Chapter IX (6)

I rite to inform you our caws is quite the top of the tree in these parts, nerely all the publicks is ruined and shut up quite private, the checkers is xchecker'd—the baileaves is in at the rosemary bush—and there's not a sole to shak ands at the Salitation—nothing but whimpering at the whine waultz, instead of dancing and tostication so the wendors of spirits is quite dispirited and at the hintermedihate nobody wont go to be drunk on the premises. Our parson hoo nose the sin of spiritual lickers as inroled isself and some of the jentry as hates gin as jined us, the sqwire too sais he will sine and sail with us as long as he dosnt go out of site of port. We holds quite a strong meeting weakly but drinks nothing but Tee total and as abolisht XX intire and marches quite connubial together round the pump to the tune of Andle's water music but we as now less occasion for the spout and shall soon dew altogether without my unkle which is a relashun you will be glad to hear for as we have left off our cups we have less need of the balls, but I am sorey to sea all our happytites is sadly hincreased witch is wery detrimental and hilconvenent at this critearyon of the ear. We was extorted last weakly meeting by a new member a norrid drunkerd but now quite a reform carrikter sins his money was all gone and nobody wont trust him. His discoors was quite headyfying for he is a tailer and goos about in the good cawse since he left off gozzling. Before he jined us he was alwise stupid drunk and beatin his wif and now he never gives his mind to licker. Just at the beginning he was quite affecting and could not get on without a go of brandy which we thought very rum. He as given up his trade witch was his sole dependanse sinse he lost all his plaices and know dout he will be trew to us til somthink else befalse. Dere frind thease is the first Hoctober as we as passed without a brewin witch it looks rayther brown but hope to bear it—and we are getting quite hammerous of our tease witch at first was very tormenting but now the slow leaves goes off as fast as gunpowder and them, has as gardings makes the how-queer mixter, but I am afeard I'm a bit of a bore as the learned pig sed and so conclood

Dere frind affeckshionately

TOBIAS PUMPSWILL.

25 St. Crispin's Day.

"Wanted, a Closer."

OCTOBER.—Battle of A gin·court. (Petty France)
]

JOE COSE IN LONDON TO PHŒBE BUTTERCUP IN
THE COUNTRY.

"O deer Feby sich a plase lunnun is yew Havent got a singl hidear i only wish yew was Hear yew wood sune hav al the tethe Stole out off yewr hed ass for sites Bles yewr week ize i hav sea evry think & havent had no time for Nothink only luvving yew & Sory yew rote them 4 ubbrading ninepeny leters wich rely doant Bleav as yewr Makeing me a pressant of the Kichin sithers at parting has Bean abl to Cut our luv in 2 O deerist Feby the sithers must be verry Sharp grun indede ass cood Severe sich luv ass ourn i hav bean to the Tip top of St palls & Drunk my share off 2 botls off wisky inside the bal wich is quite a rume But must confes i nevver was in sich a Bal rume in al my life the vew is rely Wunderfull nevver sea so much smoak togethar in al my Days allso hav bean to sea the lions in the towr wich their is no sich thing to be Seen & the same of the brittish mewseam wear i was Told i shood sea al sorts of Live creturs but turnt out nothink but Stuff allso hav Bean to doory lane & Comon Gardn & my i Feby sich hacting & singing Fillips partickler tawk of Garick i am sur he is ass Depe as Garick & mister Brayam sings Deper & deper stil allso hav Bean lukky anuff to sa the yung quean wich deer Feby she is no moor Like a quean then yew ar namely insted of a crown on her hed ass she orts to hav her Rial hiniss had nothink but a comon Bonit & insted of a septer in her and nothink but a Grene silk parrysawl only Think Feby of ruleing a nashun like Grate briton with a grene silk parrysawl allso hav ad a intervew with the duk of Welinton wich insted off Bean the Grate ero they giv him out to be is quite a Litel chap & deerest Feby cood Lik him my self & stand of 1 leg then theirs the parks ide Park St jamess & Regency park lately Threw open to the publik wich is a grate advarntige in regard of meting nuss mades wich ide Park & kensinton gardns was rely geting so Low did i tel yew befour of the stem pakits on the rivver they ar al as one as stage coches namely going upon weels & Carying inside & out pasingers only insted of osses is Drawd alung by nothink but Chimblys to be Short with yew i hav sea allmost evrythink But not yet ad the plessure off Bean pressant at a Dredfull fire tho they was 6 ouzes Burnt only a strete of last tewsdy nite & a hold gentel man Jumt out off a 2 pare off stares windy on to a Pattant air fetherbed only unfortynat the made forgot to Blo it up in the mornin and consiquensialy the hold gemman insted off Braking his fal only Broke 2 off his ribs i was lukky anuff to sea a yung wumman Drownded in the sirpintine wich she wood hav Savd her life if it hadent Bean for 1 off the umain sasietys men Geting intangld in her petty cotes & keping her hed too lung under Warter allso sea a hold wumman nokt Down by a noo polease & 3 men kild by Safety cabs to say nothink off hacksidents by homini-bus wich is no wunder seaing the number they Cary wich yew no Siting down 13 is unlukkines itself allso Bean pressant at a Dredfull drunken row in a coart in pety france wich master and me Geting into the Coart end we was quite jamd in & in Devvaring to cut our Lukky receevd sevral Unlukky blos but at last the noo polease Arivd & evry Sole tuk to his Eels & as master laffably sed insted off the Batl of a Gin court turnt out the Batl of Runnymede but deerest Feby doant Bleav in the midl off al this plessuring nayther master nor me is appy in lunnun i asure yew we ar quite Contrayry & artily Repent as evver we Consentid to becum parliment men for West stafordsheer wich befour we was hindipendant members we cood Do ass we likt But now just Revers & ar quite tide by our 4 legs master as Bean admitd at crokfuds a notoryus hel but poor feller he finds hisself quite out off his Hellyment & indede boath him & me is quite at a Los without our old friends the Cows & shepe & yew & missis & al the rest off the beests ass we hav Bean ust to al our lives & master is grew quite thin in consequents & Bleav me Feby tho i doant Take in my waste cotes so menny oles i mis yew quite ass much ass master missis missis we spend al our Spar time in Smith feeld wich is the only rele plessure we hav Smith feeld is just the same ass 1 of our own feelds in West stafordsheer only no gras nor no eges nor no riks of hay nor no Stiles to sit a coartin on But ful of orses & cows & carves & pigs & shepe & other Beestly sites O them deer pigs ow Glad i was to ear there wel none vices it quite put me in mind of yew & deer Butermilk villige & i rely cood have Stade a earin them squele al day Lung wich deerest Feby doant Bleav wat i say about the pigs is al Gammon we hav got a Bewtifull ous in pel mel & the yung ladys ar verry Gay mis Jewlia is verry fond off Sowlogical gardning & gos evry day to Studdy the hannimils at the regency Park allso mis Jawgeny rides out evry mornin on her pony with James the noo sirvent beind on 1 off the hold coch orses wich as Bean clipt & his tale Cut thurrow bred for the okasion the sirvents is al very wel & my duty to yewr farther & ow is yewr sister Suzn & poor litl nock need Nely & abuv al deerest luv Ows yewr muther Respecktiv cumps to al yewr old felow sirvents & Pleas exept yewrself deerest Feby

