THE INDUSTRIOUS CLASSES OF THE METROPOLIS.

BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX.

No. 2.-THE LAST OF THE LINKS.

OUR hero, William Webb, alias "Flare-up," alias "Hoppy," was the son of the manager and proprietor of a perambulating circus. In early life, Master Webb was sent to a grammar-school, where he gave promise of becoming in time a grand genius. Poems, plays, and romances were his chief studies. His father's ambition had been to bring up his son (we were about to say) to the rope, but, literally, as a rope-dancer. The tender parent had a way peculiar to himself of "teaching the young idea to dance," by standing under him with a pitchfork, and saying, "Now, Bill, if ye tumbles, I'm blowed if I don't spit ye." Unfortunately, the hopeful son did tumble, and sprained his leg, rendering every further attempt as an "equestrian, dancer, or voltigeur" futile. Bill Webb then renewed his studies, and, to use his father's remark, "Had considerably improved his style, though he had spoiled his gait." Webb, père, was taking his farewell circuit, a tempting offer from the London managers for his quadrupeds to draw that which the bipeds had failed to do,-good houses had decided him to retire into his "otium cum diginitate," as he called it; but not before he had recommended his son to a company of "comedians," who had so great a respect for their Thespian founder, that they still continued to make their stage a wagon, roaming from fair to fair.

Here Bill Webb picked up his stock of rare quotations, which he lugged in on every occasion; he was a master of all work-scenepainter, candle-snuffer, carpenter, bill-sticker, poet laureate, advertisement writer, occasionally dressed up in a "suit of real armour," beating a gong, and requesting the company to "valk up and see the best actors in the world either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comicalhistorical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited, — Seneca cannot be too heavy nor Plautus too light." At one time Mr. Webb would take the part of " grotesque to the rope (for clown was deemed vulgar), throwing twenty summersets, and "chalking the 'eels of Mademoiselle Zephyrine Sylphide on the corde elastique" At another, he would assume the form of a French refugee, the respected parent of the aforesaid demoiselle, and, with shoulders shrugged up, would watch her evolutions, calling down the sympathy of the public by the delicate attentions and anxiety he evinced, in offering his knee to her as a ladder, in extending his arms to catch the danseuse in case she should make a false step, and ordering "Rope tighter,dem it! Bring de hoops; de chalk for de heels; and de balance-pole and flags, pour Mademoiselle Zephyrine Sylphide, première danseuse du cirque Olympique de Paris."

Webb was a poet of no mean degree; his descriptive powers, the

deep pathos he evinced in his writings, will speak for themselves. To his prolific pen was attributed that epigrammatic couplet,

"He that prigs vot is not his'n,

If he's cotch'd must go to prison;"

as also a ballad written on the occasion of a celebrated murder; we only remember a few verses, and if we did remember more, we would not, as the reviewers say, deprive our readers of the gratification of referring to the talented work, and, as Sir James Mackintosh said of Corinne, "of swallowing it slowly that they might taste every drop."

AIR.-" There's nae luck about the house."

They axed him down from London town
A shooting for to go,

But little did the gemman think

As they would shoot him too.

So Ruthven went, from Bow-street sent,
Searching the country over,
Until he pitched into Joe Hunt,
John Thurtell and Bill Probert.

His throat they cut from ear to ear,
His brains they punched in,

His name was Mr. William Weare,
Wot lived in Lyons Inn."

How pithily yet correctly is the trial described.

"Confined he was in Hertford Jail,

A jury did him try,

And worthy Mr. Justice Park

Condemn'd him for to die."

The exertions of the counsel are eloquently eulogised and the peroration involves a fine moral.

"Now Mr. Andrews he did strive

And Mr. Chitty too,

To save the wicked wretch alive.
But, no, it would not do.

Upon the gallows tree he hung
Suspended by the neck.

This fatal story have we sung,
Foul murder for to check.'

We have hitherto omitted to mention young Webb's dramatic talents, which were of the first order; his playbills would have thrown all modern ones into the shade. He was the author of ten melodrames, not translated from the French, two ballets of action, and fourteen comic pantomimes. He had a great talent for altering the title of plays; one specimen of his ingenuity may be recorded. When the authorities forbade the illegitimates performing the legitimate drama, he brought out Othello under the modern title of "Is he Jealous?" His remark on the burning of Exeter Theatre was characteristic and quaint. "So the Theatre Royal is burnt down, Webb," said the manager to him. "Yes, sir; quite according to stage directions,'Enter a fire, exit a Theatre' (EXETER Theatre)." We have, with some difficulty, procured one of Webb's benefit bills, which we present to our readers.

