!—Unfortunate individual!!!—At least you were so, not a quarter of an hour since. You are now entitled to divers privileges: you may masticate, denticate, chump, grind, swallow, and devour, in all turnip fields, meadows, and pastures; and moreover, you have the especial privilege of grazing in Hyde Park;—Think of that my Buffalo! You may also drink at all the lakes, rivers, canals, and ponds; not forgetting the Fleet and lower ditches. You are entitled to partake of all public dinners,—upon your paying for the same—such are a few of the advantages you will enjoy! but you must promise to gore and toss all enemies to Buffaloism! You must likewise promise to patronise the Horns, at Kennington; and occasionally visit Horn-sey Wood, where you may do what you like best—rusticate, cogitate, or illustrate, and prove yourself an Horn-ament by respecting the natives of the island of Goree-he!”

The bandage is then removed from the eyes—and the chorus of “Chase the Buffalo,” is repeated. The victim is then led into the passage, and the signs, &c., are given to him, after which he is ushered into the room with the full chorus of:—

He is then called on for the accustomary fees for liquor, and a small compliment for the Buffalo in waiting: the expenses are in proportion to the means, or inclination of the newly-made member. The liquor is introduced by the chorus altered from the Pirates:—

A blessing is then given by the Primo Buffo, reminding the new member that the greatest characters in the country have solicited to become Buffaloes, and the following is sung in solemn style.

Bull.—A crown. Half a bull, half a crown.

Bunch of Dog’s meat.—A squalling child in arms.

Bunch of Fives.—A slang term for the hand or fist.

Bunch of Onions.—A watch chain and seals.

Bunch of Turnips.—Itinerant fruit vendors, &c.

Bunter.—A low loose woman.—“Neither maid, wife, nor widow.”

Burlington Arcade, The—Piccadilly, London, opened 20th March, 1814.

Burster.—A small loaf. A burster and beeswax, bread and cheese.

Bustle.—Money of any sort or quantity.

Buzz—Buzzers.—Pickpockets.

Buzz Napper.—A young pickpocket.

Buzz Napper’s Academy.—A school in which young thieves are trained to the art. Stow informs us that in 1585 a person named Wotton kept an Academy for the education and perfection of pickpockets and cut-purses: two devices were hung up—one was a pocket, and the other was a purse; the pocket had in it certain counters, and was hung about with hawk’s bells, and over the top did hang a little scaring bell; the purse had silver in it, and he that could take out a counter without noise of any of the bells was adjudged a judicial napper!

C.

Cabbage.—Cloth, stuff, or silk, purloined by tailors and sempstresses, who are for ever, snip! snip!! snipping!!! Cuttings that serve for trimmings to an occasional merry-making leg of mutton.

Cadge, Cadger, Cadging.—To beg, a beggar, begging of the lowest degree; a mean sort of thief. Very indefatigable persons in their vocation.

Cads of the Aristocracy.—Liveried footman, servants, and all other hangers on upon the nobility and gentry.

Cake.—A silly fellow, cakes being made like him, of very soft dough, and not over well baked.—Our cake’s dough on both sides.—Shakespeare.

Call me cousin—but cozen me not—Quoth Mrs. Saunders.

Calves gone to Grass.—Said of a man with slender legs. “He’s put some hay in his boots, and his calves have gone down to feed.”

Calves’ Head.—A tallow-faced fellow, with a large meaty head. “Calves’ head is best hot,” was the apology for one of those who made “no bones” of dining with his hat on.

Came up to the Scratch.—A pugilistical phrase; also said of a person who keeps his appointments in money matters.

Canary.—A sovereign. Canary Birds, inmates of prisons.

Canister.—The head, with a sly allusion to its emptyness. Cracked canister, a broken head.

Cant.—A language made use of among beggars, gipsies, thieves, and the Fancy in general.

Captain.—A travelling title, adopted by adventurers, who have no other good enough.

Captain is a good travelling name, and so I took it, it stops a good many foolish enquiries that are generally made about gentlemen who travel; it gives a man an air of something, and makes the drawers obedient. And thus far I am a captain, and no farther.—Farquhar’s, The Beaux’s Stratagem.

Captain Flasham.—A blustering, bounceable fellow.

Captain Queernabs.—A shabby ill-dressed fellow.

Carcase Lords.—Wholesale butchers who monopolise and forstall the markets.—“For wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together.”

Card.—A man, who may be a knowing, a downy, cunning, shifting, queer, or any other sort of Card according to circumstances.

Cart Wheel.—A five shilling piece.

Carving knife.—A sword.

Castle Tavern.—The Castle Tavern, Holborn, was first opened as a Sporting House by the well-known Bob Gregson; but designated at that period under the familiar title of Bob’s Chop House:—

