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The “broadside,” which Pierce Egan calls—“Another wicked piracy, by Catnach,” consists of twelve woodcuts,—of which we have givenfacsimilesin our pages—it will be seen that they are reduced and very roughly executed copies of the original plates by the Brothers Cruikshank, but in reverse. Therefore the swaggeringNotice to Pirateswhich Jemmy Catnach published reads funny enough. The letter-press matter consists of flash songs, and a poetical epitome of the plot and design of the original work of “Life in London.” And taking it as it stands, and from where it emanated, rather a creditable performance, particularly when we take into consideration—as duly announced by the street-patterer, that it was—“Just printed and pub—lish—ed, all for the low charge of “Twopence.”
On the rarity of this Catnachian and piratical edition of “Life in London” it is superfluous to enlarge, and it is easy to account for this circumstance, if we reflect that the broadside form of publication is by no means calculated for preservation; hundreds of similar pieces printed at the “Catnach Press” and at other offices publishing for street-sale must have perished. The more generally acceptable a broadside or street-ballad became, and was handed about for perusal, the more it was exposed to the danger of destruction. No copy of Catnach’s version is preserved in the British Museum, therefore, and for reason above stated, it must be considered as a great “Literary Curiosity.”[38]
Old Stage Waggon.
As we have before observed, “Life in London” was dedicated by permission to George IV., and it is a circumstance in itself which looks singular enough in this Victorian age, that royalty should have condescended to have had such a work dedicated to it. One paragraph, which we are about to quote, strikes us as being a very peculiar and free-and-easy style for an author to address himself to a King of England. It is as follows:—
“Indeed, the whole chapter of ‘Life in London’ has been so repeatedly perused by your Majesty in such a variety of shapes—from the elegant A, the refined B, the polite C, the lively D, the eloquent E, the honest F, the stately G, thepeep-o’-day H, the tasteful I, the manly J, the good K, the noble L, the stylish M, the brave N, the liberal O, the proud P, the long-headed Q, the animated R, the witty S, the flash T, the knowing U, the honourable V, the consummate W, the funny X, the musical Y, and the poetical Z,—that it would only be a waste of your Majesty’s valuable time to expatiate further upon this subject.”
One notable effect of “Life in London,” particularly in its dramatised form, must be recorded. It broke the heart of poor Billy Waters, the one-legged musical negro, who died in St. Giles’s workhouse, on Friday, March 21, 1823, whispering with his ebbing breath, a mild anathema, which sounded very much like: “Cuss him, dam Tom—meē—Tom—meē Jerry!”
Poor Billy endeavoured, up to the period of his last illness, to obtain for a wife and two children what he termed, “An honest living by scraping de cat-gut!” by which he originally collected considerable sums of money at the West-end of the town, where his ribbon-decked cocked hat and feathers, with the grin on his countenance, and sudden turn and kick out of his wooden limb, and other antics and efforts to please, excited much mirth and attention, and were well rewarded from the pockets of John Bull. The burden of Billy’s ditty “from morn to dewy eve,” and from January to December, was:—
Polly will you marry me—Polly don’t you cry,Polly will you marry me—Polly don’t you cry:—Cry—cry—cry!
BILLY WATERS.
Mr. W. T. Moncrieff, the dramatist, is responsible for the following biographical notice of this old London Street Character:—“Of this meritorious and lamented individual, we had with great trouble collected from various sources, an ample and interesting Biography. But unfortunately for posterity, in the same classic regions where he lost his life,wealso lost his life; and, to tell the truth under the influence of the sameseductive fluid too—Daffy!—we can therefore only present our reader with a few brief notices from memory.”
Billy Waters, was born in the powerful African kingdom ofTongocongotaboo, where he was a native Prince, and bore the name ofPokikokiquanko; from this place he was at an early age, to the universal regret of his loving subjects, kidnapped, by ‘an auld Quaker,’ who bought him from his treacherous attendants, for two axes, a frying-pan and a bag of nails. Thisblackpiece of business made him a slave, in the French settlement, at Demarara, from whence however he speedly tookFrench leave, and entered, we believe, the British navy as a cookpar excellenceon board the Ganymede sloop of war, under the command of Sir John Purvis, where, during a fierce engagement, he lost a leg, some say gallantly fighting the enemies of old England, though others insinuate it was through falling down the cockpit ladder, in his great hurry to hide himself. His own version was that he fell from the top-sail yard to the quarter deck during a storm, we cannot pretend to decide which was the fact, it however occasioned his being sent to England, as unfit for service. Arriving in London, he betook himself to that wild mode of life, which best suited his origin; the trammels of civilized society, had no charm for him; he scorned the mechanical rules of man, and picked up his living wherever he could find it. Born a Prince, and bearing a native princeliness in his appearance it is not to be wondered at that his associates should speedly elect him to the regal dignity of their tribe.
