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diff --git a/old/orig5650-h/p1.htm b/old/orig5650-h/p1.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b34cfa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/orig5650-h/p1.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1434 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>SEYMOUR'S SKETCHES, Part 1.</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {background:#faebd7; margin:15%; 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="p2.htm">Next Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="5650-h.htm">Main Index</a> + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<center><h1>SKETCHES BY SEYMOUR</h1></center> +<br><br> +<center><h2>PART ONE</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>EVERYDAY SCENES.</h3> +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + SCENE I. </td><td><a href="#Scene1">Sleeping Fisherman.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE II. </td><td><a href="#Scene2">A lark—early in the morning.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE III. </td><td><a href="#Scene3">The rapid march of Intellect!</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE IV. </td><td><a href="#Scene4">Sally, I told my missus vot you said.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE V. </td><td><a href="#Scene5">How does it fit behind?</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE VI. </td><td><a href="#Scene6">Catching-a cold.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE VII. </td><td><a href="#Scene7">This is vot you calls rowing, is it?</a></td></tr><tr><td> + SCENE VIII. </td><td><a href="#Scene8">In for it, or Trying the middle.</a></td></tr> + + + +</table> +</center> + + <br><br> + <h3>A DAY'S SPORT.</h3> + <center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + CHAP. I. </td><td><a href="#Chap1">The Invitation, Outfit, and the sallying forth</a></td></tr><tr><td> + CHAP. II. </td><td><a href="#Chap2">The Death of a little Pig</a></td></tr><tr><td> + CHAP. III. </td><td><a href="#Chap3">The Sportsmen trespass on an Enclosure</a></td></tr><tr><td> + CHAP. IV. </td><td><a href="#Chap4">Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!</a></td></tr><tr><td> + CHAP. V. </td><td><a href="#Chap5">A Publican taking Orders.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + CHAP. VI. </td><td><a href="#Chap6">The Reckoning.</a></td></tr><tr><td> + CHAP. VII. </td><td><a href="#Chap7">A sudden Explosion</a> + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + + + + +<br><br><br><br> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h1>EVERYDAY SCENES.</h1></center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<center><h2>SCENE I.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Walked twenty miles over night: up before peep o' day again got a capital +place; fell fast asleep; tide rose up to my knees; my hat was changed, my +pockets picked, and a fish ran away with my hook; dreamt of being on a +Polar expedition and having my toes frozen."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> +<br><br> + + +<center><a name="Scene1"></a><img alt="Scene1.jpg (97K)" src="images/Scene1.jpg" height="928" width="642"> +</center><br><br><br><br> + +<p>O! IZAAK WALTON!—Izaak Walton!—you have truly got me into a precious +line, and I certainly deserve the rod for having, like a gudgeon, so +greedily devoured the delusive bait, which you, so temptingly, threw out +to catch the eye of my piscatorial inclination! I have read of right +angles and obtuse angles, and, verily, begin to believe that there are +also right anglers and obtuse anglers—and that I am really one of the +latter class. But never more will I plant myself, like a weeping willow, +upon the sedgy bank of stream or river. No!—on no account will I draw +upon these banks again, with the melancholy prospect of no effects! The +most 'capital place' will never tempt me to 'fish' again! + +<p>My best hat is gone: not the 'way of all beavers'—into the water—but to +cover the cranium of the owner of this wretched 'tile;' and in vain shall +I seek it; for 'this' and 'that' are now certainly as far as the 'poles' +asunder. + +<p>My pockets, too, are picked! Yes—some clever 'artist' has drawn me +while asleep! + +<p>My boots are filled with water, and my soles and heels are anything but +lively or delighted. Never more will I impale ye, Gentles! on the word +of a gentleman!—Henceforth, O! Hooks! I will be as dead to your +attractions as if I were 'off the hooks!' and, in opposition to the maxim +of Solomon, I will 'spare the rod.' + +<p>Instead of a basket of fish, lo! here's a pretty kettle of fish for the +entertainment of my expectant friends—and sha'n't I be baited? as the +hook said to the anger: and won't the club get up a Ballad on the +occasion, and I, who have caught nothing, shall probably be made the +subject of a 'catch!' + +<p>Slush! slush!—Squash! squash! + +<p>O! for a clean pair of stockings!—But, alack, what a tantalizing +situation I am in!—There are osiers enough in the vicinity, but no hose +to be had for love or money! + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE II.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>A lark—early in the morning.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> +<br><br> + + +<center><a name="Scene2"></a><img alt="Scene2.jpg (63K)" src="images/Scene2.jpg" height="1049" width="637"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>Two youths—and two guns appeared at early dawn in the suburbs. The +youths were loaded with shooting paraphernalia and provisions, and their +guns with the best Dartford gunpowder—they were also well primed for +sport—and as polished as their gunbarrels, and both could boast a good +'stock' of impudence. + +<p>"Surely I heard the notes of a bird," cried one, looking up and down the +street; "there it is again, by jingo!" + +<p>"It's a lark, I declare," asserted his brother sportsman. + +<p>"Lark or canary, it will be a lark if we can bring it down," replied his +companion. + +<p>"Yonder it is, in that ere cage agin the wall." + +<p>"What a shame!" exclaimed the philanthropic youth,—"to imprison a +warbler of the woodlands in a cage, is the very height of +cruelty—liberty is the birthright of every Briton, and British bird! I would +rather be shot than be confined all my life in such a narrow prison. +What a mockery too is that piece of green turf, no bigger than a +slop-basin. How it must aggravate the feelings of one accustomed to range the +meadows." + +<p>"Miserable! I was once in a cage myself," said his chum. + +<p>"And what did they take you for?" + +<p>"Take me for?