"Why does Webb wish to be unlike the apothecary's shop in Romeo and Juliet? Do you give it up? Because he hopes not to have a beggarly account of empty boxes.'-SHAKSPEARE.-Hem.

"Mr. Webb has the honour to announce to the nobility and gentry, and the public at large, that his Benefit is fixed for Monday the 10th of June, 18-; on which occasion he is enabled to offer a PHALANX of talent hitherto unequalled and unrivalled in this or any other THEATRE in the WORLD.

"The performance to commence with a drama of peculiar interest, written by Mr. Webb, entitled "Manfredi the Machiavelian; or Misery, Mystery, Murder and Madness." "Murder will out." The by Mr. Webb! The scenery and decorations by Mr. Webb!! The properties by Mr. Webb!!! The dances arranged by Mr. Webb!!!! The music selected by Mr. Webb!!!!! The whole produced under the immediate direction of Mr. Webb!!!!!!

"After which a Comic Divertisement, called "Love in the Soap Suds; or, Has your Mother sold her Mangle?" Lubin (disguised as Mother Soapemwashemdryem, the washerwoman), by Mr Webb.

"In the course of the evening, Optical Illusions and Conjuring by Mr. Webb.-" There's magic in the web."-SHAKSPEARE.

"Tight-rope Dancing by Mademoiselle Zephyrine Sylphide, the French

Phenomena.

"Gymnastic Feats by the Ashantee Voltigeurs.

"Slack-rope Dancing by the Wonder of the World,' Pocohontas Sagonitchè Ogenubigo, or the American Flying Squirrel.'

"The terrific combat of four, from Leofrid of the Lion heart; or the Crusader's Revenge,' by Messrs. Webb, Montmorenci, Fitzorville and Montague Lewson.

"Protean Evolutions by the Infant Prodigy, Le petit Beaugerard.

"The Living Pyramids by Signor Fanfarelli, Herr Spittzenburg, and Monsieur St. Bernard.

"Wong Fong-hong-hi, the Chinese Sprite, on the Elastic Corde.

"War-dance and Cannibal Feast, Le festin des morts, by the Otaheite Warriors.

"The evening's entertainments to conclude with Webb's last grand Comic Pantomime and Fairy Spectacle, with entire new scenery, machinery, dresses, transformations, properties, and all its appointments (never surpassed here), under the title of "Mihinmah the beautiful and the magic Swan; or, Harlequin and

the Fairy Sunbeam of the Silver Lake and Mystic Waters." SCENERY AND INCIDENTS: Transparent Lake in the Valley of Diamonds. Ærial Chorus. Gambols of the Fairy Elves. The Feast of Roses. Rising of the Waters. Palace of the Enchanted Princess. Terrific Storm. Mountain Tornado. Phantom Fight. Crystal Palace and Hall of Diamonds. Cascades and Revolving Stars. The Lake by Moonlight. Nymphs Bathing. Brilliant Temple of the Fairy Sunbeam in the Realms of Sky. With a beautiful and vivid Tableau, the ΕΠΤΑΠΛΑΣΙΕΣΟΠΤΡΟΝ, realizing the interesting Legend of the magnificent Fairy Tale. In which Mr. Webb will attempt the character of

CLOWN, (after the manner of the celebrated) GRIMALDI!!!! With two new favourite songs, and the Antipodean's dance on his head, on a pewter platter surrounded with fire-works.

"Characters and further particulars will be duly announced in the bills of the day. Tickets and places to be had at the Box Office, which on this occasion will be open two hours earlier.

THERE WILL BE A MOON.'”

Webb's benefit was, unfortunately, a failure; the arrival of a caravan of Wombwell's "undomitable, untameable lions," having in those days, as in these, entirely destroyed the legitimate drama. The hero of the night had mortgaged the greater part of his benefit to his landlady;-disgusted with the low state of the histrionic profession, and still more so at the lowness of his own funds, and possessing a soul above tinsel, "and a roving disposition," he took leave of the company with the oft-quoted lines,

"This parting's such sweet sorrow,

That I could say good-night till it be morrow."

