Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

You no wen Lady Manners is absent, a certin person allways givs a good rowt:--and I had a card in Coarse. I went verry ginteel, my Cloke cost I wont say Wot, and a hat and fethers to match. But it warnt to be. After takin off my things, I had barely set down, wen at the front dore there cums a dubble nock without any end to it, and a ring of the bell at the saim time, like a triangle keepin cumpany with a big drum. As soon as the door were opened a man with a pail face asked for the buckits, and that was the fust news we had of the fire. Oh Mary, never trust to the mail sects! They are all Alick from the Botcher and Backer that flurts at the front dore, down to the deer dissevers you throw away yure arts upon. For all their fine purfessions, they are only filling your ears with picrust, they make trifles of yure afections, and destroy yure comfits for life. They think no moore of parjuring themselvs then I do of sweeping the earth. If yure wise you will sit yure face agin all menkind and luv nonsense, as I meen to in futer, or may be, wen you are dreeming of brid cake and wite fevers, you may find yureself left with nothink but breeches of prommis. John Futman is a proof in pint. Menny tims Ive give him a hiding at number fore, and he allways had the best of the lardur at our stolin meatings, and God nose Ive offun alloud him to idelize me wen I ort to have bean at my wurks, besides larning to rite for his sack. Twenty housis afire ort not to hav abaited his warmth, insted of witch to jump up at the fust allurm and run away, leaving me to make my hone shifts. A treu luver wood have staid to shear my fat. O Mary, if ever there was a terryfickle spectikle that was won. Flams before and flams behind, and flams overhead. Sich axing and hollowing out, and mobbing and pumpin, and cussing and swaring, and the peple’s rushes into the Hous purvented all gitting out. For my hone parts, I climed up the dresser, and skreeked, but nobbody was man enuff to purtect. Men ant what they was. I am sick of the retches! It used to be femails fust, but now its furniter. I fully thort one gintleman was comin to cotch me up in arms, but he prefered the fish kettle. As for the sogers they marcht off to the wind seller and the pantry, ware they maid beleave to preserve the gusberry gam. How I was reskewd at last Lord nose, for my hed was unsensible tell I found meself setten on the pickid pinted ralings of St. Margret’s Church, with my fethers all frizzild, and a shew off. But of all lossis, my ridicule was most serius, for it had my puss in it.

How and ware it broke out is a mistery. Sum say both Howses was under minded. Sum say the Common members got over heatid in there fluency. A grate deal of property was burned, in spit of Lord Allthorp, who ingaged every cotch, cab, and gobbing porter as conveyancers. Westmunster may thenk his Lordship it did not lose its All. They say the Lords and Communs was connectid with a grate menny historicle associashuns, wich of coarse will hav to make good all dammage.

Fortnately, the Speker’s mornin, noon, and evning services of plait was not at home, or it mite hav sufferd, for they say goold and silver as stud the fire verry well, melted down when it got furthur off. Tauking of plait a gentilman, who giv his card, Mr. William Soames, were verry kind and partickler in his inquerries efter Mr. Speker’s vallybles. I hope he will hav a place givn him for his indevvers.

Ware the poor burnt-out creturs will go noboddy nose. Sum say Exter Hall, sum say the Refudge for the Destitut, and sum say the King will lend them his Bensh to set upon! All I no is, I’ve had a frite that will go with me to my grave. I am allways snifing fire by day and dreeming on it by nite. Ony last Fryday I allarmd the hole naberhood by screaching out of winder for the warter to be plugged up. Liting fires, or striking lite, or making tindur, throes me into fits.

I shall nevver be the womman I was; but that is no excus for John’s unconstancy. I don’t dare to take my close off to go to bed, and I practice clambering up and down by a rop in case, and I giv police M 25 a shillin now and than to keep a specious eye to number fore, and be reddy to ketch anny won in his harms. But it cums to munny, and particly givin the ingin keeper a pint of bear from time to time, and drams to the turncox: where there’s nabers fires will happen, howevver cerefull and precocius you may be youreself. I dred our too nex dores; number three is a Gurmin fammily, and them orrid forriners think nothink of smocking siggars in bed, witch will ketch sum day to a curtainty. Number fiv is wus; since his wif’s deth Mr. Sanders has betuck himself to comicle studis, and offin has a littel blo up amung his pistles and morters. O! Mary, how happy is them as livs lick you, as the song says, “Fur from the buzzy aunts of men.” If yu’re inflamd its nobbody’s folt but youre hone. Pray take the gratest car. Have sure eyes about you, and luck out for sparks; watever the men may say, don’t allow backerpips or long snufs, and let evvery boddy be thurrowly put out. Don’t neglect to rake out evvery nite, see that evvery sole in the hows is turnd down or xtinguished, and allways blo yureself out befour you go to yure piller. Thenk gudness you nevver larnd to reed, and therefor will not take anny bucks to bed with you. Allways ware stuff or woollin, insted of lite cottons and gingums, in case of the coles throwin out coffens or pusses, by witch munny persons gains their ends. In case of yure pettycots catchin don’t forgit standin on yure hed, as recommended by the Human Society, becoz fire burns uppards, but its a posishun as requiers practis. Have yure chimbly swept reglar wonce a munth, and wen visiters cum neveer put hot coles in the warmin pan, for fear you forgit and leave it in the spair bed. Remember fire is a good sarvent but a bad master, and sure enuff wen it is master it never gives a sarvent a munth’s notis. To be shure we have won marsy in town that is unbenone in the country, and that is Swingeing; there is no cornstax or heyrix in St. Jims’s Square. That is yure week pint, and I trembil for the barns; a rockite or a roaming candle mite set you in a blaze. But I hop and trust wat I say will never pruve the truth. Oppydildock is good for burns, and I am, dear Mary,

Yure old and afexionate feller sarvent,
ANN GALE.

