Supplementary Section, E. Umbugology and
Ditchwaterisics
The Pantomime of Life 551
Some Particulars Concerning a Lion 558
Mr. Robert Bolton 563
Familiar Epistle from a Parent to a Child 567
PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLE
ONCE MAYOR OF MUDFOG
MUDFOG is a pleasant town—a remarkably pleasant town—situated in a
charming hollow by the side of a river, from which river, Mudfog derives
an agreeable scent of pitch, tar, coals, and rope-yarn, a roving
population in oilskin hats, a pretty steady influx of drunken bargemen,
and a great many other maritime advantages. There is a good deal of
water about Mudfog, and yet it is not exactly the sort of town for a
watering-place, either. Water is a perverse sort of element at the best
of times, and in Mudfog it is particularly so. In winter, it comes
oozing down the streets and tumbling over the fields,—nay, rushes into
the very cellars and kitchens of the houses, with a lavish prodigality
that might well be dispensed with; but in the hot summer weather it
_will_ dry up, and turn green: and, although green is a very good colour
in its way, especially in grass, still it certainly is not becoming to
water; and it cannot be denied that the beauty of Mudfog is rather
impaired, even by this trifling circumstance. Mudfog is a healthy
place—very healthy;—damp, perhaps, but none the worse for that. It’s
quite a mistake to suppose that damp is unwholesome: plants thrive best
in damp situations, and why shouldn’t men? The inhabitants of Mudfog are
unanimous in asserting that there exists not a finer race of people on
the face of the earth; here we have an indisputable and veracious
contradiction of the vulgar error at once. So, admitting Mudfog to be
damp, we distinctly state that it is salubrious.
The town of Mudfog is extremely picturesque. Limehouse and Ratcliff
Highway are both something like it, but they give you a very faint idea
of Mudfog. There are a great many more public-houses in Mudfog—more than
in Ratcliff Highway and Limehouse put together. The public buildings,
too, are very imposing. We consider the town-hall one of the finest
specimens of shed architecture, extant: it is a combination of the
pig-sty and tea-garden-box orders; and the simplicity of its design is of
surpassing beauty. The idea of placing a large window on one side of the
door, and a small one on the other, is particularly happy. There is a
fine old Doric beauty, too, about the padlock and scraper, which is
strictly in keeping with the general effect.
In this room do the mayor and corporation of Mudfog assemble together in
solemn council for the public weal. Seated on the massive wooden
benches, which, with the table in the centre, form the only furniture of
the whitewashed apartment, the sage men of Mudfog spend hour after hour
in grave deliberation. Here they settle at what hour of the night the
public-houses shall be closed, at what hour of the morning they shall be
permitted to open, how soon it shall be lawful for people to eat their
dinner on church-days, and other great political questions; and
sometimes, long after silence has fallen on the town, and the distant
lights from the shops and houses have ceased to twinkle, like far-off
stars, to the sight of the boatmen on the river, the illumination in the
two unequal-sized windows of the town-hall, warns the inhabitants of
Mudfog that its little body of legislators, like a larger and
better-known body of the same genus, a great deal more noisy, and not a
whit more profound, are patriotically dozing away in company, far into
the night, for their country’s good.
Among this knot of sage and learned men, no one was so eminently
distinguished, during many years, for the quiet modesty of his appearance
and demeanour, as Nicholas Tulrumble, the well-known coal-dealer.
However exciting the subject of discussion, however animated the tone of
the debate, or however warm the personalities exchanged, (and even in
Mudfog we get personal sometimes,) Nicholas Tulrumble was always the
same. To say truth, Nicholas, being an industrious man, and always up
betimes, was apt to fall asleep when a debate began, and to remain asleep
till it was over, when he would wake up very much refreshed, and give his
vote with the greatest complacency. The fact was, that Nicholas
Tulrumble, knowing that everybody there had made up his mind beforehand,
considered the talking as just a long botheration about nothing at all;
and to the present hour it remains a question, whether, on this point at
all events, Nicholas Tulrumble was not pretty near right.
Time, which strews a man’s head with silver, sometimes fills his pockets
with gold. As he gradually performed one good office for Nicholas
Tulrumble, he was obliging enough, not to omit the other. Nicholas began
life in a wooden tenement of four feet square, with a capital of two and
ninepence, and a stock in trade of three bushels and a-half of coals,
exclusive of the large lump which hung, by way of sign-board, outside.
Then he enlarged the shed, and kept a truck; then he left the shed, and
the truck too, and started a donkey and a Mrs. Tulrumble; then he moved
again and set up a cart; the cart was soon afterwards exchanged for a
waggon; and so he went on like his great predecessor Whittington—only
without a cat for a partner—increasing in wealth and fame, until at last
he gave up business altogether, and retired with Mrs. Tulrumble and
family to Mudfog Hall, which he had himself erected, on something which
he attempted to delude himself into the belief was a hill, about a
quarter of a mile distant from the town of Mudfog.
About this time, it began to be murmured in Mudfog that Nicholas
Tulrumble was growing vain and haughty; that prosperity and success had
corrupted the simplicity of his manners, and tainted the natural goodness
of his heart; in short, that he was setting up for a public character,
and a great gentleman, and affected to look down upon his old companions
with compassion and contempt. Whether these reports were at the time
well-founded, or not, certain it is that Mrs. Tulrumble very shortly
afterwards started a four-wheel chaise, driven by a tall postilion in a
yellow cap,—that Mr. Tulrumble junior took to smoking cigars, and calling
the footman a ‘feller,’—and that Mr. Tulrumble from that time forth, was
no more seen in his old seat in the chimney-corner of the Lighterman’s
Arms at night. This looked bad; but, more than this, it began to be
observed that Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble attended the corporation meetings
more frequently than heretofore; and he no longer went to sleep as he had
done for so many years, but propped his eyelids open with his two
forefingers; that he read the newspapers by himself at home; and that he
was in the habit of indulging abroad in distant and mysterious allusions
to ‘masses of people,’ and ‘the property of the country,’ and ‘productive
power,’ and ‘the monied interest:’ all of which denoted and proved that
Nicholas Tulrumble was either mad, or worse; and it puzzled the good
people of Mudfog amazingly.
At length, about the middle of the month of October, Mr. Tulrumble and
family went up to London; the middle of October being, as Mrs. Tulrumble
informed her acquaintance in Mudfog, the very height of the fashionable
season.
