The Sketches of Seymour, Robert Seymour [reading books for 7 year olds .txt] 📗

reminds me of Tom Swivel's meeting with the Doctor," observed Smart.

"Make a report," cried Jack Saggers.

"Well, you must know, that I had lent him my piece for a day's shooting; and just as he was sauntering along by a dead wall near Hampstead, looking both ways at once for a quarry (for he has a particular squint), a stout gentleman in respectable black, and topped by a shovel-hat, happened to be coming in the opposite direction. With an expression of terror, the old gentleman drew himself up against the unyielding bricks, and authoritatively extending his walking-stick, addressed our sportsman in an angry tone, saying: 'How dare you carry a loaded gun pointed at people's viscera, you booby?' Now Tom is a booby, and no mistake, and so dropping his under jaw and staring at the reverend, he answered: 'I don't know vot you mean by a wiserar. I never shot a wiserar!'"

"Devilish good!" exclaimed Saggers; and, as a matter of course, everybody laughed.

Passing about the bottle, the club now became hilarious and noisy; when the hammer of the president rapped them to order, and knocked down Sniggs for a song, who, after humming over the tune to himself, struck up the following:


CHAUNT

When the snow's on the ground and the trees are all bare, And rivers and gutters are turned into ice, The sportsman goes forth to shoot rabbit or hare, And gives them a taste of his skill in a trice. Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And he bags all he kills in a trice.

CHORUS. Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And he bags all he kills in a trice.

II. If he puts up a partridge or pheasant or duck, He marks him, and wings him, and brings him to earth; He let's nothing fly - but his piece - and good luck His bag fills with game and his bosom with mirth.


Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And good sport fills his bosom with mirth.

CHORUS. Bang! bang! et. etc.

III. When at night he unbends and encounters his pals, How delighted he boasts of the sport he has had; While a kind of round game's on the board, and gals Are toasted in bumpers by every lad. And Jack, Jim, and Joe Give the maid chaste as snow That is true as a shot to her lad!

CHORUS. And Jack, Jim and Joe Give the maid chaste as snow That is true as a shot to her lad!


The customary applause having followed this vocal attempt of Sniggs, he was asked for a toast or a sentiment.

"Here's - 'May the charitable man never know the want of - 'shot.'" said Sniggs.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Saggers, approvingly; "By Jupiter Tonans, Sniggs, you're a true son of - a gun!"


THE "CRACK-SHOTS." - No. III.


"Sich a lark!" said Bill Sorrel, breaking abruptly in upon the noisy chorus, miscalled a general conversation; "sich a lark!"

"Where?" demanded Saggers.

"You've jist hit it," replied Sorrel, "for it vere worry near 'Vare vhere it happened. I'd gone hout hearly, you know, and had jist cotched sight of a bird a-vistling on a twig, and puttered the vords, 'I'll spile your singin', my tight 'un,' and levelled of my gun, ven a helderly gentleman, on t'other side of the bank vich vos atween me and the bird, pops up his powdered noddle in a jiffy, and goggling at me vith all his eyes, bawls pout in a tantivy of a fright, 'You need'nt be afear'd, sir,' says I, 'I aint a-haiming at you,' and vith that I pulls my trigger-bang! Vell, I lost my dicky! and ven I looks for the old 'un, by Jingo! I'd lost him too. So I mounts the bank vere he sot, but he vas'nt there; so I looks about, and hobserves a dry ditch at the foot, and cocking my eye along it, vhy, I'm blessed, if I did'nt see the old fellow a-scampering along as fast as his legs could carry him. Did'nt I laugh, ready to split - that's all!"

"I tell you what, Sorrel," said the president, with mock gravity, "I consider the whole affair, however ridiculous, most immoral and reprehensible. What, shall a crack-shot make a target of an elder? Never! Let us seek more appropriate butts for our barrels! You may perhaps look upon the whole as a piece of pleasantry but let me tell you that you ran a narrow chance of being indicted for a breach of the peace! And remember, that even shooting a deer may not prove so dear a shot as bringing down an old buck!"

This humorous reproof was applauded by a "bravo!" from the whole club.

Sorrel sang - small, and Sniggs sang another sporting ditty.

"Our next meeting," resumed Saggers, "is on Thursday next when the pigeon-match takes place for a silver-cup - the 'Crack Shots' against the 'Oriental Club.' I think we shall give them I taste of our quality,' although we do not intend that they shall lick us. The silver-cup is their own proposal. The contest being a pigeon-match, I humbly proposed, as an amendment, that the prize should be a tumbler - which I lost by a minority of three. In returning thanks, I took occasion to allude to their rejection of my proposition, and ironically thanked them for having cut my tumbler."

"Werry good!" shouted Sorrel.

"Admirable!" exclaimed Sniggs; and, rising with due solemnity, he proposed the health of the "worthy president," prefacing his speech with the modest avowal of his inability to do what he still persisted in doing and did.