—for a 'lark.'" + +<p>"Pretty Dickey!" + +<p>"Yes, I assure you, it was all 'dickey' with me." + +<p>"And did you sing?" + +<p>"Didn't I? yes, i' faith I sang pretty small the next morning when they +fined me, and let me out. An idea strikes me Suppose you climb up that +post, and let out this poor bird, ey?" + +<p>"Excellent." + +<p>"And as you let him off, I'll let off my gun, and we'll see whether I +can't 'bang' him in the race." + +<p>No sooner said than done: the post was quickly climbed—the door of the +cage was thrown open, and the poor bird in an attempt at 'death or +liberty,' met with the former. + +<p>Bang went the piece, and as soon as the curling smoke was dissipated, +they sought for their prize, but in vain; the piece was discharged so +close to the lark, that it was blown to atoms, and the feathers strewed +the pavement. + +<p>"Bolt!" cried the freedom-giving youth, "or we shall have to pay for the +lark." + +<p>"Very likely," replied the other, who had just picked up a few feathers, +and a portion of the dissipated 'lark,'—"for look, if here ain't +the—bill, never trust me." + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE III.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"You shall have the paper directly, Sir, but really the debates are so +very interesting."</i> + +<p><i>"Oh! pray don't hurry, Sir, it's only the scientific notices I care +about."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene3"></a><img alt="Scene3.jpg (62K)" src="images/Scene3.jpg" height="894" width="656"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<p> +WHAT a thrill of pleasure pervades the philanthropic breast on beholding +the rapid march of Intellect! The lamp-lighter, but an insignificant +'link' in the vast chain of society, has now a chance of shining at the +Mechanics', and may probably be the means of illuminating a whole parish. + +<p>Literature has become the favourite pursuit of all classes, and the +postman is probably the only man who leaves letters for the vulgar +pursuit of lucre! Even the vanity of servant-maids has undergone a +change—they now study 'Cocker' and neglect their 'figures.' + +<p>But the dustman may be said, 'par excellence,' to bear—the bell! + +<p>In the retired nook of an obscure coffee-shop may frequently be observed +a pair of these interesting individuals sipping their mocha, newspaper in +hand, as fixed upon a column—as the statue of Napoleon in the Place +Vendome, and watching the progress of the parliamentary bills, with as +much interest as the farmer does the crows in his corn-field! + +<p>They talk of 'Peel,' and 'Hume,' and 'Stanley,' and bandy about their +names as familiarly as if they were their particular acquaintances. + +<p>"What a dust the Irish Member kicked up in the House last night," remarks +one. + +<p>"His speech was a heap o' rubbish," replied the other. + +<p>"And I've no doubt was all contracted for! For my part I was once a +Reformer—but Rads and Whigs is so low, that I've turned Conservative." + +<p>"And so am I, for my Sal says as how it's so genteel!" + +<p>"Them other chaps after all on'y wants to throw dust in our eyes! But +it's no go, they're no better than a parcel o' thimble riggers just +making the pea come under what thimble they like,—and it's 'there it +is,' and 'there it ain't,'—just as they please—making black white, and +white black, just as suits 'em—but the liberty of the press—" + +<p>"What's the liberty of the press?" + +<p>"Why calling people what thinks different from 'em all sorts o' +names—arn't that a liberty?" + +<p>"Ay, to be sure!—but it's time to cut—so down with the dust—and let's +bolt!" + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE IV.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Oh! Sally, I told my missus vot you said your missus said about her."—<br><br> +"Oh! and so did I, Betty; I told my missus vot you said yourn said of +her, and ve had sich a row!"</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center> +<a name="Scene4"></a><img alt="Scene4.jpg (61K)" src="images/Scene4.jpg" height="989" width="605"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +SALLY. +OH! Betty, ve had sich a row!—there vas never nothink like it;— + I'm quite a martyr. +To missus's pranks; for, 'twixt you and me, she's a bit of a tartar. +I told her vord for vord everythink as you said, +And I thought the poor voman vould ha' gone clean out of her head! + +<p>BETTY. +Talk o' your missus! she's nothink to mine,—I on'y hope they von't meet, +Or I'm conwinced they vill go to pulling of caps in the street: +Sich kicking and skrieking there vas, as you never seed, And she vos so +historical, it made my wery heart bleed. + +<p>SALLY. +Dear me! vell, its partic'lar strange people gives themselves sich airs, +And troubles themselves so much 'bout other people's affairs; For my +part, I can't guess, if I died this werry minute, +Vot's the use o' this fuss—I can't see no reason in it. + +<p>BETTY. +Missus says as how she's too orrystocratic to mind wulgar people's +tattle, +And looks upon some people as little better nor cattle. + +<p>SALLY. +And my missus says no vonder, as yourn can sport sich a dress, For ven +some people's husbands is vite-vashed, their purses ain't less; +This I will say, thof she puts herself in wiolent rages, +She's not at all stingy in respect of her sarvant's wages. + +<p>BETTY. +Ah! you've got the luck of it—for my missus is as mean as she's proud; +On'y eight pound a-year, and no tea and sugar allowed. +And then there's seven children to do for—two is down with the measles, +And t'others, poor things! is half starved, and as thin as weazles; +And then missus sells all the kitchen stuff!