The True History of Tom & Jerry: or, Life in London (continued 5)

“Tom and his Coz, had scarcely reached the place for refreshments, when the buz began, and they were surrounded by numbers of the gay Cyprians who nightly visit this place. Some of these delicate heroines, soon began to jeer the Corinthian on the cause of his absence; while others of these Lady Birds were offering their congratulations to him on his restoration to Society. Jerry being in company with so distinguished a hero as Tom was of itself a sufficient source of attraction to these Fancy Pieces to pay their court to Hawthorn; and, accordingly, their cards were presented to Jerry, in order to grace their lists with the addition of a new and rich Friend. These cards rather puzzled Jerry, who appeared astonished that such dashing females should keep Shops!!!?”

My Uncle.—The cant term for a pawnbroker:—

A poor Punster, who was hurrying through the streets one evening, was met by a friend, who asked him where he was going in such great haste? The humourist being rather shy in stating his errand, as well as anxious to conceal the poverty of his circumstances, and having only a few minutes left before his ticket or Mortgage-deed! expired as to date, which not being renewed, his property must have been forfeited, turned off the question, with a smile, observing, “To a place of amusement.” “What part of the house?” “To the private boxes.” “Is it a good piece?” “Excellent! It abounds with incidents; and you cannot depart without feeling an interest in it.” “What’s the name of it?”—“Just in Time!” “So I’m off at once,” replied the Punster.

N.

Nab.—To catch or seize. Nabbed, caught.

Nabob.—Corruption of the Hindoo word Nawâb. An administrator, commander, and other high officers under the Mogul empire. These men acquired great wealth and lived in Eastern splendour, so that they gave rise to the phrase, “Rich as a Nawâb,” corrupted into Rich as a Nabob. In England we apply the phrase to a merchant who has obtained great wealth in the Indies, and has returned to live—and die in his native country.

Nail.—To prig, or to capture. I nailed him on the spot. To pay down on the Nail, to pay ready money on the counter—which was often studded over with nails.

Naked Truth.—The fable says that Truth and Falsehood went bathing: Falsehood came first out of the water, and dressed herself in Truth’s garments, Truth, unwilling to take those of Falsehood, went naked.

Nap.—To catch, to grasp.

Napping.—To be taken in the act, especially in adultery. “To catch napping—Rem in re.”

Napping your Bib.—Crying, and wiping your eyes with an apron.

Nappy Ale.—Strong ale is so called either because it makes one nappy, or else because it contains a nap or frothy head.

Nash.—To throw away. Nash your leading strings, throw off all restraint.

Natty.—Tidy, methodical and neat. Natty Lads, young pickpockets.

Needful.—Money. To show the Needful, to produce the money.

Never-wag Man of War.—The Fleet Prison.

Nibble.—To steal.

Nob.—Head. Nobbed, thumped on the head.

Nob Thatchers.—Straw bonnet makers, also wig makers.

Nod.—He’s gone to the land of Nod, i.e., he’s gone to bed.

Noodle.—An ass of the human species.

Nose.—An informer. Out on the nose, a night search.

Nun.—A mealy mouthed prostitute.

Nurses.—Guardians, tutors, &c.

Nutty.—To be nuts upon, is to be very much pleased or gratified with any thing: thus, a person who conceives a strong inclination for another of the opposite sex is said to be quite nutty upon him or her.

O.

Office.—Warning. To give the Office, make people aware.

Offley’s.—A sporting hotel, the resort of the Corinthians of the day was in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. To the men about town the excellence of Offley’s catering was well known. In cooking a beefsteak, he was unrivalled; and many a gentleman who had a great stake in the country would walk miles to have a small steak in London, cooked and dished up under the superintendence of “Old Offley” together with a nip of ale, the quality of which was on a par for excellence with the other good things of the house.

Mr. Offley lies buried in the churchyard of St Paul, Covent Garden, only a few feet from the back window of the room which was the scene of so many agreeable orgies. Shortly after his death a hearty toast to his memory was drunk in claret, over his grave, by a few of the jovial herd who loved him in life, and respected him in the tomb.

Ogles.—Eyes. Queer Ogles, bad eyes.

Olympic Theatre.—Was originally erected by Philip Astley, and opened with horsemanship, September 18, 1806. The theatre was leased in 1813 to the celebrated R. W. Elliston. On Monday, November 12, 1821, a dramatised version of “Tom and Jerry,” by Charles Dibdin, was produced: Tom, Mr. Blake; Jerry, Mr. Oxberry; Logic, Mr. Vale. Madame Vestris had the management to 1839, then followed Mr. George Wild, Miss Davenport, and Watts. The theatre was destroyed by fire March, 1849; re-built and opened by Mr. Watts, December 26, 1850.

Omnibuses.—The first pair of London omnibuses started from the Yorkshire Stingo, public-house, in the New Road, to the Bank of England and back, on Saturday, July 4th, 1829. They were constructed to carry twenty-two passengers, all inside, and were drawn by three horses abreast. The fare was one shilling, or sixpence for half the distance, together with the luxury of a newspaper. A Mr. J. Shillibeer was the owner of these carriages, and in order that the introduction might have every chance of success and the full prestige of respectibility, he brought over with him from Paris two youths, both the sons of British naval officers, and these young gentlemen were his “conductors.” They were smartly dressed in blue cloth, after the Parisian fashion. Their addressing any foreign passenger in French, and the French style of the affair, gave rise to an opinion that Mr. Shillibeer was a Frenchman, and that the English were indebted to a foreigner for the improvement of their vehicular transit, whereas Mr. Shillibeer had served in the British navy, and was born in Tottenham Court Road; yet he had afterwards carried on the business of a coach builder both in London and Paris. His speculation was particularly and at once successful, for he insured punctuality and civility; and the cheapness, cleanliness, and smartness of his omnibuses were in most advantageous contrast with the high charges, dirt, dinginess, and rudeness of the drivers of many of the “short stages” and Hackney coaches, who were loud in their railings against what they were pleased to describe as a French innovation, and many were the street-papers and ballads issued on the subject both for and against the “Shillibeer’s” and “French Hearses.”

On the Town.—A man of the world: a person supposed to have a general knowledge of men and manners. In short Up and Down to everything!

Operators.—Pickpockets.

O.P. and P.S.—The name given to a tavern in Russell Court, Drury Lane—See Kean’s Head—This sign was construed several ways according as it suited the different tastes of its visitors. The stage-players took it in its original sense, to denominate the tavern a theatrical house;—and the O.P. and P.S., according to its technicality upon the stage, thus—O.P. Opposite Prompter, and P.S. the Prompt Side. The men of the world placed it in another point of view, “Come and see me to-night,” said they to a friend, “at the O.P. and P.S., where you will be sure to meet some Old Pals, and hear Prime Singing.” And the Bacchanalians hailed the O.P. and P.S. as the harbour containing fine Old Port and Prime Sherry.

O.P. Riot.—When the new Covent Garden Theatre was opened in 1809, the charges of admission were increased; but night after night for three months a throng crowded the pit shouting O.P. (old prices), much damage was done, and the manager was obliged at last to give way.

Out-and-Outer.—A real good one.

Oxberry, William.—An actor of many parts: who held a very respectable position at various metropolitan theatres—and was a friend and contemporary with Pierce Egan, W. T. Moncrieff, Leman Rede, Tom Hudson and Beuler—the funny John Reeve—a great body of talent on or off the boards. Bob Keeley—the multum in parvo, and other choice spirits of the day, who frequently paid a visit to the coffee-room at the Craven’s Head, Drury Lane, when “Billy” Oxberry—that comical wight, acted the part of Boniface, to hear him tell his tales, and relate his theatrical and other adventures he had met with in playing “The Five P’s,” viz., the Printer, Poet, Publisher, Publican, and Player. (1784-1824.)

P.

Pad.—The highway, or a robber thereon; also a bed. Footpads, foot robbers. To go out upon the pad, to go out in order to commit a robbery. To pad the hoof, to walk. Padding-ken, a tramp’s lodging-house.

Paddington Fair Day.—An execution day; Tyburn being in the parish or neighbourhood of Paddington. To dance the Paddington frisk, to be hanged.

Pal.—A companion, one who generally accompanies another, or who commit robberies together.

Parker.—To part or pay money.

Patter.—To speak. Patterer, a noisy talkative street hawker of songs, last dying speeches, &c.

Patter-Flash.—To talk flash, or the language of thieves.

Paulo, Signor.—Comedian and Clown—the original Billy Waters in the Adelphi Version of “Tom and Jerry,” died July 27, 1835, aged 48.

Pavé.—The town. A nymph of the pavé, a prostitute.

