Chapter II: Part 2

The young and old, the short and tall,
In poverty or riches;
One common aim prevails with all--
'Tis who shall wear the breeches!

This lovely, winning creature scan,
To wives a bright example!
Mark on the boasted "Rights of Man,"
How she presumes to trample,

Poor Henpeck! what shall shield you now,
In fortune's fickle weather,
If you surrender to your frow
The covering of your nether?

Reduced by this ignoble deed,
To petticoats' stern sway;
To play the tyrant is her creed,
And yours is to obey.

Farewell, poor fellow--by the bye,
To keep her system placid,
Suppose you tip her, on the sly,
A little prussic acid.

A very moderate dose will do,
To make her calm and quiet:
And, if you wish to tame that shrew,
Make haste, my boy, and try it.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_Mornings at Bow Street_."

SUMMARY DIVORCE.

Now ponder well, ye tender wives,
As you would shun disasters,
And as you wish for peaceful lives,
Thwart not your lords and masters.

If late from home they chance to stop,
Avoid all vain conjectures;
And, if they've had a little drop,
Refrain from curtain lectures.

A scolding tongue will ne'er reclaim
A man from idle courses;
But often leads to grief and shame,
And Summary Divorces.

These evils flow from angry words--
Then try not such expedients;
Besides, you know, you owe your lords
Love, honour, and obedience!

Ah! tell us, Dame, for what offence
Your Spouse, in all his glory,
Is using such strong arguments,
And "a posteriori."

What have you said or done, alas!
Or what have you neglected?
That thus by speedy habeas,
You're forcibly ejected.

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_Mornings at Bow Street_."

"BARRING A BAD CUSTOMER;

OR,

A SCORE BEHIND!"

BONIFACE: "_Mizzle, you warmint, you an't paid your old score; No more chalk here!--so take that!_"

CHERRY RIPE: "_My eye, what a toucher!_"

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_Mornings at Bow Street_."

"TAKING THE LAW IN HER OWN HANDS;

OR,

SERVING AN EJECTMENT ON A TROUBLESOME TENANT."

"_Come along, you old willain; I'll teach you to be going arter the wenches; I'll shew you who wears the breeches you--!_"

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_More Mornings at Bow Street_."

"THE THIMBLE RIG;

OR,

HOW TO BONNET A FLAT!"

_"Now, then, my jolly Sportsman! I've got more money than the Parson of the parish! Those as don't play can't vin and those as are here arn't there! I'd hould any of you, from a tanner to a soverin, or ten, as you don't tell which thimble the pea is under." "It's there, Sir"--"I barr tellings"--"I'll go it again."--"Vat you don't see don't look at, and what you do see don't tell. I'll hould you a soverin, Sir, that you don't tell me vitch thimble the pea is under."--"Lay him, Sir (in a whisper); it's under the middle'un I'll go you halves."--"Lay him another; that's right."--I'm blow'd but we've lost: who'd a thought it!"--Smack goes the flat's hat over his eyes; exit the confederates with a loud laugh._

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_More Mornings at Bow Street_."

"FLYING DUSTMEN."

"The Dustman's cart offends thy clothes and eyes,
When through the street a cloud of ashes flies."--GAY.

"The Spectre, learning, physic must,
All follow these, and come to dust."]

_Go it, BOB!--pull away?--here's the TRAPS;--cut away, my kiddy, good luck to you!--Kim aup, Neddy!--kim aup!--blow you, kim aup!--That's the ticket!_

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_More Mornings at Bow Street_."

"THE APPROACH OF CHRISTMAS."

"_Well to be sure, that is a picture! I must have a sirloin for Christmas-day. It warms the cockles of one's heart to think of it!_"

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_Illustrations of Phrenology_."

"COLOUR!--FORM!--FIGURE!"

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_Illustrations of Phrenology_."

"COMBATIVENESS."

"_You be smothered, you old Brimstome!--barring I'm a thief, and fond of the men, what can you say to my prejudice?_"

"_Get out you wagabond! get out, you circumwenting old fish-fag!_"

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S "_Illustrations of Phrenology_."

SYMPTOMS OF DRAWING:--

THE LOBSTERS' CLAUSE;

OR,

THE NEW POLICE BILL.

I sing, I sing, of the new bill, sir,
That to the people seems a pill, sir,
And shortly I'll relate its clauses,
That you may know what the police law is.
First and foremost, in a straight line running,
For fifteen miles it will stop your funning,
From Charing Cross, which ever way you turn, sir,
If you infringe, your fingers you'll burn, sir.
Oh, dear, oh, dear! they're better off in Greece, sir,
Free from this Metropolitan New Police, sir.

All the people who used to show, sir,
Traps on the pavement, will find it no go, sir,
And now within their shop or dwelling,
Their odd-cum-shorts they must be selling,
If maids after eight their mats should beat, sir,
At the treadmill they'll have a treat,
And, if little boys roll hoops, or fly kites, sir,
They'll be lock'd up seven days and nights, sir.

Oh, dear, &c.

TWELFTH DAY IN LONDON;

OR,

PAYING FOR A PEEP.

"TWELFTH DAY."

Such are the scenes, that, at the front and the side
Of the Twelfth-Cake-Shops, scatter wild dismay;
As up the slipp'ry curb, or pavement wide,
We seek the pastrycooks, to keep Twelfth day;
While ladies stand aghast, in speechless trance,
Look round--dare not go back--and yet dare not advance.

HONE'S "_Every-Day Book_."

BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGE; OR, RINGING THE CHANGES.

"_Say but the word, my dear Susan, and you're mine for ever; we shall be as happy as the day is long!_"

"_Out o' my sight, you villain! I wish I had never seen your ugly mug--you have been the curse of my life!_"

AN OSTLER, ALIAS OATSTEALER; OR, A HINT TO TRAVELLERS.

TRAVELLER: "_Having made myself comfortable, I must now look to my nag, for these ostlers are sorry dogs._"

OSTLER: "_Aye, you may look, old Bald-face; but as you can't tell no tales, why, its better you should go without your feed than I without my pot._"

MUSIC HATH CHARMS TO SOOTH THE SAVAGE BREAST.

