Robert Seymour The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 1 
 
 
 Part 1 (EBOOK EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION) Pg 1 
 "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 
 
 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. 
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_SCENE I (Sleeping Fisherman) 
 "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! 
   
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_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." 
   
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_SCENE III (The rapid march of Intellect!) 
 "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!" 
   
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_SCENE IV (Sally, I told my missus vot you said) 
 "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! 
   
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_SCENE V (How does it fit behind?) 
 "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!  
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_SCENE VI (Catching-a cold) 
 "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! 
   
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_SCENE VII (This is vot you calls rowing, is it?) 
 "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!"  
 
 
 
 EVERYDAY SCENES_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.' 
   
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) 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. 
   
 
 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!" 
   
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) CHAPTER II (The Death of a little Pig) 
 "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?" 
   
 "I vish you could! I'd have a shot at 'em," replied Mr. Grubb, "but 
 they're too high for us, as the alderman said ven they brought him a 
 couple o' partridges vot had been kept overlong!" 
   
 "My eye! if there ain't a summat a moving in that 'ere grass yonder--cock 
 your eye!" "Cock your gun--and be quiet," said Mr. Grubb. The anxiety of 
 the two sportsmen was immense. "It's an hare--depend on't--stoop 
 down--pint your gun,--and when I say fire--fire! there it is--fire!" 
   
 Bang! bang! went the two guns, and a piercing squeak followed the report. 
   
 "Ve've tickled him," exclaimed Spriggs, as they ran to pick up the spoil. 
   
 "Ve've pickled him, rayther," cried Grubbs, "for by gosh it's a piggy!" 
   
 "Hallo! you chaps, vot are you arter?" inquired a man, popping his head 
 over the intervening hedge. "Vy, I'm blessed if you ain't shot von o' 
 Stubbs's pigs." And leaping the hedge he took the 'pork' in his arms, 
 while the sportsmen who had used their arms so destructively now took to 
 their legs for security. But ignorance of the locality led them into the 
 midst of a village, and the stentorian shouts of the pig-bearer soon 
 bringing a multitude at their heels, Mr. Richard Grubb was arrested in 
 his flight. Seized fast by the collar, in the grasp of the butcher and 
 constable of the place, all escape was vain. Spriggs kept a respectful 
 distance. 
   
 "Now my fine fellow," cried he, brandishing his staff, "you 'ither pays 
 for that 'ere pig, or ve'll fix you in the cage." 
   
 Now the said cage not being a bird-cage, Mr. Richard Grubb could see no 
 prospect of sport in it, and therefore fearfully demanded the price of 
 the sucking innocent, declaring his readiness to 'shell out.' 
   
 Mr. Stubbs, the owner, stepped forward, and valued it at eighteen 
 shillings. 
   
 "Vot! eighteen shillings for that 'ere little pig!" exclaimed the 
 astounded sportsman. "Vy I could buy it in town for seven any day." 
   
 But Mr. Stubbs was obdurate, and declared that he would not 'bate a 
 farden,' and seeing no remedy, Mr. Richard Grubb was compelled to 'melt a 
 sovereign,' complaining loudly of the difference between country-fed and 
 town pork! 
   
 Shouldering his gun, he joined his companion in arms, amid the jibes and 
 jeers of the grinning rustics. 
   
 "Vell, I'm blowed if that ain't a cooler!" said he. 
   
 "Never mind, ve've made a hit at any rate," said the consoling Spriggs, 
 "and ve've tried our metal." 
   
 "Yes, it's tried my metal preciously--changed a suv'rin to two bob! by 
 jingo!" 
   
 "Let's turn Jews," said Spriggs, "and make a vow never to touch pork 
 again!" 
   
 "Vot's the use o' that?" 
   
 "Vy, we shall save our bacon in future, to be sure," replied Spriggs, 
 laughing, and Grubb joining in his merriment, they began to look about 
 them, not for fresh pork, but for fresh game. 
   
 "No more shooting in the grass, mind!" said Grubb, "or ve shall have the 
 blades upon us agin for another grunter p'r'aps. Our next haim must be 
 at birds on the ving! No more forking out. Shooting a pig ain't no lark 
 --that's poz!" 
   
