Part 5

In hoeing ob de sugar--Or picking cotton, all de same, I beat de oder niggers--And gib dem twenty in de game. Wheel about, &c.

At last I went to seek my fortune--Got up by break of day, Left my ole shoes behind me--And den I run away. Wheel about, &c.

I come to a riber--Which I couldn't get across, So I gib a couple ob shillings--For an old blind horse. Wheel about, &c.

When I got upon the oder side--I drove him up a hill, Oh, but de oder side--Look rather daffakil. Wheel about, &c.

Den I jump on board de big ship--And cum across de sea, And landed on Old England--Where de nigger am free. Wheel about, &c.

There were a hundred-and-one versions of "Jim Crow," fresh stanzas being added from day to day on the passing events, for the most part written by Leman Rede, and Buckstone, the _honorarium_ offered by Rice being one shilling per line. We select the above from the first version as sung at the Surrey Theatre.

JIM ALONG JOSEY.

Oh, I'se from Lusiana, as you must all know, Dar's where Jim along Josey's all de go-- Dem nigger all rise when de bell does ring, And dis am de song dat dey do sing.

Hey get along, get along Josey, Hey get along, Jim along Joe-- Hey get along, get along Joe. Hey get along, Jim along Joe.

Once old Jim Crow was dare all de go, 'Till he found him rival in Jim along Joe; Now poor old Jim, dey hab put him to bed, And Jim along Josey hab come in him stead.

Hey get along, &c.

Oh, when I get dat new coat I expects to hab soon, Likewise de new pair tight knee'd Trousaloon; I'll walk up and down Bond Street wid my Susanna, And in my mout I smoke de real Habannah.

Hey get along, &c.

My sissa Rosa de oder night did dream, Dat she was a floating up and down de stream, And when she woke she did begin to cry, "O! de white cat pick'd out de black cat's eye,"

Hey get along, &c.

DANDY JIM, FROM CAROLINE.

I've often heard it said ob late, Dat Souf Carolina was de state, Whar a handsome nigga's bound to shine, Like Dandy Jim, from Caroline.

For my ole massa tole me so, I was de best looking nigga in de country, O, I look in de glass an found 'twas so, Just what massa tole me, O.

I drest myself from top to toe, And down to Dinah I did go, Wid pantaloons strapped down behine, Like Dandy Jim, from Caroline.

For my ole massa, &c.

De bull dog cleared me out ob de yard, I tought I'd better leabe my card, I tied it fast to a piece ob twine, Signed "Dandy Jim, from Caroline."

For my ole massa, &c.

"MONKEYANA."

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE FIRST.

We pray you, reader, to inspect "The March of Gaming Intellect;" Well Worthy of the observation Of a pure rising generation. Of gaming PUPPYS nothing new, Why should not MONKEYS gamble too; And, throwing off all moral fetters. In vicious courses APE their betters? This hopeful sprig, despising rule, Creeps not like Shakspeare's boy to school With learning stores his brain to hack, The satchel dangling at his back; More pleasant pastime having found, See slate and satchel on the ground; While pug proposes with knowing eye, With Soot, the Sweep, to have a SHY. Do mark his attitude so knowing, "Woman or skull?--the copper's going." Prime Boy! before you cease your fun, I GUESS you'll be completely DONE; This morning's prank you'll surely rue, In loss of slate and satchel too, Which, proof against all fear of LAGGING, YOUNG SOOT is from its owner dragging. BRUSH quickly with your prize, Young Grim, 'Twill be no heavy loss to him-- His course of study from this day Will be a very different way.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE SECOND.

Seated in LUSH CRIB, spruce and smug, Go on and prosper, worthy PUG! Tho' long past midnight, who's afraid? Time, we all know, for slaves was made. What lad of spirit, or discerning, Would waste the weary hour in learning, And not each dryer study cut, To play a social game at Put? And wrangle about CHALKS and LEGS, All Fours and Cribbage, HOLES and PEGS-- Pastimes of such resistless Power, To cheer and charm the passing hour! How oft we find in this fair Land, Folly and vice go hand-in-hand. Pug, let me whisper in your ear, You'll buy experience very dear: In trick, a scholar, apt and willing, You'll soon be stript of every shilling! Your adversary knows you're GREEN. And has a friend behind the scene; Who takes good care he never loses, By furnishing what card he chooses. Play high, play low, 'tis all in vain. You'll certainly be DONE again! And mourn, ere long, Misfortune's gripe, In loss of grog, and cash, and WIPE-- The last of which, by dex'trous pawing, A Pot-boy Pug is gently drawing; While you, intent upon your game, Are all unconscious of the same.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE THIRD.