Pea-Green Hayne—Mr.—He was nicknamed “Pea-green” from his folly in reference to Miss Maria Foote, afterwards the Countess of Harrington. It will be remembered that that beautiful and accomplished lady brought an action against Hayne for breach of promise of marriage, and recovered 3000l. damages; but Hayne was not green upon that account; it was an affair which the shrewdest man of fashion might have fallen into. If greenness existed at all in Hayne on that question, it laid in not marrying her. Fate, however, designed for the lady a better match. The eccentric Lord Harrington, though a wild, sporting, boxing spirit, as Lord Petersham, was, as the Earl, one of the most refined gentlemen that ever added grace to a coronet; and it might be fairly said that his Lordship did so. Mr Hayne was a man with a mind well stored; he had experience to aid him. In his association with Ned Baldwin, alias White-headed Bob, the pugilist, whom he trained and backed, and other fast celebrities of the day, he learnt much, though he paid dearly for it.

Peck.—To eat. Peck and Booze, victuals and drink. Peckish, hungry. Peck-alley, the throat.

Peel.—To strip, to undress; allusion to the taking off of the coat or rind of an orange.

Peepers.—Eyes. Single peeper, a one eyed man.

Pewter.—Money, from the close alliance of much of our so-called silver. To stump the pewter, to pay money.

Pierce Egan.—Author of “Tom and Jerry,” died August 3, 1849, aged 77.

Pig and Tinder-box.—A jocular term for the sign of the Elephant and Castle.

Pigs.—Thief-takers, formerly applied to a Bow Street Officer.

Pigeons.—Young beginners, or novices, persons very necessary to be plucked. Also companions of the right sort—birds of a feather.

Pilot.—A watchman.

Pimple.—The head.

Pinks.—Dashing fellows. Pinks of the fashion.

Pipkin.—The head. To crack a pipkin, to break a head.

Pippen.—A good fellow.

Plum.—He is worth a plum—is said of a man possessed of £100,000, and of him who has only realized £50,000, he’s got but “half-a-plum.”

Pockets to Let.—When there’s no money in them—such are best let alone.

Point Nonplus.—Neither money nor credit.

Police.—The London police grew out of the London watch, instituted about 1253; the whole system was remodelled by Mr., afterwards Sir Robert Peel, by 10 Geo. IV., 19th June, and the New Police commenced duty 29th September, 1829. Sir Richard Mayne was appointed Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan District. The new system was not popular with the people, nor with those who deemed they had “vested rights,” and the constables were considered as a target that every one might fire off their chaff and witticism at with impunity. The terms “Bobby and Peeler”—after Robert Peel, immediately became the cant words, together with “Blue Bottles,” “Blue Devils,” the “Royal Blues; or, the Cook’s Own,” and other opprobious terms. Within a month of the establishing of the New Police—viz., on the 14th of October, 1829, one of the members, named John Jones, was charged, at the Hatton Garden Police-station, with stealing a scrag of mutton, from the stall-board of a butcher, named Samuel, in Skinner Street, Somer’s Town. The circumstance having been witnessed by a neighbour, he pursued the policeman, and took him into custody. He had fifteen shillings and sixpence in his pocket. In his defence, he said he was going to take the mutton to show his wife. This was a circumstance that could not be lost sight of by the Seven Dials printers, and several street-papers and ballads were immediately issued on the subject, and continued to find a ready sale for some months; while “Who stole the mutton?” became the by-word. Following is one of the many ballads that appeared:—

The City of London successfully rejected the introduction of the New Police within their territories. “They worn’t a going to hav’ no new French Police Spy system in their ancient and honourable City,” said Alderman Cute-Grub-Bub-Turtle-and-Soup, “not if ve knows it.” Therefore, no one will be surprised at frequently reading in the newspapers of the period paragraphs like the following:—

THE EFFECTS OF THE NEW POLICE.

At the Guildhall, on Monday, October 12th, 1829, after Sir Peter Laurie had admonished and discharged a disorderly woman, who had been accused of being noisy in the street, he asked her accuser, a watchman, named Livingstone, where his beat was? The watchman said it was from St. Dunstan’s Church to Temple Bar. Do you find any increase of bad characters on your beat? Watchman (smilingly): Yes, I believe I do; the New Policemen drives ’em into the City. Sir Peter: Then you should drive them back again; it would be better than taking them up. Watchman: When there was a quarrel among them the other night, a policeman came up and drove them through the Bar, saying, “Ye shan’t stand here; go into the City with your rows.” Sir Peter Laurie said that he had heard that a police magistrate had directed the policemen to drive all bad characters into the City. If there was any truth in this, it was an imprudent—an improper observation. He desired the watchman present to drive all the bad characters out of the City. The thing must be put down. Subsequently, some vagrants were brought up, and Sir Peter told them to drive them out of the City instead of apprehending them in future. “We can play at tennis-ball,” said the Alderman, in an under tone.

“Who stole the Mutton?” together with many other words and phrases in reference to the supposed partiality of the police to The Cook! The Kitchen!! and The Cold Mutton!!! have clung to the service from the day of its formation to the present time, while comic writers of all degrees, in farces, burlesques, songs, and pantomimes, have never failed to make capital out of the New Police, Peel’s Raw-Lobsters, Peeler’s, Blue Bottles, &c., &c.

Polito’s Beasts.—Polito, the Italian successor to Pidcock’s Zoological Collection, and very famous in his day. Attracted many thousands of spectators every year at Bartholomew Fair.

Pony.—Money. To post the pony, to pay down the money, also the sum of twenty-five pounds.

Poundage Cove.—A fellow who receives poundage for procuring a customer for damaged goods—also a puffer at auction sales.

Prads.—Horses. The swell flashes a fine pair of horses.

Press-Gang.—Reporters, better known, perhaps, as gentlemen connected with the Press!

Prigs.—Pickpockets, and snappers-up of unconsidered trifles in general—from a needle to an anchor!

Prime Twig.—In high condition.

Pudding Sleeves.—A parson.

Pull Out.—To come it strong.

Punch.—From the Indian word punj (five); so called from its five ingredients, viz., spirit, water, lemon, sugar and spice. It was introduced into England from Spain, where it is called ponche. It is said to be a great “contradiction,” because it is composed of spirits to make it strong, and water to make it weak, of lemon juice to make it sour, and sugar to make it sweet.

Pupil’s-straits.—School tuition.

Q.

Quean.—A slut, or worthless woman, a strumpet.

Queer.—Bad. To Queer, to puzzle, or confound.

Quid.—A guinea, rather a scarce article now.

Qui-tam.—A ╳ species of lawyer, whose dealings are seldom or never on the ◻.

Quiz.—A strange looking fellow, an odd dog. Oxford.

Quod.—Newgate, or any other prison.

R.

Rag.—Bank notes, money in general. The cove has no Rag; the fellow has no money. Rag-carrier, an ensign.

Rainbow.—A tailor’s pattern book.

Rain Napper.—An umbrella.

Randall, Jack.—Jack Randall, the Nonpareil of the ring, died at his house, the Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, March 12th, 1828, aged 34. Jack was an Anglo-Irishman, and first drew his breath in the Hibernian colony of St. Giles. He was the hero of sixteen prize battles, and left the ring undefeated. At this period it was considered he had received not less than £1,200 by his good fortune, but “easy got, easy gone”—as fast as it was got it was spent, until prudence suggested the expediency of laying the foundation of something substantial for his family, and he accordingly closed his bargain for the Hole-in-the-Wall, under the patronage of General Barton, his friends giving him a pipe of wine, instead of a piece of plate, to commence operations. From henceforth he pursued the business of a publican, and was highly respected by all ranks of the Fancy. Tom Moore, the Irish poet, was a frequenter of his house, and it was there that he picked up most of his material for his “Tom Cribb’s Memorial to Congress,” &c. The liberality of his friends, however, added to his own predilection for daffey, gradually paved the way to the “break-up” of his constitution, and for the last few months of his life he was but the shadow of his former self.

Rap.—Money, indifferent of what coin.

Rattler.—A Hackney coach. Rattler and Prad, a coach and horses. Rattling-cove, a coachman.

Reader.—A pocket book.

Ready.—Money—not always ready.

Red Tape.—Brandy.

Reeve, John.—Glorious Jack! Comedian, died January 24, 1838, aged 39.

Regular.—In proper course. Regulars, the usual share of the booty.

Rent.—Money. Nap the rent, receive money.

Rhino.—Money.—May there always be plenty rhino betwixt the chaps that you and I know.

Rig-Out.—A suit of clothes.

Right and Fly.—Complete.

River Tick.—Tradesmen’s books.

Rolled-up.—Put in a sponging-house.

Roses, Pinks and Tulips.—Nobility.

Rosy Gills.—One with a sanguine or fresh-coloured countenance.

Row.—A street broil.

Rumbler.—A Hackney coach.

Rum One.—A knowing one.

Rum Peck.—Good grub.

Rum Slim.—Mixed wine or liquor, Rum Punch.

