Chapter IX: Part III (3)

The sergeant commanded his party to the church, and when the parson had ended his prayer, he took his text; and all them that had a Bible pulled it out to find the text, but this soldier had neither Bible, Almanack, nor Common Prayer book; but he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cards, and spread them before him as he sat. While the parson was preaching, he first kept looking at one card and then at another. The sergeant of the company saw him, and said, “Richard, put up your cards; for this is no place for them.” “Never mind that,” for you have no business with me here.”

“When the parson had ended his sermon, and all was over, the soldiers repaired to the church-yard, and the commanding officer gave the word of command to fall in, which they did. The sergeant of the city came and took the man prisoner. “Man, you are my prisoner,” said he. “Sir,” said the soldier, “What have I done that I am your prisoner?” “You have played a game of cards in the church.” “No,” said the soldier, “I have not play’d a game, for I only look’d at a pack.” “No matter for that, you are my prisoner.” “Where must we go,” said the soldier? “You must go before the mayor,” said the serjeant.

So he took him before the mayor; and when they came to the mayor’s house, he was at dinner. When he had dined, he came to them and said--“well serjeant, what do you want with me?” “I have brought a soldier before your honour, for playing at cards in the church.” “What! that soldier.” “Yes.” “Well, soldier, what have you to say for yourself?” “Much sir, I hope.” “Well and good, but if you have not you shall be punished the worst that ever man was.” “Sir,” said the soldier, “I have been five weeks upon the march, and have but little to subsist on, and am without either Bible, Almanack, or Common Prayer book, or anything but a pack of cards. I hope to satisfy your honor of the purity of my intention.”

Then the soldier pulled out of his pocket the pack of cards, which he spread before the mayor, and then began with the ace.

“When I see the ace,” said he, “it puts me in mind that there is one God only; and when I see the deuce, it puts me in mind of the Father and the Son; when I see the tray, it puts me in mind of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; When I see the four, it puts me in mind of the four Evangelists that preached the gospel, viz., Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; when I see the five, it puts me in mind of the five wise virgins that trimmed their lamps; there were ten, but five were foolish, who were shut out; when I see the six, it puts me in mind that in six days the Lord made Heaven and Earth; when I see the seven, it puts me in mind that the seventh day God rested from all the works which he had created and made, wherefore the Lord blessed the seventh day and hallowed it; when I see the eight, it puts me in mind of the eight righteous persons that were saved when God drowned the world, viz., Noah, his wife, three sons, and their wives; when I see the nine, it puts me in mind of nine lepers that were cleansed by our Saviour, there were ten, but nine never returned God thanks; when I see the ten, it puts me in mind of the ten commandments that God gave Moses on Mount Sinai on the two two tables of stone.

Here he took the knave and laid it aside.

“When I see the queen, it puts me in mind of the queen of Sheba, who came from the furthermost parts of the world to hear the wisdom of King Soloman, and who was as wise a woman as he was a man; for she brought fifty boys and fifty girls, all clothed in boys’ apparel, to show before King Solomon, for him to tell which were boys and which were girls; but he could not until he called for water for them to wash themselves; the girls washed up to their elbows, and the boys only up to their wrists, so King Solomon told by that. And also of Queen Victoria--THE QUEEN of _our_ HEARTS--to pray for her. And when I see the King, it puts me in mind of the great King of heaven and earth, which is God Almighty.”

“Well,” said the mayor, “you have given a very good description of all the cards except one, which is lacking.” “Which is that?” said the soldier. “The Knave,” said the mayor. “Oh, I can give your honour a good description of that, if your honour won’t be angry. “No, I will not,” says the mayor, “if you will not term me the knave.”

“Well,” said the soldier, “the greatest that I know of is the serjeant of the city that brought me here.” “I don’t know,” said the mayor, “that he is the greatest knave, but I am sure he is the greatest fool.”

“I shall now show your honour how I use the cards as an Almanack.” “You certainly are a clever fellow,” said the mayor, “but I think you will have a hard matter to make that appear.”

“When I count how many spots there are in a pack of cards, I find there are three hundred and sixty-five, there are so many days in the year.”

“Stop,” said the mayor, “that’s a mistake.” “I grant it,” said the soldier, “but as I have never yet seen an almanack that was thoroughly correct in all points, it would have been impossible for me to imitate an almanack exactly, without, a mistake.” “Your observations are very correct,” said the mayor; “go on.” When I count how many cards there are in a pack, I find there are fifty-two; there are so many weeks in the year; when I count how many tricks there are in a pack, I find there are thirteen: there are so many lunar months in the year; there are four suits in the pack, which represent the four seasons of the year. You see, sir, that this pack of cards is a Bible, Almanack, Common Prayer book, and Pack of Cards to me.”

Then the mayor called for a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, and a pot of good beer, and gave to the soldier a piece of money, bidding him to go about his business, saying he was the cleverest man he had ever seen.

Taylor, Printer, 92 and 93, Brick Lane, Spitalfields.

THE FAR FAMED FAIRY TALE OF FENELLA.

