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._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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._
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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.
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.
All hail her Coronation-day,
Long o’er us may she bear the sway,
And all her subjects still shall say,
God bless the Queen of England.
Then Britons join both hand and heart,
That Heaven may all its joys impart,
And still protect and ever guard
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.
T.H.
W. & T. Fordyce, Printers, 48, Dean Street, Newcastle. Sold also at
No. 42, Myton Gate, Hull.
SAILOR JACK AND QUEEN VICTORIA.
[Illustration]
You’ve heard of Sailor Jack, no doubt,
Who found our good King William out--
To Windsor Castle, too, he’d been,
A visiting the King and Queen.
Ri tooral, &c.
Now Jack, who’d travell’d far away,
Returned to port the other day--
He turn’d his bacca o’er and o’er,
For he found the Sailor King no more.
Ri tooral, &c.
“Shiver my timbers! here’s a breeze!
We’ve got a woman now to please--
So straight to London I must go,
To see who’s got the craft in tow.
Ri tooral, &c.
Then to the palace soon he came--
He’d got no card, but sent his name.
“Go back,” said they, “she won’t see you!”
Said Jack--“No damme if I do!”
Ri tooral, &c.
“Stand back, you lubbers! not see me,
The friend of his late Majesty?”
He floor’d them all, sprung o’er the stair
And got where the court assembled were.
Ri tooral, &c.
They in amazement view’d the scene--
Says Jack, “I want to see the Queen!”
When smiling, seated from afar,
Says she--“Well, here I am, old tar.”
Ri tooral, &c.
“All right!” says Jack on hearing this,
“I’ve come here just to warn you, Miss,
Don’t you by courtier sharks be led--
For, d’ye see, I likes your _Figure Head_
Ri tooral, &c.
“Don’t fear me, Jack--it’s true, indeed,
but I’m British-born, and take good heed;
And if against my peace they strike,
I’ll give ’em, Jack, what they wo’n’t like.”
Ri tooral, &c.
“Hurrah!” says Jack, “your Majesty!
Just like your noble family!
You knows what’s what, and I’ll repeat
What you have said to all the fleet.”
Ri tooral, &c.
“I like your manners,” answered she,
“An admiral you soon shall be.”
The lords in waiting there, said “No!”
The Queen--“Why, can’t I make him so?”
Ri tooral, &c.
“You jealous swabs, what are you at?
I knows I am too old for that--
So one request instead I’ll make.
Off pigtail you’ll the duty take.”
Ri tooral, &c.
The Queen, who quite enjoyed the fun,
Soon promised Jack it should be done,
Says he, “I’ve one thing more, and ’tis,
To ax you how your mother is?”
Ri tooral, &c.
“Why, hark ye, Jack,” the Queen replied,
“The old ’un’s still her country’s pride.”
“She is--and if you’ll view my ship,”
Says Jack, “for both I’ll stand some flip.”
Ri tooral, &c.
Then to his messmates soon he hied,
“I’ve seen her--it’s all right,” he cried,
“I’ll prove to you she’s wide awake--
She’s a trim built craft, and no mistake.”
Ri tooral, &c.
They ordered grog to crown the scene,
And drank--“The Navy and the Queen!”
Says Jack, “our toast shall ever be,
‘God bless her gracious majesty!’”
Ri tooral, &c.
[Illustration]
THE QUEEN’S MARRIAGE.
A subject I want for a song, do you see,
So Her Majesty, look ye, my subject shall be;
Nay, there I am wrong, so my muse here avers,
_My_ “subject” she can’t be because I am _her’s_!
Forgive me I beg, if with words I do play,
And “hear a plain man in his own queer plain way,”
And still to my errors in mercy pray lean,
While the wedding I sing of our glorious Queen!
Our cups to the dregs in a health let us drain,
And wish them a long and a prosperous reign;
Like good loyal subjects in loud chorus sing
Victoria’s wedding with Albert her King.
Many suitors the Queen’s had of class, clime, and creed,
But each failed to make an impression, indeed;
For, for Albert of Coburg the rest off she packs--
Thus “giving the _bag_ each” and keeping the “SAXE!”
A fortunate fellow he is, all must say,
And right well his _cards_ he has managed to play;
The _game_ he has won, and no wonder, I ween,
When he play’d “speculation” and turn’d up “_The Queen_.”
Our cups to the dregs, &c., &c.
A hundred thousand a year he may get
For taking the Queen, which is something to wit;
_I_ myself had “propos’d,” had I known it that’s flat,
For I’d willingly take her for much less than that.
Even yet, if Her Majesty _should_ chance to scoff
At the bargain she’s made, and the matter break off,
I’ll instantly seek her, and lay my mind down,
And offer to take her at just--_half-a-crown_!
Our cups to the dregs, &c., &c.
Since the Queen did herself for a husband “propose,”
The ladies will all do the same, I suppose;
Their days of subserviency now will be past,
For all will “speak first” as they always did _last_!
Since the Queen has no equal, “obey” none she need,
So, of course, at the altar, from such vow she’s freed;
And the women will all follow suit, so they say--
“Love, honour,” they’ll promise, but never--“obey.”
Our cups to the dregs, &c., &c.
“Those will now wed who ne’er wedded before--
Those who always wedded will now wed the more;”
Clerks will no time have to lunch, dine, or sup,
And parsons just now will begin to _look up_!
To churches, indeed, this will be a God-send,
Goldsmiths be selling off _rings without end_;
For now, you’ll not find from castle to cot,
A _single_ man living who _married_ is not!
Our cups to the dregs, &c., &c.
But hence with all quibbling, for now I’ll have done,
Though all I have said has been purely in fun;
May the Queen and the King shine like Venus and Mars,
And heaven _preserve_ them without any _jars_!
Like Danae of old may we see it plain,
’Till time is no more, these bright _sovereigns rain_;
May pleasure and joy through their lives know no bounds,
So let’s give them a _toast_, and make it _three rounds_.
Our cups to the dregs, &c., &c.
ATTEMPT TO ASSASSINATE THE QUEEN AND PRINCE ALBERT.
[Illustration]
PARTICULARS.
About six o’clock on Wednesday evening the Queen and Prince Albert left
Buckingham Palace by the garden gate opening upon Constitution hill.
Her Majesty and the Prince were seated in a very low German drotschky
followed by the equerries in waiting, Colonel Buckley and Sir Edward
Bowater, and the usual attendants. A number of respectable people had
assembled outside the gate to witness her departure, and were ranged in
two lines to admit of the carriages passing through. After the carriage
had issued from the gate, and had proceeded some short distance up
Constitution hill, so as to be quite clear of the crowd, a young man,
who it is said had come from the Green park, and was standing with his
back to the railings, presented a pistol and fired it directly, either
at Her Majesty or Prince Albert, there being no person between him and
the carriage. The Prince, who, it would seem, had heard the whistling
of the ball, turned his head in the direction from which the report
came, and Her Majesty at the same instant rose up in the carriage, but
Prince Albert as suddenly pulled her down by his side. The man then
drew from behind his back a second pistol, which he discharged after
the second carriage, which proceeding at the ordinary pace, had by that
time passed him a little. The reports of both pistols were very loud,
and at the discharge of the second several of the female spectators
screamed loudly. Several persons rushed towards the perpetrator of this
gross outrage, and he was immediately seized, first by a person having
the appearance of a labouring man, and then by Mr. Beckham, one of the
Queen’s pages, and another bystander, by whom he was handed over to
two of the metropolitan police, who conveyed him to the Queen square
Police Court. By some it is alleged that the miscreant stood with
his arms folded, apparently waiting for the arrival of the carriage;
others state that he was crouching down, as if endeavouring to escape
observation; and, after firing the first shot, he changed the second
pistol into his right hand in order to fire it. The discharge of the
pistols and the seizure of the offender scarcely occupied a minute. Her
Majesty’s carriage sustained no delay, and moved on up Constitution
hill at the usual pace, and by half-past six had arrived at the Duchess
of Kent’s Ingestrie-house, Belgrave-square, where her Majesty stopped
for a short time, but neither her appearance nor that of Prince Albert
evinced any inclination of alarm or excitement at the deadly attack
from which they had so providentially escaped.
NAME OF THE MISCREANT.
The name of the ruffian who has been guilty of this atrocious attack
is Edward Oxford; his address is No. 6, West-street, West-square, and
he is said to be a servant out of place. His appearance is that of
a mechanic, from 18 to 20 years of age, and rather below the middle
height. We have been informed that on searching him a list of the
names of twenty-six individuals was found, which he admitted that he
had intended to have burnt or destroyed, and some circumstance has
transpired which leads to a belief that the persons whose names are
contained in the list above-mentioned are in some way connected with
the prisoner for some sinister purpose. On searching his lodgings
a sword was also found, and some crape arranged for the purpose of
being worn on a hat or cap in such a way as to conceal the face of the
wearer, and the crape is also stated to be folded in a peculiar manner,
so that the crape which was intended for the prisoner would distinguish
him from the rest of the gang with which it is said he is connected,
and who were to be similarly disguised.
We have also heard that on being taken to the police-station the
following conversation took place:--
“What are you?--I have been brought up to the bar.
“Do you mean to say as a lawyer?--No; to the bar, to draw porter.
“Are you a pot-boy?--No, I’m above that.
