Part 25 (1/2)
”Gentlemen, since I have had the honour to preside over your welfare, Fortune, which favours the bold, has not been unmerciful to you! But three of our companions have been missed from our peaceful festivities.
One, gentlemen, I myself expelled from our corps for ungentlemanlike practices; he picked pockets of fogles, (handkerchiefs)--it was a vulgar employment. Some of you, gentlemen, have done the same for amus.e.m.e.nt; Jack Littlefork did it for occupation. I expostulated with him in public and in private; Mr. Pepper cut his society; Mr. Tomlinson read him an essay on Real Greatness of Soul: all was in vain. He was pumped by the mob for the theft of a bird's-eye wipe. The fault I had borne with,--the detection was unpardonable; I expelled him. Who's here so base as would be a fogle-hunter? If any, speak; for him have I offended! Who's here so rude as would not be a gentleman? If any, speak; for him have I offended! I pause for a reply! What, none! then none have I offended.
[Loud cheers.] Gentlemen, I may truly add, that I have done no more to Jack Littlefork than you should do to Paul Lovett! The next vacancy in our ranks was occasioned by the loss of Patrick Blunderbull. You know, gentlemen, the vehement exertions that I made to save that misguided creature, whom I had made exertions no less earnest to instruct. But he chose to swindle under the name of the 'Honourable Captain Smico;' the Peerage gave him the lie at once; his case was one of aggravation, and he was so remarkably ugly that he 'created no interest.' He left us for a foreign exile; and if as a man I lament him, I confess to you, gentlemen, as a 'tax-collector' I am easily consoled.
”Our third loss must be fresh in your memory. Peter Popwell, as bold a fellow as ever breathed, is no more! [A movement in the a.s.sembly.]
Peace be with him! He died on the field of battle; shot dead by a Scotch Colonel, whom poor Popwell thought to rob of nothing with an empty pistol. His memory, gentlemen,--in solemn silence!
”These make the catalogue of our losses,” resumed the youthful chief, so soon as the ”red cup had crowned the memory” of Peter Popwell; ”I am proud, even in sorrow, to think that the blame of those losses rests not with me. And now, friends and followers! Gentlemen of the Road, the Street, the Theatre, and the Shop! Prigs, Tobymen, and Squires of the Cross! according to the laws of our Society, I resign into your hands that power which for two quarterly terms you have confided to mine, ready to sink into your ranks as a comrade, nor unwilling to renounce the painful honour I have borne,--borne with much infirmity, it is true, but at least with a sincere desire to serve that cause with which you have intrusted me.”
So saying, the captain descended from his chair amidst the most uproarious applause; and as soon as the first burst had partially subsided, Augustus Tomlinson rising, with one hand in his breeches'
pocket and the other stretched out, said,--
”Gentlemen, I move that Paul Lovett be again chosen as our captain for the ensuing term of three months. [Deafening cheers.] Much might I say about his surpa.s.sing merits; but why dwell upon that which is obvious?
Life is short! Why should speeches be long? Our lives, perhaps, are shorter than the lives of other men; why should not our harangues be of a suitable brevity? Gentlemen, I shall say but one word in favour of my excellent friend,--of mine, say I? ay, of mine, of yours. He is a friend to all of us! A prime minister is not more useful to his followers and more burdensome to the public than I am proud to say is--Paul Lovett.
[Loud plaudits.] What I shall urge in his favour is simply this: the man whom opposite parties unite in praising must have supereminent merit. Of all your companions, gentlemen, Paul Lovett is the only man who to that merit can advance a claim. [Applause.] You all know, gentlemen, that our body has long been divided into two factions,--each jealous of the other, each desirous of ascendancy, and each emulous which shall put the greatest number of fingers into the public pie. In the language of the vulgar, the one faction would be called 'swindlers,' and the other 'highwaymen.' I, gentlemen, who am fond of finding new names for things and for persons, and am a bit of a politician, call the one Whigs, and the other Tories. [Clamorous cheering.] Of the former body I am esteemed no uninfluential member; of the latter faction Mr. Bags is justly considered the most s.h.i.+ning ornament. Mr. Attie and Mr. Edward Pepper can scarcely be said to belong entirely to either; they unite the good qualities of both. 'British compounds' some term them; I term them Liberal Aristocrats! [Cheers.] I now call upon you all, Whig, or Swindler, Tory, or Highwayman, 'British Compounds,' or Liberal Aristocrats,--I call upon you all to name me one man whom you will all agree to elect.”
All,--”Lovett forever!”
”Gentlemen,” continued the sagacious Augustus, ”that shout is sufficient; without another word, I propose, as your captain, Mr. Paul Lovett.”
”And I seconds the motion!” said old Mr. Bags.
Our hero, being now by the unanimous applause of his confederates restored to the chair of office, returned thanks in a neat speech; and Scarlet Jem declared, with great solemnity, that it did equal honour to his head and heart.
The thunders of eloquence being hushed, flashes of lightning, or, as the vulgar say, gla.s.ses of gin, gleamed about. Good old Mr. Bags stuck, however, to his blue ruin, and Attie to the bottle of bingo; some, among whom were Clifford and the wise Augustus, called for wine; and Clifford, who exerted himself to the utmost in supporting the gay duties of his station, took care that the song should vary the pleasures of the bowl.
Of the songs we have only been enabled to preserve two. The first is by Long Ned; and though we confess we can see but little in it, yet (perhaps from some familiar allusion or other with which we are necessarily unacquainted) it produced a prodigious sensation. It ran thus:--
THE ROGUE'S RECIPE.
Your honest fool a rogue to make, As great as can be seen, sir, Two hackneyed rogues you first must take, Then place your fool between, sir.
Virtue 's a dunghill c.o.c.k, ashamed Of self when paired with game ones; And wildest elephants are tamed If stuck betwixt two tame ones.
The other effusion with which we have the honour to favour our readers is a very amusing duet which took place between Fighting Attie and a tall thin robber, who was a dangerous fellow in a mob, and was therefore called Mobbing Francis; it was commenced by the latter:--
MOBBING FRANCIS:
The best of all robbers as ever I knowed Is the bold Fighting Attie, the pride of the road!-- Fighting Attie, my hero, I saw you to-day A purse full of yellow boys seize; And as, just at present, I'm low in the lay, I'll borrow a quid, if you please.
Oh! bold Fighting Attie, the knowing, the natty, By us all it must sure be confest, Though your shoppers and sn.o.bbers are pretty good robbers, A soldier is always the best.
FIGHTING ATTIE
Stubble your whids, (Hold your tongue) You wants to trick I.
Lend you my quids?
Not one, by d.i.c.key.
MOBBING FRANCIS:
Oh, what a beast is a n.i.g.g.ardly ruffler, Nabbing, grabbing all for himself!