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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:55 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:55 -0700 |
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diff --git a/old/orig5650-h/p2.htm b/old/orig5650-h/p2.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf739d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/orig5650-h/p2.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1306 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>SEYMOUR'S SKETCHES, Part 2.</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {background:#faebd7; margin:10%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97% } + .figleft {float: left;} + .figright {float: right;} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + // --> +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + + <a href="p1.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="5650-h.htm">Main Index</a> +</td><td> + <a href="p3.htm">Next Part</a> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h1>SKETCHES BY SEYMOUR</h1></center> +<br><br> +<center><h2>PART TWO</h2></center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<center><a name="Bookcover"></a><img alt="Bookcover.jpg (202K)" src="images/Bookcover.jpg" height="804" width="653"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><a name="Spine angled"></a><img alt="Spine angled.jpg (88K)" src="images/Spine%20angled.jpg" height="1229" width="648"> +</center><br><br><br><br> + + +<center><a name="Titlepage"></a><img alt="Titlepage.jpg (43K)" src="images/Titlepage.jpg" height="919" width="630"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><a name="Title2"></a><img alt="Title2.jpg (94K)" src="images/Title2.jpg" height="1098" width="656"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +EBOOK EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION:<br><br> + +"Sketches by Seymour" was published in various versions about 1836. +The copy used for this PG edition has no date and was published by Thomas Fry, London. +Some of the 90 plates note only Seymour's name, many are inscribed "Engravings by +H. Wallis from sketches by Seymour." The printed book appears to be a compilation of five +smaller volumes. From the confused chapter titles the reader may well suspect the printer +mixed up the order of the chapters. The complete book in this +digital edition is split into five smaller volumes—the individual volumes +are of more manageable size than the 7mb complete version.<br><br> + +The importance of this collection is in the engravings. +The text is often mundane, is full of conundrums and puns +popular in the early 1800's—and is mercifully short. No author is +given credit for the text though the section titled, "The Autobiography +of Andrew Mullins" may give us at least his pen-name.<br><br> + DW<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br><br><br> + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS:</h2> + + +<h3>OTHER SCENES.</h3> +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + + + + SCENE IX. </td><td><a href="#Scene9">Shoot away, Bill! never mind the old woman</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE X. </td><td><a href="#Scene10">I begin to think I may as well go back.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XI. </td><td><a href="#Scene11">Mother says fishes comes from hard roes</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XII. </td><td><a href="#Scene12">Ambition.</a> </td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XIII. </td><td><a href="#Scene13">Better luck next time.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XIV. </td><td><a href="#Scene14">Don't you be saucy, Boys.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XV. </td><td><a href="#Scene15">Vy, Sarah, you're drunk!</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XVI. </td><td><a href="#Scene16">Lawk a'-mercy! I'm going wrong!</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XVII. </td><td><a href="#Scene17">I'm dem'd if I can ever hit 'em.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XVIII. </td><td><a href="#Scene18">Have you read the leader in this paper</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XIX. </td><td><a href="#Scene19">An Epistle from Samuel Softly, Esq.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XX. </td><td><a href="#Scene20">The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XXI. </td><td><a href="#Scene21">The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.(Continued)</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XXII. </td><td><a href="#Scene22">The Itinerant Musician.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE XXIII. </td><td><a href="#Scene23">The Confessions of a Sportsman.</a> + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + +<br><br><br><br> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h1>OTHER SCENES</h1></center> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h2>SCENE IX.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Shoot away, Bill! never mind the old woman—she +can't get over the wall to us."