"Not I, madam," responded the Lilliputian lady, "I stops at the Robin Hood1 at merry Hoxton ; none but the lower orders stops at Mother Red-Cap's!' And the caravan moved on as fast as the wall-eyed, half-starved anatomy of a Rosinante could drag it. The rival tea-kettle poured out a part of its contents in the person of a long, lean man, with all his limbs rumbling; no way reduceable to compass, unless you doubled him up like a pocket-rule. His wardrobe was in a fluttering condition, and illustrative of Jew-frippery and Rag-Fair tawdry. His coat was a patchwork quilt, his waistcoat and pantaloons, the sign of the chequers, an escutcheon quartering all the colours of the rainbow. "In his hand A box he bore, wherein the pungent dust for the purpose of exciting an agreeable titillation in a very sharp nose, that blushed like a corn-poppy. "A glass of cold water, warm without sugar, Lady Teazle? or a strip of white satin and bitters, my Belvidera? A pint of half-andhalf in the pewter, my Calista? or a tumbler of cold without, Mrs. Longbow?" "D'ye think, Mr. Bigstick, I'm a rhinoscheros, a river-oss, or a crocodile? Order me a pot of hot coffee and buttered toast; and mind, Mr. Bigstick, let it be buttered on both sides." This dialogue was carried on between the long lean man and an invisible sharp-voiced personage in the tea-kettle. "Coffee and toast for the tea-kettle," shouted the waiter. 1 This old house, fronting the fields at Hoxton, was formerly a noted place of resort for the Finsbury archers. Sir William D'Avenant, in his "Long Vacation in London," says of the proctors and attorneys, "Each with solemn oath agree To meet in Fields of Finsburie; A stray Toxopholite may now and then be seen at the Robin Hood, stringing his bow, and dreaming of the merry days that are past. Underneath the ancient sign is the following inscription. "Ye archers bold, and yeomen good, Stop, and drink with Little John." 2 Thomas Dale, Drawer at the Crown Tavern at Aldgate, kept the Turk's Head Musick-Booth in Smithfield-Rounds, over-against the Greyhound Inn, during the time of Bartholomew Fair (Temp. W. 3rd.) where he exhibited, with other ludicrous antics, Scaramouch dances and drolls, "the Merry Cuckolds of Hogsden!' It is stated in the Henslowe papers, deposited in the archives of Dulwich College, that Ben Jonson killed Gabriel Spencer, a fellow actor, in a duel fought in Horton Fields. "How many?" demanded mine host. "Four. Lady Teaser, Belvideary, Miss Cannister, and Mrs. Longbow." "Mort de ma vie !" ejaculated the long lean man. "For one!In the incomparable Tumbletuzzy all these characters are combined. And, garçon, bring me a basin of tea and a-biscuit." The frugal refection was laid before the lean man. "Cat-lap base!" he muttered, swallowing the scalding hot bohea, that was strongly impregnated with Sir Hugh Middleton, and champing the dry hard biscuit. "Another round of toast for Lady Teaser!" "Buttered on both sides," growled the lean man, sarcastically; and he began to number with his long skinny fingers, as if counting the cost. Uncle Timothy was the last person in the world to flout a threadbare coat, because it is threadbare, or take a man for a sharper because he happens to be sharp-witted or sharp-set. Your full-fed fool, he thought, was quite as likely to have nefarious designs on his purse, as the hungry humorist who at once lets you into the secret of his starvation. If he be deserving as well as poor, it was gratifying to Uncle Tim that he had made honest poverty forget its privations for a season; and should he prove a shirking idler on the pavé, still he had not been taken in at any vast expense. Reflections like these had been some time passing in his mind—and he left the room. On his return, he found the lean man still counting with his fingers. Presently the waiter spread the table with a snow-white cloth; the clattering of knives and forks, plates and spoons, roused the lean man from his reverie; he gazed wistfully at the preparations, and looked thrice famished. There is a story of a tyrant, who, to add to the natural torments of starvation, caused a roast chicken to be suspended every day before the prison bars of his victim, until he expired. Just such a tormentor, unwittingly, was Uncle Timothy. For the garçon again appeared, bearing a fragrant dish of broiled ham and poached eggs, the sight and aroma of which seared the eye-balls and tantalised the pinched nostrils of the lean man. At the same moment, "Another round for Lady Teaser!" tolled a twopenny knell in his ears. My friend not arrived yet? said Uncle Timothy. No, sir," replied the garçon slyly, but respectfully. "Let him pay, then, for his want of punctuality. I wait for nobody. My motto is, First come, first served. Will you, sir," politely addressing the lean man, "do me the favour to become my guest? Though I have