from yewr adorabl
JOE COSE.

P. S. O Feby Feby wear al in a huprore sins Riting my abuv we hav found out mis Jewlia only went Sowlogical gardning for a xcuse to mete her luvver & is boath loped away gudnes or rather Badnes nose wear Allso the same of mis Jawgeny & James the noo sirvent ass i told yew off but Bles yewr art was no sich thing but only a luvver in disgize & wen we al thort him a Real lakky turnt out nothink but a Vally de Sham.

NOVEMBER [1838

THE PRAISE OF PUNCH.

I love thee, PUNCH! with all thy faults and failings,
Spite of the strait-laced folks and all their railings;
I love thee in thy state _etherial_,
Thou grateful compound of strange contradictions!
Filling the brain with Fancy's vivid fictions:
Thou castle-building wight!
Urging Imagination's airy flight;
Chasing blue devils from their dismal revels;
Spurning this sombre world of selfish sadness,
And changing sounds of woe to notes of gladness:
Call'd by whatever name,
Rum, Rack, or Toddy,—thou soul without a body!
Thy welcome is the same.

I like-_wise_ love thee in thy state _material_,
Thou merry fellow, PUNCHINELLO!
Thou chip of an old block!
Thou wooden god of fun!—practical pun!
Thou hearty cock!
Thou dissipator of Policeman's vapours,
In whose grim face,
Ting'd with the blueishness of nothing-to-doishness,
We oft may trace
A grin as he beholds thee cut thy capers.

"Pet of the Petticoats!" lov'd of Servant Maid,
So neat and staid;
Who, from the area steps, with furtive eyes,
Surveys thy antics in a mute surprise;
Belov'd of Errand Boy! who little cares
For weighty matters he unconscious bears,
If PUNCH in all his glory stops his way,
Tempting the varlet with a priceless play.

Delight of young and old, of great and small!
Tho' of each grosser passion thou'rt the slave,
Albeit thou'rt rake and rogue, and thief and knave,
Of ev'ry grace and goodness quite bereft,
With not a virtue to redeem thee left;
Spite of thy faults, oh, PUNCH! we love thee all!
And hence thy Wooden Worship dost impart
A moral sound to every conscious heart:
Thou show'st us, PUNCH, that we're not over-nice
When wit and humour are allied to vice.
But as thy close acquaintance brings hard knocks
On wooden blocks,—
So, if we'd 'scape a world of awkward trouble,
Whene'er in real life we meet thy double
(And rogues of thews and sinews, flesh and blood,
Are not so harmless quite as those of wood),
Let us observe this rule,—this prudent plan—
_Enjoy the humour, but avoid the man_.

AN ADVENTURE OF A GUY.

In days gone by, ere "George the Third was king,"
Or men had heard the names of Burke or Swing,
Lived an old hunks in London's famous city,
Who had a niece, fair, buxom, wise, and witty.
And this fair maiden, being past fifteen,
Had got a lover—young Alonzo Green—
A youth of goodly parts and handsome mien.
But, as Alonzo was extremely poor,
Old hunks had in his face banged-to the door;
And ever after, that his niece might be
More safe, he kept her under lock and key.
But still they corresponded—thro' the means
Of an old woman who sold herbs and greens:
And thus the lovers planned to run away,
And get them married one Gunpowder Day.
Alonzo was to come disguised as Guy;
And while the mummers played their mummery,
A _real_ Guy was to be deftly placed
Within the chair, while he ran off in haste
To hide him till old hunks was fast asleep;
When thro' the garden window they could creep,
And, down a silken ladder gently gliding,
Soon find some happy bower for love to hide in.

