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

his fence, and inform me I had broken his windows - of course I was compelled to pay him for his panes.

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!

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!


SCENE XVIII.

"Have you read the leader in this paper, Mr. Brisket?"

"No! I never touch a newspaper; they are all so werry wenal, and Ovoid of sentiment!"


BOB. O! here's a harticle agin the fools, Vich our poor British Nation so misrules: And don't they show 'em up with all their tricks - By gosh! I think they'd better cut their sticks; They never can surwive such cuts as these is!

BRISKET. It's werry well; but me it never pleases; I never reads the news, and sees no merit In anythink as breathes a party sperrit.

BOB. Ain't you a hinglishman? and yet not feel A hint'rest, Brisket, in the common-weal?

BRISKET. The common-weal be - anything for me, - There ain't no sentiment as I can see In all the stuff these sons of - Britain prate - They talk too much and do too little for the state.

BOB. O! Brisket, I'm afeard as you're a 'Rad?'

BRISKET. No, honour bright! for sin' I was a lad I've stuck thro' thick and thin to Peel, or Vellinton - for Tories is genteeler; But I'm no politician. No! I read These 'Tales of Love' vich tells of hearts as bleed, And moonlight meetins in the field and grove, And cross-grain'd pa's and wictims of true love; Wirgins in white a-leaping out o' winders - Vot some old codger cotches, and so hinders - From j'ining her true-love to tie the knot, Who broken-hearted dies upon the spot!

BOB. That's werry fine! - but give me politics - There's summat stirring even in the tricks Of them vot's in to keep the t'others out, - How I Should like to hear the fellers spout! For some on 'em have sich a lot o' cheek, If they war'n't stopp'd they'd go it for a week.

BRISKET. But they're so wulgar, Bob, and call sich names As quite the tag-rag of St. Giles' shames The press too is so wenal, that they think All party herrors for the sake o' chink.

BOB. But ain't there no false lovers in them tales, Vot hover wirgin hinnocence perwails?

BRISKET. Vy, yes, but in the end the right one's married, And after much to do the point is carried So give me love sincere and tender, And all the rest's not worth a bender.


SCENE XIX.


AN EPISTLE

FROM

SAMUEL SOFTLY, ESQ. TO HIS FRIEND, RICHARD GUBBINS, ESQ. OF TOOLEY STREET.

O! DICK!

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.

Natur', in all her werdur', vos smilin' like a fat babby in its maternal harms! But, as somebody has it -

"Man never ain't, but al'ays to be bless'd,"

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.

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) -

"Birds shy?" says he.

"Werry; - ain't hit nothin'," says I.

"I'll tell you vot it is, young gentleman," says he, "it's the unevenness o' the ground!"

"D've think so?" says I.

"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."

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!"

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.

"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."

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.

O! Dick, vot's to be done?

You know I ham, at any rate,

Yours truly,

S. SOFTLY.


SCENE XX.

The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.


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.

"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 - "

"Certain'y, sir."

A pretty little fist that, howsomever! thought Wiggins, as she placed the box before him.

"Vill you have a light?"

"Thank'ye, ma'am," said he, ramming the cigar into his mouth, as if he really intended to bolt it.

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.

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.

"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.

"Do you hever go out?" said Wiggns.

"Sildom-werry sildom," replied the widow.

"Vos you never at the Vite Cundic, or the hEagle, or any of them places on a Sunday?"

"How can I go," replied the widow, sighing, "vithout a purtector?"

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!"


SCENE XXI.

The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.


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.

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.

"Please, sir, there's Mrs. Warner's 's boy as wants to speak vith you," said his landlady.

"Show him up," languidly replied our lover, throwing his aching head from his right to his left hand.

"Vell, Jim, vot's the matter!" demanded he - "How's your missus?"

"She ain't no missus o' mine no longer," replied Jim.

"How?"

"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."

"It's some mistake, sure?"

"It's no mistake tho',"