Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

"Crikey!" cried Benjamin; "here's a figure futman wot looks arter an 'oss and chay! Vy, you'll be vot they call a man of 'all vork,' a vite nigger in fact! Dear me!" added he, eyeing him in a way that drew a peal of laughter from the party; "vot a curious beast you must be! I shouldn't wonder now if you could mow?"

"With any man," replied Samuel, thinking to astonish Benjamin with his talent.

• “And sow?”

"Yee'as, and sow."

"" And ploo ?"

“Never tried-dare say I could though."

"And do ye feed the pigs?" inquired Benjamin. "Yee'as, when Martha 's away."

"And who's Martha?"

"Whoy, she's a widder woman, that lives a' back o' the church.— She's a son aboard a steamer, and she goes to see him whiles."

"Your governor's an apothecary, I suppose, by that queer button," observed Benjamin, eyeing Sam's coat-"wot we call a chemist and druggist in London. Do you look arter the red and green winder-bottles now? Crikey! he don't look as though he lived on physic altogether, does he?" added Benjamin, turning to Bill Brown, the helper, amid the general laughter of the company.

6 66

'My master's a better man than ever you 'll be, you little ugly sinner," replied Samuel Strong, breaking into a glow, and doubling a most serviceable-looking fist on his knee.

""We've only your word for that," replied Benjamin; "he don't look like a werry good 'un by the way he rigs you out. 'Ow many slaveys does he keep?"

"Slaveys?" repeated Samuel; "slaveys? what be they?"

"Vy, cookmaids and such-like h'animals-women in general." ""Ow, two-one to clean the house and dress the dinner, t'other to milk the cows and dress the childer."

"Oh, you 'ave childer, 'ave you, in your 'ouse?" exclaimed Benjamin in disgust. "Well, come, ours is bad, but we've nothing to ekle that. I wouldn't live where there are brats for no manner of consideration."

"You've a young missis, though, havn't you?" inquired the aged postboy: "there was a young lady came down in the chay along with the old folk."

"That's the niece," replied Benjamin-" a jolly nice gal she is too -her home's in Vitechapel-often get a tissey out of her-that's to say, the young men as follows her, so it comes to the same thing. Green-that's him of Tooley Street-gives shillings because he has plenty; then Stubbs, wot lives near Boroughbridge-the place the rabbits come from-gives half-crowns, because he hasn't much. Then Stubbs is such a feller for kissing of the gals.- Be'have yourself, or I'll scream,' I hears our young lady say, as I'm a listening at the door. 'Don't, says he, kissing of her again, you'll hurt your throat,-let me do it for you.' Then to hear our old cove and he talk about 'unting of

an

*

an evening over their drink, you'd swear they were as mad as hatters.* They jump, and shout, and sing, and talliho! till they bring the streetkeeper to make them quiet."

"You had a fine run t'other day, I hear," observed Joe, the deputyhelper, in a deferential tone to Mr. Brady.-"Uncommon!" replied Benjamin, shrugging up his shoulders at the recollection of it, and clearing the low bars of the grate out with his toe.-"They tell me your old governor tumbled off," continued Joe, "and lost his hoss."-"Werry like," replied Benjamin with a grin. "A great fat beast! he's only fit for vater carriage!"-vol. i. pp. 224-232.