—(you don't know my trials!) +And takes all the money I get at the rag-shop for the vials! + +<p>SALLY. +Vell! I could'nt stand that!—If I was you, I'd soon give her warning. + +<p>BETTY. +She's saved me the trouble, by giving me notice this morning. But—hush! +I hear master bawling out for his shaving water— +Jist tell your missus from me, mine's everythink as she thought her! + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE V.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"How does it fit behind? O! beautful; I've done wonders—we'll never +trouble the tailors again, I promise them."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene5"></a><img alt="Scene5.jpg (56K)" src="images/Scene5.jpg" height="905" width="617"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<p> +IT is the proud boast of some men that they have 'got a wrinkle.' How +elated then ought this individual to be who has got so many! and yet, +judging from the fretful expression of his physiognomy, one would suppose +that he is by no means in 'fit' of good humour. + +<p>His industrious rib, however, appears quite delighted with her handiwork, +and in no humour to find the least fault with the loose habits of her +husband. He certainly looks angry, as a man naturally will when his +'collar' is up. + +<p>She, on the other hand, preserves her equanimity in spite of his +unexpected frowns, knowing from experience that those who sow do not +always reap; and she has reason to be gratified, for every beholder will +agree in her firm opinion, that even that inimitable ninth of +ninths—Stulz, never made such a coat! + +<p>In point of economy, we must allow some objections may be made to the +extravagant waist, while the cuffs she has bestowed on him may probably +be a fair return (with interest) of buffets formerly received. + +<p>The tail (in two parts) is really as amusing as any 'tale' that ever +emanated from a female hand. There is a moral melancholy about it that +is inexpressibly interesting, like two lovers intended for each other, +and that some untoward circumstance has separated; they are 'parted,' and +yet are still 'attached,' and it is evident that one seems 'too long' for +the other. + +<p>The 'goose' generally finishes the labours of the tailor. Now, some +carping critics may be wicked enough to insinuate that this garb too was +finished by a goose! The worst fate I can wish to such malignant +scoffers is a complete dressing from this worthy dame; and if she does +not make the wisest of them look ridiculous, then, and not till then, +will I abjure my faith in her art of cutting! + +<p>And proud ought that man to be of such a wife; for never was mortal +'suited' so before! + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE VI.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Catching—a cold."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene6"></a><img alt="Scene6.jpg (78K)" src="images/Scene6.jpg" height="945" width="656"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + + +<p> +WHAT a type of true philosophy and courage is this Waltonian! + +<p>Cool and unmoved he receives the sharp blows of the blustering wind—as +if he were playing dummy to an experienced pugilist. + +<p>Although he would undoubtedly prefer the blast with the chill off, he is +so warm an enthusiast, in the pursuit of his sport, that he looks with +contempt upon the rude and vulgar sport of the elements. He really +angles for love—and love alone—and limbs and body are literally +transformed to a series of angles! + +<p>Bent and sharp as his own hook, he watches his smooth float in the rough, +but finds, alas! that it dances to no tune. + +<p>Time and bait are both lost in the vain attempt: patiently he rebaits, +until he finds the rebait brings his box of gentles to a discount; and +then, in no gentle humour, with a baitless hook, and abated ardor, he +winds up his line and his day's amusement(?)—and departs, with the +determination of trying fortune (who has tried him) on some, future and +more propitious day. Probably, on the next occasion, he may be gratified +with the sight of, at least, one gudgeon, should the surface of the river +prove glassy smooth and mirror-like. (We are sure his self-love will not +be offended at the reflection!) and even now he may, with truth, aver, +that although he caught nothing, he, at least, took the best perch in the +undulating stream! + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE VII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>"Help! help! Oh! you murderous little villin? this is vot you calls +rowing, is it?—but if ever I gets safe on land again, I'll make you +repent it, you rascal. I'll row you—that I will."</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene7"></a><img alt="Scene7.jpg (73K)" src="images/Scene7.jpg" height="955" width="635"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<p> +"MISTER Vaterman, vot's your fare for taking me across?" + +<p>"Across, young 'ooman? vy, you looks so good-tempered, I'll pull you +over for sixpence?" + +<p>"Are them seats clean?" + +<p>"O! ker-vite:—I've just swabb'd 'em down." + +<p>"And werry comfortable that'll be! vy, it'll vet my best silk?" + +<p>"Vatered silks is all the go. Vel! vell! if you don't like; it, there's +my jacket. There, sit down a-top of it, and let me put my arm round +you." + +<p>"Fellow!" + +<p>"The arm of my jacket I mean; there's no harm in that, you know." + +<p>"Is it quite safe? How the wind blows!" + +<p>"Lord! how timorsome you be! vy, the vind never did nothin' else since I +know'd it." + +<p>"O! O! how it tumbles! dearee me!" + +<p>"Sit still! for ve are just now in the current, and if so be you go over +here, it'll play old gooseberry with you, I tell you." + +<p>"Is it werry deep?" + +<p>"Deep as a lawyer." + +<p>"O! I really feel all over"— + +<p>"And, by Gog, you'll be all over presently—don't lay your hand on my +scull!" + +<p>"You villin, I never so much as touched your scull. You put me up." + +<p>"I must put you down. I tell you what it is, young 'ooman, if you vant +to go on, you must sit still; if you keep moving, you'll stay where you +are—that's all! There, by Gosh! we're in for it." At this point of +the interesting dialogue, the young 'ooman gave a sudden lurch to +larboard, and turned the boat completely over. The boatman, blowing like +a porpoise, soon strode across the upturned bark, and turning round, +beheld the drenched "fare" clinging to the stern. + +<p>"O! you partic'lar fool!" exclaimed the waterman. "Ay, hold on a-stern, +and the devil take the hindmost, say I!" + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>SCENE VIII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>In for it, or Trying the middle.