A Famous Fish Factor Found himself Father of Five Fine Flirting Females, Fanny, Florence, Fernanda, Francesca, and Fenella. The First Four were Flattering, Flat Featured, Forbidden Faced, Freckled Frumps; Fretful, Flippant, Foolish, and Full of Fun. The Fisher Failed, and was Forced by Fickle Fortune to Forego his Footman, Forfeit his Forefather’s Fine Fields, and Find a Forlorn Farmhouse in a Forsaken Forest. The Four Fretful Females, Fond of Figuring at Feasts in Feathers and Fashionable Finery, Fumed at their Fugitive Father, Forsaken by Fulsome, Flattering Fortune hunters, who Followed them when Fish Flourished. Fenella Fondled her Father, Flavoured their Food, Forgot her Flattering Followers, and Frolickled in Frieze without Flounces. The Father, Finding himself Forced to Forage in Foreign parts For a Fortune, Found he could afford a Fairing to his Five Fondlings. The First Four were Fain to Foster their Frivolity with Fine Frills and Fans, Fit to Finish their Father’s Finances. Fenella, Fearful of Flooring him, Formed a Fancy For a Full Fresh Flower. Fate Favoured the Fish Factor For a Few days, when he Fell in with a Fog. His Faithful Filly’s Footsteps Faltered, and Food Failed. He Found himself in Front of a Fortified Fortress. Finding it Forsaken, and Feeling himself Feeble and Forlorn, with Feasting, he Fed upon the Fish, Flesh, and Fowl he Found, Fricasseed and Fried, and when Full, Fell Flat on his Face on the Floor. Fresh in the Forenoon he Forthwith Flew to the Fruitful Fields, and not Forgetting Fenella, he Filched a Fair Flower, when a Foul, Frightful, Fiendish Figure Flashed Forth. “Felonious Feller, Fingering my Flower, I’ll Finish you! Go! Say Farewell to your Fine Felicitious Family, and Face me in a Fortnight!” The Faint-hearted Fisher Fumed and Faltered, and Fast was Far in his Flight. His Five daughters Flew to Fall at his Feet, and Fervently Felicitate him. Frantically and Fluently he unfolded his Fate; Fenella, Forthwith Fortified by Filial Fondness, Followed her Father’s Footsteps, and Flung her Faultless Form at the Foot of the Frightful Figure, who Forgave the Father, and Fell Flat on his Face; For he had Fervently Fallen in a Fiery Fit of love For the Fair Fenella. He Feasted and Fostered her, till Fascinated by his Faithfulness, she Forgot the Ferocity of his Face, Form, and Feature, and Finally, Frankly, and Fondly Fixed Friday, the Fifth day of February For the affair to come off. There were present at the wedding, Fanny, Florence, Fernanda, Francesca, and the Fisher; there was Festivity, Fragrance, Finery, Fireworks, Fricaseed Frogs, Fritters, Fish, Flesh, Fowls, and Furmity, Frontinac, Flip, and Fare, Fit For the Fastidious, Fruit, Fuss, Flambeaux, and Flowers, Four Fat Fiddlers and Fifers, and the Frightful Form of the Fortunate and Frumpish Fiend Fell From him, and he Fell at Fenella’s Feet, a Fair Favoured, Fine, Frank Freeman of the Forest. Behold the Fruits of Filial affection!!

SECRETS, FOR LADIES DURING COURTSHIP.

TEASING MADE EASY.

ADVICE TO LADIES.

HOW TO TEASE THE GENTLEMEN.

_HOW TO GET A LOVER_,

And a mass of Information on

LOVE, COURTSHIP, & MATRIMONY.

Let the lady, on some occasions, appear devotedly attached, and unusually fond, particularly at parting in the evening.--The next day, let her meet her lover with a frown of hatred, and repulse his advances with a look of ineffable scorn. If he dare to demand a reason for such conduct on her part (which he will hardly venture to do for some hours), let the reply be, “I am surprised, sir, YOU should think of addressing me, after what has past. Oh! I never!” This will SETTLE him for the rest of the day, during which time you can throw in a variety of sly HINTS, to make him COMFORTABLE, and cause him to wish that he had never been born. At parting, hold out your hand to him, coolly, and say, “Farewell, cruel man!” but deign no further favor. The next morning, if he call on you--which he certainly will,--relax somewhat of your austerity--burst out into tears, and throw yourself into his arms, sobbing as if your heart would break. This will produce a fine effect! He will accuse himself, inwardly, of a thousand faults he never committed, and acknowledge them for the sake of forgiveness, which you must gradually bestow.

Another very delightful method of teasing a man if he is very fond of you, is to propose taking a walk with some friends, and then after making yourself look “provokingly handsome,” accompany him to the door and then, apparently without design, take the arm of some gentleman of the party, then on your return, say, “I was so delighted with my walk! I did so enjoy myself; did not you, DEAR?” Repeat these and other doses during courtship, and if you be skilful you make him fit for a husband, and he will ever let you have your own way and do what you please.

THE TRADESMAN’S NEW HYMN.

When Nature in a voice of pain,
Speaks of want and woe,
The voice is heard--but heard in vain,
As our misfortunes show.

For many weaks we work have sought,
But work we can’t procure,
Sad distress has been our lot,
To go from door to door.

How does the wretched parent feel,
When children cry for bread,
How keen the pain of sorrow then,
They surely must be fed.

Look then on us in our distress,
Nor think us much to blame,
In God alone we put our trust,
For poverty’s no shame.

May want upon you never frown,
Nor in your dwelling come;
May Heaven pour its blessing down,
On every friendly soul.

Lord give us grace, that we may be,
Closely united unto thee;
On thee we call, for thou alone hast power,
To raise us friends in this distressing hour.

Thou, Lord, can make the meanest soul,
An object of thy care,
Regard the feelings of my heart,
And hear the Tradesman’s prayer.

The Saviour died upon the cross,
My sins and grief to bear,
For his sake, Lord, turn not away,
But hear a sinner’s prayer.

My lot seem’d hard, but ’twas ordained,
My faithfulness to prove,
The child was taken far from home,
To learn a Saviour’s love.

In darkness long my soul remained,
A rebel bold was I,
But love subdued my stubborn heart,
And proved that God was nigh.

And if thy Son has made me free,
Then I am free indeed;
My soul is rescued from its chain,
For this did Jesus bleed.

Lord, send Thy Word to that far land,
Where my poor brethren dwell,
Teach them the way, the truth, the life,
That saves from death and hell.

