THE Pope, sir," he began, "was as onesided to chaunt as to patter, in course. We had the Greeks (the lately-arrived Irish) down upon us more than once. In Liverpool-street, on the night of the meeting at Guildhall about the Papal Aggression, we had a regular skrimmage. One gentleman said: 'Really, you shouldn't sing such improper songs, my men.' Then up comes another, and he was a little orusted with port wine, and he says: 'What, against that cove the Pope! Here, give me half a dozen of the papers.' The city was tidy for the patter, sir, or the chaunt; there was sixpences; but there was shillings at the West End. And for the first time in their innocent lives, the parsons came out as stunning patrons of the patter. One of 'em as we was at work in the street give a bit of a signal and was attended to without any parade to the next street, and was good for half-a-crown! Other two stopped, that wery same day, and sent a boy to us with a Joey. Then me and my mate went to the Rev. W.'s, him as came it so strong for the fire-works on the Fifth of November. And we pattered and we pattered, and we chaunted and we chaunted, but no go for a goodish bit. His servant said he weren't at home. In course that wouldn't do for us, so down he came his-self at last, and says, werry soft: 'Come to-morrow morning, my men, and there'll be two gentlemen to hear you.' We stuck to him for something in hand, but he said the business had cost him so much already, he really couldn't. Well, we bounced a bob out of him, and didn't go near him again. After all we did for his party, a shilling was black ingratitude. Of course we has no feeling either for or agin the Pope. We goes to it as at an election; and let me tell you, sir, we got very poorly paid, it couldn't be called paid, for working for Lord John at the City Election; and I was the original of the live rats, which took well. But there's a good time coming to pay Lord Johnny off.

Some of the tunes—there's no act of parliament about tunes, you know, sir—was stunners on the fiddle; as if a thousand bricks was falling out of a cart at once. I think 'The Pope and Cardinal Wiseman,' one of the first of the songs, did as well as any. This werse was greatly admired:— Now Lord John Russell did so bright, to the Bishop of Durham a letter write Saying while I've a hand I'll fight, The pope and cardinal wiseman, Lord John's ancestor as I tell, Lord William Russell then known well His true religion would not sell, A martyr he in glory fell, And now Lord John so bold and free, Has got a rope as we may see, To hang up on each side of a tree, The pope and cardinal wiseman.

This finishing werse, too, was effective, and out came a few browns:— Now we don't care a fig for Rome, why can't they let the girls alone, And mind their business at home, the pope and cardinal wiseman. With their monsical red cardinals hat, And lots of wafers in a sack, If they come here with all their clack, we'll wound them fil fal la ra whack, In England they shall not be loose, Their hum bugging is all no use, If they come here we'll cook their goose, The pope and Cardinal Wiseman. Chorus Monks and Nuns and fools afloat, We'll have no bulls shoved down our throat, Cheer up and shout down with the Pope, And his bishop cardinal Wiseman.

Then there was another, sir. 'The Pope he is coming; oh, crikey, oh dear!' to the tune of the 'Camels are coming.' There was one bit that used to tickle them. I mayn't exactly remember it, for I didn't do anything beyond a spurt in it, and haven't a copy for you, but it tickled 'em with others. This was the bit:— I've heard my old grandmother's grandmother say, They burnt us in Smithfield full ten every day. O, what shall I do, for I feel very queer, The Pope he's a-coming, oh! crikey, oh, dear!

Bless you, sir, if I see a smart dressed servant girl looking shyly out of the street-door at us, or through the area railings, and I can get a respectful word in and say, 'My good young lady, do buy of a poor fellow, we haven't said a word to your servants, we hasn't seen any on 'em,' then she's had, sir, for 1d. at least, and twice out of thrice; that 'good young lady' chloroforms her.

Then this one, now, is stunning. It's part of what the Queen was a going to sing at the opening of the parliament, but she changed her mind, and more's the pity, for it would have had a grand effect. It's called 'The Queen, the Pope, and the Parliament,' and these is the best of the stanzas; I calls them werses in common, but stanzas for Wick: My lords and my gentlemen all, The bishops and great house of commons On you for protection I call, For you know I am only a woman, I am really quite happy indeed— To meet you like birds of a feather, So I hope you will all struggle with me, And pull away boys altogether, My name is Victoria the Queen. Our bishops and deans did relent, And say they for ever was undone, Bishop Philpott a long challenge sent To his lordship the bishop of London, To fight him on Hounslow Heath— But the bishop of London was coosey, He gave him one slap in the mouth, And then sent a letter to pusey, No humbuggery stories for vick— I heard my old grandfather say His great grandmother easily loved reckon When they made a fool run away, Whose name was king Jemmy the second. Billy gave him a ticket for soup, Though Bill married old Jemmy's daughter He knocked him from old Palace yard, To Ireland, across the Boyne water, Long life to Victoria the Queen. Come here my old friend Joey Hume, I know you in silence wont mope now, Go up and get inside the moon And make fast a great torry rope now, And then give a spring and a jump And you to a peerage shall rise then, For we'll swing up old Pius the Pope And his eminence cardinal Wiseman, Old England and down with the Pope.

Then there wasn't no risk with Haynau—I told you of the Pope first, 'cause he was most chaunted—no fear of a ferricadouzer for the butcher. How is it spelled, sir? Well, if you can't find it in the dictionary, you must use your own judgment. What does it mean? It means a dewskitch (a good thrashing). I've been threatened with dark nights about the Pope, after the Greeks has said: 'Fat have you to say agin the holy gintleman? To the divil wid all the likes o' ye.' Haynau was a fair stage and no favour. This werse was best liked:— The other day as you must know, In Barclay's brewhouse he did go And signed his bloody name "Haynau. The fellow that flogged the women. Baron Rothchild did him shend, And in the letter which he penn'd He shaid the sheneral wash his friend, And so good a man he could not mend. Chorus Rumpsey bumsy—bang him well— Make his back and sides to swell Till he roars aloud with dreadful yell, The fellow that flogged the women.

The women bought very free; poor women, mostly; we only worked him to any extent in the back drags. One old body at Stepney was so pleased that she said, 'O, the bloodyminded willain! Whenever you come this way again, sir, there's always 1d. for you.' She didn't pay in advance though.

Then it ended, sir, with a beautiful moral as appeals to every female bosom:— That man who would a female harm, Is never fit to live.

We always likes something for the ladies, bless 'em. They're our best customers.

Then there was poor Jael Denny, but she was humped, sir, and I've told you the reason. Her copy of werses began:— Since Corder died on Buystree, No mortal man did read or see, Of such a dreadful tragedy, As I will now unfold. A maid in bloom—to her silent tomb, Is hurried in the prime of life, How could a villain cause such strife She worthy was a famous wife. The like was seldom told. Chorus. She was young and gay, Like the flowers of may, In youth and vigour health and bloom, She is hurried to the silent tomb. Through Essex, such a dreadfull gloom, Jael Denny's murder caused.

My last chaunt was Jane Wilbred; and her werses—and they did tidy well—began:— A Case like this you seldom read, Or one so sad and true, And we sincerely hope the perper- trators both will rue To serve a friendless servant girl, Two years they did engage, Her name it is Jane Willbred, And eighteen years of age.

What do you think of the Great Exhibition, sir? I shall be there. Me and my mates. We are going to send in a copy of werses in letters of gold for a prize. We'll let the foreigners know what the real native melodies of England is, and no mistake.