Russell, Samuel.—Otherwise “Jerry Sneak Russell,” from the very admirable manner in which he played the character of the henpecked cockney lout in Foote’s farce of “The Mayor of Garratt.” Mr. Russell was for some years manager of the Theatre Royal, Brighton, where he produced “Tom and Jerry” in 1822. After a long life of toil and trouble as a manager, actor, and—the father of a large family, a charitable benefit was got up for him at the Haymarket Theatre, July 1st, 1841, when “Macbeth” was performed, with Charles Kean as Macbeth; Mr. S. Phelps, Macduff; Lady Macbeth, Miss Ellen Tree. After which Mr. Russell spoke an address thanking his kind friends and patrons for their support and patronage; explaining that he deemed it necessary to address them before his final appearance on the stage, least he should not have the nerve power to do so afterwards. Then followed The Mayor of Garratt, Jerry Sneak (for the last time), Mr. Russell; Major Sturgeon, Mr. Robert Strickland. Unfortunately the money realized by the Benefit, and the private subscription list, was injudiciously invested in a very risky security; and a year or two afterwards the house of business failing the whole of it was irretrievably lost. Mr. Russell died at his daughter’s residence, Gravesend, February 25, 1845, aged 79.

S.

Sadler’s Wells.—The oldest theatre in London, and named in part from a mineral spring, which was superstitiously dispensed by the monks of the Priory of St. John of Jerusalem, from an early date. In the reign of Charles II. a Mr. Sadler, built here a music-house, and in 1683, re-discovered while digging gravel for his garden the Holy Well of “excellent steel water” which in 1684 was visited and drunk by hundreds of persons of every degree in their morning’s walk. In 1765, Mr. Rosoman converted Sadler’s Wells garden into a theatre. Mr. King, of Drury Lane Theatre, was long a partner and stage-manager, and Charles Dibdin and his sons Thomas and Charles were proprietors. Grimaldi, father, son and grandson, were famous clowns. The season of 1803 is memorable for the appearance of the celebrated Italian traveller Signor Benzoni, as the Patagonian Samson, in which character he performed prodigious feats of strength. Wine was sold and drunk on the premises until 1807, under the old regulation,—“for an additional sixpence, every spectator was allowed a pint of either port, Lisbon, mountain, or punch.” On the 15th of October, 1807, twenty three persons, male and female, were killed, and many dangerously injured by reason of a false alarm of “Fire!” New River water was introduced in a tank under the stage, and plays were written and arranged so as to display “Real Water” in some of the scenes, and the place advertised as the Aquatic Theatre Sadler’s Wells. In some cases the “good young man” and rightful heir to the estate, was basely and unmercifully hurled from some rock-work into the angry and surging billows below; by the hired myrmidons of the “Cruel Squire” of the Castle: then it was that the real dog would plunge into the real water, and rescue the real Count De Montfordiano from perdition. At other times the Lord of —— “the star-breasted villain,” was set upon by the highly virtuous villagers, for having disgraced the “Village-born Beauty,” who chased him in and out, and all round about the huge mountain-pass which overhung the “Perilous Pool,” until his noble Lordship! was captured, and then hurled into the “depths below,” and while his dummy! body was descending, it was shot—in two places, by Robin the Ploughman and Virtuous Villager—“under whose calf-skin waistcoat beat a heart truer than all the Lords, Dukes and Squires in wide England and Foreign parts.” Pierce Egan’s own version of “Tom and Jerry”—the “Author’s Piece” was performed for the first time on Monday, April 8, 1822; Tom, Mr. Elliott; Jerry, Mr. Keeley; Logic, Mr. Vale. But the more honourable distinction of Sadler’s Wells Theatre is the admirable representation of Elizabethan plays under the able management of Mrs. Warner and Messrs. Phelps and Greenwood, by whom it was made “the popular retreat of the regular drama”—1844-59 and 1861.

Sam—To Stand Sam.—To pay for the whole of the reckoning. Sammy is he who is fool enough to do it.

Sanders, John.—“Old Jack of the Adelphi”—and original Black Sal, died December 9, 1865, aged 66.

Saving one’s Bacon.—Taking care of one’s self.

Schneider.—A tailor. Scholars will perceive this “cognomen is german to the matter.”

Scamp.—A street-walking vagabond of the lowest order.

Scarce.—Non est inventus.

Scout.—A watchman.

Scran.—Food in general.

Screen.—A bank-note.

Screw.—A turnkey.

Screw Loose.—Something wrong.

Seven Dials Bard.—

“Yonder, sir, is Mr. Goosequill, one of the ‘Seven Bards of the Seven Dials,’ a clever man, who came to town with half-a-crown in his pocket, and his tragedy, called the ‘Mines of Peru,’ by which he of course expected to make his fortune. For five years he danced attendance on the manager, in order to hear tidings of its being ‘cast,’ and put into rehearsal, and four years more in trying to get it back again. During the process he was groaned, laughed, whistled, guyed, and nearly kicked out of the secretary’s room, who swore—which well he might do, considering the exhausted treasury of the concern—that he knew nothing about, or ever heard of the ‘Mines of Peru.’ At last Mr. Goosequill, being shown into the manager’s kitchen, to wait till he was at leisure, had the singular pleasure of seeing two acts of the ‘Mines of Peru’ daintily fastened round a savory capon on the spit, to preserve it from the scorching influence of the fire.

“‘This was foul treatment,’ I observed, and I ventured to ask how he had subsisted during the meanwhile? ‘Why he first made an agreement with a printer of Ballads, Last Dying Speeches and Confessions, &c., living in the Seven Dials, who finding his inclinations led to poetry, expressed his satisfaction, telling him that one of his poets had lost his senses, and was confined in Bedlam, and another was dazed with drinking drams. An agreement was made, and he earned five shillings and two-pence-three-farthings per week as his share of this speculation with the muses. But his profits were not always certain. He had often the pleasure of dining with Duke Humphrey, and for this reason he turned his thoughts to prose; and in this walk he was eminently successful, for during a week of gloomy weather he published an apparition, on the substance of which he subsisted very comfortably for a month. He often makes a good meal upon a monster. A rape has often afforded him great satisfaction, but a murder—an out-and-out murder—if well timed, is board, lodging, and washing, with a feast of nectared sweets for many a day.’”

Shaking the Shallow.—Tossing in a hat. Three or more coins are shaken together in the hat, then cast out on the table, most heads or most tails being the winner or loser, according to the calling of the players.

Sharps.—Persons ready to take you in on all occasions.

Shell Out.—Subscribe, or club their pence together.

Shirk.—To skulk or get off.

Shove in the Mouth.—A glass of gin.

Shoulder Knot.—A man-trap or bailiff.

Six and Eight-pence.—A lawyer of the first order of Sharks, whose whole object in commencing an action is to make a “bill of costs.”

Sketch-Room.—The—in Corinthian House which was principally dedicated to the productions of the late George Morland, Jerry was rather more if not quite at home, almost skipping with rapture as his eye ran over the subjects of that unrivalled genius of the pencil. Nature was seen so strongly at every touch that Jerry nearly fancied himself again at Hawthorn Hall, looking at his dogs, pigs, and horses.

“It was the opinion of Corinthian Tom, in his remarks to Jerry, when the latter first entered this apartment, that if Morland had only painted half the number of subjects which are now before the public, their value might have been enhanced twice as much; and finished pictures, instead of sketches, most likely would have been the result. This was the reason Tom assigned to Jerry for having it called the Sketch-Room. ‘Nine times out of ten,’ said Tom, ‘dull matter-of-fact calculation is not allied with genius.’ Money, to George Morland, was a colour that he did not paint with; and, therefore, respecting its value, he seemed to know nothing. Embarrassment and the Catchpoles first drew up the curtain and showed him the iron bars which stopped his thoughtless career. They also explained to him, in the most feeling manner, the uses of a strong lock. They likewise pointed out to George the difference in his prospects,—not in an artist-like manner to his ‘mind’s eye,’ but in a clear distinct way of business, that twenty shillings make a Pound. For the moment, he keenly felt the disgusting cramped situation of Carey Street,[40] which compelled him to peep at his objects, through the rails of his apartment: for the moment, also, he felt the immediate necessity of procuring the gold talismanic key to give him once more liberty, again to wander amidst the beauties of nature: it was then that Morland painted for money: it was then that Genius was in fetters: it was then that rapid exertions got the better of his taste. ‘The sooner you paint me a picture, Mr. Morland,’ said the leary Bum-trap, ‘the sooner the door will be open to you. Freedom is in view,—and I’ll discharge your debt.’ No skilful angler ever threw his line into waters with more coaxing bait to hook the poor fish, than Mr. Screw ‘tried it on’ with his prisoner. It was plausible: it was better,—it gave no trouble to his acquaintance: it also prevented shyness or Refusal from his friends. The lock-up-house, by such means lost its terror. Employment was found for the mind and pencil of Morland. He experienced no shiverings of the body—no feverish parched-up tongue, waiting with the most anxious suspense for the return of the messenger to bring the No, which ultimately sent him to jail, or the delightful Yes, that set the prisoner once more at liberty. On the contrary, George was quite at home. He did as his inclinations prompted him. Jolly fellows called on him in abundance; and the song and the glass went round with the freedom of a tavern. All his wants were supplied, and the misery of a spunging-house was not seen in Morland’s apartments. In fact, he was better attended than when out of it. From the top screw to the stamper cleaner, all of them felt an interest in waiting upon the ‘Great Genius,’ as he was termed, in order to take a sly peep at his paintings. Here George set no price to his pictures, but when he was tired of his companions, and his confined situation, he then industriously, and in a short time, painted himself out of the lock-up house. Lumbering him, never afterwards gave Morland any horrors: and, whenever he was in trouble, the same kind of judgment was repeated, time and often, till Mr. Screw had realized a tolerable collection of valuable paintings. This officer was rather fond of paintings himself; but when any gentleman took a fancy to purchase any of them, Mr. Screw never betrayed a want of knowledge of their value—by the prices he affixed to them. Morland died at the premature age of 41, in October 29, 1804—dissipated habits proved his quietus.”

