Books with author W. M. and Charles Dickens THACKERAY

In some collection of old English Ballads there is anancient ditty which I am told bears some remote anddistant resemblance to the following Epic Poem. I beg toquote the emphatic language of my estimable friend (ifhe will allow me to call him so), the Black Bear inPiccadilly, and to assure all to whom these presents maycome, that “I am the original.” This affecting legend isgiven in the following pages precisely as I havefrequently heard it sung on Saturday nights, outside ahouse of general refreshment (familiarly termed a winevaults) at Battle-bridge. The singer is a young gentlemanwho can scarcely have numbered nineteen summers, andwho before his last visit to the treadmill, where he waserroneously incarcerated for six months as a vagrant(being unfortunately mistaken for another gentleman),had a very melodious and plaintive tone of voice, which,though it is now somewhat impaired by gruel and such agetting up stairs for so long a period, I hope shortly tofind restored. I have taken down the words from his ownmouth at different periods, and have been careful topreserve his pronunciation, together with the air towhich he does so much justice. Of his execution of it,however, and the intense melancholy which hecommunicates to such passages of the song as are mostsusceptible of such an expression, I am unfortunately unable to convey to the reader an adequate idea, though Imay hint that the effect seems to me to be in partproduced by the long and mournful drawl on the lasttwo or three words of each verse.I had intended to have dedicated my imperfectillustrations of this beautiful Romance to the younggentleman in question. As I cannot find, however, that heis known among his friends by any other name than “TheTripe-skewer,” which I cannot but consider as asoubriquet, or nick-name; and as I feel that it would beneither respectful nor proper to address him publicly bythat title, I have been compelled to forego the pleasure. Ifthis should meet his eye, will he pardon my humbleattempt to embellish with the pencil the sweet ideas towhich he gives such feeling utterance? And will hebelieve me to remain his devoted admirer,GEORGE CRUIKSHANK

"The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman" by William Makepeace Thackeray, Charles Dickens. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.

In some collection of old English Ballads there is an ancient ditty which I am told bears some remote and distant resemblance to the following Epic Poem. I beg to quote the emphatic language of my estimable friend (if he will allow me to call him so), the Black Bear in Piccadilly, and to assure all to whom these presents may come, that "_I_ am the original." This affecting legend is given in the following pages precisely as I have frequently heard it sung on Saturday nights, outside a house of general refreshment (familiarly termed a wine vaults) at Battle-bridge.

Arguably one of the greatest writers of the Victorian era, Charles Dickens is the author of such literary masterpieces as A Tale of Two Cities (1859), A Christmas Carol (1843), David Copperfield (1850), and The Adventures of Oliver Twist (1839), among many others. Dickens s indelible characters and timeless stories continue to resonate with readers around the world more than 130 years after his death. Dickens was born in 1812 and died in 1870.

The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman is a classic English poem by the great English writers, Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray. In some collection of old English Ballads there is an ancient ditty which I am told bears some remote and distant resemblance to the following Epic Poem. I beg to quote the emphatic language of my estimable friend (if he will allow me to call him so), the Black Bear in Piccadilly, and to assure all to whom these presents may come, that "_I_ am the original." This affecting legend is given in the following pages precisely as I have frequently heard it sung on Saturday nights, outside a house of general refreshment (familiarly termed a wine vaults) at Battle-bridge.