The Sketches of Seymour by Robert Seymour (ebook reader TXT) 📖

a neighbouring book-stall, and in the course of twelve months I possessed a library of most amusing and instructive literature, - Heaven knows! of a most miscellaneous character, for I had no one to guide me in the selection.

Among Mr. Timmis's numerous clients, was one Mr. Cornelius Crobble, a man of most extraordinary dimensions; he was also a "chum" of, and frequently made one of a party with, his friend Mr. Wallis, and other croneys, to white-bait dinners at Blackwall, and other intellectual banquets. In fact, he seldom made his appearance at the office, but the visit ended in an engagement to dine at some "crack-house" or other. The cost of the "feed," as Mr. Timmis termed it, was generally decided by a toss of "best two and three;" and somehow it invariably happened that Mr. Crobble lost; but he was so good-humoured, that really it was a pleasure, as Mr. Wallis said, to "grub" at his expense.

They nick-named him Maximo Rotundo - and he well deserved the title.

"Where's Timmis?" said he, one day after he had taken a seat, and puffed and blowed for the space of five minutes - "Cuss them stairs; they'll be the death o' me."

I ran to summon my master.

"How are you, old fellow?" demanded Mr. Timmis; "tip us your fin."

"Queer!" replied Mr. Crobble, - tapping his breast gently with his fat fist, and puffing out his cheeks - to indicate that his lungs were disordered.

"What, bellows to mend?" cried my accomplished patron - "D me, never say die!"

"Just come from Doctor Sprawles: says I must take exercise; no malt liquor - nothing at breakfast - no lunch - no supper."

"Why, you'll be a skeleton - a transfer from the consolidated to the reduced in no time," exclaimed Mr. Timmis; and his friend joined in the laugh.

"I was a-thinking, Timmis - don't you belong to a cricketclub?"

"To be sure."

- "Of joining you."

"That's the ticket," cried Timmis - "consider yourself elected; I can carry any thing there. I'm quite the cock of the walk, and no mistake. Next Thursday's a field-day - I'll introduce you. Lord! you'll soon be right as a trivet."

Mr Wallis was summoned, and the affair was soon arranged; and I had the gratification of being present at Mr. Crobble's inauguration.

It was a broiling day, and there was a full field; but he conducted himself manfully, notwithstanding the jokes of the club. He batted exceedingly well, "considering," as Mr. Wallis remarked; but as for the "runs," he was completely at fault.

He only attempted it once; but before he had advanced a yard or two, the ball was caught; and the agile player, striking the wicket with ease, exclaimed, amid the laughter of the spectators - "Out! so don't fatigue yourself, I beg, sir."

And so the match was concluded, amid cheers and shouting, in which the rotund, good-natured novice joined most heartily.


CHAPTER VIII. - The Hunter.

"Hunting may be sport, says I, but I'm blest if its pleasure."


Two days after the cricket-match, Mr. Crobble paid a visit to my master.

"Well, old fellow, d me me, if you ain't a trump - how's your wind?"
- kindly enquired Mr. Timmis.

"Vastly better, thank'ye; how's Wallis and the other fellows? - prime sport that cricketing."

"Yes; but, I say, you'll never have 'a run' of luck, if you stick to the wicket so."

"True; but I made a hit or two, you must allow," replied Mr. Crobble; "though I'm afraid I'm a sorry member."

"A member, indeed! - no, no; you're the body, and we're the - members," replied Mr. Timmis, laughing; "but, halloo! what's that patch on your forehead - bin a fighting?"

"No; but I've been a hunting," said Mr. Crobble, "and this here's the fruits - You know my gray?"

"The nag you swopp'd the bay roadster for with Tom Brown?"

"Him," answered Crobble. "Well, I took him to Hertfordshire Wednesday last - "

"He took you, you mean."

"Well, what's the odds?"

"The odds, why, in your favour, to be sure, as I dare say the horse can witness."

"Well, howsomever, there was a good field - and off we went. The level country was all prime; but he took a hedge, and nearly julked all the life out o' me. I lost my stirrup, and should have lost my seat, had'nt I clutched his mane - "

"And kept your seat by main force?"

"Very good."

"Well, away we went, like Johnny Gilpin. Hunting may be sport, says I, but I'm blest if its pleasure. This infernal horse was always fond of shying, and now he's going to shy me off; and, ecod! no sooner said than done. Over his head I go, like a rocket."

"Like a foot-ball, you mean," interrupted Mr. Timmis.

"And, as luck would have it, tumbles into a ditch, plump with my head agin the bank."

"By jingo! such a 'run' upon the bank was enough to break it," cried my master, whose propensity to crack a joke overcame all feeling of sympathy for his friend.

"It broke my head though; and warn't I in a precious mess - that's all - up to my neck, and no mistake - and black as a chimney-sweep - such mud!"