THE JUBB LETTERS.

_From Lady Jubb to Mrs. Phipps, Housekeeper at the Shrubbery, Shrewsbury, Shrops._

MRS. PHIPPS,

You will prepare the house directly for the family’s return, not that our coming back is absolutely certain, but events have happened to render our stay in Portland Place very precarious. All depends upon Sir Jacob. In Parliament or out of Parliament his motions must guide ours. By this time what has happened will be known in Shropshire, but I forbid your talking. Politics belong to people of property, and those who have no voice in the country ought not to speak. In your inferior situations it’s a duty to be ignorant of what you know. The nation is out of your sphere, and besides, people out of town cannot know the state of the country. I want to put you on your guard; thanks to the press, as Sir Jacob says, public affairs cannot be kept private, and the consequence is, the ignorant are as well informed as their betters. The burning of both Houses of Parliament I am afraid cannot be hushed up--but it is not a subject for servants, that have neither upper nor lower members amongst them, and represent nobody. I trust to you, Mrs. Phipps, to discourage all discussions in the kitchen, which isn’t the place for parliamentary canvassing. The most ridiculous notions are abroad. I should not be surprised even to hear that Sir Jacob had lost his seat, because the benches were burnt, but we have been deprived of none of our dignities or privileges. You will observe this letter is _franked_; the fire made no difference to your master, he is not dissolved, whatever the Blues may wish--he is still Sir Jacob Jubb, Baronet, M.P.

The election of Sir Jacob at such a crisis was an act of Providence. His firmness at the fire affords an example to posterity; although the bench was burning under him he refused to retreat, replying emphatically, “I will sit by my order.” As far as this goes you may mention, and no more. I enjoin upon all else a diplomatic silence. Sir Jacob himself will write to the bailiff, and whatever may be the nature of his directions, I desire that no curiosity may be indulged in, and above all, that you entertain no opinions of your own. You cannot square with the upper circles. I would write more, but I am going to a meeting, I need not say where, or upon what subject. I rely, Mrs. Phipps, on your discretion, and am, &c.,

ARABELLA ANASTASIA JUBB.

_To T. Crawfurd, junior, Esquire, the Beeches, near Shrewsbury, Shrops._

DEAR TOM,

Throw up your cap and huzza. There’s glorious news, and so you’ll say when I tell you. I could almost jump out of my skin for joy! Father’s dismembered! The House of Commons caught fire, and he was dissolved along with the rest.

I’ve never been happy since we came up to London, and all through Parliament. The election was good sport enough. I liked the riding up and down, and carrying a flag; and the battle, with sticks, between the Blues and the Yellows, was famous fun; and I huzza’d myself hoarse at our getting the day at last. But after that came the jollup, as we used to say at Old Busby’s. Theme writing was a fool to it. If father composed one maiden speech he composed a hundred, and he made me knuckle down and copy them all out, and precious stupid stuff it was. A regular physicker, says you, and I’d worse to take after it. He made us all sit down and hear him spout them, and a poor stick he made.--Dick Willis, that we used to call Handpost, was a dab at it compared to him. He’s no better hand at figures, so much the worse for me. Did you ever have a fag, Tom, at the national debt? I don’t know who owes it, but I wish he’d pay it, or be made bankrupt at once. I’ve worked more sums last month than ever I did at school in the half year,--geography the same. I had to hunt out Don Carlos and Don Pedro, all over the maps. I came in for a regular wigging one day, for wishing both the Dons were well peppered, as Tom Tough says. I’ve seen none of the sights I wanted to see. He wouldn’t let me go to the play, because he says the theatres are bad schools, and would give me a vicious style of elocution. The only pleasure he promised me was to sit in the gallery at the Commons and see him present his petitions. Short-hand would have come next, that I might take down his speechifying--for he says the reporters all garble. An’t I well out of it all--and a place he was to get for me besides, from the Prime Minister? I suppose the Navy Pay, to sit on a high stool and give Jack Junk one pound two and ninepence twice a year. I’d rather be Jack Junk himself, wouldn’t you, Tom? But father’s lost his wicket, and huzza for Shropshire! In hopes of our soon meeting, I remain, my dear Tom,

Your old chum and schoolfellow,
FREDERICK JUBB.

P.S.--A court gentleman has just come in, with a knock-me-down-again. He says there’s to be a new election. I wish you’d do something; it would be a real favour, and I will do as much for you another time. What I want of you is, to get your father to set up against mine. Do try, Tom--there’s a good fellow. I will ask every body I know to give your side a plumper.