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene9"></a><img alt="Scene9.jpg (70K)" src="images/Scene9.jpg" height="953" width="623"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + +One day two urchins got +<br>A pistol, powder, horn, and shot, +<br>And proudly forth they went +<br>On sport intent. +<br>"Oh, Tom! if we should shoot a hare," +<br>Cried one, +<br>The elder son, +<br>"How father, sure, would stare!" +<br>"Look there! what's that?" +<br>"Why, as I live, a cat," +<br>Cried Bill, "'tis mother Tibbs' tabby; +<br>Oh! what a lark +<br>She loves it like a babby! +<br>And ain't a cat's eye, Tom, as good a mark +<br>As any bull's eyes?" +<br>And straight "Puss! puss!" he cries, +<br>When, lo! as Puss approaches, +<br>They hear a squall, +<br>And see a head and fist above the wall. +<br>'Tis tabby's mistress +<br>Who in great distress +<br>Loads both the urchins with her loud reproaches, +<br>"You little villains! will ye shoot my cat? +<br>Here, Tink! Tink! Tink! +<br>O! lor' a' mercy! I shall surely sink, +<br>Tink! Tink!" +<br>Tink hears her voice—and hearing that, +<br>Trots nearer with a pit-a-pat! +<br>"Now, Bill, present and fire, +<br>There's a bold 'un, +<br>And send the tabby to the old 'un." +<br>Bang! went the pistol, and in the mire +<br>Rolled Tink without a mew— +<br>Flop! fell his mistress in a stew! +<br>While Bill and Tom both fled, +<br>Leaving the accomplish'd Tink quite finish'd, +<br>For Bill had actually diminish'd +<br>The feline favorite by a head! +<br>Leaving his undone mistress to bewail, +<br>In deepest woe, +<br>And to her gossips to relate +<br>Her tabby's fate. +<br>This was her only consolation—for altho' +<br>She could not tell the head—she could the tail! + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE X.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>SEPTEMBER 1ST,—AN ONLY OPPORTUNITY.</i> +<p><i>"I begin to think I may as well go back."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene10"></a><img alt="Scene10.jpg (76K)" src="images/Scene10.jpg" height="1003" width="653"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + +MY vig! vat a pelter this is— +<br>Enough all my hardour to tame; +<br>In veather like this there's no sport, +<br>It's too much in earnest for game! +<br> +<p>A ladle, I might as well be, +<br>Chain'd fast to a hold parish pump, +<br>For, by goles! it comes tumbling down, +<br>Like vinking,—and all of a lump. +<br> +<br><p>The birds to their nestes is gone, +<br>I can't see no woodcock, nor snipe; +<br>My dog he looks dogged and dull, +<br>My leggins is flabby as tripe! +<br> +<p>The moors is all slipp'ry slush, +<br>I'm up to the neck in the mire; +<br>I don't see no chance of a shot, +<br>And I long-how I long for a fire! +<br> +<br><p>For my clothes is all soak'd, and they stick +<br>As close as a bailiff to me +<br>Oh! I wish I was out o' this here, +<br>And at home with my mother at tea! +<br> +<p>This is the fust, as I've got +<br>Permission from uncle to shoot; +<br>He hadn't no peace till he give +<br>This piece, and the powder to boot! +<br> +<p>And vat's it all come to at last?— +<br>There isn't no chance of a hit, +<br>I feel the rain's all down my back, +<br>In my mouth though I hav'n't a bit! +<br> +<p>O! it's werry wezaatious indeed! +<br>For I shan't have another day soon; +<br>But I'm blow'd, if I don't have a pop— +<br>My eye! I've shot Dash! vot a spoon! +<br> +<p>O! here's a partic'lar mess, +<br>Vot vill mother say to me now? +<br>For he vas her lap-dog and pet, +<br>Oh! I've slaughtered her darling bow-wow! + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XI.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Mother says fishes comes from hard roes, so I chuck'd in the roe of a +red-herring last week, but I doesn't catch any fish yet."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene11"></a><img alt="Scene11.jpg (70K)" src="images/Scene11.jpg" height="951" width="651"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +How beautiful is the simplicity of unsophisticated youth! Behold with +what patience this innocent awaits a bite, trusting with perfect faith in +the truth of his affectionate mother's ichthyological knowledge. Wishing +to behold a live fish dangling at the end of his line, he has, with +admirable foresight, drawn up the bucket, that in the ascent the finny +prey may not kick it! It must be a hard roe indeed, that is not softened +by his attentions; but, alas! he is doomed never to draw up a vulgar +herring, or a well-bred fish! + +<p>Folks who are a little deeper read than the boy—(or the +herring!)—may smile at his fruitless attempt, but how many are there that act +through life upon the same principle, casting their lines and fishing +for—compliments, who never obtain even a nibble—for why? their attempts +at applause, like his red-herring, are smoked. He does not know that +herrings are salt-water fish—and, in fact, that the well-water is not +the roes—water! + +<p>But after all, is not such ignorance bliss?—for he enjoys the +anticipated pleasure; and if anticipation be really greater than +reality—what an interminable length will that pleasure be to him! Ever and +anon he draws up his line, like a militia captain for a review;—puts +fresh bait on the crooked pin, and lets it slowly down, and peeps in, +wondering what the fish can be at!—and is quite as much in the dark as +his float. But he may at last, perhaps, discover that he is not so deep +as a well—and wisely resolve to let well—alone; two points which may +probably be of infinite importance to him through life, and enable him to +turn the laugh against those who now mock his ignorance and simplicity. + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>Ambition. </i> +<p><i>"He was ambitious, and I slew him."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene12"></a><img alt="Scene12.jpg (54K)" src="images/Scene12.jpg" height="1033" width="631"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +WHAT carried Captain Ross to the North Pole? "A ship to be sure!" +exclaims some matter-of-fact gentleman. Reader! It was AMBITION! + +<p>What made barber Ross survey the poll, make wigs, and puff away even +when powder was exploded? What caused him to seek the applause of the +'nobs' among the cockneys, and struggle to obtain the paradoxical +triplicate dictum that he was a werry first-rate cutter!' What made him +a practical Tory? (for he boasts of turning out the best wigs in the +country!) + +<p>What induces men to turn theatrical managers when a beggarly account +of empty boxes nightly proves the Drama is at a discount—all benefits +visionary, and the price of admission is regarded as a tax, and the +performers as ex-actors!