Fresh from the Lush-crib--roaring, staggering, Clipping King's English, swearing and swaggering-- Attended by his faithful Mentor, See Pug all ripe for an adventure. Already he is holding parley, Or rather chaffing with a "Charley--" Who, Tom and Jerry deeds reproving, Cries, "Gentlemen, push on! keep moving!" Ever prepar'd to spring his rattle-- The trumpet of the watchman's battle. See Mentor, bent on mischief, smirking, On Pug's excited feelings working. "Why does that 'Charley' make a fuss, Insulting gentlemen like us, Thinking to carry all before him-- Tip it him on the nob, and floor him! Two or three well-plac'd blows, no doubt, Will serve the saucy rascal out; And never fear that he can whack ye-- Why, damme, an't I here to back ye--?" Watchmen, we know, are oft loquacious, And PUGS, by nature, are PUGnacious. Sure as our Pug begins the fray, His backing friend will sneak away, Leaving him, as the safest plan, To fight his battle as he can. What ills on luckless Pug await: Black eyes, bruis'd body, broken pate-- And, cursing his unlucky plight, Consign'd to Watchhouse for the night!

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE FOURTH.

O, for a Fogo's Muse to sing The glories of the Boxing Ring-- Where Peer and Prig, and Sweep and Swell, Mix in the motley group pell-mell: A scene of frolic, row, and danger, Where honesty is oft a stranger; For doubtful are the chances now Of triumph to the best man's brow. With equal grief and shame we tell it, 'Tis "How much do ye ax to sell it?" O, for the fighting days of old, When men were neither bought nor sold; When victory was the aim alone, And fighting crosses all unknown. Amid the rabble monkey crew, See PUG, our hero, full in view-- His brain with bruising science stored, Up to each move upon the board; How fluently he prates of flooring, Tapping the claret, fibbing, boring-- Of Chancery-suits and body-battering. Ogles sew'd up, and ivories chattering. Eager to bet--a Sharper now Has got our hopeful Sprig in tow-- Though Mentor, to his pupil true, Hints pretty plainly its a DO. "I'll book my man to win for sartin-- Come, three to one on Bill, at starting?" Though Bill is certainly the strongest, Perhaps Jack's wind may last the longest.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE FIFTH.

Hurrah for Epsom! Mount your prads, And start away, like knowing lads, To join the swarms of smiling faces That throng delighted to the races. O, what a scene of joy and jolity, Of prancing, capering, and frivolity! Where many a swell whose means are scanty, Bestrides his batter'd Rosinante-- Which, proud of such illustrious backers, Hails a short respite from the knackers. Go it! my heroes! man or monkey Mounted on blood, or hack, or donkey. Know many a youth, of spirit gay, Shall rue the racing of this day, And, mourning loss of cash and leather, Curse Oaks and Derby Stakes together. Where all the springs of fashion gay, Can Master Pug be absent? No. Still under Mentor's kind protection, He presses forward to perfection-- With the top Coves can prate with spirit Of all their racers and their merit; Their action, colour, age, and bottom, Where they were foal'd, and who begot'em: Can bet and hedge, make sure to win, And take a well fled'g GREENHORN in. Mentor, at distance, takes his seat, Intently gazing on the heat; Intending wisely, if he can, To line his purse, and fleece his man.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE SIXTH.

