In the City, per contra, it was currently reported on ’Change that Tom, from his love of fun, and knowledge of good living, was the locum tenens of that great and learned man, and most facetious Banking Baronet, Sir William—more succinctly and familiarly Billy—Curtis, of the “three R.’s” notoriety;[13]—that Jerry was the picture of Mr. Treble, X Sheriff Parkins; and that Logic was an outline of Mr. Alderman Wood. But, Mr. W. T. Moncrieff states that he can, however, safely assert that all these suppositions are totally unfounded, as the characters of Tom, Jerry and Logic, were autobiographical sketches of the artists to whom they severally originally owe their being. The talented, spirited George Cruikshank was himself, in all the better points, the Tom—of the Corinthian Order; he is so admirably delineated; his very clever brother Isaac Robert, then perhaps less experienced, condescended to pass for Jerry, and the downey Pierce Egan—“‘None but himself can be his parallel’[14]—was his own Logic—the Oxonian in green specs—gig-lamps!” Mr. Moncrieff continues—“they having tria juncta in uno produced the admirable foundation of this Piece.[15] May they speedily furnish the public with some more of their larks, sprees and rambles—the world will thank them for the gift.”
It is now a matter of history that the Brothers Cruikshank, first designed and engraved the Plates for the original Edition of Life in London, and, then, Pierce Egan wrote the letter-press up to them from month to month to the completion of the work in July, 1821.
To this order of things there was, however, one exception, namely in December, 1820,—“’twas Christmas, merry Christmas time, when ‘Man being reasonable, must get drunk,’” and Pierce Egan, admitted that he got too much Daffy aboard the over night, and that on waking up late the next morning he found his pocket-book containing his Notes! i.e., “copy” absent without leave. He therefore published at page 275 as follows:—
TO THE SUBSCRIBERS TO “LIFE IN LONDON.”
THE AUTHOR IN DISTRESS![16]
He jests at a “Lark” that never felt a SCRATCH!
My numerous and dearest Friends:—
Of necessity, I am compelled to state to you, that having accepted an invitation from Bob Logic, about three weeks since, to spend an evening with him and a few of his Swell Pals, at the Albany, I pleaded business, and that the “First of the Month” must come. “I know it,” replied Bob, “but it shall be a sober set-out: Pierce, you shall tipple as you like.” In consequence of Bob’s plausibility, I was gammoned to be one of the squad. Mixed liquors and steamers were the order of the darkey. But he praised so highly a cargo of daffy, which he had just received from the Nonpareil[17] that Daffy and water was the preferred suit. After a glass or two had been sluiced over the ivories of the party, which made some of them begin loudly to chaff, Bob gave the wink to his slavey, observing that more hot water was wanted. A large kettle, boiling at the spout, was speedily introduced, but instead of water read boiling Daffy. The assumed gravity of Bob’s mug upon playing off this trick was quite a treat, but I am happy to say Crooky booked[18] it. “Come, gents,” said Bob, “please yourselves, here is plenty of water, now mix away.” It had the desired effect. The glass was pushed about so quickly; that the “First of the Month” was soon forgotten, and we kept it up till very long after the Regulars had been tucked up in their dabs, and only the Roosters and the “Peep-o’-Day-Boys” were out on the prowl for a spree. At length a move was made, but not a rattler was to be had. Bob and the party, chaffing, proposed to see the Author safe to his sky-parlour. The boys were primed for anything. Upon turning the corner of Sydney’s Alley, into Leicester-Fields,[19] we were assailed by some trouble customers, and a turn-up was the result (as the Plate[20] most accurately represents). Bob got a stinker, and poor I received a chancery-suit upon the nob. How I reached the upper-story, I know not; but, on waking late in the day, I found my pocket-book was absent—without leave. I was in great grief at its loss, not on account of the blunt it contained—much worse—the notes in it were dearer than gold to me. The account of Jerry’s introduction to the Marchioness of Diamonds, the Duchess of Hearts, Lady Wanton, Dick Trifle, Bill Dash, &c., &c., on his appearance in Rotten Row with the Corinthian, booked on the spot. I was in a complete funk. I immediately went to sartain persons, and communicated my loss; how, where, and when; and I was consoled, that, if it were safe, Pierce Egan should have it. Day after day passed, and no account of it;—I gave it up for lost, and scratched my moppery, again and again, but could not recollect accurately, the substance of my notes. I was sorry for myself;—I was sorry for the public. However, on Friday morning last, taking a turn into Paternoster Row, my friend Jones[21] smiling, said he had got the Book:—as he is fond of a bit of gig, I thought he was in fun,—but, on handing it over to me, with the following letter, my peepers twinkled again with delight.
To the care of Mr. Jones, for P. Egan.
Sir,—You see as how I have sent that ere Litter.[22] Pocket-Book, which so much row has been kicked up about amongst us. Vy it an’t vorth a single tonic,[23] Who’s to understand it? vy it’s full of pot-hooks and hangers[24]—and not a screen[25] in it. You are determined nobody shall nose your idears. If your name had not been chaunted in it, it would have been dinged into the dunagan. But remember, no conking.