So said, so done (in those days men would vie
Who best should entertain the loyal Guy:
All else got mobbed as friends of popery):
The mummers were admitted, Guys exchanged,
And everything was done as pre-arranged.

Now all is still: old hunks locks up the house:
Alonzo lies as quiet as a mouse:
When lo! he hears a step upon the floor—
And then, old hunks arrives—and locks the door.

The Gunpowder Plot or Guys in Council.
]

The fact was this: a rival of our swain,
Who'd tried to win the niece's heart in vain,
Had bribed a mummer to reveal the plot,
Which thus to the old hunks's ears had got.
Now to the maiden's room the grey-beard flies,
And, deaf to all her prayers, and tears, and sighs,
Bids her prepare for instantaneous flight:
A coach will come for her that very night.
Even as he speaks, she hears the horrid wheels:
And down the stairs her hated guardian steals.

Just then the _rival swain_ resolved to try
If he, in semblance of another Guy,
Cannot induce the maid with him to fly;
Hastes to her room, softly the window opes,
And then lets fall his ladder of silk ropes.
The maid deceived, his rashness gently chides,
Then down the silken ladder nimbly glides.

Meanwhile, Alonzo, finding himself trapped,
Without a notion how the thing had happ'd,
Opens _his_ window, down _his_ ladder slips,
And straightway to his lady's casement trips.
What is his wonder when his rival's ropes
He sees! What are his joys, his fears, his hopes,
When at the window he discerns his bride,
And sees her down the ladder safely glide!
All this, of course, is on the garden side.
In front, old hunks has settled all his schemes:
Of hate, and vengeance now he only dreams.
Bursting with rage and spite, he mounts the stair,
And rushes to the chamber of the fair—
But only finds Alonzo's rival there,
Who, anxiously is thro' the casement bending,
Preparatory to his safe descending.

"What do I see?" is now old hunks's cry,
"Gadso! what! that's you, is it, Master Guy?
There, brave Alonzo—there, my pretty fop!"
And thro' the window throws him neck and crop.

Meantime, the lovers have a shelter found,
Where soon in Hymen's fetters they are bound.
And long they lived, as kind and fond a pair
As—wife and husband generally are.

DECEMBER [1838.

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

TO SOLON SLY, ESQ.

MY DEAR SIR,

The approaching vacation devolves on me the pleasing duty of reporting to you, by the hands of Master Timothy, the general progress of his studies. In some respects his extraordinary precocity has even exceeded my wishes. I have directed his reading principally to Biography, and his ardour has led him to add to my selection the lives of Turpin and Moore Carew, together with the instructive narratives of the Newgate Calendar. His progress in penmanship has been so great, that he has not only written all his own letters, but many for his school-fellows, to which the versatility of his genius has led him to append their names so accurately, as to enable him to obtain from their parents, with the help of the post-boy, a considerable addition to his pocket-money. I have cleared up a few of these little shades of character, which have been brought to light, as you will perceive at the foot of my bill. In Arithmetic, Subtraction has been his favourite rule, as all the drawers in the house can testify. He has also worked some complicated sums in Vulgar Fractions, and proved them, by the glazier's bill enclosed. His skill in Division has also been displayed in his setting all the school together by the ears. In Composition, his forte is romance and general fiction; indeed his conversation is of so flowery a nature, as to have been compared to a wreath of li-lies. At our races he greatly improved his acquaintance with the Greeks—Late-in, of course, included—and my servants picked him up at midnight, land-measuring, at length, on the Turnpike road. He has progressed in Logic, though rather addicted to strange premises, which may lead to serious conclusions. He has become an accomplished natural philosopher—his pursuit of Ornithology has led him to every hen-roost in the village, and all my eggs have been constantly exhausted in his experiments on suction. During his inquiries into the nature of animal heat, my favourite cat caught a severe cold, from which she never recovered, through his turning her out without her skin, on a frosty night. I have inserted a small item from my surgeon's bill, for repairs of his companions' noses, damaged by his passion for Conchology; and a charge, which I fear you will think heavy, for a skylight, destroyed by Master Timothy's falling through, while crawling along the parapet on a dark night, to seek some information at my gardener's daughter's window—an extraordinary instance of the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. His decided turn for the belles lettres has deprived me of two of my best maids; for I have been obliged to discharge them on suspicion of irregularly participating in his studies, contrary to the rules of my establishment. As I do not feel competent, however, to do justice to the education of so talented a youth, I shall not expect to see Master Timothy again after the holidays.

I am, my dear Sir,
Your faithful Servant,
BARNABUS BOMBRUSH.

_Birchfield Academy._

25 Apotheosis of Vauxhall Simpson, 1835.

The glories of his leg and cane are past:
He made his bow and cut his stick at last.

DECEMBER.—Christmas-eve.
]

THE QUEEN IN THE CITY.