The appearance of Bob Gregson was prepossessing—he was in height six feet one inch and a half, weighing about fifteen stone six pounds. It is rather singular to relate that Bob Gregson rose in the estimation of the Sporting World, from defeat, he fought only three battles in the P.R., and lost them all—thus, beaten by John Gulley, 200 gns., 36 rds., near Newmarket, Oct. 14, 1807. Again beaten by John Gulley, 200 gns., 75 mins., 28 rds., May 10, 1808. Beaten by Tom Cribb, 500 gns., 23 rds., Moulsey Hurst, Oct. 25, 1808. The sun for a long time shone brilliantly over the “Temple of the Fancy,” but poor Bob, like too many of his class, did not make hay while it was in his power; when the scene changed, the clouds of misfortune overwhelmed him; and the once sprightly, gay Lancashire hero was compelled to beat an inglorious retreat. The stylish, well-conducted Tom Belcher, next appeared in the character of landlord of the Castle. The house had undergone some repairs, the rooms were all retouched by the painter; elegance with cleanliness, backed by civility, became the order of the day; a prime stock of liquors and wines were also laid in to command the attendance of the public. Tom’s opening dinner was completely successful, and the Fancy rallied round a hero who had so nobly contended for victory in thirteen prize battles. Tom was also considered the most accomplished boxer of the day; and the remembrance, likewise, that he was the brother of the renowned Jem Belcher, were points in themselves of great attractions in the Sporting World; and the above Tavern again became one of the most favourite resorts of the Fancy in general. Tom Belcher, after fourteen years residence at the Castle, was enabled by his civil conduct, attention to business, good luck, and a good quantity of the “Sweeteners of Life” with Bank! security against a rainy day, he retired to a very handsome cottage on Finchley Common, living at his ease like a man of fortune, with his dog and his gun. Tom Spring—Champion of England—next appeared in the character of “Mine Host” at the Castle Tavern. “His appearance” said Pierce Egan—“is very much in his favour; and there is a manly dignity about his person which is prepossessing, his language is also mild and perfectly correct; and his behavour at all times truly civil and attentive to his customers.” A night spent at Tom Spring’s may not be regretted by the most fastidious visitor. If the ears cannot at all times be gratified with the various topics of argument brought forward; the eyes have no cause for complaint, the coffee room and every part of it is covered over with some attractive device, and if there are not so many pictures for criticism as may be seen at the Exhibition, there are a number of most excellent sporting subjects well worthy the attention of the observer. One of the most prominent amongst them for a display of talent is a “Picture of the Road going to the Fight” drawn and etched from life by Robert Criukshank, Esq., but often attributed to his brother, George Cruikshank. As this is not the fact, and as the opportunity occurs we hasten to set the matter right, in order that every tub may stand upon its own bottom, or, in other words, that the saddle may be put on the right horse. Soon after the above “Picture of the Road to the Fight” was hung up at the Castle Tavern, I met there one evening my two friends, Mr. Hone (the very clever editor of the ‘Every Day Book’ and several other publications of merit) and Mr. George Cruikshank. On looking at the picture, Mr. Hone said to me, after praising it to the skies, “George has out-done himself!” “No,” I replied, “you mean Bob Cruikshank.” “Indeed, I do not,” answered Mr. H., “I repeat, that George has out-done himself; and more clever touches of art I never saw—they are beautiful!” “Well,” said I, “if you are so positive, Mr. Hone, I will bet you anything you like, from a glass of grog to a five pound note, that Bob Cruikshank accompanied myself down the Road to Moulsey Hurst, to accomplish the above picture.” Upon Mr. Hone appealing to George Cruikshank on the subject, the latter celebrated artist, without the least hesitation, answered, “I had no hand in it.” After this declaration, Mr. Hone did not attempt to retract the compliments he had paid to the merits of the picture in question; but, of course, they now operated with double effect on the talents of Mr. Robert Cruikshank. In conclusion, I have only to observe that the Castle Tavern is open at all times to the visitor, either to confute my representation of it, or to verify the truth of my assertion—but of this circumstance I feel strongly assured that an evening spent at the above sporting house will never prove a source of regret to the stranger who is anxious to witness some of the peculiarities of “Life in London.”

Castor.—A hat. To prig a castor, to steal a hat.

Cast-your-Skin.—To pull off your clothes.

Champagne.—Charles Wright, of the Haymarket, London, and elsewhere, is the purveyor par excellence! of this sparkling and spirit-stirring nectar, which being good in quality and moderate in price he is patronized by all the knowing kiddies in town and country. But do not take my word for it, but call in and judge for yourself.

Champions of England.—From 1719 to 1857.—Figg 1719.—George Taylor 1734.—Jack Broughton 1740.—Jack Slack 1750.—Jem Stephens 1760.—George Meggs 1761.—Bill Darts 1764.—Tom Lyons 1769.—Harry Sellers 1777.—Johnson 1785.—Ben Ryan 1790.—Mendoza 1792.—John Jackson (retired) 1795.—Jem Belcher 1803.—Pearce (the Game Chicken) 1805.—Gully (declined the office) 1808.—Tom Cribb (received a belt, not transferable, and cup) 1809.—Tom Spring (received four cups, and resigned office) 1824.—Jem Ward (received a belt, not transferable) 1825.—Deaf Burke (claimed the office) 1833.—Bendigo (beat Deaf Burke, claimed championship, and received a belt from Jem Ward).—Ben Caunt (beat Nick Ward, and received a transferrable belt by subscription) 1841.—Bendigo (beat Caunt, and got the belt) 1845.—Perry (the Tipton Slasher, after his fight with Tom Paddock, claimed the office, as Bendigo declined fighting again) 1850.—Harry Broome (beat Perry, and succeeded to the office) 1851.—Perry (again claimed the office, Harry Broome having forfeited to him in a match, and retired from the ring) 1853.—The office still claimed by the Tipton Slasher, who, during 1856 received forfeit from both Tom Paddock and Aaron Jones, 1857.

Charley.—A London watchman before the introduction of the present system of police.

Chaunt.—To sing or to make known.—The birds chaunt melody on every bush.

Chaunter.—A puffer, or hired bidder at a sale. See Horse Chaunter.

Chawbacons.—Country clodhoppers, rustics.

Cherry-colour.—A jocular name given to either of the two colours in a pack of cards. A black cat is said to be a cherry-coloured cat, there being black as well as red cherries.

Children in the Wood.—Dice.—“Once before he won it of me by false dice.”

Chivey.—To run after, to chase, to move off quickly.

Chivey your Nurse.—To get rid of your tutor, guardian, father, &c.

Chovey.—A shop as crocus chovey, a chemist shop, &c.

Chum.—A companion, a bedfellow, a fellow prisoner.

Church going Stays.—That is best stays for special purposes.

Churchwarden.—A very long clay pipe.

Churchyard Cough.—A cough that is likely to terminate in death.

Church with a Chimney in it.—A public house.

Civil Rig.—A trick of the beggars to obtain money by ultra civility.

Clap of Thunder.—A glass of brandy.

Claret.—Blood. “I tapped him on the nose and out flew the claret.” Claret-faced, having a red face.

Clean gone.—Quite out of sight, vacated, levanted.

Cleaned Out.—Having lost all your money, beaten, ruined. “O horrid, horrid case.”

