Letter and Poem from Betty Brush

Mr E. Elliott

Pozitif house
Sunday nite

Mister Hediter,

i am a pure Sarvent, but as my lords gentleman says who is a bit of a feel-loss over, Sarvents may have highgees as well as other folks, and so i makes bold to send you Mine, which to be sure is none of my own for they all come along with the shock I got out of the volcanneck Battery yesterday Morning — you must no Sir i am Housmad at pozitif House, were the ladys and gentlemen Larns to make pottery by Electrification, which they say is made of thunder and lightening, but this I cant swear to — so bein an induster House parson, I thought to myself, thinks I, it’s a grate pitty and a sham two, that this hear plays they calls the laber Tory should be in such a durt and a mess, so away I gos in the morning airly Determinated to make it a little descent you see and sitch a place — gud lud — what bottels and fialls, and stills for making Gin and Peppermint water with (thinks i my Lady Buzzletown and the rest on em doesn’t come hear for nothing!) and stovs for cooken, and copers for washen, besides all sorts of queer shapt utenshalls beyond my comprehenshin’s — why says i to myself if the gentlefolks Be so fond of such Kind of things, why dont em come into the Kitching and help the sarvents a Bit: — well but i Thought i might as well taist sum of the good things, but when i hopened one of the bottels, behold ye their was nothing at all in it but hair! — and another i veryli belif was a botell of smoak. So thin i gos to tuther end of the rum, and there was a parcil of traufs, like hogtraufs, with large picter plaits a draning — but how shall a pure ignerant kretur lik me express what wunderfool hogtraufs these here be! — for no sooner did i begin to bizzy myself about em then all of a sudding, i dont no how, i was struck with a sort of invizabul stroke, wich I cou’dent see, and Down i fell as flat as a flounder! — Dear Sir, warent It strange? but Smuggins (that’s my lords gentelman) tells me this is the battery they talks so much about — and that this is what larns em to make Werses and Walentins on there sweetarts. Now kind Sir if i could but trust you with a secrit, I would let you no the stat of my art — the tinder pashon as interred my brest, and bein full charged with electrifocation i have given went to my feelins in a poheticle way. i ear you are a kind good gentleman, and therefore hopes you will be so frindly as to give your opinyon so far as to see the wurds is spilt write, tho as i got a bit of gramer at the charrity skool before i went to sarvis i flatters myself it is all write and smuthe in them perticklers, so no More at present from your humble Sarvent Betty brush.

O Thomas1 take pitty on betty
 To but a pure housmade I am,
And let no proud nonsense beset ye
 Tho you’re my Lords Vally desham.

My minds like the streem in cleer whether
 My art is as warm as a dram
They will make a good mixture together
 And Fit for a Vally desham.

There’s myladys made, fine Mrs Budget
 (Yet i cannot think her to blam),
And the houskeeper Jenkins that fidget,
 Cast sheeps eyes at my Vally desham;

But the one is as old as Methusu
 lem, tho she’d be thought like a lam
And tothers so cross she would use you
 As old crab2 does his Vally desham.

Then heed not there wiles — theyre deserving
 They love you they say — tis a cram — 
Sitch folks isn’t worth your beleiving
 My own darling Vally desham!

Of Lovers i’ve full half a dozen
 But Harry, Dick, Jim, Will and Sam
And even John Coachman, I’d cozen
 For the sake of my Vally de Sham


  1. Note a beeny — nobody dont take the liberty to call him Thomas — its always Mister Smuggins — but i put it so hear, because they say its more poheticle and effectionit.  

  2. That’s a name we Sarwents have for a sartin Parson but I musent tell tails.