Slang.—St. Giles’s Greek—a conversational expression of an irregular, more or less vulgar, type, familiar to and in vogue among a certain class.

Slavey.—Servants of all work, in allusion to their laborious employment and hard work.

Slipped Cover.—Got away.

Sluice.—To drink. Sluice your whistle, wet your throat.

Sly.—Contraband. On the sly, concealed, unlawful.

Smart Blunt.—Forfeit money.

Smash your Countenance.—To give a thump on the face.

Smell a Rat.—To suspect or discover any concealed thing, a la Hamlet. Vide Old Polonius behind the arras: “A rat, a rat; dead, for a ducat, dead.”

Smeller.—The nose. A smeller, a blow on the nose.

Smokey.—Suspicious.

Sneezer.—The Conk or nose.

Snicker.—A small tumbler.

Snip.—Mr. Snip a tailor.—Come in, taylor, here you may warm your goose.—Macbeth.

Snowball.—A Negro, or chimney sweeper.

Soho Bazaar, The.—The first of its kind in England, was established by John Trotter, Esq., to whose family it still belongs. The building covers a space of 300 feet by 150, and extends from the Square to Dean Street on the one hand, and to Oxford Street on the other. The bazaar occupies two floors, and has counter accommodation for upwards of 160 tenants. The two principal rooms in the building are about ninety feet long, and in them the visitor may find almost every trade represented. One large room is set apart for the sale of books, another for furniture, and another for birds, cages, &c.; and at one end of the latter room is a large recess, occupied with a rustic aviary, through which runs a stream of water. Connected with the bazaar are offices for the registration of governesses and the hire of servants, &c.; and the scene that here presents itself during business hours is one well worthy of a visit. The bazaar has been frequently patronised by royalty.

Something Short.—A drop of summat short. A glass of spirits, neat, unmixed—straight!

Some Tune.—A large amount.

Spavined.—Damaged, injured.

Speeling.—Gambling generally.

Spellken.—A playhouse:—Lord Byron in his Don Juan, Canto xi., stanza 19, uses the word in that sense, and then by way of a foot note, adds—

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 nobility and their patrons. The following is a stanza of a song which was very popular, at least in my early days:—

If there be any gem’men so ignorant as to require a translation, I refer him to my old friend and corporeal pastor and master, John Jackson, Esq., Professor of Pugilism; who, I trust, still retains the strength and symmetry of his model of a form, together with his good humour, and athletic as well as mental accomplishments.

Spike Hotel.—The King’s Bench, the Fleet, or any other prison.

Spree.—A bit of fun.

Stand.—To treat. Stand the nonsense, to pay the reckoning, very great nonsense when there’s no occasion for it. Stand Sammy, to pay for other people.

Stand Still.—A table.

Stark Naked.—Pure gin, neat without water.

Staunch.—Bang up to the neck, the thing!

Steamer.—A pipe. A swell steamer, a long pipe—Churchwarden.

Stiffener.—A letter.

Straw Chipper.—A straw bonnet maker.

St. Giles’ Greek.—Cant language. See Cant.

Street Solicitors.—Mendicity Societies’ clients, a class of beings that, as before mentioned, Bodkin makes it a point to take care of, in other words—beggars.

String of Onions.—Costermongers, and others of the lower class.

Stringer.—A mace cove, or line man, in plain English a cheat.

Stumpy.—Money.

Stunning Joe Banks.—Who was in all that’s flash, “bang-up to the knocker,” and for many years a very popular and much respected London character. He kept a renowned lush-crib called the “Hare and Hounds,” formerly the “Beggar in the Bush;” in No. 1, Buckeridge Street, within the classic region the “Holy Land,” or more frequently termed the Rookery in the heart of St. Giles’. Joe Banks, “mine host” of this boosing-ken; was a civil, rough, good natured, and very elaborate specimen of the genus homo, possessing a flow of spirits as extensive as his person. Good nature and conviviality were his leading characteristics, although his regular customers were composed of the veriest cadgers both male and female. The girls without shoes or stockings, clad in rags and jags. The male cadgers seldom or never used a comb or a pocket handkerchief:—

It was the fashion of the day for all the lively spirits—flash kiddies and country cousins curious in such matters to visit Stunning Joe Banks’ “City of the Cadgers” on such occasions, the persons and property of all were sacred while under his roof, and escorted through the intricacies of the “Rookery,” by Joe himself—or in his temporary absence by a well and truly trusted aide-de-camp! in order that they might not be in any way molested after leaving his house.

In conclusion we may add that “Stunning Joe Banks’s” drum was the resort of all classes, from the aristocratic marquis—especially he, who before he mizzled, hailed from Waterford!—to the downy vagabond, whose way of living was a puzzle to himself.

Sufferer.—A tailor or creditor.

Suspicion of Debt.—Owing two or three thousand pounds.

Swag.—Money, from its appetency to make its possessor swagger. Bag the Swag, to collect money.

Swaddies.—Soldiers.

Swallow-tail.—A dress, or tail coat.

Swell.—A dashing buck.

Swill Tub.—A drunkard, a sot.

Syntax.—A schoolmaster.

T.

Tag, Rag and Bobtail.—Extremes of low life.

Tape.—Spirits—white and red.

Tartar.—A sour one, a shrewish woman, a scolding wife.

