Billy Sams is a loyal believer, And publishes prints by the score; But his likeness, I will not deceive her, Of Chester _is not con amore_.

If the world you are ganging to see, Its manners and customs to note, In the Strand, you must call upon Leigh, Where you'll find a directory wrote.

Cincinnatus like, guiding the plough, On Harding each farmer still looks; Clerc Smith is the man for a bow, And his shop is as famous for books.

_Facetiae_ collectors, give ear, Who with Mack letter spirits would deal; If rich in old lore you'd appear, Pay a visit to Priestley and Weale.

~261~~

There's Ogle, and Westley, and Black, With Mawman, and Kirby, and Cole, And Souter, and Wilson--alack!

I cannot distinguish the whole.

For Robins, and Hunter, and Poole, And Evans, and Scholey, and Co.

Would fill out my verse beyond rule, And my Pegasus halts in the Bow.

The radicals all are done up; Sedition is gone to the dogs; And Benbow and Cobbett may sup With their worthy relations the Hogs.

So here I will wind up my list With Underwood, Callow, and Highley; Who bring to the medicals grist, By books on diseases wrote dryly.

Just one word at parting I crave-- If Italian, French, German, or Dutch, To bother your noddle you'd have, Send to Berthoud, or Treuttel and Wurtz,

Or Zotti, or Dulau, or Bohn, But they're all very good in their way; Bossange, Bothe, Boosey and Son, All expect _Monsieur Jean_ Bull to pay.

"A right merrie conceit it is," said Blackstrap, "and an excellent memoranda of the eminent book-sellers of the present time." "Ay, sir,"

continued the veteran; "all our old ballads had the merit of being useful, as well as amusing. There was 'Chevy Chase, and 'King John and his Barons,' and 'Merry Sherwood,' all of them exquisite chants; conveying information to the mind, and relating some grand historical fact, while they charmed the ear. But ~262~~your modern kickshaws are all about 'No, my love, no,' or 'Sigh no more, lady,' or some such silly stuff that n.o.body cares to learn the words of, or can understand if they did. I remember composing a ballad in this town myself, some few years since, on a very strange adventure that happened to one of our commercial brethren. He had bought an old hunter at Bristol to finish his journey homeward with, on account of his former horse proving lame, and just as he was entering Cheltenham by the turnpike-gate at the end of the town, the whole of the Berkeley Hunt were turning out for a day's run, and having found, shot across the road in full cry. Away went the dogs, and away went the huntsmen, and plague of any other way would the old hunter go: so, despite of the two hundred weight of perfumery samples contained in his saddle-bags, away went Delcroix's deputy over hedge and ditch, and straight forward for a steeple chase up the Cleigh Hills; but in coming down rather briskly, the courage of the old horse gave way, and down he came as groggy before as a Chelsea pensioner, smashing all the appendages of trade, and spilling their contents upon the ground, besides raising such an odoriferous effluvia on the field, that every one present smelt the joke.--But you shall have the song."

THE KNIGHT OF THE SADDLE-BAGS;

A TRUE RELATION OF A TRAVELLER'S ADVENTURE AT CHELTENHAM.

Tune--The Priest of Kajaga.

A knight of the saddle-bags, jolly and gay, Rode near to blithe Cheltenham's town; His coat was a drab, and his wig iron-gray, And the hue of his nag was a brown.

~263~~

From Bristol, through Glo'ster, the merry man came; And jogging along in a trot, On the road happ'd to pa.s.s him, in pursuit of game, Of Berkeley's huntsmen a lot.

Tally-ho! tally-ho! from each voice did resound; Hark forward! now cheer'd the loud pack; Sir knight found his horse spring along like a hound,'

For the devil could not hold him back.

Away went sly Reynard, away went sir knight, With the saddle-bags beating the side Of his horse, as he gallop'd among them in fright; 'Twas in vain that the hunt did deride.

Now up the Cleigh Hills, and adown the steep vale, Crack, crack, went the girths of his saddle; Sir knight was dismounted, O piteous tale!

In wasjies the fishes might paddle.

As prostrate he lay, an old hound that way bent Gave tongue as he pa.s.s'd him along; Which attracted the pack, who thus drawn by the scent, Would have very soon ended his song.

For O! it was strange, but, though strange, it was true!

With perfumery samples, his bags With essences, musks, and rich odours a few, He had joined peradventure the nag's.

The field took the joke in good-humour and jest; Sir knight was invited to dine At the Plough the same day, where a fine haunch was dress'd, And Naylor gave excellent wine.

