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the window one of the prints of severe air, “ that Mister Pope Milton, More, and Cowley; and talks of setting a lawyer upon turning suddenly round upon your shoulders, and that sericrispin, who was slyly reading ously too." Does he,” said his features, Heigh, what is crispin. « Oh then, if he's for this? Did Pope write these that, he shall have a Roland for lines ?”

his Oliver. I'll whip him into “ I should be ashamed to utter my dunciad; yes, he shall have falsehood to you," said the book- a drive down in the mud with seller. “ And why to me?” the rest of the pharisees. I'll said the dean, with quickness, dub him the water-wag-tail, the suspecting he was known. “ Be- dish-washer of Twickenham." cause of your sacred cloth,” re- “Ha, ha, ha, haugh !" laughed plied the sagacious crispin, bow- Dr. Swift—this was too much to ing respectfully. “No, sir, Pope his taste" ha, ha, haugh! I did not write them.” “ Then wished to know you, master who did ?” demanded the dean. crispin, and I have found you " That I am not bound to con- answer the picture I had drawn; fess," answered crispin, smiling. ha, ha, ha! I shall tell Pope of “I could mark the man,” said this, and he will go hang himthe dean, looking steadfastly in self.” “ No, no, he need not his face, “ Are you not he?" fear,” said crispin, “ I'll not “ Mark yourself with the sign of hurt a feather of him ; he is too the cross,” replied the collected fine a bird to be made dabble in bookseller, “ and I perchance a ditch.” “ What, then, you may answer.” “ That is not my admire him, master crispin ?" custom," said the dean.

« Oh ! “ Admire him! who do not, then I must wait another cargo sir ?". Why, he has his eneof confessors from the mies,” said the dean. " Alas !" water," said crispin Tucker, replied the bookseller, shaking God mend me! you take me, his head, we writers, the best sir.”

“ Yes,” said the dean, of us, are subject to envy; us “ I'll take you ; and I take you poets are cruelly under-rated in for a wicked rogue to boot, to

this iron age."

Very true," play these tricks with your bet- added the dean, in the same dry ters.” Why, reverend sir,” humour, assuming equal gravity, said crispin, gaily, "Mister Pope, “ but posterity is always just, I'm sure, would laugh at such a master crispin."

“ That is my frolic.” Humph! I'm not sure hope, reverend sir ; doubtless 1 of that,” said the dean. “ The shall be effigied, at full length, devil," said crispin, “why so in the conventual church, over great a man has more wit, sure. there (pointing to St. Saviour's), Nobody that cares for him would by the side of old John Gower, take my scribbling for his : ha, and then, there our neighbours ha, ha! These things do for the may behold the first and last of chuckle-heads within the walls English rhymesters.”

« Yes," there : ha, ha, ha!”

said the dean, “ he with his con“But I have heard it whisper- fessio amantis, and you with ed," said the dean, assuming a your's. And so you admire

over

moon.

Pope?"

Aye, sir; and I am the foot on't, among the rest of happy to hear he is so well paid the worthies in Poet's-corner.” for his Homer; I am told-you “ Oh! you are a critic, too! understand me, sir, we always better and better! Well, and talk of what a man gets by his what iron have you on the anvil trade here in the east-I'm told now, master crispin ? I suppose he has made a matter of fifteen or yours are all ready-money jobs.” twenty thousand pounds, one Pretty well for that, sir ; your way and t’other ; God help us! poets, though they write for more than any ten of your in- credit, should never give it. I've spired ones ever made before, written many a lover's sonnet from the time of Homer to Col- for a dying swain before marriage, ley Cibber. To be sure, his where, if I had not touched the versification is not sent into the cash on the nail, I might have world in slouch hat, and slip- whistled for it after the honeyshod; but I think, God help my

So with an epitaph for poor judgment! that master some sad widower, with broken Dryden knew his business quite heart, who would have broken as well. Pope, no doubt, is the my head six months after, had I neatest lapidary, as a body may dunned for the money. Now look, say—has cut his diamond like a your reverence, here is a specimen skilful workman; but I like of my employ :-A burley-faced Dryden for all that, his angles West Indian captain, a crazy, are bolder, but he is not so good generous, swearing, kind-hearted a jeweller, 'tis not so clean set old reprobate as any that ever you take me. Little Alek sends lay along-side Bear-key, has his work home nicely wrapped slipped his mortal cable, and left in cotton; Dryden, though as his nephew a roaring sum. We good an artist, did his job in a must have an epithet upon his hurry, and sent it home in an tomb-stone,' said the topping old song. Master Johnny, like fish-salesman's wife, hard by, most other clever fellows, could scratch out something praisenot wait for his money-worked worthy-like, for old uncle, from hand to mouth—you take · how he was good to poor folks,

Ah! so it is in this comical and so forth. Here is one that ball; I question but crispin is not unlike him in one shape or Tucker has made as much on't, another, which we've had copied the more shame for Apollo, as from an old sampler of a monupoor John Dryden ; but, as you ment by the clerk of Cripplegate; say, reverend' sir, posterity' is but you know best, master crisjust, and the good duke* has not pin ; your head is wiser than only tucked him in, in his marble ours, ten to one ; never mind bed, but set himself to sleep on price; we can well afford to

as

me.

