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Updated: June 5, 2025
'Yes, hand you'd 'ave the place heaten hup with lazy, dirty, thieving beggars hif hit wasn't for me. Hi told your brother when 'e sent me hover. Says 'e, 'My brother his too heasy, han' needs some un to see that 'e hisn't himposed hupon. Says hi, 'Wen hi'm hunable to do my duty, hi've honly to return 'ome to Hingland.
Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen, if there's anybody in this 'ere haudience wants to know wot's the matter with Hingland, I'm 'ere prepared to state, sir, that there ain't one bloomin' thing the matter with 'er!" Chairman, I think it's 'igh time we were 'earin' just a little about that country that's made us all wot we are!"
'As we don't want to get knocked on the 'ed, we clears out of Berlin as soon as we can whiles we're safe and once more embarks on our gallint ship' and after a few more turns of the 'andle we finds ourselves back once more in Merry Hingland, where we see the inside of a blacksmith's shop with a lot of half-starved women making iron chains. They work seventy hours a week for seven shillings.
The passengers consisted of six Englishmen, and they had been continually grumbling about the slow time that was being made by the stages, saying that the farther they got East the slower they went. "These blarsted 'eathens don't know hanything habout staging, hany-'ow," remarked one of them. "Blarst me bloody heyes! they cawn't stage in this country as we do in Hingland, you know," said another.
I see him a wee while after he got back to Hingland; and he tell me what he had to go through, and my hown brother as well; for Jim, that be my brother's name, was with the tribe as took 'im up the counthry. None o' yez iver heerd o' cruelties like they 'ad to put up with. Death in any way would be aisy compared to what they 'ad to hendure. Poor Jim! I suppose he's dead long ago.
If I must go under alive, it shall be under water, like a Christyun. If I could swim, I'd start right off for Hold Hingland as soon as we get to yonder shore." The boy slaves were alike inspired with hope and joy at the distant view. The sea was still too far off to be reached that night, and the douar was pitched about five miles from the shore.
And his old imported hat And his time worn black cravat, Any one could tell that He's the Dean. He is "furnist" this country, Is the Dean, "It's nothing like old Hingland," Says the Dean. In language somewhat torrid, With a countenance quite florid, He says our schools are "orrid," Does the Dean.
But Doane would have America swallow it all just as the Thibetans swallow pastiles made of the excrement of their Dalai Lama. The Bish. evidently has John Bull's trademark branded on the rear elevation of his architecture. So Hingland is growing blawsted tired of our Hawmewikan himpudence. Aw! Vewy likely, don-cherknow.
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