“Are you a publican?--No, I’m not so high as that.”
We cannot vouch for the authenticity of this conversation, but merely
give it as it reached us. The conduct of the prisoner throughout his
examination manifested great self-possession.
The pistols are described as small pistols of Birmingham manufacture,
rather well finished. They were loaded with balls, one of which struck
the wall opposite to where the prisoner stood, and the other ball is
said to have lodged in one of the trees.
The charge against the prisoner entered on the charge sheet is--“With
maliciously and unlawfully discharging two pistols at Her Majesty and
Prince Albert on Constitution-hill.”
[London: Printed by J. Wilson, New Cut.
[Illustration]
ACCOUCHEMENT OF HER MAJESTY.
BIRTH OF A PRINCESS.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!!
At ten minutes before two yesterday afternoon, her Majesty was
SAFELY DELIVERED OF A DAUGHTER. The Queen, we rejoice to say, is,
to all appearance, as well as her subjects can desire, and that the
illustrious infant bids fair for life.
At five-and-twenty minutes to three a royal salute from the Tower and
other guns announced the joyous intelligence to her Majesty’s subjects
in the metropolis.
Her Majesty’s marriage, it will be remembered, took place on Monday,
the 10th of February, nine months and eleven days since.
The Lord Chancellor was presiding in his Court with the intention of
pronouncing some judgments, but he instantly locked up his papers and
repaired to Buckingham Palace, as his presence is officially required
on these occasions.
“EXTRAORDINARY GAZETTE,
“SATURDAY, Nov. 21, 1840,
“Buckingham Palace, Nov. 21.
“This afternoon, at ten minutes before two, the Queen was
happily delivered of a Princess, His Royal Highness Prince
Albert, Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, several Lords
of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, and the Ladies
of Her Majesty’s Bed-chamber being present.
‘This great and important news was immediately made known
to the Town, by the firing of the Tower guns; and the Privy
Council being assembled as soon as possible thereupon, at the
Council Chamber, Whitehall, it was ordered that a Form of
Thanksgiving for the Queen’s safe delivery of a Princess be
prepared by his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, to be used
in all churches and chapels throughout England and Wales, and
the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, on Sunday the 29th of November,
or the Sunday after the respective ministers shall receive the
same.
“Her Majesty and the young Princess are, God be praised, both
doing well.”
LATEST PARTICULARS.
The following official bulletin was issued during the afternoon, a copy
of which was forwarded to the Lord Mayor:--
“Buckingham Palace, Nov. 21, 1840.
“Quarter-past Three o’clock.
“The Queen was safely delivered of a Princess this afternoon at
ten minutes before two o’clock.
“Her Majesty and the Royal Infant are both doing well.
(Signed)
“JAMES CLARK, M.D.
“CHARLES LOCOCK, M.D.
“ROBERT FERGUSON, M.D.
“R. BLAGDEN.
A BABY BALLAD.
Of course you’ve heard the welcome news,
Or you must be a gaby,
That England’s glorious Queen has got
At last a little baby?
A boy we wanted--’tis a girl!
Thus all our our hopes that were
To have an _heir unto the Throne_,
Are all _thrown to the air_!
How could folks think she’d have a boy?
To me it seem’d all fun--
For in a dark November _fog_
We seldom have _a sun_!
Yet after all I’m wrong myself
To reason so, perhaps,
For we all know what winter is
The time for having CHAPS.
Doctors Locock, Blagden, Clark,
They made the great _diskivery_,
And having brought the goods to town,
Were “paid upon delivery!”
Prince Albert for a nurse sent off,
To tend his babe and spouse--
One living at the _Isle of Wight_,
As _milk is best from_ COWES!
From eve till morn, from morn till eve,
The pretty infant prattles,
Gives hope strong of life being leng,
Though oft it has the RATTLES!
These sprigs of royalty may soon
Be plentiful as sermons--
Prince Albert possibly may have
A lot of these SMALL GERMANS!
John Bull must handsomely come down
With something every year,
And he may truly to the child,
Say, “You’re _a little dear_!”
Sad thoughts will fill his head whene’er
He hears the infant rave,
Because when hearing a _wight squall_
It brings a _notion grave_!
Howe’er let’s give the Princess joy,
Though now’s her happiest lot,
For sorrow tends a _palace_ more
Than e’er it does a _cot_!
If in some years a son appears,
Her claim to rule were vain,
And being near the _court_ she’ll have
To _stand out of the_ REIGN!
QUICK, Printer, 42, Bowling Green Lane, Clerkenwell, and at 8, Little
Paternoster Row, Spitalfields.
[Illustration]
QUEEN’S WANTS
At Child Birth; or, what a bother
IN THE PALACE.
_London, November 21st, 1840._
Come all good people list to me,
I will tell you of a jovial spree,
News from London has come down,
That a young princess has come to town.
CHORUS.
What a bother in the palace,
In the month of November,
Such a bother in the palace
You never did see.
Now all those things, as I heard say,
The Queen did want upon that day,
Night-caps, gowns, frocks, and frills,
And old John Bull must pay the bills.
I must get all things I can,
A child’s chair and a small brown pan,
Nine hundred and forty gallons of rum,
And a sponge to wash her little bum.
A great deal of money I want,
You must put it down to my account,
Tops and bottoms, and sugar plums,
And a ring to rub her little gums.
I want a copper to make pap in,
And fifty-three dozen of napkins,
And when she’s christened, oh, dear me!
Wont we have a jovial spree.
I cannot help thinking, oh, what fuss
There was in calling in the nurse,
Run for a napkin, open the door,
The child has dirtied on the floor.
At three months old she’ll learn to walk,
Italian, Dutch, and Spanish, talk,
She’ll jump Jim Crow and catch the flies,
We’ll whip her bottom if she cries.
When Albert and I goes out to ride,
We’ll have our darling by our side,
And on her head we’ll place a crown,
I’ll beat her well if she wets my gown.
At the christening we’ll have such joys,
Sour crout, palonies, and saveloys,
There’ll be all my friends from Germany,
Coburghs and all the bugs to tea.
When she was born there was a pull,
On the purse of old John Bull,
With fair promises, I will be bound,
They’ll coax him out of ten thousand pounds.
There was such work I do suppose,
For to put on the baby’s clothes,
Oh, nurse, look here, how very silly,
You’ve run a pin in the little girl’s belly.
God bless the Queen, we wish her joy,
And may the next one be a boy,
And if they both should crave for more
Let’s hope they will have half-a-score.
MAY THE QUEEN LIVE FOR EVER.
Whilst the bright star of glory in Liberty’s rays,
Over the face of Great Britain resplendently shines,
Where’s the power upon earth can Victoria dismay,
Whilst her true British Subjects together combine.
Huzza, may the Queen live for ever, &c.,
Shall we ever see her like, no never;
Here’s her health in a bumper of wine.
Let the voice of her people re-echo the strain,
And her fame thro’ the trumpet extend thro’ the World,
May the sun over her throne ever shed its bright rays,
While her Banners of Justice and Mercy’s unfurl’d.
We’ll sing, too, in praise of Old England our Isle,
Who hath succour’d all Nations imploring her aid,
May that Omniscient Eye look down with a smile,
On our Queen and all who at her Mercy are laid.
John Harkness, Printer, Preston.
A STRANGER IN HER MAJESTY’S BEDROOM.
THE BOY JONES AGAIN!
“What will Mrs. Grundy say--Mrs. Lilley?”
On Wednesday, shortly after 12 o’clock, the inmates of Buckingham
Palace were aroused by an alarm being given that a stranger had been
discovered under the sofa in her Majesty’s dressing-room. The domestics
and officers of the household were immediately in motion, and it was
soon ascertained that the alarm was not without foundation. The daring
intruder was immediately secured, and safely handed over to the custody
of the police.
The inquiry into this mysterious circumstance has created the most
intense interest at Buckingham Palace and the west-end of the of the
town, where the report spread with the rapidity of lightning. At first
it was not generally believed, but when it was known that the prisoner
was under examination at the Home Office public curiosity was at its
height, and inquiries into the most minute particulars were made in
every place where it was likely to obtain information respecting an
event which might, under present circumstances, have been attended with
most dangerous effects to the health of our beloved Queen.
Shortly after 12 o’clock one of her Majesty’s pages, attended by
other domestics of the royal household, went into her Majesty’s
dressing-room, which adjoins the bed-chamber in which the Queen’s
accouchement took place. Whilst there they imagined that they heard a
noise. A strict search was commenced, and under the sofa on which her
Majesty had been sitting only about two hours before they discovered
a dirty, ill-looking fellow, who was immediately dragged from his
hiding-place, and given into the custody of Inspector Stead, then on
duty at the Palace. The prisoner immediately underwent a strict search,
but no weapon of any dangerous nature was found on his person. He was
afterwards conveyed to the station in Gardener’s Lane, and handed over
to Inspector Haining, of the A division of police, with instructions
to keep him in safe custody until he received further orders from the
Home Office. We understand that as soon as the prisoner was handed over
to the police he was immediately recognised as the same person who
effected such an extraordinary entrance into Buckingham Palace about
two years since, for which offence he was tried at the Westminster
Sessions and acquitted, the jury being of opinion that he was not right
in his mind. It may here be stated that the name of the daring intruder
into the abode of royalty is Edward Jones; he is 17 years of age. In
person the prisoner is very short of his age, and has a most repulsive
appearance; he was very meanly dressed, but affected an air of great
consequence; be repeatedly requested the police to address him in a
becoming manner, and to behave towards him as they ought to do to a
gentleman who was anxious to make a noise in the world.