Tattersall in the Rostrum.—“Gentlemen, what can you hesitate about? Only look at her! She is one of the most beautiful creatures that I have ever had the honour of submitting to your notice! So gentle in her paces; indeed, so safe a goer, that a child might ride her. Her pedigree is excellent—she is thorough-bred from her ear to her hoof; and the Herald’s College could not produce a more sound and satisfactory one—she comes from a good house, I pledge, my word, gentlemen. My Lord Duke, will you allow me to say £250 for your Grace? She will, notwithstanding the excellence of your Grace’s stud, be an ornament to it. She is a picture—complete to a shade; in fact, I could gaze upon her for ever, and always be struck with some new beauty she possesses. Thank you, My Lord Duke, I was certain your Grace would not let such an opportunity pass. There is not a horse-dealer in the kingdom who can show such a fine creature! She is above competition—I may say, she is matchless! The Regent’s Park might be betted to a mole-hill with safety that she has no parallel. Sir Henry, let me call your attention to Cleopatra! She is like her namesake in the olden times—but beautiful without paint! She is pure Nature, and no vice! Her action, Sir Henry—yes, her action—I could dilate upon it for a quarter of an hour—but puffing is out of the question—you shall judge for yourself. Run her down, John—The Graces, I am sure, Sir Harry, were they to behold her movements, would be out of temper with her captivating excellence! Taglioni, I must admit, can perform wonders with her pretty feet, but Cleopatra, my Lord Duke, can distance the whole of them put together; and positively leave the Opera House with all its talent, in the back ground. In fact, I am deficient in words to display her immense capabilities—£300, Going! £300. Thank you, my Lord Duke, she must be yours. For the last time, going at £310; but I will do the handsome thing, I will allow you five minutes to compose your mind—I am well aware that such unparalleled beauty is very dazzling—therefore, before you lose sight of this handsome creature, I do impress upon you, to remember that the opportunity once lost—£320; Sir Harry, I am obliged to you—the world has always acknowledged you as a man of great taste in matters of this kind; and without flattery, you have never shown it more than in the present instance—according to the poet, ‘Beauty; or, Loveliness, needs not the foreign aid of ornament, but is, when unadorned, adorned the most!’ Going—Cleopatra, my Lord Duke, will be in other hands if your Grace does not make up your mind in your usual princely style of doing things—a good bidding will make Cleopatra your own for ever, therefore, now’s the time to put on the distancing power, and your Grace will win the race in a canter! £340, my Lord Duke, I can only express my gratitude to say, that you have done me honour—Going!—Going!!—Going!!!—in fact, gentlemen, I am like an artist in this case, I do not like to leave such a delightful picture and I could dwell upon the qualities of Cleopatra to the very echo that applauds again and again! But most certainly I have given you all a fair chance—Cleopatra is on the go—are you all silent—going for £340, after all, what is that sum for one of the greatest English beauties ever submitted to the inspection of the public! £350, thank you, Sir Charles—worth your money at any price. I have witnessed your notice of Cleopatra for some time past—she will bear looking at, again and again! Charming Cleopatra! I am glad to see she has so many suitors for her hand—I beg pardon, gentlemen—a slip will happen to the best of us—her feet I should have said, but nevertheless, I am happy to see she has a host of admirers. I cannot bid myself, or else I would ‘make play’ and Cleopatra should become a noble prize—£370. Bravo! my Lord Duke! for £370 positively, yes, positively, ’pon my honour, positively the last time—or else the beautiful Cleopatra goes into the keeping of my Lord Duke. You are sure, gentlemen, that you have all done? Don’t blame me, but blame yourselves! Going once! Going twice! Going three times—Going—Gone!!! Cleopatra belongs to the Duke. ‘Jerry expressed himself so much pleased with his visit to Tattersall’s, that he observed to Logic, during his stay in London he should often frequent it.’ ‘I delight,’ said Hawthorn, ‘to be in the company of sportsmen; and no objects afford me greater satisfaction than the sight of a fine hunter,—the view of a high-mettled racer,—and the look of a perfect greyhound.’ ‘I admire them also,’ replied the Corinthian; ‘and Tattersall’s will always prove an agreeable lounge, if no direct purpose call a person thither. If nothing more than Information be acquired, that alone, Jerry, to a man of the world, is valuable at all times. Besides, Tattersall’s gives a tone to the sporting world, in the same way that the transactions on the Royal Exchange influence the mercantile part of society. It has likewise its ‘settling days,’ after the great races at Newmarket, Doncaster, Epsom, Ascot, &c. I do not know about the bulls and bears;[41] but if it has no lame ducks to waddle out, it has sometimes Levanters that will not show for a time, and others that will brush off altogether. But this does not happen very often; and Tattersall’s has its ‘good MEN’ as well as the ’Change, and whose ‘word,’ will be taken for any amount. It has also its Subscription-room, which is extremely convenient for gentlemen and other persons who feel any inclination to become acquainted with the events of the sporting world, at the moderate charge of one guinea a year. Indeed,’ continued Tom, ‘there is an air of sporting about this place altogether; elegance, cleanliness, and style, being its prominent features. The company, I admit, is a mixture of persons of nearly all ranks in life; but, nevertheless, it is that sort of mixture which is pleasingly interesting; there is no intimacy or association about it. A man may be well known here; he may also in his turn know almost everybody that visits Tattersall’s; and yet be quite a stranger to their habits and connections with society. It is no matter who sells or who purchases at this repository. A bet stands as good with a Leg, and is thought as much of, as with a Peer,—Money being the touchstone of the circumstance. The ‘best judge’ respecting sporting events is acknowledged the ‘best man’ here; every person being on the ‘look out’ to see how he lays his blunt. The Duke and the Parliamentary Orator, if they do not know the properties of a horse, are little more than cyphers; it is true they may be stared at, if pointed out as great characters, but nothing more. The nod from a stable-keeper is quite as important, if not more so, to the Auctioneer, as the wink of a Right Honourable. Numbers of persons who visit Tattersall’s are, or wish to, appear knowing: from which ‘self’ importance they are often most egregiously duped. In short, if you are not as familiar with the odds upon all events as Chitty in quoting precedents—show as intimate an acquaintance with the pedigree and speed of race-horses as a Gulley—and also display as correct a knowledge of the various capabilities of the prize pugilists as a Jackson—if Gain is your immediate object, you are ‘of no use’ at Tattersall’s,’ ‘Yes,’ said Logic, with a grin, interrupting Tom; ‘there are to be found here as many flats and sharps as would furnish the score of a musical composer; and several of these instruments have been so much played upon, and are so wretchedly out of tune, that the most skilful musician in the world cannot restore them to perfect harmony.’ ‘It is,’ resumed the Corinthian, ‘an excellent mart for the disposal of carriages, horses, dogs, &c., and many a fine fellow’s stud has been floored by the hammer of Tattersall. There is a capacious Tap attached to the premises, for the convenience of servants of gentlemen in attendance upon their masters, or for any person who stands in need of refreshment. Tattersall’s, for the purposes intended, is the most complete place in the Metropolis; and if you have any desire to witness ‘real life’—to observe character—and to view the favourite hobbies of mankind, it is the resort of the pinks of the Swells,—the tulips of the Goes,—the dashing heroes of the military,—the fox hunting clericals,—sprigs of nobility,—stylish coachmen,—smart guards,—saucy butchers,—natty grooms,—tidy helpers,—knowing horse-dealers,—betting publicans,—neat jockeys,—sporting men of all descriptions,—and the picture is finished by numbers of real gentlemen. It is the tip-top sporting feature in London.’ ‘It must have been the work of some time,’ said Jerry, ‘to have formed such a famous connection.’ ‘Yes,’ replied Tom; ‘you are quite right. It is not the work of a day. The name of Tattersall is not only high, but of long standing in the sporting world; and everything connected with this splendid establishment is conducted in the most gentlemanly manner. The founder of these premises was during his time, viewed as one of the best judges of horse-flesh in the kingdom; and, as a proof of it, he made his fortune by a horse called Highflyer.’”

Tattler.—A watch. “Time’s a tell tale.”

Teazer of the Catgut.—A hardworking fiddler.

Thames.—“He’ll never set the Thames on fire,” i.e., He will never make any figure in the world. This popular phrase is as to the word “Thames” altogether a misapplication. The temse was a corn sieve which was worked in former times over the receiver of the sifted flour. A hard-working active man would not unfrequently ply the temse so quickly as to set fire to the wooden hoop at the bottom; but a lazy fellow would never—no never set the temse on fire! The play on the word temse has engendered many stupid imitations as “He will never set the Mersey—or the Humber, &c., on fire,” which has no meaning. Dutch, teme; French, tamis; Italian, tamiso, a sieve.

Thigh of Mutton and Smash.—A boiled leg of mutton, with turnips and caper sauce, &c. A prominent article among pot-house gamblers.

Thimble.—A watch.

Third of Daffy.—Third part of a quartern of gin.

Timber Merchant.—A dealer in the old-fashioned brimstone matches.

Tip your Rags a Gallop.—To run away.

Tip.—Money. To be in Tip-street, to have plenty of money, “a consummation devoutly to be wished.”

Toddle.—To move your pins.

Toggery.—Wearing apparel; from the Roman toga.

Tom King.—The Jolly Dog—“When did Tom King ever fail when the object was to serve a friend and promote mirth?” Zounds! for a quiz, a hoax, a joke, a jest, a song, a dance, a catch, a tale, a race, or a row. Tom King would not turn his back on any man in England. A’n’t I the choice spirit of the day, the jolly dog, the roaring boy, the knowing lad, the rare blood, the prime buck, the rum soul, the funny fellow? Emperor of the Cockonians! Chairman of the Jacks! General of the Lumber Troop! Master of the Mugs! Chief of the Eccentrics! Member of Daffy’s! President of the Flounder Club! Chairman of the Owls! Chancellor of the Two o’Clock Club! Vice-Chairman of the Hard-up Club! Captain of the Rag and Famish! Chairman of the Never Sinks! Founder of the Snugs! Member of the Beef-steak Club! Past Primo of all the Buffaloes Lodges held within the precincts of the City of Lushington! Noble Grand of the Oddfellows! Past-Arch of the Druids! And Vice of half the Freemasons’ Lodges in the United Kingdom! And though last, not least, in love, Founder of the Moral Philosophers’ Club! Oh, d——n! Tom King is the Jolly Dog! of the day.

Top of the Tree.—The heads of their profession.

Tooth Picker.—An Irish watchman’s shillelah.

Tothill Fields.—Situate between Pimlico and the Thames, formerly a great rendezvous for beggars, thieves, &c.

Tow Street.—Being decoyed or persuaded by any person.

Town Tabby.—Dowager of quality.

Traps.—Constables.

Translator of Soles.—A cobbler that can vamp up old shoes to look like new. A prime piece of deception; and those persons who purchase second-hand shoes soon find it out on a wet day.

Trotters.—The feet. Walk your trotters, to be off. Trotter-cases, shoes. Trotter shakers, dancers.

Turkey Merchant.—A poulterer.

Turf—The.—The race course; the profession of horse racing, which is done on turf or grass. One who lives by the turf, or one on the turf, is one whose chief occupation or means of living is derived from running horses or betting on races. All men are equal on the turf and under it.—Lord George Bentinck.

U.

Umbrella.—Otherwise mush, spread, summer cabbage, water-plant, gingham, &c. The first person who used an umbrella in the streets of London was Jonas Hanway, founder of the Magdalene Hospital, who died 1786.

Uncle.—The pawnbroker. See My Uncle.

Under a Cloud.—In debt and difficulties. Not able to show out, or come to the front in daylight.

Undergoing a Three Months’ Preparation.—The modern “New way to pay old debts,” or taking the Benefit of the Act! Sometimes resorted to by an honest man overwhelmed by the harpies of the law, but more generally in use among swindlers, scamps, blacklegs, rogues, and vagabonds of every description.

Under the Rose.—Sub rosa.—Secretly, confidentially. Amongst the ancients the rose was an emblem of silence.

Under the Screw.—In prison.

Uneasiness.—Trouble. To have the uneasiness, to be vexed, restless. A copy of uneasiness, a copy of a writ.

Up.—Knowledge. To be up, to understand. Up to trap, aware of things.

Uphills.—False dice that run high.

Upper Benjamin.—A great coat.

Upper Crust.—The lions or crack men of the day.