Clean Shirt Day.—Sunday.

Clenched it.—Completed the thing, or clenched the bargain.

Clockey.—A watchman, also a travelling clockmaker.

Cly.—A pocket, cly-fakers, pickpockets.

Coal.—Money, post-the-coal, pay down the money at once.

Cock and Hen Club.—A public-house concert, or Free-and-Easy, to which women are admitted, and everybody is supposed to do as they like, to stand upon no ceremony, come when they please, and brush when it suits. But all sorts of lush must be tipped for on delivery. “Poor Trust” being dead and buried.—“To keep the game alive,” Logic said to Tom and Jerry, “you shall now accompany me to what is termed a Cock and Hen Club. Where you may say and do as you like, the crib is situated in an obscure part of the town, but I know it well.” * * * On entering the club-room Jerry was struck with astonishment at the surrounding group. “It is nothing new to me,” replied Logic, “but rather a renewed feature of low Life in London. But we will ask the waiter for some little account about the chairman, who appears to me to be an original; and we must also obtain, if possible, a trifling outline of his assistant, the Lady Patroness of this meeting. The chairman in petticoats.”

“They are both out-and-outers,” answered the waiter, “and nothing like them on earth to keep such an unruly company together, as ‘Any-thing Tommy’ and ‘Half-quartern Luce!’ The chairman Tommy, has been, by turns, a costard-monger, a coal-whipper, a flying dustman, a boner of stiff-ones—that’s a resurrection man, and a “anything,” to yarn an honest penny, and a bit of a prig, if it suited him, sooner than have to complain of an empty Victualling-Office. He can throw off a flash chaunt in the first style; and patter slang, better than most blades on the town:”—

“As to Half-quartern Luce,” continued the waiter, “she’s a clever woman, in fact, she was reared a real lady, but now she is scarcely ever sober. I have known her to drink thirty-six half-quarterns of gin in a day; it is from her love of blue ruin she derives her name. Luce was once a very handsome woman, but she has been reduced, step by step, to the wretched creature she now appears to be, and drinks herself stupid to drown all reflections.”

“I have witnessed a great variety of scenes, since I have been in London,” said Jerry to Logic, “but this is equal to any, if it does not beggar the whole of them, in truth, I had not the least idea that such meetings were suffered to take place.”

Coffee Mill.—A watchman’s rattle.

College.—The Fleet Prison, or King’s Bench, a rough school, but salutary at times, collegiates, the prisoners.

Coper.—or Horse couper—a cheating horse dealer. See Horse Chaunter.

Core.—The heart.—In my heart’s core.—Horatio.

Cooped up.—Confined in the Poultry Counter, or elsewhere.

Chaffer.—The mouth.

Chaffing Crib.—A drinking-room where quizzing or bantering is carried on. Chaff-cutting, joking, jesting, playing on words.

Chalk, A.—An advantage. Take a chalk, the admitting of the advantage. In public-houses it is usual for the habituès to keep the score of a game of cards, dominoes, or coddom, &c., by means of chalk marks thus, | | | | |; therefore when one of the parties gains an advantage, he takes a chalk by rubbing one out.

Chalk Farm.—A well-known tavern and tea-garden, near Primrose-hill, alias Cockney-mount, between Hampstead and Highgate. This house is said to have taken its name from the farm being of a chalky soil, or, do they use double chalk! to their customers, who frequent this house either for amusement—or mischief! the “farm” is much resorted to by those persons who cannot settle a dispute without the use of powder and shot. Hence Jemmy Green says—“Vell, I’m glad its settled vithout bloodshed—Chalk Farm! pistols! half-past six!—Pooh!!!”

Chalk Up.—To have credit at a public-house, where they usually chalk up the amount behind the door, or on a large slate kept for that purpose.

Copy of Uneasiness.—A copy of a writ.

Corinthians.—Sporting men of rank and fashion:—I am no proud Jack, Like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle.—Shakespeare.

Corinthian Kate—and her friend Sue.—In the original Life in London these ladies were meant as sketches in water colours of the notorious Mrs. Maples, alias Mrs. Bertram, alias Mother Bang; and the no less notorious Harriett Wilson, alias Mrs. Colonel Rochfort; heroines whose “birth, parentage, and education—life, character, and behaviour,” have been made execrable by that congenial pair of publishers in infamy Messrs. Stockdale and Duncombe:—The characters of Kate and Sue are in rather different keeping in the dramatic version, and are at the service of any couple of modest, harmless, though at the same time somewhat adventurous, love-sick, roving young ladies, that may choose to claim them.

Costermonger.—See my friend Hone’s Jewel of a Work, for Instruction and Amusement, the Every Day Book, Vol. I.

Cousin Betty.—A travelling prostitute, frequenting fairs, races, and country club feasts.—“Ah! could you but see Bet Bouucer of these parts, you might then talk of beauty. Ecod! she has two eyes as black as sloes, and cheeks as broad and red as a pulpit cushion.” Tony Lumpkin: She Stoops to Conquer.

Cove, or Covey.—A knowing fellow, covess feminine of cove. Covess of the Ken, the mistress of the house.

Cover me Decently.—A great coat with men, and a cloak with women.

Court Card.—A trump, or out and out good one. A spirited fellow.

Crack.—The fashionable theme. The Go! All the crack! First-rate, as a crack article, an excellent one; crack a bottle, to drink; crack a crib, to break into a house; crack a canister, to break a man’s head; a crack-fencer, one who sells nuts; a crack hand, an adept; in a crack, in a moment; crack a kirk, to break into a church or chapel; crack, horses—men—races—regiments, &c., all first class of their kinds; crack-up, to praise; to crack a whid or wheeze, to make a joke, jokes or witticism; a crack-whip, a good coachman.

Crib.—A house, or an apartment.

Cribb’s Crib.—A slang alliteration for Tom Cribb’s house, the Union Arms, corner of Oxendon Street and Panton Street, Haymarket.