At 12 o’clock on Thursday the prisoner was brought in custody of the
police to the Home Office, and shortly afterwards taken before the
Council, when, we understand, he was interrogated as to his motives for
such extraordinary conduct, and particularly as to the mode by which
he obtained an entrance into the Palace. He (the prisoner) told their
lordships that he was willing to point out to the police the way he
effected an entrance, and to state all particulars. Their lordships,
on this statement, directed the police immediately to convey Jones to
Buckingham Palace, and obtain the information he promised to give, and
adjourned the inquiry until half past two o’clock.
The prisoner was taken to the Palace, and brought back again to the
Home Office at two o’clock. At half-past two the Council reassembled,
when we understand the prisoner made the following extraordinary
statement:--
On Monday night he scaled the wall of Buckingham Palace garden, about
half-way up Constitution Hill; he then proceeded to the Palace and
effected an entrance through one of the windows. He had not, however,
been there long before he considered it unsafe for him to stay, as
so many people were moving about, and he left by the same mode as he
entered. The next day he again effected an entrance in the same manner
as on the previous night; and he went on to state that he remained in
the Palace the whole of Tuesday night, the whole day on Wednesday, and
up till one o’clock on Thursday morning, when he was discovered under a
sofa in her Majesty’s dressing-room, as above described. The prisoner
pointed out all the passages and places he had gone through previous to
his arrival at the room in which he was discovered, and there appears
no reason to doubt his statement. The hiding place of the intruder was
first discovered by one of her Majesty’s pages, and when he was asked
what brought him there, he replied, that he wanted to see what was
going forward in the Palace, that he might write about it, and if he
was discovered he should be as well off as Oxford, who fared better in
Bedlam tham he (prisoner) did out of it. He was also asked if, during
the time he was in the Palace, he saw the Queen or the infant Princess,
and he replied that he did not, but that he had heard a noise, which he
thought came from her Majesty’s room.
Her Majesty’s page, who discovered the prisoner, and the constable who
took him to the station-house, were then examined.
The Council came to the decision that, as no property or dangerous
weapon was found on the prisoner, it would be better to inflict a
summary punishment; and a warrant was accordingly made out, and signed
by Mr. Hall, committing the prisoner to the House of Correction,
Tothill Street, as a rogue and vagabond, for three months.
The prisoner was immediately afterwards conveyed in a cab to Tothill
Street.
LATEST PARTICULARS.
The sensation caused by the late mysterious entrance of the boy Jones
into Buckingham Palace, appears to be even greater than that produced
by his apprehension in the same place in December, 1838. The object
which prompted so daring a proceeding is still involved in the utmost
doubt; but it was not probable that it was his intention to do any
personal injury to her Majesty, for had such been his purpose abundant
opportunities of carrying it into effect presented themselves during
his concealment in the chamber where he was secured. From a well
informed source, we have heard the sofa under which Jones was found is
in the ante-room in which the Princess Royal and Mrs. Lilley, her Royal
Highness’s nurse, repose. On the night in question the latter had not
long retired to rest ere she fancied she heard a noise similar to that
likely to be caused by a person who was endeavouring to prevent his
presence from being discovered, and was moving in a stealthy manner.
Mrs. Lilley at first treated the matter as of no moment, thinking
probably that the noise might have been imaginary. Its renewal,
however, created an alarm, and she instantly summoned those of the
attendants who were on guard in the adjoining ante-chamber. On their
arrival the offender was quickly discovered and drawn from his place
of hiding. The statement then goes on to say that her Majesty, who
but three hours previously had been sitting on this particular sofa,
having been disturbed by the confusion to which the event had given
rise, called out and desired to be informed as to its cause. As an
apprehension was, however, entertained that the sudden communication
of the occurrence might be attended with an unfavourable effect on her
Majesty, the attendants gave an evasive answer. The Queen repeated her
command, and then the fact of the boy’s concealment and subsequent
apprehension were made known to her.
The circumstances at that time appeared not to produce any very
visible effect on her Majesty, but on Thursday symptoms of other than
a satisfactory character were apparent. It affords us the highest
gratification to be able to add that a few hours of quietude tended to
the restoration of her Majesty.
It would appear that there is now no doubt but that the account given
by Jones as to his having effected his entrance into the Palace by
scaling the garden wall from Constitution Hill is correct. Upon being
asked whether he had not met some of the attendants in the course of
his progress along the corridor and staircase, he replied, “Yes,” but
that, when he saw any one coming in his direction, he hid himself
behind the pillars, or behind any piece of furniture which happened to
be near. Hitherto he has been silent as to the motive which induced him
to take so extraordinary a step as that of forcing his way a second
time into the royal apartments, and when asked on Friday morning, after
he had been upon the tread-wheel, how he liked his punishment, his
answer was to the effect that he had got into the scrape, and must do
the best he could.
There does not appear to be the slightest ground for the rumour that he
is insane.
Many circumstances have transpired to show that Jones was in the Palace
the whole of Wednesday. The delinquent states that during the day he
secreted himself under different beds and in cupboards, until at last
he obtained an entrance into the room in which he was discovered. Not
much reliance can be placed in his statements, but, as such general
curiosity exists on the subject, we may state that, in answer to
interrogatories, he said, “that he had sat upon the throne, that he saw
the Queen, and heard the Princess Royal cry.”
Prince Albert was in the room with her Majesty taking leave for the
night when the miscreant was discovered under the sofa.
The fellow’s shoes were found in one of the rooms of the ground-floor.
The sofa under which the boy was discovered, we understand, is one
of most costly and magnificent material and workmanship, and ordered
expressly for the accommodation of the royal and illustrious visitors
who call to pay their respects to her Majesty.
MR. FERGUSON AND QUEEN VICTORIA.
_TUNE_--“_Jim Crow._”
Come all you Britons high and low,
And banish grief and care,
There’s a proclamation insued out,
“You don’t lodge here!”
CHORUS.
They ran away without delay,
To the Queen to banish fear,
But she said,--my chaps, its very fine,
But you don’t lodge here.
There was an Orange merchant.
As you shall understand,
So she started him to Hannover,
To cumber up the land.
The next it was a soldier,
And he wore scarlet clothes,
So the queen took up the poker,
And hit him on the nose.
The next was Bobby Orange Peel,
She thought he was a flat,
In his right hand was a truncheon,
And in his left a trap.
The next was Frank from Wiltshire,
She put him to the rout,
She wopp’d him all round Windsor park,
And cured him of the gout.
The next it was a leg of Lamb,
He thought to make things right,
Says the Queen, my lord, it’s very fine,
But you don’t lodge here to-night.
The next man was from Bedford,
A little chap that’s never still,
You don’t lodge here to-night says she,
’Till you have burnt the Poor Law Bill.
There Springed a little man from Cambridge,
Rice was his name you know,
So she made him dance and reel about,
And jump Jim Crow.
The next was Mr. Broomstick,
With him she play’d a rig,
She wopped him with the Poor Law Bill,
And choked him with his wig.
Then up came Dan O’Connel,
Saying I’ll befriend the people,
With a great Shillalah in his hand,
As big as Salsbury steeple.
Old women three hundred and ninety five,
To petition her did begin,
Crying,--Please your gracious Majesty,
Take the duty off the gin.
Says the Queen to do old women good,
I’ll strive with great delight,
Its all right Mrs Ferguson,
But, you don’t lodge here to-night.
Then toddled up old Joey Hume,
Saying sufferings I have had many,
The villains knock’d me all the way,
From Brentford to Kilkenny.
Says the Queen, I am going to Brighton,
So quiet let me be,
For if you come to trouble me,
I’ll drown you in the sea.
And when I open Parliament,
Then you’ll find I’ll do enough,
I’ll take the duty off the tea,
Tobacco, gin, and snuff.
I will make some alterations,
I’ll gain the people’s right,
I will have a radical parliament,
Or, they don’t lodge here to-night.
I must tell both wigs and tories,
Their tricks I do not fear,
Their sayings all are very fine,
But they don’t lodge here.
About the wigs and tories,
There has been a pretty bother,
I think I’ll give the devil one,
To run away with the other
Birt, Printer, 39, Great St. Anderw Street, Seven Dials. Printing of
every description done cheap.
ACCOUCHEMENT OF HER MAJESTY.
Birth of a Prince of Wales.
[Illustration]
THE ROYAL BIRTH.
“The Queen was safely delivered of a Prince this morning at 48
minutes past 10 o’clock.
“Her Majesty and the Infant Prince are perfectly well.
“JAMES CLARK, M.D.,
“CHARLES LOCOCK, M.D.,
“ROBERT FERGUSON, M.D.,
“RICHARD BLAGDEN.
“Buckingham Palace, Tuesday, November 9, 1841,
“Half-past 11 o’clock, a.m.”
Dr. Locock and Prince Albert, with the nurse, were the only persons in
the Queen’s chamber, situated in the north-west angle of the palace.