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) CHAPTER III (The Sportsmen trespass on an Enclosure) 
 "Twig them trees?"--said Grubb. 
   
 "Prime!" exclaimed Spriggs, "and vith their leaves ve'll have an hunt 
 there.--Don't you hear the birds a crying 'sveet,' 'sveet?' Thof all 
 birds belong to the Temperance Society by natur', everybody knows as 
 they're partic'larly fond of a little s'rub!" 
   
 "Think ve could leap the ditch?" said Mr. Richard, regarding with a 
 longing look the tall trees and the thick underwood. 
   
 "Lauk! I'll over it in a jiffy," replied the elastic Mr. Spriggs there 
 ain't no obelisk a sportsman can't overcome"--and no sooner had be 
 uttered these encouraging words, than he made a spring, and came 
 'close-legged' upon the opposite bank; unfortunately, however, he lost 
 his balance, and fell plump upon a huge stinging nettle, which would have 
 been a treat to any donkey in the kingdom! 
   
 "Oh!--cuss the thing!" shrieked Mr. Spriggs, losing his equanimity with 
 his equilibrium. 
   
 "Don't be in a passion, Spriggs," said Grubb, laughing. 
   
 "Me in a passion?--I'm not in a passion--I'm on'y--on'y--nettled!" 
 replied he, recovering his legs and his good humour. Mr. Grubb, taking 
 warning by his friend's slip, cautiously looked out for a narrower part 
 of the ditch, and executed the saltatory transit with all the agility of 
 a poodle. 
   
 They soon penetrated the thicket, and a bird hopped so near them, that 
 they could not avoid hitting it.--Grubb fired, and Sprigg's gun echoed 
 the report. 
   
 "Ve've done him!" cried Spriggs. 
   
 "Ve!--me, if you please." 
   
 "Vell--no matter," replied his chum, "you shot a bird, and I shot 
 too!--Vot's that?--my heye, I hear a voice a hollering like winkin; 
 --bolt!" 
   
 Away scampered Spriggs, and off ran Grubb, never stopping till he reached 
 a high paling, which, hastily climbing, he found himself literally upon 
 tenter-hooks. 
   
 "There's a man a coming, old fellow," said an urchin, grinning. 
   
 "A man coming! vich vay? do tell me vich vay?" supplicated the sportsman. 
 The little rogue, however, only stuck his thumb against his snub 
 nose--winked, and ran off. 
   
 But Mr. Grubb was not long held in suspense; a volley of inelegant 
 phrases saluted his ears, while the thong of a hunting-whip twisted 
 playfully about his leg. Finding the play unequal, he wisely gave up the 
 game--by dropping his bird on one side, and himself on the other; at the 
 same time reluctantly leaving a portion of his nether garment behind him. 
   
 "Here you are!" cried his affectionate friend,--picking him up--"ain't 
 you cotch'd it finely?" 
   
 "Ain't I, that's all?" said the almost breathless Mr. Grubb, "I'm almost 
 dead." 
   
 "Dead!--nonsense--to be sure, you may say as how you're off the hooks! 
 and precious glad you ought to be." 
   
 "Gracious me! Spriggs, don't joke; it might ha' bin werry serious," said 
 Mr. Grubb, with a most melancholy shake of the head:--"Do let's get out 
 o' this wile place." 
   
 "Vy, vat the dickins!" exclaimed Spriggs, "you ain't sewed up yet, are 
 you?" 
   
 "No," replied Grubb, forcing a smile in spite of himself, "I vish I vos, 
 Spriggs; for I 've got a terrible rent here!" delicately indicating the 
 position of the fracture. 
   
 And hereupon the two friends resolving to make no further attempt at 
 bush-ranging, made as precipitate a retreat as the tangled nature of the 
 preserve permitted. 
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) CHAPTER IV (Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!) 
 "On'y think ven ve thought o' getting into a preserve--that ve got into a 
 pickle," said Sprigg, still chuckling over their last adventure. 
   