How provoking! such a choking, thick, and yellow fog No Turk or Jew would venture to turn out a Christian dog. 'Tis cruel hard, upon my word, with such a gloomy sky, To quit my down for Queen or crown, it looks so winter-lye. I'd rather keep me warm within, than go in all this rout, For it's not my creed, except in need, to take to "cold without." And I cannot see why this should be, nor the reason of it all, It's quite a job to dine with Bob and Nabob in Guildhall. —"Why, don't you see, her Majesty as yet is but a green one, She's heard of city riots, but by chance has never seen one; Tho' a king of the land once fear'd the Strand, and said it was full of sinners, And through Cheapside was afraid to ride, so they went without their dinners. But see the light is getting bright, and the streets are filled with people, And pennons gleam, in the morning beam, from turret and from steeple. The sound that swells from St. Martin's bells would please O'Connell's ear, While the Union flag does gaily wag, they're all re-pealers there. But now the crush becomes a rush, and the Black and Red Guards fright beholders, Here comes the Lancers, they're the prancers, and the Blues with their broad swords over their shoulders. And Temple Bar is the seat of war, and rags the ground bestrew, Here's a Sunday hat, and a boy squeezed flat, a purse and a satin shoe. Mister soldier! of course you'll make your horse take his foot from off my toe. I'm on duty, sir, and I dare not stir till I hear the trumpet blow.— But we've paid our guineas, and we're not such ninnies as to stand in all this riot,— Here's a lady dead, for she hangs her head, and seems so very quiet. Oh! what a jam, we can scarcely cram our heads within the door; I fear you'll find, you must sit behind, since you did not come before. Oh! that won't do—we've paid for two—myself, and here's my cousin; I'm number twenty—here's room in plenty—why, your window wont hold a dozen. 'Tis a swindling cheat, but we lose the treat while haggling here we stand, And we'll not submit to be thus bit, if a lawyer's in the land. But now stand fast, they come at last, the grooms in their cloth of gold, And Royal Dukes, you may know by their looks, so thick they can scarce be told. Here are Silver Sticks, in a coach-and-six, methinks it's rather funny, But those sticks are dear, and it's very clear they cost a deal of money. A coach to carry a stick, indeed, how comical you talk— Oh! there's many a stick, with head so thick, that rides when he ought to walk. But who is that, in the feathers and hat, so gracious she nods her head, Oh, that's the Queen's Bed-chamber maid. Is her Majesty going to bed? Now the best of the fun is just begun, for, prancing, may be seen The handsome Common Council men, in their gowns of mazarine, And the Sheriffs bold, in their chains of gold, and not disposed to quarrel, Though one the song of _Moses_ sings, and the other a Christmas _Carroll_. And each Alderman fat, in his three cock'd hat—so comely, one by one They stately ride, with their grooms beside—no doubt, to hold them on. 'Tis the Mayor, of course, outside a horse, with the sword of state before him, He looks, in his pride, from side to side. How the 'prentice boys adore him! Hurrah! Hurrah! she comes this way—stand firm to see her pass! Well, what have you seen?—why, not the Queen, but the glare of the window glass. Oh, I'm going wild! have you seen my child? from above I let him fall.— Yes, there he rolls on the people's polls, and he'll soon be at Guildhall. That little crowd, they scream so loud, it pierces thro' and thro' you; It's all the charity girls and boys a-singing "Hallelujah," And "Live the Queen"—'tis a lovely scene—did you hear that cracking note?— 'Tis a little lass, in the second class, she's burst her little throat. And now the bells ring round again, and the cannon loudly thunder, But, before we go, do any know which _was_ the Queen, I wonder? _I_ saw the Queen, she was dressed in green, and a gold tiara crown'd her. No, I rather think, that was her in pink, with the silver all around her.— In pink or green she never was seen, but she wore a robe of red, And she rode a horse, as a thing of course, with a fur cap on her head.— I think it's plain we shall know her again, so now we'll quit our station, And we'll take a turn, when the gas-lights burn, to see the illumination. See crowns and stars, and bright V.R.'s, and wreaths and garlands pretty, And laurels green all round the Queen, and mottoes quaint and witty.

Here's "Wax and Wick-toria" (_Cowan, in gloria_), "May she long wear her Crown (_Alderman Brown_), "Ourselves and the Queen" (_Pellatt and Green_), "She'll ne'er have her match if she reads the _Dispatch_" (_says that jolly farmer, Alderman Harmer_), "Success to Regina and Essence of Bina" (_inscription good, by Matthew Wood_), "Long live the Queen, to drink Black and Green" (_Mr. Twining, in bright lamps shining_), "None shall dare to affront her" (_Sir Claudius Hunter_), "In a lot we'll knock down all the foes of the crown" (_a desperate go, by Farebrother and Co._).

But none of the sight gave such delight as the Aldermen and the Queen, And throughout the land, such spectacles grand will never again be seen.

THE
COMIC ALMANACK
FOR 1839.

JANUARY [1839

AL-MANIAC DAY.—A RUSH FOR THE MURPHIES.

Mysterious Murphy, whose transcendent skill
Makes hail, rain, vapour,
Come forth obsequious to your will,—
At least on paper,—
Tell us what famous college
Bestow'd your wondrous knowledge!
Perchance your learned sconce found it _at once_;
Perhaps _by degree_ of T.C.D.
Some say the Prince of Evil has been too civil,
And that, in change for all your knowledge boasted
You're doomed—like other murphies—to be roasted.
Some think, like me for one,
You've kissed the Blarney Stone;
But though your blunders make a pretty rout,
Sure, if you're right, by _second_ sight,
You well may be, _at first_, a little out.

But cock your weather eye athwart the sky,
Of wind and storm disclose your store,
For one year more,
And tell us true.—
Led by your lies the ships _lie to_,
Or snugly _arbour'd_, with _bower anchor_ ride,
And lose the tide—
Their funnies near, the watermen look sad,
Short cut or shag alone their sorrow lulls,
In sunshine read your page of weather bad,
And shake their heads, for no one wants their sculls.
But, sad to think, the washerwoman's pain,
Praying for rain,
And vainly hoping, as for showers she sniffs,
To fill her _butts_ with your delusive _ifs_.
Ah, me! I sought the throngs in Beulah's bowers,
Seduced from home by your _fair_ fiction,
But found none _out_, amid the drizzling showers,
Save my sad self and your prediction.
Now if again the weather's care you take on,
Don't try your flam on,
But if you wish to save your bacon,
Give us less gammon.