The Duchess of Kent and the Lady in Waiting were in an apartment
immediately adjoining, and close to where Sir James Clark and his
medical colleagues were assembled. The Ministers, Privy Councillors,
and Great Officers of State occupied one of the state rooms. It has
been stated that these all wore the Windsor uniform; such is not the
fact; not one of them did so. The Duke of Wellington wore the dress of
Constable of the Tower, Earl Jersey the official dress of Master of the
Horse, the Earl of Liverpool, Earl Delawarr, and the Marquis of Exeter
wore their household uniforms, and the Ministers their official dresses.
The birth took place at 12 minutes to 11 o’clock, and was duly
announced to the great functionaries of the kingdom assembled by Sir
James Clark, and they were soon afterwards gratified with a sight of
the royal infant.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Wharncliffe, Lord President of the
Council, and Lord Stanley, Secretary of State for the Colonies, were
too late, arriving at the palace a few minutes after the birth had
taken place. It is an error in some of the accounts which have been
published which stated that the Archbishop of Canterbury was present at
the birth. The Bishop of London was the only prelate present.
GAZETTE EXTRAORDINARY
The following is the official announcement from the _London Gazette
Extraordinary_, published early in the afternoon:--
“Buckingham Palace, Nov. 9, 1841.
“This morning, at twelve minutes before eleven, the Queen
was happily delivered of a Prince, his Royal Highness Prince
Albert, her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, several Lords
of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, and the Ladies
of Her Majesty’s Bed-chamber, being present.
“The great and important news was immediately made known to
the town by the firing of the Park and Tower guns; and the
Privy Council being assembled as soon as possible thereupon,
at the Council Chamber, Whitehall, it was ordered that a Form
of Thanksgiving for the Queen’s safe delivery of a Prince be
prepared by his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, to be used
in all churches and chapels throughout England, Wales, and the
town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, on Sunday, the 14th of November,
or the Sunday after the respective ministers shall receive the
same.
“Her Majesty and the Infant Prince are, God be praised, both
doing well.”
The auspicious event, although daily anticipated for the last
fortnight, has come upon the country with a pleasurable sudden
surprise.
Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent remained with the Queen
throughout the day until six o’clock in the afternoon, when Her Royal
Highness returned to Clarence House.
The nobility and gentry thronged during the afternoon to Buckingham
Palace.
[Illustration]
THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES.
Tune--King and the Countryman.
You’ve heard of Sailor Jack, no doubt,
Who found our Queen Victoria out,
Who ev’ry time ashore he went,
On visiting the Queen was bent.
Ri tooral, &c.
Now Jack, who’d travell’d far away,
Returned to port the other day--
He left his messmates all behind,
For he heard the Queen had been confin’d.
Ri tooral, &c.
‘Shiver my timbers! here’s a breeze
She’s got a young ’un now to please--
So straight to London I must go,
To see who’s got the craft in tow.’
Ri tooral, &c.
Now Jack he to the Palace came--
He’d got no card, so he sent his name.
‘Go back!’ says they, ‘she wont see you!’
Says Jack--‘No, damme, if I do!’
Ri tooral, &c.
‘Stand back, you lubbers! Not see me,
The old friend of Her Majesty?’
He floored them all--’mid shout and din--
And got where the Queen _was lying in_.
Ri tooral, &c.
Each in amazement viewed the scene--
Says he ‘I’m comed to see the Queen!’
The Queen she threw the curtains back--
Says she--‘What’s that my old friend Jack?’
Ri tooral, &c.
Jack turned his quid, and scratched his tail,
When he saw the Queen looked rather pale--
Says she, ‘Jack, don’t you be dejected--
They say I’m as well as can be expected!’
Ri tooral, &c.
Says Jack, when he beheld the boy,
‘Your Majesty, I wish you joy!
Some day he’ll rule us in your stead,
For damme, I likes his figure head!’
Ri tooral, &c.
The folks at Court enjoyed the scene,
To see the sailor with the Queen,
For he took the Prince upon his lap,
And gave him lots of royal pap.
Ri tooral, &c.
Says Jack, ‘So long I’ve been to sea,
That ev’ry fish is known to me--
I’ve seen their heads, I’ve seen their tails,
And now I’ve seen a Prince of _Wales_.’
Ri tooral, &c.
It was really quite a treat to see
Jack dance the Prince upon his knee--
But, finding what he was about,
He _held his Royal Highness out_!
Ri tooral, &c.
The nurse his Royal Highness took,
And gave to Jack a knowing look--
And with the rest, to crown the scene,
Jack took his caudle with the Queen!
Ri tooral, &c.
Then Jack he to his shipmates went,
On fun and frolic still intent--
Our standing toast shall be, he cries,
‘God bless his little Royal eyes!’
Ri tooral, &c.
John Marks, Printer, 206, Brick Lane, Whitechapel.--Country Dealers and
the Trade supplied.
[Illustration]
A NEW SONG ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES
Who was born on Tuesday, November 9th, 1841.
John Harkness, Printer, Church Street, Preston.
There’s a pretty fuss and bother both in country and town,
Since we have got a present and an heir unto the crown,
A little Prince of Wales so charming and so sly,
And the ladies shout with wonder, what a pretty little boy.
CHORUS.
So let us be contented and sing with mirth and joy,
Some things must be got ready for the pretty little boy.
He must have a little musket, a trumpet, and a kite,
A little penny rattle and silver sword so bright,
A little cap and feather with scarlet coat so smart,
And a pretty little hobby horse to ride about the park.
Prince Albert he will often take the young Prince on his lap,
And fondle him so loving while he stirs about the pap,
He will pin on his flannel before he takes his nap,
Then dress him out so stylish with his little clouts and cap.
He must have a dandy suit to strut about the town.
John Bull must rake together six or seven thousand pound,
You’d laugh to see his daddy, at night he homeward runs,
With some peppermint or lollipops, sweet cakes and sugar plums.
He will want a little fiddle, and a little German flute,
A little pair of stockings and a pretty pair of boots,
With a handsome pair of spurs and a golden headed cane,
And a stick of barley-sugar as long as Drury Lane.
An old maid ran through the palace, which did the nobs surprise,
Bawling out he’s got his daddy’s mouth his mammy’s nose and eyes
He will be as like his daddy as a frigate’s like a ship,
If he had got mustachoes on his upper lip.
Now to get these little nicities the taxes must be rose,
For the little Prince of Wales wants so many suits of clothes,
So they must tax the frying pan, the windows and the doors,
The bedsteads and the tables, kitchen-pokers and the floors.
Now all you pretty maidens, mind what the story says,
And try to get a son in nine months and eleven days,
That’s what folks call industry, so damsels young and fair,
Be quickly rolling on the straw with a pretty little dear.
A NEW SONG ON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES
J. Harkness, Printer, 121 and 122 Church Street Office, North Road,
Preston.
Come all you bold Britons, and list for awhile,
And I will sing you a song that will make you to smile,
A young Prince of Wales is come to town,
The pride of all the nation, and heir to the crown,
On the ninth of November, ’tis true ’pon my life,
All Buckingham Palace was bustle and strife,
The nurses stared at each other with joy,
Bawling, our queen she has got a most beautiful boy.
CHORUS.
The bells they shall ring, and the music shall play,
The ninth of November, remember the day.
Through England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales,
Shout long life to the Queen and the young Prince of Wales.
It was on the ninth, about eleven in the morn,
When the young Prince of Wales in the palace was born,
Little Vic. she was there, as you all may be sure,
Besides doctors, nurses, and gossips--a score,
Says Vic. I declare he is the image of me,
And there’s my dear Albert’s nose to a tee,
One and all declared, when he grew up a man,
He would drub all the foes that infested the land.
Then Albert he stepped in with a face full of glee,
And danced and he dandled his son on his knee,
When all in an instant his countenance fell,
And he cried “don’t I see a most terrible smell!”
“Mine Cot,” says Al., “oh Lord what a mess!
He has completely spoilt my new morning dress,
Be quick go fetch me some napkins or towels,
For my son, the young Prince, is relaxed in his bowels.”
Of friends and relations there came such a crew,
Of Lords, Dukes, and Ladies, and Germans a few,
Each one bringing presents, the young Prince to please,
They all were as brisk as a cart load of fleas;
Lady Melbourn she brought him a neat little lamb,
With lollipops he was by Miss Russel cramm’d,
There were cradles and pap, boots, and rattles complete,
And lots of small chairs with large holes in the seat.
The head nurse Miss Peel, declared with much joy,
She never saw such a sweet little boy.
She’d clap him she said at the head of the police,
That is if his mamma would give him that leave,
Says old Waterloo Nell, it shall be no such thing,
For the Prince he was born to become a great king;
When the child to decide the question let fly,
With a basin of pap knock’d out Betty Peel’s eye.
The young Prince was set at the end of the room,
And instead of a sceptre he shouldered a broom,
His great uncle Ernest swore he could whack,
And he gave him in earnest a most devilish crack,
They all were as merry as grigs I declare,
Each one seem’d determin’d to drive away care,
One and all took a glass and drank with much joy,
Long life to the Prince, he’s a fine little boy.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE OWDHAM CHAP’S VISIT TO TH’ QUEEN.
