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i like to et a sweep -- uand-- not a grown sweeper -- old ey-sweepers are by no ans attractive -- but one of those tender novices, bloong through their first nigritude, the ternal washings not quite effaced frothe cheek -- such as e forth with the dawn, or sowhat earlier, with their little professional notes sounding like the peep peep of a young sparrow; or liker to the tin lark should i pronouhe in their aerial asts not seldoanticipating the sun-rise?
i have a kindly yearning towards these dispecks -- poor blots -- i blaesses -
i reverehese young afris of our own growth -- these alst clergy is, who sport their cloth without assution; and frotheir little pulpits (the tops of eys), in the nipping air of a deceerpreach a lesson of patieo nkind.
when a child, what a sterious pleasure it was to witheir operation! to see a chit no bigger than ones-self enter, one knew not by rocess, into what seed the fauces averni -- to pursue hiin igination, as he went sounding on through so ny dark stifling c?99lib?averns, horrid shades -- to shudder with the idea that &a;a;a;quot;now, surely, he st be lost for ever! &a;a;a;quot; -- to revive at hearing his feeble shout of dvered day-light -- and then (o fulness of delight) running out of doors, to e just in ti to see the sable phenonon erge in safety, the brandished on of his art victorious like so flag waved over a quered citadel! i seeto reer haviold, that a bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush, to indicate which way the wind blew. it was an awful spectacle certainly; not like the old stage dire in macbeth, where the &a;a;a;quot;apparition of a child ed with a tree in his hand rises.&a;a;a;quot;
reader, if thou etest one of these sll gentry in thy early rales, it is good to give hia penny. it is better to give hitwo-pence. if it be starviher, and to the proper troubles of his hard oupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual apa) be superadded, the dend on thy hunity will surely rise to a tester.
there is a position, the ground-work of which i have uood to be the sweet wood `yclept sassafras. this wood boiled down to a kind of tea, and teered with an infusion of lk and sugar, hath to so tastes a delicacy beyond the a luxury. i know not how thy palate y relish it; for self, with every defereo the judir. read, who hath ti out ofopen a shop (the only one he avers in london) for the vending of this &a;a;a;quot;wholeso and pleasant beverage, on the south side of fleet-street, as thou approachest bridge-street -- the only salopian house, -- i have never yet adveo dipown particular lip in a basin of his ended ingredient -- a cautious prenition to the olfactories stantly whispering to , thatstoch st infallibly, with all duurtesy, dee it. yet i have seen palates, otherwise not uninstructed iical elegances, sup it up with avidity.
i know not by articular ation of the an it happens, but i have always found that this position is surprisingly gratifying to the palate of a young ey-sweeper --- whether the oily particles (sassafras is slightly oleaginous) do attenuate and soften the fuliginous cretions, which are sotis found (in disses) to adhere to the roof of the uth in these unfledged practitioners or whether nature, sensible that she had oo ch of bitter wood i of these raw victi, caused to grow out of the earth her sassafras for a sweet lenitive but so it is, that no possible taste or odour to the senses of a young ey-sweepervey a delicate excitent parable to this xture. being penniless, they will yet hang their black heads over the asding stea to gratify one sense if possible, seengly no less pleased than those dostiils -- cats -- when they purr over a new-found sprig of valerian. there is sothing re in these syathies than philosophyinculcate.
now albeit mr. read boasteth, not without reason, that his is the only salopion house; yet he it known to thee, reader -- if thou art one who keepest what are called good hours, thou art haply ignorant of the fact -- he hath a race of industrious itators, who frostalls, and under open sky, dispehe sa savoury ss to huler ers, at that dead ti of the dawn, when (as extres et) the rake, reeling ho frohis dnight cups, and the hard- handed artisan leaving his bed to resu the preture labours of the day, jostle, not unfrequently to thediscerting of the forr, for the honours of the pavent. it is the ti when, in suer, between the expired and the not yet reluned kit- fires, the kennels of our fair tropolis give forth their least satisfactory odours. the rake, who wisheth to dissipate his ht vapours in atefuffee, curses the ungenial fu, as he passeth; but the artisan stops to taste, and blesses the fragrant breakfast.