STUBBS'S CALENDAR;
OR,
THE FATAL BOOTS.

JANUARY.—THE BIRTH OF THE YEAR.

Some poet has observed, that if any man would write down what has really happened to him in this mortal life, he would be sure to make a good book, though he never had met with a single adventure from his birth to his burial; how much more, then, must I, who _have_ had adventures, most singular, pathetic, and unparalleled, be able to compile an instructive and entertaining volume for the use of the public!

I don't mean to say that I have killed lions, or seen the wonders of travel in the deserts of Arabia or Prussia: or that I have been a very fashionable character, living with dukes and peeresses, and writing my recollections of them as the way now is. I never left this my native isle, nor spoke to a lord (except an Irish one, who had rooms in our house, and forgot to pay three weeks' lodging and extras); but, as our immortal bard observes, I have in the course of my existence been so eaten up by the slugs and harrows of outrageous fortune, and have been the object of such continual and extraordinary ill-luck, that I believe it would melt the heart of a mile-stone to read of it—that is, if a mile-stone had a heart of anything but stone.

Twelve of my adventures, suitable for meditation and perusal during the twelve months of the year, have been arranged by me for this Almanack. They contain a part of the history of a great, and, confidently I may say, a _good_ man. I was not a spendthrift like other men. I never wronged any man of a shilling, though I am as sharp a fellow at a bargain as any in Europe. I never injured a fellow-creature; on the contrary, on several occasions, when injured myself, have shown the most wonderful forbearance. I come of a tolerably good family; and yet, born to wealth—of an inoffensive disposition, careful of the money that I had, and eager to get more, I have been going down hill ever since my journey of life began, and have been pursued by a complication of misfortunes such as surely never happened to any man but the unhappy Bob Stubbs.

Bob Stubbs is my name; and I haven't got a shilling: I have borne the commission of lieutenant in the service of King George, and am _now_—but never mind what I am now, for the public will know in a few pages more. My father was of the Suffolk Stubbses—a well-to-do gentleman of Bungay. My grandfather had been a respected attorney in that town, and left my papa a pretty little fortune. I was thus the inheritor of competence, and ought to be at this moment a gentleman.

My misfortunes may be said to have commenced about a year before my birth, when my papa, a young fellow pretending to study the law in London, fell madly in love with Miss Smith, the daughter of a tradesman, who did not give her a sixpence, and afterwards became bankrupt. My papa married this Miss Smith and carried her off to the country, where I was born, in an evil hour for me.

Were I to attempt to describe my early years, you would laugh at me as an impostor; but the following letter from mamma to a friend after her marriage, will pretty well show you what a poor foolish creature she was; and what a reckless extravagant fellow was my other unfortunate parent.

* * * * *

_To Miss Eliza Hicks, in Gracechurch Street, London._

O Eliza! your Susan is the happiest girl under heaven! My Thomas is an angel! not a tall grenadier-like looking fellow, such as I always vowed I would marry:—on the contrary, he is what the world would call dumpy, and I hesitate not to confess that his eyes have a cast in them. But what then? when one of his eyes is fixed on me, and one on my babe, they are lighted up with an affection which my pen cannot describe, and which, certainly, was never bestowed upon any woman so strongly as upon your happy Susan Stubbs.

When he comes home from shooting, or the farm, if you _could_ see dear Thomas with me and our dear little Bob! as I sit on one knee, and baby on the other, and as he dances us both about. I often wish that we had Sir Joshua, or some great painter, to depict the group; for sure it is the prettiest picture in the whole world, to see three such loving merry people.

Dear baby is the most lovely little creature that _can possibly be_,—the very _image_ of papa; he is cutting his teeth, and the delight of _everybody_. Nurse says, that when he is older, he will get rid of his squint, and his hair will get a _great deal_ less red. Doctor Bates is as kind, and skilful, and attentive as we could desire. Think what a blessing to have had him! Ever since poor baby's birth, it has never had a day of quiet; and he has been obliged to give it from three to four doses every week;—how thankful ought we to be that the _dear thing_ is as well as it is! It got through the measles wonderfully; then it had a little rash; and then a nasty hooping cough; and then a fever, and continual pains in its poor little stomach, crying, poor dear child, from morning till night.

But dear Tom is an excellent nurse; and many and many a night has he had no sleep, dear man! in consequence of the poor little baby. He walks up and down with it _for hours_, singing a kind of song (dear fellow, he has no more voice than a tea-kettle), and bobbing his head backwards and forwards, and looking, in his night-cap and dressing-gown, _so droll_. Oh, Eliza! how you would laugh to see him.

We have one of the best nursemaids _in the world_,—an Irishwoman, who is as fond of baby almost as his mother (but that can _never be_). She takes it to walk in the Park for hours together, and I really don't know why Thomas dislikes her. He says she is tipsy very often, and slovenly, which I cannot conceive;—to be sure, the nurse is sadly dirty, and sometimes smells very strong of gin.

But what of that? These little drawbacks only make home more pleasant. When one thinks how many mothers have no nursemaids; how many poor dear children have no doctors: ought we not to be thankful for Mary Malowney, and that Dr. Bates's bill is forty-seven pounds? How ill must dear baby have been, to require so much physic!