Somehow or other, just about this time, despite the health-preserving air
of Mudfog, the Mayor died. It was a most extraordinary circumstance; he
had lived in Mudfog for eighty-five years. The corporation didn’t
understand it at all; indeed it was with great difficulty that one old
gentleman, who was a great stickler for forms, was dissuaded from
proposing a vote of censure on such unaccountable conduct. Strange as it
was, however, die he did, without taking the slightest notice of the
corporation; and the corporation were imperatively called upon to elect
his successor. So, they met for the purpose; and being very full of
Nicholas Tulrumble just then, and Nicholas Tulrumble being a very
important man, they elected him, and wrote off to London by the very next
post to acquaint Nicholas Tulrumble with his new elevation.
Now, it being November time, and Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble being in the
capital, it fell out that he was present at the Lord Mayor’s show and
dinner, at sight of the glory and splendour whereof, he, Mr. Tulrumble,
was greatly mortified, inasmuch as the reflection would force itself on
his mind, that, had he been born in London instead of in Mudfog, he might
have been a Lord Mayor too, and have patronized the judges, and been
affable to the Lord Chancellor, and friendly with the Premier, and coldly
condescending to the Secretary to the Treasury, and have dined with a
flag behind his back, and done a great many other acts and deeds which
unto Lord Mayors of London peculiarly appertain. The more he thought of
the Lord Mayor, the more enviable a personage he seemed. To be a King
was all very well; but what was the King to the Lord Mayor! When the
King made a speech, everybody knew it was somebody else’s writing;
whereas here was the Lord Mayor, talking away for half an hour-all out of
his own head—amidst the enthusiastic applause of the whole company, while
it was notorious that the King might talk to his parliament till he was
black in the face without getting so much as a single cheer. As all
these reflections passed through the mind of Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble, the
Lord Mayor of London appeared to him the greatest sovereign on the face
of the earth, beating the Emperor of Russia all to nothing, and leaving
the Great Mogul immeasurably behind.
Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble was pondering over these things, and inwardly
cursing the fate which had pitched his coal-shed in Mudfog, when the
letter of the corporation was put into his hand. A crimson flush mantled
over his face as he read it, for visions of brightness were already
dancing before his imagination.
‘My dear,’ said Mr. Tulrumble to his wife, ‘they have elected me, Mayor
of Mudfog.’
‘Lor-a-mussy!’ said Mrs. Tulrumble: ‘why what’s become of old Sniggs?’
‘The late Mr. Sniggs, Mrs. Tulrumble,’ said Mr. Tulrumble sharply, for he
by no means approved of the notion of unceremoniously designating a
gentleman who filled the high office of Mayor, as ‘Old Sniggs,’—‘The late
Mr. Sniggs, Mrs. Tulrumble, is dead.’
The communication was very unexpected; but Mrs. Tulrumble only ejaculated
‘Lor-a-mussy!’ once again, as if a Mayor were a mere ordinary Christian,
at which Mr. Tulrumble frowned gloomily.
‘What a pity ’tan’t in London, ain’t it?’ said Mrs. Tulrumble, after a
short pause; ‘what a pity ’tan’t in London, where you might have had a
show.’
‘I _might_ have a show in Mudfog, if I thought proper, I apprehend,’ said
Mr. Tulrumble mysteriously.
‘Lor! so you might, I declare,’ replied Mrs. Tulrumble.
‘And a good one too,’ said Mr. Tulrumble.
‘Delightful!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tulrumble.
‘One which would rather astonish the ignorant people down there,’ said
Mr. Tulrumble.
‘It would kill them with envy,’ said Mrs. Tulrumble.
So it was agreed that his Majesty’s lieges in Mudfog should be astonished
with splendour, and slaughtered with envy, and that such a show should
take place as had never been seen in that town, or in any other town
before,—no, not even in London itself.
On the very next day after the receipt of the letter, down came the tall
postilion in a post-chaise,—not upon one of the horses, but
inside—actually inside the chaise,—and, driving up to the very door of
the town-hall, where the corporation were assembled, delivered a letter,
written by the Lord knows who, and signed by Nicholas Tulrumble, in which
Nicholas said, all through four sides of closely-written, gilt-edged,
hot-pressed, Bath post letter paper, that he responded to the call of his
fellow-townsmen with feelings of heartfelt delight; that he accepted the
arduous office which their confidence had imposed upon him; that they
would never find him shrinking from the discharge of his duty; that he
would endeavour to execute his functions with all that dignity which
their magnitude and importance demanded; and a great deal more to the
same effect. But even this was not all. The tall postilion produced
from his right-hand top-boot, a damp copy of that afternoon’s number of
the county paper; and there, in large type, running the whole length of
the very first column, was a long address from Nicholas Tulrumble to the
inhabitants of Mudfog, in which he said that he cheerfully complied with
their requisition, and, in short, as if to prevent any mistake about the
matter, told them over again what a grand fellow he meant to be, in very
much the same terms as those in which he had already told them all about
the matter in his letter.
The corporation stared at one another very hard at all this, and then
looked as if for explanation to the tall postilion, but as the tall
postilion was intently contemplating the gold tassel on the top of his
yellow cap, and could have afforded no explanation whatever, even if his
thoughts had been entirely disengaged, they contented themselves with
coughing very dubiously, and looking very grave. The tall postilion then
delivered another letter, in which Nicholas Tulrumble informed the
corporation, that he intended repairing to the town-hall, in grand state
and gorgeous procession, on the Monday afternoon next ensuing. At this
the corporation looked still more solemn; but, as the epistle wound up
with a formal invitation to the whole body to dine with the Mayor on that
day, at Mudfog Hall, Mudfog Hill, Mudfog, they began to see the fun of
the thing directly, and sent back their compliments, and they’d be sure
to come.
Now there happened to be in Mudfog, as somehow or other there does happen
to be, in almost every town in the British dominions, and perhaps in
foreign dominions too—we think it very likely, but, being no great
traveller, cannot distinctly say—there happened to be, in Mudfog, a
merry-tempered, pleasant-faced, good-for-nothing sort of vagabond, with
an invincible dislike to manual labour, and an unconquerable attachment
to strong beer and spirits, whom everybody knew, and nobody, except his
wife, took the trouble to quarrel with, who inherited from his ancestors
the appellation of Edward Twigger, and rejoiced in the _sobriquet_ of
Bottle-nosed Ned. He was drunk upon the average once a day, and penitent
upon an equally fair calculation once a month; and when he was penitent,
he was invariably in the very last stage of maudlin intoxication. He was
a ragged, roving, roaring kind of fellow, with a burly form, a sharp wit,
and a ready head, and could turn his hand to anything when he chose to do
it. He was by no means opposed to hard labour on principle, for he would
work away at a cricket-match by the day together,—running, and catching,
and batting, and bowling, and revelling in toil which would exhaust a
galley-slave. He would have been invaluable to a fire-office; never was
a man with such a natural taste for pumping engines, running up ladders,
and throwing furniture out of two-pair-of-stairs’ windows: nor was this
the only element in which he was at home; he was a humane society in
himself, a portable drag, an animated life-preserver, and had saved more
people, in his time, from drowning, than the Plymouth life-boat, or
Captain Manby’s apparatus. With all these qualifications,
notwithstanding his dissipation, Bottle-nosed Ned was a general
favourite; and the authorities of Mudfog, remembering his numerous
services to the population, allowed him in return to get drunk in his own
way, without the fear of stocks, fine, or imprisonment. He had a general
licence, and he showed his sense of the compliment by making the most of
it.
