Ay struggld longe and harde to wryte a poesy to Evianne and sweated oute th'intencioun in th'attempt, and at the last tossd the dampened pages i'th' grate where they wyll doubtless moulder until some clementer weathere come Onne. What usually forceth a manne to sette down hys feelynges in Rhyme I knawe nat but one thyng is certeyn: it is the hande of the D---- when one hath litel enough of inspiracioun. I rang'd and drifted aboute Hackneye solicitynge myselfe into some ineffable State, apoplexied by poetic Introversions, and drinkynge a deal of rede wyne whych is available chepe and cut wyth formaldehyde at my Local Shoppe. Oh, Evianne, koude I vacuum-packe my herte I shoulde send it thee - take that Comfourt, for Thy poesy shalle have to wayte.
I feare the first reason for the inaptitvde and heartelessnesse of all my Imagery and Conceits to be the Circumstances in whych I have spent the past days. Havynge mette the Girle under clandestine condiciouns once or Twyce, the better t'evade the attenciouns of her father R. Hyndemarshe who whilst remaynyng generally benygn demands constantly that I marrye her, I have continued my Eternal dealynges with the publick servyces and wag'd grimme War on those who woulde Diminish or other-wise undo my Persoun. I have tried to deliver Justice. I have met wyth scenes too unspeakable to relate in polite company. I menciound to an inquisityve reader that the business of the Ratte woulde be brought to a Close and I undertake nowe to sette downe what remains to tell of the miserable Lyfe and Tymes of that Entity who - Thank G--! - subverts my Hovel no longer. To begin:
-Ile teare out youre basal ganglion howled the Poste-Man as he struggld furiously in the bonds I had fastend him inne.
-Silence, oafe! I strucke himme wyth a telephone. Thy postal Methods are oute-dated in this tremendous Age of electrick transfer! Thy tongue will shrivell issueless between thy chekes as the older methods of Communication are fazed oute one after another by the Electrick Godde. May postage stamps seal thy furry mouthe when finally thou art "Consignia'd " to the grounde, and fountaine pennes leake in the breaste-pockete of thy gravecloathes! No quarter is gi'en by the rampaging armies of Progress to the man who abjures Newer and need I adde Better Things - and suche men are theire lawful preye, strugglyng helpless & exposed in the snaily mucous of Obsolescence! I thwackd himme wyth a quille.
NOTE: As the reader wyll infer I was quite taken wyth Progress at thys pointe. It is the lot of a man who has suffered a temporal Transplant to occasionally be o'erwhelmed by a desire to see hys peculiar Fortune vindicated, and he will seleckt some aspeckt of his present Environment to extol above all things in a deranged attempt on Happiness. In this Instaunce it was the numerous advances in Communications and I.T. that seemd to represent the epitome of goodness in the world in whych I finde myselfe. Synce now I am recoverd from that Phrenzie I would lyke to state my unequivocall dis-agreement wyth many of the sentiments therein expressd although expressd they were and admirably - my rhetorick does tend to sharpen uppe at these times I mvst admit.
I hadde kidnapp'd the Poste-Mann for one particular reason and one reasone alone. I hadde to acquire a certeyn letter that was beynge sente to another house in my strete, and wayted in the shadowes of the Mornyng for the merry fellowe to come by on hys bicycle. At hys arrival I stucke a rollynge-pinn in amonst the spokes whereat he Crashed Downe and turnd on me fumynge.
-Stop where you stand, I orderd from behynd a wheelybin.
-Ile turne youre skinne into Manila envelopes! He bellowed, tearyng the bin from its wheeles. Why!? He cryd in a pitiful but not un-demented voix, face upturned t'adress the Heavens and his bothe handes rubbing an Injured knee. Why must the Youthe fight the Publick Servyces as if they were merely another Gang but dressed in Royal Blue? Thou'rt what a better age woulde have calld a whippersnapper and treated as suche but nowe -
He broke off startled, seeynge I was a full-growne Manne. I stoode up to drinke off the cock-taile of incadescent rage and well-meanyng social commentary, lookynge at him squarely and puttynge my handes on my hippes. He rapidly dried his shameful Eyes and Lung'd for me; I sydestepped and he drove his bald hede right into the Fire Escape which must have hurte Plentifully. Unable to extract informations from hys unconscious corse I thoughte it expediente to dragge Postman Bike and Letter-Sacke all downe into the cellar where I locked them all save the Sacke; I tooke thatte upstaires and began goyng through't.
