RACHAEL STUBBS'S LETTER TO RICHARD TURNER
Sadrgov, April 3, 18—.
Deer Richud,—I receved yewer kind leather on Fryday, wich fond me in good helth, but not spirts,—for sins yew went a whay i have encresed my sise hand teers. Yew was kindust off the kind, and i cud have wukked has kitching-mad frum marwn to nite if yew had note gon; but sins yew want away iviry think sims to go rong. Muster Fishir, wich is, ginrilly speking, has gemmunly a Cock as is, scalds me iviry day for nott beasting the jints; hand Missus Stoak says I pays no manor of respict to her for nott gitting their diners better dun, wich I bleve, Richud, his owen to yewer habsence. If I thote all wot yew sed was sinsear hand yew ment it, i wud give wharning hand go hat my munt; but praps, deer Richud, yew whas only roging me, wich wud be onkind and crule. Tommus Wite is halways laffing hat me about yew, hand says I ham a grate fowl hif I wait for yew, for yew ment nuthink, and says it is eye tim i was marred, wich he wood willinly do imself; but I says, no, Tommus, i likes yew well enuff, but as long has Richud Turner sticks to is bargin, i ham is, hand is aloan.
Wat i rites now for, his to hask yew wat yew wood lick me two do. My muther, i know, cud meerly furnish a rome for hus, and pot in a Tabbel and chares and a chest of drarers, hand a Bedd, wich is the most hessensheal hof hall; hand wood be quite haggreable to the mach; hand hif we cood bitter hourselfs buy aving a frunt where we cood sell Hoysters hand srimps, hand red Earrings, and sich lick, hin winter; hand Soddy wattur, hand Pop, hand them kind of harticles, hin summer; i might tunn a peny wile yew wos hin playse, hif yew Kontinewd hin survice, hand hif not, do togither in bisness; wich wud save me from brileing my fayse hin the rosting hand beasting, wich i most do till I leave, or get a cocks playse in a smal famly. I know that Martha, the fot kitching-mad hat Sur Kristuffer Kaddingtuns, kept cumpny halong with won of the futmun; hand she was marred, hand they sot up a Tomhandjery shop, hand is reelizing a furtun; but i shud object to a Tomhandjery shop because of the low confersation wich gose hon hin sich playses, has well has the smel of the Pips, wych makes me sike.
HOOK'S PLAY WITH MULREADY'S ENVELOPE.
The envelope is addressed by Hook to his good friend Mr. Broderip, the magistrate. The reader will observe the liberties taken with the artist's design upon comparing it with a [similar envelope] in another part of this work.
Deer Richud, i ham wiling to do hany thing for yew, hand wuk day and night upon my ands hand neese to make yew comfurtable, hand i think we cud be very appy, but do not make a fowl hof me now, hand i will truss yew half my life; hand my Muther his a woman well to doo, hand wen it pleses Purvidence to tack her up hout of this wuld will leve us sumthing for a raney day, which wud be a grate cumfut to me, appen wen it may.
i pot this hin a buskett, hand have sent yew three fools and a small Sammon cott this mawning, for yewer Sister Lizy, wich altho i never seed hur i ham very fond hof from yewer subscription on her,—hif she will haxcept the triffles i shal be plesed, hand my love; hand wen yew are a heating the fools, do nott forget her wich sent them.
Hif yew lick, yew can call on muther, wich is the darey at the korner of Jon street, and tawk maters over with hur. i am tird hof life down here without yew. i hope yew will get this safe. I have got Tommus Wite to rite the redress, not honely because he rites a good and, but to show im thatt we hare frends.
do let me here from yew; and with true love and french-ship, in wich yewer sister his inklewded, beleve me, deer Richud,
Yewers internally,
Rachael Stubbs.
i ave pade the Courage hand Bucking.
(Births, Deaths, and Marriages, 1839.)
MR. MINUS, THE POET.[59]
The poetry of Mr. Minus could be compared to nothing but the dropping of honey upon rose leaves, or the fluttering of moths round the smoke of cinnamon;—it was so flippant, so sweet, and so trifling. He had a round of set rhymes and ideas, which, like the man who walked out in the morning in a dress of crimson and gold, because he had no other, he perpetually was using; such as
"Coral lips and rolling eyes,
Roguish leers and heaving sighs,
Lily bosoms, seeking kisses,
Silent sighs for secret blisses;"
which species of versification having displayed al fresco after dinner in lines "To a Mole upon Fanny's left knee;" "A sonnet to half a jasamine flower;" "An ode to the wing of a butterfly," and "An Epithalamium on the marriage of two humming birds," (all of which were written, sung, composed, and recited by himself) he obligingly sat down to the piano-forte on their return, and gave the following air with infinite effect:
Fanny's Bower.[60]
"Come, Fanny, I've raised a sweet bower,
With roses and lilies entwin'd;
Before it grows every flower,
A bedroom I've built you behind.
"Our couch is a cluster of roses,
And while we lay lost in the sweet,
The leaves will so tickle our noses,
The thorns shall lie under our feet.
"The sheets, both the lower and upper,
Are made from a pair of bees' wings,
Whose honey I've stole for your supper,
And carved with their sharp-cutting stings.
"To save us the trouble of thinking,
In dew-drops I'll pledge you, my best,
And when I am tired of drinking,
I'll sink on your bosom to rest.
"I'll study your taste to a tittle,
In torrents our pleasures shall pour,
For the girl once indulged with a little,
Will very soon languish for more!"
This Mr. Minus considered a chef-d'œuvre, and if he was mistaken there was such a softness, a condescension and pleasantry in his manners, as would have excused a more serious error; as a companion, he was delightful; as a man, honourable; and as a poet, fashionable.