In the year 1812 Billy was solemnly inauguaredex cathedrainto the sovereignty of mendicityship—King of the Beggars—at the cellar of St. Patrick in St Giles’, a rank he supported with great satisfaction and majesty, till the luckless period when arivalBilly(Bodkin), by being placed at the head of the mendicity society, virtually became King of the Beggars in his own right. This—as he conceived it, cruel usurpation by Bodkin, pricked Billy just a leetle too hard. From that moment he drooped as a blightedlily, and like another black hero he exclaimed—‘Othello’s occupation’s gone.’ The fickle British public refused to be as liberal as they had been, which he attributed to the production of “Tom and Jerry” with whom he was made to partake of:—
“Shoulder of veal and garnish—Turkey and appendages—Parmesan and Filberts—Port and Madeira.” Billy on hearing the above list given out as forming the “peck and booze for the evening,” exclaimed “Dat dam goot, me like a de Madery—Landlord, here, you give this bag of broken wittals, vot I had give to me to day, to some genteel dog vot pass your door: and you make haste wid de supper, you curse devil you.”EnterLANDLORDwith Supper.Landlord.Now, your honours, here’s the rum peck, here’s the supper.Billy.Eh, de supper! de supper! come along. (After strikingCreeping Jackon the fingers with a knife) you damn nasty dog! what for you put yur dirty fingers in de gravy? you call dat gentlemans? you want your fingers in de pie, now you got him dere!Jack.I only wish’d to taste the stuffining.Billy.And now you taste de carver knife instead! (Takes candle, and looks at supper). Vy, what him call dis?Landlord.Why the turkey and the pie, to be sure.Billy.De turkey and de pie! I tink you said de turkey and de pie,——what! de turkey widout de sassinger! him shock——him wouldn’t give pin for turkey widout dem——me like a de Alderman in chain.Landlord.I’m very sorry, Mr. Waters, but——Billy.You sorry!——I sorry for my supper, you damn dog, you serve up de turkey without de sassinger—no lemon to de weal—no hoyster saase to de rum’-steaks, who you tink eat rum’-steaks widout de hoyster saase? You send no filberts to de Port, nor debils to de Madery nather. Mee must use some other hot-hell—you dog.
“Shoulder of veal and garnish—Turkey and appendages—Parmesan and Filberts—Port and Madeira.” Billy on hearing the above list given out as forming the “peck and booze for the evening,” exclaimed “Dat dam goot, me like a de Madery—Landlord, here, you give this bag of broken wittals, vot I had give to me to day, to some genteel dog vot pass your door: and you make haste wid de supper, you curse devil you.”
EnterLANDLORDwith Supper.
Landlord.Now, your honours, here’s the rum peck, here’s the supper.
Billy.Eh, de supper! de supper! come along. (After strikingCreeping Jackon the fingers with a knife) you damn nasty dog! what for you put yur dirty fingers in de gravy? you call dat gentlemans? you want your fingers in de pie, now you got him dere!
Jack.I only wish’d to taste the stuffining.
Billy.And now you taste de carver knife instead! (Takes candle, and looks at supper). Vy, what him call dis?
Landlord.Why the turkey and the pie, to be sure.
Billy.De turkey and de pie! I tink you said de turkey and de pie,——what! de turkey widout de sassinger! him shock——him wouldn’t give pin for turkey widout dem——me like a de Alderman in chain.
Landlord.I’m very sorry, Mr. Waters, but——
Billy.You sorry!——I sorry for my supper, you damn dog, you serve up de turkey without de sassinger—no lemon to de weal—no hoyster saase to de rum’-steaks, who you tink eat rum’-steaks widout de hoyster saase? You send no filberts to de Port, nor debils to de Madery nather. Mee must use some other hot-hell—you dog.