—when they get scarcely enough to pay for +lights, and yet burn their fingers?—AMBITION! + +<p>The candidate for the county cringes, and flatters the greasy unwashed +ten-pounders, in order to get at the head of the poll—so likewise the +bumpkin (in imitation of his superior) rubs his hand in the dirt to +enable him to cling fast, and reach the top of the soap'd poll, whereon +the tempting prize is displayed. And, what prompts them both to the +contest?—AMBITION! + +<p>What is the 'primum mobile,' of the adventurous Aeronaut, Mr. Green, +one of the most rising men of the day, who aspires even unto the very +clouds, and in his elevation looks upon all men of woman born as far +beneath him?—AMBITION! + +<p>What prompts the soldier who spends half-a-crown out of sixpence a-day +to thrust his head into the cannon's mouth, to convince the world that he +is desirous of obtaining a good report and that he is fearless of the +charge?—AMBITION! + +<p>What makes the beardless school-boy leap ditches and over posts at the +risk of his neck, and boast that he'll do another's dags'—or the +sporting man turn good horses into filthy dog's meat, in riding so many +miles in so many minutes?—AMBITION! + +<p>What magic influence operates upon the senses of the barrister (a +scholar and a gentleman) to exert his winning eloquence and ingenuity in +the cause of a client, who, in his conscience, he knows to be both +morally and legally unworthy of the luminous defence put forth to prove +the trembling culprit more sinned against than sinning?—AMBITION! + +<p>What urges the vulgar costermonger to bestride his long-ear'd Arabian, +and belabor his panting sides with merciless stick and iron-shod heels +to impel him to the goal in the mimic race—or the sleek and polish'd +courtier to lick the dust of his superiors' feet to obtain a paltry +riband or a star?—AMBITION! + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XIII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>Better luck next time.</i> +<p><i>The lamentation of Joe Grishin.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene13"></a><img alt="Scene13.jpg (64K)" src="images/Scene13.jpg" height="875" width="653"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"O! Molly! Molly! ven I popp'd my chops through the arey railings, and +seed you smile, I thought you vos mine for ever! I wentur'd all for +you—all—. It war'n't no great stake p'r'aps, but it was a tender vun! +I offer'd you a heart verbally, and you said 'No!' I writ this ere +wollentine, and you returns it vith a big 'No!' + +<p>"O! Molly your 'No's,' is more piercinger and crueller than your heyes. +Me! to be used so:—Me! as refused the vidder at the Coal Shed! (to be +sure she wore a vig and I didn't vant a bald rib!) Me!—but it's o' no +use talking; von may as vell make love to a lamp-post, and expect to feed +von's flame vith lights! But adoo to life; this 'ere rope, fix'd round +the 'best end o' the neck' will soon scrap me, and ven I'm as dead as +mutton, p'r'aps you may be werry sorry. + +<p>"It'll be too late then, Molly, ven you've led me to the halter, to +vish as you'd married me." + +<p>After this bitter burst of wounded feeling, and, urged by the +rejection of his addresses, the love-lorn Butcher mounted a joint-stool, +and stepping on a fence, twisted the awful rope round the branch of a +tree, and then, coiling it about his neck, determined that this day +should be a killing day; vainly supposing, in the disordered state of his +mind, that the flinty-hearted Molly would probably esteem her 'dear' +(like venison) the better for being hung! Mystically muttering 'adoo!' +three times, in the most pathetic tone, he swung off and in an instant +came to his latter end—for the rope snapp'd in twain, and he found +himself seated on the turf below, when he vainly imagined he was +preparing himself for being placed below the turf! + +<p>"Nothin' but disappointments in this world;" exclaimed he, really +feeling hurt by the unexpected fall, for he had grazed his calves in the +meadow, and was wofully vexed at finding himself a lover 'turned off' and +yet 'unhung.' + +<p>Cast down and melancholy, he retraced his steps, and seizing a cleaver +(dreadful weapon!) vented his suicidal humour in chopping, with malignant +fury, at his own block! + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XIV.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>Don't you be saucy, Boys</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene14"></a><img alt="Scene14.jpg (71K)" src="images/Scene14.jpg" height="1063" width="631"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"WHAT are you grinning at, boys?" angrily demanded an old gentleman +seated beside a meandering stream, of two schoolboys, who were watching +him from behind a high paling at his rear.—"Don't you know a little +makes fools laugh." + +<p>"Yes, sir! that's quite true, for we were laughing at what you've +caught!" + +<p>"Umph! I tell you what, my lads, if I knew your master, I'd pull you +up, and have you well dressed." + +<p>"Tell that to the fishes," replied the elder, "when you do get a +bite!" + +<p>"You saucy jackanapes! how dare you speak to me in this manner?" + +<p>"Pray, sir, are you lord of the manor? I'm sure you spoke to us +first," said the younger. + +<p>"More than that," continued his companion. "We are above speaking to +you, for you are beneath us!" + +<p>The old gentleman, rather nettled at the glibness of the lads, stuck a +hook vengefully into an inoffensive worm, and threw his line. + +<p>The boys still retained their post, and after many whispered remarks +and tittering, the younger thrust his handkerchief into his mouth to +smother a burst of irrepressible laughter, while the other, assuming a +modest and penitent air, said: + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir." + +<p>"What?" demanded the old gentleman sharply. + +<p>"Hope you are not offended, sir?" + +<p>"Get