I examind th'adresses. Mrs Pepperpot, Simon Magus, Ummar Chowdhury, Francine LeBeouf, John-Paul Telliaci, Peter Stone, Mrs Ulysses Karpeles, Ali Murgh, Nikolai Lobachevsky, William Dorling, none of these were the one. I putte themm backe in the sacke, nervous. I was lookynge for my neighbours letteres and Postman Patte woulde be backe on the Warpath in a few moments. Aha! Here it was, Miriam Thrang. Quickly I restord order to the Bag and went down to the cellar carrynge some leftovers for my Prisouner, at whyche pointe we had the exchange above detailed. He went on to threaten other deeply intimate parts of my body but as we shared some cold ox we fell to Talkyng and eventually got onne rather welle. I agreed it hadde been a terrible mistake, accidentally to have kidnappd hym and that I was surely only the product of a Society Too Wretched to care for its historical record of excellence and being an ignorant young 'un I didn't thynk of the feelynges of Society At Large enow. Gratified by the chance to take the Moral Lawe into his owne Handes and relieved not to have been Murderd he told me I shouldnt doe it agayn, and thatte I oughte to take care of his rounde if ever he shoulde fancy a daye off. I told hym I shoulde be gladd to take up that poste now, at whyche we exchangd cloathes, and at the door-step I restord the Bicycle to hym before I parted ways with that estimable Ambassador of Right-thinkingness and Conservative Zeal. Finally, dressed in full Postal garb, I whizzed upstaires to planne my next move.
The envelope was a letter to my landlady and I fully intended to destroye't as revenge for some certeyn items of Mayle from Evianne that I believd she had quarantin'd for being unsuitable for a single manne. Thys was a note from hire Husband in Scotland, diabolically spelt, and I fed it to my rodent houseguest - whose presence I now explaine. Synce the pest-controuller payd hys second visite duryng thatte fateful nyght with E. Hyndemarshe and her goode Uncle Ballast, I hadde continu'd to suffer from th'ill effects of havyng a Giant Ratte at Home. The nincompoop had founde and engagd wyth the Ratte, but hadde not killd it. Nowe I hadde disposd of't myselfe. Here are the reasouns for the pest-controuler's pusillanimity that set me on thys wretched roade,;they were layd oute in a letter whych I reproduce hereinunder:
Mr Nashe,
I, Officer 4, gained access to your house through the Southernmost street door at approximately 11.09 pm and discovered the Category 14 Pest at the lowermost point of the Easternmost cupboard in the Northernmost room of your Flat, which I presumed to be your designated place of rest or 'Bedroom'. I prepared Toxin B in a disposable gas-gun F9 and prepared for fumigation with said disposable armament. I, Officer 4, then proceeded to entice the Pest into a different room for reasons of Health & Safety associated with the use of Toxin B in accommodation areas. The bathroom was the most suitable for this purpose so I managed the Category 14 into said Quarantine and was about to enter for the execution of the fumigation aforementioned with Toxin B and the throwaway gas-gun F9, where I would proceed with interrogation (Good Practice, Good Morale, 2003, 2375.8) and finally to extermination. As I entered the bathroom I observed the Category 14 held open the door for me. When we were in the death-chamber I observed the Category 14 kneeling down and praying to God. I, Officer 4, then wiped my tears with the Cloth Officially for Blood and registered Pity, Level 3.
Looking over the evidence for this case, it is my opinion that the Category 14 Pest in your Flat is none other than the offspring of a member of the Aristocracy and a Giant Rat. As it is a potential Knight of the Realm and future Peer it behoved me, Officer 4 to spare its life in the interests of a fair judgement on it. I leave the matter in your capable hands and I have not informed the newspapers. Although it is quite irregular I, Officer 4, will not be telling my superiors, Pest & Vermin Authority DS9, District Authority NCC-1701, nor Ruling Government P7, about this incident.