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Scene8"></a><img alt="Scene8.jpg (89K)" src="images/Scene8.jpg" height="947" width="659"> +</center><br><br><br><br> + +<center> +<table summary=""> +<tr><td> + + + + A little fat man +<br> With rod, basket, and can, +<br> And tackle complete, +<br> Selected a seat +<br> On the branch of a wide-spreading tree, +<br> That stretch'd over a branch of the Lea: +<br> There he silently sat, +<br> Watching his float—like a tortoise-shell cat, +<br> That hath scented a mouse, +<br> In the nook of a room in a plentiful house. +<br> But alack! +<br> He hadn't sat long—when a crack +<br> At his back +<br> Made him turn round and pale— +<br> And catch hold of his tail! +<br> But oh! 'twas in vain +<br> That he tried to regain +<br> The trunk of the treacherous tree; +<br> So he +<br> With a shake of his head +<br> Despairingly said— +<br> "In for it,—ecod!" +<br> And away went his rod, +<br> And his best beaver hat, +<br> Untiling his roof! +<br> But he cared not for that, +<br> For it happened to be a superb water proof, +<br> Which not being himself, +<br> The poor elf! +<br> Felt a world of alarm +<br> As the arm +<br> Most gracefully bow'd to the stream, +<br> As if a respect it would show it, +<br> Tho' so much below it! +<br> No presence of mind he dissembled, +<br> But as the branch shook so he trembled, +<br> And the case was no longer a riddle +<br> Or joke; +<br> For the branch snapp'd and broke; +<br> And altho' +<br> The angler cried "Its no go!" +<br> He was presently—'trying the middle.' + + +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<br><br><br><br> +<br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h1>SEYMOUR'S SKETCHES</h1></center> +<br><br> +<center><h2>A DAY'S SPORT</h2></center> +<br><br> +<center><h3>"Arena virumque cano."</h3></center> + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<center><h2>CHAPTER I.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Invitation—the Outfit—and the sallying forth.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap1"></a><img alt="Chap1.jpg (53K)" src="images/Chap1.jpg" height="941" width="593"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>TO Mr. AUGUSTUS SPRIGGS, +<p>AT Mr. WILLIAMS'S, GROCER, ADDLE STREET. + +<p> (Tower Street, 31st August, 18__) + +<p>My dear Chum, + +<p>Dobbs has give me a whole holiday, and it's my intention to take the +field to-morrow—and if so be you can come over your governor, and cut +the apron and sleeves for a day—why + +<p>"Together we will range the fields;" + +<p>and if we don't have some prime sport, my name's not Dick, that's all. + +<p>I've bought powder and shot, and my cousin which is Shopman to my +Uncle at the corner, have lent me a couple of guns that has been +'popp'd.' Don't mind the expense, for I've shot enough for both. Let me +know by Jim if you can cut your stick as early as nine, as I mean to have +a lift by the Highgate what starts from the Bank. + +<p>Mind, I won't take no refusal—so pitch it strong to the old 'un, and +carry your resolution nem. con. + +<p>And believe me to be, your old Crony, + +<p>RICHARD GRUBB. + +<p>P. S. The guns hasn't got them thingummy 'caps,' but that's no +matter, for cousin says them cocks won't always fight: while them as he +has lent is reg'lar good—and never misses fire nor fires amiss. + +<p> +In reply to this elegant epistle, Mr. Richard Grubb was favoured with a +line from Mr. Augustus Spriggs, expressive of his unbounded delight in +having prevailed upon his governor to 'let him out;' and concluding with +a promise of meeting the coach at Moorgate. + +<p>At the appointed hour, Mr. Richard Grubb, 'armed at all points,' +mounted the stage—his hat cocked knowingly over his right eye—his gun +half-cocked and slung over his shoulder, and a real penny Cuba in his +mouth. + +<p>"A fine mornin' for sport," remarked Mr. Richard Grubb to his +fellow-passenger, a stout gentleman between fifty and sixty years of age, with a +choleric physiognomy and a fierce-looking pigtail. + +<p>"I dessay—" + +<p>"Do you hang out at Highgate?" continued the sportsman. + +<p>"Hang out?" + +<p>"Ay, are you a hinhabitant?" + +<p>"To be sure I am." + +<p>"Is there any birds thereabouts?" + +<p>"Plenty o' geese," sharply replied the old gentleman. + +<p>"Ha! ha! werry good!—but I means game;—partridges and them sort o' +birds." + +<p>"I never see any except what I've brought down." + +<p>"I on'y vish I may bring down all I see, that's all," chuckled the +joyous Mr. Grubb. + +<p>"What's the matter?" + +<p>"I don't at all like that 'ere gun." + +<p>"Lor! bless you, how timorsome you are, 'tain't loaded." + +<p>"Loaded or not loaded, it's werry unpleasant to ride with that gun o' +yours looking into one's ear so." + +<p>"Vell, don't be afeard, I'll twist it over t'other shoulder,—there! +but a gun ain't a coach, you know, vich goes off whether it's loaded or +not. Hollo! Spriggs! here you are, my boy, lord! how you are figg'd +out—didn't know you—jump up!" + +<p>"Vere's my instrument o' destruction?" enquired the lively Augustus, +when he had succeeded in mounting to his seat. + +<p>"Stow'd him in the boot!" + +<p>The coachman mounted and drove off; the sportsmen chatting and +laughing as they passed through 'merry Islington.' + +<p>"Von't ve keep the game alive!" exclaimed Spriggs, slapping his friend +upon the back. + +<p>"I dessay you will," remarked the caustic old boy with the pigtail; +"for it's little you'll kill, young gentlemen, and that's my belief!" + +<p>"On'y let's put 'em up, and see if we don't knock 'em down, as +cleverly as Mister Robins does his lots," replied Spriggs, laughing at +his own wit. + +<p>Arrived at Highgate, the old gentleman, with a step-fatherly anxiety, +bade them take care of the 'spring-guns' in their perambulations. + +<p>"Thankee, old boy," said Spriggs, "but we ain't so green as not to +know that spring guns, like spring radishes, go off long afore Autumn, +you know!" + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + +<center><h2>CHAPTER II.