* The monument in Westminster Abbey was erected to the memory of this great poet by the duke of Buckingham, who thought so highly of his writings, that no epitaph was necessary to proclaim his fame. Hence the inscription is simply “ J. DRYDEN, born 1632, died May 1, 1700. John Sheffield, duke of Buckinghamshire, erected this monument. The wits of the time used to say it was Dryden and Buckingham’s-tomb. There is a bust of the poet on the top of the monument.

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« Yes, your

pay. These are your patrons, that wherry of fellowship-porreverend sir ; perhaps you'll like terst a month to measure," to read it?" “Why, I am a bit (pointing through the window of a collector of these memo- at a boat-load of those licensed rials,” said the dean.

labourers crossing the Thames

with their Winchester pecks and If Langley's * life you list to know,

shovels). The dean laughed at Read on and take a view; Of faith and hope I will not speake,

the comical aptitude of the comHis works shall shew them true. parison.

“ You are a merry Who, whilst he liv'd, with counsell grave, in all styles then?"

wag, master crispin ; so you'write The better sort did guide ; A stay to weake, a staffe to poore, reverence, all come in their turn Without back-bite or pride.

-heroic, satiric, didactic, eleAnd when he dyed he gave his mite,

giac, pastoral, and lyric ; I maAll that did him befall,

nufacture from the epic down to For ever, once a year, to cloath

the doggerel.” Saint Giles his poor withal.

“ What," then, you hire occaAll-saints he 'pointed for the day,

şionally? You can hold a poor Gowns twenty, ready made,

devil of an author, out of case, With twenty shirts, and twenty smocks,

now and then to be a job? How As they may best be had.

much do you screw out by the A sermon eke.'

sheet? What, are you liberal,

master crispin ?" “ Faith, I like these homely “ I have no objection to try epitaphs,” said the dean, “ do my luck with you, reverend sir, write me a copy, master crispin, you shall see if I am a city hunx. and I will give you a scull and Do you never court the muses ?" cross-bones out of my collec- “ Sign yourself with the tion. And how do you contrive cross,” said the dean. to drive on this scribbling harle- “ 'Tis not my custom,” replied quinade?" said the dean, “ I the bookseller. should like to have a list of all Nor mine to confess," said the tricks you and your roguish the dean, so, master crispin, muse have played off ; have you now we are quits." spoiled much paper ?" Pretty “ You may think me bold, well for that, your reverence, your reverence," said crispin, answered crispin, “ what I have « but I was never more mislacked in wit, I have made up in taken if you be not a poet and quantity. Sir, I have spun out no mean one neither; you have as much as would take-aye, as

all the lines in your face,” eyewould take, let me see-verily, ing the dean very archly. The

From an old monument in St. Giles's, Cripplegate, set up in memory of Charles Langley, an ale-brewer, in 1601. He was great, great uncle of the old captain, on the mother's side.

+ Of the few objects that remind one of old times, is a wherry-load of fellowship, porters, crossing to and from their work, about this spot. « I'd be sworn," said Caleb Whiteford, “ either that these men live to the age of the patriarchs, or else hat, coat, waistcoat, breeches, buckles, shoes, shovel, and measure, were heirlooms with the quaker-looking fraternity."

of me.

dean laughed, “O crispin ! cris- dwelling another time,” “Oh! pin !"* said he, “that name sa- Oh! what you have found me vours of the craft; t are you a out, then, master crispin. Well, cordwainer, | man?"

my

honest cordwainer, the fates “ Yes, by birth, not by servi- have decreed, I suppose, being tude, your reverence—and now both of the same craft, that we I perceive you are skilled in the should know each other; you calling, and want to make a pump are a merry sole, and perchance

I may call and chat with you « Good,” said the dean, another day. But you must not (caught in the punning snare), talk of this; mind, silence is the “ but what boots it that you and word !” I stand idling here.”