After the Newcastle-man's installation the affairs of the Hunt assume a much more agreeable appearance-and we are entertained with a variety of field-scenes, exhibiting the noblest of our sports in a style of description not inferior, we think, even to Mr. Apperley's. But, spirited as these are, and highly as they are set off by the picturesque peculiarities of the illustrious grocer, we must not be tempted to quote them. We are, in fact, still more pleased with the hero in his evening uniform-' a sky-blue coat lined with pink silk, canary waistcoat and shorts, pink gauzesilk stockings, and French-polished pumps,'-than when arrayed in the scarlet of the morning. His jolly countenance, free and easy manners, unconquerable good humour, and delightfully open vanity, cannot but recommend him to the hospitable attentions of the neighbouring gentry whose covers are included in Mr. Jorrocks's country.' We have him dining with the young Earl of Ongar amidst a most distinguished company, where he gets 'werry drunk '-is soused into a cold bath at night, and finds his face painted like a zebra in the morning-all without the least disturbance of his equanimity; for 'sport is sport'-'pleasure as we like it'—are of old the maxims of Coram Street. Indeed, we might go over a dozen different dinners, from the lordly castle to the honest farmer's homestead, without finding him once put out. Jorrocks is, in fact, bore-proof. Scarcely a symptom of flinching even when he is planted right opposite to a celebrated ex-president of the Geological Society, who (unlike the learned and gallant President) has never had any familiarity with the chances of the field. This philosopher was spunging on some great Duke or Marquess not far off: but Jorrocks and he are accidentally thrown together at the festive board of a certain ultra-liberal squire, who, after a fashion, patronises both the whip and the hammer, but whose chief glory is having been put on the commission under the late, and we trust last, administration of the Whigs:"Been in this part of the country before, sir?" inquired Professor Gobelow, cornering his chair towards Mr. Jorrocks.

We fancy this proverbial similitude has no reference to the makers of hats; but originated during the early phrenzy of the Quakers.

[blocks in formation]

"In course," replied Mr. Jorrocks; "I 'unts the country, and am in all parts of it at times-ven I goes out of a mornin' I doesn't know where I may be afore night."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the professor. "Delightful occupation!" continued he: "what opportunities you have of surveying Nature in all her moods, and admiring her hidden charms! Did you ever observe the extraordinary formation of the hanging rocks about a mile and a half to the east of this? The "

"I run a fox into them werry rocks, I do believe," interrupted Mr. Jorrocks, brightening up. "We found at Haddington Steep, and ran through Nosterley Firs, Crampton Haws, and Fitchin Park, where we had a short check, owin' to the stain o' deer, but I hit off the scent outside, and we ran straight down to them rocks, when all of a sudden th' 'ounds threw up, and I was certain he had got among 'em. Vell, I got a spade and a tarrier, and I digs, and digs, and works on, till, near night, th' 'ounds got starved, th' osses got cold, and I got the rheumatis, but, howsomever, we could make nothin' of him; but I

[ocr errors]

"Then you would see the formation of the whole thing," interposed the professor. "The carboniferous series is extraordinarily developed. Indeed, I know of nothing to compare with it, except the Bristol coalfield, on the banks of the Avon. There the dolomitic conglomerate, a rock of an age intermediate between the carboniferous series and the lias, rests on the truncated edges of the coal and mountain limestone, and contains rolled and angular fragments of the latter, in which are seen the characteristic mountain limestone fossils. The geological form

ation"

Here the Professor is unfortunately interrupted:

"Letter from the Secretary of State for the HOME Department," exclaimed the stiff-necked boy, re-entering and presenting Mr. Muleygrubs with a long official letter on a large silver tray.

"Confound the Secretary of State for the Home Department!" muttered Mr. Muleygrubs, pretending to break a seal as he hurried out of the room.

""That's a rouse !" (ruse,) exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, putting his forefinger to his nose, and winking at Mr. De Green-" gone to the cellar." "Queer fellow, Muleygrubs," observed Mr. De Green. "What a dinner it was!" exclaimed Mr. Slowman. 'Ungry as when I sat down," remarked Mr. Jorrocks. "All flash!" rejoined Professor Gobelow.

66

The footboy now appeared, bringing the replenished decanter.' Jorrocks of course proposes the squire's health, with three times three, and one cheer more. He returns a speech again-more

cheers :

"And 'ow's the Secretary o' State for the 'Ome Department?" inquired Mr. Jorrocks, with a malicious grin, after Mr. Muleygrubs had subsided into his seat.

“Oh, it was merely a business letter-official! S. M. Phillipps, in fact-don't do business at the Home Office as they used when Russell

Was

was there-wrote himself-Dear Muleygrubs-Dear Russell-good man of business, Lord John."

“Ah,” said Mr. Jorrocks, "Lords are all werry well to talk about; but they don't do to live with. Apt to make a conwenience of onefirst a towel, then a dishclout."

" "I don't know that,” observed Professor Gobelow: “there's my friend Northington, for instance. Who can be more affable?"