From that time, 'raong the Chelts, has a knight of the bag Been look'd on as a man of spirit; For who but a knight could have hunted a nag So laden, and come off with merit?

~264~~A visit from two of the commercial gentlemen of the Fleece gave Blackstrap another opportunity of showing off, which he did not fail to avail himself of in no very measured paces, by ridiculing the rival house, and extending his remarks to the taste of the frequenters. To which one of them replied, "Mine host of the fleece is no 'wolf in sheep's clothing,' but a right careful good shepherd, who provides well for his flock; and although the fleece hangs over his door, it is not symbolical of any fleecing practices within." "Ay," said the other, defending his hotel; "then, sir, we live like farmers at a harvest-home, and sleep on beds of down beneath coverings of lamb's wool; and our attendant nymphs of the chamber are as beautiful and lively as Arcadian shepherdesses, and chaste as the G.o.ddess Diana." "Very good," retorted Blackstrap; "but you know, gentlemen, that the beaux of this house must be better off for the belle. We will allow you of the Fleece your rustic enjoyments, seeing that you are country gentlemen, for your hotel is certainly out of the town." A good-natured sally that quickly restored harmony, and called forth another song from the muse of Blackstrap.

HEALTH, COMPETENCE, AND GOOD-HUMOUR.

Let t.i.tles and fame on ambition be shed, Or history's page of great heroes relate; The motto I'd choose to encircle my head Is competence, health, and good-humour elate.

~265~~

The chaplet of virtue, by friendship entwined, Sheds a l.u.s.tre that rarely encircles the great; While health and good-humour eternally find A competence smiling on every state.

No luxuries seeking my board to enc.u.mber, Contented receiving what Providence sends; Age brightens with pleasure, while virtue may number Competence, health, and good-humour as friends.

Then, neighbours, let's smile at old Chronos and care; Still shielded with honour, we're fearless of fate: With the sports of the field and the joys of the fair, We've competence, health, and good-humour elate.

At the conclusion of this fresh specimen of our chairman's original talent, it was proposed we should adjourn to the theatre, where certain fashionable amateurs were amusing themselves at the expense of the public. "Sir, I dislike these half and half vagabonds," said Blackstrap, with one of his original gestures, "who play with an author before the public, that they may the more easily play with an actress in private.

Yon c.o.xcomb, for instance, who buffoons Brutus, with his brothers, are indeed capital brutes by nature, but as deficient of the art histrionic as any biped animals well can be. I remember a very clever artist exhibiting a picture of the colonel and his mother's son, Augustus, with a Captain Austin, in the exhibition of the Royal Academy for the year 1823, in the characters of Brutus, Marc Antony, and Julius Caesar, which caused more fun than anything else in the collection, and produced more puns among the cognoscenti than any previous work of art ever gave rise to. The Romans were such rum ones--Brutus was a black down-looking biped, with gray whiskers, and a growl upon his lip; Marc Antony, without the remotest mark of the ancient hero about him; and ~266~~Ca.s.sius looked as if he had been cashiered by the commander of some strolling company of itinerants for one, whose placid face could neither move to woe, nor yield grimace; and yet they were all accounted excellent likenesses, perfect originals, like Wombwell's bona.s.sus, only not quite so natural."

During this rhapsody of Blackstrap's, Transit on the one side, and the English Spy on the other, endeavoured to restrain the torrent of his satire by a.s.suring him that the very persons he was alluding to were the amateurs on the stage before him; and that certain critical faces behind him were paid like the painter, of whom he had previously spoken, to produce flattering portraits in print, and might possibly make a satirical sketch of the bon vivant at the same time; an admonition that had not the slightest effect in abridging his strictures upon amateur actors. But as the English Spy intends to finish his sketches on this subject, in a visit to the national theatres, he has until then treasured up in his mind's stores the excellent and apposite, though somewhat racy anecdotes, with which the comical commercial critic ill.u.s.trated his discourse.

The "liquor in, the wit's out," saith the ancient proverb; and, although my "Spirit in the Clouds" had already hinted at the dangerous consequences likely to result from a visit to the "Oakland Cottages,"

yet such was the flexibility of my friend Transit's ethics, his penchant for a spree, and the volatile nature of his disposition, when the ripe Falerian set the red current mantling in his veins, that not all my philosophy, nor the sage monitions of Blackstrap, nor thought, nor care, nor friendly intercession could withhold the artist from making a pilgrimage to the altar of love. For be it known to the amorous beau, these things are not permitted to pollute the sanct.i.ty of the sainted Chelts; but in a snug convent, situate a full mile and a half from Cheltenham, at the extremity ~267~~of a lane where four roads meet, and under the Cleigh Hills, the lady abbess and the fair sisters of Cytherea perform their midnight mysteries, secure from magisterial interference, or the rude hand of any pious parochial poacher. Start not, gentle reader; I shall not draw aside the curtain of delicacy, or expose "the secrets of the prison-house:" it is enough for me to note these scenes in half tints, and leave the broad effects of light and shadow to the pencils of those who are amorously inclined and well-practised in giving the finishing------touch.