"_I love music, and I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy myself--besides its a charity to my sick neighbour: it will soothe him to a gentle slumber!_"

"_Oh, dear! oh, dear--was ever poor devil so tortured!--that infernal noise will be the death of me!_"

BULLS AND NO JOKES;

OR,

GALLANTRY ON THE GALLOP.

"_Johnny, you wretch! you're not going to leave me here with these 'orned hanimals? For the love you bear me, come back and help me over!"--"I'm blessed if I do!--'number one' is the first law of nature, so here goes! Come along Fowler!_"

DR. BOLUS, OR THE LAST PILL.

_----Throw physic to the dogs:--I'll none of it._

"_'Twill DO for you, my good friend--it is an infallible remedy for all diseases!_"

LONDON IN THE DOG DAYS.

"_Hulloa! take care of that ere dog, I'm blow'd if he arn't as mad as a March hare! He's bolted with his mistress's kittle, and I'm splashed if he arn't got the HYDRAPHOBIA, or he wouldn't go past the pump in such a hurry._"

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE!

"_Why, I say, Popjoy, ha'nt you had a bite all day?_"

"_No._"

SEASONABLE AMUSEMENTS;

OR,

"SPORTING A TOE" ON THE ICE.

Sport that wrinkled care derides,
And laughter holding both his sides.
Come and trip it as you go,
On the light fantastic toe.

MILTON'S "_L'Allegro_."

PITY THE FROZE OUT GARDENERS.

"_Pity the froze out gardeners!_"--"_I will my poor fellows. I'll provide you with a WARM reception when you come to me._"

THE COBBLER AND HIS DOXY.

A COBBLER I am, and my name is Dick Awl,
I'm a bit of a beast, for I live in a _stall_!
With an ugly old wife, and a tortoise-shell cat,
I _mends_ boots and shoes, with a rat a tat tat.

This morning, at breakfast, on bacon and spinage,
Says I, to my wife, "I'm going to Greenwich,"
Says she, "Dickey Awl, aye and I will go too;"
Says I, "Mrs. Awl, I'll be d----d if you do."

A GREENWICH MUTINEER.

[_Taken from life during the Mutiny at Greenwich Hospital on the Birthday of his present Majesty._]

"_Shiver my timbers!--here's a go!--no grog on the King's Birthday!--I'm blest if I don't strike!_"

ENGLISH BEER.

King William and Reform, I say,
In such a case who can be neuter?
Just let me blow the froth away,
And see how I will drain the pewter.

Another tankard, landlord, fill,
And let us drink to that ere chap, Broom;
And then we'll chaunt God save King Bill,
And send the echoes thro' the tap-room.

FRENCH BRANDY.

Ah ha, Mr. Englishman! voyez ici,
De grandest specific to banish ennui,
Begar is a bumper of French eau de vie.
So here's the Rost Bif of Old England,
Wash'd down by the pure Cogniac.

IRISH WHISKEY.

Och! Judy dear, a fig for beer,
The pleasure sure is greater,
When you are dry, to bung your eye
With quarterns of the "cratur!"

JAMAICA RUM.

Tho' Whiskey may be priz'd by some,
And others sing the praise of Jackey,
There's nothing like Jamaica Rum,
To warm your dingy frame, Old Blackee.

WHAT A SHOCKING BAD HAT.

What object meets my wondering gaze,
That knew, I doubt not, better days?
How chang'd in form, alas! from that--
Oh, "What a shocking bad Hat!"

WHAT A SHOCKING BAD BONNET.

She is quizz'd by the girls--she is smok'd by the boys--
And her ears are saluted by squalling and noise;
While some lad with a tray, and a sheep's head upon it,
Shouts out, "There she goes with a shocking bad bonnet!"

THE LONG-SONG SELLER.

----"Here ye are my ready money customers; you have 'em here at THREE YARDS A PENNY. First of all:--

Here's "Jolly nose," "Begone dull care,"
"Black Bess," "What are you at" now?
"My mother bids me bind my hair,"
"How droll!" "All round my hat" now!
"Cease, ye pretty warbling choir,"
"True as is the needle,"
"And ye shall walk in silk attire,"
With "The Parish Beadle!"

"A dainty life the fairy leads,"
"When stars their watch are keeping;"
"In peace love tunes the shepherd's reed,"
"Dear maid, while thou art sleeping!"
"When night-stars dance their fairy rays,"
And here my batch I cry out,--
"Hark! the lark at Heaven's gate sings,"
"There you go with your eye out!"

HOGARTH'S PIEMAN.

We frequently meet with the pieman in old prints; and in Hogarth's "March to Finchley," there he stands in the very centre of the crowd, grinning with delight at the adroitness of one robbery, while he is himself the victim of another. We learn from this admirable figure by the greatest painter of English life, that the pieman of the last century perambulated the streets in professional costume; and we gather further, from the burly dimensions of his wares that he kept his trade alive by the laudable practice of giving "a good pennyworth for a penny." Justice compels us to observe that his successors of a later generation have not been very conscientious observers of this maxim.

YOUNG LAMBS TO SELL.

Young lambs to sell! young lambs to sell.
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I'd not come here with young lambs to sell!
Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell,
Buy my young lambs, and I'll use you well!

The engraving represents an old "London Crier," one William Liston, from a drawing for which he purposely _stood_ in 1826.

This "public character" was born in the City of Glasgow. He became a soldier in the waggon-train commanded by Colonel Hamilton, and served under the Duke of York in Holland, where, on the 6th of October, 1799, he lost his right arm and left leg, and his place in the army. His misfortunes thrust distinction upon him. From having been a private in the ranks, where he would have remained undistinguished, he became one of the popular street-characters of his day.

BUY A BROOM!--BUY A BROOM!