If you have any further queries please do not hesitate to direct them to
Officer 4,
Unit 4,
Block 4,
Stratford.
An horrendous messe. I kept the b----- locked up in a cage for the days since that scrupulous blunderhede had spard its lyfe. Its true I oft'n had thought of murderyng it in colde blude but I koude nat, it were too mercilesse a thing to do. Also, I had discoverd that wyth some literature it deemd appropriate to its stacion the Beaste could e'en be pacified, and would merrily make its gentle bede out of 'The Litel Booke of Sartre', 'The Genealogy of Morals' and other Modern Thought it seemd to think quite became it. However, when the laste footnote was chewd up the thing became insatiable in a quest for human blude so I quickly learnd to find bigger and longer bookes including 'Jilly Cooper' of whom I knew not but the blood-sucker devourd hire at the highest of speedes. At one point I had nought but a ten-pounde banknote to give it and it eat it wyth Fervour. It was appeased by the syghte of the Holy Bible and refus'd to eat that and I fancy it ton'd downe some of its more radical Anticks for the benefit of Oure Lord.
It remaind to do twa thynges, and these were they: firste, I hadde to conceal the presence of this unwelcome lodger to any visitor I might have, and secondly I had to get ridd of it somehow, for its appetite grewe by the day and I shoulde soone runne out of bookes. The first was no problem, I took care not to receive any man woman or childe. I kept the Cage in my cupboard whych presently came to reeke of corrupcioun, that even reached my sleepynge nostrils and infested my dremes wyth disgusting images of aristocratick wormes and moles all feastynge on England's Landskip Gardens. As to the seckond, I sought to remove the cage to a Stately Home somewhere and if possible reintroduce its contents to their father (or mother). In order to do thys I simply intended to smuggle the monster oute by nyghte but I hadde nowhere to release't for it would surely wreak havock wherever it went. Part of my quandrary was undone when, several days following the Visit of Off. 4, the story broke in the News-Papers that Lady Coldham had had an illegitimate childe in Ireland, of whych she never spake, and that Lady beyng a particularly pretentious and bloated woman I sett oute to pinne this on her and deflate her (whether or no it were true) and winne increased admiration from Evian as well as a litel lite Fame.
To prepare for my jouneye I drew oute the grete Oaken Cheste from neathe my bed and, setting asyde th'ephemera, caste the ratte into't wyth a merry laugh t'accompany an agreeable interior fantasy of that beast's ultimate Tumble into the Void. I plac'd hard by a deuce volumes of Kant to hem the creature inne and on th'other syde of thys Impermeable barrier I placed some miscellaneous snackes and sandwiches to almsgive wyth sholde the fancy take me, or more likely to consume should I be shiveryng wyth hunger as I usually am whenever I visit my social superiours, who openly deem it a Proser's lotte to be a starvelyng louse, and eke deem it Charity too trivial to give Hospitality to a man so nearly (yet so patently Not) theyre social equal. Then they hyde thys prize curmudgeonliness under the cloke of 'Manners'. Hardnyng my inteciouns dagger in the furnace of those thoughts, I resolvd to leave for Coldham hall forthwyth.
I steppd off the 'Euro-Lynes' and admir'd the depiction of A Woman on the handbill, whose ecstacy at travllyng on 'The National Express' seemd to overflowe from her grateful eye. The halle was a mere 14 myles from the bus-stoppe so I marchd off to'ard it and arrivyd in due course havyng consumed my entire provision and the Ratt was almost runnynge out of Kant it was so Far. When I strode uppe to the gate I encounterd a 'National Trust' bully lordyng It over a small square of grasse from the Impregnable stronghold of a plastick boothe, whyche I kickd over in alarm at his staggeryng hubris. He stoode, brushd himselfe off and welcomd me to Coldham Halle, offerynge me membershippe and a flyer whylste referrynge to 'the Wyfe' and askyng me if I hadde 'little ones' or any interest in a Steame Railway which Ide sooner see annihilated. I explaind I was a deliverymanne, notte a journalyst, and if I myghte be broughte rounde to gyve thys parcel to Lady C in personne, for it were ever suche an illustrious Piece from her London Dealer (As indeed it was), it wolde be very nyce, thank you.
