Curiosities of Street Literature. Various
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of passion in his breast.
A delightful cottage, elegantly furnished, with grounds laid out according to the most approved rules of modern art, and heightened into affection by the exquisite taste of Susan, received the happy pair. Doting on each other, loving and beloved by their parents, respected by a numerous circle of friends, easy in their circumstances, elegant in their tastes, congenial in their pursuits, their bliss knew no alloy. George’s daily absence from town was but for a few hours, and the pleasure of meeting amply repaid the affectonate Susan for the pain of separation.
Thus smoothly did their lives glide on during three years and a half, and a boy and girl, beautiful as cherubs, had crowned their loves; when one afternoon George returned to their beloved home, and hastily sought the apartment in which his Susan was accustomed to lay out their simply-elegant repast, intrusting to no one the pleasing task of providing for the refreshment of her bosom lord.
He opened the door—he beheld her at the table, and ran forward to imprint his welcome kiss upon her ruby lips; but what words can describe his sensation on beholding her eyes’ accustomed brilliancy quenched in tears, and pearly drops chasing each other in quick succession down her lovely cheeks!
“Gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed, “what is the cause of this? Tell me, dear Susan, tell me, I beseech you, what dire calamity has visited our hitherto-happy roof. Speak, I entreat you!”
She was all silent, and her tears continued to flow.
“O Heaven!” he exclaimed, in mental agony of apprehension, “has anything befallen our lovely infants? Is Henry—is Maria—speak—are—they—can they be—oh, I feel a father’s pangs—ah, beloved infants! Tell me, for pity’s sake, tell me, dear Susan; strike me dead at once with dire intelligence, but do not let me die by the protracted agonies of uncertainty!”
She became violently convulsed, and George, in the greatest excitement, rang the bell violently. A servant entered, and to his broken interrogations of “Where are the children?—what has happened to your mistress?—tell me this instant what has befallen your mistress!—what dreadful accident has occurred?” Answer—
“Lawk, sir, you are so passionate and hasty; you won’t give a body time to speak.”
“Death and fury, idiot!” exclaimed the exasperated George; “tell me this instant what to think, or by Heaven——
“Lawk-a-daisey, sir, why, if you must know, then, missus has been peeling some onions to fry with the steak, and it is so strong it’s got into her EYES, that’s all sir!”
Batchlar, Printer, Long Alley.
THE SECRETS REVEALED,
“ ’Tis from high life high characters are drawn.”—Pope.
My Lord and Lady, who reside not a hundred miles from this neighbourhood, sat by the fireside in the drawing room; his Lordship on the right hand—her Ladyship on the left. The fire was dull, so was his Lordship; the weather was dull, so was her Ladyship. His Lordship moved the poker from the right hand side of the fireplace to that of the left: her Ladyship moved it back again. His Lordship scratched his left ear; her Ladyship scratched her right—violently too—and then quitted the room. His Lordship rang the bell. A footman entered. He was clad for a journey.
“John,” said his Lordship, “has Tattersall sent the horses?”
“Yes, your Lordship,” said John, “they are at the door?”
“Four of them?”
“Yes, your honour.”
“Do they look creditable?”
“Perfect, your honour! Full of flesh and rampart spirit, pawing up the stones.”
“What colour?”
“Bay, my Lord.”
“Ah! the right colour, Bays, for a poet; and I am a poet: that is, I used to rhyme when I was in love. Is the lumber ready, John?”
“Right, my Lord.”
“Ah! then tell Her Honourable Ladyship I wait her presence in the water—. No! no! in the—the—library, I mean. Yes, the library, John—mind—the library.”
John disappeared. Presently her Ladyship’s little feet—or pettitoes, as his Lordship was wont to call them—were heard pit-pat-pat-pit on the stairs. Her Ladyship was attired in a fashionably made riding-habit, with no ornament but a plain gold chain suspended round the neck, to which was attached a massive eye-glass.
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my duck—my dove,” said his Lordship, “are you ready?”
“At your Lordship’s service—you goose—I mean duck o’diamonds.”
“Your Ladyship’s slave is proud to see you look so well. As you are ready, I am ready—I am ready, my duck—but one kiss before we go.”
“Has your Lordship determined where we shall go?”
“Why, yes—into the country.”
“But the country has points, parts, places. To which?”
“Oh, any one! the country is all the same, love! Hedges, ditches, cows, rustics, crows, and mile-stones. It’s all the same—all one—here or there. Where would you like to go?”
“Right: let me see. The sea? aye, the sea-side. John, which side is the sea-side?”
“Really, my Lord, I can’t de-cide!”
“Where’s Tattersall? O Tattersall, my Lady and I are going to sea. Are those sea horses?”
“No my Lord, regular cockneys, that won’t go further than one stage from London; them that takes you the last stage are horse marines.”
“Tattersall, you are a wag.”
“Your Lordship’s wit is catching.”
“Tattersall—to the point; where’s the sea?”
“All round the world, my Lord.”
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, we are going all round the world. Pshaw! John, why don’t you remember your memory? We want to go out of town.”
“Brighthelmston is a nice place, my Lord.”
“Who lives there?”
“My grandmother, my Lord—Mrs. Smith.”
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, Brighthelmston is a nice place, and John’s grandmother lives there—a Mrs. Smith. Did you ever hear that name before, my Lady?”
“My Lord, our friend, Sir Arthur, has a mansion in that neigbourhood, and I long to see his lovely niece Ophelia.”
“Fore-gad, my Lady, well remembered, we’ll off to Brighthelmston, call on Sir Arthur, stand sponsors for his newly-born heir, and—and—and John, run to Rundell and Bridges, and order a coral, to present to the young teeth-cutting baronet.”
“London Bridges! my Lord. What do you want with the London Bridges. We can’t take them with us to Brighthelmston.”
“Why you silly stupid—duck o’diamonds I mean, I did not say London Bridges! but Rundell and Bridges, the eminent gold and silversmiths, who live somewhere in the abominable city, up King Ludgate’s Hill—I think the dem’med name of the place