Buy a Broom? was formerly a very popular London-cry, when it was usually rendered thus:--"_Puy a Proom, puy a prooms? a leetle one for ze papy, and a pig vons for ze lady: Puy a Proom?_" Fifty years ago Madame Vestris charmed the town by her singing--

From Teutchland I came with my light wares all laden,
To dear happy England in summer's gay bloom,
Then listen, fair lady, and young pretty maiden,
O buy of the wand'ring Bavarian a broom.
Buy a broom, buy a broom, (_Spoken_) buy a broom,
O buy of the wand'ring Bavarian a broom.

To brush away insects that sometimes annoy you,
You'll find them quite handy by night or by day,
And what better exercise pray can employ you,
Than to sweep all vexatious intruders away.--Buy a broom, &c.

Ere winter comes on for sweet home departing,
My toils for your favour again I'll resume;
And while gratitude's tears in my eye-lids are starting,
Bless the time that in England I cried buy a broom.
(_Spoken_)--Yes I shall go back to my own country, and tell
them there that I sold all my wares in England, singing--
Buy a broom, &c.

But time and fashion has _swept_ both the brooms and the girls from our shores.--Madame Vestris lies head-to-head with Charles Mathews in Kensal Green Cemetery. _Tempus omnia revelat._

THE FLYING STATIONER, OTHERWISE PATTERER.

"Here you have the last speech and dying vords, life, character, and behaviour of the hunfortunate malefactor that vos hexecuted this morning hopposite the Debtor's door, in the Hold Bailey! together with a full confession of the hoffence vherewith he was found guilty--befor a hupright Judge and a himpartial Jury! Here you have likewise a copy of the most hinfectionate letter, written by the criminal in the condemned cell the night _after_--I mean the night _afore_ his hexecution, to his innocent vife and hunoffending babbies--with a copy of werses consarning the same--all for the small charge of von halfpenny.

"Here's tidings sad for owld and young,
Of von who liv'd for years by macing;
And vos this werry morning hung,
The Debtor's Door at Newgate facing.

"Here's his confession upon hoath,
The vords he spoke ven he vos dying,
His birth and eddycation both--
The whole pertic'lers--vell vorth the buying.

"Here's an account of robberies sad,
In vich he alus vos a hactor;
You must to read the life be glad--
Of such a famous malefactor!"

THE HEARTH-STONE MERCHANT.

"Hearth-stones! Do you want any hearth-stones? Now, my maids, here's your right sort--reg'lar good'uns, and no mistake--vorth two o'your shop harticles, and at half the price. Now my pretty von, lay out a _tanner_, and charge your missus a _bob_--and no cheating neither! the cook has always a right to make her market penny and to assist a poor cove like me in the bargain.

"They're good uns, you will find--
Choose any, Marm, as you prefer;
You looks so handsome and so kind,
I'm sure you'll be a customer.

"Three halfpence, Marm, for this here pair--
I only vish as you vould try 'em;
I'm sure you'll say the price is fair--
Come, Marm, a penny if you'll buy 'em.

"There, Betty! I have often said
It isn't dress that makes gentility;
For do observe this hearth-stone blade,
How well he understands ciwility."

THE LONDON BARROW-WOMAN.

Round and sound,
Two-pence a pound.
Cherries, rare ripe cherries!

Cherries a ha'penny a stick
Come and pick! come and pick!
Cherries big as plums! who comes, who comes?

The late George Cruikshank, whose pencil was ever distinguished by power of decision in every character he sketched, and whose close observation of passing men and manners was unrivalled by any artist of his day, contributed the "London Barrow-woman" to the pages of Hone's _Every-Day Book_ in 1826 from his own recollection of her.

THE LADY AS CRIES CATS' MEAT.

Old Maids your custom I invites,
Fork out, and don't be shabby,
And don't begrudge a bit of lights
Or liver for your Tabby.

Hark! how the Pussies make a rout--
To buy you can't refuse;
So may you never be without
The _music_ of their _mews_.

Here's famous meat--all lean, no fat--
No better in Great Britain;
Come, buy a penn'orth for your Cat--
A happ'orth for your Kitten.

Come all my barrow for a bob!
Some charity diskiver;
For faith, it ar'nt an easy job
To _live_ by selling _liver_.

Who'll buy? who'll buy of Cats-meat-Nan!
I've bawl'd till I am sick;
But ready money is my plan;
I never gives no tick.

I've got no customers as yet--
In wain is my appeal--
And not to buy a single bit
Is werry ungenteel!

THE DOGS'-MEAT MAN.

_Founded on Fact._

In Gray's Inn Lane, not long ago,
An old maid lived a life of woe;
She was fifty-three, and her face like tan,
And she fell in love with a dogs'-meat man.
Much she loved this dogs'-meat man;
He was a good-looking dogs'-meat man;
Her roses and lilies were turn'd to tan,
When she fell in love wi' the dogs'-meat man.

Every morning when he went by,
Whether the weather was wet or dry,
And right opposite her door he'd stand,
And cry "dogs' meat," did this dogs'-meat man.
Then her cat would run out to the dogs'-meat man,
And rub against the barrow of the dogs'-meat man,
As right opposite to her door he'd stand,
And cry "Dogs' Meat," did this dogs'-meat man.

One morn she kept him at the door,
Talking half-an-hour or more;
For, you must know, that was her plan,
To have a good look at the dogs'-meat man.
"Times are hard," says the dogs'-meat man;
"Folks get in my debt," says the dogs'-meat man;
Then he took up his barrow, and away he ran,
And cried "Dogs' Meat," did this dogs'-meat man.

GUY FAWKES--GUY.

There cannot be a better representation of "Guy Fawkes," as he was borne about the metropolis in effigy in the days "When George the Third was King," than the above sketch by George Cruikshank.

Please to remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot;
We know no reason, why gunpowder treason,
Should ever be forgot!
Holla boys! holla boys! huzza--a--a!
A stick and a stake, for King George's sake,
A stick and a stump, for Guy Fawkes' rump!
Holla boys! holla boys! huzza--a--a!

THE PIEMAN; OR, O LORD! WHAT A PLACE IS A CAMP.

"O Lord! what a place is a camp,
What wonderful doings are there;
The people are all on the tramp,
To me it looks devilish queer:
Here's ladies a swigging of gin,
A crop of macaronies likewise:
And I, with my 'Who'll up and win?
Come, here is your hot mutton pies.'