We have been thus particular in describing the character and avocations
of Bottle-nosed Ned, because it enables us to introduce a fact politely,
without hauling it into the reader’s presence with indecent haste by the
head and shoulders, and brings us very naturally to relate, that on the
very same evening on which Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble and family returned to
Mudfog, Mr. Tulrumble’s new secretary, just imported from London, with a
pale face and light whiskers, thrust his head down to the very bottom of
his neckcloth-tie, in at the tap-room door of the Lighterman’s Arms, and
inquiring whether one Ned Twigger was luxuriating within, announced
himself as the bearer of a message from Nicholas Tulrumble, Esquire,
requiring Mr. Twigger’s immediate attendance at the hall, on private and
particular business. It being by no means Mr. Twigger’s interest to
affront the Mayor, he rose from the fireplace with a slight sigh, and
followed the light-whiskered secretary through the dirt and wet of Mudfog
streets, up to Mudfog Hall, without further ado.
Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble was seated in a small cavern with a skylight,
which he called his library, sketching out a plan of the procession on a
large sheet of paper; and into the cavern the secretary ushered Ned
Twigger.
‘Well, Twigger!’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, condescendingly.
There was a time when Twigger would have replied, ‘Well, Nick!’ but that
was in the days of the truck, and a couple of years before the donkey;
so, he only bowed.
‘I want you to go into training, Twigger,’ said Mr. Tulrumble.
‘What for, sir?’ inquired Ned, with a stare.
‘Hush, hush, Twigger!’ said the Mayor. ‘Shut the door, Mr. Jennings.
Look here, Twigger.’
As the Mayor said this, he unlocked a high closet, and disclosed a
complete suit of brass armour, of gigantic dimensions.
‘I want you to wear this next Monday, Twigger,’ said the Mayor.
‘Bless your heart and soul, sir!’ replied Ned, ‘you might as well ask me
to wear a seventy-four pounder, or a cast-iron boiler.’
‘Nonsense, Twigger, nonsense!’ said the Mayor.
‘I couldn’t stand under it, sir,’ said Twigger; ‘it would make mashed
potatoes of me, if I attempted it.’
‘Pooh, pooh, Twigger!’ returned the Mayor. ‘I tell you I have seen it
done with my own eyes, in London, and the man wasn’t half such a man as
you are, either.’
‘I should as soon have thought of a man’s wearing the case of an
eight-day clock to save his linen,’ said Twigger, casting a look of
apprehension at the brass suit.
‘It’s the easiest thing in the world,’ rejoined the Mayor.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Mr. Jennings.
‘When you’re used to it,’ added Ned.
‘You do it by degrees,’ said the Mayor. ‘You would begin with one piece
to-morrow, and two the next day, and so on, till you had got it all on.
Mr. Jennings, give Twigger a glass of rum. Just try the breast-plate,
Twigger. Stay; take another glass of rum first. Help me to lift it, Mr.
Jennings. Stand firm, Twigger! There!—it isn’t half as heavy as it
looks, is it?’
Twigger was a good strong, stout fellow; so, after a great deal of
staggering, he managed to keep himself up, under the breastplate, and
even contrived, with the aid of another glass of rum, to walk about in
it, and the gauntlets into the bargain. He made a trial of the helmet,
but was not equally successful, inasmuch as he tipped over instantly,—an
accident which Mr. Tulrumble clearly demonstrated to be occasioned by his
not having a counteracting weight of brass on his legs.
‘Now, wear that with grace and propriety on Monday next,’ said Tulrumble,
‘and I’ll make your fortune.’
‘I’ll try what I can do, sir,’ said Twigger.
‘It must be kept a profound secret,’ said Tulrumble.
‘Of course, sir,’ replied Twigger.
‘And you must be sober,’ said Tulrumble; ‘perfectly sober.’ Mr. Twigger
at once solemnly pledged himself to be as sober as a judge, and Nicholas
Tulrumble was satisfied, although, had we been Nicholas, we should
certainly have exacted some promise of a more specific nature; inasmuch
as, having attended the Mudfog assizes in the evening more than once, we
can solemnly testify to having seen judges with very strong symptoms of
dinner under their wigs. However, that’s neither here nor there.
The next day, and the day following, and the day after that, Ned Twigger
was securely locked up in the small cavern with the sky-light, hard at
work at the armour. With every additional piece he could manage to stand
upright in, he had an additional glass of rum; and at last, after many
partial suffocations, he contrived to get on the whole suit, and to
stagger up and down the room in it, like an intoxicated effigy from
Westminster Abbey.
Never was man so delighted as Nicholas Tulrumble; never was woman so
charmed as Nicholas Tulrumble’s wife. Here was a sight for the common
people of Mudfog! A live man in brass armour! Why, they would go wild
with wonder!
The day—_the_ Monday—arrived.
If the morning had been made to order, it couldn’t have been better
adapted to the purpose. They never showed a better fog in London on Lord
Mayor’s day, than enwrapped the town of Mudfog on that eventful occasion.
It had risen slowly and surely from the green and stagnant water with the
first light of morning, until it reached a little above the lamp-post
tops; and there it had stopped, with a sleepy, sluggish obstinacy, which
bade defiance to the sun, who had got up very blood-shot about the eyes,
as if he had been at a drinking-party over-night, and was doing his day’s
work with the worst possible grace. The thick damp mist hung over the
town like a huge gauze curtain. All was dim and dismal. The church
steeples had bidden a temporary adieu to the world below; and every
object of lesser importance—houses, barns, hedges, trees, and barges—had
all taken the veil.