And so he would have remained 'till the morning had he not been aware of the pressing demands of his landlady, butcher, baker, &c. Appropriating the full receipts of the night-one pound fourteen shillings and sixpence - before the witching hour of midnight, Webb was in a van on his road to London. Unfortunately, the first house the van stopped at to bait the horses, was a rendezvous for poachers, a small way-side hostel, on the verge of a large and well-preserved forest. Round a cheerful fire were assembled some half-dozen young men, drinking and talking as gaily as Robin Hood's " merry men. They courteously made way for the stranger. Webb soon found himself at home; he listened to their histories, for the liquor had made them most communicative, and remembering how the immortal bard had commenced life as a deer-stealer, he favoured the company with the songs of "What shall he have that kills the deer?" and "The Somersetshire Poachers," and before morning came, had joined their gang.

We pass over his hair-breadth escapes, to the time of an accident which gained for him the soubriquet of "Hoppy." It was "on a shiny night," on a poaching expedition, that Webb found his leghis GAME leg-in the same predicament as Mathew's Greenwich Pensioner found his; the only difference was, Webb was in a humane man-trap, the old sailor's in a plug, the result the same, " they neither could muv on." By this accident Webb was dreadfully mutilated; the owner of the preserve, feeling he had already been sufficiently punished, failed to prosecute. Hoppy, tired of rural pursuits, and disgusted with the proposed alteration of the game laws, which he de

clared must eventually drive every gemman out of the country, and put an end to "a bold pheasantry, a country's pride," bid adieu to his friends, and wended his way towards the Modern Babylon, to join some of the industrious classes of the metropolis.

London was now the theatre of his glory, and he soon became so great an adept in his profession as to reap a rich and plentiful harvest. His object in early life had been to "shine" as a "star" within the walls of a theatre; it was now to shine as one without, in the character of a "Link-boy." The times we write of were those when watchmen flourished, when the "New Police" were not even in prospective existence; when gas was unknown, and the darkness of the streets was just rendered "visible" by lamps "few and far between," emitting their dim and oily_rays.

Webb, like Tony Lumpkin's pot companion, honest Master Muzzle, hated anything that was low, and always carried on his profession in the most genteelest of ways. We have only space for one of his exploits.

Lord Sparkleton was the oracle of London tailors; he had left Westminster a buck, and soon astonished Alma Mater with his preeminence in dandyism. He had just quitted college, and his ambition was to shine in London as a Roué. His lordship was one "of the penny wise and pound foolish" order; he would squander hundreds upon tailors, jewellers, horse-dealers, exercising the most penurious economy in other matters. A dashing figurante had attracted his attention, and every night of her performance his lordship might be seen in the stage-box "gazing his heart away." Hoppy Webb who, from his former professional avocations, had formed an acquaintance with the horde of supernumeraries attached to the theatre, was quite au fait with all the quan quan of the coulisses, Every evening he observed Lord Sparkleton's cab drawn up near the stage-door, and saw him descend, after taking off a most splendid cloak lined throughout with sable, giving his tiger strict injunctions to take especial care not to lose sight of it for a moment. Among many illustrations of his lordship's " penny-wise-ism," (and which rivalled the one of the celebrated author who, to save himself the sixpence charged for leaving his coat at the theatre, pawned it, and redeemed it after the performance for half that sum,) we must mention the aversion he entertained of feeing the box-keepers for the care of his cloak ;-" a shilling a night, nearly fifteen pounds a year! ridiculous!" he would exclaim. "No, no; what's the use of a cab and a servant if he can't take care of one's cloak?" Now Mr. Webb took a particular liking to this cloak, and set his wits at work to accomplish the consummation of his wishes. In vain did he try to get the young Cerberus from his seat by the tempting offer of a gallery ticket, and a promise that he would take care of the cab. The tiger's virtue was inflexible, and cunning produced that which bribery had failed in. One dark November night, the peer drove up, and hastily descended; Webb watched his opportunity (and whilst the guardian genii of the cloak, who, for security's sake, had placed it under him, half-awake and half-asleep, was thinking over the miseries of his condition), quietly unbuckled the rein, and "flaring-up" (hence his alias) his torch in the horse's face, made him start off; the boy pulled the rein, as the