_To Mr. Roger Davis, Bailiff, the Shrubbery, near Shrewsbury._

DAVIS,

I hope to God this will find you at home--I am writing in a state of mind bordering on madness. I can’t collect myself to give particulars--you will have a newspaper along with this--read that, and your hair will stand on end. Incendiarism has reached its height like the flaming thing on the top of the Monument. Our crisis is come. To my mind--political suicide--is as bad as felo de se. Oh Whigs, Whigs, Whigs--what have you brought us to! As the Britannic Guardian well says--England is gone to Italy--London is at Naples--and we are all standing on the top of Vesuvius. I have heard--and I believe it--that an attempt has been made to choke Aldgate Pump. A Waltham Abbey paper says positively that the mills were recently robbed of 513 barrels of powder, the exact number of the members for England and Wales. What a diabolical refinement--to blow up a government with its own powder! I can hardly persuade myself I am in England. God knows where it will spread to--I mean the incendiary spirit. The dry season is frightful--I suppose the springs are all dry. Keep the engine locked in the stable for fear of a cut at the pipes. I’ll send you down two more. Let all the labourers take a turn at them, by way of practice. I’m persuaded the Parliament houses were burnt on purpose. The flue story is ridiculous. Mr. Cooper’s is a great deal more to the point. I believe everything I hear. A bunch of matches was found in the Speaker’s kitchen. I saw something suspicious myself--some said treacle, but I say tar. Have your eyes about you--lock all the gates, day as well as night--and above all, watch the stacks. One Tiger is not enough--get three or four more, I should have said Cæsar, but you know I mean the house-dog. Good mastiffs,--the biggest and savagest you can get. The gentry will be attempted first--beginning with the M.P.’s. You and Barnes and Sam must sit up by turns--and let the maids sit up too--women have sharp ears and sharp tongues.--If a mouse stirs I would have them squall--danger or no danger. It’s the only way to sleep in security--and comfort. I have read that the common goose is a vigilant creature--and saved Rome. Get a score of them at the next market--don’t stand about price--but choose them with good cackles. Alarm them now and then to keep them watchful, Fire the blunderbuss off every night, and both fowling pieces and all the pistols. If all the Gentry did as much, it might keep the country quiet. If you were to ring the alarm-bell once or twice in the middle of the night, it would be as well--you would know then what help to depend upon. Search the house often from the garret to the cellar, for combustibles--if you could manage to go without candles, or any sort of light, it would be better.

You’d find your way about in the dark after a little practice. Pray don’t allow any sweethearts; they may be Swings and Captain Rocks in disguise, and their pretended flames turn out real. I’ve misgivings about the maids. Tie them up and taste their liver, before they eat it themselves--I mean the house-dogs; but my agitation makes me unconnected. The scoundrels often poison them, before they attempt robbery and arson. Keep the cattle in the cowhouse for fear of their being houghed and hamstrung. Surely there were great defects somewhere. The Houses could not have been properly protected--if they had been watched as well as they were lighted--but it is too late to cast any blame on individuals. A paltry spirit of economy has been our bane. A few shillings would have purchased a watch-dog; and one or two geese in each house might have saved the capitol of the constitution! But the incendiary knew how to choose his time--an adjournment when there were none sitting.

I say incendiary, because no doubt can exist in any cool mind, that enters into the conflagration. I transcribe conclusive extracts from several papers, the editors of which I know to be upright men, and they all write on one side.

“We are confidently informed,” says the Beacon, “that a quantity of tar-barrels was purchased at No. 2, High-street, Shadwell, about ten o’clock on the morning of the fire. There was abundant time before six a.m., for removing the combustibles to Westminster. The purchaser was a short, squat, down-looking man, and the name on his cart was I. Burns.”

“Trifling circumstances,” says the Sentinel, “sometimes point to great results. Our own opinion is formed. We have made it our business to examine the Guys in preparation for the impending anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, and we affirm that every one of the effigies bore a striking resemblance to some member or other of assemblies we need not name. These are signs of the times.”

“We should be loth,” says the Detector, “to impute the late calamity to any particular party: but we may reasonably inquire what relative stake in the country is possessed by the Whigs and the Tories. The English language may be taken as a fair standard. The first may lay claim to perri-_wig_, scratch-_wig_, tie-_wig_, bob-_wig_, in short, the whole family of the perruques, with _whig_-maleery. The latter, not to mention other good things, have a vested right in ora_tory_, his_tory_, terri_tory_, and vic_tory_. Can a man of common patriotism have a doubt which side it is his interest to adhere to?”

That last paragraph, Davis, is what I call sound argument. Indeed I don’t see how it is to be answered. You see they are all nem. con. as to our danger, and decidedly reckon fire an inflammatory agent. Take care what you read. Very pernicious doctrines are abroad, and especially across the Western Channel. The Irish are really frightful. I’m told they tie the cows’ tails together, and then saw off their horns for insurrectionary bugles. The foundations of society are shaken all over the world--the Whiteboys in Ireland, and the Blacks in the West Indies, all seem to fight under the same colours. It’s time for honest men to rally round themselves--but I’m sorry to say public spirit and love of one’s country are at a low ebb. There’s too much Americanism. One writer wants us to turn all our English wheat to Indian corn, and to grow no sort of apples but Franklin pippins. We want strong measures against associations and unions. There’s demagogues abroad--and they wear white hats. By-the-bye, I more than half suspect that fellow Johnson is a delegate. Take him to the ale-house, and treat him freely--it may warm him to blab something. Besides, you will see what sort of papers the public-houses take in. You may drop a hint about their licenses. Give my compliments to Dr. Garratt, and tell him I hope he will preach to the times, and take strong texts. I wish I could be down amongst you, but I cannot desert my post. You may tell the tenantry, and electors--I’m burnt out and gutted--but my heart’s in the right place--and devoted to constituents. Come what may, I will be an unshaken pillar on the basis of my circular letter. Don’t forget any of my precautions. I am sorry I did not bring all the plate up to town--but at the first alarm bury it. Take in no letters or notices; for what you know they may be threatenings. If any Irishman applies for work, discharge him instantly. All the old spring-guns had better be set again, they are not now legal, but I am ministerial, and if they did go off, the higher powers would perhaps wink at them. But it’s fire that I am afraid of, fire that destroyed my political roof, and may now assail my paternal one. Walk, as I may say, bucket in hand, and be ready every moment for a break out. You may set fire to the small faggot stack, and try your hands at getting it under--there’s nothing worse than being taken by surprise. Read this letter frequently, and impress these charges on your mind. It is a sad change for England to have become, I may say, this fiery furnace. I have not the least doubt, if properly traced, the burning cliff at Weymouth would be found to be connected with Incendiarism, and the Earthquakes at Chichester with our political convulsions. Thank Providence in your prayers, Davis, that your own station forbids your being an M.P., for a place in parliament is little better than sitting on a barrel of gunpowder. Honour forbids to resign, or I should wish I was nothing but a simple country gentleman. Remember, and be vigilant. Once more I cry Watch, Watch, Watch! By adopting the motions I propose, a conflagration may be adjourned sine die, which is a petition perpetually presented by

Your anxious but uncompromising Master,
JACOB JUBB, M.P.