In due corse the greenshirt conduckted me up the staires of th'almighty Pyle and I was introduced into its Guts at a syde-door, oute of the way of other Euro-Lynes passengers, some of whom had dyd on the walke and were beynge brought inne for a washe and a Decent Burial. Soon enough I was carrynge my Cargo of Justice up the fluted and finely-turnd staircases, past th'indoor ziggurat, into and out of quadrangles, mazes, shambleses, small chapels, carpet mosaicks, swimmyng-baths, reconstructions of Pompeii and all th'Aristocratick pomp and splendour of Coldham Hall, whych is a legendary Hall, amongst those who know their Halls. Eventually the labyrynthe vomited us oute onto a tremendous promenade uppe high in the halle where we met wyth the mighty and infinitely weary voice of Lady Coldham demandyng another plate of Veal. My feete and the Greanshirte's trod softly on the red carpett as we approachd the Source.
-Veal! VEAL! she moaned in infinite langour, as she tinkld a bell. My darlyng, veal please.
-The lady is unwelle, explaind the National Trustee, turnyge aboute and leavynge me.
A butler scuttld off to fetch her the Delicacy. I was announced and introducd. The lady Coldham was dressed in gloriously, unspeakably fine cloathes that festooned her skeletal frame. Hoald! I mutterd. The Lady Coldham was legendary for being Gigantick. Either this was not she, or she hadd undergone some apallyng Degeneration.
-M'lady? I inquird.
-Yes? Who are you, she yawned, chewyng her teethe.
-Who I am isn't important yette. You are but a scabbard compard with your former selfe.
-I knowe, I knowe, she mop'd and maundered. I am only a frail litel sticke.
-And I knowe why, I sayd, edgyng to'ard hire. You have gi'en birthe to a ratte.
-A what? I have a Terrible Disease! cryd theLady.
-You - ah, Sorry, I backtrackd.
-A... Ratte?
-Yes, I thoughte you were at the centre of a Scandal.
-A scandal? she grumbld softly.
-Yes, th'illegitemate childe in Eire.
-Oh, A fixion! A fixion to put me oute of the publick eye. As far as they knowe I am oute There wyth him, the poor spectral childe. Now what is thys Ratte? Do sitte downe youre makynge me faynte.
I satte downe in the centre of a chesterfielde, sweatynge, the boxe balancd on my knee and rockynge wyth the ravenous Thynge.
-And what's in the boxe? she askd. Her Attendant drew closer.
-I think it sholde be kept hidden, ma'am.
-Hidden? But it's myne! Ile have't! she cryd in an access of cupidity, grabbynge the casket.
-No, m'lady! I calld but to no avayle, she was diggynge in the shreds of the Gesamtwerke, and ere I koude stoppe hire, the ratte, havynge gnawd through his cage, was begynnyng to consume her from the fingers uppe, and she screamd piteously.
-Oh, Lady Coldham! I rushd to her rescue.
The Attendant tore the Mammal from her ruind arme and turnd on me with a rapier, cryynge
-Assassin! False Deliverer! Stand backe!
And he wounded me in the legge.
-Argh!
By thys tyme the beaste had regroupd and sprang at th'Attendant, sawynge his hede cleane offe wyth razorlyke teethe. I seized the rapier and drove't into the Monstrous Being and it laye twytchyng o'th'flore, rivulets of gore stremeing on the cream carpet.
-Oh L---! cryd my Lady before Swooning.
I coulde not thynke strayghte - she was badly wounded on my accounte and I hadde to make amends. Quickly I put here o'er my shoulder and dashd oute of the halle the beste waye I koude, makynge for the coache-parke where we comandeer'd a cab and drove straighte backe to Hackneye, payynge wyth her neck-lace. Her wasted state was enough to disguise her and I needed not make excuses. I deposited her at Homerton hospital and made my waye home, regrettyng my owne birthe into a worlde where suche perfidious quadrapeds as that Ratte may garner sustenaunce from innocent flesshe.
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