The church-clock struck one. A cracked trumpet from the front garden of
Mudfog Hall produced a feeble flourish, as if some asthmatic person had
coughed into it accidentally; the gate flew open, and out came a
gentleman, on a moist-sugar coloured charger, intended to represent a
herald, but bearing a much stronger resemblance to a court-card on
horseback. This was one of the Circus people, who always came down to
Mudfog at that time of the year, and who had been engaged by Nicholas
Tulrumble expressly for the occasion. There was the horse, whisking his
tail about, balancing himself on his hind-legs, and flourishing away with
his fore-feet, in a manner which would have gone to the hearts and souls
of any reasonable crowd. But a Mudfog crowd never was a reasonable one,
and in all probability never will be. Instead of scattering the very fog
with their shouts, as they ought most indubitably to have done, and were
fully intended to do, by Nicholas Tulrumble, they no sooner recognized
the herald, than they began to growl forth the most unqualified
disapprobation at the bare notion of his riding like any other man. If
he had come out on his head indeed, or jumping through a hoop, or flying
through a red-hot drum, or even standing on one leg with his other foot
in his mouth, they might have had something to say to him; but for a
professional gentleman to sit astride in the saddle, with his feet in the
stirrups, was rather too good a joke. So, the herald was a decided
failure, and the crowd hooted with great energy, as he pranced
ingloriously away.
On the procession came. We are afraid to say how many supernumeraries
there were, in striped shirts and black velvet caps, to imitate the
London watermen, or how many base imitations of running-footmen, or how
many banners, which, owing to the heaviness of the atmosphere, could by
no means be prevailed on to display their inscriptions: still less do we
feel disposed to relate how the men who played the wind instruments,
looking up into the sky (we mean the fog) with musical fervour, walked
through pools of water and hillocks of mud, till they covered the
powdered heads of the running-footmen aforesaid with splashes, that
looked curious, but not ornamental; or how the barrel-organ performer put
on the wrong stop, and played one tune while the band played another; or
how the horses, being used to the arena, and not to the streets, would
stand still and dance, instead of going on and prancing;—all of which are
matters which might be dilated upon to great advantage, but which we have
not the least intention of dilating upon, notwithstanding.
Oh! it was a grand and beautiful sight to behold a corporation in glass
coaches, provided at the sole cost and charge of Nicholas Tulrumble,
coming rolling along, like a funeral out of mourning, and to watch the
attempts the corporation made to look great and solemn, when Nicholas
Tulrumble himself, in the four-wheel chaise, with the tall postilion,
rolled out after them, with Mr. Jennings on one side to look like a
chaplain, and a supernumerary on the other, with an old life-guardsman’s
sabre, to imitate the sword-bearer; and to see the tears rolling down the
faces of the mob as they screamed with merriment. This was beautiful!
and so was the appearance of Mrs. Tulrumble and son, as they bowed with
grave dignity out of their coach-window to all the dirty faces that were
laughing around them: but it is not even with this that we have to do,
but with the sudden stopping of the procession at another blast of the
trumpet, whereat, and whereupon, a profound silence ensued, and all eyes
were turned towards Mudfog Hall, in the confident anticipation of some
new wonder.
‘They won’t laugh now, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble.
‘I think not, sir,’ said Mr. Jennings.
‘See how eager they look,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble. ‘Aha! the laugh will
be on our side now; eh, Mr. Jennings?’
‘No doubt of that, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings; and Nicholas Tulrumble, in
a state of pleasurable excitement, stood up in the four-wheel chaise, and
telegraphed gratification to the Mayoress behind.
While all this was going forward, Ned Twigger had descended into the
kitchen of Mudfog Hall for the purpose of indulging the servants with a
private view of the curiosity that was to burst upon the town; and,
somehow or other, the footman was so companionable, and the housemaid so
kind, and the cook so friendly, that he could not resist the offer of the
first-mentioned to sit down and take something—just to drink success to
master in.
So, down Ned Twigger sat himself in his brass livery on the top of the
kitchen-table; and in a mug of something strong, paid for by the
unconscious Nicholas Tulrumble, and provided by the companionable
footman, drank success to the Mayor and his procession; and, as Ned laid
by his helmet to imbibe the something strong, the companionable footman
put it on his own head, to the immeasurable and unrecordable delight of
the cook and housemaid. The companionable footman was very facetious to
Ned, and Ned was very gallant to the cook and housemaid by turns. They
were all very cosy and comfortable; and the something strong went briskly
round.
At last Ned Twigger was loudly called for, by the procession people: and,
having had his helmet fixed on, in a very complicated manner, by the
companionable footman, and the kind housemaid, and the friendly cook, he
walked gravely forth, and appeared before the multitude.
The crowd roared—it was not with wonder, it was not with surprise; it was
most decidedly and unquestionably with laughter.
‘What!’ said Mr. Tulrumble, starting up in the four-wheel chaise.
‘Laughing? If they laugh at a man in real brass armour, they’d laugh
when their own fathers were dying. Why doesn’t he go into his place, Mr.
Jennings? What’s he rolling down towards us for? he has no business
here!’
‘I am afraid, sir—’ faltered Mr. Jennings.
‘Afraid of what, sir?’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, looking up into the
secretary’s face.
‘I am afraid he’s drunk, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings.
Nicholas Tulrumble took one look at the extraordinary figure that was
bearing down upon them; and then, clasping his secretary by the arm,
uttered an audible groan in anguish of spirit.
It is a melancholy fact that Mr. Twigger having full licence to demand a
single glass of rum on the putting on of every piece of the armour, got,
by some means or other, rather out of his calculation in the hurry and
confusion of preparation, and drank about four glasses to a piece instead
of one, not to mention the something strong which went on the top of it.
Whether the brass armour checked the natural flow of perspiration, and
thus prevented the spirit from evaporating, we are not scientific enough
to know; but, whatever the cause was, Mr. Twigger no sooner found himself
outside the gate of Mudfog Hall, than he also found himself in a very
considerable state of intoxication; and hence his extraordinary style of
progressing. This was bad enough, but, as if fate and fortune had
conspired against Nicholas Tulrumble, Mr. Twigger, not having been
penitent for a good calendar month, took it into his head to be most
especially and particularly sentimental, just when his repentance could
have been most conveniently dispensed with. Immense tears were rolling
down his cheeks, and he was vainly endeavouring to conceal his grief by
applying to his eyes a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief with white
spots,—an article not strictly in keeping with a suit of armour some
three hundred years old, or thereabouts.
‘Twigger, you villain!’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, quite forgetting his
dignity, ‘go back.’
‘Never,’ said Ned. ‘I’m a miserable wretch. I’ll never leave you.’
The by-standers of course received this declaration with acclamations of
‘That’s right, Ned; don’t!’
‘I don’t intend it,’ said Ned, with all the obstinacy of a very tipsy
man. ‘I’m very unhappy. I’m the wretched father of an unfortunate
family; but I am very faithful, sir. I’ll never leave you.’ Having
reiterated this obliging promise, Ned proceeded in broken words to
harangue the crowd upon the number of years he had lived in Mudfog, the
excessive respectability of his character, and other topics of the like
nature.
‘Here! will anybody lead him away?’ said Nicholas: ‘if they’ll call on me
afterwards, I’ll reward them well.’
Two or three men stepped forward, with the view of bearing Ned off, when
the secretary interposed.
