Book: The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 1.
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Robert Seymour >> The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 1.
SKETCHES BY SEYMOUR
Part 1.
EBOOK EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION:
"Sketches by Seymour" was published in various versions about 1836.
My copy has no date and was published by Thomas Fry, London. Some of
the plates note only Seymour's name, many are inscribed "Engravings by
H. Wallis from sketches by Seymour." There are 90 plates including the
title pages. I believe this book was originally a compilation of five
smaller volumes, though the separate volumes are not apparent. From the
mixed chapter titles the reader may suspect, as I do, that the printer
thoroughly mixed up the order of the chapters. The complete set in this
digital edition is split into five smaller volumes so that each volume
is of a more manageable size than this 7mb complete version.
The value of this collection to me is in the art of the engravings.
The text seems generally mundane, is full of conundrums and puns that
were popular in the early 1800's, and is mercifully short. No author is
given credit for the text though the section titled, "The Autobiography
of Andrew Mullins" may give us at least his pen-name.
DW
CONTENTS:
EVERYDAY SCENES.
SCENE I. Sleeping Fisherman.
SCENE II. A lark--early in the morning.
SCENE III. The rapid march of Intellect!
SCENE IV. Sally, I told my missus vot you said.
SCENE V. How does it fit behind?
SCENE VI. Catching-a cold.
SCENE VII. This is vot you calls rowing, is it?
SCENE VIII. In for it, or Trying the middle.
A DAY'S SPORT.
CHAP. I. The Invitation, Outfit, and the sallying forth
CHAP. II. The Death of a little Pig
CHAP. III. The Sportsmen trespass on an Enclosure
CHAP. IV. Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!
CHAP. V. A Publican taking Orders.
CHAP. VI. The Reckoning.
CHAP. VII. A sudden Explosion
OTHER SCENES.
SCENE IX. Shoot away, Bill! never mind the old woman
SCENE X. I begin to think I may as well go back.
SCENE XI. Mother says fishes comes from hard roes
SCENE XII. Ambition.
SCENE XIII. Better luck next time.
SCENE XIV. Don't you be saucy, Boys.
SCENE XV. Vy, Sarah, you're drunk!
SCENE XVI. Lawk a'-mercy! I'm going wrong!
SCENE XVII. I'm dem'd if I can ever hit 'em.
SCENE XVIII. Have you read the leader in this paper
SCENE XIX. An Epistle from Samuel Softly, Esq.
SCENE XX. The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.
SCENE XXI. The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.(Continued)
SCENE XXII. The Itinerant Musician.
SCENE XXIII. The Confessions of a Sportsman.
MISCELLANEOUS.
PLATE I. THE JOLLY ANGLERS.
PLATE II. THE BILL-STICKER.
PLATE III. OLD FOOZLE.
PLATE IV. THE "CRACK-SHOTS." No. I.
PLATE V. THE "CRACK-SHOTS." No. II.
PLATE VI. THE "CRACK-SHOTS." No. III.
PLATE VII. DOCTOR SPRAGGS.
PLATE VIII. [SCENE IX.(b)] Well, Bill, d'ye get any bites?
PLATE IX. THE POUTER AND THE DRAGON.
PLATE X. THE PIC-NIC. No. I.
PLATE XI. THE PIC-NIC. No. II.
PLATE XII. THE BUMPKIN.
FRONTPIECE II. SHOOTING
TITLE PAGE II. VOLUME II.
PLATE XIII. [WATTY WILLIAMS AND BULL]
PLATE XIV. DELICACY!
PLATE XV. Now, Jem, let's shew these gals how we can row
PLATE XVI. STEAMING IT TO MARGATE.
PLATE XVII. PETER SIMPLE'S FOREIGN ADVENTURE. No. I.
PLATE XVIII. PETER SIMPLE'S FOREIGN ADVENTURE. No. II.
PLATE XIX. DOBBS'S "DUCK."--A LEGEND OF HORSELYDOWN.
PLATE XX. STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM.
PLATE XXI. A DAY'S PLEASURE. No. I.--THE JOURNEY OUT.
PLATE XXII. A DAY'S PLEASURE. No. II.--THE JOURNEY HOME.
PLATE XXIII. [HAMMERING] Beside a meandering stream
PLATE XXIV. PRACTICE.
PLATE XXV. PRECEPT.
PLATE XXVI. EXAMPLE.
PLATE XXVII. A MUSICAL FESTIVAL.