However, by a combination of events, Billy became very poor, and was obliged, prior to his going into the workhouse, to partwith his old friend, the fiddle.—“Him lend him ole fiddle to him uncle at de pop shop,” and the woodenpin(leg) which had so often supported Billy, would have shared the same fate, but its extensive service had rendered it worthless though it had twice saved poor Billy from the penalties of theTreadmill. At length, in the full belief that his spirit was about to flee to meet his coloured ancestors in the realms of bliss and a free hunting ground, he duly made his will, in which he bequeathed to W. Bodkin, Esq,—Billy Bodkin, the Hon. Sec. to the Mendicity Society: a bodkin that had so often pierced Billy to the heart—his wooden leg, earnestly desiring he might receive it in hislatter end.
In life he had been accustomed to wear a military cocked hat, a judge’s full-bottomed cauliflower wig, and a naval officer’s jacket and trousers, symbolical of his being the head and arbiter of the naval, military, and judicial departments in his eleemosynary kingdom, these he bequeathed in the following manner: Hiswighe left to theCourt of Chancery, in the vague hope that they might obtain with it a little of his decision in equity, and promptness in justice. Hismilitary hathe left to theHeadsof theHorse Guards, and hisnaval jacketandtrousersto theold washerwomenthat manage theGreenwich Hospital. TheDeal Fiddle, on which he had been used to scrape hisnativeWOODnotes wild, we are happy to state, was taken out of lavender, and is now in the possession of theTyburnKetchand Glee Club—the duplicate having been bequeathed to them for that purpose.
In conclusion we have only to state, that Billy was an accomplished cadger, a skilful musician, and adroit dancer—doing more on one leg than many others on two, and possessed abilitiesthat as an actor would have rendered him ashiningornament to the stage—“to hold, as t’were, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own blackimage!”
Billy was considered of sufficient public importance, when in theflesh, to be moulded and wellbakedby a Potter, who taking up and moistening a lump of clay, said, “Be ware!” and then turned Billy out in one of his happiest moods and positions, with a broad grin on his blackmug—a perfectimage, suitable for a chimney or sideboard ornament; which found a ready sale at the time of its manufacture, but has now become very rare in perfect condition, and, much coveted by collectors to add to their Class, or Section of “English Characters.” Specimens of this style of ware are exhibited in the Bethnal Green Museum, London. Henry Willett, Esq. of Brighton, also exhibits his fine collection of the same class of ware at the Brighton Free Public Library.
LINES ON BILLY WATERS.By W. Reeves,June, 1823.Peace to the manes of Black Billy Waters,Well-known throughout the Town!The reason that he left these quarters—Is plain—He was by Death donebrown.His life was one continu’d roundOf pleasure and of glee;His fiddle caus’d the hearts to boundOf children as big as me.Magscame thick, this made him merry;Fortune changes in a crack—Folks they went t’see Tom and Jerry,And on Billy turn’d their back.Justice, at length, seiz’d on poor Bill,Who quickly took hispegoff;So they didn’t send him to theMill,’Cause, why? he’d got a leg off.His day was o’er, he soon found outPoverty with rapid strideFollow’d him, and clamor’s shoutMeant poor Billy to deride.In vain he fiddl’d, danc’d and sung,Until he was out of breath;Starving he was, his bow unstrung,Till he danc’d—The Dance of Death.
Little Jemmy.
The real name of this notorious street-character was Andrew Whiston. He was a born cripple, and in every respect a most miserable object of charity. Moncrieff imported him into his Adelphi version of “Tom and Jerry; or, Life in London,” as “Little Jemmy,” and there figures in theScene:Back Slums in the Holy Land: in company with Mr. Jenkins, Soldier Suke, Dingy Bet, Creeping Jack, Billy Waters, Ragged Dick, and other well-known characters.—Videpage 46.
For many years Andrew,alias“Little Jemmy,” had been in the habit of propelling himself about the streets of London in a little truck, or box on wheels, assisted by the aid of two small crutches. He always wore a white apron to conceal the deformity of his legs, which were curved, and had the appearance of thin planks, having no calves.