"Here's galloping this way and that,
With, 'Madam, stand out of the way;'
Here's, 'O fie! sir, what would you be at?--
Come, none of your impudence pray:'
Here's 'Halt--to the right-about-face,'
Here's laughing, and screaming, and cries:
Here's milliners'-men out of place,
And I with my hot mutton pies.

"Here's the heath all round like a fair,
Here's butlers, and sutlers, and cooks;
Here's popping away in the air,
And captains with terrible looks:
Here's 'How do you do?'--'Pretty well;
The dust has got into my eyes,'
There's--'fellow what have you to sell?'
'Why, only some hot mutton pies?'"

ALL ROUND MY HAT I VEARS A GREEN VILLOW.

All round my hat I vears a green villow,
All round my hat, for a twelvemonth and a day;
If any body axes me the reason vy I vears it,
I tells 'em that my own true love is far far away.
'Twas a going of my rounds, in the streets I first did meet her,
Oh, I thought she vos a hangel just come down from the sky;

(_Spoken_)--She's a nice wegitable countenance; turnup nose,
redish cheeks, and carroty hair.

And I never knew a voice more louder or more sweeter,
When she cried, buy my primroses, my primroses come buy.

(_Spoken_)--Here's your fine cauliflowers.

All round, &c.

O, my love she was fair, my love she was kind, too,
And cruel vos the cruel judge vot had my love to try:

(_Spoken_)--Here's your precious turnups.

For thieving vos a thing she never was inclined to:
But he sent my love across the seas, far far away.

(_Spoken_)--Here's your hard-hearted cabbages.

All round, &c.

SONG OF THE STEAM COACHMAN THAT DRIVES THE OMNIBUS TO THE MOON.

Steam carriages by land are now the order of the day, sir,
But why they haven't started yet, 'tis not for me to say, sir;
Some people hint 'tis _uphill_ work--that loose they find
a screw, sir,
Such novelties, as Pat would say, of _old_ they never _knew_, sir.

Bow, wow, &c.

Now is the time for a sly trip to _the Moon_, sir,
There's a new RAIL ROAD just made through _the Sky_,
Or if you prefer it, we have a _prime_ BALLOON, sir,
In which you can ascend with me _up sky high_.
Travelling the rage is--in the tying of a sandal,
We take our _tea_ in _Tartary_, or _chop_ at _Coromandel_,
Then when _blazing hot_ we get with _India's gums_ and _spices_,
We take a _stroll_ towards the _Pole_, and _cool our-selves with
ices_.
Now is the time for a sly trip to _the Moon_, sir, &c.

LIFE IN THE BACK SLUMS OF THE HOLY LAND.

There's a difference between a beggar and a queen,
And the reason I'll tell you why;
A queen cannot swagger, nor get drunk like a beggar.
Nor be half so happy as I,--as I.

"DINNER TIME; OR, HOW TO COMFORT THE INWARD MAN."

HUSBAND: _Now then, Old Gal; cook us about another pound and a half of our home made bacon, and, then I do think I shall 'ave done for this once._

WIFE: _Yes! Tom, but recollect that Parson said on Sunday last, that poor folks, since the 'provements of cookery eat about twice as much as nature requires._

HUSBAND: _Well! then we can't do no better than practice what Parson preaches about, can we?_

ADELPHI THEATRE.

BILLY WATERS.

SIGR. PAOLO'S,
Night.

BOX

QUEEN CAROLINE AND THE TEMPTER.

And so they sent a MESSENGER,
To meet the Queen halfway;
And give her FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS
If she abroad would stay;
And never more be call'd a Queen,
Or any such a thing,
But leave them with their daintv dish
To set before the King.

From a _brochure_ entitled the "GREEN BAG: or, a Dainty Dish to set before a King." Published by Hone, and illustrated by Geo. Cruikshank.

A DROP OF GIN!

Gin! Gin! a Drop of Gin!
What magnified Monsters circle therein!
Ragged, and stained, with filth and mud,
Some plague-spotted, and some with blood!
Shapes of Misery, Shame, and Sin!
Figures that make us loathe and tremble,
Creatures scarce human, that more resemble
Broods of diabolical kin,
Ghoule and Vampyre, Demon and Jin!

GIN, GIN, SWEET, SWEET GIN!

AIR.--_Home, Sweet Home._

Walk through London town, in Alley, Lane or Street,
Eight to ten of all the folks you overtake or meet,
List to what they talk about, you'll find amid the din,
The end of every conversation is a drop of Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.

When the world was young, as we read in classic page,
The shepherds drank the purling stream, and pass'd the golden age;
For purling streams or golden age folks now don't care a pin,
So that they can raise the brass to keep this age of Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Hodge's Gin,
Gin, Gin, Hodge's Gin.

When the weather's cold and bleak--in rain and frost and snow,
The Gin, the Gin they fly to, to warm them with its glow.
In summer time, to cool their heat, we see them all flock in,
And joy or sorrow, heat or cold, all seek relief in Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Seager and Evans's Gin.
Gin, Gin, Seager and Evans's Gin.

Sir Richard Birnie sad, declares that never in his time,
Was seen so much depravity, want, misery and crime;
And all the brawls--the riotings--the day and nightly din,
Are caused by what he never tasted! filthy! horrid Gin!
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Booth's Cordial Gin.
Gin, Gin, Booth's Cordial Gin.

In India, when a Husband dies--the Widow ne'er can smile,
She's burnt alive, a sacrifice, upon her husband's pile;
In London many Wives and Widows deem it not a sin,
To sacrifice and burn themselves alive with fire of Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Sir Robert Burnett's Gin.
Gin, Gin, Sir Robert Burnett's Gin.

Decrepit age with furrow'd face, and one foot in the grave,
Hobbles on his crutches, and for a drop does crave;
Infants, e'er they plainly talk, perk up each little chin
And cry, oh mammy, daddy, baby d'ont a d'op o' din.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin
Gin, Gin, Currie's strong Gin.
Gin, Gin, Currie's strong Gin.