_To Lady Jubb, at 45, Portland Place._

RESPECTED MADAM,

I received your Ladyship’s obliging commands, and have used my best endeavours to conform to the wishes condescended therein. In respect to political controversy, I beg to say I have imposed a tacit silence on the domestic capacities as far as within the sphere of my control, but lament to say the Bailiff, Mr. Davis, is a party unamenable to my authority, and as such has taken liberties with decorum quite unconsistent with propriety and the decency due. However reluctant to censoriousness, duty compels to communicate subversive conduct quite unconformable to decency’s rules and order in a well-regulated establishment. I allude to Mr. Davis’s terrifically jumping out from behind doors and in obscure dark corners, on the female domestics, for no reasonable purpose I can discover, except to make them exert their voices in a very alarming manner. The housemaid, indeed, confirms me by saying in her own words, “he considered her skreek the best skreek in the family.” If impropriety had proceeded no further, I should have hesitated to trouble your Ladyship with particulars; but Mr. Davis, not satisfied with thus working on the unsophisticated terrors of ignorant females, thought proper to horrify with inflammatory reports.

One night, as a prominent instance, about twelve o’clock, he rang the alarm bell so violently, at the same time proclaiming conflagration, that the law of preservation became our paramount duty, and, as a consequence, we all escaped in a state of dishabille only to be ambiguously hinted at, by saying that time did not allow to put on my best lutestring to meet the neighbouring gentry--and must add, with indignation, in the full blaze of a heap of straw, thought proper to be set on fire by Mr. Davis in the fore-court. I trust your Ladyship will excuse a little warmth of language, in saying it was highly reprehensible; but I have not depictured the worst. I, one evening, lighted up what I conceived to be a mould candle, and your Ladyship will imagine my undescribable fright when it exploded itself like a missile of the squib description, an unwarrantable mode, I must say, of convincing me, as Mr. Davis had the audaciousness to own to, that we may be made to be actors in our own combustion. To suppose at my years and experience, I can be unsensible of the danger of fire, must be a preposterous notion; but all his subsequent acts partake an agreeable character. For fear of being consumed in our beds, as he insidiously professed, he exerted all his influential arguments to persuade the females to set up nocturnally all night, a precaution of course declined, as well as his following scheme, being almost too much broached with absurdity to enumerate. I mean every retiring female reposing her confidence on a live goose in her chamber, as were purchased for the express purpose, but need not add were dispensed with by rational beings. I trust your ladyship will acquit of uncharitableness if I suspect it was out of vindictive feelings at their opposition to the geese that Mr. Davis insinuated a strict inquiry into every individual that came into the house, as far even as requiring to be personally present at all that passed between the dairymaid and her cousin. It escaped memory to say that when the feminine department refused to be deprived of rest, the male servants were equally adverse to go to bed, being spirited up by Mr. Davis to spend the night together, and likewise being furnished with the best strong ale in the cellar by his imperious directions, which, by way of climax to assurance, was alleged to be by order of Sir Jacob himself. I say nothing reflectively on his repeatedly discharging his artillery at unseasonable hours, the shock principally concerning my own nervous constitution, which was so vibrated as to require calling in physical powers: and Doctor Tudor, considering advanced age and infirmity, is of opinion I may require to be under his professional hands for an ensuing twelvemonth. Of startling effects upon other parties I may make comments more unreserved, and without harsh extenuation must say, his letting off reports without due notice, frequently when the females had valuable cut glass and china in their hands, or on their trays, was blamable in the extreme, to express the least of it. Another feature which caused much unpleasantness, was Mr. Davis persisting to scrutinise and rummage the entire premises from top to bottom, but on this characteristic tediousness forbids to dwell, and more particularly as mainly affecting himself, such as the flow of blood from his nose, and two coagulated eyes, from the cellar door, through a peculiar whim of looking for every thing in a state of absolute obscurity. I may add, by way of incident, that Mr. Davis walks lame from a canine injury in the calf of his leg, which I hope will not prove rabid in the end,--but the animals he has on his own responsibility introduced on the premises, really resemble, begging your Ladyship’s pardon for the expression, what are denominated D.’s incarnate.

Such, your Ladyship, is the unpropitious posture of domestic affairs at the Shrubbery, originating, I must say, exclusively from the unprecedented deviations of Mr. Davis. A mild construction would infer, from such extraordinary extravagance of conduct, a flightiness, or aberration of mind in the individual, but I deeply lament to say a more obvious cause exists to put a negative on such a surmise. For the last week Mr. Davis has betrayed an unusual propensity to pass his evenings at the George Tavern, and in consequence has several times exhibited himself in a Bacchanalian character to our extreme discomforture, and on one occasion actually trespassed so far beyond the bounds of modesty, as to offer me the rudeness of a salute. I blush to impart such details to your Ladyship; but justice demands an explicit statement, however repulsive to violated reserve and the rules of virtue. Amongst less immoral actions, I must advert to the arrival of two new engines with a vast number of leathern buckets, I fear ordered by Mr. Davis at my honoured master’s expense, and which are periodically exercised in pumping every day, by the gardeners and the hinds, being induced thereto by extra beverages of strong beer. By such means the aquatic supply of the well is frequently exhausted by playing upon nothing,--and at this present moment I am justified in stating we have not sufficient water to fulfil culinary purposes, or the demands of cleanliness. I feel ashamed to say there is not a strictly clean cap in the whole household.

