Punch (67.1874)

November 28, 1874.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

221

A BUMPKIN ON BOOTS.

’E day when a gwiun
’bout ’varmin pur-
soots,

I tells my old
’ooman to bring
my new boots.

She fetches ’urn,
soaked well wi’
beeswax and
grease;

And says, ‘ ‘ What
a heft! They be
six pound a-
piece.”

“ Well, ’ees, they
be weighty, wi’
all that there deal
Of hobnaails and
iron on tip, sole,
and heel.

But so’s the land
too, Dame; the
clods and the
clay,

The chalk and the
gravel’s as heavy
as they.”

I got the boots on
wi’ a little to-do.
And I thought, as I watched her a lace’n ’um to.

There’s my wife; there’s my boots. What a pictur’ to see !
How them folks in the North Country differs from we !

Our boots only crushes the soil and the stones;

We never employs ’um to break women’s bones. _

We wears ’um as chaps that leads clodhoppun’ lives,

But ne’er for the purpus o’ kickun our wives.

A husband they helps o’er the fallows to stride.

They don’t never sarve ’un to stamp on his bride.

I wun’t say but what we got faults of our own;

But in these here parts that there offence is unknown.

A pair, now and then, leads a cat and dog life,

And there med he quarrels ’twixt husband and wife;

But when they for iightun ha’ got a bad name,

The neighbours wi’ “skimmer ton ” puts ’um to shame.

’Tis true that the labourers’ wages, down here,

Wun’t run to a no gurt allowance o’ beer ;

Not to spake o’ sitch liquors as that there champagne, _
Which old gooseberry plays wi’ your wife-beater’s brain.

“ Old ’ooman, good-b’ye,” to the Missus I said.

And printun’ the ground at each step wi’ my tread,

I thought, whilst a stalkun athurt yonder downs,

Our strong boots at laste ben’t no shame to we clowns.

“ ELIZABETH'S RESIDENCE IN A FRENCH
COUNTRY HOUSE.”

FRAGMENT THE NINTH.

“ Tripe a la Mode de Caen."

“Well, Betsy ! ” said John, after he had looked Jewl all over
from head to foot, which didn’t take him long, “ Well, Betsy, per-
haps you ’ll tell me who this little feller is that have got hold of
your basket. If you want any one to carry your basket, why don’t
you have one of them little portooses ? There’s monstrous pretty
girls among them little portooses, and I often get ’em to carry old
Blatherwick’s basket for me.” And he grinned and smirked, like
a great silly as he always was.

“ John,” I said, “you shouldn’t say ‘ portooses; ’ you should say
‘ portoos ; ’ and you oughtn’t to talk about their being pretty.
What would Mary say if she heard you going on so about a parcel
of French girls ? ” For you see I was dying to know what had
become of Mary.

“ She have no call to say anything at all about it,” said John.
“ Mary have married her cousin Jeremiah, and he have set up as a
market-gardener at Hammersmith, and she have writ to me, hoping
that, when I get my greengrocer’s shop, I ’ll give Jeremiah my

custom. P’rhaps I may ! P’rhaps I mayn’t! It ’ll depend on how
Jeremiah behaves to her. She was a nice little thing was Mary ! ”
As he said it I declare there was something in his manly eye that
looked very like a tear ; but then there was a strong wind blowing,
with plenty of dust, so it mayn’t have been a tear, after all.

“ But,” says John, “as to its being 1portooses,’ or ‘portoos,’ I
leave that to you, Betsy ; you was always cleverer than me; but,
clever as you are, you haven’t told me who that little feller is as
have got hold of your basket.”

“ This aentleman, John,” I said, “ is a young French officer, who
does me the honour to carry my basket for me sometimes.” And I
tossed my head, for I wasn’t going to have Jewl put upon in that
way.

“0, very well, Betsy,” said John; “if the young French officer
likes to carry your basket, he’s welcome, though he don’t seem quite
up to the weight. Introjuice us, Betsy—introjuice us! ” And John
drew himself up, and stood in a dignified and easy attitude, with
his right hand on his heart, and his left hand resting on his hip.