In former times we'd Goblins, Fairies, Witches, Ghosts and Sprites,
Who ruled the people's minds by day, and play'd sad pranks
o' nights;
But now the tales of Ghosts and such the people can't take in
They won't believe in Spirits, yet put all their faith in Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Gaitskell's Gin.
Gin, Gin, Gaitskell's Gin.

In the Reign of old Queen Bess good eating did prevail,
Her Majesty and all the Court would breakfast on strong ale;
But now through every Court, the folk the fashion to be in,
Would _ail_ all day, unless 'fore breakfast they could take
some Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, renovating Gin.
Gin, Gin, renovating Gin.

Old women used to cheer their hearts and found it did agree,
By sometimes taking with a friend a cup _too_ much of tea;
But now they're much more _spirited_--for tea don't care a pin,
And only use their tea pots for a cup _too much_ of Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, tongue-relaxing Gin.
Gin, Gin, tongue-relaxing Gin.

Fighters take a "_a shove in the mouth_," though it is their bane,
Jack Ketch often has a "_drop_"--Scavengers a "_drain_";
Pris'ners "_half a yard of tape_" to get in merry pin,
And Actors oft get "_mellow_" with a "_mellow dram_" of Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Tragic, Comic Gin.
Gin, Gin, Tragic, Comic Gin.

Thompson's shop on Holborn Hill is crowded like a fair,
All the taps continually running out are there;
Swing swang go the doors, while some pop out and some pop in,
Foreigners must surely think that John Bull lives on Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, Deadley's OLD TOM Gin.
Gin, Gin, Deadley's OLD TOM Gin.

This World was once deluged by water, drowning Son & Sire,
But when it is destroy'd again, we read 'twill be by fire;
And this must be the awful time, so prevalent is sin,
As all the wicked world do burn their insides out with Gin.
Gin, Gin, sweet, sweet Gin,
There's no drops like Gin.
Gin, Gin, dear-seductive Gin.
Gin, Gin, dear-seductive Gin.

IF I HAD A DONKEY WOT WOULDN'T GO.

THE ROYAL SOCIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS was instituted in 1824. Through its exertions hundreds of cases of cruelty are annually prosecuted. Acts for the protection of animals were passed in 1822 "Martin's Act," and in 1835 and 1839.

If I had a donkey wot wouldn't go,
D'ye think I'd wollop him?--no, no, no.
But gentle means I'd try, d'ye see,
Because I hate all cruelty;
If all had been like me, in fact,
There'd ha' been no occasion for Martin's act,
Dumb animals to prevent getting cracked--on the head.
For if I had a donkey wot wouldn't go,
I never would wollop him--no, no, no;
I'd give him some hay, and cry, Gee O!
And come up, Neddy--Heigh Oh!

What makes me mention this? This morn--
I seed that cruel chap, Bill Burn,
Whilst he was out a crying his greens,
His donkey wollop with all his means,
He hit him o'er his head and thighs,
He brought the tears up in his eyes,
At last my blood began to rise--
And I said--If I had a donkey, &c.

Bill turn'd and said to me--"Then, perhaps,
You're one of these Mr. Martin's chaps
Wot now is seeking for occasion--
All for to lie a hinformation."
Though this I stoutly did deny,
Bill up and gave me a blow in the eye,
And I replied as I let fly--
At his head--If I had a donkey, &c.

THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON.

IT'S CHARLEY WRIGHT'S NIGHT.

Let those come now who never came before,
Let those who always come, now come once more.

COME TO NIGHT THERE'LL BE.--

"Midnight shout and revelry
Tipsy dance and jollity."

MASQUERADE

(Patronised by the Haut-Ton).

the LAST THIS SEASON.--ARGYLL ROOMS, THURSDAY NEXT, June 28.--For Boxes to view the Masquerade (without mixing in the motley group), Domino, Character, and other Tickets, &c., apply to the Committee, at Mr. Charles Wright's, Opera Colonnade, Haymarket, who will supply the Wines on the occasion.

Come, come; good WINE is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.

GOOD WINE NEEDS NO BUSH:--

TRY IT!

Fine Port and bright Sherry, well worthy of name,
Two Shillings per Bottle; Madeira the same;
Good Cape, Fifteen-pence; and the marvel to crown,
Champagne, Five and Sixpence, the cheapest in Town.

Opera Colonnade.

CHARLES WRIGHT.

----"Friends! I say that one sip of this:
Will bathe the drooping Spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste."
Charley Wright _cum_ John Milton!

Apparition appearing to an Hypochondriac.

By CHARLES WRIGHT, Opera Colonnade, Haymarket, LONDON.]

WINE DEPOTS JUST OPENED.

No. 13, Northumberland-place, Commercial-road.

6, Providence-place, Kentish Town.

48, Chichester-place, Gray's-inn-lane.

4, Milner-place, Lambeth, near the Coburg Theatre.

1, Darlington-place, opposite Vauxhall Gardens.

65, Crawford-street, Mary-la-bonne.

4, Sussex-place, Kent-road.

13, St. James-street, Brighton.

A VIEW IN THE ISLE OF ANGLESEA.

The above sketch was taken from nature in the Isle of Anglesea last Autumn, from a spot not far from the seat of the Noble Marquess, who derives his title from the Island. It presents an excellent profile of the Marquess, and has often excited the attention and surprise of the passing travellers. At a moment when his Lordship is so deservedly popular the publication of this curiosity may not be unacceptable to our readers.

SAM WELLER'S ADVENTURES!

A SONG OF THE PICKWICKIANS.

Who caus'd the smiles of rich and poor?
Who made a hit so slow, but sure?
And rose the worth of literature?--Sam Weller.

I'm pretty well known about town,
For to gain a repute is my pride,
Though no vun can doubt my renown,
I'm a _covey of polish_ beside!
I renovates _cases_ for feet,
Vhether high lows or tops is the same,
I turns'em off hand werry neat,
And Samivel Veller's my name!--Fol lol, &c.

