Letter from a Washerwoman.*

Puddleditch-Corner, Islington, January 30, 1823.

WORSHIPFUL SUR,

I'm a lone widder woman, left with five fatherless children to purvide for in a wicked world, where simple folks is shure to be putt upon, as ive larnt to my sorrow; but i'm not one to sit down content, if there's la or gustice to be had above ground. My good man used to say, rest his sole, Patience, you've a sperrit, says he, and so i have, thank God, for what shuld a pore lone widder do without in such a world as this where honnor goes afore honesty. Well, sur, how i comes to rite you these few lines, is this. You must know i'm a washer-woman, an' lives at Islington, and takes in loddgers; but I ant come to that yet; only i must say summut about it, by way of beginnin to let you know how i've got a new loddger; for i takes in single gentlemen; an' i was telling of he, what oudacious treetment id met with from they; he, i would say, the other was as bad as he, as hockipied my apartments last, how i was flammed over tho' i mid a known fine words buttered no passenips, to give em trust, an' let em turn evry thing topsy turvy, so long as it sarved their turn to stay, and then they takes French leave, an' walks off, without paying so much as a brass farden, and what's warse, wi' Nance; but i ant come to that yet. Only, sir, the long and the short's this; i was gust telling of these here purceedins to my new loddger, and how they'd a sarved me, an habsconded,

* For the first eight or nine years of Blackwood, Hunt, Hazlitt, and Kents, as the head of what was called "The Cockney School of Poetry and Criticisms" were perpetually assailed in its pages. This Letter from a Washerwoman was one of the few contributions, in that line, from Maginu's pen. There is no wit and little humour, even in the best specimens in bad spelling. Winifred Jenkins may be endured and even laaghed at, as one of the earliest in that field of pseudo illiteration. "Yellowplush" and "Jeames" fall far beneath. So did Maginn's Washerwoman. But the article is fairly entitled to a place in this collection, as showing to what follies of composition a clever man could descend, and also on account of the parodies on Leigh Hunt's early mannerisms, and love of "Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Vivorum," with which it concludes.-M.

as the gustice called it, and left nothing to pay my rent, an' all the power o' mischif they'd a done me, with all their outlandish heethen fancies, but a room full of dryd weeds, peeble stones, cracked chalk images, an' bits of crumpled paper, all over blots, an' ritin stuff that no Criscteun can make head nor tale on. Well, i was a tellin of all my misfortins to Mr. Perkins, who seems a civil, pretty behaved sort of a gentleman, only he's allways att his books and his pen, an' at first i was rather huffed, for he sniggered and sniggered, but it want att me, only at them graceless chapps i was telling about, an' att last he says, says he, when I told him how Gustice Dosy could get me no redress nor cumpinsashun, i tell you what Mrs Lilywhite says he, tell your story to the larned Kristophur North, an maybe hel gif you cumfurt an' cumpinsashun besides. Att first I thot how he was a hummin me, tho he's a grave godly lookin gentleman, not much given to vain talkin an' gestin; butt at last i found he was in downrite earnest, an' thatt you was a friend of his, a sort of a Scotch gustice, an' rites a book every month, an' mite maybe take up the cawse of hingured hinnocence, as we said to the late Queen of blessed memory,* and put in mi pittiful story to shame their parjury willains, an' mite moreover make me a hansome present into the bargain, an' he promissd if id rite a letter, hed send it safe to you, and so worshippfull sir, tho' i never heard youre name before i makes bold to tell you how i've been put upon.

Well, sur, you must know then my name is Patience Lillywhite, an' i'm a washerwoman, an' lives att Islington, at Puddleditch corner, a pretty rural spott, where i letts loddgins to single gentlemen as wants a little country hair and quiett, after the noise an' smoke of Lunnon. Well, sir, the 20th of last July was twelvemouth, i minds the day peticklar, bein that ater the crownashun day, comes a thin spindle shanked gentleman to look at my loddgins, bein, as he said, ordered into the country for change of hair, and shure enuff he looked as yoller as a kite's foot. The rooms seemed to please him mitily, and well they mought; two prettier, pleasanter, more convenienter, a king

* Caroline of Brunswick.-M.

t George IV. was crowned on July 19, 1821. — M.

need'nt covet, for the parlour winder looks out into our garden, thats very private an' rural, for 'tis parted off by a ditch an' an elder hedge from the backs of the sope manifacktory, an' Mr. Bullock's slawtur-house, so there bent no unpleasant hop-jacks ner it, an't overlookd by nobody. An' the parlor was just fresh painted very illigent, sky-blue in the pannells with yollor moldins; an' the corner cupbord was chock full of illigant chaney, an' id a just bought a spick an' span new gappan tea-tray, an' a spontious hurn, whereof he took peticklar notice, an' axed how much it constrained; and when i told him two gallons, that seemed to settle his mind at once, an' he agreed with me at haff a ginnee a week, little enough of all conshince; but he said how he was a very quiett body, an' shuld give but little trubbel, so i was agreeabel to take him in.-Well, rivrend sir, he comed shure enuff the very next eveenin off wun of the stages, an' brought all his luggadge in his hand, witch was no more than a smaal porkmanky, an' an ould earthen ware crate wi sum chalk himmiges.