Oh, that my father and mother dear,
Might there thy mercy see,
Tell what Christ has done for them,
What he has done for me.

Lord, Jesus thou hast shed thy blood,
For thousands such as me,
Many despise poor Tradesmen’s lot,
But to thy cross I flee.

FRIENDS,-It is with feelings of the deepest regret that we are at present compelled, for the support of ourselves and families, to offer you these few but simple verses to your notice, trusting that you will be pleased to purchase this paper, it being the only means left us at present, to support the tender thread of our existence and to keep us and our families from the utter starvation which at present surrounds us.

E. Jackson, Printer, 15, High Street, Stockport, & Sold by H. Such, 177, Union-st., Boro.’--S.E.

A COPY OF THE REGISTER OF THE MANOR OF DUNMOW,

_Certifying the truth of the late_ CLAIM OF A GAMMON OF BACON _By Thomas Shakeshaft, and his Wife Ann_.

On the 20th of June, 1751.
Dunmow, _late the Priory._

The Court Baron of Mary Hallett, Widow, Lady of the said Manor, thus holden for the said Manor, on Thursday, the twentieth day of June, in the five and twentieth year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord George the Second, by the Grace of God of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, defender of the faith, and so forth; and in the year of our Lord, 1751. Before John Comyns, Esq.; Steward of the said Manor.

William Townsend, }
Mary Cater, }
John Strutt, }
Martha Wicksted, }
James Raymond, }
Elizabeth Smith, } sworn
Daniel Heckford, }
Catherina Brett, }
Robert Mapletoft, }
Elzbth. Haselfoote, }
Richard Birch, }
Sarah Mapletoft, }

At this court it was found and presented by the homage aforesaid, that Thomas Shakeshaft, of Weathersficld, in the county of Essex, weaver, and Ann his wife, have been married for the space of seven years last past, and that by reason of their quiet, peaceable, tender, and loving cohabitation during all the said time: They are fit and qualified to be admitted by the court to receive the antient and accustomed oath whereby to entitle themselves to have the bacon of Dunmow delivered unto them, according to the custom of the said Manor.

Whereupon the said Thomas Shakeshaft, and Ann his wife being present here in court in their proper persons, humbly pray’d that they might be admitted to take the oath aforesaid: And thereupon the said steward, with the jury, suitors, and other officers of the court, proceeded with the usual solemnity to the antient and accustomed place for the administration of the oath, and delivering the bacon aforesaid (that is to say) to the great stones lying near the church door within the said Manor; where the said Thomas Shakeshaft, and Ann his wife, kneeling down on the said stones, the said steward did administer unto them the following oath (to wit)

You shall swear by the custom of our confession.
That you never made nuptial transgression,
Since you were married man and wife,
By household brawls or contentious strife;
Or otherwise in bed or at board,
Offended each other in deed or word;
Or since the parish clerk said amen,
Wished yourselves unmarried again,
Or in a twelve month and a day,
Repented not in thought any way;
But continued true and in desire,
As when you joined hands in holy choir:
If to these conditions without all fear,
Of your own accord you will freely swear:
A gammon of bacon you shall receive,
And bear it hence with love and good leave;
For this is our custom at Dunmow well known,
Tho’ the sport be ours, the bacon’s your own.

Upon which a gammon of bacon was delivered to the said Thomas Shakeshaft, and Ann his wife, with the usual solemnity.

THE RENT DAY; OR, BLACK MONDAY MORNING.

Oh, black Monday morning dread I’m sure,
The landlord is coming, he’s just at the door;
With his book in his hand he seems fully bent
To have from his tenants the whole of his rent.

Well, Mrs. Longface, have you got any rent ready--let me see, there’s 5s. on the book, and 3s. this week makes 8s., now I have brought a receipt for the whole.--I am very sorry, sir, but I have no money till next week!--Next week! why your husband was drunk last Saturday night, and he earns 50s. a week, and can’t pay 3s, this won’t do; If I can’t get my rent I shall bring the bailiff on Monday morning, so I tell you what you have to trust to.

So away then he goes, and with a black look,
And under his arm he puts his rent book;
He knocks at the next door, and his looks are so sour,
He will turn all the milk in the town in an hour.

“Well, Mrs. Paywell, have you got any rent for me?--Yes, sir.--You are the best tenant I have got; let me see, 20s., here’s your receipt.--Stop, sir, before I pay you this money, you must send a bricklayer and a carpenter; there’s the top of the house wants repairing, the stairs are all to pieces, and the privy door is off, and I am desired by my husband not to pay you a farthing till you have put the whole in complete repair.--No. I won’t repair it at all, so if you don’t like it leave it.--Yes, but I am not agoing to give you 20s. When it rained the other night we were obliged to get up, and move the children into the middle of the room, and my husband and I were compelled to keep up all night with an umbrella over our heads to keep the rain off. I think if landlords were as fond of sending carpenters and bricklayers as they are of sending bailiffs, it would be more to their advantage.--But, Mrs Paywell, where’s your husband, I must speak to him about it.--Why, he’s at work, and he can’t afford to lose a day to wait on you, so as soon as you get the repairs done here’s your money.

Away then he goes, for he’s quite in the dumps,
And at the next door he gives some hard thumps;
But on looking up you’d have thought he’d have swooned,
For his tenants were gone by the light of the moon.

Now, I’ll call on Mother Lushy. Well, my little girl, is your mother at home?--No, sir, she popped out as you popped in.--Has she left any rent for me?--Yes, sir, she has left 9d. in the teacup on the mantlepiece.--What, 9d. out of two months. Why your mother must think I’m a fool.--No, sir, mother says you’re an old rogue.--Well, tell her I shall send the broker.--She says you have broke her of the last 9d. she had.--Has your mother left any money in the teapot?--No, sir, there’s only a quartern of gin in it that mother was going to drink, but she went out in a hurry.--Ah, I suppose she knew I was coming.--Yes, Mrs. Longface told her the old rogue of a landlord was coming.

