THE SERVANT OF ALL WORK.

"He Hood if he could."

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.

"But to cut a Long Tail Short,—when my dear Ben Bannister left me, miss fortin Staired me in the face, and every boddy turn'd their Backs on me, and I culd not bare such a Front, so i got a place as a servnt of all work, and my mind was maid up to be in duster house: but it was a Grate fall for me down into the Kitchen, tho when i got there i found a Grater; for my first missus was a Dresser, and often and often when I've bin all over greece she has calld me up to her Rome to help her on with her gownd, witch was very humblin to 1 as was used to have her own made to wait upon her. Butt i left her bekause we lived at a Fishmongers & itt Smelt so; and i had more than twenty Plaices in the first 12 months, wich Maid me quite Crabby, for I was going Backwards. But mississes are as proud as my lord Mare, and makes you work like an Horse; so I turned myself Out, for i culd not In-Door itt.

"I wont trubbel you with all my trubbels, but will skipp over the hole to give you my Last, wich dont Fit me at all; and its Jest no Joke, I can ashure you, for its like as if my 20 mississes was turnd into one. I've bin in the plaice almost a month, soe I have had a pritty gud experense.

"First, i Seconds all the close, & theres 13 of us in fammaly. Theres missis & master, thats 2, but misses says as how theyre 1: theres the 3 young ladys is 5; and the 3 boys from skool, where i am sure they never larnt no manners, & I dont love em at all, that's Hate; & the 2 yung babbys in harms is 10; and mr. Phipps the frunt parler loger is 11, and mr Snooks the back parler loger is 12 & i am just thirteen. So i leaves you to juge when i Hang em all out if there isnt enuff to Do for.

"Missis is what they calls a not Abel womman, & keeps 1 scrubbin & doin all day long, & is so pertickler, that when master cums home on a wet day, i has to lift him into the hous for fear he shuld dirty the steps. To be shure he's a werry littel man, but then its so shockin indillikat. Missis is verry fond of Bruin too, witch i cant Bear, and i hates Hops, xcept when i goes to a dance; besides, the Hopperation quite puts one into a fomentation, and sets one all of a Work. Then the fammaly is so verry unreglar, & we keeps a deal of cumpany, tho they dont alow any follerers, and missis is always snubbin me if the Butcher or the Baker stopps a minuet att the gait. But if i were even to liv in a garratt, i shuld be abuv sitch peepel & shuld look down uppon em. I no one of the yung ladys casts a sheeps eye on the Butcher herself, but i hop he wont giv her his Hart, for i am shure she would be a gay Liver, & i no she has plenty of Tung.

"Wile i am uppon theas yung ladys i culd pick a hole in em, but i abhor Back bitin. Howsomdever, tho they are Twins all Three of em, theres no Unity in One of em, and when a gentilman is interdeuced to the fammaly, they all fall in luv with him, wich must be verry embrasing to the party, and they try all their harts of captywashun. Miss Carryline rites a billy dux anomilously and folds it like a trew lovyers not, to puzzel him. Miss Matilda makes annoys on the harp with her bigg Fistis, and says she had her lessons from a Boxer; and miss Jimmima thumps away on the piney Forty, Fifty times a day, to git pirfict for the heavening. I often wishes thare was locks to them keys.

"But all their Harts wont do, & theyve none of them got a Deer yet, for they make themselves 2 Chepe, & they are all of em verry jellus of me, bekause the 2 gentilmen logers has a grate licking for me; & they carrys their spit so Fur that I mustnt ware a Bore, and they sets their mama Hat me if they sees a bit of lace on my Cap. They makes quite a Furze too if i incloses my Waste with a ribbon tho its so Common; & I'm shure they had better pay what they Hose than find fault with my Stockins; for they stands over me while i am Pinking em, witch shose they aint well Red in their manors, and they wont lett me Ware em no Ware. I shuld lik to no why servnts aint to doo what they likes with their hone; for Ive red theyve as big a steak in the common unity as their Betters, who're many of em nothin else but Gamblers.

