Dear Misses Shusan,--This comes with my heart's sorrow that I'm not at
home where I was bred and born, but livin' abroad like a pelican on a
dissolute island, more by token that I never wanted to come, but was
persuaded by them that knew nothin' about what they wor talking; but
thought it was all figs and lemons and raisins, with green pays and the
sun in season all the year round; but, on the contrahery, sich rain and
wind I never seen afore; and as for the eating, the saints forgive me if
it's not true, but I b'leve I ate more rats since I 've come, than ever
ould Tib did since she was kittened. The drinkin' 's as bad or worse.
What they call wine is spoilt vinegar; and the vegables has no bone nor
eatin' in them at all, but melts away in the mouth like butter in July.
But 't is the wickedness is the worst of all. O Shusan! but the men is
bad, and the women worse. Of all the devils ever I heerd of, they bate
them: 'T is n't a quiet walk to mass on Sunday, with maybe a decent boy
beside you, discoorsin' or the like, and then sitting under a hedge for
the evening, with your apron afore you, talkin' about the praties, or
the price of pigs, or maybe the polis; but here 'tis dancin' and rompin'
and eatin', with merry-go-rounds, swing-swongs, and skittles all the day
long. The dancin' 's dreadful! they don't stand up fornent other, like
a jig, where anything of a dacent partner would n't so much as look hard
at you, but keep minding his steps and humorin' the tune; but they catch
each other round the waist--'tis true I am saying--and go huggin' and
tearin' about like mad, till they can't breathe nor spake; and then, the
noise! for 'tis n't one fiddle they have, but maybe twenty, with horns
and flutes and a murderin' big brown tube, that a man blows into at one
side, that makes a sound like the sea among the rocks at Kelper; and
that's dancin', my dear! I got lave from the mistress last Sunday to go
out in the evening with Mr. Francis, the currier, as they call him,--a
mighty nice man, but a little free in his manners; and we went to the
Moelenbeck Gardens, an iligant place, no doubt, with a hundred little
tables under the trees, and a flure for dancin' and fireworks and a
boat on a lake, with an island in it, where there was a hermit,--a
fine-looking ould man, with a beard down to his waist, but, for all
that, no better than he ought to be, for he made an offer to kiss me
when I was going into the boat, and Mr. Francis laughed at me bekase
I was angry. No matter, we went off to a place they call the Temple of
Bakis, where there was a fat man, as I thought, stark nakit; but it was
flesh-colored web he had on, and he was settin' on a beer-barrel, with a
wreath of roses round his head, and looking as drunk as ever I seen;
and for half a franc apiece, Bakis pulled out the spiget, and gave you a
glassful of the nicest drink ever was tasted,--warm wine, with nutmeg
in it, and cloves, and a taste of mint. I was afeerd to do more nor sup,
seein' the place and the croud; but indeed, Shusan, little as I took, it
got into my head; and I sat down on the steps of the Temple, and begun
to cry about home and Dodsborough; and something came over me that Mr.
Francis did n't mane well; and so I told everybody that I was a poor
Irish girl, and that he was a wicked blaguard; and then the polis came,
and there was a shindy! I don't know how far my head was wrong all the
time; and they said that I sung the "Croniawn Dhubh;" maybe I did; but I
know that I bate off the polis; and at last they took me away home, when
every stitch on me was in ribbins; my iligant bonnet with the green bows
as flat as a halfpeny; and the bombazine the mistress gave me, all rags;
one of my shoes, too, was lost; and except a handful of hair I tore out
of the corporal's beard, 'twas all loss to me.
[Illustration: 100]
This wasn't the worst; for little Paddy Byrne, that was in bed for a
baiting he got 'mong the hackney-coachmen, jumped up and flew at Mister
Francis for the honor of ould Ireland; and they fit for twenty minutes
in the pantry, and broke every bit of glass and chaney in the house,
forbye three lamps and some alybastard figures that was put there for
safety; and the end of it was, Mr. Francis was discharged, but would n't
take his wages, if the master did n't pay him half a year in advance,
with diet and washing, and his expenses home to Swisserland, wherever
that is; and there it is now, and master is in a law-shute, that
everybody says will go agin him; for there's one good thing abroad,
Shusan dear, the coorts stands by poor sarvants, and won't see them
wronged by any cruel masters; and maybe it would be taching ould Mister
Dodd something, if they made him smart for this!
Ye may think, from all this, that I 'd be glad to be back again, and
so it is. I cry all day and night, and sorrow stich I do for either the
mistress or the young ladies, and maybe at last they 'll see 't is best
to send me home. They needn't begrudge me the thrifle 'twould cost, for
they're spending money like mad; and even the mistress, that would skin
a flay in Ireland, thinks nothing of layin' out ten or fifteen pounds
here of a day. Miss Mary Anne is as bad as the mother, and grown so
proud and stand off that I never spake to her. Miss Caroline is what she
used to be, barrin' the spirits; to be sure, she has no divarsion and no
horse to ride, nor doesn't be out in the fields as she used, but for all
that she bears it better than myself. Mister James is grown a young mau
in three weeks, and never passes me on the stair without a wink or a
look of the same kind; that's the way the Continent taches good manners!
Mrs. Shusan! oh dear! oh dear! but 'tis wishing it I am, the day I come
on this incontential tour. If I can't get back,--though it's not my
fault if I don't,--send me the pair of strong shoes you 'll find in my
hair trunk, and the two petticoats in the corner. If you could get a
blade in the big scissors, send it too, and the two bits of dimity I
want for mendin'. There was some Dandy Lion in a paper, I'd like; for
there's none here, they say, has strength in it. You 'll be able to send
me these by somebody coming this way, for I heerd mistress say everybody
is travellin' these times. What was it Father Tom used to take for the
redness in his nose? mine is tormentin' me dreadful, and though I'm
poulticin' it every night with ash-bark, earthworms, and dragon's blood,
I think it's only worse it's gettin'. Mr. Francis said that I must larn
to sleep with my nose higher than my head, though how I'm to do it, the
saints alone can tell! No time for more than to say your loving friend,
Betty Cobb.