ordered supper for two, I really cannot command appetite for two." The lean man stared irresolutely at Uncle Timothy. Hunger and Pride were at fisticuffs; but Hunger hit pride such a blow in the stomach, that Pride gave up the contest. And how gracefully did the middle-aged gentleman play the host! inviting his guest (though little invitation was needed) with the kindest words, and helping him to the daintiest morsels. The office proved no sinecure; and it was not until this supper-out of the first lustre had fully indulged his eating propensities, and cleared the board, that he found leisure to look up from his plate, and contem execution he had done. But when a cauliflower-wigged J brown stout crowned the repast. his rapture knew no wwws. He pressed it with ecstasy to his lips, and sang joyouslyPorter! drink for noble souls! Raise the foaming tankard high: Let me take a Dutchman's draught— Froth for Frenchmen! Stout for Bali! If you ask why Britons fight Till they conquer or they die? Their stout is strong, their draughts are long- "Lady Teaser is quite ready, sir," said the garçon, hurriedly. "Give my respectful compliments to Lady Teazle, and tell her ladyship that I'll kiss her superlative 'pickers and stealers' in 'the twinkling of a bed-post.' The garçon made another precipitate entry, with "The tea-kettle can't wait, sir!" "A fico for the tea-kettle! It must!-it shall! With three rounds of toast buttered on both sides, and coffee à discrétion, hath the immortal Tumbletuzzy been magnificently regaled-( Marriage is chargeable!')—and shall I not take mine ease in mine inn? Your banquet, sir, hath warmed the cockles of my heart, and made my hair curl! Beggar that I am, but I thank you!' When a lean man's stomach lacks dainty fare, (Singing) And "Cupboard!" and "Cupboard!” it croaks in his ear, His heart beats the quicker, And he drinks to his kind host, as I drink to you. There's my card-Bonassus Bigstick, Esq. Bartholomew Fair"(presenting a bill of the performances). "I'll put you on our free list, which to all the world, but yourself and the public press, shall be unavoidably suspended! Ha!"-(scenting a rummer of hot punch that the garçon placed before him)-"brandy for heroes!' Welcome, old friend! for a' langsyne. Yet what is punch without a song? A clerk without a Cocker; a door without a knocker; a ship without a sailor; a goose without a tailor; a priest without a pulpit; a stage without a full pit! As you, sir, have been instrumental to my entertainment, let me be vocal for yours! Egad, I'll turn the affair to business account-omnibus tulip punctum, as we say in the classics!-by giving you an undress rehearsal of one of my crack songs for to-morrow at Saint Bartlemy. All the world's a stage, the men and women actor folks, Very, very tragical, or very full of fun. Nature, in a merry mood, on some has, quizzing, crack'd her jokes; Ranting, tearing, stamping, staring; Whiskerandos, Domine; So queerly tool'd, are good as goold-and Dick the worth of money knows! Shylock the Jew, the Brigand, and the Blackymoor, Nigger parlous! killing Carlos on his wedding-day; As Mother Cole, the canting soul, he drinks a drop of Jacky more; "Avaunt! you fright, and quit my sight! a stool there's not, my trump, any; I'll thank 'e, Banky, for your room; Old Nick may have your company! Punch's scions, see the lions! Bartlemy, come startle me! Ladies and gentlemen, walk in, walk in! With Pantaloon and Columbine he skips, trips, and frisks along; Now he twirls his magic sword, whacks the clown, and whisks along, In his jazey, crack'd and crazy, very queer in Lear he is; And quite as queer telling Pierre how dear his Belvideary is! "A horse! my kingdom for a horse!" if legs he can but go on two Another bring-twice two is four-and, like Ducrow, I'll crow on two. O, Mr. Dunderhead; is it to be wonder-ed Old chap, you let Miss Capulet make love to you till dawn? For when you play'd at Dunstable, and overrun the constable, The ladies would have pledged their hearts to take you out of pawn. Among the stars of Smithfield bars you'll stick so fiery off indeed, The deuce a bit of goose you'll get, or "Nosey! off!" or cough, indeed; They'll come and see you off a tree the bark grin at your benefit. The tea-kettle now boiled over with rage, and demanded imperiously the immediate presence of the lean man. "Who calls on Bigstick? As the Tumbletuzzy will brook no longer delay, 'I hold it fit that we shake hands and part.' 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,' you will find me at the Fair. I shall expect your promised visit. 