But to return to my friend Transit. Bright Luna tipt with silvery hue the surrounding clouds, and o'er the face of nature spread her mystic light; the blue concave of high heaven was illumined by a countless host of starry meteors, and the soft note of Philomel from the grove came upon the soul-delighted ear like the sweet breathings of the Eolian harp, or the celestial cadences of that heart-subduing cherub, Stephens; when we set out on our romantic excursion. Reader, you may well start at the introduction of the plural number; but say, what man could abandon his friend to such a dangerous enterprise? or what moralists refuse his services where there was such a probability of there being so much need for them? But we are poor frail mortals; so a truce with apology, or prithee accept one in the language of Moore:

"Dear creatures! we can't live without them, They're all that is sweet and seducing to man; Looking, sighing, about and about them, We dote on them, die for them, do all we can."

To be brief: we found excellent accommodation, and spent the night pleasantly, free from the sin of single blessedness. Many a choice anecdote did the Paphian divinities furnish us with of the _gay well-known_ among the Chelts; stories that will be told again and again over the friendly bottle, but must not be recorded ~268~~here. Whether Transit, waking early from his slumbers, was paying his devotions to Venus or the water-bottle, I know not; but I was awoke by him about eight in the morning, and heard the loud echo of the huntsman's hallo in my ear, summoning me to rise and away, for the sons of Nimrod had beset the house; information which I found, upon looking through the window, was alarmingly true, but which did not appear either to surprise or affright the fair occupants of the cottages, who observed, it was only some of the "Berkeley Hunt going out," (See Plate), who, if they did not find any where else, generally came looking after a brush in that neighbourhood.

[Ill.u.s.tration: page268]

"Then the best thing we can do," said Transit, "is to brush off, before they brush up stairs and discover a couple of poachers among their game." This, however, the ladies would by no means admit, and the huntsmen quickly riding away, we took our chocolate with the lady abbess and her nuns, made all matters perfectly pleasant, saluted the fair at parting, and bade adieu to the Oakland Cottages.

Upon our return to our inn, we received a good-humoured lecture from Blackstrap, who was just, as he phrased it, on the wing for Bristol and Bath, "where" said he, "if you will meet me at old Matthew Temple's, the Castle Inn, I will engage to give you a hearty welcome, and another bottle of the old particular;" a proposition that was immediately agreed to, as the route we had previously determined upon. One circ.u.mstance had, during our sojourn in the west, much annoyed my friend Transit and myself; we had intended to have been present at the Doncaster race meeting for 1825, and have booked both the betting men and their betters. Certainly a better bit of sport could never have been antic.i.p.ated, but we were neither of us endowed with ubiquity, and were therefore compelled to cry content in the west when our hearts and inclinations were in the ~269~~north. "If now your 'Spirit in the Clouds,' your merry unknown, he that sometimes shoots off his witty arrows at the same target with ourselves, should archly suspect that old Tom Whipcord was not upon the turf, I would venture a cool hundred against the field, that we should have a report from him, 'ready cut and dried,' and quite as full of fun and whim as if you had been present yourself, Master Bernard, aided and a.s.sisted by our ally, Tom Whipcord of Oxford." "Heaven forgive you, Blackmantle, for the sins you have laid upon that old man's back! You are not content with working him hard in the 'Annals' every month, but you must make him mount the box of some of the short stages, and drive over the rough roads of the metropolis, where he is in danger of having his wheel locked, or meeting with a regular upset at every turn." Though Bob has given sufficient proofs of his spirit in danger, I certainly never suspected him to be possessed of the spirit of divination, and yet his prophetic address had scarcely concluded before Boots announced a parcel for Bernard Blackmantle, Esq. forwarded from London, per favour of Mr. Williams.

And, Heaven preserve me from the charge of imposing upon my reader's credulity! but, as I live, it was his very hand--another sketch by my attendant sprite, "the Spirit in the Clouds," and to the very tune of Transit's antic.i.p.ations, and my wishes.

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO BERNARD BLACKMANTLE, ESQ.,

HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF DONCASTER

RACES, THE GREAT ST. LEGER, HORSES,