You see how the tenants the landlords abuse,
If you ask for your rent you’re sure to get abuse;
They’ll pester your brains about lots of repairs,
But who pays the rent, there is nobody cares.

Well, Mrs Meek, have you got my rent ready this morning. Let me see, two weeks is 8s., and I’ll write you a receipt.--Sir, I am sorry, extremely sorry, very sorry, indeed, sir, but--if--Oh! hang your ifs and your buts, I suppose you mean to say that you have got no money for me?--No, sir, you seem quite out of temper this morning.--Temper! enough to make any man out of temper. I’ve been to a dozen houses, and can’t get no money. If I can’t get the rent next Monday I shall put a bailiff in and sell all off.--Stop! sir, stop, not quite so fast about selling; I am an old woman and can tell you a little about these houses, yes, I have lived many years in this neighbourhood, and can tell you that they are not yours at all.--Not mine! bless my soul the woman’s mad.--Not so mad as you may imagine, for I’ll tell you, your father was errand boy to old Mr Neasy. When he grew up he suffered him to gather his rents. To make long and short of the story, old Neasy and his wife died, and the son being abroad, your father claimed the houses, but I--Stop! stop! I don’t want to hear any more, but come over the way and have a drop of gin, and I’ll cross out the 8s. and you shall live rent free; but don’t say a word to the other tenants.

So home he goes and thumps down his book,
Makes his wife and his children begin for to look;
Confound all the houses, they all shall be sold,
And the old bricks and mortar I’ll turn into gold.

TAYLOR, PRINTER, 92 & 93, BRICK LANE, SPITALFIELDS.

HOW TO COOK A WIFE.

While MEN spare no pains in obtaining the BEST MATERIALS for this superlative DISH, they are often totally regardless after the first MOUTHFUL, of the necessary precautions to render it permanently SWEET, and if through neglect it turn sour they invariably slander the Dish, while the fault is in themselves. To MAKE the wife a sweet companion, but to keep her so, this may be accomplished in the following manner:--Obtain an adequate supply of the pure water of affection, and gently immerse her therein: should the water during this process become ruffled, a little of the original balm of courtship will soon restore it to its usual smoothness. The fire should be composed of true love, with a few sighs to increase the flame, which should not be too warm, nor yet suffered to abate entirely, as that would spoil the dish. Coolness is often the ruin of this dish, erroneously asserted by some cooks to be necessary, which cooks add also sprigs of indifference, but this is a very dangerous practice, as a good wife is exquisitely delicate and susceptible. A few evergreens, such as industry, sobriety, and fondness, are necessary, and a moderate quantity of the spirit of coaxing and oil of kisses may be added, giving the whole a most delectable flavour. Garnish with flowers of endearment and kindness, and you will then fully appreciate the delights of a dish, compared with which all others sink into insignicance; namely

A GOOD WIFE.

ALARMING SACRIFICE!!!

SALE BY AUCTION, _ON MONDAY NEXT, APRIL THE FIRST_, OF THE FURNITURE & EFFECTS OF HOOKEY WALKER, Esq.,

Consisting of a Glass Bedstead, Iron Feather Bed and Copper Hangings, a pair of Tin Sheets, two Catgut Pillows and Lead Bolster, eight Portland Stone Night Caps, and a Green Baize Looking Glass; a brass Wire Mop with cork handle, six pounds of Moonshine, three quarts of Pigeons’ Milk, four pounds of the Report of a Gun, six patent blue Buckskin Wigs lined with cold tripe; three barrels of Roasted Snow, twelve yards of Sun’s Rays, a mahogany Set of China, with six Oilskin Tea Spoons, and a Muslin Milk Pot; a Sealing Wax Copper, eight Wooden Saucepans, without bottoms, sides, or tops; six pairs of Oak Gloves, a Double-Distilled Moonbeam, Flannel Tea Caddie, four pounds of Patience, six Crape Decanters with carrot corks, twelve Spider Web Wine Glasses, a Worsted Pianoforte, with Barley Sugar Keys; a Dimity Slop Pail, four Dogskin Tooth Brushes, three wings of a Lion, a case of Spiders’ Eyebrows, artistically arranged; Photographs of the Buoy at the Nore, Tommy Dodd, and the Cove of Cork playing a three-cornered game of chess, a pair of Brass Boots with Leaden Straps, a pasteboard chest of Drawers, and a Tombstone made of the best pigtail Tobacco, six sky-green Shirts, a Beeswax Stove Grate with satin wood Fireirons, a Plaster of Paris Carpet, Cambric Washing Tub; two butter toasting Forks, and a decayed New Moon,

A SPLENDID OIL PAINTING,

“_William the Conqueror Smoking his First Pipe of Tobacco_.”

And three pairs of Cotton Candlesticks, two bottles and a half of Smoke, a Calico Ale Barrel, a Brass Toad-in-the-hole, a yard of Rum-steaks cut from the Bulwarks, a set of Brown Paper Knives and Forks and a Cork Gridiron, a Paper Frying Pan, Ivory Cabbage Net, a German Sausage Watch Chain with Stilton-cheese Trinkets, a Whalebone pair of Breeches lined with Slates, a splendid pair of Gauze Bellows, a quantity of Pickled Gingerbread, two Empty Bags filled with Sand marked A.B. with the letters rubbed out, a Tallow Cheese-board, a Sable Black Horse covered with White Spots, the second-hand Report of a Cannon, a quantity of Public Opinion, in lots to suit purchasers.