'Adieu, adieu, adieu, remember me!"" About the year 1775, there was a performer on the violincello in the orchestra of Drury Lane Theatre, named Cervetti, to whom the gods had given the appropriate nickname of Nosey, from his enormous staysail, that helped to carry him before the wind. "Nosey!" shouted from the galleries, was the signal, or word of command for the fiddlers to strike up. This man was originally an Italian merchant of good repute; but failing in business, he came over to England, and adopted music for a profession. He had a notable knack of loud yawning, with which he sometimes unluckily filled up Garrick's expressive pauses, to the infinite annoyance of little Davy, and the laughter of the audience. In the summer of 1777 he played at Vauxhall, at the age of ninety-eight. At this moment old blind Sally, who for more than half a century has played her way through Highgate, Holloway, and merry Islington,i,tuned her hurdy-gurdy, and ground the lean man triumphantly into his tea-kettle. "Islington, March 20, 1698. This day here was lamentable doings. O! in what a sad fright and consternation were the Lick-spickets of this place; upon the suddain and unexpected appearance of the ferreters of Fuddling-schools all were put into a hurry and confusion, the men were forced to throw down their beloved pipes of sotweed, and rudely leave their pots without a parting kiss; the women and children too, alas! with tears and sighs, parted with their hot cakes and custards, before they had half stuffed their stomachs. And the streets were filled with the mourning mob. Amongst the rest was a fat red-faced hostess, who, with a loud and doleful, said, 'Ah! my friends, if this business holds, I shall certainly be undone. Ah! poor Islington, thou hast been, time out of mind, the place of general rendezvous for Sunday sots. Thou hast constantly supplied the citizens' wives and chil dren with cakes, pies, and custards, and art the chief place, near the city, for breeding calves and nursing children. Thou, I say, that has been a place so famous, and in such esteem, now to have the most and richest of thy inhabitants utterly ruined only for profaning the Sabbath-day, alas! The only day we have to get money in. Who will advise me?'- Advise you,' said one of her old sottish cus tomers, you have kept an ale-house almost thirty years, to my knowledge, and if you have not got enough by your nicking, frothing, double-scoreing, and selling coarse cakes, empty pies, and nasty custards, to keep you now you are old, e'en go to your old master, the devil, and let him keep you!" -"The English Lucian, or Weekly Discoveries of the Witty Intrigues, Comical Passages, and Remarkable Transactions in Town and Country, &c. &c." The above is a curious picture of an Islington ale-wife in the olden time. The following account describes a "strange monster" exhibited at Miles's Musick. house at Islington a few years after, with the comical interlude of the Stuffed Alligator. "Some time since there was brought to Miles's Music-house at Islington, a strange sort of a monster, that does everything like a monkey, but is not a monkey: mimics man, like a jackanapes, but is not a jackanapes; jumps upon tables, and into windows upon all-fours, like a cat, but is not a cat; does all things like a beast, but is not a beast; does nothing like a man, but is a man! He has given such wonderful content to the Butchers of Clare Market, that the house is every day as full as the Bear-Garden; and draws the city wives and prentices out of London, much more than a man hanged in chains. It happened lately upon a holiday, when honest men walked abroad with their wives and daughters, to the great consumption of hot buns and bottled ale, that the fame of this mimick had drawn into the Music-house as great a crowd of spectators as the notable performances of Clinch of Barnet ever drew to the theatre. The Frape being thus assembled in the lower room, and the better scrt being climbed into the gallery; a little creature, who before walked erect, and bore the image of a man, transformed himself into a monkey, and began to entertain the company with such a parcel of pretty pug's tricks, and mimical actions, that they were all as intent upon the baboon's vagaries as if a mandrake had been tumbling through a hoop, or an hobgoblin dancing an antick! Whilst the eyes and ears of the assembly were thus deeply engaged, the skin of a large alligator, stuff'd with hay, hanging within the top of the house, and the rats, having burrowed through the ceiling, could come down at pleasure, and sport upon the back of the monster; one of the revengeful vermin, to put a trick upon his fellows, who were enticed by the smell of the hay to creep down the serpent's throat, his jaws being extended, gnawed the cord in two, and down comes the alligator with his belly full of rats, upon the head of the monkey, and laid him sprawling; giving some of the spectators a wipe with his tail; the rats running out of his mouth in a wonderful hurry, like so many sailors from between decks when a ship at midnight has struck upon a rock!"—"A Pacquet from Will's, 1701." |