Cross.—A very general term for getting a living by dishonest means, and symbolized by placing the forefingers thus ╳, and is in direct opposition to being on the ◻, as implying honesty. A cross-fight, a sold prize fight. Cross-men, thieves and receivers of every degree. Cross-crib, a public-house where thieves “most do congregate.”

Crowdsman.—A fiddler.

Cubitt’s Machine.—The treadmill.

Cucumbers.—Tailors, because both are seedy.

Cut along Coaches.—The accidents of life.

Cyprians.—Women of loose morals. So called from the Island of Cyprus, one of the chief seats of the worship of Venus, hence called Cypria.

Cruikshank, Isaac Robert.—Caricaturist, born 1791. Illustrated many books, &c., including Pierce Egan’s, “The Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their pursuits through Life in and out of London,” 1827. Died March 13, 1856.

Cruikshank, George.—Caricaturist, born September 27, 1792. Illustrated Hone’s political squibs, 1817-20; “Peter Schlemil, Mornings at Bow-Street,” and in conjunction with his brother “Tom and Jerry,” and many other books since, died 1879.

D.

Dab.—A bed, also a slight blow, as a dab on the cheek.

Daffy.—Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin! Pierce Egan says in his “Book of Sports and Mirror of Life.”—“During the time Tom Belcher was the landlord of the Castle Tavern, Holborn, the Daffy Club was started by Mr. James Soares”—See Baron Nab’em.—“The above club is a complete antidote to the Blue Devils, and has to boast of greater advantages than any other Society in the Metropolis, from its members being always in Spirits! Formality does not belong to this Institution; it has no written rules to bind its members; no specified time of meeting; no fines for non-attendance; but the corner-stone is “To do what is right.”—The only definition I can give to the term “Daffy” is that the phrase was coined at the Mint of Fancy, and has since passed current without being overhauled as queer. The squeamish Fair One who takes the Daffy regularly on the sly merely to cure the vapours, politely names it to her friends as “White Wine.” The Swell chaffs it as “Blue Ruin” to elevate his notions. The Laundress loves dearly a drain of “Ould Tom,” from its strength to comfort her inside. The drag Fiddler can toss off a quartern of “Max” without making a wry mug. The Coster Monger illumines his ideas with “a flash of lightning.” The hoarse Cyprian owes her existence to copious draughts of “Jacky.” The Link Boy and Mud Larks, in joining their browns together, are for some “Stark Naked.” And the Out and Outers, from the addition of bitters to it in order to sharpen up a dissipated and damaged Victualling Office, cannot take any thing but “Fuller’s Earth.” Much it should seem, therefore, depends upon a name; and as a soft sound is at all times pleasing to the listener—to have denominated the Sporting Society the “GIN CLUB,” would not only have proved barbarous to the ear, but the vulgarity of the chaunt might have deprived it of many of its elegant friends. It is a subject, however, which must be admitted has a good deal of Taste belonging to it—and as a Sporting Man would be nothing if he was not flash, the DAFFY CLUB meet under the above title.”

Dairies.—Bosom—a woman’s breasts. Milk-cans!

Dandy.—A coxcomb, a fop; an empty-headed, vain person. In 1820, when Geo. III. mizzled, and Geo. IV. reigned with thunder and lightning speed. Pierce Egan published the birth, parentage, and education of the Dandy thus: The Dandy was got by Vanity out of Affectation—his dam, Petit-Maître or Maccaroni—his grand-dam, Fribble—great-grand-dam, Bronze—his great-great-great-grand-dam, Coxcomb—and his earliest ancestor, Fop. His uncle Impudence—his three brothers Trick, Humbug, and Fudge! and allied to the extensive family of the Shuffletons. Indeed, this Bandbox sort of creature took so much the lead in the walks of fashion, that the Buck was totally missing; the Blood vanished; the Tippy not to be found, the Go out of date; the Dash not to be met with; and the Bang-up without a leader, at fault, and in the back-ground. It was only the Corinthian that remained triumphant—his excellence was of such a genuine quality that all imitation was left at an immeasurable distance.

Dandiprat.—An insignificent or trifling fellow.

Dandy-cock.—A little dandy man, one of the Bantam breed.

Darkey.—Night, also a man of colour.

Dead-beat.—Quite done up, not a leg to stand on. Common phrases in the Sporting World, when a man or a horse is so completely exhausted with over-exertion, or the constitution breaking down, as to give up the object in view, not being able to pursue it any farther.

Deadly’s Fluid.—Gin, distilled at Deady and Hanley’s, Hampstead Road.

Dealer’s in Queer.—Passers of bad notes.

Demirep.—A flighty woman, too free in her manners.

Devil’s Bones.—Dice, which are made of bones and lead to ruin.

Dibdin, Charles.—Writer of sea songs and operas, born 1745, died July 25, 1814. His evergreen! Ballad Opera, The Waterman; or, The First of August, was first performed at the Haymarket Theatre, 1774, thus cast:—

Tom Tug Mr. Bannister.

Bundle Mr. Wilson.

Robin Mr. Weston.

Mrs. Bundle Mrs. Thompson.

Wilhelmina Mrs. Jewell.

Dimmock.—Money. To flap the dimmock, to spend the money.

Dive.—A visit to the lower regions of Wapping and St. Giles’s.

Diamond Squad.—People of quality. Vide Almack’s.

Dog Billy.—The—This celebrated Hero of the canine race to the great joy of the rats, lost his wind on Monday, February 23, 1829, in Panton Street, Haymarket. The body-snatchers and dog-priggers are out-done upon this suit, and the remains of Billy, instead of being obscured in clay, are preserved in an elegant glass case and gilt frame. The Ex-Champion, Tom Cribb, who liked Billy when alive, still likes him although told out. Billy was the property of Charley Aistrop when he last barked out an adieu; although Cribb was his tender nurse up to the time when he gave up the ghost. The rats it is said, are extremely glad to find Billy has left no successor to give them a nip.

Done the thing Right.—Managed matters properly, taken care of one’s-self and one’s friend.

Dollop.—A handful. A lump of anything.