UNREDEEMED PLEDGES,

The Property of several Members of Parliament, a real Live Hobby Horse, a Green Jew’s Eye, some Live Butterflies stuffed with Straw, the Bower of Beauty, Six Eggs that the Ship laid-too of in the Hatchway, the name weight and colours of the Man that paid the Income Tax with pleasure, three yards of Railway Jams, a Policeman’s “Move on there!” (nearly new), the Autograph of the Man in the Moon, and other articles, too numerous to mention.

_Sale to Commence at half-past 5 and 20 minutes past One hour and a half._

For further particulars make an early application to the Bung-hole of the Tub with the bottom out. Conditions as usual. Carriages ordered at 13 o’clock. Horses heads to be turned inside out, and Tails made to cut their Lucky--by order of the MAYOR.

THE GENUINE THING OR The Last of the “Cocks,” or “Catchpennies.”

When at Brighton in the month of August, 1869, and winding our way through a maze of small streets laying between Richmond and Albion Hills, in the northern part of the town, our ears voluntarily “pricked up” on hearing the old familiar sounds of a “street, or running patterer” with the stereotyped sentences of “Horrible,”--“Dreadful,”--“Remarkable letters found on his person,”--“Cut down by a labouring man,”--“Quite dead,”--“Well-known in the town,”--“Hanging,”--“Coroner’s Inquest,”--“Verdict,”--“Full particulars,”--“Most determined suicide,”--“Brutal conduct,” &c., &c., _only a ha’penny! Only a ha’penny!_ Presently we saw the man turn into a wide court-like place, which was designated by the high-sounding name of “SQUARE,” and dedicated to RICHMOND; hither we followed him, and heard him repeat the same detached sentences, and became a purchaser for _only a ha’penny!_ when to our astonishment we discovered a somewhat new phase in “Cock” selling, inasmuch as our purchase consisted of the current number (253) of the _Brighton Daily News_--a very respectable looking and well printed Halfpenny Local Newspaper, and of that day’s publication, and did in reality contain an account of a most determined suicide.

Being at the time engaged in arranging the materials for THE LITERATURE OF THE STREETS, we ventured upon a conversation with the “street patterer” in the following form: “Well, governor, _how does the cock fight_?” “Oh, pretty well, sir; but it ain’t a ‘cock,’ it’s a genuine thing--the days of cocks is gone bye--cheap newspapers ’as done ’em up.” “Yes; we see this is a Brighton newspaper of to-day.” “Oh, yes, that’s right enough--but it’s all true.” “Yes; we are aware of that; but you are vending them after the old form.” “That’s all right enough--you see, sir, I can sell ’em better in that style than as a newspaper: I’ve sold ten or twelve dozen of ’em to-day.” “Yes; but how about them to-morrow?” “Oh, then it will be all bottled-up--and I must look for a new game. I’m on my way to London, but hearing of this suicide job, I thought I’d work ’em.” To our question of “Have you got any old _real_ ‘cocks’ by you?” he replied, “No, not a bit of a one; I’ve worked ’em for a good many years, but it ain’t no go now. Oh, yes, I know’d ‘Old Jemmy Catnach’ fast enough--bought many hundreds, if not thousands of quires of him.--Not old enough? Oh, ain’t I though; why I’m turned fifty, and I’ve been a ‘street paper’ seller nearly all my life. I knows Muster Fortey too very well; him as is got the business now in the Dials--he knows his way about, let him alone for that.” Having rewarded the man with a few half-pence to make him some recompense for having detained him during his business progress, we parted.

On a perusal of the newspaper “Particulars” of the case, of which we subjoin a condensed copy, it will be found to contain all the necessary material for a clever and experienced “Patterer” to work upon, and that--

“’Tis strange--but true; for truth is always strange, stranger than fiction!”

The Determined Suicide of an Aged Artist.

REMARKABLE LETTERS OF THE DECEASED.

Yesterday, at noon, an inquest was opened at the Race Hill Inn, Lewes Road, before J. A. Freeman, Esq. (deputy coroner), and a highly respectable jury, on the body of Mr. John Baldey, an aged artist, who committed suicide in a most determined manner early on the morning of the previous day. During the inquiry, which was a lengthy one, some remarkable letters, proved to be in the handwriting of the deceased, were read. They were written in a clear, and rather bold round hand, the caligraphy particularly, for so old a man, being exceptionally good.

John Salter said--I am a labourer; yesterday morning about twenty minutes to six o’clock, I was going to my work to the building, I saw a man hanging, and that made me go in. The house is unfinished, and is at the corner of Park Crescent Road and Upper Lewes Road. I found the deceased hanging from one of the joists in the back room on the ground floor. I did not know the deceased. I at once cut him down. His feet were about 18 inches from the ground. There was a ladder close to his left hand. When I cut him down he was quite dead; he appeared to have been dead for hours. There was a man passing at the time, and, as I was going into the house, I called to him to assist me. He helped me with the deceased, and I afterwards went for a policeman.

John Baunister said--About ten minutes past nine o’clock on Monday evening I saw the deceased come out of Park Crescent and go into the unfinished house at the corner of Park Crescent. There was nothing particular about the deceased to attract my attention. I did not see the deceased come out of the house again that evening. The next time I saw the deceased was about ten minutes to six o’clock on Tuesday morning. I saw him lying on the ground in the unfinished house into which I had seen him go the previous night. That was after he was cut down. He was quite dead.