along with you," replied the unfortunate angler, irritated at his +want of success. + +<p>"I can tell you something, sir," continued the lad;—"there's no fish +to be had where you are. I know the river well. Father's very fond o' +fish; he always brings home plenty. If you like, sir, I can show you the +place." + +<p>Here his companion rolled upon the grass and kicked, perfectly +convulsed with laughter, luckily hidden from the view of the now +mollified old gentleman. + +<p>"Indeed!" cried the angler: "is it far from this?" + +<p>"Not a quarter of a mile," replied the boy. + +<p>"That is nothing. I've walked eighteen this morning," said the old +gentleman, packing up his apparatus. "I'll go with you directly, and +thank you too, for I'm a perfect stranger in these parts." + +<p>When he had joined them, the laughing fits of the younger had +subsided, although he chose to fall in the rear. "Now, to shew you how +much more profitable it is to respect than to mock at your superiors in +years, there's a (let me see)—there's a halfpenny for you to purchase +cakes." + +<p>"Thank ye, sir," said he, and turning to his companion with a wink: +"Here Bill, run to Cummins' and buy a ha'p'orth of eights—we'll make the +most of it—and I'll come to you as soon as I've shown the gentleman the +fish." + +<p>"Show me the place, and I'll find the fish," said the anticipating +angler. + +<p>On they trudged. + +<p>"Must we go through the town?" asked his companion, as he marched with +his long rod in one hand and his can in the other. + +<p>"Yes, sir, it ain't far;" and he walked on at a quicker pace, while +all the crowd of rustics gazed at t e extraordinary appearance of the +armed Waltonian, for it happened to be market-day. After parading him in +this fashion nearly through the town, he presently twitched him by his +coat-sleeve. + +<p>"Look there, sir!" cried he, pointing to a well-stocked fishmonger's. + +<p>"Beautiful!—what a quantity!" exclaimed the venerable piscator. + +<p>"I thought you'd like it, sir—that's the place for fish, sir,—good +morning." + +<p>"Eh! what—you young dog?" + +<p>"That's where father gets all his, I assure you, sir,—good morning," +said the youth, and making a mock reverence, bounded off as fast as his +legs could carry him. + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XV.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Vy, Sarah, you're drunk! I am quite ashamed o' you."</i> +<p><i>"Vell, vots the odds as long as you're happy!"</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene15"></a><img alt="Scene15.jpg (59K)" src="images/Scene15.jpg" height="863" width="652"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +JACK was an itinerant vender of greens, and his spouse was a peripatetic +distributor of the finny tribe, (sprats, herrings or mackerel, according +to the season,) and both picked up a tolerable livelihood by their +respective callings. + +<p>Like the lettuces he sold, Jack had a good heart, and his attention +was first attracted to the subsequent object of his election by the wit +of a passing boy, who asked the damsel how she sold her carrots? Jack's +eyes were in an instant turned towards one whom he considered a +competitor in the trade—when he beheld the physiognomy of his Sarah +beaming with smiles beneath an abundant crop of sunny hair! + +<p>"You are a beauty and no mistake," exclaimed the green grocer in +admiration. + +<p>"Flummery!" replied the damsel—the deep blush of modesty mantling her +cheeks. Jack rested his basket on a post beside her stall, and drank +deep draughts of love, while Sarah's delicate fingers were skilfully +employed in undressing a pound of wriggling eels for a customer. + +<p>"Them's rig'lar voppers!" remarked Jack. + +<p>"Three to a pound," answered Sarah, and so they slipped naturally into +discourse upon trade, its prospects and profits, and gradually a hint of +partnership was thrown out. + +<p>Sarah laughed at his insinuating address, and displayed a set of teeth +that rivalled crimped skate in their whiteness—a month afterwards they +became man and wife. For some years they toiled on together—he, like a +caterpillar, getting a living out of cabbages, and she, like an +undertaker, out of departed soles! Latterly, however, Jack discovered +that his spouse was rather addicted to 'summut short,' in fact, that she +drank like a fish, although the beverage she affected was a leetle +stronger than water. Their profit (unlike Mahomet) permitted them the +same baneful indulgence—and kept them both in spirits! + +<p>Their trade, however, fell off for they were often unable to carry +their baskets. + +<p>The last time we beheld them, Sarah was sitting in the cooling current +of a gutter, with her heels upon the curb (alas! how much did she need a +curb!) while Jack, having disposed of his basket, had obtained a post in +a public situation, was holding forth on the impropriety of her conduct. + +<p>"How can you let yourself down so?" said he,—"You're drunk—drunk, +Sarah, drunk!" + +<p>"On'y a little elevated, Jack." + +<p>"Elevated!—floor'd you mean." + +<p>"Vell; vot's the odds as long as you're happy?" + +<p>Jack finding all remonstrance was vain, brought himself up, and +reeling forward, went as straight home—as he could, leaving his spouse +(like many a deserted wife) soaking her clay, because he refused to +support her! + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XVI.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Lawk a'-mercy! I'm going wrong! and got to walk all that way back +again."