Dominoes.—The teeth.

Down.—Understanding. To be down. To understand, to be fly.

Doxies.—Loose women—prostitutes.

Dragging-Time.—The evening of a fair-day, when the wenches are pulled about.

Draggle-Tail.—A slut, a dunghill quean.

Drinking Freely.—Not paying for it.

Drop.—The gallows, which always proves to be the “last drop,” or “a drop too much.”

Duce.—Twopence.

Dummy.—A cant phrase for a stupid fellow; a man who has not a word to say for himself. The family of the dummies is a very numerous one.

Dust.—Money. Down with the dust, to spend money.

Dust-Hole.—The nose, otherwise Snuff-receiver!

Dustman.—Sleep, or drowsiness.

Dustypoll.—A nickname for a miller.

E.

Earth Stoppers.—Horses’ feet. Earth Stopping, stopping up the holes of foxes previously to hunting them.

Egg-Hot.—Beer, eggs, spirits, sugar, and spice made hot.

Everlasting Shoes.—The feet.

Everlasting Staircase.—The treadmill.

Eye Water.—Gin.

F.

Face.—Impudence; To face it out. To persist in an assertion which is not true. To maintain without changing colour, or hanging down the head. Brazen-faced, without shame.—God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another.—Shakespeare.

Fadge.—To suit or fit together—“How will this fadge?” also a street term for a farthing.

Family People.—Rogues and thieves of every degree: All of the same family or Kidney!—There is nothing but roguery to be found in villianous man.—Shakespeare.

Fancy.—Boxing, bull baiting, cock fighting, and sporting in general.

Fancy Piece.—A sporting phrase for a bit of nice game kept in a preserve in the suburbs. A sort of Bird of Paradise.

Fast trotters.—Rum prads, good horses.

Felt.—A hat.—“What manner of man? is his head worth a hat.”

Fib.—To beat or strike with the fist. Fibbed, held with one hand, and hit with the other.

Fiddle.—A rattle, Charleys’ fiddle, a Watchman’s rattle.

Fiddler’s Fare.—Meat, drink and money.

Fig.—To fig a horse is to place a bit of ginger under his tail to make him frisky. Fig, dress. In Full Fig, full dress.—“All in the best.”

Fig leaf.—An apron, an allusion to our Mother Eve.

File.—An odd fellow, a queer dog, a bit of a rogue.

Finish.—The “Finish” was a notorious night-house kept by Jack Rowbottom, in James-street, Covent Garden. Here the swells who were bundled out of Offley’s, about four o’clock in the morning bundled into the Finish, where drinking and other innocent pastimes were kept up till eight, nine, or ten o’clock. Jack Rowbottom was quite a study in character. Soon after 1832, he got into “diffs,” and his residence was divided between the King’s Bench and the Fleet Prison. In the latter poor Dr. Maginn expired in his arms, after being faithfully nursed and attended by Jack during a long illness.

Fish—Fishing:—Some fish for compliments, and get what they want. Some fish in dirty waters and get what they do not want: but remain as mute as a fish on the subject.

Fives.—‘Bunch of Fives,’ the fist—Fives Court (The) was a large room in the neighbourhood of St. Martin’s-lane, where the prize fighters of the day took their Benefits and made open challenges.

Flame.—A sweetheart. An old flame, a discarded one.

Flash.—Cant language, also to sport or show off. A fellow who affects any particular habit, as swearing, dressing in a particular manner, taking a fashionable snuff, &c., &c., merely to be noticed, is said to do it out of flash. Flashman, a despicable wretch and the paramour of a prostitute.

Flash of Lightning.—A glass of gin, “gone in the twinkling of an eye.”

Flat Catcher.—A man, woman, or any article intended to take in the public.

Flat cum Sharp: par nobile fratrum.—There is not a word in cant or flash vocabulary, nor, in the English language, taken in its right sense and meaning, that conveys so much, and is so generally applicable, as the simple monosyllable Flat. There are flats of every rank, grade, and station in society, in every part of the known world—and possibly in the unexplored portion also. There are flats alike in office and out; in the senate house and in the cottage—from the councillor of state to the omega of legislators, parochial vestrymen! Oh, most comprehensive patronymic! Sharp is also a good term; but only a cipher, in numerical strength of application, when compared with flat. Flat is an independent, honest, and respectable word. Sharp is diametrically opposite; it owes its very birth to flat, and cannot live without it. Flat is the parent; progenitor, and preserver of sharp, the very root and sap of its existence. Without flats sharps would become extinct. The fact of sharp having sprung from flat is so apparent, that there is not a sharp to be found that has not a flat about him; there consanguinity, therefore, is undoubted.

Such is human nature, that three parts of the vast universe is peopled with flats; while the circumscribed and degenerated race of sharps do not occupy more than a quarter or one fourth of the space. Another proof may be adduced of the independence of the flats, and that is that they can live, flourish, and prosper much better without the company of sharps than with it. Not so with the sharps. They cannot herd and feed together without first getting the means from the substance and resources of the flats. We think we have satisfactorily proved to every dispassionate, disinterested individual, that sharps are entirely dependent upon their fathers and forefathers, the flats! and there can be very little doubt but that they are both ungrateful and undutiful to the parents who have, as we have shown, given them being, succour, the means of existence.

If a sharp happens to reside in the neighbourhood of a flat, he will always be found setting his wits to work to relieve him of his property and earnings, even though the sharp have plenty, and the flat but little. Such is the undutiful penchant of the sharp for the goods and chattels of his progenitor the flat!