In short, Madam, we labour under an aggravated complication of insubordination, deprivation, discomfort, and alarm, daily and nightly, such as to shock my eyes whilst it grieves my heart, and I may almost say turns my head to be present at, without sufficient authority to dictate or power to enforce a course more consistent with the line of rectitude. As my sway does not extend to Mr. Davis, I humbly beseech your Ladyship’s interference and influence in the proper quarter, in behalf, I may say, of a body of persecuted females, some of whom possess cultivated minds and sensitive feelings beyond their sphere.

I remain, respected Madam,
Your Ladyship’s most obliged and very humble Servant,
AMELIA PHIPPS.

P.S.--One of Mr. Davis’s savage bull-baiting dogs has just rushed with a frightful crash into the china-closet, in pursuit of the poor cat.

_To Sir Jacob Jubb, Baronet, M.P._

HONNERD SUR,

Yure faver enclosin the Ruings of the Parlimint houses cam dully to hand, and did indeed put up all the hares on my hed. It cam like the bust of a thunder bolt. You mite hav nockt me down with the fether of a ginny ren. My bran swum. I seamed rooted to the hearth--and did not no weather I was a slip or a wack, on my hed or my heals. I was perfecly unconshunable, and could no more kollect meself then the Hirish tiths. I was a long Tim befor I cud perswade meself that the trooth was trew. But sich a dredful fire is enuff to unsettil wons resin. A thowsend ears mite role over our heds, and not prodeuce sich a blo to the constitushun. I was barley sensible. The Currier dropt from my hands wen I cam to the perrygraft witch says “Our hops are at an end. The Hous of Communs is a boddy of Flams, and so is the Hous of Pears! The Lords will be dun!”

Honnerd Sur, I beg to kondole as becums on yure missin yure seat. It must have bean the suddinest of shox, & jest wen goin to sit after standin for the hole county, on yure hone futting, at your sole expens. But I do hop and trust it will not be yure dissolushun, as sum report; I do hop it is onely an emty rummer pict up at sum publick Hous. At such an encindery crisus our wust frend wood be General Elixion, by stirrin up inflametory peple, particly if there was a long pole. You see, Sir Jacob, I konker in evvery sentashus sentemint in yure respected Letter. The Volkano you menshun I can enter into. Theres a great deal of combustibul sperits in the country that onely wants a spark to convart them into catarax:--and I greave to say evvery inflammetory little demy Gog is nust, and has the caudle support of certin pappers. Im alludin to the Press. From this sort of countenins the nashunal aspec gits moor friteful evvery day. I see no prospex for the next gennerashun but rocking and swinging. I hav had a grate menny low thorts, for wat can be moor dispiritin then the loss of our two gratest Publick Housis! There is nothin cumfortable. There is a Vesuvus under our feat, and evvery step brings us nearer to its brinks. Evvery reflective man must say we are a virgin on a precipus.

Honnerd Sur! In the mean tim I hav pade atenshuns to yure letter, and studid its epistlery derecshuns, witch I hav made meself very particler in fulfiling to the utmost xtent. If the most zellus effuts have not sucksedid to wish I humbly beg to blame but wat is dew may fall on me, and hope other peples shears will visit their hone heds. The axident with the spring gun was no neglex of mine. After Barnes settin it himself, his tumblin over the wier must be lade to his hone dore along with his shot legs. I sent for two surgings to sea to him, and they cauld in too moor, so that he is certin of a good dressin, but he was very down-harted about gitting a livin, till I tolled him yure honner wood settle on him for the rest of his days. I may say the lik of the other axident to Sanders and Sam, who got badly woundid wile wotchin the stax, by apprehendin won another after a sanguine conflic by mistake for incinderies. I have promist in yure honners nam to reword them boath hansumly for their vigilings, but they stedfistly refus to padrol anny moor after dusk, tho they ar agreble by daylit, which leavs me at my whits ends for Firegards, as strange men wood not be trusswurthy.

Honnered Sur--I am sorry I cood not git the mad servents to set up for theaves, even for wun nite runnin. I tried the Currier on them, but it didn’t wurk on there minds; they tuck lites in their hands and waukd to there pillers as if they hadn’t a car on there heds, and wen I insistid on their allarmin me they all give me warnin. As for the swetharts there’s a duzzen domesticatted luvers in the kitchen, and I’m sorry to say I can’t give them all a rowt. I ketchd the cook’s bo gettin in at a winder, and sercht his pockets for feer of fosfrus, but he contaned nothin xcept a cruckid sixpens, a taler’s thimbel, and a tin backy-box, with a lock of hare witch did not match with cook’s. It is dangerus wurk. Becus I luck after the mades candels they tie strings to the banesters to ketch my fut, and I have twice pitcht from the hed to the futt of the stars. I am riting with my forrid brandid and brown pepperd, and my rite hand in a poltus from gropping in the dark for cumbustibils in the cole seller, and diskivering nothin but the torturous kat and her kittings.

