[Illustration: THE PIEMAN; OR, O LORD! WHAT A PLACE IS A CAMP. "O Lord! what a place is a camp, What wonderful doings are there; The people are all on the tramp, To me it looks devilish queer: Here's ladies a swigging of gin, A crop of macaronies likewise: And I, with my 'Who'll up and win? Come, here is your hot mutton pies.' Here's gallopping this way and that, With, 'Madam, stand out of the way;' Here's, 'O fie! sir, what would you be at?-- Come, none of your impudence pray:' Here's 'Halt--to the right-about-face,' Here's laughing, and screaming, and cries: Here's milliners'-men out of place, And I with my hot mutton pies. Here's the heath all round like a fair, Here's butlers, and sutlers, and cooks; Here's popping away in the air, And captains with terrible looks: Here's 'How do you do?'--'Pretty well; The dust has got into my eyes,' There's--'Fellow what have you to sell?' 'Why, only some hot mutton pies.'"] History informs us, through the medium of the halfpenny plain and penny coloured chap book, editions issued by the "Catnach Press," that, one:-- "Simple Simon met a Pieman, Going to the fair; Says simple Simon to the Pieman, 'Let me taste your ware.' Says the Pieman unto Simon, 'First give me a penny;' Says Simple Simon to the Pieman, 'I have not got any.'" But history is silent as to the birth, parentage, or, even place and date of the death of the said Simple Simon, or of this very particular pieman. Halliwell informs us, through one of the "Nursery Rhymes of England," that on one occasion:-- "Punch and Judy Fought for a pie; Punch gave Judy A sad blow on the eye." James Lackington--1746-1816--one of the most celebrated of our early cheap booksellers, lived at the "Temple of Muses," Finsbury-place--the shop, into which a coach and six could be driven. This curious mixture of cobbler's wax, piety, vanity, and love of business, has left us in his autobiography, which he published under the title of his "_Memoirs and Confessions_," his experience as a pie-boy! or seller of pies, thus:-- "At ten years old I cried apple pies in the street. I had noticed a famous pieman, and thought I could do it better myself. My mode of crying pies soon made me a street favourite, and the old pie merchant left off trade. You see, friend, I soon began to make a noise in the world. But one day I threw my master's child out of a wheelbarrow, so I went home again, and was set by my father to learn his trade, continuing with him for several years. My fame as a pieman led to my selling almanacks on the market days at Christmas. This was to my mind, and I sorely vexed the [regular] vendors of 'Moore,' 'Wing,' and 'Poor Robin.' My next move was to be bound apprentice for seven years."