[Picture: Ned Twigger in the kitchen of Mudfog Hall]
‘Take care! take care!’ said Mr. Jennings. ‘I beg your pardon, sir; but
they’d better not go too near him, because, if he falls over, he’ll
certainly crush somebody.’
At this hint the crowd retired on all sides to a very respectful
distance, and left Ned, like the Duke of Devonshire, in a little circle
of his own.
‘But, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, ‘he’ll be suffocated.’
‘I’m very sorry for it, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings; ‘but nobody can get
that armour off, without his own assistance. I’m quite certain of it
from the way he put it on.’
Here Ned wept dolefully, and shook his helmeted head, in a manner that
might have touched a heart of stone; but the crowd had not hearts of
stone, and they laughed heartily.
‘Dear me, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas, turning pale at the possibility
of Ned’s being smothered in his antique costume—‘Dear me, Mr. Jennings,
can nothing be done with him?’
‘Nothing at all,’ replied Ned, ‘nothing at all. Gentlemen, I’m an
unhappy wretch. I’m a body, gentlemen, in a brass coffin.’ At this
poetical idea of his own conjuring up, Ned cried so much that the people
began to get sympathetic, and to ask what Nicholas Tulrumble meant by
putting a man into such a machine as that; and one individual in a hairy
waistcoat like the top of a trunk, who had previously expressed his
opinion that if Ned hadn’t been a poor man, Nicholas wouldn’t have dared
do it, hinted at the propriety of breaking the four-wheel chaise, or
Nicholas’s head, or both, which last compound proposition the crowd
seemed to consider a very good notion.
It was not acted upon, however, for it had hardly been broached, when Ned
Twigger’s wife made her appearance abruptly in the little circle before
noticed, and Ned no sooner caught a glimpse of her face and form, than
from the mere force of habit he set off towards his home just as fast as
his legs could carry him; and that was not very quick in the present
instance either, for, however ready they might have been to carry _him_,
they couldn’t get on very well under the brass armour. So, Mrs. Twigger
had plenty of time to denounce Nicholas Tulrumble to his face: to express
her opinion that he was a decided monster; and to intimate that, if her
ill-used husband sustained any personal damage from the brass armour, she
would have the law of Nicholas Tulrumble for manslaughter. When she had
said all this with due vehemence, she posted after Ned, who was dragging
himself along as best he could, and deploring his unhappiness in most
dismal tones.
What a wailing and screaming Ned’s children raised when he got home at
last! Mrs. Twigger tried to undo the armour, first in one place, and
then in another, but she couldn’t manage it; so she tumbled Ned into bed,
helmet, armour, gauntlets, and all. Such a creaking as the bedstead
made, under Ned’s weight in his new suit! It didn’t break down though;
and there Ned lay, like the anonymous vessel in the Bay of Biscay, till
next day, drinking barley-water, and looking miserable: and every time he
groaned, his good lady said it served him right, which was all the
consolation Ned Twigger got.
Nicholas Tulrumble and the gorgeous procession went on together to the
town-hall, amid the hisses and groans of all the spectators, who had
suddenly taken it into their heads to consider poor Ned a martyr.
Nicholas was formally installed in his new office, in acknowledgment of
which ceremony he delivered himself of a speech, composed by the
secretary, which was very long, and no doubt very good, only the noise of
the people outside prevented anybody from hearing it, but Nicholas
Tulrumble himself. After which, the procession got back to Mudfog Hall
any how it could; and Nicholas and the corporation sat down to dinner.
But the dinner was flat, and Nicholas was disappointed. They were such
dull sleepy old fellows, that corporation. Nicholas made quite as long
speeches as the Lord Mayor of London had done, nay, he said the very same
things that the Lord Mayor of London had said, and the deuce a cheer the
corporation gave him. There was only one man in the party who was
thoroughly awake; and he was insolent, and called him Nick. Nick! What
would be the consequence, thought Nicholas, of anybody presuming to call
the Lord Mayor of London ‘Nick!’ He should like to know what the
sword-bearer would say to that; or the recorder, or the toast-master, or
any other of the great officers of the city. They’d nick him.
But these were not the worst of Nicholas Tulrumble’s doings. If they had
been, he might have remained a Mayor to this day, and have talked till he
lost his voice. He contracted a relish for statistics, and got
philosophical; and the statistics and the philosophy together, led him
into an act which increased his unpopularity and hastened his downfall.
At the very end of the Mudfog High-street, and abutting on the
river-side, stands the Jolly Boatmen, an old-fashioned low-roofed,
bay-windowed house, with a bar, kitchen, and tap-room all in one, and a
large fireplace with a kettle to correspond, round which the working men
have congregated time out of mind on a winter’s night, refreshed by
draughts of good strong beer, and cheered by the sounds of a fiddle and
tambourine: the Jolly Boatmen having been duly licensed by the Mayor and
corporation, to scrape the fiddle and thumb the tambourine from time,
whereof the memory of the oldest inhabitants goeth not to the contrary.
Now Nicholas Tulrumble had been reading pamphlets on crime, and
parliamentary reports,—or had made the secretary read them to him, which
is the same thing in effect,—and he at once perceived that this fiddle
and tambourine must have done more to demoralize Mudfog, than any other
operating causes that ingenuity could imagine. So he read up for the
subject, and determined to come out on the corporation with a burst, the
very next time the licence was applied for.
The licensing day came, and the red-faced landlord of the Jolly Boatmen
walked into the town-hall, looking as jolly as need be, having actually
put on an extra fiddle for that night, to commemorate the anniversary of
the Jolly Boatmen’s music licence. It was applied for in due form, and
was just about to be granted as a matter of course, when up rose Nicholas
Tulrumble, and drowned the astonished corporation in a torrent of
eloquence. He descanted in glowing terms upon the increasing depravity
of his native town of Mudfog, and the excesses committed by its
population. Then, he related how shocked he had been, to see barrels of
beer sliding down into the cellar of the Jolly Boatmen week after week;
and how he had sat at a window opposite the Jolly Boatmen for two days
together, to count the people who went in for beer between the hours of
twelve and one o’clock alone—which, by-the-bye, was the time at which the
great majority of the Mudfog people dined. Then, he went on to state,
how the number of people who came out with beer-jugs, averaged twenty-one
in five minutes, which, being multiplied by twelve, gave two hundred and
fifty-two people with beer-jugs in an hour, and multiplied again by
fifteen (the number of hours during which the house was open daily)
yielded three thousand seven hundred and eighty people with beer-jugs per
day, or twenty-six thousand four hundred and sixty people with beer-jugs,
per week. Then he proceeded to show that a tambourine and moral
degradation were synonymous terms, and a fiddle and vicious propensities
wholly inseparable. All these arguments he strengthened and demonstrated
by frequent references to a large book with a blue cover, and sundry
quotations from the Middlesex magistrates; and in the end, the
corporation, who were posed with the figures, and sleepy with the speech,
and sadly in want of dinner into the bargain, yielded the palm to
Nicholas Tulrumble, and refused the music licence to the Jolly Boatmen.
