(_By "Hansom Jack."_)
["Gentlemen, the way to see London is from the top of a
'bus--from the top of a 'bus, gentlemen!"--_Mr. Gladstone to
American Visitors._]
No. VII.--'BUSSES, BILKS, AND BOOSYS.
Top of a 'bus! Well, I've nothing to say against knifeboards or
garden-seats, quite the contrairy.
Looked at as look-outs on London itself, _as_ a city, they're easy,
commanding, and airy.
G. O. M. hit it in once to those Yankees. But still, if you'd view
London _life_, as a wholer,
Not mere bricks and mortar and lamp-posts, I'll back what cute
BENJAMIN D. called the London Gondōler.
_I_'ve drove the Grand Old One, though 'e's such a walker 'e don't
give the wheels so much work as did DIZZY.
But I'd like to stick 'im some hours on _my_ perch with my 'ed at 'is
elber. Ah, _then_ we'd be busy.
The 'bus 'as the pull of us one way, you see; _our_ fares can't git
mounting the roof; they're insiders!
But Cabby looks inside _and_ out, and that way gits the bulge on the
rest of the drivers and riders.
Moresomeover the 'busses and trams keep the main, whilst we 'Ansoms
can take all the short-cuts and bye-ways;
And when you know sububs and slums, you're aware London life don't all
run in the big stream of 'ighways.
Its creeks and its backwaters, ditches and dykes, they teem, fairly
teem, though their dwellers--poor cusses!--
Can only just ketch the tram-bells in the distance, and ain't never
bossed from the knifeboards of 'busses.
That's just where swell ink-slingers miss the true London. That wasn't
the way though with good CHARLEY DICKENS.
_Pickwick_ is one of the books in our Shelter, and _Pickwick_, I 'old,
gives the reader rare pickins.
When drying my legs over corfee and heggs I git a larf out o' that
patter o' _Sammy_.
It ain't quite _our_ up-to-date kibosh, o' course, but the way as that
_Sam_ chewed the rag was just jammy.
Knowed some queer things about London, _'e_ did, _'is_ London, of
course, cabrioleys and such-like.
_My_ survey's "extensive," and likeways "pecooliar," in that me and
_Sammy_ seem much of a much like.
A whip, like old _Weller_, I do not, like 'im, do the same bit o'
road, come-day-go-day together.
I know, in my line, every inch of the town, at all times o' day, and
in all sorts o' weather.
I'd just like a turn "Round the Town" with young _Sam_, or a talk over
sossige and mashed in our Shelter;
Comparing of notes, with the Growler for chorus, I 'aven't no doubt we
should come out a pelter.
"Cabby," they sing, "knows 'is fare." I should think so, or else 'e
must be a blind mug or a babby.
And who, from a dook to a chorister minx, 'asn't, one time or other,
_been_ "fare" to a Cabby?
I've driven the dook and the damsel together, as fur as that goes. And
the dook was that squiffy
'E wanted to go me "dooks up" for the fare. But that would 'ave
brought down the slops in a jiffy.
You mustn't 'ave _much_ flesh and blood, as a Cabby, I tell you. At
scrapping we're most of us 'andy;
But knockin' out nobs, as a rule, doesn't pay, when said nobs 'ave
been mixing champagne and neat brandy.
The boosys and bilks try our tempers, I tell you. But tempers are
luxuries, like sparrer grass is.
If you've seen a helderly, hamorous gent, _on_ the tiddley, you know
what a worriting ass is.
Argue for hours about sixpence, 'e will, then 'unt all 'is pockets,
and find 'e aint got one.
Collapse in a corner, and fall fast asleep, with a boiled baby smile
on 'is chump. _'E_'s a 'ot one.
Hit 'im? Oh no! 'E may waste you a hour, and then offer a drink, which
'e 'asn't the price of,
And maunder and mumble till you are arf mad; but if an old stager
you'll take the advice of,
You _won't_ knock 'is 'ead off! It's tempting, I know, and sometimes
you would give twice the fare for the pleasure;
But squiffy old gents are the magistrates' pets, they've got money--at
'ome--and, what's more, lots of leisure!
"TREACLE" now, can't 'old 'is tongue with old Tiddleys. Poor "TREACLE"
was once a smart gentleman farmer,
And kep 'is own dog-cart. 'E's got one fair daughter, who, even in
chocolate cotton's a charmer.
Ah! sweet as fresh 'ay, in a manner o' speaking, is young BESSIE
FINCH, though she's but a machiner.
Its curious 'ow sulky old "TREACLE" lights up when 'is gal BESSIE
brings 'im 'is poor bit o' dinner.
'E was just taking up an old Tiddley one time when Miss BESSIE turned
up, and the bosky old geeser
Made eyes at the maid, and said just arf a word, when poor TREACLE'S
fist caught 'im a slap on 'is sneezer
As made 'im see stars. 'Twas a trifle too previous, p'r'aps, for a
sulky old chip of a Cabby;
A 'ero don't _look_ like a 'ero somehow when 'is phiz is wind-blue and
'is billycock shabby.
Old Tiddley was quite a respectable gent, a benevolent buffer, who
lived out at Clapham;
And when subub saints 'ave been dining a mossel, it won't do for
grumpy old Growlers to slap 'em.
So "TREACLE," as usual, got toko, you see, likeways missed a good
fare, 'long o' bein' too 'asty;
Which shows as a Cabby 'is temper must check, and in trifles must not
be _too_ ticklish or tasty.
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