Page images
PDF
EPUB

No doubt, Ma'am-what a shame it is!
And Cambridge too again has riz!

You don't deal now with Mrs. Keats?
No, she's a bad one :-)
-Ma'am, she cheats.
Hush! Mrs. Crumps, her aunt,-good lack!
How lucky, she's just turned her back!
Don't spare the toast, Ma'am, don't say no,
I've got another round below;

I give folks plenty when I ax 'em,
For cut and come again's my maxim ;
Nor should I deem it a misfortun,
If you demolishes the whole quart'n.
A charming garden, Mrs. Dobbs,
For drying-Ain't it Mrs. Hobbs ?
But though our water-tub runs o'er,
A heavy wash is such a bore,
Our smalls is all that we hang out.
Well, that's a luxury, no doubt.
La! Mrs. Tapps, do only look,
Those grouts can never be mistook;
Well, such a cup it can't be worse,
See here's six horses in a hearse;
And there's the church and burying-place,
Plain as the nose upon your face:
Next dish may dissipate your doubts,
And give you less unlucky grouts ;
One more you must-the pot has stood
I warrant me its strong and good.
There's Mrs. Spriggins in the garden;
What a fine gown! but begging pardon,
It seems to me amazing dingy—

Do you think her shawl, Ma'am's, real Ingy?
Lord love you! no,-well, give me clo'es
That's plain and good, Ma'am, not like those;
Though not so tawdry, Mrs. Jacks,

We do put clean things on our backs.
Meat, Ma'am is scand❜lous dear.-Perhaps
You deal, Ma'am, still with Mrs. Tapps.
Not I, we know who's got to pay,
When butchers drive their one-horse shay.
Well, I pay nine for rumps. At most
pay but eight for boiled and roast,

We

And get our rumps from Leadenhall
At seven, taking shins and all.

Yes, meat is monstrous dear all round;
But dripping brings a groat a pound.
Thus on swift wing the moments flew,
Until 'twas time to say adieu;
When each prepared to waddle back,
Warmed with a sip of Cogniac;
Which was with Mrs. Dobbs a law,
Whene'er the night was cold and raw.
Umbrellas, pattens, lanterns, clogs,
Were sought, away the party jogs,
And silent solitude again

O'er Prospect Row resumed its reign ;
Just as the watchman crawled in sight,
To cry "Past ten—a cloudy night.'

HORACE SMITH.

MRS. ROSE GROB.

(From "Gaieties and Gravities.")

NONE would have known that Siegmund Grob
Lived foreman to a sugar-baker,

But that he died and left the job,

Of tombstone-making to an undertaker ; Who, being a mason, also was a poet,

So he engraved a skull upon the stone,

(The sexton of Whitechapel church will shew it), Then carved the following couplet from his own: Stop, reader stop, and give a sob "For Siegmund Grob."

Two thousand pounds, besides her savings,
Was quite enough all care to drown;
No wonder then she soon felt craving
To quit the melancholy city,
And take a cottage out of town,
And live genteel and pretty.

Accordingly, in Mile-end-road
She quickly chose a snug retreat;
'Twas quite a pastoral abode,

Its situation truly sweet!

Her cottage front was stuccoed white;
Before it two fine poplars grew,
Which nearly reached the roof or quite;
And in one corner painted blue,

Stood a large water-tub with wooden spout,
(She never put a rag of washing out).

Upon the house-top, on a plaster shell,

[ocr errors]

Rose Cottage" was inscribed, its name to dub : The green door looked particularly well,

Picked out with blue, to match the tub;
The children round about were smitten

Whene'er they stopped to fix their eye on
The flaming knocker, ('twas a lion);

Beneath it was a large brass knob,

And on a plate above was written
"Mrs. Rose Grob."

Here she resided free from strife,
Except perpetual scolds with Betty,
For the main objects of her life
Were two-and formed her daily trade-
To cram herself, and starve her maid.
For one no savings were too petty,
For t' other no tit-bit too nice.

After dinner, in a trice

She locked the fragments up in towels;

She weighed out bread, and cheese, and butter,
And in all cases shewed an utter

Disregard for Betty's bowels;

As if in penance for her sins,

She made her dine on shanks and shins;

(Was ever such a stingy hussey)?

And reckoned it a treat to give her
Half a pound of tripe or liver,—
First cutting off a slice for pussey;

Nay, of all perquisites the damsel stripping,
She wouldn't even let her sell the dripping.

The washing week approached; an awful question
Now agitated Rose with pangs inhuman,
How to supply the Mammoth-like digestion

Of that carnivorous beast- -a washer-woman.
A camel's paunch for ten day's drink is hollowed,
So theirs takes in at once a ten days' munching;
At twelve o'clock you hear them say they've swallowed
Nothing to speak of, since their second luncheon,
And as they will not dine till one,

"Tis time their third lunch was begun.

At length provisions being got all proper, And everything put out, starch, blue, soap, gin; A fire being duly laid beneath the copper, The clothes in soak all ready to begin ;

Up to her room the industrious Betty goes

To fetch her sheets, and screams down stairs to Rose, "La, goodness me! why here's a job!

You ha'nt put out a second pair."

"No more I have," said Mrs. Grob;

[ocr errors]

Well, that's a good un I declare!
"Sure I've the most forgetful head,
"And there's no time to air another,
"So take one sheet from off your bed,

"And make a shift, to-night, with t'other."
On Rose's part this was a ruse-de-guerre,
To save the expense of washing half a pair;
But as the biter's sometimes bitten,

So, in this instance, it occurred,

For Betty took her at her word;

And, with the bright conception smitten, Sat up all night, and, with good thrift,

Of needle, scissors, thimble, thread,

Cut up one sheet into a shift,

And took the other off the bed!

Next morn, when Mrs. Grob, at three o'clock,
Went up to call the maid,

And saw the mischief done by aid
Of scissors, thread, and needle,

There's no describing what a shock
It gave her to behold the sheet in tatters;
And so, by way of mending matters,

She called her cheat, and slut, and jade,

And talked of sending for the beadle !

[ocr errors]

"La, Ma'am" quoth Betty; "don't make such a pother;

I've done exactly what you 've said,

"Taken one sheet from off the bed,

“And made a shift to-night with t'other."

HORACE SMITH.

THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER.

(From "Gaieties and Gravities.")

spelling,

At Trin. Coll. Cam.-which means, in proper
Trinity College, Cambridge,—there resided
One Harry Dashington-a youth excelling

In all the learning commonly provided
For those who choose that classic station
For finishing their education:
That is―he understood computing

The odds at any race or match;
Was a dead hand at pigeon shooting;

Could kick up rows-knock down the watch

Play truant and the rake at random

Drink-tie cravats-and drive a tandem.

Remonstrance, fine, and rustication,

So far from working reformation,

Seem'd but to make his lapses greater;

Till he was warn'd that next offence
Would have this certain consequence-
Expulsion from his Alma Mater.

One need not be a necromancer

To guess that with so wild a wight,
The next offence occurr'd next night;
When our Incurable came rolling

Home as the midnight chimes were tolling,

And rang the College bell.-No answer.—

« EelmineJätka »