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene16"></a><img alt="Scene16.jpg (95K)" src="images/Scene16.jpg" height="991" width="641"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +A PEDESTRIAN may get robbed of his money on the highway, but a cross-road +frequently robs him of time and patience; for when haply he considers +himself at his journey's end, an impertinent finger-post, offering him +the tardy and unpleasant information that he has wandered from his track, +makes him turn about and wheel about, like Jim Crow, in anything but a +pleasant humor. + +<p>It were well if every wayfarer were like the sailor, who when offered +a quid from the 'bacoo box of a smoker, said, 'I never chews the +short-cut!' and in the same spirit, we strongly advise him, before he takes the +short-cut to think of the returns! + +<p>Should the weather prove rainy, the hungry traveller may certainly get +a wet on the road, although he starves before he reaches the wished-for +inn. + +<p>As there is likewise no more chance of meeting a good tempered guide +on a cross-road, than of finding eggs and bacon, in an edible state, at +least on a common—and as he can no more pull in the summer-rains than he +can the reins of a runaway stallion; the result is, the inexperienced +youth ludicrously represents so many pounds of 'dripping,' and although +he may be thirsty, he will have no cause to complain that he is—dry! +The best mode for an honest man to go round the country, is to take a +straight-forward course, especially when the surcharged clouds do rule +the horizon with sloping lines of rain! Besides, it is by no means a +pleasant thing for a man with a scanty wardrobe, to find his clothes +running away at a most unpleasant rate, while he can scarcely drag one +clay-encumbered leg after the other. + +<p>It is a difficult trial, too, of a man's philosophy, after trudging +over a long field, to be encountered by the mockery of a 'ha! +ha!'—fence! He utters a few bitter expletives, perhaps, but nought avails his railing +against such a fence as that! + +<p>The shower which makes all nature smile, only causes him to laugh—on +the wrong side of his mouth, for he regards it as a temperance man does a +regular soaker! + +<p>Reader! never attempt a bye-way on a wet day, with a stick and bundle +at your back—(if you have a waterproof trunk, you may indeed weather +it)—but go a-head on the turnpike road—the way of all mails—leaving +long and short commons to the goose and donkey—and the probability is, +that you may not only I make a sign before you die, but get a feed—and a +shelter. + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XVII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"I'm dem'd if I can ever hit 'em."</i> + +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene17"></a><img alt="Scene17.jpg (84K)" src="images/Scene17.jpg" height="920" width="651"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +IT is a most extraordinary thing, 'pon my veracity: I go out as regularly +as the year, and yet I never bring down an individual bird. + +<p>I have one of the best Mantons going with such a bore! and then I use +the best shot—but not being the best shot in the world myself—I suppose +is the identical reason why I never hit any thing. I think it must arise +from a natural defect in my sight; for when I suppose a covey as near—as +my miser of an uncle—they are probably as distant—as my ninety-ninth +cousin! + +<p>Such a rum go!—the other day I had a troop of fellows at my heels, +laughing like mad; and what do you think?—when I doffed my shooting +jacket, I found some wag had stuck the top of a printed placard on my +back, with the horrid words, "A young Gentleman missing!" + +<p>It was only last week, a whole flight of sparrows rose at my very +feet—I fired—bang!—no go!—but I heard a squall; and elevating my glass, lo! +I beheld a cottage within a few yards of my muzzle—the vulgar peasant +took the trouble to leap his fence, and inform me I had broken his +windows—of course I was compelled to pay him for his panes. + +<p>To be sure he did rather indicate a disposition to take away my +gun—which I certainly should never have relinquished without a +struggle—and so I forked out the dibs, in order to keep the piece! I'm quite +positive, however, that the vagabond over-charged me, and I kicked, as +was quite natural, you know, under such circumstances! + +<p>I really have an imperfect notion of disposing of my +shooting-tackle—but I'm such an unfortunate devil, that I really believe when I post 'em +up for sale—my gun will not go off!—dem me! + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XVIII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Have you read the leader in this paper, Mr. Brisket?"</i> +<p><i>"No! I never touch a newspaper; they are all so werry wenal, and Ovoid +of sentiment!"</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene18"></a><img alt="Scene18.jpg (71K)" src="images/Scene18.jpg" height="903" width="627"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + +<p>BOB. +<br>O! here's a harticle agin the fools, +<br>Vich our poor British Nation so misrules: +<br>And don't they show 'em up with all their tricks— +<br>By gosh! I think they'd better cut their sticks; +<br>They never can surwive such cuts as these is! + +<p> +BRISKET. +<br>It's werry well; but me it never pleases; +<br>I never reads the news, and sees no merit +<br>In anythink as breathes a party sperrit. + +<p> +BOB. +<br>Ain't you a hinglishman? and yet not feel +<br>A hint'rest, Brisket, in the common-weal? + +<p> +BRISKET. +<br>The common-weal be—anything for me,— +<br>There ain't no sentiment as I can see +<br>In all the stuff these sons of—Britain prate— +<br>They talk too much and do too little for the state. + +<p> +BOB. +<br>O! Brisket, I'm afeard as you're a 'Rad?' + +<p> +BRISKET. +<br>No, honour bright! for sin' I was a lad +<br>I've stuck thro' thick and thin to Peel, or +<br>Vellinton—for Tories is genteeler; +<br>But I'm no politician. No! I read +<br>These 'Tales of Love' vich tells of hearts as bleed, +<br>And moonlight meetins in the field and grove, +<br>And cross-grain'd pa's and wictims of true love; +<br>Wirgins in white a-leaping out o' winders— +<br>Vot some old codger cotches, and so hinders— +<br>From j'ining her true-love to tie the knot, +<br>Who broken-hearted dies upon the spot! + +<p> +BOB. +<br>That's werry fine!