Read Ebook: Il secolo che muore vol. IV by Guerrazzi Francesco Domenico

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Ebook has 2272 lines and 199848 words, and 46 pages

Stay! here's Mister Gye--Mr. Frederick Gye. "At Paris," says he, "I've been up very high, A couple of hundred of toises, or nigh, A cockstride the Tuilleries' pantiles, to spy, With Dollond's best telescope stuck at my eye, And my umbrella under my arm like Paul Pry, But I could see nothing at all but the sky; So I thought with myself 'twas of no use to try Any longer; and feeling remarkably dry From sitting all day stuck up there, like a Guy, I came down again and--you see--here am I!"

But here's Mister Hughes!--What says young Mr. Hughes? "Why, I'm sorry to say, we've not got any news Since the letter they threw down in one of their shoes, Which gave the Mayor's nose such a deuce of a bruise, As he popp'd up his eye-glass to look at their cruise Over Dover; and which the folks flock'd to peruse At Squier's bazaar, the same evening, in crews, Politicians, newsmongers, town council, and blues, Turks, heretics, infidels, jumpers, and Jews, Scorning Bachelor's papers, and Warren's reviews; But the wind was then blowing towards Helvoetsluys, And my father and I are in terrible stews, For so large a balloon is a sad thing to lose!"

Here's news come at last! Here's news come at last! A vessel's arrived, which has sail'd very fast; And a gentleman serving before the mast, Mister Nokes, has declared that "the party has past Safe across to the Hague, where their grapnel they cast As a fat burgomaster was staring aghast To see such a monster come home on the blast, And it caught in his breeches, and there it stuck fast!"

Oh! fie! Mister Nokes,--for shame, Mister Nokes! To be poking your fun at us plain-dealing folks-- Sir, this isn't a time to be cracking your jokes, And such jesting, your malice but scurvily cloaks; Such a trumpery tale every one of us smokes, And we know very well your whole story's a hoax!

"Oh! what shall we do? oh! where will it end? Can nobody go? Can nobody send To Calais--or Bergen-op-zoom--or Ostend? Can't you go there yourself? Can't you write to a friend, For news upon which we may safely depend?"

Since, there they'll unfold, what we want to be told, How they cough'd, how they sneez'd, how they shiver'd with cold, How they tippled the "cordial," as racy and old As Hodges, or Deady, or Smith ever sold, And how they all then felt remarkably bold; How they thought the boil'd beef worth its own weight in gold; And how Mister Green was beginning to scold Because Mister Hollond would try to lay hold Of the moon, and had very near overboard roll'd.

And there they'll be seen--they'll be all to be seen! The great-coats, the coffee-pot, mugs, and tureen! With the tight-rope, and fire-works, and dancing between, If the weather should only prove fair and serene. And there, on a beautiful transparent screen, In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, With Holland on one side, who hired the machine, And Monk Mason on t'other, describing the scene; And Fame on one leg in the air, like a queen, With three wreaths and a trumpet, will over them lean; While Envy, in serpents and black bombazine, Looks on from below with an air of chagrin.

Then they'll play up a tune in the Royal Saloon, And the people will dance by the light of the moon, And keep up the ball till the next day at noon; And the peer and the peasant, the lord and the loon, The haughty grandee, and the low picaroon, The six-foot life-guardsman, and little gossoon, Will all join in three cheers for the "monstre" balloon.

HANDY ANDY.

Andy Rooney was a fellow who had the most singularly ingenious knack of doing every thing the wrong way; disappointment awaited on all affairs in which he bore a part, and destruction was at his fingers' ends: so the nick-name the neighbours stuck upon him was Handy Andy, and the jeering jingle pleased them.