Honnerd Sur--I got six capitol gees a bargin, but am verry dubbius weather they possess the propperty that ort to make them wakful and weary of nites. The old specious may be lost. The Roman gees you menshun wood certinly hav nevver sufferd themselves to be stolen without a cakeling, as our hone did too nites ago. As for the wotch dogs, to be candied, they were all errors in gudgment. There was to much Bul in the bread. The verry fust nite they were let lose they flew in a rag, and began to vent their caning propensities on each other’s curcases. I regret to say too was wurrid to deth before the next mourning, and the rest were so full of bad bits and ingeries in there vitties they were obligated to be kild. In shutting Seazer with the blunderbush, I lament to ad it hung fire, and in liftin it up it went off of its hone hed and shot the bucher’s horse at the gait, and he has thretind to tak the law if he isn’t made good, as he was verry vallyble.

Honnerd Sur--Accordin to orders I tuck Johnson the suspishus man evvery nite to the Gorge, and told him to caul for wat he likt, witch was allways an ot suppir and Punch. As yet he as diskivered nothin but sum lov nonsins about a deary-made, so that its uncertin weather he is a dillygate or not; but I shood say a desinin won, for by sum artful meens he allways manniged to make me drunk fust, and gennerally lent a hand to carry me home. I told the landlord to let him have aney thing he wantid and yure Honner wood pay the skore, but I think it was unprudent of Mr. Tapper to let him run up to ten pound. But it isn’t all drink, but eating as well--Johnson has a very glutinous appetit, and always stix to the tabel as long as there is meet.

Honnerd Sur--Last fridy morning there was grate riotism and sines of the populus risin, and accordin I lost no time in berryin the plait as derected by yure ordirs. I am gratifid to say the disturbans turned out onely a puggleistical fit; but owen to our hurry and allarm, the spot ware the plait was berrid went out of our heads. We have since dug up the hole srubbery, but without turnin up anny thing in its shape. But it cant be lost, tho’ it isnt to be found. The gardner swares the srubs will all di from being transplanted at unpropper sesin--but I trust it is onely his old grumblin stile witch he cannot git over.

Honnerd Sur--The wust is to cum. In casis of Fire the trooth is shure to brake out suner or latter, so I may as well cum to the catstrophy without any varnish on my tail. This morning according to yure order, I hignitted the littel faggit stak, fust takin the precawshuny meshure of drawin up a line of men with buckits, from the dux-pond to the sene of combusting. Nothin can lay therefor on my sholders: it all riz from the men strikin for bear, wen they ort to hav bean handin warter to won another. I felt my deuty to argy the pint, which I trust will be apruved, and wile we were cussin and discussin the fire got a hed that defide all our unitted pours to subdo. To confess the fax, the fire inguns ware all lokt up in a stabble with a shy key that had lost itself the day before, and was not to be had wen we wantid to lay hands on it. Not that we could have wurkd the inguns if they had faverd with their presens, for want of hands. Evvery boddy had run so offen at the allarm bell that they got noboddy to go in there steed. It was an hawful site; the devowring ellemint swallerd won thing after another as sune as cotched, and rushed along roring with friteful violins. Were the finger of Providins is the hand as does we must not arrange it, but as the him says, “we must submit and humbel Bee.” Heavin direx the winds, and not us. As it blue towards the sow the piggry sune cotchd, and that cotchd the foul housis, and then the barn cotchd with all the straw, and the granery cotchd also, witch it wood not have dun if we had puld down the hay stax that stud between. That was all the cotching excep the hay stax, from Jenkins runnin about with a flaimin tale to his smoak frock. At last, by a blessin, when there was no moor to burn it was got under and squentched itself, prays be given without loss of lif or lim. Another comfit is all bein inshured in the Sun, enuff to kiver it; and I shud hop they will not refus to make gud on the ground that it was dun wilful by our hone ax and deeds. But fire officis are sumtimes verry unlibberal, and will ketch hold of a burning straw, and if fax were put on their oths I couldn’t deni a bundil of rags, matchis, candel ends, and other combustibils pokt into the faggits, and then litin up with my hone hand. Tim will sho. In the meenwhile I am consienshusly easy, it was dun for the best, though turned out for the wust, and am gratified to reflect that I hav omitted nothin, but have scruppleusly fulfild evvery particler of yure honner’s instruxions, and in hop of approval of the saim, await the faver of furthir commands, and am,

Honnerd Sur Jacob,
Your humbel, faithful, and obedient Servint,
ROGER DAVIS.

HUGGINS AND DUGGINS.

A PASTORAL AFTER POPE.

TWO swains or clowns--but call them swains--
While keeping flocks on Salisbury Plains,
For all that tend on sheep as drovers,
Are turned to songsters, or to lovers,
Each of the lass he called his dear,
Began to carol loud and clear.

First Huggins sang, and Duggins then,
In the way of ancient shepherd men;
Who thus alternate hitch’d in song,
“All things by turns, and nothing long.”

HUGGINS.

Of all the girls about our place,
There’s one beats all in form and face;
Search through all Great and Little Bumpstead,
You’ll only find one Peggy Plumpstead.

DUGGINS.

To groves and streams I tell my flame,
I make the cliffs repeat her name:
When I’m inspired by gills and noggins,
The rocks re-echo Sally Hoggins!

HUGGINS.

When I am walking in the grove,
I think of Peggy as I rove.
I’d carve her name on every tree,
But I don’t know my A, B, C.

DUGGINS.

Whether I walk in hill or valley,
I think of nothing else but Sally.
I’d sing her praise, but I can sing
No song, except “God save the King.”

HUGGINS.

My Peggy does all nymphs excel,
And all confess she bears the bell,--
Where’er she goes swains flock together,
Like sheep that follow the bellwether.

DUGGINS.