—but give me politics— +<br>There's summat stirring even in the tricks +<br>Of them vot's in to keep the t'others out,— +<br>How I Should like to hear the fellers spout! +<br>For some on 'em have sich a lot o' cheek, +<br>If they war'n't stopp'd they'd go it for a week. + +<p> +BRISKET. +<br>But they're so wulgar, Bob, and call sich names +<br>As quite the tag-rag of St. Giles' shames +<br>The press too is so wenal, that they think +<br>All party herrors for the sake o' chink. + +<p> +BOB. +<br>But ain't there no false lovers in them tales, +<br>Vot hover wirgin hinnocence perwails? + +<p> +BRISKET. +<br>Vy, yes, but in the end the right one's married, +<br>And after much to do the point is carried +<br>So give me love sincere and tender, +<br>And all the rest's not worth a bender. + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XIX.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene19"></a><img alt="Scene19.jpg (73K)" src="images/Scene19.jpg" height="896" width="651"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>AN EPISTLE + +<p>FROM + +<p>SAMUEL SOFTLY, ESQ. TO HIS FRIEND, RICHARD GUBBINS, ESQ. +OF TOOLEY STREET. + +<p> +O! DICK! + +<p>Such a misfortin' has you never heard on as come upon your friend. +I'll jist give you a breef houtline of the circumstantials as near as +my flurry vill let me. T'other mornin' I vips up my gun for to go +a-shootin', and packin' up my hammunition, and some sanwidges, I bids +adoo to this wile smoky town, vith the intention of gettin' a little +hair. Vell! on I goes a-visshin' and thinkin' on nothin', and happy as +the bumblebees as vos a-numming around me. Vell! a'ter an hour or more's +valking, not an house nor a brick vos wisible. + +<p>Natur', in all her werdur', vos smilin' like a fat babby in its +maternal harms! But, as somebody has it— + +<p>"Man never ain't, but al'ays to be bless'd," + +<p>and I'm bless'd if that ain't true too, as you shall see presently. +Vell! I pops at von bird and then at another; but vether the poor +creturs vos unaccustom'd to guns, and so vos frighten'd, I don't know, +but somehow I couldn't hit 'em no-how. + +<p>Vell! and so I vos jist a-chargin' agin ven a great he-fellow, in a +ruff coat and partic'lar large viskers, accostes me (ciwilly I must say, +but rayther familler)— + +<p>"Birds shy?" says he. + +<p>"Werry;—ain't hit nothin'," says I. + +<p>"I'll tell you vot it is, young gentleman," says he, "it's the +unevenness o' the ground!" + +<p>"D've think so?" says I. + +<p>"Sure on it," says he; "I'm a hold sojer! Know this 'ere place, and +have picked up many a good dinner in it. Look at them fe'l'fares +yonder," says he, "on'y let me have a slap at 'em for you, and see if I +don't finish some on 'em in the twinkling of a pig's visper." + +<p>In course I felt obleeged by sich a hoffer, and hands him the gun. +Vell! I vos a-follerin' him quite pleased, ven he visks round, and +puttin' the muzzle o' the hinstrument fist agin my vescoat, says he, "Now +you've lent us your gun, you may as vell lend us your votch. I can't +shoot any think for you till I sees vot's o'clock!" + +<p>Here vas a go!—but I see vot vas a clock in a hinstant—and no +mistake. So I cotch'd hold on the two butiful chased seals and tugs it +out. + +<p>"That's the time o' day!" says he, a-cockin' his hugly heye at the +dial; "and now," says he, "as you seems frightened at the gun, I shall +jist put it out o' harm's way." + +<p>And with that he chucks it splash, into a duck-pond, and hoff marches +my hold sojer in a jiffy! I vos putrified! and fell to a-blubberin' like +a hinfant. + +<p>O! Dick, vot's to be done? + +<p>You know I ham, at any rate, + +<p>Yours truly, + +<p>S. SOFTLY. + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XX.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene20"></a><img alt="Scene20.jpg (89K)" src="images/Scene20.jpg" height="949" width="652"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +AMONG the very few fashionable foibles to which Mr. Wiggins was addicted, +was the smoking of cigars. Attracted by the appearance of a small box +marked 'Marylands—one penny each,' very much resembling lettuce-leaves +with the yellow jaundice, he walked into the chandler's shop where they +were displayed. + +<p>"Let us look at them cigars," said he, and then, for the first time, +glancing at the smart, good-looking mistress of the emporium, he added, +"if you please, ma'am—" + +<p>"Certain'y, sir." + +<p>A pretty little fist that, howsomever! thought Wiggins, as she placed +the box before him. + +<p>"Vill you have a light?" + +<p>"Thank'ye, ma'am," said he, ramming the cigar into his mouth, as if he +really intended to bolt it. + +<p>She twisted a slip of waste, and lighting it, presented it to her +admiring customer, for it was evident, from the rapt manner in which he +scanned her, that he was deeply smitten by her personal appearance. + +<p>She colored, coughed delicately, as the smoke tickled the tonsils of +her throat, and looked full at the youth. Such a look! as Wiggins +asserted. "I'm afeared as the smoke is disagreeable," said he. + +<p>"Oh! dear no, not at all, I assure you; I likes it of all things. +I can't abide a pipe no-how, but I've quite a prevalence (predilection?) +for siggers." So Wiggins puffed and chatted away; and at last, delighted +with the sprightly conversation of the lady, seated himself on the +small-beer barrel, and so far forgot his economy in the fascination of his +entertainer, that he purchased a second. At this favourable juncture, +Mrs. Warner, (for she was a widow acknowledging five-and-twenty) ordered +the grinning shop-boy, who was chopping the 'lump,' to take home them +'ere dips to a customer who lived at some distance. Wiggins, not aware +of the 'ruse,' felt pleased with the absence of one who was certainly 'de +trop' in the