To avoid the penalties attached to begging and vagrancy he usually carried a few quill pens stuck in his coat and apron; declaring it to be the only trade to which he had been brought up, whence he was calledThe Penmaker! He has been heard to acknowledge he derived as much in his perambulations through the streets as amounted to £2 per week. It was his custom every morning to cross over Blackfriars Bridge for the purpose of gathering alms. He always prided himself asleaderof the “Cadgers,” in the metropolis, and was one of the most dissipated of the class to which he belonged; never returning to the hovel, in which he took up his abode, in the Borough, except in a state of intoxication. In his fits of inebriety, when at a distance from home, and incapable of proceeding, he was generally picked up by some of the numerous coalheavers, residing in the same quarter of the town, and carried to his dwelling on their shoulders; this, from his diminutive stature, was no very difficult task to perform.
On the night of his death, which occurred Monday, April 3, 1826, he had been drinking spirits, and porter, during the day, and was as usual carried home by two men; for which they were to receive a pot of beer. On setting down their burden, the unfortunate man—who had been conveyed with his head downwards, was discovered to be in a dying state. Surgical assistance was immediately procured, but poor “Little Jemmy,” was quite dead ere it arrived. Information of his death was given at 11 o’clock to the night constable of St. Saviour’s Parish, who proceeded to the house, the inmates of which refused to give up the body, on the ground that their late lodger died in their debt a month’s rent. Another strong reason for their refusal in delivering up the corpse, was a report that prevailedin the neighbourhood, that the surgeons of both the hospitals in the Borough had offered no less a sum than £100 for the body after death, for the purpose of dissection, in consequence of its extraordinary formation. The constable, however, claimed the body of the deceased, as none of his relations were on the spot, and conveyed it away to the watch-house, clearly perceiving that if it was left behind, the inmates would dispose of it to the highest bidder.
On Friday, April 7, an inquest was held at the Rose and Ball public-house, Bankside, Southwark, before R. Carter, Esq. Upon the return of the jury after viewing the body, all of whom expressed their astonishment at the decrepitude and peculiar formation of the singular little man. The surgeon in attendance having described the death to have occurred in consequence of apoplexy. The jury brought in a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence that the deceased died of “Apoplexy.”
The day after the inquest sat on the body it was conveyed to St. Saviour’s Burial ground, and interred in a grave dug 14 feet in depth from the surface, over which were placed three other coffins, in order to secure it against the resurrection-men, who were anxious to have the corpse to dispose of.
Subsequently to the death ofBilly Waters, the notorious black mendicant fiddler—March, 1823; “Little Jemmy” acquired the soubriquet of The King of the Beggars.
The Tread-Mill at Brixton.
In the year 1817, Mr.—afterwards Sir William—Cubitt, of Ipswich, erected a Tread-Mill at Brixton Gaol—and soon afterwards in other large prisons, as a species ofpreventive punishment, which excited much attention and terror to evil doers, and proved eminently useful in decreasing the number of commitments; the strict discipline had a most salutary effect upon the prisoners not easily to be forgotten. Yet, the inventor’s name gave rise to many jokes on the subject among such of the prisoners who could laugh at their own crimes, who said that they were now punished by thecubit!
In nearly all the new and fa—vour—ite comic songs of theday allusion was made to theTreadmill of Brixtonas—The Everlasting Stairs!—The Stepping Mill!—The New Dancing Academy! &c.A street-ballad on the subject was issued from the “Catnach Press” and had a most unprecedented sale, keeping the pressmen and boys working for weeks:—
“And we’re all treading, tread, tread, treading,And we’re all treading, at fam’d Brixton Mill.”