this is saloop -- the pcious herb-wons darling -- the delight of the early gardener, who transports his sking cabbages by break of day frohaersth to t-gardens fad piazzas -- the delight, and, oh i fear, too often the envy, of the unpennied sweep. hishouldest thou haply enter, with his divisage pe over the grateful stea regale hiwith a sutuous basin (it wilst thee but three halfpennies) and a slice of delicate bread and butter (an added halfpenny) -- so y thy ary fires, eased of the oer-charged secretions frothy worse-placed hospitalities, curl up a lighter volu to the welkin -- so y the desding soot aint thstly well-ingredienced soups -- nor the odious cry, quick-reag frostreet to street, of the fired ey, ihe rattling engines froten adjat parishes, to disturb for a casual stillation thy pead pocket!
i aby nature extrely susceptible of street affronts; the jeers and taunts of the populace; the low-bred triuh they display over the casual trip, or splashed stog, of a gentlei ehe jocularity of a young sweep with sothing re than fiveness. in the last winter but one, pag along cheap-side withaced precipitation when i walk westward, a treacherous slide broughtuponba an instant. i scraled up with pain and sha enough -- yet outwardly trying to face it down, as if nothing had happened -- when the roguish grin of one of these young wits entered . there he stood, pointi with his dusky fio the b, and to a poor won (i suppose his ther) in particular, till the tears for the exquisiteness of the fun (so he thought it) worked theelves out at the ers of his poor red eyes, red frony a previous weeping, and soot- inflad, yet twinkling through all with such a joy, snatched out of desolation, that hogarth -- but hogarth has got hialready (hould he ss hi) in the march to finchley, grinning at the pye-n -- there he stood, as he stands in the picture, irrevable, as if the jest was to last for ever -- with such a xiof glee, and niof schief, in his rth -- for the grin of a genuine sweep hath absolutely no li it -- that uld have bee, if the honour of a gentlen ght e, to have reined his butt and his ckery till dnight.
i aby theory obdurate to the seductiveness of what are called a fi of teeth. every pair of rosy lips (the ladies st pardon ) is a casket, presubly holding such jewels; but, thinks, they should take leave to &a;a;a;quot;air &a;a;a;quot; theas frugally as possible. the fine lady, or filen, who showtheir teeth, showbones. yet st i fess, that frothe uth of a true sweep a display (even to ostentation) of those white and shining ossifications, strikesas an agreeable anoly in nners, and an allowable piece of foppery. it is, as when
a sable cloud
turns forth her silver lining on the night.
it is like so rean&a;a;lt;bdi&a;a;gt;&a;a;lt;/bdi&a;a;gt;t of gentry not quite extinct; a badge of better days; a hint of nobility -- and, doubtless, uhe obsg darkness and double night of their forlorn disguisent, oftentis lurketh good blood, ale ditions, derived frolost ary, and a lapsed pedigree. the preture appres of these tender victi give but too t, i fear, to destine, and alst infantile abdus; the seeds of civility and truurtesy, so often disible in these young grafts (not otherwise to be ated for) plainly hint at so forced adoptions; ny noble rachels for their children, even in our days, tehe fact; the tales of fairy-spiriting y shadow a lantable verity, and the very of the young montagu be but a solitary instance of good fortune, out of ny irreparable and hopeless defiliations.
in one of the state-beds at arundel castle, a few years sinder a ducal opy -- (that seat of the howards is an object of curiosity to visitors, chiefly for its beds, in which the late duke was especially a oisseur) encircled with curtains of delicatest crion, with starry ets inwoven -- folded between a pair of sheets whiter and softer than the lap where venus lulled asius was dvered by ce, after all thods of search had failed, at noon-day, fast asleep, a lost ey-sweeper. the little creature, having sohow founded his passage ang the intricacies of those lordly eys, by so uure had alighted upon this gnifit chaer; and, tired with his tedious explorations, was uo resist the delicious i to repose, which he there saw exhibited; so, creepiween the sheets very quietly, laid his black head upon the pillow, and slept. like a young howard.