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Death of a little Pig, which proves a great Bore!</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap2"></a><img alt="Chap2.jpg (74K)" src="images/Chap2.jpg" height="959" width="635"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"Now let's load and prime—and make ready," said Mr. Richard, when they +had entered an extensive meadow, "and—I say—vot are you about? Don't +put the shot in afore the powder, you gaby!" + +<p>Having charged, they shouldered their pieces and waded through the +tall grass. + +<p>"O! crikey!—there's a heap o' birds," exclaimed Spriggs, looking up +at a flight of alarmed sparrows. "Shall I bring 'em down?" + +<p>"I vish you could! I'd have a shot at 'em," replied Mr. Grubb, "but +they're too high for us, as the alderman said ven they brought him a +couple o' partridges vot had been kept overlong!" + +<p>"My eye! if there ain't a summat a moving in that 'ere grass +yonder—cock your eye!" + +"Cock your gun—and be quiet," said Mr. Grubb. The anxiety of the two +sportsmen was immense. "It's an hare—depend on't—stoop down—pint your +gun,—and when I say fire—fire! there it is—fire!" + +<p>Bang! bang! went the two guns, and a piercing squeak followed the +report. + +<p>"Ve've tickled him," exclaimed Spriggs, as they ran to pick up the +spoil. + +<p>"Ve've pickled him, rayther," cried Grubbs, "for by gosh it's a +piggy!" + +<p>"Hallo! you chaps, vot are you arter?" inquired a man, popping his +head over the intervening hedge. "Vy, I'm blessed if you ain't shot von +o' Stubbs's pigs." And leaping the hedge he took the 'pork' in his arms, +while the sportsmen who had used their arms so destructively now took to +their legs for security. But ignorance of the locality led them into the +midst of a village, and the stentorian shouts of the pig-bearer soon +bringing a multitude at their heels, Mr. Richard Grubb was arrested in +his flight. Seized fast by the collar, in the grasp of the butcher and +constable of the place, all escape was vain. Spriggs kept a respectful +distance. + +<p>"Now my fine fellow," cried he, brandishing his staff, "you 'ither +pays for that 'ere pig, or ve'll fix you in the cage." + +<p>Now the said cage not being a bird-cage, Mr. Richard Grubb could see +no prospect of sport in it, and therefore fearfully demanded the price of +the sucking innocent, declaring his readiness to 'shell out.' + +<p>Mr. Stubbs, the owner, stepped forward, and valued it at eighteen +shillings. + +<p>"Vot! eighteen shillings for that 'ere little pig!" exclaimed the +astounded sportsman. "Vy I could buy it in town for seven any day." + +<p>But Mr. Stubbs was obdurate, and declared that he would not 'bate a +farden,' and seeing no remedy, Mr. Richard Grubb was compelled to 'melt a +sovereign,' complaining loudly of the difference between country-fed and +town pork! + +<p>Shouldering his gun, he joined his companion in arms, amid the jibes +and jeers of the grinning rustics. + +<p>"Vell, I'm blowed if that ain't a cooler!" said he. + +<p>"Never mind, ve've made a hit at any rate," said the consoling +Spriggs, "and ve've tried our metal." + +<p>"Yes, it's tried my metal preciously—changed a suv'rin to two bob! by +jingo!" + +<p>"Let's turn Jews," said Spriggs, "and make a vow never to touch pork +again!" + +<p>"Vot's the use o' that?" + +<p>"Vy, we shall save our bacon in future, to be sure," replied Spriggs, +laughing, and Grubb joining in his merriment, they began to look about +them, not for fresh pork, but for fresh game. + +<p>"No more shooting in the grass, mind!" said Grubb, "or ve shall have +the blades upon us agin for another grunter p'r'aps. Our next haim must +be at birds on the ving! No more forking out. Shooting a pig ain't no +lark—that's poz!" + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><h2>CHAPTER III.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Sportsmen trespass on an Enclosure—Grubb gets on a paling and +runs a risk of being impaled.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap3"></a><img alt="Chap3.jpg (74K)" src="images/Chap3.jpg" height="983" width="659"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"Twig them trees?"—said Grubb. + +<p>"Prime!" exclaimed Spriggs, "and vith their leaves ve'll have an hunt +there.—Don't you hear the birds a crying 'sveet,' 'sveet?' Thof all +birds belong to the Temperance Society by natur', everybody knows as +they're partic'larly fond of a little s'rub!" + +<p>"Think ve could leap the ditch?" said Mr. Richard, regarding with a +longing look the tall trees and the thick underwood. + +<p>"Lauk! I'll over it in a jiffy," replied the elastic Mr. Spriggs +there ain't no obelisk a sportsman can't overcome"—and no sooner had he +uttered these encouraging words, than he made a spring, and came +'close-legged' upon the opposite bank; unfortunately, however, he lost his +balance, and fell plump upon a huge stinging nettle, which would have +been a treat to any donkey in the kingdom! + +<p>"Oh!—cuss the thing!" shrieked Mr. Spriggs, losing his equanimity +with his equilibrium. + +<p>"Don't be in a passion, Spriggs," said Grubb, laughing. + +<p>"Me in a passion?—I'm not in a passion—I'm on'y—on'y—nettled!" +replied he, recovering his legs and his good humour. Mr. Grubb, taking +warning by his friend's slip, cautiously looked out for a narrower part +of the ditch, and executed the saltatory transit with all the agility of +a poodle. + +<p>They soon penetrated the thicket, and a bird hopped so near them, that +they could not avoid hitting it.