But they are a sad expense, these dear babies, after all. Fancy, Eliza, how much this Mary Malowney costs us. Ten shillings every week; a glass of brandy or gin at dinner, three pint bottles of Mr. Thrale's best porter every day,—making twenty-one in a week; and nine hundred and ninety in the eleven months she has been with us. Then, for baby, there is Dr. Bates's bill of forty-five guineas, two guineas for christening, twenty for a grand christening supper and ball (rich Uncle John mortally offended because he was made godfather, and had to give baby a silver cup: he has struck Thomas out of his will; and old Mr. Firkin quite as much hurt because he was _not_ asked: he will not speak to me or John in consequence); twenty guineas for flannels, laces, little gowns, caps, napkins, and such baby's ware: and all this out of £300 a year! But Thomas expects to make _a great deal_ by his farm.

We have got the most charming country-house _you can imagine_; it is _quite shut in_ by trees, and so retired that, though only thirty miles from London, the post comes to us but once a week. The roads, it must be confessed, are execrable: it is winter now, and we are up to our knees in mud and snow. But oh, Eliza! how happy we are: with Thomas (he has had a sad attack of rheumatism, dear man!) and little Bobby, and our kind friend Dr. Bates, who comes so far to see us, I leave you to fancy that we have a charming merry party, and do not care for all the gaieties of Ranelagh.

Adieu! dear baby is crying for his mamma: a thousand kisses from your affectionate

SUSAN STUBBS.

* * * * *

There it is. Doctor's bills, gentleman-farming, twenty-one pints of porter a week; in this way my unnatural parents were already robbing me of my property.

FEBRUARY [1839

THE DORMANT PEERAGE—APPEALS IN THE LORDS.

1 in 10. Fleet Prisn. Fe be wary 9. 1838

DERE MOLLY,

i am sory to say, in anser to yure lofeing letter, that we are all like to want bred, for i have gained my law sute quite sattisfactury, witch it greves me the more that hou tell me the rufe of the cottige is tumbled in for the lawyers say it is now mine for me and my hares for ever witch i fere you have all got wet skins, but it is a comfurt i follered my sute, so you shall here the upshot of my downfal witch is this—arter the big wig in the big hall had givd it aginst me my lawyers sed if i had any money left i shud vindickit the law and stand up for my famley and my rites so with no more seremony sais he ile cary it afore the lords—so arter a long time it cum to my turn afore all the parlyment howse—thinks i wen the nobs ears it all the hares of there heds will stand on end; so i went to the great place were all the lords, as i thote, was all awating for me, wen dash me if there was but too fat old fellers aslepe—(i thote i shud see 2 dosin,) and the same judg as eard about it afore—blest if i arnt done thinks i—so wen my countsillers got up and told it agen he nodded his hed evry now and then, seemmily to say its all rite, for my part i cudnt elp crien wen i herd ow ill ide been used: but eather becos he had a bigger wig on than afore or becos he was aslepe like the others, he givd it all on my side this time, so my lawyers sed i was a lucky feller and they wanted sum more mony from me, but as i ad no more to give em they put me in this plase its calld the Fleet tho its not a ship board tho they say its very much among the knavey. But now ime in for it and can't get out unles i can melt the arts of the lawyers, witch they say is verry ard, xcept by the solvent act. Won cumfort heres plenty of gude satiety, moastly jentilmen, and non so bad off as begars and balot singers tho they seem in a staite of universle sufferige. Dere Molly, if the wals is tumbil'd down its no use to mind your rexpextabilaty, but think of leafing in the spring for i fere it will be too hairy for the heds of the children witch they have always been used to a thatch, and sel the stiks and send me the munny if its ever so little its ofe yure mind, as i say to miself wen i lye awak a nites for i cant get no slepe for thinking of yew and the piggs, witch i wish we wos all in the churchyard for its verry cold and ive no fire witch is grately dettrementil to my rest. Ive jist eard of a fine plase cauld the Swan, were i shal hop to get wen i cum out, were theres no law nor lawyers nor cottiges nor law-sutes nor no nothin but jist the world afore us to do as we like, and if there's rume ile send for yew and the children arter. So no moar your affeckshinate husban,

JILES JOGGINS.

An Appeal Case.

Cold, without.
]

"Who are you?"

Rumi-nation.
]

"The Master's Report."

A _Tail_ of a Chancery Suit.
]

FEBRUARY.—CUTTING WEATHER.

I have called this chapter "cutting weather," partly in compliment to the month of February, and partly in respect of my own misfortunes which you are going to read about, for I have often thought that January (which is mostly twelfth cake and holiday time) is like the first four or five years of a little boy's life; then comes dismal February, and the working days with it, when chaps begin to look out for themselves, after the Christmas and the New Year's hey-day and merry-making are over, which our infancy may well be said to be. Well can I recollect that bitter first of February, when I first launched out into the world and appeared at Dr. Swishtail's academy.

I began at school that life of prudence and economy, which I have carried on ever since. My mother gave me eighteen-pence on setting out (poor soul! I thought her heart would break as she kissed me, and bade God bless me); and besides, I had a small capital of my own, which I had amassed for a year previous. I'll tell you what I used to do. Wherever I saw six half-pence I took one. If it was asked for, I said I had taken it, and gave it back;—if it was not missed, I said nothing about it, as why should I?—those who don't miss their money don't lose their money. So I had a little private fortune of three shillings, besides mother's eighteen-pence. At school they called me the copper-merchant, I had such lots of it.