"And only think of a man of your property investing his substance in mud! That is a good 'un! - Andrew," said he, "tell Wally to come here." I summoned his crony, and sat myself down to the books, to enjoy the sportive sallies of the two friends, who roasted the 'fat buck,' their loving companion, most unmercifully.

"You sly old badger," cried Wallis, "why, you must have picked out the ditch."

"No, but they picked out me, and a precious figure I cut - I can tell you
- I was dripping from top to toe."

"Very like dripping, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Timmis, eyeing his fat friend, and bursting into an immoderate fit of laughter. The meeting ended, as usual, with a bet for a dinner at the "Plough" for themselves and their friends, which Mr. Crobble lost - as usual.


CHAPTER IX. - A Row to Blackwall.

'To be sold, warranted sound, a gray-mare, very fast, and carries a lady; likewise a bay-cob, quiet to ride or drive, and has carried a lady.'


Steam-boats did not run to Greenwich and Blackwall at this period; and those who resorted to the white-bait establishments at those places, either availed themselves of a coach or a boat. Being now transformed, by a little personal merit, and a great favour, from a full-grown errand-boy to a small clerk, Mr. Timmis, at the suggestion of my good friend Mr. Wallis, offered me, as a treat, a row in the boat they had engaged for the occasion; which, as a matter of course, I did not refuse: making myself as spruce as my limited wardrobe would permit, I trotted at their heels to the foot of London-bridge, the point of embarkation.

The party, including the boatman, consisted of eight souls; the tide was in our favour, and away we went, as merry a company as ever floated on the bosom of Father Thames. Mr. Crobble was the chief mark for all their sallies, and indeed he really appeared, from his size, to have been intended by Nature for a "butt," as Mr. Wallis wickedly remarked.

"You told, me, Crobble, of your hunting exploit in Hertfordshire," said Mr. Wallis; "I'll tell you something as bangs that hollow; I'm sure I thought I should have split with laughter when I heard of it. You know the old frump, my Aunt Betty, Timmis?"

"To be sure - she with the ten thousand in the threes," replied Mr. Timmis; "a worthy creature; and I'm sure you admire her principal."

"Don't I," cried Wallis; and he winked significantly at his friend.

"Well, what d'ye think; she, and Miss Scragg, her toady, were in the country t'other day, and must needs amuse themselves in an airing upon a couple of prads.

"Well; they were cantering along - doing the handsome - and had just come to the border of a pond, when a donkey pops his innocent nose over a fence in their rear, and began to heehaw' in a most melodious strain. The nags pricked up their ears in a twinkling, and made no more ado but bolted. Poor aunty tugged! but all in vain; her bay-cob ran into the water; and she lost both her presence of mind and her seat, and plumped swash into the pond - her riding habit spreading out into a beautiful circle - while she lay squalling and bawling out in the centre, like a little piece of beef in the middle of a large batter-pudding! Miss Scragg, meanwhile, stuck to her graymare, and went bumping along to the admiration of all beholders, and was soon out of sight: luckily a joskin, who witnessed my dear aunt's immersion, ran to her assistance, and, with the help of his pitch-fork, safely landed her; for unfortunately the pond was not above three or four feet deep! and so she missed the chance of being an angel!"

"And you the transfer of her threes! - what a pity!" said the sympathizing Mr. Timmis.

"When I heard of the accident, of course, as in duty bound, I wrote an anxious letter of affectionate enquiry and condolence. At the same period, seeing an advertisement in the Times - 'To be sold, warranted sound, a gray-mare, very fast, and carries a lady; likewise a bay-cob, quiet to ride or drive, and has carried a lady' - I was so tickled with the co-incidence, that I cut it out, and sent it to her in an envelope."

"Prime! by Jove!" - shouted Mr. Crobble - "But, I say, Wallis - you should have sent her a 'duck' too, as a symbolical memorial of her accident!"


CHAPTER X. - The Pic-Nic.

- had just spread out their prog on a clean table-cloth, when they were alarmed by the approach of a cow.


"People should never undertake to do a thing they don't perfectly understand," remarked Mr. Crobble, "they're sure to make fools o' themselves in the end. There's Tom Davis, (you know Tom Davis?) he's always putting his notions into people's heads, and turning the laugh against 'em. If there's a ditch in the way, he's sure to dare some of his companions to leap it, before he overs it himself; if he finds it safe, away he springs like a greyhound."

"Exactly him, I know him," replied Mr. Timmis; "that's what he calls learning to shave upon other people's chins!"

"Excellent!" exclaimed Mr. Wallis.

"He's a very devil," continued Mr. Crobble; "always proposing some fun or other: Pic-nics are his delight; but he always leaves others to bring the grub, and brings nothing but himself. I hate Pic-nics, squatting in the grass don't suit me at all; when once down, I find it no easy matter to get up again, I can tell you."

Hereupon there was a general laugh.

"Talking of Pic-nics," said Mr. Timmis, "reminds me of one that was held the other day in a meadow, on the banks of the Lea. The party, consisting of ladies only, and a little boy, had