"But i dont mind the Hitts of sich Misses: for its all Shear envy, becaus they wants to Cut me out with the 2 logers, & had rayther see me Hangd than Halter my condishun. But the gentilmen dont lik none of em, for theyre as tall and as pail as 2 hapenny Rushlites and a grate deal more Wicked. Mr. Snooks, the loger as walks the Horsepittels in the back parler, says theyre more like ottomies than wimmen, for they've none of em got no hannimashun; and mr. Phipps the clark as hokkipies the frunt parler says theyre quite Ciphers to me, for i am a better Figger, & more uprighter than any 1 of em. He sometimes carrys his devours to such a Pitch, that if i culd forgit my Tar, I see no resin why i shuld not marry him, & then the miss Rushlites would be very much Put Out when they'd lost one of their Flames.

"Mr. Phipps is a littery man, and nose a Grate many Tongs, and has maid a bigg book of Pottery, full of Plates. He tells me not to be jellus because he Courts the Mews, & has sent me the histry of his life & a coppy of verses on my mississes yousidge of me; and i hop you'll tell the noospaper man he mustnt take my life without takin his'n & he may have the pottery into the bargain.

"Notty Benny.—My life shall be conclooded att the first hopportunitty.

"So no more at presnt from yours humbely to comand

"Moldydusta Moggs."

"Post Scripp. I forgot to tell you that i cant git enuff to heat, missis is sitch a skin Flint, unless I Steel it, & that's unpossebel, for she always takes care to lock upp the Cold Heatabels."

JULY.—"Dog Days"

1836.]		JULY.

		Dear me! how hot the weather grows—
		There's scarce a breath to cool one's face;
		Through Air Street not a zephyr blows,
		Nor e'en a breeze from Wind-ham Place.
		Down Regent Street, so lazy all one sees,
		There's nobody "industrious" but "The Fleas."
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	belly

2	back	A DOGGEREL FOR THE DOG DAYS.	(that

3	hips	Most doggedly I do maintain,	is to say,
		And hold the dogma true,—
4	reins,	That four-legg'd dogs altho' we see,	beginning
		We've some that walk on two.
5	all		at the
		Among them there are clever dogs;
6	full of	A few you'd reckon mad;	beginning)
		While some are very jolly dogs,
7	aches	And others very sad.	♍ ☉ ⚹ ♍

8	and	You've heard of Dogs, who, early taught,	♓ ☽ ♑
		Catch halfpence in the mouth;—
9	pains	But we've a long-tail'd Irish dog,
		With feats of larger growth.	I do
10	because
		Of Dogs who merely halfpence snatch
11	I know	The admiration ceases,	prefer
		For he grows saucy, sleek, and fat,
12	not	By swallowing penny-pieces!

13	what	He's practising some other feats,	☉ ☽ ♑ ♀
		Which time will soon reveal;
14	to do	One is, to squeeze an Orange flat,
		And strip it of its Peel.	jogging
15	the
		The next he'll find a toughish job,
16	Season's	For one so far in years;	along
		He wants to pull an old House down,
17	Signs	That's now propp'd up by Peers.

18	are	I've heard of physic thrown to dogs,	☉ ♊ ♓ ♓
		And very much incline
19	now	To think it true, for we've a pack	slowly and
		Who only bark and w(h)ine.
20	so few
		The Turnspit of the sad old days	cautelously;
21	and	Is vain enough to boast,
		Altho' his "occupation's gone,"
22	all	He still could rule the roast.	☽ △ ♓

23	that	But turnspits now are out of date,—
		We all despise the hack,	feeling
24	I have	And in the kitchen of the state
		We still prefer a Jack.	my way,
25	got

26	to say
			as it were,
27	is, take
			with
28	care of

29	Saint		♄ ♃ ♂ ☉ ⚹

30	Swithin's		my eye at

31	day!

STANZAS, addressed to Mrs...., of ... Terrace
Cat and Mutton Fields.

You 'cat,' that would 'worry a rat!'

You 'cow with the crumpled horn!'

I wish you were squeez'd,—and that's flat,—

For ill-using a 'Maiden forlorn.'

