The English Spy Part 26

BY LILLYMAN LIONISE.

Here rests a poet--heaven keep him quiet, For when above he lived a life of riot; Enjoy'd his joke, and drank his share of wine-- A mad wag he, one Horace Eglantine.{17}

The good old orthodox beverage now began to display its potent effects upon the heads and understandings of the party. All restraint being completely banished by the effect of the liquor, every one indulged in their characteristic eccentricities. d.i.c.k Gradus pleaded his utter incapability to sing or produce an impromptu rhyme, but was allowed to subst.i.tute a prose epitaph on the renowned school-master of Magdalen parish, Fatty T--b,{18} who lay snoring under the table. "It shall be read over him in lieu of burial service," said Echo. "Agreed, agreed,"

vociferated all the party; and Jemmy

17 This whim of tagging rhymes and epitaphs, adopted by Horace Eglantine, is of no mean authority. During the convivial administration of Lord North, when the ministerial dinners were composed of such men as the Lords Sandwich, Weymouth, Thurlow, Richard Rigby, &c, various pleasantries pa.s.sed current for which the present time would be deemed too refined. Among others, it was the whim of the day to call upon each member, after the cloth was drawn, to tag a rhyme to the name of his left hand neighbour. It was first proposed by Lord Sandwich, to raise a laugh against the facetious Lord North, who happened to sit next to a Mr.

Mellagen, a name deemed incapable of a rhyme. Luckily, however, for Lord North, that gentleman had just informed him of an accident that had befallen him near the pump in Pall Mall; when, therefore, it came to his turn, he wrote the following distich:--

Oh! pity poor Mr. Mellagen, Who walking along Pall Mall, Hurt his foot when down he fell, And fears he won't get well again.

18 Fatty T----, better known as the sixpenny schoolmaster: a little fat man, remarkable for his love of good living.

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Jumps,{19} the parish clerk of Saint Peter's, was instantly mounted on a chair, at the head of the defunct schoolmaster, to recite the following whim:--

Epitaph on a Glutton.

Beneath this table lie the remains of Fatty T***; Who more than performed the duties of An excellent eater, an unparalleled drinker, and A truly admirable sleeper.

His stomach was as disinterested As his appet.i.te was good; so that His impartial tooth alike chewed The mutton of the poor,and The turtle of the rich.

19 James James, alias Jemmy Jumps, alias the Oxford Caleb Quotum, a stay-maker, and parish-clerk of Saint Peter le Bailey--plays the violin to parties on water excursions, attends public-house b.a.l.l.s--is bellows-blower and factotum at the music-room--attends as porter to the Philharmonic and Oxford Choral Societies--is constable of the race-course and race b.a.l.l.s--a bill distributor and a deputy collector of poor rates--calls his wife his _solio_. He often amuses his companions at public-houses by reciting comic tales in verse. A woman who had lost a relative desired Jemmy Jumps to get a brick grave built. On digging up a piece of ground which had not been opened for many years, he discovered a very good brick grave, and, to his great joy, also discovered that its occupant had long since mouldered into dust. He cleaned the grave out, procured some reddle and water, brushed the bricks over with it, and informed the person that he had a most excellent _second-hand grave to sell as good as new_, and if she thought it would suit her poor departed friend, would let her have it at half the price of a new one: this was too good an offer to be rejected; but Jemmy found, on measuring the coffin, that his second-hand grave was too short, and consequently was obliged to dig the earth away from the end of the grave and beat the bricks in with a beetle, before it would admit its new tenant.

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He was a zealous opposer of the Aqua-_arian_ heresy, A steady devourer of beef-steaks, A stanch and devout advocate for _spiced bishop_, A firm friend to Bill Holland's _double X_, and An active disseminator of the bottle, He was ever uneasy unless employed upon The good things of this world; and The interment of a _swiss_ or lion, Or the dissolution of a pasty, Was his great delight.

He died Full of drink and victuals, In the undiminished enjoyment of his digestive faculties, In the forty-fifth year of his appet.i.te.

The collegians inscribed this memento, In perpetual remembrance of His _pieous_ knife and fork.

