Book: The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 3.
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Robert Seymour >> The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 3.
And as he spake a pigeon flew
Across his way--
Bang went his piece--and Jenkins slew
The flutt'ring prey.
He bagg'd his game, and onward went,
When to his view
Another rose, by fortune sent
To make up two.
He fired, and beheld it fall
With inward glee,
And for a minute 'neath a wall
Stood gazing he.
When from behind, fierce, heavy blows
Fell on his hat,
And knock'd his beaver o'er his nose,
And laid him flat.
"What for," cried Jenkins, "am I mill'd,
Sir, like this ere?"
"You villain, you, why you have kill'd
My pouter rare."
The sturdy knave who struck him down
With frown replied:--
"For which I'll make you pay a crown
Nor be denied."
Poor Jenkins saw it was in vain
To bandy words;
So paid the cash and vow'd, again
He'd not shoot birds--
At least of that same feather, lest
For Pouter shot
Some Dragon fierce should him molest--
And fled the spot.
THE PIC-NIC. No. I.
A merry holiday party, forming a tolerable boat-load, and well provided
with baskets of provisions, were rowing along the beautiful and
picturesque banks that fringe the river's side near Twickenham, eagerly
looking out for a spot where they might enjoy their "pic-nic" to
perfection.
"O! uncle, there's a romantic glade;--do let us land there!" exclaimed a
beautiful girl of eighteen summers, to a respectable old gentleman in a
broad brimmed beaver and spectacles.
"Just the thing, I declare," replied he--"the very spot--pull away, my
lads--but dear me" continued he, as they neared the intended
landing-place, "What have we here? What says the board?"
"PARTIES ARE NOT, ALLOWED TO
LAND AND DINE HERE"
Oh! oh! very well; then we'll only land here, and dine a little further
on"
"What a repulsive board"--cried the young lady--"I declare now I'm quite
vex'd"--
"Never mind, Julia, we won't be bored by any board"--said the jocose old
gentleman.
"I'm sure, uncle"--said one of the youths--"we don't require any board,
for we provide ourselves."
"You're quite right, Master Dickey," said his uncle; "for we only came
out for a lark, you know, and no lark requires more than a little turf
for its entertainment; pull close to the bank, and let us land."
"Oh! but suppose," said the timid Julia, "the surly owner should pounce
upon us, just as we are taking our wine?"
"Why then, my love," replied he, "we have only to abandon our wine, and,
like sober members of the Temperance Society--take water."
Pulling the wherry close along side the grassy bank, and fastening it
carefully to the stump of an old tree, the whole party landed.
"How soft and beautiful is the green-sward here," said the romantic
Julia, indenting the yielding grass with her kid-covered tiny feet; "Does
not a gentleman of the name of Nimrod sing the pleasure of the Turf?"
said Emma: "I wonder if he ever felt it as we do?"
"Certainly not," replied Master Dickey, winking at his uncle; "for the
blades of the Turf he describes, are neither so fresh nor so green as
these; and the 'stakes' he mentions are rather different from those
contained in our pigeon-pie."
"But I doubt, Dickey," said his uncle, "if his pen ever described a
better race than the present company. The Jenkins's, let me tell you,
come of a good stock, and sport some of the best blood in the country."
"Beautiful branches of a noble tree," exclaimed Master Dicky, "but,
uncle, a hard row has made me rather peckish; let us spread the
provender. I think there's an honest hand of pork yonder that is right
worthy of a friendly grasp;--only see if, by a single touch of that
magical hand, I'm not speedily transformed into a boat."
"What sort of a boat?" cried Julia. "A cutter, to be sure," replied
Master Dicky, and laughing he ran off with his male companions to bring
the provisions ashore.
Meanwhile the uncle and his niece selected a level spot beneath the
umbrageous trees, and prepared for the unpacking of the edibles.
THE PIC-NIC. No. II
Notwithstanding the proverbial variety of the climate, there is no nation
under the sun so fond of Pic-Nic parties as the English; and yet how
seldom are their pleasant dreams of rural repasts in the open air fated
to be realized!
However snugly they may pack the materials for the feast, the pack
generally gets shuffled in the carriage, and consequently their promised
pleasure proves anything but "without mixture without measure."
The jam-tarts are brought to light, and are found to have got a little
jam too much. The bottles are cracked before their time, and the liberal
supplies of pale sherry and old port are turned into a--little current.
They turn out their jar of ghirkins, and find them mixed, and all their
store in a sad pickle.
The leg of mutton is the only thing that has stood in the general melee.
The plates are all dished, and the dishes only fit for a lunatic asylum,
being all literally cracked.
