The Comic Almanack, Volume 1: An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and OdditiesThackeray, William Makepeace
Philosophy
The Comic Almanack, Volume 1: An Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest, Containing Merry Tales, Humerous Poetry, Quips, and Oddities
Thackeray, William Makepeace
Almanacs, English -- England -- London; English wit and humor
Roaming along, the other day, in those regions of Cockney retirement,
the vicinity of the Cat and Mutton Fields, about a mile from the _Ultima
Thule_ of Shoreditch, I was struck by the appearance of a row of neat
little houses; and my attention was so particularly arrested by one of
them, that I incontinently paused to look at it. It seemed to have all
the ostentatious assumption of a little man who strives to look big. It
had a portico, that might have belonged to the Colosseum, with a flight
of stone steps that would have graced the new palace at Pimlico; and the
drawing-room windows were ambitiously overshadowed by a verandah, not
unworthy of Worthing.
While I was meditating on its appearance, and admiring the extraordinary
air of cleanliness which distinguished it from its neighbours, a paper
parcel, tied round with thread, and sealed with a thimble, fell at my
feet. I looked above and around me, but no one was visible; and
conceiving it to be intended for myself, I picked it up, and walked on.
At a favourable opportunity I opened it, and read as follows:—
* * * * *
"This cums Hopping that sum boddy in the Street Walking may pick me up
and put me into the Square box at the Circling librey, the Place where
the Post is. It is the haughty bioggrify of a unfortnit yung cretur
who's in servis. Let the supperscripshun be to the Mournin Herald or the
Currier or the Trew Son or the Stand Hard, or the Spekt Tatur, or any of
'em, for one's just as good as tother. I think the noospapers would take
it inn, for they takes in a good many servants as wants places.
"My pappa was a Baker, and he meant I shuld be Bread up like a lady, for
tho I was the least of the Batch, i was the Flour of the flock. But
pappa Dying, i had to git my Living, for he didn't Roll in ritches, and
his guds and chappels were Saddled with detts, witch Spurred me on to
Bridel my greef, tho i seldom had a Bit in my mouth, wich was hard; and
when our Blow got Wind, i lost my sweethart, wich Blow was Harder. He
was sitch a nice yung man; and when i walkt past his Door, he used to
prays my Gate, and tell me when we were marryd we should live in Stile.
But I am Loth to say, he turned out a Willing, and wanted te tak
advantidge of my citywashun. But I had 2 strings to my Beau in a yung
mit-chipman, but he got prest and sent on board a Tender, witch was a
grate Hard Shipp for him, and I felt it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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