Now, even at a preparatory school, a well-regulated boy may better himself: and I can tell you I did. I never was in any quarrels: I never was very high in the class or very low; but there was no chap so much respected: and why? _I'd always money._ The other boys spent all their's in the first day or two, and they gave me plenty of cakes and barley-sugar then, I can tell you. I'd no need to spend my own money, for they would insist upon treating me. Well, in a week, when their's was gone, and they had but their threepence a week to look to for the rest of the half-year, what did I do? Why, I am proud to say that three-halfpence out of the threepence a week of almost all the young gentlemen at Dr. Swishtail's, came into my pocket. Suppose, for instance, Tom Hicks wanted a slice of gingerbread, who had the money? Little Bob Stubbs to be sure. "Hicks," I used to say, "_I'll_ buy you three-halfp'orth of gingerbread, if you'll give me threepence next Saturday:" and he agreed, and next Saturday came, and he very often could not pay me more than three-halfpence, then there was the threepence I was to have _the next_ Saturday. I'll tell you what I did for a whole half-year:—I lent a chap by the name of Dick Bunting three-halfpence the first Saturday, for threepence the next; he could not pay me more than half when Saturday came, and I'm blest if I did not make him pay me three-halfpence _for three and twenty weeks running_, making two shillings and tenpence-halfpenny. But he was a sad dishonourable fellow, Dick Bunting; for, after I'd been so kind to him, and let him off for three-and-twenty weeks the money he owed me, holidays came, and threepence he owed me still. Well, according to the common principles of practice, after six weeks' holidays, he ought to have paid me exactly sixteen shillings, which was my due. For the

First week the 3_d._ would be 6_d._
Second week 1_s._
Third week 2_s._
Fourth week 4_s._
Fifth week 8_s._
Sixth week 16_s._

Nothing could be more just; and yet, will it be believed? when Bunting came back, he offered me _three-halfpence_! the mean, dishonest scoundrel!

However, I was even with him, I can tell you.—He spent all his money in a fortnight, and _then_ I screwed him down! I made him, besides giving me a penny for a penny, pay me a quarter of his bread and butter at breakfast, and a quarter of his cheese at supper; and before the half-year was out, I got from him a silver fruit knife, a box of compasses, and a very pretty silver-laced waistcoat, in which I went home as proud as a king: and, what's more, I had no less than three golden guineas in the pocket of it, besides fifteen shillings, the knife, and a brass bottle-screw, which I got from another chap. It wasn't bad interest for twelve shillings, which was all the money I'd had in the year, was it? Heigh ho! I've often wished that I could get such a chance again in this wicked world; but men are more avaricious now than they used to be in those early days.

Well, I went home in my new waistcoat as fine as a peacock; and when I gave the bottle-screw to my father, begging him to take it as a token of my affection for him, my dear mother burst into such a fit of tears as I never saw, and kissed and hugged me fit to smother me. "Bless him, bless him," says she, "to think of his old father! And where did you purchase it, Bob?"—"Why, mother," says I, "I purchased it out of my savings" (which was as true as the gospel).—When I said this, mother looked round to father, smiling, although she had tears in her eyes, and she took his hand, and with her other hand drew me to her. "Is he not a noble boy?" says she to my father: "and only nine years old!" "Faith!" says my father, "he _is_ a good lad, Susan. Thank thee, my boy: and here is a crown piece in return for thy bottle-screw;—it shall open us a bottle of the very best, too," says my father; and he kept his word. I always was fond of good wine (though never, from a motive of proper self-denial, having any in my cellar); and, by Jupiter! on this night I had my little skin full,—for there was no stinting—so pleased were my dear parents with the bottle-screw.—The best of it was, it only cost me threepence originally, which a chap could not pay me.

Seeing this game was such a good one, I became very generous towards my parents: and a capital way it is to encourage liberality in children. I gave mamma a very neat brass thimble, and she gave me a half-guinea piece. Then I gave her a very pretty needle-book, which I made myself with an ace of spades from a new pack of cards we had, and I got Sally, our maid, to cover it with a bit of pink satin her mistress had given her; and I made the leaves of the book, which I vandyked very nicely, out of a piece of flannel I had had round my neck for a sore throat. It smelt a little of hartshorn, but it was a beautiful needle-book, and mamma was so delighted with it, that she went into town, and bought me a gold-laced hat. Then I bought papa a pretty china tobacco-stopper; but I am sorry to say of my dear father that he was not so generous as my mamma or myself, for he only burst out laughing, and did not give me so much as a half-crown piece, which was the least I expected from him "I shan't give you anything, Bob, this time," says he; "and I wish, my boy, you would not make any more such presents,—for, really, they are too expensive." Expensive, indeed! I hate meanness,—even in a father.

I must tell you about the silver-edged waistcoat which Bunting gave me. Mamma asked me about it, and I told her the truth,—that it was a present from one of the boys for my kindness to him. Well, what does she do but writes back to Dr. Swishtail, when I went to school, thanking him for his attention to her dear son, and sending a shilling to the good and grateful little boy who had given me the waistcoat!

"What waistcoat is it?" said the Doctor to me, "and who gave it you?"

"Bunting gave it me, sir," says I.

