meant to say, "Breakfast is ready, sir; all
ready, sir." But the most comic specimen is
a colloquy between a native and a foreigner,
both versed in this style of conversation.
Shortly after my reaching Macao, I walked
out one morning with an American who had
been sometime resident there. We rambled
into the Chinese bazaar and got into a shoe-
maker's shop. The conversation, with
explanation in pillory, is as follows:
Foreigner.—Chin-chin C.—Ah chin-chin, tai- F.—How do you do
Horrid trash this. But, versed in it, the CANTON-ENGLISH. QUEEN'S ENGLISH.
fookkee?
Chinaman.—Belly well,
belly well. Chin-chin:
whafo my no hab see
taipan sot langim?
F.—My wanchee wun
pay soo belly soon. Spose
fookkee too muchee pigeon:
no can maykee.
C.—Cando cando:
whafo no can: no cazion
feeloo: my sabbee belly
well: can fixee alla popa.
F.—Wanchee maykee
numba wun ledda: feeloo
no hab eulop ledda?
C.—No cazion feeloo.
Can skure hab numba wun
popa ledda.
F.—Patchee wun piece
sulek insigh alla popa:
wanchee finis chopchop:
can do?
C.—Can see, can sabtee:
skure you day afoo
mollo: taipan can sen wun
piece cooly come my sop
look see.
F.—(seeing a woman in
the back part of the shop).
—High ya, fookkee: my
see insigh wun piece wifoo.
Dat you wifoo? My no
sabbee fookkee hab catchee
wifoo. Tooloo?
C.—So fashion tooloo.
Beefo tim wun moon,
countee alla popa day, my
catch dat piece wifoo.
F.—My chin-chin you,
fookkee. Chin-chin.
pan, chin-chin.
John Chinaman?
C.—Quite well, thank
you, sir. How is it that I
have not had the honour of
seeing you for so long?
F.—I want a pair of
shoes soon. But I fear
you are too busy to make
them for me now.
C.—Most certainly I
can. Why not? Don't
be afraid of that. I am
sure I can make them all
right.
F.—I want a pair made
of the best leather; but
perhaps you are out of
European leather?
C.—Don't be afraid of
that. I can guarantee the
leather to be the very best.
F.—Well, line them
with silk nicely. I want
them at once, if you can.
C.—I'll see. I promise
you them the day after to-
morrow. Please, sir, to
send a servant to my shop
for them.
F.—Well, friend, who
is that woman inside there?
Is that your wife? I did
not know you had got
married. Is it so or not?
C.—Yes, sir, quite true.
Last month, on the most
auspicious day I could
select, I married her.
F.—Well, I
congratulate you, friend. Good
morning.
C.—Good day, sir;
good-day.
Canton servants, shroffs, boatmen, and shop-
people think themselves up to the mark in
pure English. Nor can it be otherwise than a
matter of much regret that this gibberish has
been extended to other ports on the coast of
China since they were opened by the treaty
of eighteen hundred and forty-two. When
foreign merchants and supercargoes (formerly
resident at Canton, and accustomed to this
medium of conversation) moved up to Ningpo,
Shanghai, &c., where the natives are able to
pronounce our language more accurately
than the Cantonese, it does not appear that
they took any specific pains to introduce a
reformed vocabulary. But, a very praiseworthy
attempt in this direction was made by the
first appointed consul at Ningpo (the late
Robert Thom, a friend of the Chinese, and a
thorough Chinese scholar); who, as soon as
he entered upon his consular duties, tried to
mend the mischief, and published a cheap
work—a help to Chinese students of the
English language. At first the innovation
introduced by Mr. Thorn bade fair to be
successful among the northern youths in
assisting them to pronounce and speak good
English. But, presently, as the trade in the
north rose in importance and quantity, there
was such an influx of boys, compradores, and
merchants from the south—already versed in,
and proud of, this Canton-English—that the
tide of improvement was turned.
THE METROPOLITAN CATTLE
MARKET.
ONE dry cold moonlight morning, at the special
suggestion of my friend and fellow member
of the Social Agronomicals, Tom Ashstick,—
Tom being a real farmer-grazier,—I, only an
honorary member of the said Association, I
took my place in the North London Railway
for Copenhagen Fields, in company with a fair
load of other passengers, well-clad in
somewhat greasy garments, with blue aprons;
which however they wore, as if in the way
of business. Their unbrushed clothes by no
means tallied with the neat precision of their
conversation; in a word, my fellow-travellers
were London butchers, who, from constant
conversation with lady customers, acquire a
certain conversational refinement, and, from
the hurry of their occupation, a certain curt,
condensed, authoritative style of diction. Our
station was the Caledonian Road, a stone's
throw from the greatest meat-market in the
world.
Now-a-days we go everywhere by railway;
we generally go away by railway, after being
married; and sometimes even to be buried.
When we reached our halting place, the last
droves had taken their appointed places; the
needful dog-barking and man-shouting had
ceased; and we walked through a broad road,
along which a few score of untaxed suburban
butchers' carts, generally carrying six inside,
were furiously careering toward the square
of thirty acres which has superseded old
Smithfield.
As we enter the gate, I cannot help
wondering why the architect, who well planned
this Royal Exchange of Live Stock, did not
take British breeds for his ornamental types.
The mild Short Horn and the savage
Highlander, the obese Leicester, and the lively,
succulent Southdown, instead of the Roman
bulls and Spanish merinoes which now crown
the gate pillars.
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