Among the galaxy of Bartholomew Fair stars that illumined this flourishing period was The Right Comical Lord Chief Joker, James Spiller, the Mat o' the Mint of the Beggar's Opera, the airs of which he sang in a “truly sweet and harmonious tone.” His convivial powers were the delight of the merry butchers of Clare-Market, the landlord of whose house of call, a quondam gaoler, but a humane man, deposed the original sign of the “Bull and Butcher,” and substituted the head of Spiller. His _vis comica_, leering at a brimming bowl, is prefixed to his Life and Jests, printed in 1729. A droll story is told of his stealing the part of the _Cobbler of Preston_ (written by Charles Johnson,) out of Pinkethman's pocket, after a hard bout over the bottle, and carrying it to Christopher Bullock, who instantly fell to work, and concocted a farce with the same title a fortnight before the rival author and theatre could produce theirs! The dissolute Duke of Wharton, one night, in a frolic, obliged each person in the company to disrobe himself of a garment at every health that was drank. Spiller parted with peruke, waistcoat, and coat, very philosophically; but when his shirt was to be relinquished, he confessed, with many blushes, that he had forgot to put it on! He was a careless, wild-witted companion, often a tenant of the Marshalsea; till his own “Head” afforded him in his latter days a safe garrison from the harpies of the law. He died Feb. 7, 1729, aged 37. A poetical butcher of Clare-Market * would not let him descend to the grave “without the meed of one melodious tear.” Other luminaries shed a radiance on the “Rounds.” Bullock (who, in a merry epilogue, tripped up Pinkethman by the heels, and bestrode him in triumph, Pinkey returning the compliment by throwing him over his head). Mills (familiarly called “honest Billy Mills!” from his kind disposition). * “Down with your marrow-bones and cleavers all, And on your marrow-bones ye butchers fall! For prayers from you, who never pray'd before, Perhaps poor Jemmy may to life restore. What have we done? the wretched bailiffs cry, That th' only man by whom we liv'd, should die! Enrag'd, they gnaw their wax, and tear their writs, While butchers' wives fall in hysteric fits; For sure as they're alive, poor Spiller's dead; But, thanks to Jack Legar! we've got his head. He was an inoffensive, merry fellow, When sober, hipp'd; blythe as a bird, when mellow.” For Spiller's benefit ticket, engraved by Hogarth, twelve guineas have been given! There is another, of more dramatic interest, with portraits of himself and his wife in the Cobbler of Preston.