 "Hush!" cried Grubb, laying his hand upon his arm--"see that bird hopping 
 there?" 
   
 "Ve'll soon make him hop the twig, and no mistake," remarked Spriggs. 
   
 "There he goes into the 'edge to get his dinner, I s'pose." 
   
 "Looking for a 'edge-stake, I dare say," said the facetious Spriggs. 
   
 "Now for it!" cried Grubb! "pitch into him!" and drawing his trigger he 
 accidentally knocked off the bird, while Spriggs discharged the contents 
 of his gun through the hedge. 
   
 "Hit summat at last!" exclaimed the delighted Grubb, scampering towards 
 the thorny barrier, and clambering up, he peeped into an adjoining 
 garden. 
   
 "Will you have the goodness to hand me that little bird I've just shot 
 off your 'edge," said he to a gardener, who was leaning on his spade and 
 holding his right leg in his hand. 
   
 "You fool," cried the horticulturist, "you've done a precious job--You've 
 shot me right in the leg--O dear! O dear! how it pains!" 
   
 "I'm werry sorry--take the bird for your pains," replied Grubb, and 
 apprehending another pig in a poke, he bobbed down and retreated as fast 
 as his legs could carry him. 
   
 "Vot's frightened you?" demanded Spriggs, trotting off beside his chum, 
 "You ain't done nothing, have you?" 
   
 "On'y shot a man, that's all." 
   
 "The devil!" 
   
 "It's true--and there'll be the devil to pay if ve're cotched, I can tell 
 you--'Vy the gardener vill swear as it's a reg'lar plant!--and there 
 von't be no damages at all, if so be he says he can't do no work, and is 
 obleeged to keep his bed--so mizzle!" With the imaginary noises of a hot 
 pursuit at their heels, they leaped hedge, ditch, and style without 
 daring to cast a look behind them--and it was not until they had put two 
 good miles of cultivated land between them and the spot of their 
 unfortunate exploit that they ventured to wheel about and breathe again. 
   
 "Vell, if this 'ere ain't a rum go!"--said Spriggs--"in four shots--ve've 
 killed a pig--knocked the life out o' one dicky-bird--and put a whole 
 charge into a calf. Vy, if ve go on at this rate we shall certainly be 
 taken up and get a setting down in the twinkling of a bed-post!" 
   
 "See if I haim at any think agin but vot's sitting on a rail or a post" 
 --said Mr. Richard--"or s'pose Spriggs you goes on von side of an 'edge 
 and me on t'other--and ve'll get the game between us--and then--" 
   
 "Thankye for me, Dick," interrupted Spriggs, "but that'll be a sort o' 
 cross-fire that I sha'n't relish no how.--Vy it'll be just for all the 
 world like fighting a jewel--on'y ve shall exchange shots--p'r'aps 
 vithout any manner o' satisfaction to 'ither on' us. No--no--let's shoot 
 beside von another--for if ve're beside ourselves ve may commit suicide." 
   
 "My vig!" cries Mr. Grubb, "there's a covey on 'em." 
   
 "Vere?" 
   
 "There!" 
   
 "Charge 'em, my lad." 
   
 "Stop! fust charge our pieces." 
   
 Having performed this preliminary act, the sportsmen crouched in a dry 
 ditch and crawled stealthily along in order to approach the tempting 
 covey as near as possible. 
   
 Up flew the birds, and with trembling hands they simultaneously touched 
 the triggers. 
   
 "Ve've nicked some on 'em." 
   
 "Dead as nits," said Spriggs. 
   
 "Don't be in an hurry now," said the cautious Mr. Grubb, "ve don't know 
 for certain yet, vot ve hav'n't hit." 
   
 "It can't be nothin' but a balloon then," replied Spriggs, "for ve on'y 
 fired in the hair I'll take my 'davy." 
   
 Turning to the right and the left and observing nothing, they boldly 
 advanced in order to appropriate the spoil. 
   
 "Here's feathers at any rate," said Spriggs, "ve've blown him to shivers, 
 by jingo!" 
   