It happen’d t’other Monday morn, while seated at my loom, sirs,
Pickin’ th’ ends fro, eaut o’th yorn, caur Nan pop’d into th’ room sirs,
Hoo shouted eaut, aw tell thee, Dick, aw think thour’t actin shabby,
So off to Lunnon cut thy stick, and look at th’ royal babby.
Every thing wur fun an’ glee, they laugh’d at o aw tow’d em,
An’ ax’d if th’ folk wur o like me, ut happen’d t’ come fro’ Owdham.
Then off aw goes an’ never stops, till into th’ palace handy,
Th’ child wur sucking lollypops, plums, and sugarcandy;
An’ little Vic i’th nook aw spied, a monkey on her lap, mon,
An’ Albert sittin’ by her side, a mixin’ gin an’ pap mon.
Everything wur, &c.
When Albert seed me, up he jumps, an’ reet to me did waddle;
An’ little Vicky sprung her pumps wi’ shakin’ o’ mydaddle;
They ax’d to have a glass o’ wine, for pleasure up it waxes;
O yes, says aw, six eight or nine, it o’ comes eaut o’th taxes.
Everything wur, &c.
They took the Prince of Wales up soon, an’ gan it me to daudle;
Then Albert fotch’d a silver spoon, an’ ax’d me to taste at t’ caudle,
Ecod, says aw, that’s good awd buck, it’s taste aws ne’er forget mon,
An’ if my owd mother’d gan sich suck, ’cod aw’d been suckin yet mon.
Everything wur, &c.
They ax’d me heau aw liked their son, an’ prais’d both th’ nose an eyes
on’t,
Aw towd ’em though’t were only fun, ’t wur big enough for th’ size on’t,
Says aw your Queenship makes a stir (hoo shapes none like a dunce mon
But if eaur Nan lived as well as her hoo’d breed ’em two at wonce mon,)
Everything wur, &c.
They said they’d send their son to school as soon as he could walk mon,
And then for fear he’d be a foo, they’d larn him th’ Owdham talk mon,
Says aw there’s summut else as well, there’s nout loik drainin th’ whole
pit,
For fear he’ll ha’ for t’ keep hissell, aw’d larn him work i’th coal pit.
Everything wur, &c.
Then up o’th slopes we hod a walk’ to give our joints relief sirs,
And then we sat us deun to talk, ’beaut politics and beef sirs,
Aw towd ’em th’ corn laws wur but froth, an’ th’ taxes must o drop mon,
That when eaur Nan wur makin broath, some fat might get to th’ top mon,
Everything wur, &c.
So neau my tale is at an end but nowt but truth aw tells sirs,
If ever we want the times to mend we’ll ha’ for t’ do ’t eaur sells sirs,
So neau yo seen aw’ve towd my sprees, and sure as aw am wick mon,
If my owd wife and Albert dees aw’ll try for’t wed wi Vic mon.
Everything wur, &c.
J. HARKNESS, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.
[Illustration]
THE OPENING OF THE ROYAL EXCHANGE.
TUNE.--“_Great Meat Pie._”
On Monday, October twenty-eight,
The Queen, you’re all aware,
Open’d the Royal Exchange in state,
And lunch’d with the great Lord Mayor;
A holiday all London made,
At least there were many that stole one,
While _half_ a sovereign was gladly paid,
To get a sight of a _whole_ one!
Ri fol, &c.
Shop fronts of articles were bared,
To make way for those who’d chink,
While a label over their heads declar’d
Them ‘warranted not to shrink.’
At a furrier’s shop close by, a sight
Of human mugs did grin, sirs,
With a bill above, in black and white,
“A stock of _muffs_ within, sirs!”
Ri fol, &c.
The state procession pass’d by quick,
A very spicy state in,
There were Lords of the Gold and Silver Stick,
And other _sticks_ in waiting.
The Master of the Hounds, of course,
(A regular _buck_) was there,
And the noble Master of the Horse,
Who went to see the _mayor_!
Ri fol, &c.
At Temple Bar, Lord Magnus Mayor,
Perform’d King Dick that day,
And offer’d Vic. his sword so bare,
In a werry _cutting_ way,
“Of such fine looking blades,” cries Vic.,
“In the City there but few are,
So take it back again, old flick,
I’m not so sordid (_sworded_) as you are.”
Ri fol, &c.
The aldermen made quite a fix,
Their nags so frisk’d and play’d did,
Ducrow could never do such tricks
On horsehack such as they did.
They reach’d the ’Change, quite pleas’d, no doubt,
When the trumpeter, clever elf!
Gave his trumpet a good _blow out_,
Though he didn’t get one _himself_.
Ri fol, &c.
The Address was read to her apace,
Though they minded all their stops,
They thank’d her for coming to _open_ the place,
Though she _shut_ up all their shops.
When Mr. Tite was introduc’d,
Says the Queen, with much affection,
“Well, Mr. Tite, with much delight,
I admire the fine erection.”
Ri fol, &c.
When Lambert Jones kiss’d hands, so coy,
Says Vic., but not with malice,
“I wonder, Al., if that’s the _boy_
That got inside my palace?”
Just then the bells began to ring,
And the band began to play,
While Magnay whistled, for he couldn’t sing,
“It is our op’ning day.”
Ri fol, &c.
To luncheon now they went full tear,
For splendour naught could beat it,
And as it was a _game_ affair,
They were game enough to eat it.
The wine and toasts went round, so Vic.
Gave, “Here, success to trade is,”
Says Albert, “Well, I’ll be a brick,
I’ll give ‘The charming ladies.’”
Ri fol, &c.
For Alderman Gibbs no small amount
Of enquiries folks were making,
’Twas thought he had gone to his long account,
The reckoning day mistaking.
But Michael went another way
To the banquet so inducing,
For though he expected duck that day,
He didn’t want a _gaosing_.
Ri fol, &c.
The royal pile they now walk’d round,
When they reach’d the merchants’ space,
At the brazen trumpet’s martial sound,
Her Majesty open’d the place.
Thus clos’d the door with great eclat,
(As a few remark’d, so witty,)
“Sho help ma _cot_, I never _shaw_
_Chit_ a sphlendid _chite_ in the _chitty_.”
Ri fol, &c.
LONDON.--Published by J. FAIRBURN, Commercial Place, City Road.
PRINCE OF WALES’ MARRIAGE.
[Illustration]
Everybody stop and listen to my ditty,
And let the news spread from town to city,
The Prince of Wales has long enough tarried,
And now we know he has got married.
For he went to sleep all night
And part of the next day,
The Prince of Wales must tell some tales,
With his doo dah, doo dah, day.
His pastime for a week there’s no disputing,
For the first three days he went out shooting,
He’s like his father I don’t deceive her,
And she like Vick is a good feeder.
The next two days, so it is said, sir,
He began to dig out the parsley bed, sir,
Like his dad he does understand,
And knows how to cultivate a bit.
The first day over he laid in clover,
And just alike he felt all over;
At fox-hunting he’s clever and all races,
Yet she might throw him out of the traces.
He must not go larking along with the gals,
Keep out of the Haymarket and Pall Mall;
And to no married woman must he speak,
She’ll stand no nonsense or half-crowns a-week.
In November next she must not fail
But have a little Prince of Wales,
Young Albert he must not be beat,
But contrive to make both ends meet.
When his wife is in a funny way,
Then he must not go astray;
Of all those things he must take warning,
Nor go out with the girls and stop till morning.
The last Prince of Wales was a good’un to go,
He would ride with the girls in Rotten Row,
He use to flare-up, he was no joker,
He was as fat as a Yarmouth bloater.
He must look to his stock and cultivation,
He must be a father to the nation;
He must begin to reap and sow,
Be a rum’un to look at, but a good’un to go.
He wants six maids as light as fairies,
To milk the cows and look to the dairy,
To his wife the household affairs confiding,
While the Prince of Wales goes out riding.
Long life to the Prince and his fair lady,
May she have health and bouncing babies,
May the Prince be King, we want no other,
And take the steps of his father and mother.
H. DISLEY, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London, W.C.
A SCENE IN THE ELECTION.
A NEW FARCE.
Performed in various parts of the United Kingdom by His Majesty’s
Servants.
SCENE.--_A Cobbler’s Stall._ CRISPIN _at work hammering a sole_.
[Illustration]
_Crispin._ By the lord of the manor, thou art a tough piece, and not
much unlike the hide of my wife Bridget; for though I should beat her
hide with all my might and main, I cannot shape the vixen to my fancy:
Oh, you hard soles (_hammering_) are the most useless of all others,
except to the wearer. If I was a leading man in the state, I should
move for a law to be enacted, that good _leather_ and good _hemp_
should only be employed for smuggling courtiers, purse-proud citizens,
and for parliament-men--if such a law should pass, it would be a rare
thing for trade in general.
Enter PANDER and SIR BILBERRY DIBBLE.
_Pand._ Here’s a psalm-singing cobbler, Sir Bilberry; he has a vote for
the borough, as good as the best; do not let us pass honest Crispin.
_Sir B._ By the essence of lillies, thou’rt right, Pander; the scum of
mobility, as well as the scum of gentry, at this time, must be attended
to; ’tis a sacrifice that’s due to necessity. Therefore, may I never
more breathe the mellifluous air of Montpellier, if I do not descend
to request his suffrage; the controverted occasion carries a pardon
for the humiliating and filthy condescension.--Master Shoe-maker, your
most devoted humble servant (_bowing_), I am, sweet sir, yours to the
ground. (_still bowing._)
_Cris._ Master Shoe-maker! do you mean to mock me?--No, no, I am no
shoe-maker, but like some of your very fine gentlemen at the head of
affairs--a poor cobbler at best.