In the Borough my trade I dragged on,
Vith no vun to envy my sphere;
I polish'd the _soles_ of each don,
From the cadger bang up to the peer!
Their _understandings_ I greatly improv'd,
Vot happen'd to fall in the vay;
And many a gen'leman mov'd
To me in the course of the day.--Fol lol, &c.

Vun gen'leman--Pickvick, Esquire,
The head of the noted P.C.
Vun day tumbled in to enquire,
If I'd had the _fortin_ to see
A cove vearing Vellington _kicks_,
And a Miss Rachel Vardle beside,
Vot the gent had lugged off by the _nicks_,
And promis'd to make her his bride.--Fol lol, &c.

ALL ROUND THE ROOM.

All round the room I waltzed with Ellen Taylor,
All round the room I waltz'd till break of day,
And ever since that time I've done nothing but bewail her,
Alas! she's gone to Margate, the summer months to stay.
'Twas at a ball at Islington I first chanc'd to meet her,
She really look'd so nice I couldn't keep my eyes away;
In all my life before I ne'er saw so sweet a creature,
She danc'd with me three hours, then fainted quite away.

_Spoken._--She was such a divine creature! I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. I looked languishing at her, and she did the same at me; then she gave such a sigh--such a heavy one!--you might have heard it!----

All round the room, &c.

My Ellen's rather tall, and my Ellen's rather thin, too,
Her hair is rather sandy, and at singing she's _au fait_,
That she should leave me now I think it quite a sin, too,
I'm sure I shan't be happy all the time she is away.

_Spoken._--She was an angel! such a natural sort of woman! She wore a bustle--that wasn't very natural, though--it was rather a largish one; I suppose, upon a moderate calculation, it would have reached----

All round the room, &c.

JIM CROW.

How are you massa gemmen,
An de ladies in a row,
All for to tell you whar I'm from,
I'se going for to go!
For I wheel about an turn about, an do just so,
An ebery time I turn about, I jump Jim Crow.

In 1836, Mr. T. D. Rice, who had previously appeared at the Surrey Theatre, in "Bone Squash Diablo," made his first appearance at the Adelphi, in a farcical Burletta, called "A Flight to America; or, Twelve Hours in New York". The sketch, written for him by Mr. Leman Rede, introduced Rice as a nigger, Yates as a Frenchman, and Mrs. Stirling as Sally Snow--a coloured belle, Miss Daly, John Reeve, and Buckstone strengthened the cast. "Jump Jim Crow" caught the fancy of the town at once, and the familiar tune was soon to be heard everywhere. Rice stayed through the whole season, playing an engagement of twenty one weeks, then considered something extraordinary. For a long period he performed at the Adelphi and the Pavilion Theatres the same evening, and it was calculated that in so doing he had travelled considerably more than a thousand miles, while being encored five times at each theatre for 126 nights, it was easy to set down the figure of 1,260 as representing the number of times he had sung "Jim Crow," during that period. Rice cleared by this engagement eleven hundred pounds. A street-ballad of the day informed the public that it could have:--

The Jim Crow rum, the Jim Crow gin,
The Jim Crow needle, and the Jim Crow pin;
The Jim Crow coat, the Jim Crow cigar;
The Jim Crow dad, and the Jim Crow ma';
The Jim Crow pipe, the Jim Crow hat.
The Jim Crow this, and the Jim Crow that.

JIM CROW.

As sung by Mr. T. D. Rice, with tumultuous applause.

I came from ole Kentucky--A long time ago,
Where I first learn to wheel about--An jump Jim Crow.
Wheel about, &c.

I use to take de fiddle--Ebery morn and arternoon,
And charm de old buzzard--And dance to de racoon.
Wheel about, &c.

In hoeing ob de sugar--Or picking cotton, all de same,
I beat de oder niggers--And gib dem twenty in de game.
Wheel about, &c.

At last I went to seek my fortune--Got up by break of day,
Left my ole shoes behind me--And den I run away.
Wheel about, &c.

I come to a riber--Which I couldn't get across,
So I gib a couple ob shillings--For an old blind horse.
Wheel about, &c.

When I got upon the oder side--I drove him up a hill,
Oh, but de oder side--Look rather daffakil.
Wheel about, &c.

Den I jump on board de big ship--And cum across de sea,
And landed on Old England--Where de nigger am free.
Wheel about, &c.

There were a hundred-and-one versions of "Jim Crow," fresh stanzas being added from day to day on the passing events, for the most part written by Leman Rede, and Buckstone, the _honorarium_ offered by Rice being one shilling per line. We select the above from the first version as sung at the Surrey Theatre.

JIM ALONG JOSEY.

Oh, I'se from Lusiana, as you must all know,
Dar's where Jim along Josey's all de go--
Dem nigger all rise when de bell does ring,
And dis am de song dat dey do sing.

Hey get along, get along Josey,
Hey get along, Jim along Joe--
Hey get along, get along Joe.
Hey get along, Jim along Joe.

Once old Jim Crow was dare all de go,
'Till he found him rival in Jim along Joe;
Now poor old Jim, dey hab put him to bed,
And Jim along Josey hab come in him stead.

Hey get along, &c.

Oh, when I get dat new coat I expects to hab soon,
Likewise de new pair tight knee'd Trousaloon;
I'll walk up and down Bond Street wid my Susanna,
And in my mout I smoke de real Habannah.

Hey get along, &c.

My sissa Rosa de oder night did dream,
Dat she was a floating up and down de stream,
And when she woke she did begin to cry,
"O! de white cat pick'd out de black cat's eye,"

Hey get along, &c.

DANDY JIM, FROM CAROLINE.

I've often heard it said ob late,
Dat Souf Carolina was de state,
Whar a handsome nigga's bound to shine,
Like Dandy Jim, from Caroline.

For my ole massa tole me so,
I was de best looking nigga in de country, O,
I look in de glass an found 'twas so,
Just what massa tole me, O.

I drest myself from top to toe,
And down to Dinah I did go,
Wid pantaloons strapped down behine,
Like Dandy Jim, from Caroline.

For my ole massa, &c.