Even the knives and forks are found to ride rusty on the occasion. The
bread is become sop; and they have not even the satisfaction of getting
salt to their porridge, for that is dissolved into briny tears.
Like the provisions, they find themselves uncomfortably hamper'd; for
they generally chuse such a very retired spot, that there is nothing to
be had for love or money in the neighbourhood, for all the shops are as
distant as--ninety-ninth cousins!
However delightful the scenery may be, it is counterbalanced by the
prospect of starvation.
Although on the borders of a stream abounding in fish, they have neither
hook nor line; and even the young gentlemen who sing fail in a catch for
want of the necessary bait. Their spirits are naturally damped by their
disappointment, and their holiday garments by a summer shower; and though
the ducks of the gentlemen take the water as favourably as possible,
every white muslin presently assumes the appearance of a drab, and,
becoming a little limp and dirty, looks as miserable as a lame beggar!
In fine, it is only a donkey or a goose that can reasonably expect to
obtain a comfortable feed in a field. It may be very poetical to talk of
"Nature's table-cloth of emerald verdure;" but depend on it, a damask
one, spread over that full-grown vegetable--a mahogany table--is far
preferable.
THE BUMPKIN.
Giles was the eldest son and heir of Jeremiah Styles--a cultivator of the
soil--who, losing his first wife, took unto himself, at the mature age of
fifty, a second, called by the neighbours, by reason of the narrowness of
her economy, and the slenderness of her body, Jeremiah's Spare-rib.
Giles was a "'cute" lad, and his appetite soon became, under his
step-mother's management, as sharp as his wit; and although he
continually complained of getting nothing but fat, when pork chanced to
form a portion of her dietary, it was evident to all his acquaintance
that he really got lean! His legs, indeed, became so slight, that many
of his jocose companions amused themselves with striking at them with
straws as he passed through the farmyard of a morning.
"Whoy, Giles!" remarked one of them, "thee calves ha' gone to grass,
lad."
"Thee may say that, Jeames," replied Giles; "or d'ye see they did'nt
find I green enough."
"I do think now, Giles," said James, "that Mother Styles do feed thee on
nothing, and keeps her cat on the leavings."
"Noa, she don't," said Giles, "for we boath do get what we can catch, and
nothing more. Whoy, now, what do you think, Jeames; last Saturday, if
the old 'ooman did'nt sarve me out a dish o' biled horse-beans--"
"Horse-beans?" cried James; "lack-a-daisy me, and what did you do?"
"Whoy, just what a horse would ha' done, to be sure--"
"Eat 'em?"
"Noa--I kicked, and said 'Nay,' and so the old 'ooman put herself into a
woundy passion wi' I. 'Not make a dinner of horsebeans, you dainty
dog,' says she; 'I wish you may never have a worse.'--'Noa, mother,' says
I, 'I hope I never shall.' And she did put herself into such a tantrum,
to be sure--so I bolted; whereby, d'ye see, I saved my bacon, and the old
'ooman her beans. But it won't do. Jeames, I've a notion I shall go a
recruit, and them I'm thinking I shall get into a reg'lar mess, and get
shut of a reg'lar row."
"Dang it, it's too bad!" said the sympathising James; "and when do thee
go?"
"Next March, to be sure," replied Giles, with a spirit which was natural
to him--indeed, as to any artificial spirit, it was really foreign to his
lips.
"But thee are such a scare-crow, Giles," said James; "thee are thin as a
weasel."
"My drumsticks," answered he, smiling, "may recommend me to the
band--mayhap--for I do think they'll beat anything."
"I don't like sogering neither," said James, thoughtfully. "Suppose the
French make a hole in thee with a bagnet--"
"Whoy, then, I shall be 'sewed up,' thee know."
"That's mighty foine," replied James, shaking his head; "but I'd rather
not, thank'ye."
"Oh! Jeames, a mother-in-law's a greater bore than a bagnet, depend on't;
and it's my mind, it's better to die in a trench than afore an empty
trencher--I'll list"
And with this unalterable determination, the half-starved, though still
merry Giles, quitted his companion; and the following month, in pursuance
of the resolve he had made, he enlisted in his Majesty's service.
Fortunately for the youth, he received more billets than bullets, and
consequently grew out of knowledge, although he obtained a world of
information in his travels; and, at the expiration of the war, returned
to his native village covered with laurels, and in the Joyment of the
half-pay of a corporal, to which rank he had been promoted in consequence
of his meritorious conduct in the Peninsula. His father was still
living, but his step-nother was lying quietly in the church-yard.
"I hope, father," said the affectionate Giles, "that thee saw her buried
in a deep grave, and laid a stone a-top of her?"
"I did, my son."
"Then I am happy," replied Giles.