_Sir B._ This fellow, Pander, has been commended by some blockhead,
like himself for his insufferable bluntness, or he would never presume
to be so shocking to the feelings of delicacy.
_Pan._ Bear with him, Sir Bilberry; this is a time when men will say
whatever comes uppermost, paying no more respect to delicacy than
Æsops’s cock to his diamond. If you would succeed, Sir Bilberry, you
must descend to be perfectly reconciled to their oddities.
_Sir B._ I will be reconciled. Well, honest cobbler.--Do you love money?
_Cris._ Yes; but I love honesty better--
_Sir B._ Honestly said. If you do me a favor, you shall have as much
honesty as you please, and money into the bargain.
_Cris._ Who are you, and may it please you?
_Sir B._ I am Sir Bilberry Dibble, knight and baronet, of Dibble Hall,
in this county; come to offer myself for your most ancient borough of
Steady-town; should I be so happy as to obtain the ultimate zenith of
my wish, you, Mr. Cobbler, shall soon find an alteration in the price
of good ale; bread shall be but half the rate it stands at now; and
above all, your trade shall flourish and your taxes fall; so that the
cobbler as well as the prince shall have a glorious opportunity of
saddling his spit with a fat sirloin; your right of common shall soon
be restored, and without excise, or the doctor’s tithe; pigs, poultry,
and plum puddings, shall crown your cupboards all the year. Now give me
your vote, friend Crispin, and as you puff your fragrant essence from
your stall in merry glee, you heel the shoe, and bless the hour you
gave your vote for Dibble.
_Cris._ Oh, you fine powdered gentlemen are something like my codling
tree last spring.
_Sir B._ How’s that, cobbler?
_Cris._ It then dealt a wonderful show of blossom, so much that I
concluded a rare autumn; but, alas! I was mistaken; I had not so much
as a crump. So ’tis with you who are candidates for boroughs, you
promise very fair in the spring of your canvass, but in autumn of
election, when we should expect the fruit of good works of you, we too
often find you worthless, base, and barren.
_Sir B._ Nay, Mr. Cobbler, you are too severe in the conclusions; a man
of my honour can never deceive you;--Can I, Pander?
_Pand._ No, Sir Bilberry. I have known Sir Bilberry from a child, and
never knew a dishonest thing of him, upon my honour, friend Crispin.
_Cris._ That’s the last lie you told, Friend Pander. Well, Sir Bilberry
Dibble, knight and baronet of Dibble-hall, in this county, you are come
to ask a vote of a poor cobbler.
_Sir B._ I am, friend Crispin, and you may assure yourself that there
is not a man in the whole borough I respect so much as yourself, though
but a poor cobbler.
_Cris._ Indeed!--that’s strange--why you never saw me before.
_Sir B._ Oh, that don’t signify! I tell you, friend Crispin, I respect
you equal to the mayor himself.
_Cris._ That’s kind. Come into my stall and sit down, and let’s have a
little chat together; there, that’s hearty; give us your fist. (_Here
Dibble takes up his clothes, gets into the cobbler’s stall, and sits
down._)
_Sir B._ Pshaw! how he stinks. (_aside._)
_Cris._ So you love me as well as the lord of the manor
himself?--that’s kind, and so we’ll have a glass of gin together.
_Sir B._ Oh, no! ’pon honour.
_Cris._ Oh, yes; when this is gone, there’s enough at the Three Norfolk
Dumplins and Horse Shoe over the way! Come, here’s the North-country
cobbler’s health, who refused to mend the shoe of the man that was
inimical to his country’s interest. (_drinks._) A glass of as good
maximus as e’er tip’t over an exciseman’s tongue. Here, take hold.
(_presents it to Dibble._)
_Sir B._ Dear, Mr. Cobbler, you must pardon me.
_Cris._ No, no; you, who love me as well as the lord of the manor
himself, must drink with me, or I shall take it unkind, and perhaps
give my vote where I think I am more respected.
_Sir B._ Resistance is in vain--to get his vote I must submit and take
the poison. (_aside._) Well, friend Crispin, to show that I respect
you, here’s yours and the King’s good health. (_drinks._) Pshaw, pshaw,
it’s a nauseous draught, (_aside._)
_Cris._ That’s well (_throws his arms round Dibble’s neck._) My dear
friend, that loves me as well as the mayor himself, kiss my cheek, and
then I will believe you are sincere in your friendship.
_Sir B._ There, Crispin. Pshaw, how he stinks of those vile spirits and
tobacco. (_aside._)
_Cris._ Give us your fist again (_holding him by the hand_), my dear
friend, Sir Bilberry, who loves me as well as the mayor himself, who
can descend to drink gin with, and kiss a poor cobbler in his stall. I
heartily thank you, and now I’ll finish my shoe.
_Sir B._ Well, honest Crispin! you promised to vote for me?
_Cris._ Who told you so?
_Sir B._ Oh! my dear, I understand you (_taking out his purse_) here
are corianders that will purchase hides enough to heel-piece the whole
borough--here Crispin.
_Cris._ What! a bribe;----out of my stall, or by Jingo I’ll stick my
awl to the head in your----
_Dibble leaves the stall, Crispin follows._
_Sir B._ Here’s a transition, Pander.
_Cris._ What! shall Crispin Heel-tap, the cobbler of Steady-town,
give his vote to such a thing as you? A mean-spirited rascal who can
stoop to drink gin in a stall, and to kiss the sweaty cheek of a poor
cobbler? No, no; to serve your purpose you would not mind stooping to
kiss my----, make off while you’re safe. I’ll vote for none of your
Jack-a-Dandy’s, but for my faithful master, Sir Thomas Trueman--so
away, Sir Fop, you have your answer.
_Exeunt Dibble and Pander._
RYLE & CO., Printers, 2 and 3, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials, London.
_A New Edition of the Universal_ SPELLING BOOK, OR A Lesson for the
Unions.
TUTOR. Now my Scholars, all of you that renounce the Whigs and all
their works, stand up, and I will hear you say your lessons.--Know my
children, that those who we hailed as friends a short time back, were
but wolves in lamb’s clothing, and are now about to attack you, the
children of the Unions and members of the flock of the good Shepherd
of Birmingham; but my good children, be firm, and you will yet escape
their devouring jaws. Know you, my children, that ferocious wolf of
Winchelsea is about to disunite you?
PUPIL. (_Laughing._) Ah! ah! ah!
T. What are you laughing at, you young dog?
P. Why, sir, I really thought you was joking, when you said ferocious
wolf, for I think he is more like a skulking Fox.
T. Aye! you young dog, do you mean to call the big and noble animal of
Winchelsea, a skulking Fox?--Did he not bravely challenge the Tiger of
Waterloo at Battersea?
P. That he did, sir, and bravely skulked away.
T. What sir! did he not nobly fight, and return the fire?
P. That he did, sir, in the air.
T. But do you mean to say that he flew from the shot?
P. Oh no, sir, for he received a mortal wound in the tail.
T. Well, come come, I find you are a good lad, and learn your
lesson.--But I was about to say that this big Battersea Hermit said
a short time back that your Unions must be suppressed, for that,
while you are united, the Wolves of St. Stephens cannot easily prey
upon you.--But, my good children, you that are of the flock of the
Unions, be firm, and Attwood your Shepherd, will defend you from their
avaricious jaws. Now, you sit down, while I hear little Radical his
lesson.--Now Radical----
P. Here, sir.
T. Let me hear you say the lesson I set you--now, go on.
P.
A--was an Addled-egg, of a pension most rare,
B--was one B....y, that call’d her his dear.
T. That’s right, my boy.
P.
C--was a Chapel. St. Stephens by name,
D--was the Dukes who sit there in shame.
E--was an Eldon, who’d put down penny papers,
F--was one Franky, who now can cut capers.
G--was the Gammon for the people invented,
H--was one Hobby with cabbage stumps pelted.
T. Very good, my lad.
P.
J--was a Jury, whose verdict was right.
K--it was Knowledge, that’s power and might.
L--it was Loyalty, that once reigned in each breast,
M--was the Millions that now are oppress’d.
T. Very true, my boy.
P.
N--was a Noble, a mad Scottish fool,
O--was O’Connell, of the Patriot’s school.
P--was the Peelers, whose glory is past,
Q--was a Question--how long will they last?
R--was Reform, that was spoilt in the nursing,
S--it was S----y, that old Ireland’s cursing.
T--was the Times of Old England’s distress.
U--is the Unions Placemen wish to suppress.
V--is the Verdict of a few honest men,
W--is the Whigs, who’d that verdict suspend,
X--is the cross with which it will end.
I can’t say any more, sir.
T. There’s a good boy, now get your spelling book, and I will hear you
read the Fable of the Ministers in Danger.
P. (_Reading._) There was a Ministry in Danger of a Turn-out, and many
were their opinions concerning the best plan to be adopted to secure
their seats, when a noble Hermit said there was nothing so good as a
Coercion Bill; an Ex-Chancellor (called Bags) said a Coercion Bill
might do very well, but there was nothing so good nor so essential as
the Suppression of the Penny Press; but their Wise and Grey old Leader
being present said, gentlemen, you can do as you please, but take my
word there is nothing like the Destruction of the Unions.