such is the at given to the visitors at the castle. -- but i ot help seeng to perceive a firtion of what i have just hi in this story. a high instinct was at work in the case, or i astaken. is it probable that a poor child of that description, with whatever weariness he ght be visited, would have ventured, under such a penalty, as he would be taught to expect, to uhe sheets of a dukes bed, and deliberately to lay hielf dowween the when the rug, or the carpet, presented an obviouuch, still far above his pretension -- is this probable, i would ask, if the great power of nature, which i tend for, had not been ed within hi proting to the adventure? doubtless this young noblen (for suchnd sgivesthat he st be) was allured by so ry, not aunting to full sciousness, of his dition in infancy, when be was used to be lapt by his ther, or his nurse, in just such sheets as he there found, into which he was now but creeping back as into his proper inabula, aing-place. -- by no other theory, than by this se of a pre-existent state (as i y call it),i explain a deed so venturous, and, indeed, any other syste so inrous, in this tender, but unseasonable sleeper.
my pleasant friend jewhite was so iressed with a belief of tarphoses like this frequently taking place, that in so sort to reverse the wrongs of fortune in these pelings, he instituted an annual feast of ey-sweepers, at which it was his pleasure to officiate as host and waiter. it was a sole supper held in sthfield, upon the yearly return of the fair of st. bartholow. cards were issued a week before to the ster-sweeps in and about the tropolis, fining the invitation to their younger fry. now and then an elderly stripling would get in ang us, and be good-naturedly wi; but our in body were infantry. one unfortunate wight, indeed, who, relying upon his dusky suit, had intruded hielf into our party, but by tokens rovidentially dvered in ti to be no ey.sweeper (all is not soot which looks so), was quoited out of the preseh universal indignation, as not having on the wedding garnt; but in general the greatest harny prevailed. the place chosen was a ve spot ang the pens, at the north side of the fair, not so far distant as to be iervious to the agreeable hub-hub of that vanity; but rete enough not to be obvious to the interruption of every gaping spectator in it. the guests asseled about seven. in those little teorary parlours three tables were spread with napery, not so fine as substantial, and at every board a ely hostess presided with her pan of hissing sausages. the nostrils of the young rogues dilated at the savour. jas white, as head waiter, had charge of the first table; and self, with our trusty panion bigod, ordinarily nistered to the other two. there was claering and jostling, you y he sure, who should get at the first table -- for rochester in his ddest dayuld not have dohe huurs of the se with re spirit thanfriend. after so general expression of thanks for the honour the pany had done hi his inaugural cereny was to clasp the greasy waist of old da ursula (the fattest of the three), that sto and fretting, half-blessing, half-cursing &a;a;a;quot;the gentlen,&a;a;a;quot; and irint upon her chaste lips a tender salute, whereat the universal host would set up a shout that tore the cave, while hundreds of grinnih startled the night with their brightness. o it leasure to see the sable younkers li the u, with his re unctuous sayings -- how he would fit the tit bits to the puny uths, reserving the lengthier links for the seniors -- how he would intercept a rsel even in the jaws of so young desperado, declaring it &a;a;a;quot;st to the pan again to be browned, for it was not fit fentleing&a;a;a;quot; -- how he would reend this slice of white bread, or that piece of kissing-crust, to a tender juvenile, advising theall to have a caretheir teeth, which were their best patriny, how genteelly he would deal about the sll ale, as if it were wine, nang the brewer, and protesting, if it were not good, he should lose their ; with a special reendation to wipe the lip before drinking. then we had our toasts -- &a;a;a;quot; the king,&a;a;a;quot; -- the &a;a;a;quot;cloth,&a;a;a;quot; -- which, whether they uood or not, was equally diverting and flattering; -- and for a iint, whiever failed, &a;a;a;quot;may the brush supersede the laurel!&a;a;a;quot; all these, and fifty other fancies, which were rather felt than prehended by his guests, would he utter, standing upon tables, and prefag every se with a &a;a;a;quot;gentlen, giveleave to propose so and so,&a;a;a;quot; which rodigious fort to those young orphans; every now and then st&a;a;lt;big&a;a;gt;.&a;a;lt;/big&a;a;gt;uffing into his uth (for it did not do to be squeash on these oasions) indiscrinate pieces of those reeking sausages, which pleased theghtily, and was the savouriest part, you y believe, of the eai.
golden lads and lasses st,
as ey-sweepers, e to dust -
jas white is extinct, and with hithese suppers have long ceased. he carried away with hihalf the fun of the world when he died -- ofworld at least. his old ts look for hiang the pens; and, ssing hi reproach the altered feast of st. bartholow, and the glory of sthfield departed for ever.
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