But, sooner than our grotesque friends shall want a chronicler, we will apostrophise the learned pig, the pig-faced lady, and the most delicate monster that smokes his link for a cigar, picks his teeth with a hay-fork, and takes his snuff with a fire-shovel. Not that we love Sir Andrew less, but that we love St. Bartle-my more.
Higman Palatine * in 1763 delighted the court at Richmond Palace, and the commonalty at the “Rounds,” with his “surprising deceptions;” and, gibing his heel, followed the toe of Mr. Breslaw. **
* “Mr. Palatine exhibits with pigeons, wigs, oranges,
cards, handkerchiefs, and pocket-pieces; and swallows
knives, forks, punch-ladles, and candle-snuffers.”
** In 1775, Breslaw performed at Cockspur Street, Hay-
market, and in after years at Hughes's Riding School and
Bartholomew Fair. Being at Canterbury with his troop, he met
with such bad success that they were almost starved. He
repaired to the churchwardens, and promised to give the
profits of a night's conjuration to the poor, if the parish
would pay for hiring a room, &c. The charitable bait took,
the benefit proved a bumper, and next morning the
churchwardens waited upon the wizard to touch the receipts.
“I have already disposed of dem,” said Breslaw,—“de profits
were for de poor.
I have kept my promise, and given de money to my own people,
who are de poorest in dis parish “Sir!” exclaimed the
churchwardens, “this is a trick!”—“I know it,” replied
Hocus Pocus,—“I live by my tricks!”
In after years there fell on Mr. Lane * ('tis a long lane that has never a turning!) a remnant of Fawkes's mantle. But was not our conjuror (“you must borrow me the mouth of Gargantua!”) and his “Enchanted Sciatoricon,” little too much in advance of the age? The march of intellect ** had not set in with a very strong current. The three R's (reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic!) comprehended the classical attainments of a “City Solon and a Tooley Street Socrates.”
* “Grand Exhibition by Mr. Lane, first' performer to the
King, opposite the Hospital Gate. His Enchanted Sciatoricon
will discover to the company the exact time of the day by
any watch, though the watch may be in the pocket of a person
five miles off. The Operation Palingenesia: any spectator
sending for a couple of eggs, may take the choice of them,
and the egg, being broke, produces a living bird of the
species desired, which in half a minute receives its full
plumage, and flies away. The other egg will, at the request
of the company, leap from one hat to another, to the number
of twenty.” Then follow “His Unparalleled Sympathetic
Figures,”
“Magical Tea Caddie” and above one hundred other astonishing
tricks for the same money.
** This is the age of progression. Intellect and steam are
on the quick march and full gallop. Butchers' boys, puffing
cigars, and lapping well-diluted caldrons of “Hunt's
Roasted,” illuminate with penny lore the hitherto unclassic
shambles of Whitechapel and Leadenhall. The mechanic, far
advanced in intelligence and gin, roars “animal parliaments,
universal suffering, and vote by bullet.” And the Sunday
School Solomon, on being asked by meo magister, “Who was
Jesse?” lisps “the Flower of Dumblain!”—“When was Rome
built, my little intelligence?”—“In the night, sir.”—“Eh!
How?”—
“Because I've heerd grandmother say, Rome warn't built in a
day!”—“Avez vous du mal, monsieur?” was the question put to
a young Englishman, after a turn over in the French
diligence.—“Non” replied the six-lessons linguist, “Je riai
qu'un portmanteau!”
But we have since advanced to the learning of Mr. Lane; like the lady, who complained to the limner that her portrait looked too ancient for her, and received from Mr. Brush this pertinent reply, “Madam, you will grow more and more like it every day!” Ingleby, * “emperor of conjurors,” (who let his magic cat out of the bag in a printed book of legerdemain,) and Gyngell played, only with new variations, the same old sleight-of-hand tricks over again. The wizard's art is down among the dead men.
* “Theurgicomination! or New Magical Wonders, by Sieur
Ingleby. He plays all sorts of tricks upon cards; exhibits
his Pixidees Metallurgy, or tricks upon medals; and
Operation in
Popysomance, being the art of discovering people's thoughts.
Any gentleman may cut off a cock's head, and at the Sieur's
bidding it shall leap back to its old quarters, chanticleer
giving three crows for its recovery!”
As “dead men” died on the Laureat's lips, the joyous presence was announced of Mr. Hercules Hatband and Mr. Stanislaus Stiflegig. Uncle Timothy proposed a glass round; and to make up for lost time (in a libation to mountebanks), tumblers for the mutes.
“Our nephew is fat, and scant of breath we will give him a few minutes to recruit. Marma-duke Merripall, I call upon you for a song.”
“An excellent call! Uncle Timothy,” shouted Deputy Doublechin.