Upper Story, or Garret.—Figuratively used to signify the head.

Upper Ten Thousand.—The aristocracy.

Uppish.—Testy, apt to take offence, proud, arrogant.

Upstarts.—Persons lately raised to honours and riches, from mean stations.

Used Up.—Killed; a military saying, originating from a message sent by the late General Guise, on the expedition at Carthagena, where he desired the Commander-in-chief to order him some more grenadiers, for those he had were all used up!

V.

Vale, Samuel.—Low comedian, died March 24, 1848, aged 51.

Various Classes of Society.—“‘Now my dear Coz,’ said Tom, ‘as we shall soon have to intermix with the ‘various classes of society;’ and although it is not absolutely necessary that you should be able to dispute the accuracy of a Greek quotation with a Porson—contend with a Mozart upon the fundamental principles of harmony—enter into a dissertation on the properties of light and shade with a Reynolds—quote precedents with a Speaker of the House of Commons—argue law with an Eldon—display a knowledge of tactics with a Wellington—write poetry with a Byron—relate history with a Gibbon—contest grammatical points with a Horne Tooke—wit and eloquence with a Canning—support the Old English Character with a Wyndham—dance with an Oscar Byrne—fence with an O’Shaunessy—set-to with a Belcher—sing with Braham—contest the law of nations with a Liverpool—erudition with a Johnson—philosophy with a Paley—the wealth of nations with a Smith—astronomy with an Herschel—physiognomy with a Lavater—equity with a Romilly—and so on to the end of the Chapter of Talents in the Metropolis;—although it is not necessary, I again repeat, my dear Coz, that you should be able to rival all the traits of excellences possessed by the above characters, yet it is essentially requisite that you should have some knowledge of their respective qualities, and be sensibly alive to their immediate value, and the impression they have made on the minds of mankind.’ ‘Hold, hold!’ said Jerry, smiling, and making a low bow at the same time; ‘there is one person among these distinguished men that you have forgot to mention—who shall dispute taste with Corinthian Tom?’ The latter hero gave rather a graceful nod in return for this unexpected compliment, which, it would seem, augured to Tom a kind of budding of the lively genius of his cousin’s mind.”

Vauxhall Gardens—were sold by auction, 9th September, 1841, for £20,000. The last performance took place 25th July, 1859. The ground has been since sold for building purposes.—In allusion to the thinness and artist-like manner in which the ham was brought to table. Logic offered to bet Jerry “that it was not cut with a knife, but shaved off with a plane: and, if necessary, from its transparent quality, conceived it might answer the purpose of a sky-light!” Vauxhall Slices! or Ham Shavings! are terms well understood to this day.

A Vauxhall supper usually consisted of:—

Velvet.—The tongue. “To be upon velvet,” have the best of a bet or match.

Venus.—Love; the Goddess of Love; courtship. My Venus turns out a whelp, i.e., my swans are changed to geese; my cake is dough. In dice the best cast—three sixes—was called “Venus,” and the worst—three aces—was called “Canis.” My win-all turns out to be a lose-all!

View-Holloa of a fox is “Tally-ho!” or, as Jemmy Green would have it, “Tally-man!” of a hare, “Gone away!” but the “Who-hoop” signifies the death of each.

Viper and File.—The biter bit.—Æsop says a viper found a file, and tried to bite it, under the supposition that it was good food; but the file said that its province was to bite others, and not to be bitten.

Vowel.—“To vowel a debt.” Where the acknowledgment of the debt is expressed by the vowels I.O.U.

W.

Waifs and Strays.—The juvenile homeless poor. Waifs are goods found but not claimed. Strays are animals that have wandered from their proper enclosures to the grounds of some one not their owner.

Walking Poulterer.—One who steals fowls, and hawks them from door to door.

Walking Stationer.—A hawker of books, prints and dying-speeches, &c.

Walking-up against the Wall.—To run up a score, which in alehouses is commonly recorded with chalk on the walls of the bar.

Wapping Great.—Means astonishingly great. Saxon, Wafian, to be astonished.

Ware Hawk.—An exclamation used by thieves to inform their confederates that some police officers are at hand.

Warming-pan.—A large old fashioned watch.

Watch, Chain and Seals.—A sheep’s head and pluck.

Watchmaker.—A stealer of watches—he makes them in a crowd!

Water Sneaksman.—A man who steals from ships or crafts on the river.

Ways and Means.—To raise the supply of ready money for the current expenses of the day.

Wear the Breeches.—To be White Serjeant.

Weasel.—“To catch a weasel asleep.” To catch a person nodding; to find he has not his weather-eye open—Nunquam dormio!

Weather-Eye.—“I have my weather-eye open.” I have my wits about me; I know what I am after: I can see the difference between a clock and a cabbage.

Wedge.—Silver plate, because melted by the receivers of stolen goods into wedges.

West-End Tailor—A.—“Corinthian Tom had just ordered his servant to bring him ‘The Weekly Dispatch,’ to see how sporting matters had been going on in the Metropolis during his absence from town, when Mr. Primefit—the West-End Schneider!—Par excellence!—was announced to Mr. Hawthorn to be in waiting to receive his commands.

“Mr. Primefit, according to the ‘counter-talking part of the community,’ had done, all his ‘dirty work;’ and among the needles—otherwise sharps—at the West-end of the Town, who must sport a genteel outside, no matter at whose suit, it was observed, between a grin and a pun, that he had not only got rid of all his ‘bad habits,’ but had likewise outlived his sufferings. It was said of this celebrated ‘apparel furnisher,’ that, if he received the cash for ONE coat out of three, nothing was the matter! In his intercourse with people of fashion, the character that ran before him was a perfectly gentlemanly tradesman. He had one point in view on setting out in life, and he never lost sight of it. To ask his customers for payment was to lose their custom. Though for the first seven years Dickey Primefit was engaged in cutting-up his cloth, he was hurried beyond measure, by those ‘troublesome customers,’ John Doe and Richard Roe, who were continually at his elbow, nudging him to take ‘measure of their suits’ in preference to every other person; his law expenses and ‘Mum tip’—that is rhino to silence, or, shut-up the gab of the bum-traps—in consequence, were frightful; yet Dickey braved the fury of the woollen-draper’s ‘storm’ with the utmost composure. With a placid countenance he never refused credit to any British officer, either in the sea or land service, let the distance or uncertainty be what it might. The reference of one gentleman to another was quite sufficient to Mr. Primefit; and the garments were made and sent home without further enquiry or delay. Of course, in return, the charges of Dickey were never overhauled; indeed, what Gentleman would have behaved so ungentlemanly to a tradesman who was all civility, politeness, and accommodation, from one end of his pattern-card to the other? The business of Mr. Primefit, therefore, became so extensive, that he sent clothes to all parts of the world. In London, no gentleman, who had been once in the books of Dickey, would listen to the name of any other tailor, which rendered Primefit the ‘go for a tasty cut, best materials, and first-rate workmanship.’ Dickey had a ‘soul above buttons,’ he had no narrow ideas belonging to him: and he flattered himself that, ultimately, it would all be right. ‘No gentleman,’ Mr. Primefit would often assert, when he has been blamed for giving such an extensive loose sort of credit, ‘I am convinced, but will act as such, sooner or later, towards me!’ So it proved. Things, at length, took the expected turn. Many long out-standing bills came in. His capital accumulated. His business also increased in so extraordinary a manner that several clerks were necessary to keep it in order, and ensure punctuality. Dickey was almost as true as a clock to his time, in attending to orders. His character for fashion was so emphatic, that numbers of stylish tradesmen, who found it necessary to have a ‘bettermost coat’ by them, for ‘high days and holidays’ regardless of the charge, employed Mr. Primefit. The sunshine of prosperity was now so complete, that not a single bum-trap had crossed the threshold of Dickey’s door, in the way of private business, for many a long day past. In short, Mr. Primefit had realised the climax of his exertions—he had measured his way into a carriage. Dickey was principally distinguished for the cut of his coats. To Corinthian Tom he was peculiarly indebted, as a leader of the fashion. It was owing to this circumstance that Mr. Primefit waited in person at Corinthian House; indeed, the active use of the scissors and parchment had long been removed from the hands of Dickey, and his principal occupation now consisted of talking over the versatility of fashion to his customers, and giving directions to his men. But the slightest idea that might drop from Corinthian Tom respecting the advantages of dress was what Dickey could not resist, and he, therefore, ordered his carriage immediately to attend upon the rustic Jerry at once.

“Tom and Jerry, previously to the arrival of the apparel-furnisher, had been discussing the advantages resulting from dress and ADDRESS; and the Corinthian had also been pointing out to his Coz not to skim too lightly over so important a subject, but to peruse with most marked attention that grand living Book of books:—MAN!!!”

Whetstone Park.—A lane between Holborn and Lincoln’s-Inn-Field’s. Formerly famed for being the resort of women of the town.

