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Read Ebook: Sketches by Seymour — Volume 01 by Seymour Robert
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Ebook has 297 lines and 11527 words, and 6 pages
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!-- And takes all the money I get at the rag-shop for the vials!
SALLY. Vell! I could'nt stand that!--If I was you, I'd soon give her warning.
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!
"How does it fit behind? O! beautful; I've done wonders--we'll never trouble the tailors again, I promise them."
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.
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.
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!
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 of buffets formerly received.
The tail 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.
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!
And proud ought that man to be of such a wife; for never was mortal 'suited' so before!
"Catching--a cold."
What a type of true philosophy and courage is this Waltonian!
Cool and unmoved he receives the sharp blows of the blustering wind--as if he were playing dummy to an experienced pugilist.
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!
Bent and sharp as his own hook, he watches his smooth float in the rough, but finds, alas! that it dances to no tune.
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 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. and even now he may, with truth, aver, that although he caught nothing, he, at least, took the best perch in the undulating stream!
"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."
"Mister Vaterman, vot's your fare for taking me across?"
"Across, young 'ooman? vy, you looks so good-tempered, I'll pull you over for sixpence?"
"Are them seats clean?"
"O! ker-vite:--I've just swabb'd 'em down."
"And werry comfortable that'll be! vy, it'll vet my best silk?"
"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."
"Fellow!"
"The arm of my jacket I mean; there's no harm in that, you know."
"Is it quite safe? How the wind blows!"
"Lord! how timorsome you be! vy, the vind never did nothin' else since I know'd it"
"O! O! how it tumbles! dearee me!"
"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."
"Is it werry deep?"
"Deep as a lawyer."
"O! I really feel all over"--
"And, by Gog, you'll be all over presently--don't lay your hand on my scull"
"You villin, I never so much as touched your scull. You put me up."
"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.
"O! you partic'lar fool!" exclaimed the waterman. "Ay, hold on a-stern, and the devil take the hindmost, say I!"
In for it, or Trying the middle.
A little fat man With rod, basket, and can, And tackle complete, Selected a seat On the branch of a wide-spreading tree, That stretch'd over a branch of the Lea: There he silently sat, Watching his float--like a tortoise-shell cat, That hath scented a mouse, In the nook of a room in a plentiful house. But alack! He hadn't sat long--when a crack At his back Made him turn round and pale-- And catch hold of his tail! But oh! 'twas in vain That he tried to regain The trunk of the treacherous tree; So he With a shake of his head Despairingly said-- "In for it,--ecod!" And away went his rod, And his best beaver hat, Untiling his roof! But he cared not for that, For it happened to be a superb water proof, Which not being himself, The poor elf! Felt a world of alarm As the arm Most gracefully bow'd to the stream, As if a respect it would show it, Tho' so much below it! No presence of mind he dissembled, But as the branch shook so he trembled, And the case was no longer a riddle Or joke; For the branch snapp'd and broke; And altho' The angler cried "Its no go!" He was presently--'trying the middle.'
SEYMOUR'S SKETCHES
A DAY'S SPORT
"Arena virumque cano."
The Invitation--the Outfit--and the sallying forth.
TO Mr. AUGUSTUS SPRIGGS,
AT Mr. WILLIAMS'S, GROCER, ADDLE STREET.
My dear Chum,
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
"Together we will range the fields;"
and if we don't have some prime sport, my name's not Dick, that's all.
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.
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