—Grubb fired, and Sprigg's gun echoed +the report. + +<p>"Ve've done him!" cried Spriggs. + +<p>"Ve!—me, if you please." + +<p>"Vell—no matter," replied his chum, "you shot a bird, and I shot +too!—Vot's that?—my heye, I hear a voice a hollering like winkin; bolt!" + +<p>Away scampered Spriggs, and off ran Grubb, never stopping till he +reached a high paling, which, hastily climbing, he found himself +literally upon tenter-hooks. + +<p>"There's a man a coming, old fellow," said an urchin, grinning. + +<p>"A man coming! vich vay? do tell me vich vay?" supplicated the +sportsman. The little rogue, however, only stuck his thumb against his +snub nose—winked, and ran off. + +<p>But Mr. Grubb was not long held in suspense; a volley of inelegant +phrases saluted his ears, while the thong of a hunting-whip twisted +playfully about his leg. Finding the play unequal, he wisely gave up the +game—by dropping his bird on one side, and himself on the other; at the +same time reluctantly leaving a portion of his nether garment behind him. + +<p>"Here you are!" cried his affectionate friend,—picking him up—"ain't +you cotch'd it finely?" + +<p>"Ain't I, that's all?" said the almost breathless Mr. Grubb, "I'm +almost dead." + +<p>"Dead!—nonsense—to be sure, you may say as how you're off the hooks! +and precious glad you ought to be." + +<p>"Gracious me! Spriggs, don't joke; it might ha' bin werry serious," +said Mr. Grubb, with a most melancholy shake of the head:—"Do let's get +out o' this wile place." + +<p>"Vy, vat the dickins!" exclaimed Spriggs, "you ain't sewed up yet, are +you?" + +<p>"No," replied Grubb, forcing a smile in spite of himself, "I vish I +vos, Spriggs; for I 've got a terrible rent here!" delicately indicating +the position of the fracture. + +<p>And hereupon the two friends resolving to make no further attempt at +bush-ranging, made as precipitate a retreat as the tangled nature of the +preserve permitted. + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap4"></a><img alt="Chap4.jpg (70K)" src="images/Chap4.jpg" height="941" width="645"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"ON'Y think ven ve thought o' getting into a preserve—that ve got into a +pickle," said Sprigg, still chuckling over their last adventure. + +<p>"Hush!" cried Grubb, laying his hand upon his arm—"see that bird +hopping there?" + +<p>"Ve'll soon make him hop the twig, and no mistake," remarked Spriggs. + +<p>"There he goes into the 'edge to get his dinner, I s'pose." + +<p>"Looking for a 'edge-stake, I dare say," said the facetious Spriggs. + +<p>"Now for it!" cried Grubb! "pitch into him!" and drawing his trigger +he accidentally knocked off the bird, while Spriggs discharged the +contents of his gun through the hedge. + +<p>"Hit summat at last!" exclaimed the delighted Grubb, scampering +towards the thorny barrier, and clambering up, he peeped into an +adjoining garden. + +<p>"Will you have the goodness to hand me that little bird I've just shot +off your 'edge," said he to a gardener, who was leaning on his spade and +holding his right leg in his hand. + +<p>"You fool," cried the horticulturist, "you've done a precious job— +You've shot me right in the leg—O dear! O dear! how it pains!" + +<p>"I'm werry sorry—take the bird for your pains," replied Grubb, and +apprehending another pig in a poke, he bobbed down and retreated as fast +as his legs could carry him. + +<p>"Vot's frightened you?" demanded Spriggs, trotting off beside his +chum, +"You ain't done nothing, have you?" + +<p>"On'y shot a man, that's all." + +<p>"The devil!" + +<p>"It's true—and there'll be the devil to pay if ve're cotched, I can +tell you—'Vy the gardener vill swear as it's a reg'lar plant!—and there +von't be no damages at all, if so be he says he can't do no work, and is +obleeged to keep his bed—so mizzle!" With the imaginary noises of a hot +pursuit at their heels, they leaped hedge, ditch, and style without +daring to cast a look behind them—and it was not until they had put two +good miles of cultivated land between them and the spot of their +unfortunate exploit that they ventured to wheel about and breathe again. + +<p>"Vell, if this 'ere ain't a rum go!"—said Spriggs—"in four +shots—ve've killed a pig—knocked the life out o' one dicky-bird—and put a +whole charge into a calf. Vy, if ve go on at this rate we shall +certainly be taken up and get a setting down in the twinkling of a +bed-post!" + +<p>"See if I haim at any think agin but vot's sitting on a rail or a +post"—said Mr. Richard—"or s'pose Spriggs you goes on von side of an 'edge +and me on t'other—and ve'll get the game between us—and then—" + +<p>"Thankye for me, Dick," interrupted Spriggs, "but that'll be a sort o' +cross-fire that I sha'n't relish no how.—Vy it'll be just for all the +world like fighting a jewel—on'y ve shall exchange shots—p'r'aps +vithout any manner o' satisfaction to 'ither on' us. No—no—let's shoot +beside von another—for if ve're beside ourselves ve may commit suicide." + +<p>"My vig!" cries Mr. Grubb, "there's a covey on 'em." + +<p>"Vere?" + +<p>"There!" + +<p>"Charge 'em, my lad." + +<p>"Stop! fust charge our pieces." + +<p>Having performed this preliminary act, the sportsmen crouched in a dry +ditch and crawled stealthily along in order to approach the tempting +covey as near as possible. + +<p>Up flew the birds, and with trembling hands they simultaneously +touched the triggers. + +<p>"Ve've nicked some on 'em." + +<p>"Dead as nits," said Spriggs. + +<p>"Don't be in an hurry now," said the cautious Mr. Grubb, "ve don't +know for certain yet, vot ve hav'n't hit." + +<p>"It can't be nothin' but a balloon then," replied Spriggs, "for ve on'y +fired in the hair I'll take my 'davy." + +<p>Turning to the right and the left and observing nothing, they boldly +advanced in order to appropriate the spoil. + +<p>"Here's feathers at any rate," said Spriggs, "ve've blown him to +shivers, by jingo!" + +<p>"And here's a bird! hooray!" cried the delighted Grubb—"and look'ee, +here's another—two whole 'uns—and all them remnants going for nothing +as the linen-drapers has it!" + +<p>"Vot are they, Dick?" inquired Spriggs, whose ornithological knowledge +was limited to domestic poultry; "sich voppers ain't robins or sparrers, +I take it." + +<p>"Vy!" said the dubious Mr. Richard-resting on his gun and throwing one +leg negligently over the other—"I do think they're plovers, or larks, or +summat of that kind." + +<p>"Vot's in a name; the thing ve call a duck by any other name vould +heat as vell!" declaimed Spriggs, parodying the immortal Shakspeare. + +<p>"Talking o' heating, Spriggs—I'm rayther peckish—my stomick's bin +a-crying cupboard for a hour past.