De bull dog cleared me out ob de yard,
I tought I'd better leabe my card,
I tied it fast to a piece ob twine,
Signed "Dandy Jim, from Caroline."

For my ole massa, &c.

"MONKEYANA."

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE FIRST.

We pray you, reader, to inspect
"The March of Gaming Intellect;"
Well Worthy of the observation
Of a pure rising generation.
Of gaming PUPPYS nothing new,
Why should not MONKEYS gamble too;
And, throwing off all moral fetters.
In vicious courses APE their betters?
This hopeful sprig, despising rule,
Creeps not like Shakspeare's boy to school
With learning stores his brain to hack,
The satchel dangling at his back;
More pleasant pastime having found,
See slate and satchel on the ground;
While pug proposes with knowing eye,
With Soot, the Sweep, to have a SHY.
Do mark his attitude so knowing,
"Woman or skull?--the copper's going."
Prime Boy! before you cease your fun,
I GUESS you'll be completely DONE;
This morning's prank you'll surely rue,
In loss of slate and satchel too,
Which, proof against all fear of LAGGING,
YOUNG SOOT is from its owner dragging.
BRUSH quickly with your prize, Young Grim,
'Twill be no heavy loss to him--
His course of study from this day
Will be a very different way.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE SECOND.

Seated in LUSH CRIB, spruce and smug,
Go on and prosper, worthy PUG!
Tho' long past midnight, who's afraid?
Time, we all know, for slaves was made.
What lad of spirit, or discerning,
Would waste the weary hour in learning,
And not each dryer study cut,
To play a social game at Put?
And wrangle about CHALKS and LEGS,
All Fours and Cribbage, HOLES and PEGS--
Pastimes of such resistless Power,
To cheer and charm the passing hour!
How oft we find in this fair Land,
Folly and vice go hand-in-hand.
Pug, let me whisper in your ear,
You'll buy experience very dear:
In trick, a scholar, apt and willing,
You'll soon be stript of every shilling!
Your adversary knows you're GREEN.
And has a friend behind the scene;
Who takes good care he never loses,
By furnishing what card he chooses.
Play high, play low, 'tis all in vain.
You'll certainly be DONE again!
And mourn, ere long, Misfortune's gripe,
In loss of grog, and cash, and WIPE--
The last of which, by dex'trous pawing,
A Pot-boy Pug is gently drawing;
While you, intent upon your game,
Are all unconscious of the same.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE THIRD.

Fresh from the Lush-crib--roaring, staggering,
Clipping King's English, swearing and swaggering--
Attended by his faithful Mentor,
See Pug all ripe for an adventure.
Already he is holding parley,
Or rather chaffing with a "Charley--"
Who, Tom and Jerry deeds reproving,
Cries, "Gentlemen, push on! keep moving!"
Ever prepar'd to spring his rattle--
The trumpet of the watchman's battle.
See Mentor, bent on mischief, smirking,
On Pug's excited feelings working.
"Why does that 'Charley' make a fuss,
Insulting gentlemen like us,
Thinking to carry all before him--
Tip it him on the nob, and floor him!
Two or three well-plac'd blows, no doubt,
Will serve the saucy rascal out;
And never fear that he can whack ye--
Why, damme, an't I here to back ye--?"
Watchmen, we know, are oft loquacious,
And PUGS, by nature, are PUGnacious.
Sure as our Pug begins the fray,
His backing friend will sneak away,
Leaving him, as the safest plan,
To fight his battle as he can.
What ills on luckless Pug await:
Black eyes, bruis'd body, broken pate--
And, cursing his unlucky plight,
Consign'd to Watchhouse for the night!

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE FOURTH.

O, for a Fogo's Muse to sing
The glories of the Boxing Ring--
Where Peer and Prig, and Sweep and Swell,
Mix in the motley group pell-mell:
A scene of frolic, row, and danger,
Where honesty is oft a stranger;
For doubtful are the chances now
Of triumph to the best man's brow.
With equal grief and shame we tell it,
'Tis "How much do ye ax to sell it?"
O, for the fighting days of old,
When men were neither bought nor sold;
When victory was the aim alone,
And fighting crosses all unknown.
Amid the rabble monkey crew,
See PUG, our hero, full in view--
His brain with bruising science stored,
Up to each move upon the board;
How fluently he prates of flooring,
Tapping the claret, fibbing, boring--
Of Chancery-suits and body-battering.
Ogles sew'd up, and ivories chattering.
Eager to bet--a Sharper now
Has got our hopeful Sprig in tow--
Though Mentor, to his pupil true,
Hints pretty plainly its a DO.
"I'll book my man to win for sartin--
Come, three to one on Bill, at starting?"
Though Bill is certainly the strongest,
Perhaps Jack's wind may last the longest.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE FIFTH.

Hurrah for Epsom! Mount your prads,
And start away, like knowing lads,
To join the swarms of smiling faces
That throng delighted to the races.
O, what a scene of joy and jolity,
Of prancing, capering, and frivolity!
Where many a swell whose means are scanty,
Bestrides his batter'd Rosinante--
Which, proud of such illustrious backers,
Hails a short respite from the knackers.
Go it! my heroes! man or monkey
Mounted on blood, or hack, or donkey.
Know many a youth, of spirit gay,
Shall rue the racing of this day,
And, mourning loss of cash and leather,
Curse Oaks and Derby Stakes together.
Where all the springs of fashion gay,
Can Master Pug be absent? No.
Still under Mentor's kind protection,
He presses forward to perfection--
With the top Coves can prate with spirit
Of all their racers and their merit;
Their action, colour, age, and bottom,
Where they were foal'd, and who begot'em:
Can bet and hedge, make sure to win,
And take a well fled'g GREENHORN in.
Mentor, at distance, takes his seat,
Intently gazing on the heat;
Intending wisely, if he can,
To line his purse, and fleece his man.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE SIXTH.