""He'll make a clout on you some day," rejoined Mr. Jorrocks.

"Tea and coffee in the drawing-room," observed the stiff-necked footman, opening the door and entering the apartment in great state. "Cuss your tea and coffee!" muttered Mr. Jorrocks, buzzing the bottle. "Haven't had half a drink." "-vol. ii. p. 256.

We hope we have now done enough to bring Jorrocks fairly before the non-sporting part of the public-the others will not need our recommendation. His historian, it must be obvious, is a writer of no common promise. On this occasion Mr. Surtees has not thought proper to trouble himself with much complication of plot; but the easy style in which he arranges and draws out his characters satisfies us that he might, if he pleased, take a high place among our modern novelists. He has a world of knowledge of life and manners beyond what most of those now in vogue can pretend to; and a gentleman-like tone and spirit, perhaps even rarer among them. We advise him to try his hand—and that before he loses the high spirits of youth;-but he must, in so doing, by all means curb his propensity to caricature.

ART. VI.-Memoirs of the Queens of France; with Notices of the Royal Favourites. By Mrs. Forbes Bush. 2 vols. 8vo. sir Francis Calgrare.

1843.

FAR be it from us to reveal the secrets of our craft; yet, in a mere political-economy point of view, it is curious to consider the vast improvement in the noble art of book-making, which has resulted from the opening of the British Museum upon its present magnificent scale. We quite recollect the time, when the one snug little reading-room on the right-hand side as you went in contained of students just as many as could put their feet upon the long brass fender: about as many individuals as there are now swarms of hundreds in the course of the day. The Museum

now possesses a double character: it is not only the great storehouse of raw material, but also the factory by which the literary cravings of the insatiate reading public are supplied; the reservoir whence the stream of wisdom (as portrayed in the handsome cut in the front of Mr. Bohn's catalogue) rushes, dashes,

VOL. LXXI. NO. CXLII.

2 F

flows,

flows, spits, spirts, spouts, spatters, slops, and dribbles through the whole empire of the English tongue. If the Museum library were shut for a month, the whole of the book-making process would stop; and, possibly, not less than a thousand of those who depend upon their pen for their daily bread would be reduced to a state of entire destitution. During the late most laborious removals, the entire consciousness that such a calamity would ensue induced the officers of the House (whose constant toils are imperfectly appreciated by the public) to make those great and praiseworthy exertions which have enabled them to keep the establishment open, and the whole factory going, without stopping a single authorial mule or spinning-jenny.

Like so many other phases in our chequered existence, this state of our popular literature is on one side very sad, and on the other very ludicrous: sad, from the contemplation of the many, born for better things, whom our present state of society has forced into a slavery as ruinous to the body as to the mind; ludicrous, from observing the manner in which the exertion of some of the highest talents given to mankind is practically treated like the lowest and most mechanical drudgery. On speaking some little time ago to one of the principal 'getters-up' in the biblio-facturing line, about the necessity of providing books for an educational work which he contemplated-his answer was given as nearly as possible in these words: Books, books, Sir! they a'n't wanted at all. That is not the way in which those things are done. All those kind of things, Sir, are done at the British Museum. I have a capital fellow, Sir, for that kind of thing-young-full of the fire of genius-capital short-hand writer- Sir, he'll gut you a whole row of quartos in a week, and get all the stuff out of them as clean as a penny!'-And it is by this compendious process of 'gutting' and 'getting the stuff out of them' that nine-tenths of the stuff appearing in the shape of works of reference, education, and general information and literature, with which we are deluged, are supplied.

Another large class who work at the Museum are 'translators.' It is hardly necessary to observe to our readers that the most common meaning of this well-known word, viz. ' to interpret in another language,' is only one of many senses to be found in all lexicons. It may be equally applied to removal or to change. In spite of the Church Commissioners, a Bishop may still be much improved by translation. Johnson gives six meanings, but to learn a seventh, not yet in the Dictionary, you must go to Saffron Hill and Chick Lane, localities peopled by a useful class of ingenious artificers, well known professionally as translators of old shoes; and who, by putting new upper-leathers to old soles,

and

« ElőzőTovább »