SLANGOLOGY.
"With many holiday and court-like phrase—"
Shakespeare's Henry IV., Part I.
Miss Arabella Wilhelmina Wiggins is the pattern of gentility:
She never utters vulgar words, but talks just like nobility.
I met her at Vauxhall, last year, and she gave me a sad relation
About Miss Briggs: I recollect it every word;—but here's her own narration:
"Oh, dear! my dear Miss Popkins! have you heard what befel Miss B.?
(I wish, Papa, you'd get up to snuff the lights; one can hardly see:
Oh, la! you've made 'em flare up so, I declare we are quite in a blaze:
And, bless me! there's all the people staring at us, all in amaze!)
I'll tell you, while Papa is taking his punch; his pipkin he calls the bowl,
(You make yourself scarce any punch at home, Papa; so I suppose you'll drink the whole).
I'm sure he will, Miss P.; and even then he wont have quench'd his drouth.
(I really wonder, Pa', how you can pour so much punch down in the mouth.)
But how I rattle on! quite forgetting all about Miss B.
You must know we were on a visit at a country cousin's; and after tea
We stroll'd about with Mr. Timbs, and Mr. Figgins, and Mr. Oddy;—
I declare there he goes with his eye out-staring every body.
Poor fellow! he has but one, for the other's made of glass;
'Twas a sad accident; and I'll tell you how it came to pass:—
One night, he went out rabbit-shooting; the moon was shining bright;
His gun was overloaded and bursted; and so one eye lost its sight.
Well, Miss Briggs is a very bold girl; as bold a girl as one knows;
And as we were walking along, the laundress caught my eye; and
'Betty Martin,' says Miss B., 'where do you hang out your clothes?'
She came to a well after that; and, really, I am almost ashamed to tell,
But, upon my word, she behav'd exceedingly ill about that well.
She began to kick the bucket; and to a man who was chopping down a tree,
She said: 'What are you with that axe about?' which was very rude indeed of Miss B.;
And when he left off chopping, she said, 'Why don't you cut your stick?'
The man was just then chopping a piece of wood that was thick.
Now this made him quite confus'd; and in his hurry his skill to show off,
He made a slip with his axe, and chopped poor Miss Brigg's little toe off.
The shock gave me such a terrible pain all over my eyes and limbs,
That I really should have fainted, if it hadn't been for that dear Mr. Timbs.
Poor Frederick Figgins was so affected that I vow he began to cry;
I'm sure he did, for I was close to him, and I saw a drop in his eye.
He's a nice young man; and I shouldn't wonder if he soon married Miss Briggs:
Her father is a coarsish man, and says he shall, please the pigs.
He wasn't very gracious, tho', at first, to Mr. Figgins;
For when he ask'd his consent, he said to him (I had the whole story from Mr. Higgins)
'How are you off? for soap and candles, and such-like, got me all my money;
And for my daughter to marry a poor man wouldn't be vastly funny.
How's your mother left you; or have you your fortune to get?
If you have I wish you may get it soon; but I can't let you marry Miss Bet;
But while I'm describing his bluntness, I'm wand'ring away from my point.
The limbs of my relation are indeed terribly out of joint.
Well, Mr. Figgins help'd Miss B. home to hop: the twig, which happen'd to lay across her foot,
Sav'd her other toes, to be sure, but there was a terrible large gash in her boot.
But poor Mr. F.! how he fretted! his fat cheeks than a mummy's were thinner;
He never could eat any breakfast, and seldom could eat any dinner.
His eyes were once bright as a star: the glaze on them now was quite ghostly;
A cloud seem'd to darken his day—lightsome and gay he'd been mostly.
A party he join'd at Vauxhall; but its gaieties fail'd to delight him:
He did nothing but swallow rack-punch; as to eating, 'twas vain to invite him.
He call'd to his friend: 'Jemmy Johnson, squeeze me a lemon;' and turning to me then,
He said, in a voice that quite shock'd me, and looking as wild as a heathen:
'My spirits I cannot keep up; your pluck'd flowers droop slower than I do;
I'm sure that I make no mistake,—my fate will be that of poor Dido.'
(I declare I am talking pentameters; quite forgetting you're not a Blue Stocking;
But that I am sure you'll excuse.)—Well, isn't the story quite shocking?
Miss Briggs, tho', got quite well at last; to the dolefuls he bade adieu quickly;
Yet a long while he talk'd of her death, though he no longer look'd mournful and sickly.
'All round my hat, while I liv'd,' he said, 'a crape hatband I should have worn,—
A shocking bad hat, to be sure; but just fit for a lover forlorn.
Think what would have been my despair, with no consolation to go to!
But tho' I have not lost her quite, yet, alas! I have lost her in toe-toe.'"