engrossing 'tete-a-tete.' We will pass over this +preliminary conversation; for a whole week the same scene was renewed, +and at last Mrs. Warner and Mr. Wiggins used to shake hands at parting. + +<p>"Do you hever go out?" said Wiggns. + +<p>"Sildom-werry sildom," replied the widow. + +<p>"Vos you never at the Vite Cundic, or the hEagle, or any of them +places on a Sunday?" + +<p>"How can I go," replied the widow, sighing, "vithout a purtector?" + +<p>Hereupon the enamoured Wiggins said, "How happy he should be," etc., +and the widow said, "She was sure for her part," etc. and so the affair +was settled. On the following Sunday the gallant Mr. Wiggins figged out, +in his best, escorted the delighted and delightful Mrs. Warner to that +place of fashionable resort, the White Conduit, and did the thing so +handsomely, that the lady was quite charmed. Seated in one of the snug +arbors of that suburban establishment, she poured out the hot tea, and +the swain the most burning vows of attachment. "Mr. Viggins, do you take +sugar?" demanded the fair widow. "Yes, my haingel," answered he, +emphatically. "I loves all wot's sweet," and then he gave her such a +tender squeeze! "Done—do—you naughty man!" cried she, tapping him on +the knuckles with the plated sugar-tongs, and then cast down her eyes +with such a roguish modesty, that he repeated the operation for the sake +of that ravishing expression. Pointing his knife at a pat of butter, he +poetically exclaimed, "My heart is jist like that—and you have made a +himpression on it as time will never put out!" "I did'nt think as you +were quite so soft neither," said the widow. "I ham," replied the +suitor—"and there," continued he, cutting a hot roll, and introducing +the pat, "I melts as easily afore the glance of your beautiful heyes!" +Resolved to carry on the campaign with spirit, he called for two glasses +of brandy and water, stiff, and three cigars! And now, becoming +sentimental and communicative, he declared, with his hand upon his heart, +that "hif there vos a single thing in life as would make him completely +happy, it vos a vife!" + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XXI.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene21"></a><img alt="Scene21.jpg (71K)" src="images/Scene21.jpg" height="851" width="651"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +Mr. Wiggins was so intoxicated with love, brandy-and-water and cigars, +that he scarcely knew how he reached home. He only remembered that he +was very dizzy, and that his charming widow—his guide and friend—had +remonstrated with him upon the elevation of his style, and the +irregularity of his progression. + +<p>With his head in his hand, and a strong "dish of tea" without milk, +before him, he was composing himself for business the following morning, +when an unexpected visitor was announced. + +<p>"Please, sir, there's Mrs. Warner's 's boy as wants to speak vith +you," said his landlady. + +<p>"Show him up," languidly replied our lover, throwing his aching head +from his right to his left hand. + +<p>"Vell, Jim, vot's the matter!" demanded he—"How's your missus?" + +<p>"She ain't no missus o' mine no longer," replied Jim. + +<p>"How?" + +<p>"I tell you vot it is, sir, she promised to give me a shillin'-aweek +an' my feed; an' she ain't done vun thing nor t' other; for I'm bless'd +if I ain't starved, and ain't seen the color of her money sin' I bin +there. Father's goin' to summon her." + +<p>"It's some mistake, sure?" + +<p>"It's no mistake tho'," persisted Jim, "an' I can tell you she ain't +got a farden to bless herself vith!—an' she's over head-and-ears in debt +too, I can tell you; an' she pays nobody—puttin' 'em all off, vith +promises to pay wen she's married." + +<p>"My heye!" exclaimed the excited Wiggins, thrown all a-back by this +very agreeable intention upon his funds. + +<p>"More nor that, sir," continued the revengeful Jim, "I know she thinks +as she's hooked a preshus flat, an' means to marry you outright jist for +vot she can get. An' von't she scatter the dibs?—that's all; she's the +extravagantest 'ooman as hever I came anigh to." + +<p>"But, (dear me! ) she has a good stock—?" + +<p>"Dummies, sir, all dummies." + +<p>"Dummies?" + +<p>"Yes, sir; the sugars on the shelves is all dummies—wooden 'uns, done +up in paper! The herrin' tub is on'y got a few at top—the rest's all +shavins an' waste.—There's plenty o' salt to be sure—but the werry +soap-box is all made up." + +<p>"And so's my mind!" emphatically exclaimed the deluded Wiggins, +slapping the breakfast-table with his clenched fist. + +<p>"Jim—Jim—you're a honest lad, and there's half-a-crown for you— + +<p>"Thank'ye for me, sir," said the errand-boy, grinning with delight—" +"and—and you'll cut the missus, Sir!" + +<p>"For ever!—" + +<p>"Hooray! I said as how I'd have my rewenge!" cried the lad, and +pulling the front of his straight hair, as an apology for a bow, he +retreated from the room. + +<p>"What an escape!" soliloquized Wiggins—"Should n't I ha' bin +properly hampered? that's all. No more insinniwating widows for me!—" + +<p>And so ended the Courtship of Mr. Wiggins. + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XXII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Itinerant Musician.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene22"></a><img alt="Scene22.jpg (84K)" src="images/Scene22.jpg" height="970" width="654"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +A WANDERING son of Apollo, with a shocking bad hat, encircled by a +melancholy piece of rusty crape, and arrayed in garments that had once +shone with renovated splendour in that mart of second-hand habiliments +'ycleped Monmouth-street, was affrighting the echoes of a fashionable +street by blowing upon an old clarionet, and doing the 'Follow, hark!' +of Weber the most palpable injustice. + +<p>The red hand of the greasy cook tapped at the kitchen-window below, +and she scolded inaudibly—but he still continued to amuse—himself, as +regardless of the cook's scolding as of the area-railing against which he +leaned, tuning his discordant lay. + +<p>His strain indeed appeared endless, and he still persevered in +torturing the ambient air with, apparently, as little prospect of blowing +himself out as an asthmatic man would possibly have of extinguishing a +smoky link with a wheeze—or a hungry cadger without a penny! + +<p>The master of the mansion was suffering under a touch of the gout, +accompanied by a gnawing tooth-ache!