 "And here's a bird! hooray!" cried the delighted Grubb--"and look'ee, 
 here's another--two whole 'uns--and all them remnants going for nothing 
 as the linen-drapers has it!" 
   
 "Vot are they, Dick?" inquired Spriggs, whose ornithological knowledge 
 was limited to domestic poultry; "sich voppers ain't robins or sparrers, 
 I take it." 
   
 "Vy!" said the dubious Mr. Richard-resting on his gun and throwing one 
 leg negligently over the other--"I do think they're plovers, or larks, or 
 summat of that kind." 
   
 "Vot's in a name; the thing ve call a duck by any other name vould heat 
 as vell!" declaimed Spriggs, parodying the immortal Shakspeare. 
   
 "Talking o' heating, Spriggs--I'm rayther peckish--my stomick's bin 
 a-crying cupboard for a hour past.--Let's look hout for a hinn!"  
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) CHAPTER V (An extraordinary Occurrence-a Publican taking Orders) 
 Tying the legs of the birds together with a piece of string, Spriggs 
 proudly carried them along, dangling at his fingers' ends. 
   
 After tramping for a long mile, the friends at length discovered, what 
 they termed, an house of "hentertainment." 
   
 Entering a parlour, with a clean, sanded floor, (prettily herring-boned, 
 as the housemaids technically phrase it,) furnished with red curtains, 
 half a dozen beech chairs, three cast-iron spittoons, and a beer-bleached 
 mahogany table,--Spriggs tugged at the bell. The host, with a rotund, 
 smiling face, his nose, like Bardolph's, blazing with fiery meteors, and 
 a short, white apron, concealing his unmentionables, quickly answered the 
 tintinabulary summons. 
   
 "Landlord," said Spriggs, who had seated himself in a chair, while Mr. 
 Richard was adjusting his starched collar at the window;--"Landlord! ve 
 should like to have this 'ere game dressed." 
   
 The Landlord eyed the 'game' through his spectacles, and smiled. 
   
 "Roasted, or biled, Sir?" demanded he. 
   
 "Biled?--no:--roasted, to be sure!" replied Spriggs, amazed at his 
 pretended obtuseness: "and, I say, landlord, you can let us have plenty 
 o' nice wedgetables." 
   
 "Greens?" said the host;--but whether alluding to the verdant character 
 of his guests, or merely making a polite inquiry as to the article they 
 desired, it was impossible, from his tone and manner, to divine. 
   
 "Greens!" echoed Spriggs, indignantly; "no:--peas and 'taters." 
   
 "Directly, Sir," replied the landlord; and taking charge of the two 
 leetle birds, he departed, to prepare them for the table. 
   
 "Vot a rum cove that 'ere is," said Grubb. 
   
 "Double stout, eh?" said Spriggs, and then they both fell to a-laughing; 
 and certain it is, that, although the artist has only given us a draught 
 of the landlord, he was a subject sufficient for a butt! 
   
 "Vell! I must, say," said Grubb, stretching his weary legs under the 
 mahogany, "I never did spend sich a pleasant day afore--never!" 
   
 "Nor I," chimed in Spriggs, "and many a day ven I'm a chopping up the 
 'lump' shall I think on it. It's ralely bin a hout and houter! Lauk! 
 how Suke vill open her heyes, to be sure, ven I inform her how ve've bin 
 out with two real guns, and kill'd our own dinner. I'm bless'd if she'll 
 swallow it!" 
   
 "I must say ve have seen a little life," said Grubb. 
   
 "And death too," added Spriggs. "Vitness the pig!" 
   
 "Now don't!" remonstrated Grubb, who was rather sore upon this part of 
 the morning's adventures. 
   
 "And the gardener,"--persisted Spriggs. 
   
 "Hush for goodness sake!" said Mr. Richard, very seriously, "for if that 
 'ere affair gets vind, ve shall be blown, and--" 
   
 --In came the dinner. The display was admirable and very abundant, and 
 the keen air, added to the unusual exercise of the morning, had given the 
 young gentlemen a most voracious appetite. 
   