But although Nicholas triumphed, his triumph was short. He carried on
the war against beer-jugs and fiddles, forgetting the time when he was
glad to drink out of the one, and to dance to the other, till the people
hated, and his old friends shunned him. He grew tired of the lonely
magnificence of Mudfog Hall, and his heart yearned towards the
Lighterman’s Arms. He wished he had never set up as a public man, and
sighed for the good old times of the coal-shop, and the chimney corner.
At length old Nicholas, being thoroughly miserable, took heart of grace,
paid the secretary a quarter’s wages in advance, and packed him off to
London by the next coach. Having taken this step, he put his hat on his
head, and his pride in his pocket, and walked down to the old room at the
Lighterman’s Arms. There were only two of the old fellows there, and
they looked coldly on Nicholas as he proffered his hand.
‘Are you going to put down pipes, Mr. Tulrumble?’ said one.
‘Or trace the progress of crime to ’bacca?’ growled another.
‘Neither,’ replied Nicholas Tulrumble, shaking hands with them both,
whether they would or not. ‘I’ve come down to say that I’m very sorry
for having made a fool of myself, and that I hope you’ll give me up the
old chair, again.’
The old fellows opened their eyes, and three or four more old fellows
opened the door, to whom Nicholas, with tears in his eyes, thrust out his
hand too, and told the same story. They raised a shout of joy, that made
the bells in the ancient church-tower vibrate again, and wheeling the old
chair into the warm corner, thrust old Nicholas down into it, and ordered
in the very largest-sized bowl of hot punch, with an unlimited number of
pipes, directly.
The next day, the Jolly Boatmen got the licence, and the next night, old
Nicholas and Ned Twigger’s wife led off a dance to the music of the
fiddle and tambourine, the tone of which seemed mightily improved by a
little rest, for they never had played so merrily before. Ned Twigger
was in the very height of his glory, and he danced hornpipes, and
balanced chairs on his chin, and straws on his nose, till the whole
company, including the corporation, were in raptures of admiration at the
brilliancy of his acquirements.
Mr. Tulrumble, junior, couldn’t make up his mind to be anything but
magnificent, so he went up to London and drew bills on his father; and
when he had overdrawn, and got into debt, he grew penitent, and came home
again.
As to old Nicholas, he kept his word, and having had six weeks of public
life, never tried it any more. He went to sleep in the town-hall at the
very next meeting; and, in full proof of his sincerity, has requested us
to write this faithful narrative. We wish it could have the effect of
reminding the Tulrumbles of another sphere, that puffed-up conceit is not
dignity, and that snarling at the little pleasures they were once glad to
enjoy, because they would rather forget the times when they were of lower
station, renders them objects of contempt and ridicule.
This is the first time we have published any of our gleanings from this
particular source. Perhaps, at some future period, we may venture to
open the chronicles of Mudfog.
FULL REPORT OF THE
FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG
ASSOCIATION
FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING
WE have made the most unparalleled and extraordinary exertions to place
before our readers a complete and accurate account of the proceedings at
the late grand meeting of the Mudfog Association, holden in the town of
Mudfog; it affords us great happiness to lay the result before them, in
the shape of various communications received from our able, talented, and
graphic correspondent, expressly sent down for the purpose, who has
immortalized us, himself, Mudfog, and the association, all at one and the
same time. We have been, indeed, for some days unable to determine who
will transmit the greatest name to posterity; ourselves, who sent our
correspondent down; our correspondent, who wrote an account of the
matter; or the association, who gave our correspondent something to write
about. We rather incline to the opinion that we are the greatest man of
the party, inasmuch as the notion of an exclusive and authentic report
originated with us; this may be prejudice: it may arise from a
prepossession on our part in our own favour. Be it so. We have no doubt
that every gentleman concerned in this mighty assemblage is troubled with
the same complaint in a greater or less degree; and it is a consolation
to us to know that we have at least this feeling in common with the great
scientific stars, the brilliant and extraordinary luminaries, whose
speculations we record.
We give our correspondent’s letters in the order in which they reached
us. Any attempt at amalgamating them into one beautiful whole, would
only destroy that glowing tone, that dash of wildness, and rich vein of
picturesque interest, which pervade them throughout.
‘_Mudfog_, _Monday night_, _seven o’clock_.
‘WE are in a state of great excitement here. Nothing is spoken of, but
the approaching meeting of the association. The inn-doors are thronged
with waiters anxiously looking for the expected arrivals; and the
numerous bills which are wafered up in the windows of private houses,
intimating that there are beds to let within, give the streets a very
animated and cheerful appearance, the wafers being of a great variety of
colours, and the monotony of printed inscriptions being relieved by every
possible size and style of hand-writing. It is confidently rumoured that
Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy have engaged three beds and a
sitting-room at the Pig and Tinder-box. I give you the rumour as it has
reached me; but I cannot, as yet, vouch for its accuracy. The moment I
have been enabled to obtain any certain information upon this interesting
point, you may depend upon receiving it.’
‘_Half-past seven_.
I HAVE just returned from a personal interview with the landlord of the
Pig and Tinder-box. He speaks confidently of the probability of
Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy taking up their residence at his house
during the sitting of the association, but denies that the beds have been
yet engaged; in which representation he is confirmed by the chambermaid—a
girl of artless manners, and interesting appearance. The boots denies
that it is at all likely that Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy will put
up here; but I have reason to believe that this man has been suborned by
the proprietor of the Original Pig, which is the opposition hotel.
Amidst such conflicting testimony it is difficult to arrive at the real
truth; but you may depend upon receiving authentic information upon this
point the moment the fact is ascertained. The excitement still
continues. A boy fell through the window of the pastrycook’s shop at the
corner of the High-street about half an hour ago, which has occasioned
much confusion. The general impression is, that it was an accident.
Pray heaven it may prove so!’
‘_Tuesday_, _noon_.
‘AT an early hour this morning the bells of all the churches struck seven
o’clock; the effect of which, in the present lively state of the town,
was extremely singular. While I was at breakfast, a yellow gig, drawn by
a dark grey horse, with a patch of white over his right eyelid, proceeded
at a rapid pace in the direction of the Original Pig stables; it is
currently reported that this gentleman has arrived here for the purpose
of attending the association, and, from what I have heard, I consider it
extremely probable, although nothing decisive is yet known regarding him.
