As I sat at my window a few evenings ago, a loud rattling in the street
drew my attention, and at the same instant an omnibus stopped at my
nextdoor neighbour's, the poulterer. First alighted a servant-maid and
lad—then two or three half-grown boys and girls, intermingled with a
torrent of chattels, consisting of shrubs, flowers, enough live animals
to stock a menagerie, packages past counting, and lastly, Mrs. Giblet in
full feather, arrayed in lily-white, and bearing in each hand a
full-blown balsam. All was safely landed, when a hackney coach drove up
at a quiet pace, and from it descended, with the help of his shopmen and
a pair of crutches, my neighbour, Simon Giblet himself. His legs were
swathed up, his back, for which broadcloth was formerly too narrow,
seemed considerably shrunk, and he looked care-worn and in pain. After
him was borne his second son Dick, apparently disabled too. I had
scarcely seen my neighbour or any of his family for some months past,
but as I had often gossipped in his shop, I determined to go down and
inquire what had befallen him. He had just arrived at his great wooden
chair. His eyes were gleaming with complacency on a goodly row of fatted
fowls, all placed with their delicate, dainty, floury broad behinds
before, and as he plumped into the seat he ejaculated, with a grunt,
"Thank heaven!" A shopman sat in a corner plucking a snow-white pullet.
Giblet looked at him wistfully, and then, "Bring it here, Sam," he
cried. He took it, plucked a few handfuls of feathers, and as he
returned it to Sam, "Thank heaven!" he grunted again. My foot kicked
against something at the threshold. I stooped and picked up a clasped
book, which I presented to him, as I tendered my sympathy. "Oh!" said
he, "nothing but disasters. I've made ducks and drakes of my money, and
a _goose_ of myself; upon my _sole_, it's a blessing that I got away
before Michaelmas. I'm in too much pain to tell you now. Ah! I see
you've picked up my journal. Work or pleasure, I've always made up a
day-book every night. I'll lend it you if you wish to see how I've been
pigeoned. While I stuck to the fowls all went fair with me, but when I
took to that river-bank I was like a duck out of water." I saw my
neighbour was excited, so, after a few consoling words, I retreated,
carrying off his calendar; and here are some extracts, by permission,
for the benefit of all amateur ruralists.