He had nothin for supper, but some tea an' bread-and-butter, an' sett up haff the nite, rummadgin about the rooms, an' stickin up they himmiges as comed in the crate, an' sum books, an’ bitts of broken stones, an' craked shells, out of the porkmanky, witch was crammed three parts full of sich rubbish, instead of good holland shurts an' warin apparel. Well, i seed there woodnt be many gobbs for me, in my way; but the gentleman seemed quiett an' civill, an' spoke verry goodnatured to the childern, an' i rather bepitteed him, for he seemd in a pore weak way.

Next day, about aternoon, a frind cawled in to see him, a shamblin sort of a chapp, with grate thick lipps, an' littel piggs eyes, an' a puffy unholesum lookin face, as yoller as tother; but he spoke verry soft an' civil too, an' took peticklar notice of Nance, as was mi eldest, an' just turned fifteen. Well, this here wun, i cant never mind his name, for they calld him bi too att wunce, seemed verry thik with my loddger, Mr. Pennyfeather, an' hardly missd a day cummin to see him, to mi sorrow; for i do think 'twas he put sich wild vagarys into tother's head, an' pswaided him at last to run off in mi dett, like a shabbroon as

he was. Youd niver beleeve me, wurshippfull sur, if i was to tell you haff the goins on of they two rapscallions, an' watt wurk they maid in mi pore littel garden, an' with mi Nance, but i ant cum to that yet; the moore foole i, not to cutt em short in there heethenish doins; but sum how they comed over me wi thur fine hard words and palaverin spitches, tho i beleeve, o mi conshince, twant nothing ater all butt a pack of nonsenciccle jabber. So, sur, you must no, they gott mi leeve to halter or transmoggrify our bitt of garden, that was a sweet spott they said, only they wanted to lay it out classy cully. Tho, for my part, i thot twas classed out rigglar enuff, wi beds of cabbadges an' iniuns, an' sich like sensibel stuff. To work they fell, an' routed out all they pore innocent things; an' watt do you think they sett in the room of em? As im an honest woman, if yule beleeve me, worshippfull sur, nothing but a pack o rubbitch i woodnt a piled in mi faggit stakk. Wun blessed day they cums home loded lik jack asses, wi grate bundels of long scragglin green bows off the chesnut an' lime trees, an' never beleeve me, if they didnt stick them up an end all about the garden, in the room of mi fine guseberri bushes, the rite hairy sort, thatt theyd grubbd up bi the roots, the moore fowl i to lett em. But they wanted to convert it into a grove, they sedd. Lord bless ye, gemmen, says i, why them sticks 'll all be dead in a weak; butt they only nidged their heads, as mutch as to say, i spose weel be off bi that time. An so when they bows was stuck about like pee-sticks, they brings a parsel of daysys, nothin but common field daysys, an' primroses, an' gilty cupps, and sich like trumpery, guodd for nothin weeds, and sets em in all amongst tothers; an' wenn thatt was done to their minds, whatt maggots shuld bite next, butt they falls to wurk, nocking up of our ould piggsty. So then, thinks i, they be gott about some good att last; for, to be shure, theyre goin to mend itt upp tidy, an' prapps make mee a present of a fattin pigg, or a pritty littel chany sow. But no sich things was in their noddels, gud sur.

Furst of all they piled up a sort of a mount, with peat an' bricks, an' rubbitch, an' rite upon top on it, they setts about bildin up o the piggsty, as i thot; so says i, "Lawk, gemmen, how shall wee ever clamber up there wi the piggs vittels; an'

woman --

watt for shuld ye perch un upp so hy, pore dumb beestesses." So they seemd quite huffed. A piggsty, says they. Why, -Mi names Lilywhite, says i.-So, says they, Mrs. Lilywhite, were recktin a tempel to Pollar.- Pollards they must meen, thinks i, for thatts piggs vittels; so they be goin to by me one ater all, only they thinks to sprize me: so i wont take no more notiss. But thatt was all mi innocence. They no more thot of bildin up mi sty, than i didd of bildin the tempel of Geruzleum. Well, they cobbled upp a sort of a queer lookin fore cornerd shed, and coverd it over wi a round bitt of oil cloth, paneted wi yoller stripes, all round from the middel, for all the world like a sunflower; an' then they made a kind of paath upp the mount, wi broken briks an' oyster shells, stikin out here an’ thare, to look like rokks, they sedd: an' ater thatt, they stuck it full of grene lawrel bows, by the same token that Mr. Deppity Doughnut, of Wellintun Willa, thretened to persecute em for tarin down all his lawrel heddges. But they didnt care for la nor gosple, not they.

An next there was a grand confab atwixt em, about makin of a fowntane; for witch there didn't seem, to mi thinkin, no manner of need, when there was a good pump, with beautiffull soft water, not ten steps from our own dore. But a fowntane they must have; nothin else would serve em: so they take an' diggs out the ditch up to the bottum of thatt new fangled mount, an' damms upp the water, that was nothin but sope sudds an' kennel stuff ater all, an' then setts it a running thro' a cows horn, as they beggd of the buttchur, trickel, trickel, trickel over some pebbel stons an' bitts of broken bottels as theyd strewd along the bottom of the drain. Then, to sea how they rubbd there hans, an' chuckeld an' capurd about wen they seed the dirty water com spurtin out.

For mi part i begun to think they was craasy, butt my yung wuns likd the sport well enuff, for 'twas summut in thur one way. Well, then, they seemd to think 'twas all parfict, an 'two or three more chapps of there one sort comd in, an' they all lade thur hedds togethur, an' setteld to have a feest at the diddicashun of the Tempel, as they cawld it. Most of what they tawkd was Greek to me; but i prikkd up mi years wen i hurd