Sally is tall and not too straight,--
Those very poplar shapes I hate;
But something twisted like an S,--
A crook becomes a shepherdess.

HUGGINS.

When Peggy’s dog her arms imprison,
I often wish my lot was hisn;
How often I should stand and turn,
To get a pat from hands like hern.

DUGGINS.

I tell Sall’s lambs how blest they be,
To stand about and stare at she;
But when I look, she turns and shies,
And won’t bear none but their sheep’s-eyes!

HUGGINS.

Love goes with Peggy where she goes.--
Beneath her smile the garden grows;
Potatoes spring, and cabbage starts,
’Tatoes have eyes, and cabbage hearts!

DUGGINS.

Where Sally goes it’s always spring,
Her presence brightens every thing;
The sun smiles bright, but where her grin is,
It makes brass farthings look like guineas.

HUGGINS.

For Peggy I can have no joy,
She’s sometimes kind, and sometimes coy,
And keeps me, by her wayward tricks,
As comfortless as sheep with ticks.

DUGGINS.

Sally is ripe as June or May,
And yet as cold as Christmas day;
For when she’s asked to change her lot,
Lamb’s wool,--but Sally, she wool not

HUGGINS.

Only with Peggy and with health,
I’d never wish for state or wealth;
Talking of having health and more pence,
I’d drink her health if I had fourpence.

DUGGINS.

Oh, how that day would seem to shine,
If Sally’s banns were read with mine;
She cries, when such a wish I carry,
“Marry come up!” but will not marry.

DOMESTIC DIDACTICS.

BY AN OLD SERVANT.

IT is not often when the Nine descend that they go so low as into areas; it is certain, nevertheless, that they were in the habit of visiting John Humphreys, in the kitchen of No. 189, Portland Place, disguised, no doubt, from mortal eye, as seamstresses or charwomen--at all events, as Winifred Jenkins says, “they were never ketch’d in the fact.” Perhaps it was the rule of the house to allow no followers, and they were obliged to come by stealth, and to go in the same manner; indeed, from the fragmental nature of John’s verses, they appear to have often left him very abruptly. Other pieces bear witness of the severe distraction he suffered between his domestic duty to the Umphravilles, twelve in family, with their guests, and his own secret visitors from Helicon. It must have been provoking, when seeking for a simile, to be sent in search of a salt-cellar; or when hunting for a rhyme, to have to look for a missing teaspoon. By a whimsical peculiarity, the causes of these lets and hindrances are recorded in his verses, by way of parenthesis: and though John’s poetry was of a decidedly serious and moralising turn, these little insertions give it so whimsical a character, as to make it an appropriate offering in the present work. Poor John! the grave has put a period to his didactics, and the publication of his lays in “Hood’s Own,” therefore, cannot give him pain, as it certainly would have done otherwise, for the MSS. were left by last will and testament “to his very worthy master, Joshua Umphraville, Esq., to be printed in Elegant Extracts, or Flowers of English Poetry.” The Editor is indebted to the kindness of that gentleman for a selection from the papers; which he has been unable to arrange chronologically, as John always wrote in too great a hurry to put dates. Whether he ever sent any pieces to the periodicals is unknown, for he kept his authorship as secret as Junius’s, till his death discovered his propensity for poetry, and happily cleared up some points in John’s character, which had appeared to his disadvantage. Thus when his eye was “in fine frenzy rolling,” bemused only with Castalian water, he had been suspected of being “bemused with beer;” and when he was supposed to indulge in a morning sluggishness, he was really rising with the sun, at least with Apollo. He was accused occasionally of shamming deafness, whereas it was doubtless nothing but the natural difficulty of hearing more than Nine at once. Above all, he was reckoned almost wilfully unfortunate in his breakage; but it appears that when deductions for damage were made from his wages, the poetry ought to have been stopped, and not the money. The truth is, John’s master was a classical scholar, and so accustomed to read of Pegasus, and to associate a Poet with a Horseman, that he never dreamt of one as a Footman.

The Editor is too diffident to volunteer an elaborate criticism of the merits of Humphreys as a Bard--but he presumes to say thus much, that there are several Authors, of the present day, whom John ought not to walk behind.

THE BROKEN DISH.

WHAT’S life but full of care and doubt,
With all its fine humanities,
With parasols we walk about,
Long pigtails and such vanities.

We plant pomegranite trees and things,
And go in gardens sporting,
With toys and fans of peacocks’ wings,
To painted ladies courting.

We gather flowers of every hue,
And fish in boats for fishes,
Build summer-houses painted blue,--
But life’s as frail as dishes.

Walking about their groves of trees,
Blue bridges and blue rivers,
How little thought them two Chinese
They’d both be smash’d to shivers.

ODE TO PEACE.

WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY MISTRESS’S GRAND ROUT.

OH Peace! oh come with me and dwell--
But stop, for there’s the bell.
Oh Peace! for thee I go and sit in churches,
On Wednesday, when there’s very few
In loft or pew--
Another ring, the tarts are come from Birch’s.
Oh Peace! for thee I have avoided marriage--
Hush! there’s a carriage.
Oh Peace! thou art the best of earthly goods--
The five Miss Woods.
Oh Peace! thou art the Goddess I adore--
There come some more.
Oh Peace! thou child of solitude and quiet--
That’s Lord Drum’s footman, for he loves a riot.

Oh Peace!
Knocks will not cease.
Oh Peace! thou wert for human comfort plann’d--
That’s Weippert’s band.
Oh Peace! how glad I welcome thy approaches--
I hear the sound of coaches.
Oh Peace! oh Peace!--another carriage stops--
It’s early for the Blenkinsops.