T. There’s a good child--now you sit down, and I’ll hear young Anti his
spelling and meanings. Now Anti.
P. Here, sir.
T. Spell me Attwood. (The boy here spells the words, and gives
the meanings as follows.) A tough wood of a good grain, grows in
Birmingham, and is used as the principal material in building up the
Unions.
Brougham. A broom worn to a stump, formerly the Queen’s own, but now
owned by none.
Callthorpe. A word despised by the Whigs, but will ever live in the
hearts of the People.
Dan. A Patriot of the land of Coercion, where St. Patrick banished the
toads, and Stanley the freedom.
Eldon. Old Bags, one that shed an abundance of crocodile tears without
one drop of pity.
Frank. A pretended friend to the people, arrived at his second
childishness, and plays at Shuttlecock with the Electors of Westminster.
Grey. A dealer in humbugs: who behaved as a father to the people by
giving them that which they asked for--The Bill, the whole Bill, and
_Nothing but the Bill_!
Hobby. A Westminster Rat, who had so often received the favours of the
people that at last they had nothing to give but cabbage stumps, which
he received in showers at Covent Garden.
Justice. A balance between Might and Right, but always leaning to power
and riches.
King. A title of Monarchy, and Idol of an immense weight.
Loyalty. A word nearly threadbare in some countries.
Mouth. A part of the human body padlocked by law.
Peelers. A body of great Force. Brave and noble conquerors of an
un-armed and peaceable people.
Reform. A word that filled the mouths of thousands, but the stomachs of
few; a thing without benefits.
Truncheon. A knock-down argument of power, an instrument of the Whigs.
Union. A word despised by all Oppressors.
Verdict. A word lately known as a Terror to the Blues, but the Glory of
others.
T. There’s a good boy, now read me the Fable of the Mountain and the
Mouse.
P. (_Reading._) There was a Bill which made a great noise in a certain
country for many years, and they said it was in Labour, and the People
looked with hopes for a Production of great Benefits, and great was
their joy at the thoughts, when after many months pain and anxiety, it
produced a Mouse.
T. I hope my children, this will be a warning to you, never build your
hopes on the promises of those who are reaping the harvest of your
labour, for they will take away your Substance, and leave you the
Shadow to feed upon.
You trusted to Whigs, and the Tories turn’d out,
Now which of the two is the best there’s a doubt;
For the Tories and Whigs are all birds of a feather,
May the D----l come soon and take both together.
J. MORTON.
QUICK, Printer, 42, Bowling Green Lane, Clerkenwell, and at 8, Little
Paternoster Row, Spitalfields.
NEW DIALOGUE AND SONG ON THE TIMES.
_Bill._--Good morning, Jack, I’m glad to see you. What’s the meaning
of all these Spinners, Piecers, Weavers, Winders, Grinders, Strippers,
Carders, Doffers, Stretchers, Throstle Spinners, Bobbin Winders, Frame
Tenders, and all those folk that work in these places with big chimneys
at top of um’ walking about?
_Jack._--Why, if thou recollects, a few months back there wur great
talk about the Corn Laws going to come off, and all these big chaps in
the Parliament House, and all these Factory Lords of Lancashire, said
if the Corn Laws wur repealed that poor people would get plenty of
bread for little money, work would be plentiful, and wages would be a
great deal higher; but instead of that, bread’s dearer, wages is lower,
and factories are on short time.
_Bill._--Yes, Jack, I recollect hearing people talk about a lot of
chaps that wur going to bring such times as wur never seen before, they
said that Bobby Peel and Dicky Cobden, and a great many chaps was going
to give us cheap bread, and they said that we should have plenty of
work and get good wages for it, but I’ve only work’d ten weeks since
that corn bill as they call it past, and I got less wages for it too,
Jack.
_Jack._--These big cotton masters of Lancashire want to drop poor
people’s wages, so to accomplish it they’re only working four days
a week, so that when they start full time again, they can drop the
people’s wages.
_Bill._--Well, but Jack, don’t you know when the corn bill passed,
these Masters gave a great sum of money to rejoice and have grand
processions in honour of it passing.
_Jack._--Don’t you see, Bill, it is poor people that must pay for it
now, for they must work for less wages, or else for short time.
_Bill._--Yes, but Jack, there’s several factories that’s stopping for a
month or two, and some working none at all, and a great deal breaking
down; what’s the reason of that, eh Jack?
_Jack._--Why the reason of them stopping a month or two is, they want
to get rid of their old hands; so that when they start again they
can have all fresh hands, and reduce their wages. As for them that
are breaking down, it’s a scheme they’ve got, it’s these chaps that
rejoiced so much at the time the bill passed, and they are ashamed to
tell the people that they’ll have to work for less wages or short time,
so they are breaking down on purpose.
_Bill._--Well, I think you’re somewhere about right, Jack, for there is
a deal of factory hands that are walking about and has nothing to do,
so you’ve learnt me something, Jack.
_Jack._--I bought a new song about these Factory Masters and their
short time system, and if you’ll stop you shall hear it too.
You working men of England one moment now attend,
While I unfold the treatment of the poor upon this land,
For now-a-days the Factory Lords have brought the labour low,
And daily are contriving plans to prove our overthrow.
CHORUS.
So arouse you sons of Freedom the world seems upside down,
They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and town.
What a fuss there was in England, Ireland, and Scotland too,
On the passing of the Corn Bill and the good that it would do,
But since it’s past Meat got so high which makes poor people pine.
If it would do good it’s time it did for factories are on short time.
For when the bill was in the house they said it would do good,
To the working man it has not yet, I only wish it would,
For factories are on short time wherever you may go,
And the masters all are scheming plans to get our wages low.
There’s different parts in Ireland, it is true what I do state,
There’s hundreds that are starving, for they can’t get food to eat,
And if they go unto the rich to ask them for relief,
They bang their doors in their faces as if they were a thief.
Alas! how altered are the times, rich men despise the poor,
And pay them off quite scornful at their door,
And if a man is out of work his parish pay is small,
Enough to starve himself and wife, his children and all.
In former times when Christmas came we had a good big loaf,
Then beef and mutton plenty were, and we enjoyed them both,
But now a days such altered ways and different is the times,
If starving and ask relief you’re sent to a Whig bastile.
So to conclude and finish these few verses I have made,
I hope to see before it’s long men for their labour paid,
Then we’ll rejoice with heart and voice and banish all our woes,
But before we do old England must pay us what she owes.
JOHN HARKNESS, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.
THE OLD ENGLISH BULL JOHN _v._ THE POPE’S BULL OF ROME.
“My good Child as it is necessary at this very important crisis; when,
that good pious and very reasonable old gentleman Pope Pi-ass the
nineth has promised to favour us with his presence, and the pleasures
of Popery--and trampled on the rights and privilages which, we, as
Englishmen, and Protestants, have engaged for these last three hundred
years--Since Bluff, king Hal. began to take a dislike to the broad
brimmed hat of the venerable Cardinal Wolsey, and proclaimed himself
an heretic; It is necessary I say, for you, and all of you, to be
perfect in your Lessons so as you may be able to verbly chastize this
saucy prelate, his newly made Cardinal Foolishman, and the whole
host of Puseites and protect our beloved Queen, our Church, and our
Constitution.
“_Q._ Now my boy can you tell me what is your Name?
“_A._ B---- Protestant.
“_Q._ How came you by that name?
“_A._ At the time of Harry the stout, when Popery was in a galloping
consumption the people protested against the surpremacy and instalence
of the Pope; and his Colleges had struck deep at the hallow tree of
superstition I gained the name of Protestant, and proud am I, and ever
shall be to stick to it till the day of my death.
“_Let us say._
“From all Cardinals whether wise or foolish. Oh! Queen Spare us.
“_Spare us, Oh Queen._
“From the pleasure of the Rack, and the friendship of the kind hearted
officers of the Inquisition. Oh! Johnny hear us.
“_Oh! Russell hear us._
“From the comforts of being frisled like a devil’d kidney. Oh! Nosey
save us.
“_Hear us, Oh Arthur._
“From such saucy Prelates, as Pope Pi-ass. Oh! Cumming save us.
“_Save us good Cumming._”
“And let us have no more Burnings in smithfield, no more warm drinks in
the shape of boiled oil, or, molten lead, and send the whole host of
Pusyites along with the Pope, Cardinals to the top of mount Vesuvius,
there to dine off of hot lava, so that we may live in peace & shout
long live our Queen, and No Popery!”
“_The Lesson of the Day._”
“You seem an intelligent lad, so I think you are quite capable of
Reading with me the Lessons for this day’s service.
“Now the Lesson for the day is taken from all parts of the Book of
Martyr’s, beginning at just where you like.
“It was about the year 1835, that a certain renagade of the name of
Pussy--I beg his pardon, I mean Pusey, like a snake who stung his
master commenced crawling step by step, from the master; he was bound
to serve to worship a puppet, arrayed in a spangle and tinsel of a
romish showman.