"Call Bunting:" and up the little ungrateful chap came. Would you believe it? he burst into tears,—told that the waistcoat had been given him by his mother, and that he had been forced to give it for a debt to Copper Merchant, as the nasty little blackguard called me. He then said, how, for three-halfpence, he had been compelled to pay me three shillings (the sneak! as if he had been _obliged_ to borrow the three-halfpence!)—how all the other boys had been swindled (swindled!) by me in like manner,—and how, with only twelve shillings, I had managed to scrape together four guineas.

* * * * *

My courage almost fails as I describe the shameful scene that followed. The boys were called in, my own little account-book was dragged out of my cupboard, to prove how much I had received from each, and every farthing of my money was paid back to them. The tyrant took the thirty shillings that my dear parents had given me, and said that he should put them into the poor-box at church; and, after having made a long discourse to the boys about meanness and usury, he said, "Take off your coat, Mr. Stubbs, and restore Bunting his waistcoat." I did, and stood without coat and waistcoat in the midst of the nasty, grinning boys. I was going to put on my coat,—

"Stop," says he, "TAKE DOWN HIS BREECHES!"

Ruthless, brutal villain! Sam Hopkins, the biggest boy, took them down— horsed me—and _I was flogged, sir_; yes, flogged! Oh, revenge! I, Robert Stubbs, who had done nothing but what was right, was brutally flogged at ten years of age.—Though February was the shortest month, I remembered it long.

MARCH. [1839.

EASTER SUNDAY.

[Sidenote: Secure
your purse
when you
look
at the
sky,
♊ ♏ ♀ ♄
Or so much
the worse
☍ ♈ ☽ ♂
for your
pro-per-ty.

For some
there live
—how
mel-an-choly!—
who feed
♉ ♒ ♀ ⚹
and thrive
by others'
Folly.]

Some people brave the whelming wave,
A broiling sun, or a frozen life;
Of cutting care I get my share,
The horror of The Carving Knife.

I wish I was a foreigner,
A Hottentot, or a heathen Turk,
Or in a poor-law union, where
They never want a knife and fork.

Before a joint, unhinged, I stand,
When call'd on for a fav'rite bit,
And surely as I try my hand,
So sure I put my foot in it.

Folks say I'm not a useful man;
Yet, anxious to be serviceable,
And do them all the good I can,
They learn, with me, to wait at table.

Patient as martyr at a stake,
I bear the baitings of relations,
Who give no quarter, while they make
O'er mangled lamb their lamentations.

I'm very slow about a brisket;
Bacon's a bore—at duck I quake;
To cut a pheasant's far from pleasant,
And e'en a jelly makes me shake.

From leg I'd rather run away;
Vain flight of fancy is a wing;
A merry thought, I sadly say,
To me is a forbidden thing.

But cut I will, and that full soon,
For some fair land where freedom lingers,
Where I can feed me with a spoon,
Or, like a Frenchman, use my fingers.

25. Equi-noctial Gales now about.

Pray, sir, did you mean that blow in jest?
No, indeed, sir, I never was more in earnest.
Oh! I'm very glad of it, for I never put up with a joke.

MARCH.—SHOWERY.

When my mamma heard of the treatment of her darling she was for bringing an action against the schoolmaster, or else for tearing his eyes out (when, dear soul! she would not have torn the eyes out of a flea, had it been her own injury), and, at the very least, for having me removed from the school where I had been so shamefully treated. But papa was stern for once, and vowed that I had been served quite right, declared that I should not be removed from the school; and sent old Swishtail a brace of pheasants for what he called his kindness to me. Of these the old gentleman invited me to partake, and made a very queer speech at dinner, as he was cutting them up, about the excellence of my parents, and his own determination to be _kinder still_ to me, if ever I ventured on such practices again; so I was obliged to give up my old trade of lending, for the doctor declared that any boy who borrowed should be flogged, and any one who _paid_ should be flogged twice as much. There was no standing against such a prohibition as this, and my little commerce was ruined.

I was not very high in the school: not having been able to get further than that dreadful _Propria quæ maribus_ in the Latin grammar, of which, though I have it by heart even now, I never could understand a syllable— but, on account of my size, my age, and the prayers of my mother, was allowed to have the privilege of the bigger boys, and on holidays to walk about in the town; great dandies we were, too, when we thus went out. I recollect my costume very well: a thunder-and-lightning coat, a white waistcoat, embroidered neatly at the pockets, a lace frill, a pair of knee-breeches, and elegant white cotton or silk stockings. This did very well, but still I was dissatisfied, I wanted _a pair of boots_. Three boys in the school had boots—I was mad to have them too.

There was a German bootmaker who had just set up in _our_ town in those days, who afterwards made his fortune in London; I determined to have the boots from him, and did not despair, before the end of a year or two, either to leave the school, when I should not mind his dunning me, or to screw the money from mamma, and so pay him.

So I called upon this man, Stiffelkind was his name, and he took my measure for a pair.

"You are a vary young gentleman to wear dop boots," said the shoemaker.

"I suppose, fellow," says I, "that is my business and not yours; either make the boots or not—but when you speak to a man of my rank, speak respectfully;" and I poured out a number of oaths, in order to impress him with a notion of my respectability.

They had the desired effect.—"Stay, sir," says he, "I have a nice littel pair of dop boots dat I tink will jost do for you," and he produced, sure enough, the most elegant things I ever saw. "Day were made," said he, "for de Honourable Mr. Stiffney, of de Gards, but were too small."

"Ah, indeed!" said I, "Stiffney is a relation of mine: and what, you scoundrel, will you have the impudence to ask for these things?" He replied, "Three pounds."