You may conceive the anxiety with which we are all looking forward to the
arrival of the four o’clock coach this afternoon.
‘Notwithstanding the excited state of the populace, no outrage has yet
been committed, owing to the admirable discipline and discretion of the
police, who are nowhere to be seen. A barrel-organ is playing opposite
my window, and groups of people, offering fish and vegetables for sale,
parade the streets. With these exceptions everything is quiet, and I
trust will continue so.’
‘_Five o’clock_.
‘IT is now ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Professors Snore, Doze,
and Wheezy will _not_ repair to the Pig and Tinder-box, but have actually
engaged apartments at the Original Pig. This intelligence is
_exclusive_; and I leave you and your readers to draw their own
inferences from it. Why Professor Wheezy, of all people in the world,
should repair to the Original Pig in preference to the Pig and
Tinder-box, it is not easy to conceive. The professor is a man who
should be above all such petty feelings. Some people here openly impute
treachery, and a distinct breach of faith to Professors Snore and Doze;
while others, again, are disposed to acquit them of any culpability in
the transaction, and to insinuate that the blame rests solely with
Professor Wheezy. I own that I incline to the latter opinion; and
although it gives me great pain to speak in terms of censure or
disapprobation of a man of such transcendent genius and acquirements,
still I am bound to say that, if my suspicions be well founded, and if
all the reports which have reached my ears be true, I really do not well
know what to make of the matter.
‘Mr. Slug, so celebrated for his statistical researches, arrived this
afternoon by the four o’clock stage. His complexion is a dark purple,
and he has a habit of sighing constantly. He looked extremely well, and
appeared in high health and spirits. Mr. Woodensconce also came down in
the same conveyance. The distinguished gentleman was fast asleep on his
arrival, and I am informed by the guard that he had been so the whole
way. He was, no doubt, preparing for his approaching fatigues; but what
gigantic visions must those be that flit through the brain of such a man
when his body is in a state of torpidity!
‘The influx of visitors increases every moment. I am told (I know not
how truly) that two post-chaises have arrived at the Original Pig within
the last half-hour, and I myself observed a wheelbarrow, containing three
carpet bags and a bundle, entering the yard of the Pig and Tinder-box no
longer ago than five minutes since. The people are still quietly
pursuing their ordinary occupations; but there is a wildness in their
eyes, and an unwonted rigidity in the muscles of their countenances,
which shows to the observant spectator that their expectations are
strained to the very utmost pitch. I fear, unless some very
extraordinary arrivals take place to-night, that consequences may arise
from this popular ferment, which every man of sense and feeling would
deplore.’
‘_Twenty minutes past six_.
‘I HAVE just heard that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s window
last night has died of the fright. He was suddenly called upon to pay
three and sixpence for the damage done, and his constitution, it seems,
was not strong enough to bear up against the shock. The inquest, it is
said, will be held to-morrow.’
‘_Three-quarters part seven_.
‘PROFESSORS Muff and Nogo have just driven up to the hotel door; they at
once ordered dinner with great condescension. We are all very much
delighted with the urbanity of their manners, and the ease with which
they adapt themselves to the forms and ceremonies of ordinary life.
Immediately on their arrival they sent for the head waiter, and privately
requested him to purchase a live dog,—as cheap a one as he could meet
with,—and to send him up after dinner, with a pie-board, a knife and
fork, and a clean plate. It is conjectured that some experiments will be
tried upon the dog to-night; if any particulars should transpire, I will
forward them by express.’
‘_Half-past eight_.
‘THE animal has been procured. He is a pug-dog, of rather intelligent
appearance, in good condition, and with very short legs. He has been
tied to a curtain-peg in a dark room, and is howling dreadfully.’
‘_Ten minutes to nine_.
‘THE dog has just been rung for. With an instinct which would appear
almost the result of reason, the sagacious animal seized the waiter by
the calf of the leg when he approached to take him, and made a desperate,
though ineffectual resistance. I have not been able to procure admission
to the apartment occupied by the scientific gentlemen; but, judging from
the sounds which reached my ears when I stood upon the landing-place
outside the door, just now, I should be disposed to say that the dog had
retreated growling beneath some article of furniture, and was keeping the
professors at bay. This conjecture is confirmed by the testimony of the
ostler, who, after peeping through the keyhole, assures me that he
distinctly saw Professor Nogo on his knees, holding forth a small bottle
of prussic acid, to which the animal, who was crouched beneath an
arm-chair, obstinately declined to smell. You cannot imagine the
feverish state of irritation we are in, lest the interests of science
should be sacrificed to the prejudices of a brute creature, who is not
endowed with sufficient sense to foresee the incalculable benefits which
the whole human race may derive from so very slight a concession on his
part.’
‘_Nine o’clock_.
‘THE dog’s tail and ears have been sent down-stairs to be washed; from
which circumstance we infer that the animal is no more. His forelegs
have been delivered to the boots to be brushed, which strengthens the
supposition.’
‘_Half after ten_.
‘MY feelings are so overpowered by what has taken place in the course of
the last hour and a half, that I have scarcely strength to detail the
rapid succession of events which have quite bewildered all those who are
cognizant of their occurrence. It appears that the pug-dog mentioned in
my last was surreptitiously obtained,—stolen, in fact,—by some person
attached to the stable department, from an unmarried lady resident in
this town. Frantic on discovering the loss of her favourite, the lady
rushed distractedly into the street, calling in the most heart-rending
and pathetic manner upon the passengers to restore her, her Augustus,—for
so the deceased was named, in affectionate remembrance of a former lover
of his mistress, to whom he bore a striking personal resemblance, which
renders the circumstances additionally affecting. I am not yet in a
condition to inform you what circumstance induced the bereaved lady to
direct her steps to the hotel which had witnessed the last struggles of
her _protégé_. I can only state that she arrived there, at the very
instant when his detached members were passing through the passage on a
small tray. Her shrieks still reverberate in my ears! I grieve to say
that the expressive features of Professor Muff were much scratched and
lacerated by the injured lady; and that Professor Nogo, besides
sustaining several severe bites, has lost some handfuls of hair from the
same cause. It must be some consolation to these gentlemen to know that
their ardent attachment to scientific pursuits has alone occasioned these
unpleasant consequences; for which the sympathy of a grateful country
will sufficiently reward them. The unfortunate lady remains at the Pig
and Tinder-box, and up to this time is reported in a very precarious
state.
‘I need scarcely tell you that this unlooked-for catastrophe has cast a
damp and gloom upon us in the midst of our exhilaration; natural in any
case, but greatly enhanced in this, by the amiable qualities of the
deceased animal, who appears to have been much and deservedly respected
by the whole of his acquaintance.’
‘_Twelve o’clock_.
