An' a towd ma my sins, an's toithe were due, an' I gied it in hond; I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond. Larn'd a ma' beä. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn. But a cast oop, thot a did, 'bout Bessy Marris's barne. Thaw a knaws I hallus voäted wi' Squoire an' choorch an' staäte, An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raäte. An' I hallus coom'd to 's chooch afoor moy Sally wur deäd, An' 'eärd 'um a bummin' awaäy loike a buzzard-clock ower my 'eäd, An' I niver knaw'd whot a meän'd, but I thowt a 'ad summut to saäy, An' I thowt a said whot a owt to 'a said an' I coom'd awaäy. Bessy Marris's barne! tha knaws she laäid it to meä. But Parson a cooms an' a goäs, an' a says it eäsy an' freeä. "The amoighty's a taäkin o' you to 'issén, my friend," says 'eä. I weänt saäy men be loiars, thaw summun said it in 'aäste; But 'e reäds wonn sarmin a weeäk, an' I 'a stubb'd Thurnaby waäste. D'ya moind the waäste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then; Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eärd 'um mysen; Moäst loike a butter-bump, fur I 'eärd 'um about an' about; But I stubb'd 'um oop wi' the lot, an' raäved an' rembled 'um out. Keäper's it wur; fo' they fun 'um theer a-laäid of 'is faäce Down i' the woild 'enemies afoor I coom'd to the plaäce. Noäks or Thimbleby-toäner 'ed shot 'um as deäd as a naäil. Noäks wur 'ang'd for it oop at 'soize-but git ma my aäle. Dubbut loook at the waäste: theer warn't not feeäd for a cow; Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' looök at it now Warnt worth nowt a haäcre, an' now theer's lots o' feeäd; Fourscoor yows upon it an' some on it down i' seeäd. Nobbut a bit on it's left, an' I meän'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall, Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taäkin' o' meä? A mowt 'a taäen owd Joänes, as 'ant not a 'aäpoth o' sense, Look 'ow quoloty smoiles when they seeäs ma a passin' boy, Says to thessén, naw doubt, “What a man a beä sewer-loy!" Fur they knaws what I beän to Squoire sin fust a coom'd to the 'All; I done moy duty by Squoire an' I done moy duty boy hall. Squoire's i' Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite, For whoä's to howd the lond ater meä thot muddles ma quoit; Sartin-sewer I beä, thot a weänt niver give it to Joänes, Naw, nor a moänt to Robins-a niver rembles the stoäns. But summun 'ull come ater meä mayhap wi' 'is kittle o' steäm Huzzin' an' maäzin' the blessed feälds wi' the Divil's oän team. Sin' I mun doy I mun doy, thaw loife they says is sweet, But sin' I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abeär to see it. What atta stannin' theer fur, an' doesn bring ma the aäle? Doctor's a toättler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taäle. I weänt break rules fur Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a floy. Git ma my aäle I tell tha, an' if I mun doy I mun doy. Charles Reade Doctor Aberford's Prescription "DR. ABERFORD, my lord." This announcement, made by Mr. Saunders, checked his lordship's reverie. "Insults everybody, does he not, Saunders?" "Yes, my lord," said Saunders monotonously. "Perhaps he will me; that might amuse me," said the other. A moment later the doctor bowled into the apartment, tugging at his gloves as he ran. The contrast between him and our poor rich friend is almost beyond human language. Here lay on a sofa Ipsden, one of the most distinguished young gentlemen in Europe; a creature incapable, by nature, of a rugged tone or a coarse gesture; a being without the slightest apparent pretension, but refined beyond the wildest dream of dandies. To him enter Aberford, perspiring and shouting. He was one of those globules of human quicksilver one sees now and then for two seconds. They are, in fact, two globules; their head is one, invariably bald, round, and glittering; the body is another in activity and shape, totus teres atque rotundus. And in fifty years they live five centuries. Of these our doctor was the chief. He had hardly torn off one glove, and rolled as far as the third flower from the door on his lordship's carpet, before he shouted: "This is my patient, lolloping in pursuit of health. Your hand," added he. For he was at the sofa long before his lordship could glide off it. "Breathe in your face, sir? an air of mild doubt). Breathe in my face." How can I do that?" (with "By first inhaling, and then exhaling in the direction required, or how can I make acquaintance with your bowels?" "My bowels?" The abdomen, and the greater and lesser intestines. Well, never mind, I can get at them another way. Give your heart a slap-so. That's your liver. And that's your diaphragm." His lordship having found the required spot (some people that I know could not) and slapped it, the Aberford made a circular spring and listened eagerly at his shoulder-blade. The result of this scientific pantomime seemed to be satisfactory, for he exclaimed, not to say bawled: "Hullo! here is a viscount as sound as a roach! Now, young gentleman," added he, "your organs are superb, yet you are really out of sorts. It follows you have the maladies of idle minds, love, perhaps, among the rest. You blush, a diagnostic of that disorder. Make your mind easy; cutaneous disorders, such as love, etc., shall never kill a patient of mine with a stomach like yours. So, now to cure you!" And away went the spherical doctor, with his hands behind him, not up and down the room, but slanting and tacking, like a knight on a chess-board. He had not made many steps before, turning his upper globule, without affecting his lower, he hurled back, in a cold, business-like tone, the following interrogatory: "What are your vices?" |