“E'en mighty monarchs may at times unbend,
And sink the dull superior in the friend.
The jaded scholar his lov'd closet quits,
To chat with folks below, and save his wits:
Peeps at the world awhile, with curious look.
Then flies again with pleasure to his book.
The tradesman hastes away from Care's rude gripe,
To meet the neighbouring club and smoke his pipe.
All this is well, in decent bounds restrained,
No health is injured, and no mind is pain'd.
But constant travels in the paths of joy,
Yield no delights but what in time must cloy;
Though novelty spread all its charms to view,
And men with eagerness those charms pursue;
One truth is clear, that by too frequent use,
They early death or mis'ry may produce.”
~~371~~~ THE post of the following morning brought information for
Dashall and his friends, and no time was lost in breaking open the seals
of letters which excited the most pleasing anticipations. A dead
silence prevailed for a few minutes, when, rising almost simultaneously,
expressions of satisfaction and delight were interchanged at the
intelligence received.
Merry well's success had proved more than commensurate with his most
sanguine expectations. He had arrived at the residence of his dying
relative, just time enough to witness his departure from this sublunary
sphere, and hear him with his expiring breath say,--“All is thine;” and
a letter to each of his former friends announced the pleasure and
the happiness he should experience by an early visit to his estate,
declaring his determination to settle in the country, and no more become
a rambler in the labyrinths of London.
This was a moment of unexpected, though hoped for gratification. Sparkle
applauded the plan he intended to pursue.
Tallyho confessed himself tired of this world of wonders, and appeared
to be actuated by a similar feeling: he conceived he had seen enough of
the Life of a Rover, and seemed to sigh for his native plains again.
~~372~~~ Dashall's relish for novelty in London was almost subdued; and
after comparing notes together for a short time, it was mutually agreed
that they would dine quietly at home, and digest a plan for future
proceedings.
“Never,” said Tom, “did I feel so strong an inclination to forego
the fascinating charms of a London Life as at the present moment;
and whether I renounce it altogether or not, we will certainly pay a
congratulatory visit to Merry well.”
“Example,” said Sparkle, endeavouring to encourage the feeling with
which his friend's last sentiment was expressed, “is at all times better
than precept; and retirement to domestic felicity is preferable to
revelry in splendid scenes of dissipation, which generally leads to
premature dissolution.”
“Agreed,” said Tom; “and happy is the man who, like yourself, has more
than self to think for.--Blest with a lovely and amiable wife, and an
ample fortune, no man upon earth can have a better chance of gliding
down the stream of life, surrounded by all the enjoyments it can
afford--while I------”
“Oh, what a lost mutton am I!”
Sparkle could scarcely forbear laughing at his friend, though he was
unable to discover whether he was speaking seriously or ironically; he
therefore determined to rally him a little.
“How,” said he, “why you are growing serious and sentimental all at
once: what can be the cause of this change of opinion so suddenly?”
“My views of life,” replied Dashall, “have been sufficient to convince
me that a Like in London is the high road to Death. I have, however,
tried its vagaries in all companies, in all quarters; and, as the Song
says,
“Having sown my wild oats in my youthful days, I wish to live happily
now they are done.”
By this time Sparkle was convinced that Dashall was speaking the real
sentiments of his mind, and congratulated him upon them.
~~373~~~ Tallyho expressed himself highly delighted with the information
he had acquired during his stay in London, but could not help at the
same time acknowledging, that he had no wish to continue in the same
course much longer: it was therefore agreed, that on that day fortnight
they would leave the metropolis for the residence of Merrywell, and
trust the future guidance of their pursuits to chance.
“It would argue a want of loyalty,” said Tom, “if we did not witness the
royal departure for Scotland before we quit town; and as that is to take
place on Saturday next, we will attend the embarkation of his Majesty at
Greenwich, and then turn our thoughts towards a country life.”
Sparkle was evidently gratified by this determination, though he could
hardly persuade himself it was likely to be of long duration; and Bob
inwardly rejoiced at the expression of sentiments in exact accordance
with his own. At a moment when they were all absorbed in thoughts of
the future, they were suddenly drawn to the present by a man passing the
window, bawling aloud--“Buy a Prap--Buy a Prap.”
“What does the fellow mean?” interrupted Tallyho.
“Mean,” said Dashall, “nothing more than to sell his clothes props.”
“Props,” replied Bob, “but he cries praps; I suppose that is a new style
adopted in London.”