In this good city, not inappropriately denominated the world’s metropolis, flats and sharps are plentiful, and may be found located together in every street and alley. Although the flats have the advantage numerically, such are the ingenuity and plausible tactics of the sharps, that they compel the flats to work to support them. The sharps, though industrious at scheming, always profess, as their creed, a profound and rooted contempt for manual labour. Sharps are not found among gravel-diggers or stone-breakers; we may go further—seldom amongst artisans or mechanics of any description. No, they are men whose exalted minds soar far above the ordinary pursuits even of middle life. The army boasts of them in abundance. The navy may be said to be composed of flats, with scarcely one exception. The attachment of the sharps to the red-coat service of their country is clearly demonstrated by the fact of the élite of their class conferring military titles on themselves, without troubling the formal publicity of the Gazette! We may safely venture to assert, that there is not an army of any nation that can boast of the number of staff-officers that adorn the lists of our royal corps of London malleteers, otherwise gentlemen sharps. They resemble our disbanded militia, only the staff preserved. It is said and sung that “One half the world does not know how the other half lives—or dies.” How true is that oft-used aphorism? What quiet, respectable, church-going citizen would believe that, early as he rises to give his best care to the legitimate commerce of his enterprise, there are many traders in the illegitimate mercantile world who are wide awake, and in full pursuit of their customers long before his drowsy eyes are open to the brightly-shining sun; long before the aforesaid shining sun has superseded the gas-light radiance shed over the populous city of London:—

Flats.—Persons easily taken in, good customers.

Flesh and Blood.—Port wine and brandy mixed.

Flimsy.—A bank note, according to Cobbett a very flimsy thing.

Floored.—Knocked down.

Flowers of Society.—The ornaments of high life, the upper classes.

Flue Fakers.—Chimney sweepers.

Fly.—Knowing, wide awake.

Fogle.—A handkerchief.

Fork out.—To give money.

Four Eyes.—The man and the spectacles.

Free-and-Easy.—A singing-club, held at public-houses.

Freshwater Bay.—The harbour of the Fleet-Prison.

Frisk.—Mischief, to dance and skip about.

Fullams.—Loaded dice. There were high fullams, and low fullams, to denote loaded on the high or low number.

Full Cry.—When all the hounds have caught the scent, and give tongue, Tom and Jerry, when in town, had other game in view.

Fuller’s Earth.—Another of the thousand endearing names for the universal favourite Gin! Gin!! Gin!!!

Funk.—To smoke, to alarm.

G.

Gab.—Small talk, patter, flash. Gift of the Gab, talent in conversation.

Gaffing.—Low gambling.

Game of the Spell.—The play of life.

Gammoners.—Cheats.

Gammoning the Draper.—When a man is without a shirt, and is buttoned up close to his neck, with merely a handkerchief round it, to make an appearance of cleanliness, it is termed “gammoning the draper!”

Gammoning a Main.—Pretending to be hurt, or crippled.

Garnish.—Entrance money, to be spent in drink, demanded of all newcomers in Debtor’s Prisons.

Gay Tyke Boys.—Dog fanciers.

Gig.—Fun. Bit of gig, a bit of fun.

Gin Spinners.—Distillers, also publicans.

Glim.—A lanthorn, a hazy eye, &c.

Goldfinches.—Sovereigns.—“Fine singing birds.”

Go it.—Keep it up: keep moving.

Gomersal, Edward Alexander, Actor: represented with wonderful success Napoleon, in the Astley’s dramatic version of the Battle of Waterloo, died at Leeds, October 19th, 1862, aged 74.

Grand-twig.—Handsome set out.

Grand Strut—The.—Rotten Row, Hyde Park.

Gravel Digger.—A sharp toe’d dancer.

Greeks.—Black legs, sharpers, &c. Also a term for low Irish People.

Green.—Raw, not understanding.

Greyhound, A.—Should have according to all sporting Kiddies:—

Grimaldi, Joseph. Vulgo, Joey Grimaldi, the renowned clown, 1779-1837.

Grog.—Rum and water cold without. Admiral Vernon was called “Old Grog” by his sailors, because he was accustomed to walk the deck in rough weather in a “grogram cloak,” as he was the first to serve water in the rum on board ship, the mixture went by the name of Grog. Tom, Jerry and Bob Logic found out its use and abuse not only in the Back Slums in the Holy Land, but at Mr. Mace’s Crib in the East.

Grub.—It is scarcely necessary to explain the meaning of grub; it is a subject in the mouth of everybody, and therefore interesting to the taste. Indeed, this sort of cant is quite current throughout all ranks of society, and is well understood.—Grub and Bub, victuals and drink of any kind.

Grub-street.—This phrase, respecting the residence of Authors, is nearly obsolete; and, in point of fact, is altogether erroneous. If it might not be deemed trespassing rather too feelingly upon so delicate a subject, in consulting the best authorities, both living and dead, it will be found that hungry Authors, in the best of times, have had very little to do with grub-street! the smell of the joint being more within their province than the actual possession of the substance.

Guinea Pig.—A fellow who receives a guinea for puffing off an unsound horse.

H.

Habeas Corpus.—Body and breeches.

Haberdasher.—Is the whistler, otherwise the spirit-merchant—and tape the commodity he deals in. It is a contrabrand article dispensed in Debtor’s Goals. White is Max, and red is Cognac.—“You see” says the Haberdasher, “smuggling does a lot of good, it does me good, and it does you good, and do’nt you see it does the Government!”

Hack.—A coach. See Jarvey.

Half and Half Coves.—Neither one thing nor the other.

Hammer School.—Boxing School.

Harp.—The Harp tavern in Russell Street, Drury Lane, is well known—if the phrase is not offensive to the profession, as a House of Call for Actors. Here you have an opportunity of viewing, and interviewing players in and out of an engagement, stage-struck youths, anxious to become actors; and other perfect enthusiasts, together with mummers, and spongers without end, ever ready to get Lush out of you, or make you a member of the City of Lushington! see Buffaloism.

Hartland, Frederick, Pantomimist, died August 17th, 1852, aged 70.

Hear any thing knock.—Take the office, to be put up to any thing that is going forward.

Heavy Plodders.—Stock brokers.

Heavy Wet.—Porter.

Hedge.—To “hedge off,” or “its a prime hedge for me,” are phrases repeatedly made use of in the Sporting World, when an individual wishes to save himself from any serious consequences.

Heel Tap.—“Bumpers all round,” and no heel-taps! “that is,” said Bob Logic, “your glasses are to be drained to the bottom.”