PLATE XXVIII. THE EATING HOUSE.
PLATE XXIX. [SCENE X.(b)] This is a werry lonely spot, Sir
PLATE XXX. GONE!
PLATE XXXI. THE PRACTICAL JOKER. No. I.
PLATE XXXII. THE PRACTICAL JOKER. No. II.
PLATE XXXIII. FISHING FOR WHITING AT MARGATE.
ANDREW MULLINS.--AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
CHAP. I. Introductory
CHAP. II. Let the neighbors smell ve has something
CHAP. III. I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly
CHAP. IV. A Situation.
CHAP. V. The Stalking Horse.
CHAP. VI. A Commission.
CHAP. VII. The Cricket Match
CHAP. VIII. The Hunter.
CHAP. IX. A Row to Blackwall.
CHAP. X. The Pic-Nic.
CHAP. XI. The Journey Home.
CHAP. XII. Monsieur Dubois.
CHAP. XIII. My Talent Called into Active Service.
CHAP. XIV. A Dilemma.
CHAP. XV. An Old Acquaintance.
CHAP. XVI. The Loss of a Friend.
CHAP. XVII. Promotion.
A RIGMAROLE.
PART I. "De omnibus rebus."
PART II. "Acti labores Sunt jucundi"
PART III. "Oderunt hilarem tristes."
AN INTERCEPTED LETTER FROM DICK SLAMMER TO HIS FRIEND SAM FLYKE.
PLATE I. Dye think ve shall be in time for the hunt?
PLATE II. Vat a rum chap to go over the 'edge that vay!
EVERYDAY SCENES.
SCENE I.
"Walked twenty miles over night: up before peep o' day again got a
capital place; fell fast asleep; tide rose up to my knees; my hat was
changed, my pockets picked, and a fish ran away with my hook; dreamt of
being on a Polar expedition and having my toes frozen."
O! IZAAK WALTON!--Izaak Walton!--you have truly got me into a precious
line, and I certainly deserve the rod for having, like a gudgeon, so
greedily devoured the delusive bait, which you, so temptingly, threw out
to catch the eye of my piscatorial inclination! I have read of right
angles and obtuse angles, and, verily, begin to believe that there are
also right anglers and obtuse anglers--and that I am really one of the
latter class. But never more will I plant myself, like a weeping willow,
upon the sedgy bank of stream or river. No!--on no account will I draw
upon these banks again, with the melancholy prospect of no effects! The
most 'capital place' will never tempt me to 'fish' again!
My best hat is gone: not the 'way of all beavers'--into the water--but to
cover the cranium of the owner of this wretched 'tile;' and in vain shall
I seek it; for 'this' and 'that' are now certainly as far as the 'poles'
asunder.
My pockets, too, are picked! Yes--some clever 'artist' has drawn me
while asleep!
My boots are filled with water, and my soles and heels are anything but
lively or delighted. Never more will I impale ye, Gentles! on the word
of a gentleman!--Henceforth, O! Hooks! I will be as dead to your
attractions as if I were 'off the hooks!' and, in opposition to the maxim
of Solomon, I will 'spare the rod.'
Instead of a basket of fish, lo! here's a pretty kettle of fish for the
entertainment of my expectant friends--and sha'n't I be baited? as the
hook said to the anger: and won't the club get up a Ballad on the
occasion, and I, who have caught nothing, shall probably be made the
subject of a 'catch!'
Slush! slush!--Squash! squash!
O! for a clean pair of stockings!--But, alack, what a tantalizing
situation I am in!--There are osiers enough in the vicinity, but no hose
to be had for love or money!
SCENE II.
A lark--early in the morning.
Two youths--and two guns appeared at early dawn in the suburbs. The
youths were loaded with shooting paraphernalia and provisions, and their
guns with the best Dartford gunpowder--they were also well primed for
sport--and as polished as their gunbarrels, and both could boast a good
'stock' of impudence.
"Surely I heard the notes of a bird," cried one, looking up and down the
street; "there it is again, by jingo!"
"It's a lark, I declare," asserted his brother sportsman.
"Lark or canary, it will be a lark if we can bring it down," replied his
companion.
"Yonder it is, in that ere cage agin the wall."