You're as bad as a slave-driver quite,

Altho' you subscrib'd to the tracts;—

If the linen's wash'd ever so white,

You always complain of the blacks.

A servant is worthy her hire;

You pilfer one-fourth of her due,

For tho' she does all you desire,

She only gets ire from you.

A fit she had, one afternoon,

When you set her a-cleaning the paint;

And while she was off in a swoon,

You said it was only a feint.

A party you had yesterday,—

No wonder so often she swoons,—

For as soon as the folks went away,

You began to be missing the spoons!

She was cleaning the windows last week

(Such savings are very small gains),

You scolded her while you could speak,

And told her she didn't take panes.

She cleans all the boots and the shoes;

When she's done 'em she sits down to cry:

Warren's Jet is the blacking you choose;

But od 'rabbit that Warren! say I.

For this you can make no excuse:—

You'd a party at whist t'other day,

And you scolded away like the deuce,

'Cause the sandwiches dropp'd from the tray.

You tell her she dresses too gay

(You're afraid that she'll cut out your gals),

You strip lace and ribbons away,

And say she shan't wear such fal-lals.

'Tis in vain her attempting to speak,

For your heart is as hard as a stone;

But she means to be married next week;

Then she'll 'do what she likes with her own.'

AUGUST.——Bathing at Brighton.

1836.]		AUGUST.

Perhaps the Minister has passed the budget, and given the Houses leave to trudge it;—the lawyer folds his brief, with little grief;—closed are the Halls, against all calls;—John Doe and Richard Roe may go;—the debtor breathes, respited from mishap; and Bailiffs, wanting jobs, may keep a Tap.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	In

2	Germany	BRIGHTON.

3	they	Well here, once more, on Brighton's shore,	the end of
		We're safe arrived at last;
4	rest	So, Mister Snip, don't have the hyp,	☽ ♓ ☌ ☍
		Nor look so overcast.
5	their		my
		We've not been here this many a year;
6	heads	So do not look so blue,
		But sport your cash, and cut a dash,	divining
7	betwixt	As other people do.

8	a pair	There's Mistress Skait,-she wouldn't wait,	rod,
		But off she tripp'd so gaily:
9	of	She struts along amid the throng:	⚹ ♈ ♃ ♐ ♊
		Her husband isn't scaly.
10	feather		☉ ♐ ♓
		There's Mistress Wick, and little Dick,
11	beds;	Have come to have a dipping;	and
		And there's her niece, who's been to Greece,
12	a famous	Is now all over dripping.
			exploring
13	plan, I	And oh, what fun! there's Martha Gunn
		(But no, that gun's gone off),
14	will be	But only look at that sea-cook	the mazes
		A-sousing Mrs. Gough.
15	bound,
		Well, I declare, there's Mrs. Ware	of
16	while	(She's every where, I think)—
		Her spouse, I know, is quite her beau,
17	frost &	And never spares the chink.	☉ ♃ ♐ ♂ ☍

18	snow	And, last of all, there's Mr. Ball,
		Who promis'd Mrs. B—	futurity,
19	are on	And kindly has redeem'd his pledge,—
		That she should see the sea.
20	the		with the
		So, Mister Snip, don't have the hyp,
21	ground,	Nor look so monstrous blue;
		But sport your cash, and cut a dash,	heedfulness
22	but	As other people do.

23	in the		♎ ♅ ☉ ♐

24	Dog
			of one, who,
25	Days'
			knowing
26	raging
			the
27	heat, I

28	shouldn't		♃ ♉ ♒ ☽

29	think it		weightiness

30	such a		of the

31	treat.

Advertisements Extraordinary.

THEATRE ROYAL, ENGLISH UPROAR.—The Proprietor respectfully announces that, while the cold weather lasts, he will present each visitor to the Boxes or Pit with a bucket of "thick-ribbed ICE;" and assures the Public that the temperature of the Theatre is so comfortably regulated that it is never more than 50 degrees below the freezing point.