"Very well for a _trencher_ man," said Horace; "now we must have a recitation from Strasburg.{20} Come, you jolly old teacher of Hebrew, mount the rostrum, and "give us a taste of your quality." "Ay, or by heavens we'll baptize him with a b.u.mper of bishop," said Echo. "For conscience sake, mishter Echo, cons.h.i.+der vat it is you're about; I can no more shpeek in English than I can turn Christian--I've drank so much of your red port to-day as voud make anoder Red Sea." "Ay, and you shall be drowned in it, you old _Sheenie_," said Tom, "if you don't give us a speech." "A speech, a speech!" resounded from all

{20} Strasburg, an eccentric Jew, who gave lessons in Hebrew to members of the university.

~233~~the yet living subjects of the party. "Veil, if I musht, I musht; but I musht do it by shubst.i.tute then; my old friend, Mark Supple here, vill give you the history of Tom Tick." To this Echo a.s.sented, on account of the allusions it bore to the Albanians, some of whom were of the party. Old Mark, mounted on the chair at the upper end of the table, proceeded with the tale.

[Ill.u.s.tration: page233]

THE OXFORD RAKE'S PROGRESS.

Tom was a tailor's heir, A das.h.i.+ng blade, Whose sire in trade Enough had made, By cribbage, short skirts, and little capes, Long bills, and items for buckram, tapes, b.u.t.tons, twist, and small ware; Which swell a bill out so delightfully, Or perhaps I should say frightfully,

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That is, if it related to myself.

Suffice it to be told In wealth he roll'd, And being a fellow of some spirit, Set up his coach; To 'scape reproach, He put the tailor on the shelf, And thought to make his boy a man of merit.

On old Etona's cla.s.sic ground, Tom's infant years in circling round Were spent 'mid Greek and Latin; The boy had parts both gay and bright, A merry, mad, facetious sprite, With heart as soft as satin.

For sport or spree Tom never lack'd; A _con_{21} with all, his sock he crack'd With _oppidan_ or gownsman: Could _smug_ a sign, or quiz the _dame_, Or row, or ride, or poach for game, With _cads_, or Eton townsmen.

Tom's _admiral_ design'd, Most dads are blind To youthful folly, That Tom should be a man of learning, To show his parent's great discerning, A parson rich and jolly.

To Oxford Tom in due time went, Upon degree D.D. intent, But more intent on ruin: _A Freshman_, steering for the _Port of Stuff's_,{22} Round _Isle Matricula_, and _Isthmus of Grace_, Intent on living well and little doing.

Here Tom came out a das.h.i.+ng blood, Kept Doll at Woodstock, and a stud For hunting, race, or tandem; Could _bag_ a proctor, _floor a raff_, Or stifle e'en a _hull-dog's gaff_, Get _bosky_, drive at random.

21 Eton phraseology--A friend.

22 Oxford phraseology--All these terms have been explained in an earlier part of the work.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: page 235]

But long before the first term ended, Tom was inform'd, unless he mended, He'd better change his college.

Which said, the _Don_ was hobbling to the shelf Where college butler keeps his book of _Battell_; Tom nimbly ran, erased his name himself, To save the scandal of the students' prattle.

In Oxford, be it known, there is a place Where all the mad wags in disgrace Retire to improve their knowledge; The town _raff_ call it _Botany Bay_, Its inmates _exiles, convicts_, and they say Saint Alban takes the student refugees: Here Tom, to 'scape _Point Non plus_, took his seat After a _waste of ready_--found his feet Safe on the sh.o.r.es of indolence and ease; Here, 'mid choice spirits, in the _Isle of Flip_, Dad's will, and _sapping_, valued not young _snip_; Scapula, Homer, Lexicon, laid by, Join'd the peep-of-day boys in full cry.{23} A saving sire a sad son makes This adage suits most modern rakes,

23 It was in the actual partic.i.p.ation of these baccha.n.a.lian orgies, during the latter days of Dr. W----y, the former head of the Hall, when infirmities prevented his exercising the necessary watchful-ness over the buoyant spirits committed to his charge, that my friend Bob Transit and myself were initiated into the mysteries of the Albanians.