"What a shame!" exclaimed the philanthropic youth,--"to imprison a
warbler of the woodlands in a cage, is the very height of
cruelty--liberty is the birthright of every Briton, and British bird! I
would rather be shot than be confined all my life in such a narrow
prison. What a mockery too is that piece of green turf, no bigger than a
slop-basin. How it must aggravate the feelings of one accustomed to
range the meadows."
"Miserable! I was once in a cage myself," said his chum.
"And what did they take you for?"
"Take me for?--for a 'lark.'"
"Pretty Dickey!"
"Yes, I assure you, it was all 'dickey' with me."
"And did you sing?"
"Didn't I? yes, i' faith I sang pretty small the next morning when they
fined me, and let me out. An idea strikes me Suppose you climb up that
post, and let out this poor bird, ey?"
"Excellent."
"And as you let him off, I'll let off my gun, and we'll see whether I
can't 'bang' him in the race."
No sooner said than done: the post was quickly climbed--the door of the
cage was thrown open, and the poor bird in an attempt at 'death or
liberty,' met with the former.
Bang went the piece, and as soon as the curling smoke was dissipated,
they sought for their prize, but in vain; the piece was discharged so
close to the lark, that it was blown to atoms, and the feathers strewed
the pavement.
"Bolt!" cried the freedom-giving youth, "or we shall have to pay for the
lark."
"Very likely," replied the other, who had just picked up a few feathers,
and a portion of the dissipated 'lark,'--"for look, if here ain't
the--bill, never trust me."
SCENE III.
"You shall have the paper directly, Sir, but really the debates are so
very interesting."
"Oh! pray don't hurry, Sir, it's only the scientific notices I care
about."
What a thrill of pleasure pervades the philanthropic breast on beholding
the rapid march of Intellect! The lamp-lighter, but an insignificant
'link' in the vast chain of society, has now a chance of shining at the
Mechanics', and may probably be the means of illuminating a whole parish.
Literature has become the favourite pursuit of all classes, and the
postman is probably the only man who leaves letters for the vulgar
pursuit of lucre! Even the vanity of servant-maids has undergone a
change--they now study 'Cocker' and neglect their 'figures.'
But the dustman may be said, 'par excellence,' to bear--the bell!
In the retired nook of an obscure coffee-shop may frequently be observed
a pair of these interesting individuals sipping their mocha, newspaper in
hand, as fixed upon a column--as the statue of Napoleon in the Place
Vendome, and watching the progress of the parliamentary bills, with as
much interest as the farmer does the crows in his corn-field!
They talk of 'Peel,' and 'Hume,' and 'Stanley,' and bandy about their
names as familiarly as if they were their particular acquaintances.
"What a dust the Irish Member kicked up in the House last night," remarks
one.
"His speech was a heap o' rubbish," replied the other.
"And I've no doubt was all contracted for! For my part I was once a
Reformer--but Rads and Whigs is so low, that I've turned Conservative."
"And so am I, for my Sal says as how it's so genteel!"
"Them other chaps after all on'y wants to throw dust in our eyes! But
it's no go, they're no better than a parcel o' thimble riggers just
making the pea come under what thimble they like,--and it's 'there it
is,' and 'there it ain't,'--just as they please--making black white, and
white black, just as suits 'em--but the liberty of the press--"
"What's the liberty of the press?"
"Why calling people what thinks different from 'em all sorts o'
names--arn't that a liberty?"
"Ay, to be sure!--but it's time to cut--so down with the dust--and let's
bolt!"
SCENE IV.
"Oh! Sally, I told my missus vot you said your missus said about
her."--"Oh! and so did I, Betty; I told my missus vot you said yourn said
of her, and ve had sich a row!"
SALLY.
OH! Betty, ve had sich a row!--there vas never nothink like it;--
I'm quite a martyr.
To missus's pranks; for, 'twixt you and me, she's a bit of a tartar.
I told her vord for vord everythink as you said,
And I thought the poor voman vould ha' gone clean out of her head!
BETTY.
Talk o' your missus! she's nothink to mine,--I on'y hope they von't meet,
Or I'm conwinced they vill go to pulling of caps in the street:
Sich kicking and skrieking there vas, as you never seed, And she vos so
historical, it made my wery heart bleed.
SALLY.
Dear me! vell, its partic'lar strange people gives themselves sich airs,
And troubles themselves so much 'bout other people's affairs; For my
part, I can't guess, if I died this werry minute,
Vot's the use o' this fuss--I can't see no reason in it.
BETTY.
Missus says as how she's too orrystocratic to mind wulgar people's
tattle,
And looks upon some people as little better nor cattle.