—Let's look hout for a hinn!" + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><h2>CHAPTER V.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>An extraordinary Occurrence—a Publican taking Orders.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap5"></a><img alt="Chap5.jpg (80K)" src="images/Chap5.jpg" height="991" width="641"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +TYING the legs of the birds together with a piece of string, Spriggs +proudly carried them along, dangling at his fingers' ends. + +<p>After tramping for a long mile, the friends at length discovered, what +they termed, an house of "hentertainment." + +<p>Entering a parlour, with a clean, sanded floor, (prettily +herring-boned, as the housemaids technically phrase it,) furnished with red +curtains, half a dozen beech chairs, three cast-iron spittoons, and a +beer-bleached mahogany table,—Spriggs tugged at the bell. The host, +with a rotund, smiling face, his nose, like Bardolph's, blazing with +fiery meteors, and a short, white apron, concealing his unmentionables, +quickly answered the tintinabulary summons. + +<p>"Landlord," said Spriggs, who had seated himself in a chair, while Mr. +Richard was adjusting his starched collar at the window;—"Landlord! +ve should like to have this 'ere game dressed." + +<p>The Landlord eyed the 'game' through his spectacles, and smiled. + +<p>"Roasted, or biled, Sir?" demanded he. + +<p>"Biled?—no:—roasted, to be sure!" replied Spriggs, amazed at his +pretended obtuseness: "and, I say, landlord, you can let us have plenty +o' nice wedgetables." + +<p>"Greens?" said the host;—but whether alluding to the verdant +character of his guests, or merely making a polite inquiry as to the +article they desired, it was impossible, from his tone and manner, to +divine. + +<p>"Greens!" echoed Spriggs, indignantly; "no:—peas and 'taters." + +<p>"Directly, Sir," replied the landlord; and taking charge of the two +leetle birds, he departed, to prepare them for the table. + +<p>"Vot a rum cove that 'ere is," said Grubb. + +<p>"Double stout, eh?" said Spriggs, and then they both fell to +a-laughing; "and certain it is, that, although the artist has only given us +a draught of the landlord, he was a subject sufficient for a butt! + +<p>"Vell! I must, say," said Grubb, stretching his weary legs under the +mahogany, "I never did spend sich a pleasant day afore—never!" + +<p>"Nor I," chimed in Spriggs, "and many a day ven I'm a chopping up the +'lump' shall I think on it. It's ralely bin a hout and houter! Lauk! +how Suke vill open her heyes, to be sure, ven I inform her how ve've bin +out with two real guns, and kill'd our own dinner. I'm bless'd if she'll +swallow it!" + +<p>"I must say ve have seen a little life," said Grubb. + +<p>"And death too," added Spriggs. "Vitness the pig!" + +<p>"Now don't!" remonstrated Grubb, who was rather sore upon this part of +the morning's adventures. + +<p>"And the gardener,"—persisted Spriggs. + +<p>"Hush for goodness sake!" said Mr. Richard, very seriously, "for if +that 'ere affair gets vind, ve shall be blown, and—" + +<p>—In came the dinner. The display was admirable and very abundant, +and the keen air, added to the unusual exercise of the morning, had given +the young gentlemen a most voracious appetite. + +<p>The birds were particularly sweet, but afforded little more than a +mouthful to each. + +<p>The 'wedgetables,' however, with a due proportion of fine old +Cheshire, and bread at discretion, filled up the gaps. It was only +marvellous where two such slender striplings could find room to stow away +such an alarming quantity. + +<p>How calm and pleasant was the 'dozy feel' that followed upon +mastication, as they opened their chests (and, if there ever was a +necessity for such an action, it was upon this occasion,) and lolling +back in their chairs, sipped the 'genuine malt and hops,' and picked +their teeth! + +<p>The talkative Spriggs became taciturn. His gallantry, however, did +prompt him, upon the production of a 'fresh pot,' to say, + +<p>"Vell, Grubbs, my boy, here's the gals!" + +<p>"The gals!" languidly echoed Mr. Richard, tossing off his tumbler, +with a most appropriate smack. + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>The Reckoning.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap6"></a><img alt="Chap6.jpg (85K)" src="images/Chap6.jpg" height="1036" width="650"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +"PULL the bell, Spriggs," said Mr. Richard, "and let's have the bill." + +<p>Mr. Augustus Spriggs obeyed, and the landlord appeared. + +<p>"Vot's to pay?" + +<p>"Send you the bill directly, gentlemen," replied the landlord, bowing, +and trundling out of the room. + +<p>The cook presently entered, and laying the bill at Mr. Grubb's elbow, +took off the remnants of the 'game,' and left the sportsmen to discuss +the little account. + +<p>"My eye! if this ain't a rum un!" exclaimed Grubb, casting his +dilating oculars over the slip. + +<p>"Vy, vot's the damage?" enquired Spriggs. + +<p>"Ten and fourpence." + +<p>"Ten and fourpence!