Mrs Ann Colwell said--The deceased lodged at my house. He had lodged with me about five years. He was about seventy years of age. I last saw him alive on Monday afternoon about half-past four o’clock. I spoke to him, and he seemed about as usual. During the last three weeks or a month he had complained to me of his circumstances, and told me he must get cheaper lodgings. Generally, he was of a cheerful disposition. I did not notice any particular change in his manner except that he occasionally sighed. In consequence of what he said I let him have his lodgings a shilling a week cheaper. He was an artist, and used to go out to sell his water-colour drawings. Last week he went out for that purpose, and when he came he said it was of no use, but that he would have one more trial to sell his pictures, and when he returned he said he had done no good. One lady had promised to come and look at his pictures. He suffered from chronic affection, which caused him acute pain. His last attack was about a week ago. He had been an invalid for a long time. The affection under which he laboured disturbed his rest. He was desponding about his future--his general conversation led me to think that he very much feared poverty, but on the whole he was a taciturn man. I did not think he was more desponding during the last week than he had been previously. He did not tell me much about his affairs, but I understood some small source of income had recently ceased. Last Saturday he brought in two eggs for his dinner, and he provided nothing for Sunday. That was unusual. I asked him on Sunday morning what he was going to have for dinner, and he said he only wanted a knife and fork. I think he had a small pie for dinner, but I don’t know. There was a bag on the table containing 6d.--that was all the money that has been found. Two of the letters produced were found on the mantel-piece--they are in the handwriting of the deceased.

The Coroner read the letters. The first was addressed to his brother, and was as follows:

“You will regret dear Charles my untimely end. I have not the
heart to say more than love to all. Your affectionate brother
JOHN.”

“You will find in the deal box my rent book--2 weeks rent is
due, a trifle to the laundress, and 10s. on Mr. Verrall’s
acc’t--that is all I owe.”

The second letter was in the following terms:--

“16 St. George’s St
“Augt 23--1869.

“to the humane,

“let my body be taken direct to the receiving house of the
parochial cemetery I wish to be placed in the earth at the
least possible expense and inconvenience at the inquest this
writing will shew that I caused my own death, being, at the
same time quite serene and composed. I wish my remains to be
placed in a deal coffin, and when the darkness of night has
closed in to be intered (_sic_) in the catholic burial ground
the catholics are larger and warmer hearted than protestants, I
trust and hope these my wishes may be conceded and fulfill’d

“JOHN BALDEY
“aged 70 years 37 days.”

In answer to further questions,

Mrs. Colwell said--I don’t think the deceased went to any place of worship. He was not a drinking man--he never drank to any excess.

Mr. W. Hamilton Brown Ross, retired surgeon-major in the Indian army, said--I live at 149, Upper Lewes Road. Yesterday morning, soon after six o’clock, I was called by a policeman. I dressed as quickly as possible and came to this house. I found the deceased in one of the lower rooms, and from the appearance and temperature of the body--the coldness of the body and limbs, and the general surface, and the surface mark round the neck, and the ecchymosis or extravasation of blood round the mark, and the parchment-like appearance of his shrivelled skin, the cadaverous rigidity of the limbs and neck, usually denominated _rigor mortis_, I am decidedly of opinion the man must have been dead six hours or more. The expression of countenance was haggard and depressed in the extreme--it had altogether a worn and wretched appearance. The characteristics of hanging were so strongly marked, so apparent, that I considered a _post mortem_ examination perfectly unnecessary, and the more so as the morbid appearances of the brain had been so much modified by the long period the body had been suspended, that any indications of congestion, or other brain disease, would have been merged in those produced by hanging so long. I have heard the evidence hitherto given, and the letters read, and I say this,--that, although nothing could be more deliberate and determined than the act of suicide, I am of opinion that his mind was so overcharged and thrown off its balance by the dread of approaching inevitable poverty, that he was driven in a moment of despair to put an end to his existence; and, therefore taking all these things into consideration, I am further of opinion that he committed the deed while labouring under an attack of suicidal monomania. I think that suicidal monomania is consistent with his having written the letters which have been read, for it is a peculiarity of that disease to be quite sane on all other points.

P.C. Bassett said--I was called to the deceased, and found him lying on the ground in the unfinished house. He was quite dead. Part of the rope I produce was round his neck. I searched the body then and there, and found in the left-hand coat pocket the letter I produce. It is addressed to Mrs. Colwell.

The Coroner read the letter, which was as follows:--

“Mrs. Colwell,
“Dear Madam,

“I have long felt should I outlive my means and be reduced to
want--I could not have the heart or know how to plead poverty,
that state of things has come to pass, with my health and
strength utterly prostrate my heart sinks with despair, as I
am unworthy and but little known. I feel I have no claim on
society or to be supported by others, the thought of the future
has heavily overcome me. I end my days rashly and sadly, do
not censure me, but make allowance for the frailties of human
nature, consider it to be an act of weakness and want of manly
fortitude.--Your’s truly with best wishes.

“JOHN BALDEY.
“August 23, 1869.”

P.C. Bassett further said--In the right-hand waistcoat pocket I found the small bag produced. I afterwards removed the body to this house.

Superintendent Crowhurst said--I had known the deceased a good many years--by name and by sight. I knew Dr. Baldey, the brother of the deceased, who lived in Bartholomews, and was a parish doctor twenty-four or twenty-five years ago. He committed suicide by taking prussic acid. There was no inquest, but an inquiry by the police.

Mr. Charles Baldey said--I am a grocer, and live in Chichester Place, Kemp Town. The deceased was my brother, and was seventy years of age. I last saw him alive last Wednesday. He came up to my house and dined with me. He appeared rather low, and complained that nothing had passed through him for a long time past, and he suffered great pain in consequence; and that he must go to the doctor. That morning, at three o’clock, he had suffered extremely. I asked him whether he would take any ale. He said he dared not--he had not taken any for two years. He had about half a glass of gin. He received a sum of £10 about a couple of months ago. He sold a reversion three or four years ago for about £150 or £170. We--my brother and myself--knew he was in poor circumstances, and intended to provide for him. We were only waiting for him to come to us. Nothing had ever directly passed between the deceased and myself as to his poverty. He was a man of few words, but very excitable, and we were obliged to be careful what we said to him. He had not been to my house previous to Wednesday since Christmas. I remember my brother, Dr. Baldey--it is true he committed suicide about twenty-four years ago. I don’t know what religion my brother was, for I have seen so little of him, but we are not a Roman Catholic family.