Whistling Shop.—A place in which spirits are sold without a licence. “Who that has ever visited a Friend undergoing a three months’ purification in the Fleet or King’s Bench, but has been introduced to a Whistling Shop; and who that has been initiated into its sacred rites, would basely betray his knowledge. No one at all ambitious of bearing the character of the real thing. Neither Mr. Brown nor Marshal Jones would thank any Paul Pry for splitting on this point. Any reader that may not have visited a Whistling Shop, cannot do better than put a little of the bustle in his poke; call on the first Friend he has in Limbo, and get introduced to one as quickly as possible; and thus do a double good, furnish himself with a little useful information, and cheer a Pal in distress at the same time.

Whitechapel.—Anything low, mean, or paltry. A Whitechapel portion, a smock, and what nature gave. Whitechapel breed, fat, ragged, and saucy. Whitechapel Beau, one who dresses with a needle and thread, and undresses with a knife. A Whitechapel Brougham, a costermonger’s donkey-barrow.

Wipe.—A nose handkerchief.

Wrench, Benjamin.—Comedian; original Corinthian Tom at the Adelphi, died November 24, 1843, aged 67.

Wrekin Tavern.—In Broad Court, Drury Lane, was much frequented by first-rate theatricals, authors, poets, painters, gentlemen of the press, men of the world, and intelligent persons in general, and was a house of entertainment of no common description, kept at the time by a Mr. Williams, a person connected with literary pursuits. It was to the Wrekin Tavern that Edmund Kean was conveyed on the ever-memorable night of the 24th of March, 1833, when he partly played Othello to his son Charles’s Iago, at Covent Garden Theatre. And described thus by his biographer:—

“After making one or two feeble steps towards his son, and attempting the speech of:—

“When his head sunk on his son’s shoulder, and the tragedian’s acting was at an end. He was able to groan out a few words in Charles’s ear—‘I am dying—speak to them for me;’ after which (the audience refusing in kindness, to hear any apology) he was borne from the stage. His son, assisted by other persons, carried him to his dressing-room, and laid him on a sofa. He was as cold as ice; his pulse was scarcely perceptible; and he was unconscious of all that was going on around him. In this state he remained some time, when the remedies which were applied having restored him to his senses, he was taken to the ‘Wrekn’ Tavern, near the theatre, and Messrs. Carpue and Duchez, the surgeons, were sent for. From the Wrekin Tavern, he was after a week’s stay, removed to Richmond: where he died on the fifteenth day of May, 1833.”

The Wrekin Tavern—the Times—and the Proprietors underwent many changes from good, bad, and very indifferent; in fact, the character of house and company was entirely altered—O tempora! O mores! Here Johnny Broome, the pugilist, who was born at Birmingham, 1817, and the successful hero of six or seven battles in the P.R., and also the prime mover in “The Great Brighton Card Cheating Case,” committed suicide by cutting his throat, May 31, 1855.

LONDON: E. A. Beckett, Printer, 111 & 113, Kingsland Road, E.

Footnotes:

[1] Books published by G. Virtue, Ivy-lane, Paternoster-row:—

Boxiana; or, Sketches of Ancient and Modern Pugilism; including every Exploit from the Days of Figg and Broughton to the present year (1829); with Biographical Memoirs of all the Boxers, particulars of their age, weight, style of fighting, &c.; and interspersed with a variety of Sporting Anecdotes, never before published. By PIERCE EGAN.

Also in royal 8vo. price £1 16s., embellished with 36 beautifully coloured, characteristic plates and woodcuts, from scenes in real life, by I. R. and G. Cruikshank.

A New Edition of Life in London; or, the Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his elegant Friend, Corinthian Tom, in their Rambles and Sprees through the Metropolis. By Pierce Egan.

Also, just published, uniform with the above, price £1 16s., embellished with 36 richly coloured scenes from real life, and spirited wood cuts, by R. Cruikshank.

“Begar here’s Monsieur Tonson come again.”

Pierce Egan’s Finish to the Adventures of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, in their Pursuits through Life In and Out of London. Being the Second Part, or Continuation of ‘Life in London,’ calculated to attract the Corinthian, entertain the Sportsman, relieve the cares of the Merchant, a specific against Ennui, delight the Country Folks, please Everybody, and ‘No Mistake.’

Also, by the same Author, and uniform with the above.

The Life of an Actor, Peregrine Proteus. Illustrated by Twenty-seven coloured Scenes, representing the Vicissitudes of the Stage; and nine beautiful wood cuts. By Pierce Egan, Author of ‘Life in London,’ ‘Tom and Jerry,’ &c. Price £1 1s. in boards; or in nine parts, at 2s. 6d. each.

“The present work is one of the best exemplifications of Mr. Egan’s peculiar talents. It is impossible for us to do justice to the spirit of the designs, many of which would not discredit the pencil of Hogarth.”—Monthly Critical Gazette.

[2] Quarterly Review, the organ of the Tory party, first appeared in February, 1809, under the editorship of William Gifford, the celebrated translator of “Juvenal.” He died 31 December, 1826.

[3] Edinburgh Review was founded October, 1802, by Francis Jeffrey, Scotch lawyer, critic, and politician, Francis Horner, Brougham, Rev. Sidney Smith, and other Whigs.

[4] Fistulæ and Piles.—Mr. Van Butchell, Surgeon Accoucheur No. 2, Half Moon Street, Piccadilly, having, without cutting or confinement, in the short space of three weeks, cured me of the above-named complaints (under which I had laboured for nearly four years). I am prompted by gratitude to him publicly to state, that I had previously consulted several Surgeons, who pronounced my cure impossible, without submitting to the painful operation of cutting, to which dangerous experiment I had always been averse, and therefore despaired of ever regaining my health, till, on applying to Mr. Van Butchell, to whom I was strongly recommended, he, in the short space above-mentioned, realized his assurances by performing a perfect cure.

Newhaven, Sussex. THOMAS EAGLES, Butcher & Salesman.

[5] John Abernethy, Surgeon and Physiologist, 1764-1831.

[6] William Blackwood, Scotch bookseller, born 1776; established “Blackwood’s Magazine,” 1817, died 1834.

[7] Pocket-book. Townsend’s first introduction to the police, it seems, was owing to his knowledge of the numerous persons hanged, transported, &c.; he having kept a regular journal to that effect. This calender of offences gave him a great superiority over his fellows.

[8] James Gillray, the famous caricaturist, 1785-1815.

[9] In Cheyne walk, Chelsea, was the museum and coffee house of Don Saltero, renowned in the swimming exploits of Dr. Franklin. The landlord, James Salter, was a noted barber, who made a collection of natural curiosities, which acquired him the name (probably first given him by Steele,) of Don Saltero.—See Tatler, Nos. 34, 195 and 226.—The quiet tavern remains, but the museum was dispersed by auction about the year 1807. Another wonder was the Old Chelsea Bun-house, which possessed a sort of rival museum to Don Saltero’s. It was taken down in 1839.—John Timbs Curiosities of London.

[10] This is certainly good and correct advice, but, perhaps the metaphor might have proved rather more illustrative, if the old adage had been quoted, that, “when at Rome do as Rome does!”

[11] Pea-Green Hayne. See page 195.

[12] Parson Colton:—Rev. Caleb C. Colton, A.M., eccentric clergyman; published “Lacon; or, Many Things in Few Words; addressed to Those Who Think.” 1820-25.—Died by suicide 29th April, 1832.

[13] The Three R’s.—Sir William Curtis being asked at a City Banquet to give a toast said—“I will give you Gemmen the three R’s, that’s Reading! Riting!! and Rithmetic!!!”

[14] None but himself can be his parallel.—Louis Theobald’s—The Double Falsehood, Act iii. Sc. 2.

[15] This Piece—that is to say the Adelphi Dramatic Version, as written, printed, and published by Mr. W. T. Moncrieff, at No. 104, Drury Lane. 1824.

[16] Not out of wind, nor beat to a stand-still; but sorry that I am compelled to forfeit on the 1st of January, 1821, being out of condition to appear bang-up at the scratch!

[17] Jack Randall, the Nonpareil, of the Ring, was then keeping the Hole-in-the-Wall, in Chancery Lane. See Randall, page 199.

[18] Crooky Booked it, i.e., Cruikshank made a mental note; or, sketch of the circumstance at the time:—“When found, make a note of.”

[19] Leicester Fields.—Now Leicester Square, so called from a family mansion of the Sydneys, Earls of Leicester, which stood on the north-east side.

[20] The Plate in question occurs at page 276 of the work, and is entitled—“Life in London.—Peep O’ Day-Boys; A Street Row, the Author losing his ‘reader;’ Tom and Jerry showing fight, and Logic floored.” N.B.—A Catnachian pirated copy of the Plate will be found at page 36 and 99, of the present work.—But a far better idea of this, and all the other Plates by the Brothers Cruikshank: in Colours after the Originals, will be found in the reprint of Life in London: Published by Chatto and Windus, Piccadilly. Crown 8vo., cloth extra 7s. 6d.—Editor.

[21] Mr. Jones of the firm of Sherwood, Jones and Co., Publishers, Paternoster Row, London.

[22] Literary.

[23] A half-penny.

[24] Short-hand.