- Your « This is a favour I could never most humble and respectful ser- expect,” said the delighted crisvant to command, said the pin, O’ds my life, I'd have lively bookseller, lowly bowing, gone barefooted all the way to “ I perceive, you can endure a the Holy-land for such a meetpun for all your sacred cloth. ings : I hope, reverend sir, you'll There's the parson of St. Savi- pardon my boldness, but I our's, I've lost his favour, by am amazing proud of such a committing that peccadillo one guest." day when he walked into my “ Well, well ! as one of the shop." “ More fool he," said craft, I'll be bound you can keep the dean, « what, he waxed a secret, crispin.” The bookseller wrath, did he, master crispin bowed. “ So can I, said the dean, cordwainer.” “ Yes, sir,” an- “ so mind, our motto is silence, swered the bookseller, “ if he and I have an affair that you can had half the learning of the assist me in. Did you ever hear dean of St. Patrick, or a quarter of the learned wights at Butof his tolerance, or a tythe of ton's?" “ Yes, your reverence," his wit, he would not excommu- “Well, then, let's to business, nicate for such a small sin.” Dr. now the lodge is tiled in. You Swift, smiled. Why, what are a free mason, I suppose, brodo you know of him, man ?" ther crispin." No, sir."

Enough to know his rever- “ What ! a gormagon?"$ “ No, ence again, if he should ever be sir.” “Why what the deuce art pleased to honour my humble then ? aye, man! are you one of

* St. Crispin is the tutelar saint of the shoemakers, who usually make merry on his anniversary, the 25th of October. Hence the old adage,

The twenty-fifth of October,

More snobs drunk than sober." + The ancient company of cobblers, (now termed shoemakers,) were called members of the craft.

* Shoemakers'-hall, or cordwainers-hall, from cordonnier.

$ A famous bucks' lodge, the Gormagons, in the beginning of the last century. Vide.Hogarth's scarce and highly humourous etching of making a Gormagon.

the hums?"* No, sir.” “ No! day morn. Oh! the fun and you that live by humming.“ No frolic of that memorable night sir, I am a free sawyer t, one of beats all upon record. I can give an older fraternity, who squared you, besides us residents, a list the stones for those wise-acre of the warm ones from the neighfree masons, who built the tower bouring wards, who desired to be of Babel.” “Good,” said Swift, invited. It will be something “ and now let us have a few wise for our ancestors in future times saws together, so tell me stories to talk about,' said old Joe Wilabout your neighbours--soft, son, the wine-cooper of Pudwho have we here?” “Oh ! that ding lane, and a devilish deal is a group of the very men pleasanter thing for our great themselves, with the first copy of grandchildren to read, than that verses that I ever put in print. unchristian stone stuck against You must know, reverend sir, my house. Yes!' said he, 'I that one day, about twelve years warrant me it will come out in ago, the draw-bridge arch wanted some history of England, that some repairs. It was settled a million of money drank their that the bridge should be shut punch in the middle of old LonSaturday and Sunday, and the don-bridge.' ”ş workmen were let in ; Saturday “ And what is the stone the was shut up shop ; our old street old wine-cooper alludes to,” said was silent, as I've heard my fa- the dean. “ Oh; I dare say ther say it was in the great plague mister Pope can inform you, sir,' of sixty-five. But, as we had no said crispin, “ for he is mortal other plagues but a fine day and angry about the inscription, nothing to keep us out of mischief, which is not half so severe, on we agreed to get drunk, and had the base of the monument, hard our tables out in the highway, by.”|| “I never heard of this and kept it up gloriously till Sun- stone,” said the dean. “ It is

The society of the hums, established about the same period; both in ridicule of free masonry. See Loitard's long print of the procession of the miserable scald masons.

+ The society of Free Sawyers, a society of bucks, who pretended to high antiquity. Their symbol was a silver trowel, and the motto, “ Let it work."

Joseph Wilson, wine-cooper, resided many years in this house, on the site of which, commenced the fire of 1666. The site is measured on the east side of Pudding-lane) 202 feet due east of the Monument, that, too, being the height of the column. On the belly of the carved figure of a naked boy, near Smithfield, is an inscription which records, “ This city was burnt through the dreadful sin of gluttony." I could never discover why. Did our fore-fathers set this up as a pun since the fire began at Pudding-lane, and ended at Pie-corner, where the specimen of city sculpture is placed ? The inscription has been newly painted, of late. § This convivial meeting was held on London-bridge, in the month of April, 1722.

Il “ Where London's column, pointing at the skies;

Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.”—Pope's Sir BALAAM. This inscription, so offensive to Pope, had been obliterated during the reign of James II. After the revolution, it was restored, and cut very deep in the Monument, as it now remains.

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