—never!" cried his incredulous companion. "Vot a +himposition." + +<p>"Vell!" said Mr. Grubb, with a bitter emphasis, "if this is finding +our own wittles, we'll dine at the hor'nary next time"— + +<p>"Let's have a squint at it," said Mr. Spriggs, reaching across the +table; but all his squinting made the bill no less, and he laid it down +with a sigh. "It is coming it rayther strong, to be sure," continued he; +"but +I dare say it's all our happearance has as done it. He takes us for +people o' consequence, and"— + +<p>"Vot consequence is that to us?" said Grubbs, doggedly. + +<p>"Vell, never mind, Dick, it's on'y vonce a-year, as the grotto-boys +says—" + +<p>"It need'nt to be; or I'll be shot if he mightn't vistle for the +brads. Howsomever, there's a hole in another suv'rin." + +<p>"Ve shall get through it the sooner," replied the consoling Spriggs. +"I see, Grubb, there aint a bit of the Frenchman about you"— + +<p>"Vy, pray?" + +<p>"Cos, you know, they're fond o' changing their suv'rins, and—you +aint!" + +<p>The pleasant humour of Spriggs soon infected Grubb, and he resolved to +be jolly, and keep up the fun, in spite of the exorbitant charge for the +vegetable addenda to their supply of game. + +<p>"Come, don't look at the bill no more," advised Spriggs, "but treat it +as old Villiams does his servants ven they displeases him." + +<p>"How's that?" + +<p>"Vy, discharge it, to be sure," replied he. + +<p>This sage advice being promptly followed, the sportsmen, shouldering +their guns, departed in quest of amusement. They had not, however, +proceeded far on their way, before a heavy shower compelled them to take +shelter under a hedge. + +<p>"Werry pleasant!" remarked Spriggs. + +<p>"Keep your powder dry," said Grubb. + +<p>"Leave me alone," replied Spriggs; "and I think as we'd better pop our +guns under our coat-tails too, for these ere cocks aint vater-cocks, you +know! Vell, I never seed sich a rain. I'm bless'd if it vont drive all +the dickey-birds to their nestes." + +<p>"I vish I'd brought a numberella," said Grubbs. + +<p>"Lank! vot a pretty fellow you are for a sportsman!" said Spriggs, +"it don't damp my hardour in the least. All veathers comes alike to me, +as the butcher said ven he vos a slaughtering the sheep!" + +<p>Mr. Richard Grubb, here joined in the laugh of his good-humoured +friend, whose unwearied tongue kept him in spirits—rather mixed indeed +than neat—for the rain now poured down in a perfect torrent. + +<p>"I say, Dick," said Spriggs, "vy are ve two like razors?" + +<p>"Cos ve're good-tempered?" + +<p>"Werry good; but that aint it exactly—cos ve're two bright blades, +vot has got a beautiful edge!" + +<p>"A hexcellent conundrum," exclaimed Grubb. "Vere do you get 'em?' + +<p>"All made out of my own head,—as the boy said ven be showed the +wooden top-spoon to his father!" + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + +<center><h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2></center> +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><i>A sudden Explosion—a hit by one of the Sportsmen, which the other +takes amiss.</i> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> +<center><a name="Chap7"></a><img alt="Chap7.jpg (78K)" src="images/Chap7.jpg" height="1081" width="623"> +</center> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +A blustering wind arose, and like a burly coachman on mounting his box, +took up the rain! + +<p>The two crouching friends taking advantage of the cessation in the +storm, prepared to start. But in straightening the acute angles of their +legs and arms, Mr. Sprigg's piece, by some entanglement in his protecting +garb, went off, and the barrel striking Mr. Grubb upon the os nasi, +stretched him bawling on the humid turf. + +<p>"O! Lord! I'm shot." + +<p>"O! my heye!" exclaimed the trembling Spriggs. + +<p>"O! my nose!" roared Grubb. + +<p>"Here's a go!" + +<p>"It's no go!—I'm a dead man!" blubbered Mr. Richard. Mr. Augustus +Spriggs now raised his chum upon his legs, and was certainly rather +alarmed at the sanguinary effusion. + +<p>"Vere's your hankercher?—here!—take mine,—that's it—there!—let's +look at it." + +<p>"Can you see it?" said Grubb, mournfully twisting about his face most +ludicrously, and trying at the same time to level his optics towards the +damaged gnomon. + +<p>"Yes!" + +<p>"I can't feel it," said Grubb; "it's numbed like dead." + +<p>"My gun vent off quite by haccident, and if your nose is spoilt, can't +you have a vax von?—Come, it ain't so bad!" + +<p>"A vax von, indeed!—who vouldn't rather have his own nose than all +the vax vons in the vorld?" replied poor Richard. "I shall never be able +to show my face." + +<p>"Vy not?—your face ain't touched, it's on'y your nose!" + +<p>"See, if I come out agin in an hurry," continued the wounded +sportsman. "I've paid precious dear for a day's fun. The birds vill die +a nat'ral death for me, I can tell you." + +<p>"It vos a terrible blow—certainly," said Spriggs; "but these things +vill happen in the best riggle'ated families!" + +<p>"How can that be? there's no piece, in no quiet and respectable +families as I ever seed!" + +<p>And with this very paradoxical dictum, Mr. Grubb trudged on, leading +himself by the nose; Spriggs exerting all his eloquence to make him think +lightly of what Grubb considered such a heavy affliction; for after all, +although he had received a terrible contusion, there were no bones +broken: of which Spriggs assured his friend and himself with a great deal +of feeling! + +<p>Luckily the shades of evening concealed them from the too scrutinizing +observation of the passengers they encountered on their return, for such +accidents generally excite more ridicule than commiseration. + +<p>Spriggs having volunteered his services, saw Grubb safe home to his +door in Tower Street, and placing the two guns in his hands, bade him a +cordial farewell, promising to call and see after his nose on the morrow. + +<p>The following parody of a customary paragraph in the papers will be +considered, we think, a most fitting conclusion to their day's sport. + +<p>"In consequence of a letter addressed to Mr. Augustus Spriggs, by Mr. +Richard Grubb, the parties met early yesterday morning, but after firing +several shots, we are sorry to state that they parted without coming to +any satisfactory conclusion." + + + +<br><br> + + + + + + +<center> +<table summary="" cellPadding=4 border=3> +<tr><td> + + <a href="p2.htm">Next Part</a> +</td><td> + <a href="5650-h.htm">Main Index</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> + |