The accompanying scene, so faithfully delineated by his humorous pencil, will be fresh in the recollection of the _choice spirits_ who mingled in the joyous revelry. To particularise character would be to "betray the secrets of the prison-house," and is besides wholly unnecessary, every figure round the board being a portrait; kindred souls, whose merrie laughter-loving countenances and jovial propensities, will be readily recognised by every son of _Alma Mater_ who was at Oxford during the last days of the _beaux esprits_ of Alban Hall. (_See Plate_.) In justice to the learned Grecian who now presides, it should be told, that these scenes are altogether suppressed.

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And Tom above all others.

I should have told before, he was an only child, And therefore privileged to be gay and wild, Having no brothers, Whom his example might mislead Into extravagance, or deed Ridiculous and foolish.

Three tedious years in Oxford spent, In midnight brawl and merriment, Tom bid adieu to college, To ca.s.sock-robe of orthodox, To construe and decline--the box, Supreme in stable knowledge; To dash on all within the ring, Bet high, play deep, or rioting, At Long's to sport his figure In honour's cause, some small affair Give modern bucks a finish'd air, Tom pull'd the fatal trigger.

He kill'd his friend--but then remark, His friend had kill'd another spark, So 'twas but trick and tie.

The cause of quarrel no one knew, Not even Tom,--away he flew, Till time and forms of law, To fas.h.i.+onable vices blind, Excuses for the guilty find, Call murder a _faux pas_.

The tinsell'd coat next struck his pride, How das.h.i.+ng in the Park to ride A cornet of dragoons; Upon a charger, thorough bred, To show off with a high plumed head, The gaze of Legs and Spoons; To rein him up in all his paces, Then splash the pa.s.sing trav'lers' faces, And spur and caper by;

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Get drunk at mess, then sally out To Lisle-street fair, or beat a scout, Or black a waiter's eye.

Of all the clubs,--the Clippers, Screws, The Fly-by-nights, Four Horse, and Blues, The Daffy, Snugs, and Peep-o-day, Tom's an elect; at all the h.e.l.ls, At Bolton-Row, with tip-top swells, And Tat's men, deep he'd play.

His debts oft paid by Snyder's{24} pelf, Who paid at last a debt himself, Which all that live must pay.

Tom book'd{25} the old one snug inside, Wore sables, look'd demure and sigh'd Some few short hours away; Till from the funeral return'd, Then Tom with expectation burn'd To hear his father's will:-- "Twice twenty thousand pounds in cash,"-- "That's prime," quoth Tom, "to cut a dash "At races or a mill,"-- "All my leaseholds, house and plate, My pictures and freehold estate, I give my darling heir; Not doubting but, as I in trade By careful means this sum have made, He'll double it with care."-- "Ay, that I will, I'll hit the nick, Seven's the main,--here Ned and d.i.c.k Bring down my blue and buff; Take off the hatband, banish grief, 'Tis time to turn o'er a new leaf, Sorrow's but idle stuff."

Fame, trumpet-tongued, Tom's wealth reports, His name is blazon'd at the courts Of Carlton and the Fives.

His equipage, his greys, his dress, His polish'd self, so like _n.o.blesse_, "Is ruin's sure perquise."

24 Flash for tailor.

25 Screwed up in his coffin.

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Beau Brummell's bow had not the grace, Alvanly stood eclipsed in face, The _Roues_ all were mute, So exquisite, so chaste, unique, The mark for every Leg and Greek, Who play the concave suit.{26} At Almack's, paradise o' the West, Tom's hand by prince and peer is press'd, And fas.h.i.+on cries supreme.

His Op'ra box, and little quean, To lounge, to see, and to be seen, Makes life a pleasant dream.

Such dreams, alas! are transient light, A glow of brightness and delight, That wakes to years of pain.

Tom's round of pleasure soon was o'er, And clam'rous _duns_ a.s.sail the door When credit's on the wane.

His riches pay his folly's price, And vanish soon a sacrifice, Then friendly comrades fly; His ev'ry foible dragg'd to light, And faults (unheeded) crowd in sight, Asham'd to show his face.