Hell.—A gambling house, from the infernal practices carried on in such places. In 1823 Lord Byron wrote—“What number of Hells there may be now in this life, I know not. Before I was of age, I knew them pretty accurately, both “Gold” and “Silver.” I was once nearly called out by an acquaintance, because, when he asked me where I thought that his soul would be found hereafter, I answered, ‘In Silver Hell.’”—

Hells upon Earth.—Is a name given to the Swell Gambling-houses, at the West-end of the town; most of them situated in the vicinity of St. James’ Street. Some of the principal of these have been queered outright, by the vigilance and exertions of the beaks, whose orders to the traps upon the subject were so imperative, that taking tip to stash the matter, was quite out of the question; and some of the most distinguished Spirits that haunted these infernal abodes, were actually put under the discipline of Cubitt’s Machine to purify. But though the amateur of the broads may as he perambulates the suburbs of the Palace, see reason in many instances, to mourn for the desolation of his Zion, there are still enough of these places to make “a Hell upon earth” for thousands. All of these now remaining, are however eclipsed by the piscatory Hell, called Fishmongers’ Hall! so named, from Crockford, the keeper of it, having formerly been a Fishmonger, many persons remember Crockford, a poor, very poor Sprat Seller, yet he must now be living at the rate of nearly £4000, annum.—“Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.” at this establishment money is sported like dirt, which may account for so many of the visitors being cleaned out. It is a question whether any other Fishmonger’s shop, can boast of so numerous an assembly of flat fish and gudgeons.

Impromptu.

On hearing that Mr. Ude, the celebrated cook, was engaged by Mr. Crockford, at a salary of £1,200 per annum.

Hen and Chickens.—All my pretty chickens and their dam, St. James’.—The Missus and the blooming kids, St. Giles’.

Highflier.—A tip-topper, a first rater.

Hop Merchant.—A dancing master.

Holy Land.—The back slums of St. Giles’.

Holy Water.—Gin.

Horse Chaunter.—A man being brought up at one of the police courts, the magistrate asked, “What is your trade?”—“A horse chaunter, yer vurship.”—“A what! a horse chaunter? Why what’s that?”—“Vy, yer vurship, ain’t you up to that ere trade?”—“Come, explain yourself,” said the magistrate.—“Vell, yer vurship, I goes round among the livery stables—they all on’em knows me—and ven I sees a gen’man bargaining for an ’orse, I just steps up like a stranger, and ses I, “Vell, that’s a rare ’un, I’ll be bound,” ses I; ‘he’s got the beautifullest ’ead and neck as ever I seed,’ ses I; ‘only look at ’is open nostrils—he’s got vind like a no-go-motive, I’ll be bound; he’ll travel a hundred miles a day, and never vunce think on’t; them’s the kind of legs vat never fails.’ Vell, this tickles the gen’man, and he ses to ’imself, ‘that ’ere ’onest countryman’s a rale judge of a ’orse;’ so please you, yer vurship, he buys ’im and trots off. Vell, then I goes up to the man vat keeps the stable, and axes ’im, ‘Vell, vat are you going to stand for that ’ere chaunt?’ and he gives me a suvrin. Vell, that’s vat I call ’orse chaunting, yer vurship; there’s rale little ’arm in it; there’s a good many sorts on us; some chaunts canals, some chaunts railroads, some chaunts j’int stock companies, and ther’s a werry many other chaunts in this ’ere vorld as is too numerous to mention and some on ’em as even me nor ye vurship is’nt fly too.”

Hot House.—A brothel:—“Now she professes a hot-house, which I think, is a very ill-house too.”

Hot Waters.—Spirits.

Humming Ale.—Strong liquor that froths well. A corruption of spuming. French, espuma, froth. Latin, spuma.

Hummums.—The well-known hotel in Covent Garden. So called from an Eastern word, signifying baths. Rockley and the Co. is the Boss of the Show, and Tawny Port the order of the day. Bob Soutar—ultra—crepidam? and Joe Cave (at) actor? May for your dresses, and White for spangles. Chaffcutting from 12 till 5 daily.

Hyde Park.—London, W., was the ancient manor of Hyde, belonging to the Abbey of Westminster, became Crown property at the dissolution 1539. It was sold by parliament in 1652, but was resumed by the King at the restoration in 1661. The Serpentine was formed 1730-33. “My dear Jerry,” said Tom, “Hyde Park is in my opinion, one of the most delightful scenes in the world. Indeed it is a fine picture of the English people. It is in this Park, Jerry, that the Prince may be seen dressed as plain as the most humble individual in the kingdom; the Tradesman more stylish in his apparel than his Lordship; and the Shopman with as fine clothes on his person as a Duke. The Countess not half so much ‘bedizened’ over as her own Waiting-Maid; the Apprentice-Boy as sprucely set-off as a young sprig of Nobility; while the Milliner’s Lass in finery excels the Duchess. But the air of independence which each person seems to breathe renders the tout ensemble captivating.”

