Here I come fair midsummer, dond in my holiday cloths; to ask if you will just be so good as at all walk up and down nature’s green carpet , look at furniture, picktas and to warm myself in your nice sunshine; for you will know I’m not without a stranger in these parts, having but just come into , what I may call, literary life like.
You will perhaps think it very strange in me saying so, but true it is; and if you will but be so obliging as grant me the favour, I don’t mind being catched in a bit of thunder and lightening at times for I am used to that as young as I am.
Thank you; Mum, it’s very good of you ‘ it is indeed, to say that you never saw me before; and there is not one in a hundred would have it, that there is not, for these no knowing folks, now a days, what they are, well they are well tried and sort into, and then it’s doubtful. Then you will excuse me, now i’m at full liberty to have a bit of a flush, like a hen on an arse midden, for a sort of rejoicing like; but mind I don’t mean to cackle, or yet set up my heckle, because I am favoured in the way I am; no, I think not, indeed; and it makes me uncomfortable to think that I can carry corn without being inoculated other with sauce of pride. So, good morning, Mum.
Hello world, my lad is that you?
Well there is room for mountains of book yet I see. Who would have thought it? As many folk as there is are trying their hand and squeezing their brains day by day are making them. Come, then, here another old cock to throw in amongst the lot; but just wipe the dust off your table tops, drawers, window-bottoms and shelves if you please; first ; and wash your hands beside , for there are some of you are hardly fit to handle a frying pan let alone a book.
There, now you look middling decent; After having a good sneeze with taking the dust off your furniture and spoiling the colour of a two gallon of water with your hands; so read away as hard as you like; and as you go on keep finding fault, be sure and do that; cos if you don’t, it won't be behaving right as human nature. And at times , you may laugh if you like, if there is anything to laugh at; but doing, it, mind and don’t go and kick up such of a scare as to frighten the Sky Lark, so as they don’t come down, up to the sod again to their young ones.
Another thing; don’t you go and rive me it on pieces, and lap boild trackle in, soap light to canal, or to curl your toppins up with, same as you do to many poor unfortunates books while they have nothing but their bare backs left; no before you do this , take a bit of reason home to yourself, and see what sort of a scuffle you could make with a pen and ink like; to go before a multitude has and speckteckles thats the time of day for trying what wisealers and cunninaker are made of . And as good old ancient job said,
“O that my enemy would write a book”.
Well done little Midsummer Joker, it is a nauper , is that, for some folks, if they have nothing but sense to feel; But I’m right doubtful for I’ve always found such like , and them that has reckoned to have had their ears moved when they’ve been cloth pinned, to have cannisters like cobbler (lapstans) , and brains as senseless as calis-sand. But I must drop it, or else I shall be doing my young friend harm , for folks don’t like to hear a bit of plain truth at all times especially when; it comes nearish their own home.
With this I’ll now leave you to do and to act as you like; and very politely wish that you may live while you die, in full possession of improved minds and better ways.
The Author,
Pogmoor by Barnsley
1845 (Charles Rodgers)
