Some Roundabout Papers | Page 3

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This etext was prepared from the 1908 T.N. Foulis edition by Stephen
Rice, email [email protected]

Some Roundabout Papers

ON SOME CARP AT SANS SOUCI

We have lately made the acquaintance of an old lady of ninety, who has
passed the last twenty-five years of her old life in a great metropolitan
establishment, the workhouse, namely, of the parish of Saint Lazarus.
Stay -- twenty-three or four years ago, she came out once, and thought
to earn a little money by hop- picking; but being overworked, and
having to lie out at night, she got a palsy which has incapacitated her
from all further labour, and has caused her poor old limbs to shake ever
since.
An illustration of that dismal proverb which tells us how poverty makes

us acquainted with strange bed-fellows, this poor old shaking body has
to lay herself down every night in her workhouse bed by the side of
some other old woman with whom she may or may not agree. She
herself can't be a very pleasant bed-fellow, poor thing! with her shaking
old limbs and cold feet. She lies awake a deal of the night, to be sure,
not thinking of happy old times, for hers never were happy; but
sleepless with aches, and agues, and rheumatism of old age. "The
gentleman gave me brandy-and- water," she said, her old voice shaking
with rapture at the thought. I never had a great love for Queen Charlotte,
but I like her better now from what this old lady told me. The Queen,
who loved snuff herself, has left a legacy of snuff to certain poorhouses;
and, in her watchful nights, this old woman takes a pinch of Queen
Charlotte's snuff, "and it do comfort me, sir, that it do!" Pulveris exigui
munus. Here is a forlorn aged creature, shaking with palsy, with no
soul among the great struggling multitude of mankind to care for her,
not quite trampled out of life, but past and forgotten in the rush, made a
little happy, and soothed in her hours of unrest by this penny legacy.
Let me think as I write. (The next month's sermon, thank goodness! is
safe to press.) This discourse will appear at the season when I have read
that wassail-bowls make their appearance; at the season of pantomime,
turkey and sausages, plum-puddings, jollifications for schoolboys;
Christmas bills, and reminiscences more or less sad and sweet for
elders. If we oldsters are not merry, we shall be having a semblance of
merriment. We shall see the young folks laughing round the holly-bush.
We shall pass the bottle round cosily as we sit by the fire. That old
thing will have a sort of festival too. Beef, beer, and pudding will be
served to her for that day also. Christmas falls on a Thursday. Friday is
the workhouse day for coming out. Mary, remember that old Goody
Twoshoes has her invitation for Friday, 26th December! Ninety is she,
poor old soul? Ah! what a bonny face to catch under a mistletoe! "Yes,
ninety, sir," she says, "and my mother was a hundred, and my
grandmother was a hundred and two."
Herself ninety, her mother a hundred, her grandmother a hundred and
two? What a queer calculation!
Ninety! Very good, granny: you were born, then, in 1772.
Your mother, we will say, was twenty-seven when you were born, and
was born therefore in 1745.

Your grandmother was thirty-five when her daughter was born, and
was born therefore in 1710.
We will begin with the present granny first. My good old creature, you
can't of course remember, but that little gentleman for whom you
mother was laundress in the Temple was the ingenious Mr Goldsmith,
author of a "History of England," the "Vicar of Wakefield," and many
diverting pieces. You were brought almost