Where are the Dashers of the Land Who throng'd the Race Course "four-in-hand?" The splendid trappings--bang-up team-- Have all departed like a dream, And Britzska, Landau, One-horse Shay, Are now the order of the day. See the EILWAGEN skims along, The wonder of a gazing throng, Who hail the Royal importation, A luxury to a lazy nation!-- Here on a sofa you may share Sweet converse with a favourite fair, Or snugly when it suits the whim, Sloth may stretch out the lazy limb-- The curtains of the carriage close, And sink delighted to repose-- For such enjoyment thanks are due, O, Princely Cumberland! to you. Long may you rest your noble head On this transcendent Carriage-bed! But to our Hero--Pug, the Swell, Has done the flats at Epsom well; And as you see, in tip-toe twig, Now sports his lady and his gig; No guardian Mentor now is near To breathe sage counsel in his ear; For when a Lady's in the case Each Mentor's presence must give place. In truth he needs no aid of friend To prompt him now his gains to spend.

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE SEVENTH.

Ah Pug! tho' fortune now has smil'd, And mark'd you for a favourite child, Too many, by those smiles betray'd; Have prov'd her but a fickle jade; And like the meteor of the night, Misleading with a treacherous light. Irksome the task to trace in verse The Gamester's course from bad to worse: That course of vice may long endure, But still the termination's sure. What is the upshot of the game? Ruin--remorse--disgrace--and shame. Behold our Hero--mark him well, The inmate of a modern Hell; Where Croupier every snare hath set, To catch all fish that come to net; Tho' of the tribes that sink or swim, The GOLD and SILVER Fish for him. Now Pug, call Fortune to your aid, The colour's black--the Game is made; Trente-un--Red wins--a hardish smack! You laid that hundred, Pug, on black; Don't let that trifle give you trouble, Try Black once more, and put down double. Red wins again--Ah sound of dread! Well now you'll have a run on Red; Then change the colour if you will-- But doom'd to be unlucky still, You'll persevere with store diminish'd, Till YOUR OWN GAME at length is finish'd;

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE EIGHTH.

'Tis even so--the die is cast, And, Pug! your golden dreams have pass'd-- Well may you mourn the luckless hour You plac'd yourself in Mentor's power-- The knowing practices he taught you; To a bad winding-up have brought you, Stripp'd of your gains, you now, too late, Distracted, curse your bitter fate, And gnash your teeth, and grasp your hair, In all the raving of despair. How shall such anguish be appeas'd? How can we heal a mind diseas'd? Is there no source of comfort? None. No friend to soothe your mind? Not one. Mentor, of course, has little claim To be distinguished by the name; Who with unruffled phyz is viewing His pupil's rage and utter ruin; Eyes him with self-complacent shrug, And thus addresses hapless Pug:-- "This is a devilish fine cigar-- Why, what a shocking judge you are! I never knew you play so bad-- I thought you were not TO BE HAD; 'Tis strange, indeed, it never struck ye, When you play high, you're never lucky. Besides, you play'd too long on Red; Didn't you see me shake my head? The money was your own, no doubt, And handsomely they've cleaned you out."

THE GAMBLER'S PROGRESS--STEP THE NINTH.

"Last scene of all, "That ends this strange eventful story."

The Gaming Race at length is run And darkness shrouds the evening sun; Reproach, Remorse, are now in vain-- That sun may never rise again! Now poverty, distress, disgrace, Stare ghastly in the victim's face: The heartless shrug, the cut direct, And bitter scorn and cold neglect?-- Those glittering hopes so fondly cherished, In one ill-omen'd night have perish'd. And Fate, in midnight's deepest gloom, Have veil'd our wretched Hero's doom-- While Suicide is hovering near, To put her seal on Pug's career.-- Stay thy rash hand! ere to that hour From which no Traveller can return. All stain'd with sin, unfit to die, Unsummon'd you presume to fly!-- The tube is rais'd, the die is cast-- Another moment is the last. But, ere the awful scene is clos'd, A guardian hand hath interpos'd; And in this time of utmost need, See Mentor rush to stay the deed, And eagerly his arm extend To snatch from death his wretched friend, Mentor, this act shall well atone For many an error of thine own.

=_Works by Mr. CHARLES HINDLEY_,=

TO BE HAD OF

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=THE OLD BOOK COLLECTORS MISCELLANY;= or, a Collection of Readable Reprints of Literary Rarities. 3 vols. £1 11s. 6d.

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+----------------------------------------------------------------- + | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. | | | | Original spelling and its variations were not standardized. | | | | Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, | | _like this_. Words in bold characters are surrounded by equal | | signs, =like this=. | +------------------------------------------------------------------+