Andy's entrance into this world was quite in character with his after achievements, for he was nearly the death of his mother. She survived, however, to have herself clawed almost to death while her darling babby was in arms, for he would not take his nourishment from the parent fount unless he had one of his little red fists twisted into his mother's hair, which he dragged till he made her roar; while he diverted the pain by scratching her till the blood came, with the other. Nevertheless she swore he was "the loveliest and sweetest craythur the sun ever shined upon;" and when he was able to run about and wield a little stick, and smash every thing breakable belonging to her, she only praised his precocious powers, and used to ask, "Did ever any one see a darlin' of his age handle a stick so bowld as he did?"

Andy grew up in mischief and the admiration of his mammy; but, to do him justice, he never meant harm in the course of his life, and was most anxious to offer his services on all occasions to any one who would accept them; but they were only those who had not already proved Andy's peculiar powers.

"Oh, he's wild, Andy, and you'd never be able to ketch him," said Owny.--"Throth, an' I'll engage I'll ketch him if you'll let me go. I never seen the horse I couldn't ketch, sir," said Andy.

"Why, you little spridhogue, if he took to runnin' over the long bottom, it 'ud be more than a day's work for you to folly him."--"Oh, but he won't run."

"Why won't he run?"--"Bekase I won't make him run."

"How can you help it?"--"I'll soother him."

"Well, you're a willin' brat, any how; and so go, and God speed you!" said Owny.

"Just gi' me a wisp o' hay an' a han'ful iv oats," said Andy, "if I should have to coax him."--"Sartinly," said Owny, who entered the stable and came forth with the articles required by Andy, and a halter for the horse also.

"Now, take care," said Owny, "that you're able to ride that horse if you get on him."--"Oh, never fear, sir. I can ride owld Lanty Gubbin's mule betther nor any o' the other boys on the common, and he couldn't throw me th' other day, though he kicked the shoes av him."

"After that you may ride any thing," said Owny: and indeed it was true; for Lanty's mule, which fed on the common, being ridden slily by all the young vagabonds in the neighbourhood, had become such an adept in the art of getting rid of his troublesome customers, that it might be well considered a feat to stick on him.

"Now, take grate care of him, Andy, my boy," said the farmer.--"Don't be afeard sir," said Andy, who started on his errand in that peculiar pace which is elegantly called a "sweep's trot;" and as the river lay between Owny Doyle's and the bottom, and was too deep for Andy to ford at that season, he went round by Dinny Dowling's mill, where a small wooden bridge crossed the stream.

Here he thought he might as well secure the assistance of Paudeen, the miller's son, to help him in catching the horse; an he looked about the place until he found him, and, telling him the errand on which he was going, said, "If you like to come wid me, we can both have a ride." This was temptation sufficient for Paudeen, and the boys proceeded together to the bottom, and they were not long in securing the horse. When they had got the halter over his head, "Now," said Andy, "give me a lift on him;" and accordingly by Paudeen's catching Andy's left foot in both his hands clasped together in the fashion of a stirrup, he hoisted his friend on the horse's back; and, as soon as he was secure there, Master Paudeen, by the aid of Andy's hand contrived to scramble up after him; upon which Andy applied his heels into the horse's side with many vigorous kicks, and crying "Hurrup!" at the same time, endeavoured to stimulate Owny's steed into something of a pace as he turned his head towards the mill.

"Sure aren't you going to crass the river?" said Paudeen.--"No, I'm going to lave you at home."

"Oh, I'd rather go up to Owny's, and it's the shortest way acrass the river."--"Yes but I don't like--"

"Is it afeard you are?" said Paudeen.--"Not I, indeed," said Andy; though it was really the fact, for the width of the stream startled him; "but Owny towld me to take grate care o' the baste and I'm loath to wet his feet."

"Go 'long wid you, you fool! what harm would it do him? Sure he's neither sugar nor salt that he'd melt."

