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 balls—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 balls—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.
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 appetite.
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 bumper of bishop," said Echo. "For conscience sake, mishter Echo, conshider 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.
the yet living subjects of the party. "Veil, if I musht, I musht; but I musht do it by shubstitute then; my old friend, Mark Supple here, vill give you the history of Tom Tick." To this Echo assented, 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.
THE OXFORD RAKE'S PROGRESS.
Tom was a tailor's heir,
A dashing blade,
Whose sire in trade
Enough had made,
By cribbage, short skirts, and little capes,
Long bills, and items for buckram, tapes,
Buttons, twist, and small ware;
Which swell a bill out so delightfully,
Or perhaps I should say frightfully,