THEATRE ROYAL, DREARY LANE.—This

Evening, their Majesties' Servants will perform

THE MANAGER IN DISTRESS;

To which will be added the serious Extravaganza of

THE HOT CROSS BUNN;

The principal Character by the Manager.

The whole to conclude with

THE DEVIL TO PAY.

On Monday next, Mr. Swing will exhibit his extraordinary performances on the Tight Rope.—N.B. On this occasion all persons on the Free List will be suspended.

WANT PLACES.

AS TOADY, an unmarried Female of an uncertain age. She is so soft in her disposition as to take any impression; says yes or no, just as she is bid; prefers Cape to Madeira, and dislikes Champagne; and has no objection to wash and walk out with the poodles.—N.B. Is very skilful in backbiting, and would be delighted to assist in the ruin of reputations. Can have a good character from her last place, which she left in consequence of the lady marrying her tall Irish footman.

AS DINER-OUT, an Irish Captain on half-pay, who has at his disposal a plentiful supply of small talk and table wit; does the agreeable to perfection; is a good laugher at stale jokes, and a capital retailer of new ones; never falls asleep at the repetition of a dull story, and always laughs in the right place. He has a variety of other qualifications too numerous for insertion in an advertisement.

NOTICE is hereby given, that a considerable portion of Civic Dignity, conjectured to be equal in quantity to a Winchester Measure, has been lost since the 9th of November, 1834. This in-valuable appendage is supposed to have been dropped from the person of an illustrious Mayor, during certain squabbles which took place in spite of common sense and common counsel. It is hoped it will be recovered by his successor, and any information respecting the same may be communicated to a HOBBLER, at the Mare's Nest in the Poultry.

LOST—by Nobody, in the neighbourhood of Nowhere, an article more easily conceived than described, known by the name of Nothing. The fortunate finder may keep it on paying the expenses of this Advertisement.

SEPTEMBER.—"Michaelmas Day"

1836.]		SEPTEMBER.

		It pleased her jolly Majesty Queen Bess,
		Stuffing, herself, a well-stuff'd goose to bless,
		And ever since, in sage affairs of state,
		The royal bird does still predominate;—
		So modest merit proves of little use,
		Unless at Court you "boo" to ev'ry goose.
M	Season's	Odd Matters.	WEATHER.
D	Signs.
1	Now

2	farmers	"SHOOTING THE MOON."	matters

3	mind	Now, Mrs. Dove, my dearest love,	⚹ ☉ ☋ ♂ ♄
		No longer let us jar;
4	your	Full well you know that cash is low,	⚹ ♀ ⊕
		And credit's under par.
5	geese
		Short commons are our common fare.	whereinto
6	and	No turtle-doves are we:
		Tho' once there came such lots of game,	he is
7	pigs,	Now folks make game of me.
			inquiring,
8	for	Ah! what to do I wish I knew,
		Or where to run a score!
9	Cockney	For all the town I've done so brown,	♏ ♄ ☌
		I can't do any more.
10	sports-
		We've had our fill on Mutton Hill;	is fearful of
11	men	In Cornhill gain'd our bread;
		Dress'd with an air in fam'd Cloth Fair;	stumbling.
12	run their	In Grub Street well were fed.

13	rigs,	We got our shoes in Leather Lane;	♀ ☍ ♑ ♌ ☋
		Our hats in Hatton Garden;
14	and	We'd quite a catch in Ha'penny Hatch,	For look,
		And never paid a farden.
15	when		what dire
		We've chalked a score on every door
16	the	Of publican or sinner;	mishaps
		And now can't meet a Newman Street,
17	cits	To trust us with a dinner.	do arise

18	are	And, lack-a day! here's Quarter Day;
		It always comes too soon;
19	taking	So we by night must take our flight,	☉ ♀
		For we must shoot the moon!
20	aim,
			from false
21	your

22	poultry		prophecying!

23	may

24	mistake		♂ ♄ ☉ ♈

25	for
			The farmer
26	game,

27	and		♉ ♂

28	kill		reapeth his

29	or		corn, and

30	lame.		♉ ♄ ☉ ♊ ☌