"Brother Shots!" said Saggers, after the usual honours had been duly performed, "I am so unaccustomed to speaking (a laugh), that I rise with a feeling of timidity to thank you for the distinguished honour you have conferred on me. Praise, like wine, elevates a man, but it likewise thickens and obstructs his speech; therefore, without attempting any rhetorical flourish, I will simply say, I sincerely thank you all for the very handsome manner in which you have responded to the friendly wishes of Brother Sniggs; and, now as the hour of midnight is at hand, I bid you farewell. It is indeed difficult to part from such good company; but, although it is morally impossible there ever can be a division among such cordial friends, both drunk and sober may at least separate - in spirits,
- and I trust we shall all meet again in health - Farewell!"


DOCTOR SPRAGGS.


Old Doctor Spraggs! famed Doctor Spraggs! Was both well fee'd and fed, And, tho' no soldier, Doctor Spraggs Had for his country-bled.

His patients living far and wide He was compell'd to buy A horse; and found no trouble, for He'd got one in his eye!

He was a tall and bony steed And warranted to trot, And so he bought the trotter, and Of course four trotters got.

Quoth he: "In sunshine quick he bounds "Across the verdant plain, "And, e'en when showers fall, he proves "He - doesn't mind the rain!"

But, oh! one morn, when Doctor Spraggs Was trotting on his way, A field of sportsmen came in view, And made his courser neigh.

"Nay! you may neigh," quoth Doctor Spraggs, "But run not, I declare "I did not come to chase the fox, "I came to take the - air!"

But all in vain he tugg'd the rein, The steed would not be stay'd; The "Doctor's stuff" was shaken, and A tune the vials play'd.

For in his pockets he had stow'd Some physic for the sick; Anon, "crack" went the bottles all, And forma a "mixture" quick.

His hat and wig flew off, but still The reins he hugg'd and haul'd; And, tho' no cry the huntsmen heard, They saw the Doctor - bald!

They loudly laugh'd and cheer'd him on, While Spraggs, quite out of breath, Still gallopp'd on against his will, And came in at the death.

To see the Doctor riding thus To sportsmen was a treat, And loudly they applauded him - (Tho' mounted) on his feat!

MORAL. Ye Doctors bold, of this proud land Of liberty and - fogs, No hunters ride, or you will go Like poor Spraggs - to the dogs!


SCENE IX. (b)


"Well, Bill, d'ye get any bites over there?" "No, but I'm afeard I shall, soon have one."

Two youths, by favour of their sponsors, bearing the aristocratic names of William and Joseph, started early one morning duly equipped, on piscatorial sport intent. They trudged gaily forward towards a neighbouring river, looking right and left, and around them, as sharp as two crows that have scented afar off the carcase of a defunct nag.

At length they arrived at a lofty wall, on the wrong side of which, musically meandered the stream they sought. After a deliberate consultation, the valiant William resolved to scale the impediment, and cast the line. Joseph prudently remained on the other side ready to catch the fish - his companion should throw to him! Presently an exclamation of "Oh! my!" attracted his attention.

"Have you got a bite?" eagerly demanded Joe.

"No! by gosh! but I think I shall soon!" cried Bill. Hereupon the expectant Joseph mounted, and seating himself upon the wall, beheld to his horror, Master Bill keeping a fierce bull-dog at bay with the butt end of his fishing-rod.

"Go it, Bill!" exclaimed Joe, "pitch into him and scramble up."

The dog ran at him. - Joe in his agitation fell from his position, while Bill threw his rod at the beast, made a desperate leap, and clutched the top of the wall with his hands.

"Egad! I've lost my seat," cried Joe, rolling upon the grass.

"And so have I!" roared Bill, scrambling in affright over the wall.

And true it was, that he who had not got a bite before, had got a bite - behind!

Bill anathematised the dog, but the ludicrous bereavement he had sustained made him laugh, in spite of his teeth!

Joe joined in his merriment.

"What a burning shame it is?" said he; "truly there ought to be breaches ready made in these walls, Bill, that one might escape, if not repair these damages."

"No matter," replied Bill, shaking his head, "I know the owner - he's a Member of Parliament. Stop till the next election, that's all."

"Why, what has that to do with it?" demanded Joe.

"Do with it," said Bill emphatically, "why, I'll canvass for the opposite party, to be sure."

"And what then?"

"Then I shall have the pleasure of serving him as his dog has served me. Yes! Joe, the M. P. will lose his seat to a dead certainty!"


THE POUTER AND THE DRAGON.

"Another pigeon! egad, I'm in luck's way this morning."


Round and red, through the morning fog The sun's bright face Shone, like some jolly toping dog Of Bacchus' race.

When Jenkins, with his gun and cur On sport intent, Through fields, and meadows, many fur -
- longs gaily went.

He popp'd at birds both great and small, But nothing hit; Or if he hit, they wouldn't fall - No, not a bit!

"It's wery strange, I do declare; I