Oh Peace! with thee I love to wander,
But wait till I have show’d up Lady Squander,
And now I’ve seen her up the stair,
Oh Peace!--but here comes Captain Hare.
Oh Peace! thou art the slumber of the mind,
Untroubled, calm and quiet, and unbroken,--
If that is Alderman Guzzle from Portsoken,
Alderman Gobble won’t be far behind;
Oh Peace! serene in worldly shyness,--
Make way there for his Serene Highness!

Oh Peace! if you do not disdain
To dwell amongst the menial train,
I have a silent place, and lone,
That you and I may call our own;
Where tumult never makes an entry--
Susan, what business have you in my pantry?

Oh Peace! but there is Major Monk,
At variance with his wife--Oh Peace!
And that great German, Vander Trunk,
And that great talker, Miss Apreece;
Oh Peace! so dear to poets’ quills--
They’re just beginning their quadrilles--
Oh Peace! our greatest renovator;--
I wonder where I put my waiter--
Oh Peace!--but here my Ode I’ll cease;
I have no peace to write of Peace.

A FEW LINES ON COMPLETING FORTY-SEVEN.

When I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summoned hence--
There’s cook a-calling John.

Our lives are built so frail and poor,
On sand and not on rocks,
We’re hourly standing at Death’s door--
There’s some one double-knocks.

All human days have settled terms,
Our fates we cannot force;
This flesh of mine will feed the worms--
They’re come to lunch of course.

And when my body’s turn’d to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
O let them give a sigh and say--
I hear the upstairs bell.

TO MARY HOUSEMAID,

ON VALENTINE’S DAY.

Mary, you know I’ve no love-nonsense,
And, though I pen on such a day,
I don’t mean flirting, on my conscience,
Or writing in the courting way.

Though Beauty hasn’t form’d your feature,
It saves you, p’rhaps, from being vain,
And many a poor unhappy creature
May wish that she was half as plain.

Your virtues would not rise an inch,
Although your shape was two foot taller,
And wisely you let others pinch
Great waists and feet to make them smaller.

You never try to spare your hands
From getting red by household duty,
But, doing all that it commands,
Their coarseness is a moral beauty.

Let Susan flourish her fair arms
And at your odd legs sneer and scoff,
But let her laugh, for you have charms
That nobody knows nothing of.

PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT.

A SEA ECLOGUE.

“I apprehend you!”--SCHOOL OF REFORM.

BOATMAN.

SHOVE off there!--ship the rudder, Bill--cast off! she’s under way!

MRS. F.

She’s under what?--I hope she’s not! good gracious, what a spray!

BOATMAN.

Run out the jib, and rig the boom! keep clear of those two brigs!

MRS. F.

I hope they don’t intend some joke by running of their rigs!

BOATMAN.

Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft--she’s rather out of trim!

MRS. F.

Great bags of stones! they’re pretty things to help a boat to swim!

BOATMAN.

The wind is fresh--if she don’t scud, it’s not the breeze’s fault!

MRS. F.

Wind fresh, indeed, I never felt the air so full of salt!

BOATMAN.

That Schooner, Bill, harn’t left the roads, with oranges and nuts!

MRS. F.

If seas have roads, they’re very rough--I never felt such ruts!

BOATMAN.

It’s neap, ye see, she’s heavy lade, and couldn’t pass the bar.

MRS. F.

The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I wonder where they are!

BOATMAN.

Ho! brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lubber cannot steer!

MRS. F.

Yes, yes,--hard up upon a rock! I know some danger’s near!
Lord, there’s a wave! it’s coming in! and roaring like a bull!

BOATMAN.

Nothing, Ma’am, but a little slop! go large, Bill! keep her full!

MRS. F.

What, keep her full! what daring work! when full, she must go down!

BOATMAN.

Why, Bill, it lulls! ease off a bit--it’s coming off the town!
Steady your helm! we’ll clear the _Pint_! lay right for yonder pink!

MRS. F.

Be steady--well, I hope they can! but they’ve got a pint of drink!

BOATMAN.

Bill, give that sheet another haul--she’ll fetch it up this reach.

MRS. F.

I’m getting rather pale, I know, and they see it by that speech!
I wonder what it is, now, but----I never felt so queer!

BOATMAN.

Bill, mind your luff--why Bill, I say, she’s yawing--keep her near!

MRS. F.

Keep near! we’re going further off; the land’s behind our backs.

BOATMAN.

Be easy, Ma’am, it’s all correct, that’s only ’cause we tacks:
We shall have to beat about a bit,--Bill, keep her out to sea.

MRS. F.

Beat who about? keep who at sea?--how black they look at me!

BOATMAN.

It’s veering round--I knew it would! off with her head! stand by!

MRS. F.

Off with her head! whose? where? what with?--an axe I seem to spy!

BOATMAN.

She can’t not keep her own, you see; we shall have to pull her in!

MRS. F.

They’ll drown me, and take all I have! my life’s not worth a pin!

BOATMAN.

Look out you know, be ready, Bill--just when she takes the sand!

MRS. F.

The sand--O Lord! to stop my mouth! how every thing is planned!

BOATMAN.

The handspike, Bill--quick, bear a hand! now Ma’am, just step
ashore!

MRS. F.

What! an’t I going to be kill’d--and welter’d in my gore?
Well, Heaven be praised! but I’ll not go a sailing any more!

A SPENT BALL.

“The flying ball.”--GRAY.

A BALL is a round, but not a perpetual round, of pleasure. It spends itself at last, like that from the cannon’s mouth; or rather, like that greatest of balls, “that great globe itself,” is “dissolved with all that it inherits.”