The following punning ditty was very popular at the period:—
The Treadmill.This Brixton Mill’s a fearful ill,And he who brought the Bill in,Is threatn’d by thecribbingcoves,That he shall have amilling.They say he shew’d a simple pate,To think of felons mending:As everystepwhich here they take,They’re still in crimeascending.And when releas’d, and in the streetsTheir former snares they’re spreading,They swear ’tis Parliament, which willsThey must their old waystread in.The Radicals begin to think’Twill touch the Constitution,For as thewheelmoves round and round,It brings aRevolution.But though these snarlers show their teeth,And try to vex the nation,Their actions soon aretriedandjudg’d,Andgrindingis their station.TheGambling swellswho near St. James’Haveplay’dtheir double dealings,Say ’tis not fair that Bow-street shouldThusworkupon their feelings.Tom, Jerry, Logic, three prime sprigs,Find here they cannotcomeit,For though theirfancysoars aloft,They ne’er will reach thesummit.Corinthian Kate and buxom SueMust change theirwarmdirection,For if they make onefalse stepmoreThey’ll haveCold Bath Correction.The moon-struck youths who haunt the stage,And spend their master’s siller,Must here play to another tune,’Tis called theDusty Miller.Ye bits of blood (the watchman’s dread)Who love to floor aCharley,As you delight to strip and fight,Come forth andmillthebarley.John Barleycorn’sa stout old blade,As every man puts trust in,And you will make nomealof him,But he’ll give you adusting.But here we’ll stay, forpunsthey say,Are bad as stealing pursesAnd I toBrixtonmay be sent,Togrindsomefloury verses.
The Treadmill.
This Brixton Mill’s a fearful ill,And he who brought the Bill in,Is threatn’d by thecribbingcoves,That he shall have amilling.They say he shew’d a simple pate,To think of felons mending:As everystepwhich here they take,They’re still in crimeascending.And when releas’d, and in the streetsTheir former snares they’re spreading,They swear ’tis Parliament, which willsThey must their old waystread in.The Radicals begin to think’Twill touch the Constitution,For as thewheelmoves round and round,It brings aRevolution.But though these snarlers show their teeth,And try to vex the nation,Their actions soon aretriedandjudg’d,Andgrindingis their station.TheGambling swellswho near St. James’Haveplay’dtheir double dealings,Say ’tis not fair that Bow-street shouldThusworkupon their feelings.Tom, Jerry, Logic, three prime sprigs,Find here they cannotcomeit,For though theirfancysoars aloft,They ne’er will reach thesummit.Corinthian Kate and buxom SueMust change theirwarmdirection,For if they make onefalse stepmoreThey’ll haveCold Bath Correction.The moon-struck youths who haunt the stage,And spend their master’s siller,Must here play to another tune,’Tis called theDusty Miller.Ye bits of blood (the watchman’s dread)Who love to floor aCharley,As you delight to strip and fight,Come forth andmillthebarley.John Barleycorn’sa stout old blade,As every man puts trust in,And you will make nomealof him,But he’ll give you adusting.But here we’ll stay, forpunsthey say,Are bad as stealing pursesAnd I toBrixtonmay be sent,Togrindsomefloury verses.
Going to the Mill!
THE WARNING.
Supposed to have been sung by a Cadger to his Companions on his Return from “The New Dancing Academy,” Brixton.
Tune.—“Bow wow, &c.”
In the Adelphi version of “Tom & Jerry,” there is as follow:—
Black Slums in the Holy Land.
Mr. J.Does any gemmen understand these here Tread Mills, that have lately got such a footing?
Jack.Silence! Gemmen: I’m a-going to make a hobservation, Mr. Jenkins means them there Mills as makes you vork vether there’s any vork or no—I can only say this here, gemmen, if them there Mills are encouraged, it von’t be vorth no body’s vile to exercise vone’s calling—because, vy, von may as vell go and vork for vone’s living at once—but the subject von’t bear not no thinking on.
Omnes.Not by no means. (General groans).
Billy Waters.Oh, curse a de Tread Mill, me no like a de “here we go up, up, up,” and “down you go down, down, down,”—an’ if you no work, a great big lump of wood come and knock you down so—(Strikes beggar on head with his fiddle, who falls down). Poor fellow, him werry sorry.
Tom and Jerry; or, Life in London.
Tune.—“Picture of a Playhouse.”Of Life in London, Tom, Jerry, and Logic I sing,’Tis a subject (I hope it will please)Men and boys in my ears long time they did ding,So I determined to risk a good squeeze—To the Strand then I toddled—the mob it was great—My watch I found gone—pockets undone:I fretted, at first, and rail’d against fate,For I paid well to see “Life in London.”