“Not at all,” continued Sparkle; “the alteration of sound only arises
from an habitual carelessness, with which many of what are termed the
London Cries are given; a sort of tone or jargon which is acquired by
continually calling the same thing--and in which you will find he is
not singular. The venders of milk, for instance, seldom call the article
they carry for sale, as it is generally sounded _mieu_, or _mieu below_,
though some have recently adopted the practice of crying _mieu above_.
The sort of sing-song style which the wandering vendera of different
goods get into as it were by nature, is frequently so unintelligible,
that even an old inhabitant of the town and its environs can scarcely
ascertain by the ear what is meant; and which I apprehend arises more
from the sameness of subject than from any premeditated intention of the
parties so calling. Other instances may be given:--the chimney-sweeper,
you will find, instead of ~~374~~~ bawling sweep, frequently contracts
it to we-ep or e-ep; the former not altogether incompatible with the
situation of the shivering little being who crawls along the streets
under a load of soot, to the great annoyance of the well dressed
passengers; however, it has the effect of warning them of his approach.
The dustman, above curtailment, as if he felt his superiority over the
flue-faker, lengthens his sound to dust-ho, or dust-wo; besides, he is
dignified by carrying a bell in one hand, by which he almost stuns
those around him, and appears determined to kick up a dust, if he can
do nothing else. The cries of muffins in the streets it is difficult
to understand, as they are in the habit of ringing a tinkling bell,
the sound of which can scarcely be heard, and calling mapping ho; and
I remember one man whom I have frequently followed, from whom I could
never make out more than happy happy happy now. There is a man who
frequently passes through the Strand, wheeling a barrow before him,
bawling as he moves along, in a deep and sonorous voice, smoaking hot,
piping hot, hot Chelsea Buns; and another, in the vicinity of Covent
Garden, who attracts considerable notice by the cry of--Come buy my live
shrimps and pierriwinkles--buy my wink, wink, wink; these, however, are
exceptions to those previously mentioned, as they have good voices,
and deliver themselves to some tune; but to the former may be added
the itinerant collector of old clothes, who continually annoys you
with--Clow; clow sale. The ingenious Ned Shuter, the most luxuriant
comedian of his time, frequently entertained his audience on his benefit
nights with admirable imitations of the Cries of London, in which he
introduced a remarkable little man who sold puffs, and who, from the
peculiar manner of his calling them, acquired the name of Golly Molly
Puff; by this singularity he became a noted character, and at almost
every period some such peculiar itinerant has become remarkable in the
streets of London. Some years back, a poor wretched being who dealt in
shreds and patches, used to walk about, inviting people by the following
lines--
“Linen, woollen, and leather,
Bring 'em out altogether.”
~~375~~~ Another, a sleek-headed whimsical old man, appeared, who was
commonly called the Wooden Poet, from his carrying wooden ware, which
was slung in a basket round his neck, and who chaunted a kind of song in
doggerel rhyme, somewhat similar to the following--
“Come, come, my worthy soul,
Will you buy a wooden bowl?
I am just come from the Borough,
Will you buy a pudding stirrer.
I hope I am not too soon,
For you to buy a wooden spoon.
I've come quick as I was able,
Thinking you might want a ladle,
And if I'm not too late,
Buy a trencher or wood plate.
Or if not it's no great matter,
So you take a wooden platter.
It may help us both to dinner,
If you'll buy a wooden skimmer.
Come, neighbours, don't be shy, for I deal just and fair,
Come, quickly come and buy, all sorts of wooden ware.”
“Very well, indeed, for a wooden poet,” exclaimed Bois; “he certainly
deserved custom at all events: his rivals, Walter Scott or Lord Byron,
would have turned such a poetical effusion to some account--it would
have been dramatized--Murray, Longman, &c. would have been all in a
bustle, puffing, blowing, and advertising. We should have had piracies,
Chancery injunctions, and the d------1 to pay; but alas! it makes all
the difference whether a poet is fashionable and popular or not.”{1}
1 Lord Byron, in his preface to a recent publication,
complains that among other black arts resorted to, for the
purpose of injuring his fair fame, he has been accused of
receiving considerable sums for writing poetical puffs for
Warren's blacking. We can safely acquit his Lordship of this
charge, as well as of plagiarism from the poems he alludes
to; but it has led to a curious rencontre between the
blacking-laureat, and his patron the vender of the shin-ing
jet; and after considerable black-guardism between the
parties, the matter is likely to become the subject of legal
discussion among the gentlemen of the black robe.