“Observe those prime bits of blood,” from the choicest studs in the kingdom, prancing about as proud as peacocks, and almost unmanageable to their dashing riders. The Goldfinches of the day trying to excel each other in point of coachmanship, turning their vehicles rapidly—almost to the eighteenth part of an inch, each priding himself in having obtained the character for displaying the most elegant “set-out.” The Man of Ton staring some modest female, that attracts his attention, completely out of countenance; while the Lady of Rank, equally delicate in her ideas of propriety, uses her glass upon the same object till her carriage removes her out of sight. The Debauchee, endeavouring to renovate or brace himself up with the fine air of the Park, ogling all the girls that cross his path. The Swell Dandy could not exist if he did not show himself in the Park on a Sunday. The Gambler on the look-out to see if any new pigeon appears in the circle, in order to plan future operations that may turn out to his advantage. The peep o’-day Woman of Quality, who, night after night, disposes of all her hours of rest in card-parties and routs, is here to be seen riding down the circle to chit-chat and nod to her friends, in order to get rid of her yawnings, and to appear something like being awake at dinner-time. The Peer, relaxing from his parliamentary duties, and the Members of the Lower House here take a ride among the various parties in the circle, to hear their conduct and measures descanted upon, and likewise to “pick-up” a little information respecting the buz on public affairs. The scheming Procuress sporting some new-caught lady-birds in a splendid carriage, in order to excite attention and to distribute her cards with more effect. The wealthy Cit, whose plum has rendered him sweet amongst his grand next-door neighbours at the West-end of the town, here shows himself with all the confidence derived from a splendid fortune. The extravagant Fancy-Lady, making use of the thousand little arts that she is mistress of, trying to take the shine out of all the other females in the circle, merely to show the taste and liberality of her keeper. The flashy Tradesman, who laughs at the vulgar prejudices of old sayings and propriety about “Keeping your shop and it will keep you,” here pushes along in his natty gig and prime trotter, and appears upon as “good terms” with himself as the richest banker in London, laughing in his sleeve at the idea, that, if anything goes wrong from his stylish-pursuits, a temporary absence from his friends, united with the aid of white-washing, will soon make him “all right again.”

It is equally interesting and attractive, from the numerous characters of both sexes, ogling each other, as they frequently come in contact. The Tailor confined to his shop-board all the week, enjoys the double advantage of gaining a little fresh air in the Park, as well as admiring some of his own performances on the backs of many of the dashing crowd; and the Milliner, also upon the same errand, not only to improve her health, but to retain in her eye the newest fashion sported in this hemisphere of the Great. The pleasure, too, of being known and recognized by your friends and acquaintances. The numerous bows and friendly How d’ye do’s? With that admired sort of Life in London, all jostling against each other in the Park with the utmost sang-froid. The Nobleman and the Yokel—the Divine and the “Family-man”—the Player and the Poet—the Impure and the Modest-girl—the Grave and the Gay—the Flash Cove and the Man of Sentiment—the Flat and the Sharp—the Dandy and the Gentleman—the out-and-out Swell and the Groom—the real Sportsman and the Black-Leg—the Heavy Toddlers and the Operators—the dashing Bum Trap and the Shy Cove—the Marchioness and her Cook—the Duke and the “Dealer in Queer,”—the Lady and her Scullion—the Pink of the Ton and his “Rainbow”—the Whitechapel Knight of the Cleaver and his fat Rib—the Barber’s Clerk and the Costard-Monger—the Slavey and her Master—the Surgeon and Resurrection Man—the ardent Lover to catch the smiling eye of his Mistress—the young Blood in search of adventures and to make assignations.

It ought, however, not to be forgotten, that every thing which is lovely, interesting, honourable, virtuous, generous, feeling, witty, elegant, and humane, which tends so much to give the English females a proud superiority over those of most other nations, is here to be met with in a transcendant degree; and it should also be remembered, that every thing which is designing, crafty, plausible, imposing, insinuating, and deluding, is likewise to be run against in these gay paths of pleasure. The passions are all afloat, but Gaiety of disposition overtops the whole.

I.

Index.—Reference.

I’ll Chance It.—A common expression among sporting men, when the object in view is doubtful of accomplishment. It is a good Flat that is never done.

I’s Yorkshire Coves.—Doncaster horse dealers.

Isle of Bishop.—A phrase among the Collegians at Oxford for getting jolly over port wine, roasted oranges and lemons.

Ivories.—The teeth: wash, or sluice your Ivories; drink.

J.

Jackson’s Rooms—were in Bond Street.—Mr. John Jackson, otherwise Gentleman Jackson? The proprietor was for a long time the connecting link between the patrons and practitioners of the Prize Ring. His persevering and honourable character enabled him to realize a handsome competence. He died at his residence 4, Grosvenor-street, Eaton-square, Oct. 7, 1845, aged 76.

Jarvey.—A Hackney-coach—“Better known perhaps by the name of a Hack: handy enough in wet weather or in a hurry.”

Jemmy.—A head. Bleeding Jemmy.—A sheep’s head, otherwise a Field-lane duck, otherwise The one eyed joint, otherwise Claretted James, otherwise Sanguinary Jacobus, otherwise a Pastoral Countenance, otherwise a Mountain Pecker, otherwise a Peaceful Profile. That man is to be pitied, who has not luxuriated on the delicasies of one of these, hot from the pan in their native element, at Mrs. Holmes’, the Two Brewers—the Sheep’s Head Tavern, Little St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials. Where the particular guest is never offended with a dirty table cloth, that appendage to mastication being invariably dispensed with; always taking care that they are accompanied with their proper and only sauce—a little of Hodges’s best, or Deady’s true cordial. Poor Colley Skylark, the Apollo of the pugilistic corps, has neglected many lordly banquets, for the felicity of feeding on them, and gouging out the rich eye in company with many of the gifted and learned of the age, viz.—The Keen pride of the British stage—the Comic Sheepface of Covent Garden—The talented author of the Cigar who acted as Clarke to the meeting: in their nocturnal vigils, and rich chaunts, will long be remembered there. Let us hope that Mr. Nash, the great architect, in his projected inroads through the Seven Dials, will spare this sacred haunt, so dear to the sons of good-feeding and fellowship. If he has ever had the happiness of regaling there, on a red hot bleeding jemmy! this remonstrance will not be needed.

Jemmy Green.—Every one must know this gentleman; he is a veritable being, and in being;—but as he is here said to live in Tooley Street, in the City, a place of no existence, no libel will lie. The lively Bunch of Greens, therefore, that at one time so pestered the Author with threatening and other letters, are informed their suspicions are quite correct, and that they were most certainly the officious empty fools of which this character is the representative.

Jerry Sneak.—A henpecked husband. From the poor sniveling Cockney cur in Foote’s farce of the “Mayor of Garrett.”

Johnny Raw.—A countryman.

Juniper.—Gin.

Junk.—Salt beef.

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:—

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:—

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.

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.

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:—

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:—

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.

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:—”

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.