Spoken.-“La, vel now, if I a’n’t all of a perspiration,—positively, I’m in ameltingmood;” this was uttered by a tallow chandler’s fat wife. Her hubby, Mr. Wicks, cries out “What the devil are you talking aboutmelting?—for my part, I hate mention of business when I’m out on pleasure.” “Come, don’t bedippingin my pocket, if you please, Sir.” “Vat, vat is de matter?” “Wat! who’s talking of wats?” “Vy, my dear Mr. Vicks, I think this man’s making a reticule of me.” “By the powers! it is a very fortunate circumstance he be making a reticule for you, Ma’am, for that there young man, in the drab great coat, has just cut yours from the chain, and put it in his pocket.” “Mind what you’re arter, mind your pockets.” “Where are you pushing to?” “Where am I pushing to? I’m pushing
To see Tom and Jerry,The lads who delight inA bottle of SherryAnd watch to be fighting,For that’s the time o’ day.In the course of the piece is the parlour of Cribb,There they chaunted their songs full of glee;In the chair sits blythe Tom, he’s the real boy to fib,And he’s also the boy for a spree.The street-row comes next, and is kept up so well,That I laugh’d and never wish’d the fun done,Those who play Charlies, I’m sure they can tellWhat a street-row is in fam’d London.
Spoken.—“La! now, is this not a delightful picture of life! how do you like it, my dear?” “Oh Mamma, I likes it very well, only one thing is, I’m sorry I didn’t bring some hapennies out of my money-box, to give the poor beggar-people.” “Dear little innocent!” “Was you innocent when you was little, Mamma?” “Yes, my love.” “But, are you innocent now, Mamma?” “Why, yes—that is to say—as most women of my age are, my dear.” “Well. Mr. O’Quiz, how do you like the piece?” “Faith, now, the piece is very well, only one thing.” “And what may that be, pray?” “Why, I’m not inclined to make any objection at all, at all: but, by my soul! this is the first time I ever saw or heard of Life in St. Giles’s, without an Irishman being concerned in it.” “Hollo! what is all this hubbubboo?” “Why, it’s the half price, pushing in
To see Tom and Jerry, &c.
High life and low life are correctly pourtrayedAt Almack’s, I mean both the East and the West.The actor’s look life, they so well are arrayed,But the Back Slums to my mind is surely the best.Logic a party invites to give them a treat,The bailiff comes in and Bob’s undone;He by Nab’em ispress’dand ta’en to theFleet,Which brings to a close Life in London.
Spoken.—The piece being over, there’s a grand rush to the doors: then, hey for the pleasures of a soaking wet night. “Well, positively, ’pon honor, if it does’nt rain; its enough to make any onecrosswhen one’s going out to aball.” “Want a coach your honor?” “Yes, drive me toSt. Paul’s.” “What, in the name of St. Patrick, can he want at thecrossandballofSt. Paul’sat this time of night?” “Oh! bless my soul! I think I’ve broken my leg.” “Coach to Cripplegate.” “I say, look at that Cove diving at that Gent’s pocket.” “I hope you’ll excuse me, but I’ve got a cold, therefore want my hankerchief; but, as you’re so fond ofdiving, I’ll accommodate you—the Thames is near, and you shall have a dam’d goodducking.” “All right, Coachee.” “Watch! Watch!” “Hark! the Pianos going.” “Watch! Watch!” “What’s the row?” “Oh! only some fancy Lads, who, having seen the Charlies well mill’d inside, have already commenced milling them outside, and the word with them is
We’re like Tom and Jerry, &c.
The following ballad is from the “Catnach Press:”—
PIERCE EGAN; OR, LIFE IN LONDON.Written by a Corinthian, and sung in Prime Twig by an Out-and-Outer.
J. Catnach, Printer, 2, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.
THE LAST CHARLEY.
“Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.”
Country Orders punctually attended to.Every description of Printing on the most reasonable terms,Children’s Books, Battledores, Pictures, &c.
THE SPREES OFTOM, JERRYANDLOGIC;
A New Song, of Flash, Fashion, Frolic, and Fun.
LONDON:Printed by J. CATNACH, 2 Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.Battledores, Lotteries, and Primers sold cheap.Travellers and Shopkeepers supplied with Sheet Hymns. Patter and Slips.Songs as Cheap and Good as any Shop in London. Where anImmense number of songs are always ready.☞Cards, &c., Printed cheap.
I’M A CONSTABLE IN MY OWN RIGHT.
LONDON:Printed by GOLD and WALTON, Wardour Street, Oxford Street,For T. Hudson, Kean’s Head, Russell Court, Drury Lane,1828.