The poet, it appears, received half a crown for each
production, from the man of blacking, which the latter
considered not only a fair, but even liberal remuneration
for poetic talent; not overlook-ing, that while the
pecuniary reward would produce comfort, and add a polish to
personal appearance, the brilliance of the composition,
(both of poetry and blacking), would be fairly divided
between he authors of each; and that the fame of both would
be conjointly
handed down to posterity, and shine for ever in the temple
of fame.
Now it requires no uncommon sagacity to perceive, that but
for this unfortunate mistake of the public, the poet would
have remained satisfied, as far as pecuniary recompence
went, with the half-crown,--looking to futurity for that
more complete recompence, which poets ever consider far
beyond pudding or sensual gratification,--fame and
immortality; but, alas!
“From causes quite obscure and unforeseen, What great events
to man may sometimes spring.”
Finding from Lord B.'s own statement, that the public had
duly appreciated the merit of these compositions, and had
attached so high a value, as even to mistake them for his
Lordship's productions, our bard was naturally led into a
train of reasoning, and logical deductions, as to what
advantage had, and what ought to have resulted to himself,
according to this estimate, by public opinion.--Lord B. and
his great northern contemporary, it appeared, received
thousands from the public for their poems, while half-crowns
(not to be despised, during certain cravings, but soon
dissipated by that insatiable and unceasing tormentor, the
stomach,) was all the benefit likely to accrue in this world
to the original proprietor: in a happy moment, a happy
thought flitted athwart the poet's mind; and like the china
seller in the Arabian Nights, he found himself rolling in
ideal wealth; and spurning with disdain the blacking
merchant, the blacking, and the half-crowns, he resolved on
a project by which to realize his fondest wishes of wealth,
happiness, and independence.
The project was this: to collect together the fugitive
blacking sonnets, so as to form a volume, under the title of
Poems supposed to be written by Lord Byron, and offer the
copyright to Mr. Murray; and in case of his refusing a
liberal sum, (that is, some-thing approaching to what he
pays the Noble Bard per Vol.) to publish them on his (the
author's) own account, and depend on the public for that
support and encouragement which their favourable decision
had already rendered pretty certain.
Now then comes 'the rub;' the blacking vender, hearing of
our poet's intention, files a bill in Chancery, praying for
an injunction to restrain the publication, and claiming an
exclusive right in the literary property: the poet, in
replication, denies having assigned or transferred the
copyright, and thus issue is joined. His Lord-ship, with his
usual extreme caution, where important rights are involved,
wished to give the matter mature consideration, and said,
“he would take the papers home, to peruse more attentively.”
It will be recollected, that in the cause, respecting Lord
Byron's poem of Cain, his Lordship stated, that during the
vacation he had, by way of relaxation from business, perused
that work and Paradise Lost, in order to form a just
estimate of their comparative merits; and who knows but
during the present vacation, his Lordship may compare the
blacking sonnets with “Childe Harold,” “Fare Thee Well,”
&c.; and that on next seal day, the public may be benefited
by his opinion as to which is entitled to the claim of
superior excellence; and how far the public are justified in
attributing the former to the noble author of the latter.
~~377~~~ “Then,” continued Sparkle, “there was a rustic usually mounted
on a white hobby, with a basket on one arm, who used to invade the
northern purlieus of London, mumbling Holloway Cheesecakes, which from
his mode of utterance, sounded like 'Ho all my teeth ake.'”
“Ha! ha! ha!” vociferated Tallyho, unable to restrain his risibility.
“Numerous other instances might be adduced,” continued Sparkle: “among
many there was a noted Pigman, whose pigs were made of what is called
standing crust, three or four inches long, baked with currant sauce in
the belly, who used to cry, or rather sing,--
'A long tail'd pig, or a short tail'd pig,' &c.
There was another singular character, who used to be called Tiddy-doll,
a noted vender of gingerbread at Bartholomew, Southwark, and other
fairs; who to collect customers round his basket used to chaunt a song,
in which scarcely any thing was distinctly articulated but the cant
expression Tiddy-doll: he used to wear a high cocked hat and feather,
with broad scolloped gold lace on it; and last, though not least, was
Sir Jeffery Vunstan, of Garrat fame, who used to walk about the streets
in a blue coat with gold lace, his shirt bosom open, and without a hat,
accompanied by his daughter, Miss Nancy, crying ould wigs.”
“Old wigs,” reverberated Bob, “an extraordinary article of merchandize!”
“Not more extraordinary than true,” replied Dashall; “but come, I
suppose we shall all feel inclined to write a few lines to the country,
so let us make the best of our time.”
Upon this signal, each flew to the exercise of the quill, and indulged
his own vein of thought in writing to his friend; and the day closed
upon them without any further occurrence deserving of particular remark.