—The horrid noise without made his +trembling nerves jangle like the loose strings of an untuned guitar. + +<p>A furious tug at the bell brought down the silken rope and brought up +an orbicular footman. + +<p>"William" + +<p>"Yes, sir." + +<p>"D—— that, etc.! and send him to, etc.!" + +<p>"Yes, sir." + +<p>And away glided the liveried rotundity.— + +<p>Appearing at the street-door, the musician took his instrument from +his lips, and, approaching the steps, touched his sorry beaver with the +side of his left hand. + +<p>"There's three-pence for you," said the menial, "and master wishes +you'd move on." + +<p>"Threepence, indeed!" mumbled the man. "I never moves on under +sixpence: d'ye think I doesn't know the walley o' peace and quietness?" + +<p>"Fellow!" cried the irate footman, with a pompous air—"Master desires +as you'll go on." + +<p>"Werry well"—replied the other, touching his hat, while the domestic +waddled back, and closed the door, pluming himself upon having settled +the musician; but he had no sooner vanished, than the strain was taken up +again more uproariously than ever. + +<p>Out he rushed again in a twinkling— + +<p>"Fellow! I say—man! vot do you mean?" + +<p>"Vy, now didn't you tell me to go on?" + +<p>"I mean't go off." + +<p>"Then vy don't you speak plain hinglish," said the clarionist; "but, I +say, lug out t'other browns, or I shall say vot the flute said ven his +master said as how he'd play a tune on him." + +<p>"Vot vos that?" + +<p>"Vy, he'd be blow'd if he would!" + +<p>"You're a owdacious fellow." + +<p>"Tip!" was the laconic answer, accompanied by an expressive twiddling +of the fingers. + +<p>"Vell, there then," answered the footman, reluctantly giving him the +price of his silence. + +<p>"Thank'ye," said the musician, "and in time to come, old fellow, never +do nothin' by halves—'cept it's a calve's head!" + + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE XXIII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>Oh! lor, here's a norrid thing.'</i> +<p><i>The Confessions of a Sportsman.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene23"></a><img alt="Scene23.jpg (64K)" src="images/Scene23.jpg" height="929" width="613"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"VELL, for three year, as sure as the Septembers comes, I takes the +field, but somehow or another I never takes nothin' else! My gun's a +good 'un and no mistake!—Percussions and the best Dartford, and all that +too. My haim ain't amiss neither; so there's a fault somewhere, that's +certain. The first time as I hentered on the inwigorating and manly +sport, I valks my werry legs off, and sees nothin' but crows and that +'ere sort o' small game. + +<p>"I vos so aggrawated, that at last I lets fly at 'em in werry spite, +jist as they vos a sendin' of their bills into an orse for a dinner. + +<p>"Bang! goes the piece;—caw! caw! goes the birds; and I dessay I did +for some on 'em, but I don't know, for somehow I vos in sich a preshus +hurry to bag my game, that I jumps clean over vun bank, and by goles! +plump into a ditch on t'other side, up to my werry neck! + +<p>"The mud stuck to me like vax; and findin' it all over vith me, and no +chance o' breaking a cover o' this sort, I dawdled about 'till dusk, and +vos werry glad to crawl home and jump into bed. I vos so 'put out' that +I stayed at home the rest o' that season. + +<p>"The second year come, and my hardor vos agin inflamed. 'Cotch me +a-shootin' at crows,' says I.—Vell, avay I goes a-vhistling to myself, +ven presently I see a solentary bird on the wing; 'a pariwidge, by +jingo!' says I—I cocks—presents, and hits it! Hooray! down it tumbles, +and afore I could load and prime agin, a whole lot o' 'em comes out from +among the trees. 'Here's luck' says I; and jist shouldered my piece, ven +I gets sich a vop behind as sent me at full length. + +<p>"'Vot's that for?' says I. + +<p>"'Vot are you a shootin' at my pigeons for?' says a great hulking, +farmering-looking fellow. + +<p>"A hexplanation follered; and in course I paid the damage, vich stood +me a matter of a suv'rin, for he said he'd take his davy as how it vos a +waluable tumbler!—I never sees a 'go' o' rum and vater but vot I thinks +on it. This vos a sickener. + +<p>"The third year I vos hout agin as fresh as a daisy, ven I made a haim +at a sparrer, or a lark, or summit o' that kind—hit it, in course, and +vos on the p'int o' going for'ard, ven lo! on turning my wision atop o' +the bank afore me, I seed a norrid thing!—a serpent, or a rattle-snake, +or somethink a-curling itself up and a hissing like fun! + +<p>"I trembled like a haspen-leaf, and-didn't I bolt as fast as my werry +legs would carry me, that's all? + +<p>"Since that time I may say, with the chap in the stage-play, that my +parent has kept myself, his only son, at home, for I see no sport in sich +rigs, and perfer a little peace at home to the best gun in the field!"— + + +<br><br> + + + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + + <a href="p1.htm">Previous Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="5650-h.htm">Main Index</a> +</td><td> + <a href="p3.htm">Next Part</a> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Inside Papers"></a><img alt="Inside Papers.jpg (187K)" src="images/Inside%20Papers.jpg" height="1119" width="646"> +</center> +<br><br> + + + +</body> +</html> + + + + + |