"Vy, Sarah, you're drunk! I am quite ashamed o' you."
"Vell, vots the odds as long as you're happy!"
Jack was an itinerant vender of greens, and his spouse was a peripatetic
distributor of the finny tribe, (sprats, herrings or mackerel, according
to the season,) and both picked up a tolerable livelihood by their
respective callings.
Like the lettuces he sold, Jack had a good heart, and his attention was
first attracted to the subsequent object of his election by the wit of a
passing boy, who asked the damsel how she sold her carrots? Jack's eyes
were in an instant turned towards one whom he considered a competitor in
the trade--when he beheld the physiognomy of his Sarah beaming with
smiles beneath an abundant crop of sunny hair!
"You are a beauty and no mistake," exclaimed the green grocer in
admiration.
"Flummery!" replied the damsel--the deep blush of modesty mantling her
cheeks. Jack rested his basket on a post beside her stall, and drank
deep draughts of love, while Sarah's delicate fingers were skilfully
employed in undressing a pound of wriggling eels for a customer.
"Them's rig'lar voppers!" remarked Jack.
"Three to a pound," answered Sarah, and so they slipped naturally into
discourse upon trade, its prospects and profits, and gradually a hint of
partnership was thrown out.
Sarah laughed at his insinuating address, and displayed a set of teeth
that rivalled crimped skate in their whiteness--a month afterwards they
became man and wife. For some years they toiled on together--he, like a
caterpillar, getting a living out of cabbages, and she, like an
undertaker, out of departed soles! Latterly, however, Jack discovered
that his spouse was rather addicted to 'summut short,' in fact, that she
drank like a fish, although the beverage she affected was a leetle
stronger than water. Their profit (unlike Mahomet) permitted them the
same baneful indulgence--and kept them both in spirits!
Their trade, however, fell off for they were often unable to carry their
baskets.
The last time we beheld them, Sarah was sitting in the cooling current of
a gutter, with her heels upon the curb (alas! how much did she need a
curb!) while Jack, having disposed of his basket, had obtained a post in
a public situation, was holding forth on the impropriety of her conduct.
"How can you let yourself down so?" said he,--"You're drunk--drunk,
Sarah, drunk!"
"On'y a little elevated, Jack."
"Elevated!--floor'd you mean."
"Vell; vot's the odds as long as you're happy?"
Jack finding all remonstrance was vain, brought himself up, and reeling
forward, went as straight home--as he could, leaving his spouse (like
many a deserted wife) soaking her clay, because he refused to support
her!