When again shall weThreemeet,Amongst theSwellsin Regent Street?Come soon, my boy—come with glee,For lots ofFun—anotherSpree!
With respect to the publication ofLife in London; or, the Day and Night Scenes of Tom and Jerry. The proverbial everybody seems for thenonceto have been pleased with the work. The thirty-six scenes from Real Life, designed and etched by the Brothers Cruikshank had much to do with its success, and everybody seems to have made a great deal of money out of the circumstance—save and except the author, Pierce Egan, for he very loudly and frequently, and also “cry-baby-like,” declaredinter alia, that he received—“more of the kicks than the halfpence” by reason of thePiratesandThievesbeing ever on the alert toprighis thoughts and ideas, and that the whole crew of them united tograball the “lively things!” out of his head, and so render the “cash account” at his bankers all but nugatory. Then—“came the cry of immorality, so loudly raised by the Actor’s old rivals the Religious Tract Society, the Methodists, and other sectarian parties.” Yet, in spite of all that could be said or sung in the matter Pierce wrote that—“he wastoo gameto be made adummyof: therefore he was determinedto take the leap, and have another “shy-up,” and go “double or quits,” with that supreme goddess of the gods FAME!!! and try his luck once more in the field of literature and announced the publication of his new workThe Finishthus:—
The AUTHOR to the READERS ofLIFEIN and OUT of LONDON.
After the lapse of Seven Years the Author has once more seized hold of thefeather, and the Artist hispencil, with an earnest endeavour to follow the advice of our immortal bard, or rather adopt him as a model, “nothing to extenuate, or set down aught in malice!” and:—
To hold as ’twereThe Mirror up to Nature; to show Virtue her own feature,Vice her own image, and the very ageAnd body of the Time, its form and pressure.
Then thus it is—the “glorious uncertainty” of pleasing every class of society respecting a knowledge ofLife in Londonbeing essential towards the improvement of the junior branches of mankind; and although contrary to the established and sapient rules of the College of Physicians, and the practice pursued by our learned friends in Westminster Hall, we are, nevertheless, anxious to give advice without a fee, in order to prove that, in all cases, whether connected with youth or more mature age,Preventionis much better thanCure; indeed, so anxious are we to set ourselves right with the public, as to our future intentions respecting this work, and that we may see our way clearly, and tread on the firmest ground, we feel inclined to adopt the latin proverb so often quoted byBob Logicto the unsuspectingJerry, on his first arrival in the metropolis:—
Incidit in Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim.
The necessity is absolute; or, rather, an apology is required for the introduction of the Author and Artist to the notice of reader, previous to the second appearance of those heroes—Corinthian Tom,LogicandJerry, on the great theatre of the world!pour quoi?to vindicate the characters of the Author and Artist from unmerited aspersion of having attempted, by the joint efforts of real tales, original anecdotes, and animated sketches, to demoralize the rising generation; and likewise to refute the charge of having turned the heads of older folks towards the commission of acts of folly and intemperance enough! To our task——“Hark forward’s the word, see the game is in view!” and our exertions will be vigorously directed to establish, if possible. “Tâche sans tâche.” Our principal aim being to realize, to the utmost extent, the attractive motto:—
Pro Bono Publico!Proceed, my boy, nor heed their further call,Vain his attempts who strives to please you all!
THEFINISH TO THE ADVENTURESOFTOM, JERRY, AND LOGIC,In their Pursuits throughLife In and Out of London,BY PIERCE EGAN.With numerous Coloured Illustrations byRobert Cruikshank.London:George Virtue and Co.,Ivy Lane,Paternoster Row.
TheFinishto Life in London is embellished with thirty six illustrations by Robert Cruikshank, and containsXV. Chaptersof letter-press matter. Tom, Jerry and Logic are again brought on the scene, and several additional characters are introduced into the work, notablySirJohn Blubber,Knt., a second Falstaff, without stuffing, a most facetious, jolly, good-natured soul, one of that class of persons deemed independent, and his property enabled him to “care for nobody.” The adventures of the personnæ in their pursuits of Life in and Out of London are fully described, and the “Finish!” ofLogic, the Oxonian, andCorinthian Tomnarrated as follow.
CHAPTER XIV.