Where are the Dashers of the Land
Who throng'd the Race Course "four-in-hand?"
The splendid trappings--bang-up team--
Have all departed like a dream,
And Britzska, Landau, One-horse Shay,
Are now the order of the day.
See the EILWAGEN skims along,
The wonder of a gazing throng,
Who hail the Royal importation,
A luxury to a lazy nation!--
Here on a sofa you may share
Sweet converse with a favourite fair,
Or snugly when it suits the whim,
Sloth may stretch out the lazy limb--
The curtains of the carriage close,
And sink delighted to repose--
For such enjoyment thanks are due,
O, Princely Cumberland! to you.
Long may you rest your noble head
On this transcendent Carriage-bed!
But to our Hero--Pug, the Swell,
Has done the flats at Epsom well;
And as you see, in tip-toe twig,
Now sports his lady and his gig;
No guardian Mentor now is near
To breathe sage counsel in his ear;
For when a Lady's in the case
Each Mentor's presence must give place.
In truth he needs no aid of friend
To prompt him now his gains to spend.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE SEVENTH.

Ah Pug! tho' fortune now has smil'd,
And mark'd you for a favourite child,
Too many, by those smiles betray'd;
Have prov'd her but a fickle jade;
And like the meteor of the night,
Misleading with a treacherous light.
Irksome the task to trace in verse
The Gamester's course from bad to worse:
That course of vice may long endure,
But still the termination's sure.
What is the upshot of the game?
Ruin--remorse--disgrace--and shame.
Behold our Hero--mark him well,
The inmate of a modern Hell;
Where Croupier every snare hath set,
To catch all fish that come to net;
Tho' of the tribes that sink or swim,
The GOLD and SILVER Fish for him.
Now Pug, call Fortune to your aid,
The colour's black--the Game is made;
Trente-un--Red wins--a hardish smack!
You laid that hundred, Pug, on black;
Don't let that trifle give you trouble,
Try Black once more, and put down double.
Red wins again--Ah sound of dread!
Well now you'll have a run on Red;
Then change the colour if you will--
But doom'd to be unlucky still,
You'll persevere with store diminish'd,
Till YOUR OWN GAME at length is finish'd;

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE EIGHTH.

'Tis even so--the die is cast,
And, Pug! your golden dreams have pass'd--
Well may you mourn the luckless hour
You plac'd yourself in Mentor's power--
The knowing practices he taught you;
To a bad winding-up have brought you,
Stripp'd of your gains, you now, too late,
Distracted, curse your bitter fate,
And gnash your teeth, and grasp your hair,
In all the raving of despair.
How shall such anguish be appeas'd?
How can we heal a mind diseas'd?
Is there no source of comfort? None.
No friend to soothe your mind? Not one.
Mentor, of course, has little claim
To be distinguished by the name;
Who with unruffled phyz is viewing
His pupil's rage and utter ruin;
Eyes him with self-complacent shrug,
And thus addresses hapless Pug:--
"This is a devilish fine cigar--
Why, what a shocking judge you are!
I never knew you play so bad--
I thought you were not TO BE HAD;
'Tis strange, indeed, it never struck ye,
When you play high, you're never lucky.
Besides, you play'd too long on Red;
Didn't you see me shake my head?
The money was your own, no doubt,
And handsomely they've cleaned you out."

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE NINTH.

"Last scene of all,
"That ends this strange eventful story."

The Gaming Race at length is run
And darkness shrouds the evening sun;
Reproach, Remorse, are now in vain--
That sun may never rise again!
Now poverty, distress, disgrace,
Stare ghastly in the victim's face:
The heartless shrug, the cut direct,
And bitter scorn and cold neglect?--
Those glittering hopes so fondly cherished,
In one ill-omen'd night have perish'd.
And Fate, in midnight's deepest gloom,
Have veil'd our wretched Hero's doom--
While Suicide is hovering near,
To put her seal on Pug's career.--
Stay thy rash hand! ere to that hour
From which no Traveller can return.
All stain'd with sin, unfit to die,
Unsummon'd you presume to fly!--
The tube is rais'd, the die is cast--
Another moment is the last.
But, ere the awful scene is clos'd,
A guardian hand hath interpos'd;
And in this time of utmost need,
See Mentor rush to stay the deed,
And eagerly his arm extend
To snatch from death his wretched friend,
Mentor, this act shall well atone
For many an error of thine own.

LONDON:--
E. A. BECKETT,
PRINTER,
111 & 113,
KINGSLAND ROAD.]

=_Works by Mr. CHARLES HINDLEY_,=

TO BE HAD OF

=Messrs. Reeves and Turner,=

196, Strand, London, W.C.,

AND OF

=Charles Hindley, the Younger=.

41, Booksellers' Row, St. Clement Danes,

Strand, London, W.C.

=THE OLD BOOK COLLECTORS MISCELLANY;=
or, a Collection of Readable Reprints of Literary
Rarities. 3 vols. £1 11s. 6d.

=SELECTION OF THE WORKS OF JOHN TAYLOR,=
_The Water Poet_. £1 1s. 0d.

=THE ROXBURGHE BALLADS.= 2 vols. £1 5s. 0d.

=CURIOSITIES OF STREET LITERATURE:= comprising
"=Cocks=" or "=Catch-pennies=." A
large and curious assortment of Street-Drolleries,
Squibs, Comic Tales, Dying-Speeches, and Confessions,
etc., etc. £1 1s. 0d.

=LIFE AND TIMES OF JAMES CATNACH,= _late of
the Seven Dials, Ballad Monger_. Cuts by Bewick
and others. 12s. 6d.

=A HISTORY OF THE CRIES OF LONDON.= Ancient
and Modern: containing over three hundred woodcuts,
of which seventy are by Bewick. Crown 8vo.
7s. 6d. Postage 6d.

=THE HISTORY OF THE CATNACH PRESS.= At
Berwick-upon-Tweed, Alnwick, and Newcastle upon-Tyne,
in Northumberland; and Seven Dials, London.
Cuts by Bewick, etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. Postage 6d.

+----------------------------------------------------------------- +
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. |
| |
| Original spelling and its variations were not standardized. |
| |
| Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, |
| _like this_. Words in bold characters are surrounded by equal |
| signs, =like this=. |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+