An interesting gentleman—showing how true it is that one half the world does not know how the other half lives.

“The Old Bailey,” said Mr. Bumpkin, as they crossed Palace Yard on their way to the steamboat pier, “bean’t that where all these ’ere chaps be tried for ship stealin’?” (sheep stealing).

“I don’t know about ship stealing,” said O’Rapley, “but it’s a place where they can cure all sorts of diseases.”

“Zounds!” exclaimed Bumpkin, “I’ve ’eeard tell of un. A horsepital you means—dooan’t want to goo there.”

“Horse or donkey, it don’t matter what,” said Don O’Rapley. “They’ve got a stuff that’s so strong a single drop will cure any disease you’ve got.”

“I wonder if it ’ud cure my old ’ooman’s roomatiz. It ’ud be wuth tryin’, maybe.”

“I’ll warrant it,” replied the Don. “She’d never feel ’em after takin’ one drop,” and he drew his hand across his mouth and coughed.

“I’d like to try un,” said the farmer, “for she be a terrible suffrer in these ’ere east winds. ’As ’em like all up the grine.”

“Ah,” said the Don, “it don’t matter where she ’as ’em, it will cure her.”

“How do ’em sell it—in bottles?”

“No, it isn’t in bottles—you take it by the foot; about nine feet’s considered a goodish dose.”

Mr. Bumpkin looked straight before him, somewhat puzzled at this extraordinary description of a medicine. At length he got a glimmering of the Don’s meaning, and, looking towards, but not quite at him, said:—

“I be up to ’ee, sir!” and the Don laughed, and asked whether his description wasn’t right?

“That be right enough. Zounds! it be right enough. Haw! haw! haw!”

“You never want a second dose,” said the Don, “do you?”

“No, sir—never wants moore ’an one dose; but ’ow comes it, if you please, sir, that these ’ere Chancery chaps have changed their tack; be it they’ve tried ’onest men so long that they be gwine to ’ave a slap at the thieves for a change?”

“Look ’ere,” said the worthy O’Rapley, “you will certainly see the inside of a jail before you set eyes on the outside of a haystack, if you go on like that. It’s contempt of court to speak of Her Majesty’s Judges as ‘chaps’.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Bumpkin, “but we must all ’ave a larnin’. I didn’t mane no disruspect to the Lord Judge; but I wur only a axin’ jist the same as you might ax me about anythink on my farm.”

And I saw that they proceeded thus in edifying conversation until they came to the Thames embankment. It was somewhat difficult to preserve his presence of mind as Mr. Bumpkin descended the gangway and stepped on board the boat, which was belching forth its volumes of black smoke and rocking under the influence of the wash of a steamer that had just left the pier.

“I doant much like these ’ere booats,” said he. “Doant mind my old punt, but dang these ’ere ships.”

“There’s no danger,” said the O’Rapley, springing on board as though he had been a pilot: and then making a motion with his arm as if he was delivering a regular “length ball,” his fist unfortunately came down on Mr. Bumpkin’s white hat, in consequence of a sudden jerk of the vessel; a rocking boat not being the best of places for the delivery of length balls.

Mr. Bumpkin looked round quite in the wrong direction for ascertaining what was the cause of the sudden shock to his nervous system and his hat.

“Zounds!” said he, “what were thic?”

“What was what?” asked O’Rapley.

“Summut gie me a crack o’ the top o’ my ’ead like a thunderbolt.”

“I didn’t see anything fall,” said the Don.

“Noa; but I felt un, which I allows wur more’n seein’—lookee ’ere.”

And taking off his huge beaver he showed the dent of Mr. O’Rapley’s fist.

“Bless me,” said the roundhand bowler, “it’s like a crack with a cricket ball.”

But there was no time for further examination of the extraordinary circumstance, for the crowd of passengers poured along and pushed this way and that, so that the two friends were fairly driven to the fore part of the boat, where they took their seats. It was quite a new world to Mr. Bumpkin, and more like a dream than a reality. As he stared at the different buildings he was too much amazed even to enquire what was this or what was that. But when they passed under the Suspension Bridge, and the chimney ducked her head and the smoke came out of the “stump,” as Mr. Bumpkin termed it, he thought she had struck and broken short off. Mr. O’Rapley explained this phenomenon, as he did many others on their route; and when they came to Cleopatra’s Needle he gave such information as he possessed concerning that ancient work. Mr. Bumpkin looked as though he were not to be taken in.

“I be up to ’ee, sir,” said he. “I s’pose that air thing the t’other side were the needle-case?”

The O’Rapley informed him that it was a shot tower where they made shot.

Mr. Bumpkin laughed heartily at this; he was not to be taken in by any manner of means; was far too sharp for that.

“And I spoase,” said he, “they makes the guns—”

“In Gunnersbury,” said Mr. O’Rapley; it was no use to be serious.

“I thought thee were gwine to say in a gun pit, but I don’t mind thy chaff, Master Rapley, and shall be mighty proud to see thee down at Southood for a day’s shoot-in’: and mind thee bring some o’ these ere shot with thee that be made at yon tower, haw! haw! haw! Thee’ll kill a white-tailed crow then, I shouldn’t wonder; thee knows a white-tailed crow, doan’t thee, Master Rapley, when thee sees un—and danged if I doan’t gie thee a quart bottle o’ pigeon’s milk to tak’ wi’ thee; haw! haw! haw!”

The O’Rapley laughed heartily at these witty sallies, for Bumpkin was so jolly, and took everything in such good part, that he could not but enjoy his somewhat misplaced sarcasms.

“Now you’ve heard of Waterloo, I dare say,” said Mr. O’Rapley.