[25] One pound note. An author, indeed, with money in his pocket-book, would be a novelty in Life in London. But in the North, they are not quite so Scott free in this respect. Merit is at all times, worthy of reward.

[26] Mr. Parry, the celebrated composer of the Welsh Melodies and several other popular pieces of music; a gentleman well known in the musical world, and who has risen to the well-merited eminence he now enjoys entirely from the possession of superior talents. Mr. Parry was originally the master of the Derbyshire Band, and the fife was the first instrument he excelled upon, when quite a boy; but his performances on the flageolet are exquisitely fine, and the admiration of all those persons who have heard him.

[27] Paintings of Hogarth and Hayman.=At the sale of the movable property, Oct., 1841, twenty-four pictures by William Hogarth [1697-1764] and Francis Hayman, R.A., historical painter [1708-1776] produced but small sums: they had mostly been upon the premises since 1742; the canvas was nailed to boards, and much obscured by dirt. Those by Hogarth fetched as follows.—A Drunken Man, £4 4s.; A Woman pulling out an Old Man’s grey hairs, £3 3s.; Jobson and Nell in the Devil to Pay, £4 4s.: The Happy Family, £3 15s.; Children at Play, £4 11s. 6d. Those by Hayman:—Children Bird’s-nesting, £5 10s.; Minstrels, £3; The Enraged Husband, £4 4s.; The Bridal Day, £6 6s.; Blindman’s Buff, £3 8s.; Prince Henry and Falstaff, £7: Scene from the Rake’s Progress, £9 15s.; Merry-making, £1 12s.; The Jealous Husband, £4; Card-party, £6; Children’s Party, £4 15s.; Battledore and Shuttlecock, £1 10s.; The Doctor, £4 14s. 6d.; Cherrybob, £2 15s.; The Storming of Seringapatam, £8 10s.; Neptune and Britannia, £8 15s. Four busts of Simpson, the celebrated Master of the Ceremonies, were sold for 10s.; and a bust of his royal shipmate, William IV.—not a sovereign!—only 19s. Among the Vauxhall composers were Arne, Boyce, Carter, Mountain, Hook (father to Theodore Edward) and Signor Storace. Male singers: Beard, Tommy Lowe, Webb, Charley Dignum, Vernon, Incledon, Braham, Pyne, Sinclair, Tinney—Pretty Jane Robinson, Paul Bedford, W. H. Williams, Sharp, Weekes, &c. Females: Miss Brent, Mrs. Wrighten, Mrs. Weischel (mother of Mrs. Billington), Mrs. Mountain, Mrs. Crouch, Mrs. Bland, Miss Tryer (afterwards Mrs. Liston), Miss Graddon, Miss Love, Miss Tunstall, Miss P. Horton, &c. Italian Operas were performed here in 1829. The band were the last to wear the semi-circular or cocked hat:—

[28] Vauxhall Slices! or Ham Shavings!—See page 213. Apropos to the subject we here insert the following J’eu d’esprit: from Bell’s Life in London: August 2, 1829.

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE.

[Mr. Moncrieff, the Dramatist, having received an invitation to supper from the Proprietors of Vauxhall, returned one of the Gentlemen the following extemporaneous answer:—]

[A] M.C., and Inspector of the Gardens.

[29] The late John Camden Hotten’s Introduction to the new edition of “Life in London.” Chatto & Windus: Piccadilly.

[30] Mr. Pierce Egan says:—“Mr. Barrymore’s Burletta was thought of, written, and got up, in five days. As a friend, I attended the rehearsals, notwithstanding I had previously made an outline of a Drama for myself.”

[31]

An Italian Turn-up. Surprising Novelty in the Sporting Circle. On Tuesday next, at Seven o’Clock in the Evening, A special grand combat will be decided at the WESTMINSTER PIT, FOR ONE HUNDRED GUINEAS, Between the extraordinary and celebrated creature, the famed Italian Monkey: Jacco Maccacco, And a Dog of 20lbs. weight, the property of a Nobleman well-known in the circle.

[32] Tom Cribb, born at Hanham, Gloucestershire, July 8, 1781. His last fight was with Molineux, a black, for £600, at Thistleton Gap, September 28, 1811. Presented by the Sporting World with a cup of the value of eighty guineas, December 2, 1811, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn. Which he received from the hands of Mr. Emery, the comedian, who made the following complimentary address:—“Thomas Cribb, I have the honour this day of being the representative of a numerous and most respectable body of your friends; and though I am by no means qualified to attempt the undertaking which has devolved on me, by a vote of the subscribers, yet the cause will, I am confident, prove a sufficient excuse for my want of ability. You are requested to accept this Cup, as a tribute of respect for the uniform valour and integrity you have shown in your several combats, but, most particularly, for the additional proofs of native skill and manly intrepidity displayed by you in your last memorable battle, when the cause rested not merely upon individual fame, but for the pugilistic reputation of your native country, in contending with a formidable foreign antagonist. In that combat you gave proof that the innovating hand of a foreigner, when lifted against a son of Britannia, must not only be aided by the strength of a Lion but the Heart also.

“The fame you have so well earned has been by manly and upright conduct, and which I have no doubt will ever mark your very creditable retirement from the ring or stage of pugilism. However intoxicated the cup or its contents may at any future period make you, I am sufficiently persuaded the gentlemen present, and the sons of John Bull in general, will never consider you have a cup too much.”

Tom Cribb took a farewell benefit under the auspices of the Pugilistic Association, at the National Baths, Westminster Road, November 12, 1840. Died in High Street, Woolwich, May 11, 1848. Monument erected to his memory in Woolwich Churchyard, May 1, 1851.

[33] All-Max in the East.—The very antipodes of the Almack’s in the West—was held at the Coach and Horses public house, Nightingale-lane, East Smithfield, which was kept by a person of the appropriate name of Mace. Here it required no patronage;—a card of admission was not necessary; no enquiries were made, and every cove that put in his appearance was quite welcome, colour or country considered no obstacle; and dress and Address completely out of the question. Ceremonies were not in use, therefore no struggle took place at All-Max for the master of them. The parties paired off to fancy; the eye was pleased in the choice, and nothing thought of about birth and distinction. All was happiness!—every body free and easy, and freedom of expression allowed to the very echo. The group motley indeed;—Lascars, blacks, jack tars, coalheavers, dustmen, women of colour, old and young, and a sprinkling of the remnants of once fine girls, &c. were all jigging together, provided the teazer of the catgut was not bilked out of his duce. Gloves might have been laughed at, as dirty hands produced no squeamishness on the heroines in the dance, and the scene changed as often as a pantomime, from the continual introduction of new characters. Heavy wet was the cooling beverage, but frequently overtaken by flashes of lightning.

“I am quite satisfied in my mind, said Logic to Tom, it is the Lower Orders of society who really enjoy themselves. They eat with a good appetite, hunger being the sauce; they drink with zest, in being thirsty from their exertions, and not nice in their beverage, and, as to dress, it is not an object of serious consideration with them. Their minds are daily occupied with work, which they quit with the intention of enjoying themselves, and enjoyment is the result; not like the rich, who are out night after night to kill time, and what is worse, dissatisfied with almost every thing that crosses their path, from dulness of repetition.”

“There is too much truth about your argument, I must admit,” replied Corinthian; “and among the scenes that we have witnessed together, where the Lower Order have been taking their pleasure, I confess they have appeared ALL HAPPINESS. I am sorry I cannot say as much for the higher ranks of society.”

[34] E. L. Blanchard’s History of the Adelphi Theatre.

[35] Mr. Edmund Kean.

[36] Mr. Joseph Munden.

[37] It is well-known that the dust hill at the bottom of Gray’s Inn Lane, near Battle Bridge, was sold for some thousands of pounds, and was shipped off to Russia, to aid in the rebuilding of Moscow.—Pierce Egan.

[38] Our thanks are due, and are hereby given to Crawford John Pocock, Esq., of Cannon Place, Brighton, for the loan and use of his—what we feel almost inclined to consider—unique copy of Catnach’s broadside of “Life in London.”—Price Two Pence.

[39] Testament, is perfectly correct. The words will and testament are generally used indiscriminately; but they are not words exactly of the same import. A will, is properly limited to land; a testament, to personal estate, as money, furniture, &c., &c.

[40] Carey Street, and its immediate neighbourhood, abounded in spunging-houses.

[41] Corinthian Tom, it appears, was rather in doubt whether bulls or bears were disposed of by Mr. Tattersall.

Text of page 99.

LIFE IN LONDON; OR, THE SPREES OF Tom and Jerry; ATTEMPTED IN CUTS AND VERSE.

Tom, Jerry, and Logick in a Row.

MERCY! what a din and clatter Breaks the stillness of the night, Lamps do rattle—’tis a battle, Quick, and let us see the sight.

Notice:—This is to give Notice to those persons who are in the habit of pirating my copyrights that if they dare to print any part of this Sheet, they shall be proceeded against according to Law. James Catnach.

EIGHTEENTH EDITION.

London: Printed & Sold by Jas. Catnach, 2, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials, of whom may be had The Queen’s Life, in Cuts & Verse. PRICE TWO PENCE.