The Deputy-Coroner shortly left the case to the jury, who, after consideration, found that the deceased destroyed himself while suffering from “suicidal monomania.”--_Brighton Daily News._

BROADSIDES ON ROYALTY,

POLITICAL LITANIES, &c.

DIVISION II.

A COLLECTION OF BROADSIDES ON THE ROYAL FAMILY.

POLITICAL LITANIES, DIALOGUES, CATECHISMS, ACTS OF PARLIAMENT, AND VARIOUS STREET BALLADS & PAPERS ON POLITICAL SUBJECTS.

To “work a litany” in the streets is considered one of the higher exercises of professional skill on the part of the patterer. In working this, a clever patterer--who will not scruple to introduce anything out of his head which may strike him as suitable to his audience--is very particular in his choice of a mate, frequently changing his ordinary partner, who may be good “at a noise” or a ballad, but not have sufficient acuteness or intelligence to patter politics as if he understood what he was speaking about. I am told that there are not twelve patterers in London whom a critical professor of street elocution will admit to be capable of “working a catechism” or a litany. “Why, sir,” said one patterer, “I’ve gone out with a mate to work a litany, and he’s humped it in no time.” To ‘hump,’ in street parlance, is equivalent to ‘botch,’ in more genteel colloquialism. “And when a thing’s humped,” my informant continued, “you can only ‘call a go.’” To ‘call a go,’ signifies to remove to another spot, or adopt some other patter, or, in short, to resort to some change or other in consequence of a failure.

The street-papers in the dialogue form have not been copied nor derived from popular productions--but even in the case of Political Litanies and Anti-Corn-law Catechisms and Dialogues are the work of street authors.

One intelligent man told me, that properly to work a political litany, which referred to ecclesiastical matters, he “made himself up,” as well as limited means would permit, as a bishop! and “did stunning, until he was afraid of being stunned on skilly.”--_Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor._

OUR KING IS A TRUE BRITISH SAILOR.

Too long out of sight have been kept Jolly Tars,
In the ground-tiers like huts stow’d away,
Despis’d & contemn’d were their honour’d scars
And Red Coats were Lords of the day.
But Britannia now moves as a gallant first-rate
And with transports the Blue Jackets hail her;
For William’s right hand steers the helm of the State,
And our King is a true British Sailor.

No danger the heart of a seaman appals,
To fight or to fall he is ready,
The safeguard of Britain is her wooden walls,
And the Helmsman cries “steady! boys, steady!”
Cheer up, my brave boys, give the wheel a new spoke,
If a foe is in view we will hail her,
For William the Fourth is a sound heart of oak,
True Blue, and a bold British Sailor.

The wild winds around us may furiously whistle
And tempest the ocean deform,
But unite the red rose, the shamrock, & thistle,
With King William we’ll weather the storm;
Hard up with the helm, Britannia’s sheet flows
Magna Charta on board will avail her,
And better she sails as the harder it blows,
For her Pilot’s a King and a Sailor.

Co-equal with red be the gallant true blue,
And nought can their glories o’erwhelm,
Whilst Sydney & Freemen direct the brave crew,
And William presides at the helm;
Then fill up a bumper, Britannia appears
New rigg’d, and with joy we all hail her,
Here’s a health to the King, with three times three cheers,
And long life to the first British Sailor.

(ENCORE VERSES.)

As a Beacon on high with a glorious blaze,
Our Monarch, our Admiral, and Friend,
A staunch crew of heroes on deck can soon raise
Britannia’s just rights to defend.
Steady, always be ready, he cries at the wheel,
Making justice and mercy prevail here;
With a hand that can guide and a heart that can feel,
Our King’s heart and soul is a Sailor.

Fore and aft fill the glasses and make the decks ring,
We are loyal and true one and all;
Prepar’d to support our lov’d Country & King
And with liberty stand boys, or fall.
Our Sweethearts, our Wives, & our Children combine,
For Britannia there’s no one will fail her;
As laurels the temples of William entwine,
Our King! and a bold British Sailor.

Printed by T. BIRT, No. 10, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

KING WILLIAM IV. AND HIS MINISTERS FOR EVER!

TUNE.--“_All Nodding, nid, nid, Nodding._”

You heroes of England draw near awhile,
The Isle of Great Britain will ne’er fail to smile,
For William and his Ministers will never look with scorn,
They are every one determin’d to struggle for Reform.
And they are all conversing about Parliament Reform.

Pray what do you think of William and his Queen?
A better in Great Britain there never can be seen,
Conquered by the Tories, they’ll never be, we’re told,
For the rights of the people they’ll fight like heroes bold.
And they’re all struggling to obtain the nation’s rights.

What do you think of brave Russell, Brougham, & Grey,
They have boldly beat the Tories now they have got fair play,
To fight for your liberties they eager do resolve,
And his Majesty on Friday last did Parliament dissolve.
And they’re all trembling, they’ll not get in again.

What do you think of the Blacking man of Wilson and others?
Why like a set of turn-coats they’ll go to h-- like brothers
Into the House of Commons they will never go again,
They may cry and pray, lord! lack-a-day, it will surely be in vain.
And they’re all lamenting because their seats they must resign.

What do you think of Hobhouse and Sir Frank?
I think they’re men of honour, & can play a pretty prank.
They’ve done the best you must allow to crush a desperate evil,
While Blacking men and Soldiers both will ramble to the devil
And they’re all conversing about Parliament Reform.