“Yes, I’ve ’eeard tell on un, and furder, my grand-feather wur out theer.”

“Well, this that we are coming to is Waterloo Bridge.”

“Yes,” said Bumpkin, “it be a bridge, but it bean’t Worterloo more ’an I be my grandfearther—what de think o’ that—haw! haw! haw!”

“Good,” said O’Rapley; “that’s quite right, but this is the bridge named after the battle.”

“Zo’t be neamed artur un because it worn’t named afore un, haw! haw! haw! Good agin, Maister Rapley, thee got it.”

Mr. O’Rapley found that any attempt to convey instruction was useless, so he said:—

“Joking apart, Mr. Bumpkin, you see that man sitting over there with the wideawake hat?”

“D’ye mane near the noase o’ the ship?”

“Well, the nose if you like.”

“I zee un—chap wi’ red faace, blue ’ankercher, and white spots?”

“That’s the man. Well, now, you’d never guess who he is?”

Mr. Bumpkin certainly would have been a sharp man if he could.

“Well,” continued the Don, “that man gets his living by bringing actions. No matter who it is or what, out comes the writ and down he comes for damages.”

“Hem! that be rum, too, bean’t it?”

“Yes, he’s always looking out for accidents; if he hears o’ one, down he comes with his pocket-book, gets ’old o’ some chap that’s injured, or thinks he is, and out comes the writ.”

“What be he then?”

“A scamp—works in the name of some broken-down attorney, and pays him for the use of it.”

“So he can work the lor like wirout being a loryer?”

“That’s it—and, lor’ bless you, he’s got such a way with him that if he was to come and talk to you for five minutes, he’d have a writ out against you in the morning.”

“Ain’t it rayther cold at this eend o’ the booat,” asked Mr. Bumpkin, “I feel a little chilly loike.”

“No,” said the Don, “we just caught the wind at that corner, that was all.”

But Mr. Bumpkin kept his eye on the artful man, with a full determination to “have no truck wi’ un.”

“As I was saying, this Ananias never misses a chance: he’s on the look-out at this moment; if they was to push that gangway against his toe, down he’d go and be laid up with an injured spine and concussion of the brain, till he got damages from the company.”

“Must be a reg’ler rogue, I allows; I should like to push un overboard.”

“Just what he would like; he isn’t born to be drowned, that man; he’d soon have a writ out against you. There was a railway accident once miles away in the country; ever so many people were injured and some of ’em killed. Well, down he goes to see if he could get hold of anybody—no, nobody would have him—so what does he do but bring an action himself.”

“What for?”

“Why, just the same as if he’d been in the accident.”

“Ought to be hanged.”

“Well, the doctors were very pleased to find that no bones were broken, and, although there were no bruises, they discovered that there were internal injuries: the spine was wrong, and there was concussion of the brain, and so on.”

“If ever I ’eerd tell o’ sich a thing in my borned days.”

“No, but it’s true. Well, he was laid up a long time under medical treatment, and it was months before he could get about, and then he brings his action: but before it came on he prosecutes his servant for stealing some trumpery thing or other—a very pretty girl she was too—and the trial came on at Quarter Sessions.”

“Where Squoire Stooky sits.”

“I never laughed so in all my life; there was the railway company with the red light, and there was Fireaway, the counsel for the girl, and then in hobbled the prosecutor, with a great white bandage round his head. He was so feeble through the injuries he had received that he could hardly walk. ‘Now then,’ says the counsel, ‘is he sworn?’ ‘Yes,’ says the crier.

“‘He must be sworn on the Koran,’ says Fireaway; ‘he’s a Mommadon.’

“‘Where’s the Jorum?’ says the crier. ‘Must be swore on the Jorum.’

“O dear, dear, you should ha’ heard ’em laugh—it was more like a theayter than a court. It was not only roars, but continnerus roars for several minutes. And all the time the larfter was going on there was this man throwin’ out his arms over the witness-box at the counsel like a madman; and the more he raved the more they laughed. He was changed from a hobblin’ invalid, as the counsel said, into a hathletic pugilist.”

“I ’ope she got off.”

“Got off with flying colours—we’re magnanimous said the jury, ‘not guilty.’”

“Well, I likes upright and down-straight,” said Bumpkin, “it’ll goo furdest in th’ long run.”

“Yes,” said O’Rapley, “and the longer the run the furder it’ll go.”

“So ’t wool; but if you doan’t mind, sir, I’d like to get nearer that ’ere fireplace.”

“The funnel—very well.” And as they moved Mr. O’Rapley, in the exuberance of his spirits, delivered another ball at the chimney, which apparently took the middle stump, for the chimney again broke in half.

“Got him!” said he. “I quite agree, and I’ll tell you for why. You can play a straight ball if you mind what you are about—just take your bat so, and bring your left elbow well round so, and keep your bat, as you say, upright and down-straight, so—and there you are. And there, indeed, Mr. Bumpkin was, on his back, for the boat at that moment bumped so violently against the side of the pier that many persons were staggering about as if they were in a storm.

“Zounds!” said the farmer, as he was being picked up—“these ’ere booats, I doan’t like ’em—gie me the ole-fashioned uns.”

Now came the usual hullabaloo, “Stand back!—pass on!—out of the way! now, then, look sharp there!” and the pushing of the gangway against people’s shins as though they were so many skittles to be knocked over, and then came the slow process of “passing out.”

“There’s one thing,” whispered O’Rapley, “if you do break your leg the company’s liable—that’s one comfort.”

“Thankee, sir,” answered Bumpkin, “but I bean’t a gwine to break my leg for the sake o’ a haction—and mebbee ha’ to pay the costs.”