SALLY.
And my missus says no vonder, as yourn can sport sich a dress, For ven
some people's husbands is vite-vashed, their purses ain't less;
This I will say, thof she puts herself in wiolent rages,
She's not at all stingy in respect of her sarvant's wages.
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!--(you don't know my trials!)
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!
SCENE V.
"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 (with interest) of buffets formerly received.
The tail (in two parts) 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!
SCENE VI.
"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 (who has tried him) 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. (We are sure his self-love will not
be offended at the reflection!) and even now he may, with truth, aver,
that although he caught nothing, he, at least, took the best perch in the
undulating stream!
SCENE VII.
"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!"
SCENE VIII.
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."
CHAPTER I.
The Invitation--the Outfit--and the sallying forth.
TO Mr. AUGUSTUS SPRIGGS,
AT Mr. WILLIAMS'S, GROCER, ADDLE STREET.
(Tower Street, 31st August, 18__)
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.
Mind, I won't take no refusal--so pitch it strong to the old 'un, and
carry your resolution nem. con.
And believe me to be, your old Crony,
RICHARD GRUBB.
P. S. The guns hasn't got them thingummy 'caps,' but that's no matter,
for cousin says them cocks won't always fight: while them as he has lent
is reg'lar good--and never misses fire nor fires amiss.
In reply to this elegant epistle, Mr. Richard Grubb was favoured with a
line from Mr. Augustus Spriggs, expressive of his unbounded delight in
having prevailed upon his governor to 'let him out;' and concluding with
a promise of meeting the coach at Moorgate.
At the appointed hour, Mr. Richard Grubb, 'armed at all points,' mounted
the stage--his hat cocked knowingly over his right eye--his gun
half-cocked and slung over his shoulder, and a real penny Cuba in his
mouth.
"A fine mornin' for sport," remarked Mr. Richard Grubb to his
fellow--passenger, a stout gentleman between fifty and sixty years of
age, with a choleric physiognomy and a fierce-looking pigtail.
"I dessay--"
"Do you hang out at Highgate?" continued the sportsman.
"Hang out?"
"Ay, are you a hinhabitant?"
"To be sure I am."
"Is there any birds thereabouts?"
"Plenty o' geese," sharply replied the old gentleman.
"Ha! ha! werry good!--but I means game;--partridges and them sort o'
birds."
"I never see any except what I've brought down."
"I on'y vish I may bring down all I see, that's all," chuckled the joyous
Mr. Grubb.
"What's the matter?"
"I don't at all like that 'ere gun."
"Lor! bless you, how timorsome you are, 'tain't loaded."
"Loaded or not loaded, it's werry unpleasant to ride with that gun o'
yours looking into one's ear so."
"Vell, don't be afeard, I'll twist it over t'other shoulder,--there! but
a gun ain't a coach, you know, vich goes off whether it's loaded or not.
Hollo! Spriggs! here you are, my boy, lord! how you are figg'd
out--didn't know you--jump up!"
"Vere's my instrument o' destruction?" enquired the lively Augustus, when
he had succeeded in mounting to his seat.
"Stow'd him in the boot!"
The coachman mounted and drove off; the sportsmen chatting and laughing
as they passed through 'merry Islington.'
"Von't ve keep the game alive!" exclaimed Spriggs, slapping his friend
upon the back.
"I dessay you will," remarked the caustic old boy with the pigtail; "for
it's little you'll kill, young gentlemen, and that's my belief!"
"On'y let's put 'em up, and see if we don't knock 'em down, as cleverly
as Mister Robins does his lots," replied Spriggs, laughing at his own
wit.
Arrived at Highgate, the old gentleman, with a step-fatherly anxiety,
bade them take care of the 'spring-guns' in their perambulations.
"Thankee, old boy," said Spriggs, "but we ain't so green as not to know
that spring guns, like spring radishes, go off long afore Autumn, you
know!"
CHAPTER II.
The Death of a little Pig, which proves a great Bore!
"Now let's load and prime--and make ready," said Mr. Richard, when they
had entered an extensive meadow, "and--I say--vot are you about? Don't
put the shot in afore the powder, you gaby!"
Having charged, they shouldered their pieces and waded through the tall
grass.
"O! crikey!--there's a heap o' birds," exclaimed Spriggs, looking up at a
flight of alarmed sparrows. "Shall I bring 'em down?"