What do you think of the agitator Dan?
For the rights of Great Britain he stuck up like a man.
The state of the nation he told the tories blunt,
And if I may be believ’d he’s not deceived like foolish Harry Hunt.
And they’re all conversing about Parliament Reform.

What do you think of Waithman and of Wood?
They’ve done their best endeavours to do the people good,
They stuck to William & his Ministers, rumours could not be afloat,
That they like many others will never turn their coat.
So we’re all rejoicing the dissolution’s taken place.

What do you think of the Rat-catcher Bob?
I think he had a sneaking to get into a job,
Along with the old Soldier, but mark what I do say
The King will never part with Russell, Brougham, or Grey
So they’re all praying, the tories are praying for the death of all
the three.

Now what do you think about the Dissolution?
If William had not closed the house, there’d have been a revolution.
In every part of England there’s been some funny stories
So success to Russell & to Grey, the devil take the Tories,
Who are all lamenting the places they have lost.

Pray what do you think of the Boroughmongers now?
Each day and every hour they’ve been kicking up a row.
They’ve endeavoured the whole nation to fill with discontent,
But they never more will have a chance to get into Parliament
So they’re all lamenting because they are turned out.

I’m certain every Briton owns it was to gain their right
King William and his Ministers did so boldly fight;
Turn-coats, Boroughmongers and Tories you will see
King William take by the heels and drown them in the sea
So we’re all laughing at the Boroughmongers fall.

Here’s a health to King William and his Ministers so true,
We are certain they will never flinch, their courage is True Blue;
Turn-coats, Boroughmongers, and Tories too may grunt,
But the devil will drive them in a van, with Wilson and with Hunt.
And they’re all lamenting.

Printed by T. BIRT, No. 39, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

QUEEN VICTORIA.

Welcome now, VICTORIA!
Welcome to the throne!
May all the trades begin to stir,
Now you are Queen of England;
For your most gracious Majesty
May see what wretched poverty
Is to be found on England’s ground,
Now you are Queen of England.

CHORUS.

Of all the flowers in full bloom,
Adorn’d with beauty and perfume,
The fairest is the rose in June,
Victoria, Queen of England.

While o’er the country you preside,
Providence will be your guide,
The people then will never chide,
Victoria, Queen of England.
She doth declare it her intent
To extend reform in parliament,
On doing good she’s firmly bent,
While she is Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

She says, I’ll try my utmost skill,
That the poor may have their fill;
Forsake them!--no, I never will,
While I am Queen of England;
For oft my mother said to me,
Let this your study always be,
To see the people blest and free,
Should you be Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

And now, my daughter, you do reign,
Much opposition to sustain,
You’ll surely have, before you gain
The blessings of Old England,
O yes, dear mother, that is true,
I know my sorrows won’t be few,
Poor people shall have work to do,
While I am Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

I will encourage every trade,
For their labour must be paid,
In this free country then she said--
Victoria, Queen of England;
That poor-law bill, with many more,
Shall be trampled on the floor--
The rich must keep the helpless poor.
While I am Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

The Royal Queen of Britain’s isle
Soon will make the people smile,
Her heart none can the least defile,
Victoria, Queen of England;
Although she is of early years,
She is possess’d of tender cares,
To wipe away the orphan’s tears,
While she is Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

With joy each Briton doth exclaim,
Both far and near across the main,
Victoria we now proclaim
The Royal Queen of England;
Long may she live, and happy be,
Adorn’d with robes of royalty,
With blessings from her subjects free,
While she is Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

In every town and village gay,
The bells shall ring, and music play,
Upon her Coronation-day,
Victoria, Queen of England.
While her affections we do win,
And every day fresh blessings bring,
Ladies, help me for to sing
Victoria, Queen of England.
Of all the flowers, &c.

W. & T. Fordyce, Printers, 48, Dean Street, Newcastle.

CORONATION OF HER MAJESTY, QUEEN VICTORIA.

Arouse! arouse! all Britain’s isle,
This day shall all the nation smile,
And blessings await on us the while,
Now she’s crown’d Queen of England--
Victoria, star of the Brunswick line,
Long may she like a meteor shine,
And bless her subjects with her smile,
Victoria, Queen of England.

Then let England, Ireland, Scotland, join,
And bless thy name in every clime--
In unison we all combine
To hail the Queen of England.

CHORUS--Then hail, Victoria! Royal Maid,
For it never shall be said,
Thy subjects ever were afraid
To guard the Queen of England.

Thy lovely form, with smiles so gay,
Just like the sun’s meridian ray,
Shall cheer thy subjects on their way,
Whilst thou art Queen of England.
Whilst thou the sceptre still dost sway,
Britannia’s sons, cheerful and gay,
Shall bless thy Coronation-day,
Victoria, Queen of England.

Then let England, Ireland, Scotland, join,
And bless thy name in every clime--
In unison we all combine
To hail the Queen of England.
Then hail, Victoria, Royal Maid, &c.

From every clime, from every shore,
All nations shall their treasures pour,
In humble tribute to our shore,
Victoria, Queen of England.
Then may Heaven, with its smiles divine,
This day upon Victoria shine,
And a thousand blessings attend the reign
Of Victoria, Queen of England.

Then let England, Ireland, Scotland, join,
And bless thy name in every clime--
In unison we all combine
To hail the Queen of England.
Then hail, Victoria, Royal Maid, &c.

There is Portugal, and likewise Spain,
Each govern’d by a youthful Queen,
But of all the Sov’reigns to be seen,
None like the Queen of England:
Her virtues are so very rare,
The poor shall ever be her care,
And all her generous bounty share,
Victoria, Queen of England.