I daresay Jewl would have looked dignified and 'easy, too, if it
hadn’t been for the basket, but he made up for it by looking very
fierce ; and I heard him mutter something to himself which sounded
like “ Sacre coclion d'Anglais!" This made me think that he
took John for a coachman, so I explained, as well as I could, that
John was a footman, which was much better. Jewl only said,
“ C'est mime chose; ” and then they stood and looked at each other
like two tom-cats, and I began to think how dreadful it was of me
to have made “ their angry passions rise,” and to hope that their
little hands wouldn’t “ tear each other’s eyes,” as that beautiful
poet, Dr. Watts, says.

Well, John went on with his counting for a little while, and then
he says, “ How is it you and me haven’t met before, Betsy? Me
and Blatherwicks have been here some time.”

“ Ah! John,’’ I said, “ I’ve seen you where I never thought to
have seen you—in a Roman Catholic church, John.”

“ Well, Betsy,” he says, “ if you see me there you was there
yourself; so we ’re quits that way. I suppose you see me at the
Cathedral when me and Missis was among the Fiddles ? ”

“Nonsense, John!” I said; “you weren’t in the Band. You
were in the procession, carrying a long candle, which you couldn’t
hold straight.”

“Well, Betsy,” he said, “ we were the Fiddles. I saw it in the
printed hand-bill, where it said, ‘ After the clergy, will come the
Fiddles.’ Missis was a Fiddle, and I was a Fiddle ; though why
they give candles to the Fiddles I can’t think. A little rosin would
be more useful.”

“ Fiddlestick, John ! ” I said, for I began to see what he meant.
“ You shouldn’t say ‘ Fiddles,’ you should say ‘ lay Feedale,’ which
means ‘ the Faithful; ’ and how, after all that’s come and gone,
you could try to pass yourself off as one of the Faithful, I can’t
think.” And I tossed my head; but John only grinned like a great
stupid, and went on with his counting, while I stood and talked to
Jewl.

Presently, John left off counting, and said, “ My hour’s up now,
Betsy, and I’ve got the tally right for old Blatherwiok, but I’ve
another job to do for him down in the market, and you’d better
come along with me, and get under shelter, for we ’re going to have
some plewey, as they call it.”

“ Don’t say ‘ plewey,’ John,” I said ; “ say ‘ plwee.’ ”

“All right, Betsy,” he said: “perlwee let it be; but I’ll tell
you what I’m going to do. There’s a little stamminy in the
market where they sell tripe allymoderkong, and Normandy cider,
and old Blatherwiok wants the stisticks of it. I’ve had to go there
| three times this week, at the same time of day, to count the number
of people as had tripe allymoderkong in one hour, and I’ve had to
keep a separate tot of them as took cider with their tripe, and
another tot of them as didn’t. Blatherwiok always allows me
something to get tripe for myself, and, if you ’ll go with me, I ’ll
stand treat to you and the little feller. Poor little feller ! he looks
as if a mossel of tripe would do him good, and fill him out a bit.”

“ For the sake of old times, John,” I said, “ I’ll go with you;
and I daresay this young officer will go with me.” And I gave
Jewl “a pleading look.” “But you mustn’t say‘little feller;’
you must say 1 petit homme.' ”

“As you please, Betsy,” said John. “ If his name is Petty
Tom, I ’ll call him so ; so shoulder your basket, Mr. Petty Tom, and
come along, and you shall have a tenpenny tightener as will make
your face shine again.”

Jewl didn’t know what John meant, of course ; but when he saw
me and John beginning to move on, he didn’t like to be left alone
with the basket; so he took it up, and marched along on one side of
me, while John walked on the other.

When we got to the market, it was awful to see how John winked
at the “ portooses,” as he called them, and how they all seemed to
know him. The weather had turned much colder than it was when
we were there first, and the market-women had got on bright-
coloured hoods fitting close to their faces. John looked at them,