“And the pestilance that he shed around spread rapidly through the
minds of many unworthy members of our established Church; even up to
the present year, 1850, inasmuch that St. Barnabus, of Pimlico, unable
to see the truth by the aid of his occulars, mounted four pounds of
long sixes in the mid-day, that he might see through the fog of his own
folly, by which he was surrounded.
“And Pope Pi-ass the nineth taking advantage of the hubub, did create
unto himself a Cardinal in the person of one Wiseman of Westminster.
“And Cardinal broadbrim claimed four counties in England as his dioces,
and his master the Pope claimed as many more as his sees, but the
people of England could not see that, so they declared aloud they would
see them blowed first.
“So when Jack Russell heard of his most impudent intentions, he sent
him a Letter saying it was the intention of the people of England
never again to submit to their infamous mumerys for the burnings in
Smithfield was still fresh in their memory.
“And behold great meetings were held in different parts of England
where the Pope was burnt in effigy, like unto a Yarmouth Bloater, as a
token of respect for him and his followers.
“And the citizens of London were stanch to a man, and assembled
together in the Guildhall of our mighty City and shouted with
stentarian lungs, long live the Queen and down with the Pope, the
sound of which might have been heard even unto the vatican of Rome.
“And when his holyness the Pope heard that his power was set at naught,
his nose became blue even as a bilberry with rage and declared Russell
and Cummings or any who joined in the No Popery cry, should ever name
the felisity of kissing his pious great toe.
“_Thus Endeth the Lesson._”
A POLITICAL CATECHISM FOR CHILDREN OF RIPER YEARS.
Question.--Now my child, what is your Name?
Answer.--Weathercock Johnny, alias Jack the Reformer, of the tribe of
Russellites.
Q.--Who gave you that Name?
A.--My Godfathers and Godmothers, the People of England, who are called
the great unwashed.
Q.--And what do the People of England want you to do?
A.--First, they want to amend my ways, which they say are in a most
shaky condition. Secondly, to take a few of Palmerston’s pills, which
they say will invigorate my Political system. And, Thirdly, to stick
up for the Rights of the People, and speak up according to my size, as
long as I remain in office.
Q.--And do you think that you are capable of holding firm by the reins,
and steer the good coach Constitution, in safety through the mud and
mire of these macadamized times, and not as you have done before,
getting your unlucky feet in a plug-hole.
A.--Yes, I do, so help my tater,
Try me, and I’ll prove a first-rater.
There’s a good lad! now stir your young self, and let your conduct be
a shade better than it has been, and you will earn our praise, and the
nation will reward your services with a putty medal.
So be it.
Now let us sing for the amusement of this respectable congregation, and
the benefit of own pockets, a few lines written to uncommon metre.
Now attend to good advice,--Little Johnny, O,
And I’ll tell you what is right,--Little Johnny, O,
Hold your head up like a man,
Keep the whip in your right hand,
And be honest, if you can,--Little Johnny, O.
Curtail the ladies crinoline,--Little Johnny, O,
And save us from broken shins,--Little Johnny, O,
And as Gladstone gave us cheap tea,
From heavy taxes set us free,
And crush monopoly,--Little Johnny, O.
Save us from starvation’s evil,--Little Johnny, O,
And from meat that’s got the measles,--Little Johnny, O,
Let the poor have wholesome food,
And a loaf that’s cheap and good,
Gain our praise I’m sure you would,--Little Johnny, O.
Now Johnny dear, be brave,--Little Johnny, O,
From the Fenians, pray us save,--Little Johnny, O,
If at bogey’s game they play,
They will better know some day,
It will end in the cabbage garden way,--Little Johnny, O.
In Yankee Land, I hear,--Little Johnny, O,
They talk big with privateers,--Little Johnny, O,
You had better send word out,
If they get Johnny Bull’s shirt out,
He will put them to the rout,--Little Johnny, O.
Then put your shoulder to the wheel,--Little Johnny, O,
Then it’s pressure you won’t feel,--Little Johnny, O,
Flare up and be a brick,
And none of your shuffling tricks,
Or you had better cut your stick,--Little Johnny, O.
Let us say,
And now Johnny, thou most excellent of all state coachmen, to thy
Fatherly care, we, an overtaxed, ill-paid, and half-starved people do
consign ourselves, trusting that you will take our lamentable condition
into thy kind consideration, and spare us from being poisoned with meat
that has had the measles, and from being cheated by a set of greedy
butchers; and save us from the Fenianites, we implore you; and grant
us most merciful Johnny, that at the forthcoming Christmas, every
mother’s son of us may be plentifully supplied with beef, pudding, and
stout, so that we may boldly shout, slap bang, here we are again, and
sing in thy praise now and for evermore. Amen.
Thus endeth the Lesson of the day.
HENRY DISLEY, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.
THE FAMINE FAST DAY.
_Sam_--Well Tum, how did tha get on oth’ Fast day.
_Tom_--Ta’ Fas day! bye gum awe think nowt oth’ fast day, for its a
fast day every day wi’ us.
_Sam_--Nay mon, not every day, awe shud think yo’ve summat to eat sum
time.
_Tom_--Aye, we have summat to eat, but it’s very lettle tha may depend
on’t, thick porrich un’ sour milk for brekfast, un’ potatos and suit,
un sum toime a red yarrin un brown bread for dinner, an we go to bed
awebewt supper, un if that’s feasting aw dunna know what you cawn
fasting.
_Sam_--Well but Tum, con yor tell me what this fast day wur kept for.
_Tom_--Aye by gum con aw, they sen it’s to drive famine away.
_Sam_--Famine, wot dost mean mon, why all this clemming eh England,
Ireland, an’ Scotland.
_Tom_--Aw con there be a famine ith’ land, un th’ warehouses an th’
tommy shops aw breaking down wi’ stuff.
_Sam_--Aw think eth’ Lords un Bishops, un Parsons an such like folks
had ony goodness in um, they’d gie poor folks a feast day, instead of a
fast day.
_Tom_--Now do you think that these Parsons and Bishops kept th’ fast
day.
_Sam_--Not they mon, they an fish, eggs, turtle soup, and such like,
but if th’ poor could live as they done, they might fast for one day.
_Tom_--I’ll tell thee how aw did, aw sent owr Nell th’ day afore to
borrow some brass, un hoo geet sixpence, an’ hoo went to Shade Hill,
un hoo bought a sheep’s pluck, but it had no heart toot, un hoo geet
a penoth o’th bacon, un hoo stew’d it aw together, un it wur rare un
good, aw dunna think th’ queen had such a dinner, it’s the best flesh
meat dinner I’ve had this six months.
_Sam_--Aw reckon yo stuff’d yore guts so full, you’d no more to eat
that day.
_Tom_--Why we wur hungry ageen next morning, un had to fall to our
thick porrich an’ sour milk, but if fasting will drive famine away,
I should like it to drive poverty away so that poor folk could geet
plenty of plum pudding and dumplins, an’ sich like, but stop, I’ve bowt
a song about it, un you shall hear it:--
Ye working men both far and near,
Unto my song pray lend an ear,
While I the wonders do declare,
About this famine fasting day,
The Bishop of London that godly saint,
Who preaches in the Parliament,
He said it was their full intent
For to have a fast day,
He told the Parliament he’d a call,
For to come and tell them all,
The Devil would fetch them great and small,
Unless they kept a fast day.
CHORUS.
Singing higlety pickelty fast who will,
I wish poor folk it’s had their fill,
Good beef and pudding the famine to kill,
Much better than a fast day.
Some of them laugh’d, some fell asleep,
And out of the house some did creep;
To please the Bishops and black sheep,
They did appoint a fast day,
The twenty-fourth of March it was the day
That some did fast and some did pray,
Some made a feast as I’ve heard say,
To drive this famine far away,
I sent our Nell as I’m a sinner,
To get some liver and bacon for dinner,
We fasted so long we are quite thinner,
We thought we’d have a feast day.
To walk about that day in the street,
Thousands of poor folk I did meet,
Because they had got nothing to eat,
And so they kept the fast day.
Some who had money spent it free,
While others had a jovial spree,
Some pawned off their smocks they say,
All for to get a dinner that day,
Some went to the alehouse it is true,
Got drunk and fought till all was blue;
On Saturday night thousands will rue
The general famine fast day.
The Bishops and the Parsons too,
They seldom fast I tell to you,
Their paunches they well stuff it’s true,
Yet preach about a fast day,
With fish and eggs, and Rhenish wine,
On turtle soup each day they dine,
Till their guts are poking out like swine,
As though it was their last day,
But if poor folks like them could live,
Or if good wages they did receive,
The storms of life they then could brave
Without this famine fast day.
So to conclude my fast day song,
Pray do not think I’ve kept you long,
But whether it be right or wrong
I’d rather have a feast day,
But if a fast would drive this famine away,
I’ve only got one thing to say,
I wish it would drive poverty
Into the middle of the sea,
The Parsons and Bishops are afraid,
Church and tithes cannot be paid,
And except they learn some other trade
They will have many a fast day.
John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.
NEW FORM OF PRAYER AND BELIEF.
To be said by all true Liberals, at all outdoor or indoor Meetings,
at all Committee Rooms, and in front of all Hustings on which the
Gladstonites and the Dizzeyites are to contend for the Managership at
the forthcoming Elections, and to see who is to gain the belt, and
rule the roast at St. Stephen’s. To be said without Barrel Organ or
Grindstone accompaniment.