 The birds were particularly sweet, but afforded little more than a 
 mouthful to each. 
   
 The 'wedgetables,' however, with a due proportion of fine old Cheshire, 
 and bread at discretion, filled up the gaps. It was only marvellous 
 where two such slender striplings could find room to stow away such an 
 alarming quantity. 
   
 How calm and pleasant was the 'dozy feel' that followed upon mastication, 
 as they opened their chests (and, if there ever was a necessity for such 
 an action, it was upon this occasion,) and lolling back in their chairs, 
 sipped the 'genuine malt and hops,' and picked their teeth! 
   
 The talkative Spriggs became taciturn. His gallantry, however, did 
 prompt him, upon the production of a 'fresh pot,' to say, 
   
 "Vell, Grubbs, my boy, here's the gals!" 
   
 "The gals!" languidly echoed Mr. Richard, tossing off his tumbler, with a 
 most appropriate smack. 
   
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) CHAPTER VI (The Reckoning) 
 "Pull the bell, Spriggs," said Mr. Richard, "and let's have the bill." 
   
 Mr. Augustus Spriggs obeyed, and the landlord appeared. 
   
 "Vot's to pay?" 
   
 "Send you the bill directly, gentlemen," replied the landlord, bowing, 
 and trundling out of the room. 
   
 The cook presently entered, and laying the bill at Mr. Grubb's elbow, 
 took off the remnants of the 'game,' and left the sportsmen to discuss 
 the little account. 
   
 "My eye! if this ain't a rum un!" exclaimed Grubb, casting his dilating 
 oculars over the slip. 
   
 "Vy, vot's the damage?" enquired Spriggs. 
   
 "Ten and fourpence." 
   
 "Ten and fourpence!--never!" cried his incredulous companion. "Vot a 
 himposition." 
   
 "Vell!" said Mr. Grubb, with a bitter emphasis, "if this is finding our 
 own wittles, we'll dine at the hor'nary next time"-- 
   
 "Let's have a squint at it," said Mr. Spriggs, reaching across the table; 
 but all his squinting made the bill no less, and he laid it down with a 
 sigh. "It is coming it rayther strong, to be sure," continued he; "but I 
 dare say it's all our happearance has as done it. He takes us for people 
 o' consequence, and"-- 
   
 "Vot consequence is that to us?" said Grubbs, doggedly. 
   
 "Vell, never mind, Dick, it's on'y vonce a-year, as the grotto-boys 
 says--" 
   
 "It need'nt to be; or I'll be shot if he mightn't vistle for the brads. 
 Howsomever, there's a hole in another suv'rin." 
   
 "Ve shall get through it the sooner," replied the consoling Spriggs. "I 
 see, Grubb, there aint a bit of the Frenchman about you"-- 
   
 "Vy, pray?" 
   
 "Cos, you know, they're fond o' changing their suv'rins, and--you aint!" 
   
 The pleasant humour of Spriggs soon infected Grubb, and he resolved to be 
 jolly, and keep up the fun, in spite of the exorbitant charge for the 
 vegetable addenda to their supply of game. 
   
 "Come, don't look at the bill no more," advised Spriggs, but treat it as 
 old Villiams does his servants ven they displeases him." 
   
 "How's that?" 
   
 "Vy, discharge it, to be sure," replied he. 
   
 This sage advice being promptly followed, the sportsmen, shouldering 
 their guns, departed in quest of amusement. They had not, however, 
 proceeded far on their way, before a heavy shower compelled them to take 
 shelter under a hedge. 
   
 "Werry pleasant!" remarked Spriggs. 
   
 "Keep your powder dry," said Grubb. 
   
 "Leave me alone," replied Spriggs; "and I think as we'd better pop our 
 guns under our coat-tails too, for these ere cocks aint vater-cocks, you 
 know! Vell, I never seed sich a rain. I'm bless'd if it vont drive all 
 the dickey-birds to their nestes." 
   
 "I vish I'd brought a numberella," said Grubbs. 
   
 "Lank! vot a pretty fellow you are for a sportsman!" said Spriggs, "it 
 don't damp my hardour in the least. All veathers comes alike to me, as 
 the butcher said ven he vos a slaughtering the sheep!" 
   