When Andy grew up to what in country parlance is called "a brave lump of a boy," his mother thought he was old enough to do something for himself; so she took him one day along with her to the squire's, and waited outside the door, loitering up and down the yard behind the house, among a crowd of beggars and great lazy dogs that were thrusting their herds into every iron pot that stood outside the kitchen door, until chance might give her "a sight o' the squire afore he wint out or afore he wint in;" and, after spending her entire day in this idle way, at last the squire made his appearance, and Judy presented her son, who kept scraping his foot, and pulling his forelock, that stuck out like a piece of ragged thatch from his forehead, making his obeisance to the squire, while his mother was sounding his praises for being the "handiest craythur alive--and so willin'--nothing comes wrong to him."

"I suppose the English of all this is, you want me to take him?" said the squire.--"Throth, an' your honour, that's just it--if your honour would be plazed."

"What can he do?"--"Anything, your honour."

To every one of these assurances on his mother's part Andy made a bow and a scrape.

"Can he take care of horses?"--"The best of care, sir," said the mother, while the miller, who was standing behind the squire waiting for orders, made a grimace at Andy, who was obliged to cram his face to his hat to hide the laugh, which he could hardly smother from being heard, as well as seen.

"Let him come, then, and help in the stables, and we'll see what he can do."--"May the Lord--"

"That'll do--there, now go."--"Oh, sure, but I'll pray for you, and--"

"Will you go?"--"And may angels make your honour's bed this blessed night, I pray!"

"If you don't go, your son shan't come."

Judy and her hopeful boy turned to the right-about in double-quick time, and hurried down the avenue.

"Who's that?" said the squire, who was but just risen, and did not know but it might be one of the women servants.--"It's me, sir."

"Oh--Andy! Come in."--"Here's the hot wather, sir," said Andy, bearing an enormous tin can.

"Why, what the d--l brings that tin can here? You might as well bring the stable-bucket."--"I beg your pardon, sir," said Andy retreating. In two minutes more Andy came back, and, tapping at the door, put in his head cautiously, and said, "The maids in the kitchen, your honour, says there's not so much hot wather ready."

"Did I not see it a moment since in your hands?"--"Yes, sir, but that's not nigh the full o' the stable-bucket."

"Go along, you stupid thief! and get me some hot water directly."--"Will the can do, sir?"

"Ay, anything, so you make haste."

Off posted Andy, and back he came with the can.

"Where'll I put it, sir?"--"Throw this out," said the squire, handing Andy a jug containing some cold water, meaning the jug to be replenished with the hot.

Andy took the jug, and, the window of the room being open, he very deliberately threw the jug out. The squire stared with wonder, and at last said,

"Go out of this, you thick-headed villain!" said the squire, throwing his boots at Andy's head, along with some very neat curses. Andy retreated, and thought himself a very ill-used person.

Though Andy's regular business was "whipper-in," yet he was liable to be called on for the performance of various other duties: he sometimes attended at table when the number of guests required that all the subs should be put in requisition, or rode on some distant errand for "the mistress," or drove out the nurse and children on the jaunting-car; and many were the mistakes, delays, or accidents arising from Handy Andy's interference in such matters; but, as they were never serious, and generally laughable, they never cost him the loss of his place or the squire's favour, who rather enjoyed Andy's blunders.

The first time Andy was admitted into the mysteries of the dining-room, great was his wonder. The butler took him in to give him some previous instructions, and Andy was so lost in admiration at the sight of the assembled glass and plate, that he stood with his mouth and eyes wide open, and scarcely heard a word that was said to him. After the head-man had been dinning his instructions into him for some time, he said he might go until his attendance was required. But Andy moved not; he stood with his eyes fixed by a sort of fascination on some object that seemed to rivet them with the same unaccountable influence that the snake exercises over its victim.

"What are you looking at?" said the butler.--"Them things, sir," said Andy, pointing to some silver forks.

"Is it the forks?" said the butler.--"Oh no, sir! I know what forks is very well; but I never seen them things afore."

"What things do you mean?"--"These things, sir," said Andy, taking up one of the silver forks, and turning it round and round in his hand in utter astonishment, while the butler grinned at his ignorance, and enjoyed his own superior knowledge.

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