 Mr. Richard Grubb, here joined in the laugh of his good-humoured friend, 
 whose unwearied tongue kept him in spirits--rather mixed indeed than 
 neat--for the rain now poured down in a perfect torrent. 
   
 "I say, Dick," said Spriggs, "vy are ve two like razors?" 
   
 "Cos ve're good-tempered?" 
   
 "Werry good; but that aint it exactly--cos ve're two bright blades, vot 
 has got a beautiful edge!" 
   
 "A hexcellent conundrum," exclaimed Grubb. "Vere do you get 'em?' 
   
 "All made out of my own head,--as the boy said ven be showed the wooden 
 top-spoon to his father!" 
   
 
 
 
 (A DAY'S SPORT) CHAPTER VII (A sudden Explosion) 
 A blustering wind arose, and like a burly coachman on mounting his box, 
 took up the rain! 
   
 The two crouching friends taking advantage of the cessation in the storm, 
 prepared to start. But in straightening the acute angles of their legs 
 and arms, Mr. Sprigg's piece, by some entanglement in his protecting 
 garb, went off, and the barrel striking Mr. Grubb upon the os nasi, 
 stretched him bawling on the humid turf. 
   
 "O! Lord! I'm shot." 
   
 "O! my heye!" exclaimed the trembling Spriggs. 
   
 "O! my nose!" roared Grubb. 
   
 "Here's a go!" 
   
 "It's no go!--I'm a dead man!" blubbered Mr. Richard. Mr. Augustus 
 Spriggs now raised his chum upon his legs, and was certainly rather 
 alarmed at the sanguinary effusion. 
   
 "Vere's your hankercher?--here!--take mine,--that's it--there!--let's 
 look at it." 
   
 "Can you see it?" said Grubb, mournfully twisting about his face most 
 ludicrously, and trying at the same time to level his optics towards the 
 damaged gnomon. 
   
 "Yes!" 
   
 "I can't feel it," said Grubb; "it's numbed like dead." 
   
 "My gun vent off quite by haccident, and if your nose is spoilt, can't 
 you have a vax von?--Come, it ain't so bad!" 
   
 "A vax von, indeed!--who vouldn't rather have his own nose than all the 
 vax vons in the vorld?" replied poor Richard. "I shall never be able to 
 show my face." 
   
 "Vy not?--your face ain't touched, it's on'y your nose!" 
   
 "See, if I come out agin in an hurry," continued the wounded sportsman. 
 "I've paid precious dear for a day's fun. The birds vill die a nat'ral 
 death for me, I can tell you." 
   
 "It vos a terrible blow--certainly," said Spriggs; "but these things 
 vill happen in the best riggle'ated families!" 
   
 "How can that be? there's no piece, in no quiet and respectable families 
 as I ever seed!" 
   
 And with this very paradoxical dictum, Mr. Grubb trudged on, leading 
 himself by the nose; Spriggs exerting all his eloquence to make him think 
 lightly of what Grubb considered such a heavy affliction; for after all, 
 although he had received a terrible contusion, there were no bones 
 broken: of which Spriggs assured his friend and himself with a great deal 
 of feeling! 
   
 Luckily the shades of evening concealed them from the too scrutinizing 
 observation of the passengers they encountered on their return, for such 
 accidents generally excite more ridicule than commiseration. 
   
 Spriggs having volunteered his services, saw Grubb safe home to his door 
 in Tower Street, and placing the two guns in his hands, bade him a 
 cordial farewell, promising to call and see after his nose on the morrow. 
   
 The following parody of a customary paragraph in the papers will be 
 considered, we think, a most fitting conclusion to their day's sport. 
   
 "In consequence of a letter addressed to Mr. Augustus Spriggs, by Mr. 
 Richard Grubb, the parties met early yesterday morning, but after firing 
 several shots, we are sorry to state that they parted without coming to 
 any satisfactory conclusion." 
   
 
 
 Publication Date: January 14th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-mk496e398f1e345