‘I TAKE the last opportunity before sealing my parcel to inform you that
the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s window is not dead, as was
universally believed, but alive and well. The report appears to have had
its origin in his mysterious disappearance. He was found half an hour
since on the premises of a sweet-stuff maker, where a raffle had been
announced for a second-hand seal-skin cap and a tambourine; and where—a
sufficient number of members not having been obtained at first—he had
patiently waited until the list was completed. This fortunate discovery
has in some degree restored our gaiety and cheerfulness. It is proposed
to get up a subscription for him without delay.
‘Everybody is nervously anxious to see what to-morrow will bring forth.
If any one should arrive in the course of the night, I have left strict
directions to be called immediately. I should have sat up, indeed, but
the agitating events of this day have been too much for me.
‘No news yet of either of the Professors Snore, Doze, or Wheezy. It is
very strange!’
‘_Wednesday afternoon_.
‘ALL is now over; and, upon one point at least, I am at length enabled to
set the minds of your readers at rest. The three professors arrived at
ten minutes after two o’clock, and, instead of taking up their quarters
at the Original Pig, as it was universally understood in the course of
yesterday that they would assuredly have done, drove straight to the Pig
and Tinder-box, where they threw off the mask at once, and openly
announced their intention of remaining. Professor Wheezy may reconcile
this very extraordinary conduct with _his_ notions of fair and equitable
dealing, but I would recommend Professor Wheezy to be cautious how he
presumes too far upon his well-earned reputation. How such a man as
Professor Snore, or, which is still more extraordinary, such an
individual as Professor Doze, can quietly allow himself to be mixed up
with such proceedings as these, you will naturally inquire. Upon this
head, rumour is silent; I have my speculations, but forbear to give
utterance to them just now.’
‘_Four o’clock_.
‘THE town is filling fast; eighteenpence has been offered for a bed and
refused. Several gentlemen were under the necessity last night of
sleeping in the brick fields, and on the steps of doors, for which they
were taken before the magistrates in a body this morning, and committed
to prison as vagrants for various terms. One of these persons I
understand to be a highly-respectable tinker, of great practical skill,
who had forwarded a paper to the President of Section D. Mechanical
Science, on the construction of pipkins with copper bottoms and
safety-values, of which report speaks highly. The incarceration of this
gentleman is greatly to be regretted, as his absence will preclude any
discussion on the subject.
‘The bills are being taken down in all directions, and lodgings are being
secured on almost any terms. I have heard of fifteen shillings a week
for two rooms, exclusive of coals and attendance, but I can scarcely
believe it. The excitement is dreadful. I was informed this morning
that the civil authorities, apprehensive of some outbreak of popular
feeling, had commanded a recruiting sergeant and two corporals to be
under arms; and that, with the view of not irritating the people
unnecessarily by their presence, they had been requested to take up their
position before daybreak in a turnpike, distant about a quarter of a mile
from the town. The vigour and promptness of these measures cannot be too
highly extolled.
‘Intelligence has just been brought me, that an elderly female, in a
state of inebriety, has declared in the open street her intention to “do”
for Mr. Slug. Some statistical returns compiled by that gentleman,
relative to the consumption of raw spirituous liquors in this place, are
supposed to be the cause of the wretch’s animosity. It is added that
this declaration was loudly cheered by a crowd of persons who had
assembled on the spot; and that one man had the boldness to designate Mr.
Slug aloud by the opprobrious epithet of “Stick-in-the-mud!” It is
earnestly to be hoped that now, when the moment has arrived for their
interference, the magistrates will not shrink from the exercise of that
power which is vested in them by the constitution of our common country.’
‘_Half-past ten_.
‘THE disturbance, I am happy to inform you, has been completely quelled,
and the ringleader taken into custody. She had a pail of cold water
thrown over her, previous to being locked up, and expresses great
contrition and uneasiness. We are all in a fever of anticipation about
to-morrow; but, now that we are within a few hours of the meeting of the
association, and at last enjoy the proud consciousness of having its
illustrious members amongst us, I trust and hope everything may go off
peaceably. I shall send you a full report of to-morrow’s proceedings by
the night coach.’
‘_Eleven o’clock_.
‘I OPEN my letter to say that nothing whatever has occurred since I
folded it up.’
‘_Thursday_.
‘THE sun rose this morning at the usual hour. I did not observe anything
particular in the aspect of the glorious planet, except that he appeared
to me (it might have been a delusion of my heightened fancy) to shine
with more than common brilliancy, and to shed a refulgent lustre upon the
town, such as I had never observed before. This is the more
extraordinary, as the sky was perfectly cloudless, and the atmosphere
peculiarly fine. At half-past nine o’clock the general committee
assembled, with the last year’s president in the chair. The report of
the council was read; and one passage, which stated that the council had
corresponded with no less than three thousand five hundred and
seventy-one persons, (all of whom paid their own postage,) on no fewer
than seven thousand two hundred and forty-three topics, was received with
a degree of enthusiasm which no efforts could suppress. The various
committees and sections having been appointed, and the more formal
business transacted, the great proceedings of the meeting commenced at
eleven o’clock precisely. I had the happiness of occupying a most
eligible position at that time, in
‘SECTION A.—ZOOLOGY AND BOTANY.
GREAT ROOM, PIG AND TINDER-BOX.
_President_—Professor Snore. _Vice-Presidents_—Professors Doze and
Wheezy.
‘The scene at this moment was particularly striking. The sun streamed
through the windows of the apartments, and tinted the whole scene with
its brilliant rays, bringing out in strong relief the noble visages of
the professors and scientific gentlemen, who, some with bald heads, some
with red heads, some with brown heads, some with grey heads, some with
black heads, some with block heads, presented a _coup d’œil_ which no
eye-witness will readily forget. In front of these gentlemen were papers
and inkstands; and round the room, on elevated benches extending as far
as the forms could reach, were assembled a brilliant concourse of those
lovely and elegant women for which Mudfog is justly acknowledged to be
without a rival in the whole world. The contrast between their fair
faces and the dark coats and trousers of the scientific gentlemen I shall
never cease to remember while Memory holds her seat.
‘Time having been allowed for a slight confusion, occasioned by the
falling down of the greater part of the platforms, to subside, the
president called on one of the secretaries to read a communication
entitled, “Some remarks on the industrious fleas, with considerations on
the importance of establishing infant-schools among that numerous class
of society; of directing their industry to useful and practical ends; and
of applying the surplus fruits thereof, towards providing for them a
comfortable and respectable maintenance in their old age.”
‘The author stated, that, having long turned his attention to the moral
and social condition of these interesting animals, he had been induced to
visit an exhibition in Regent-street, London, commonly known by the
designation of “The Industrious Fleas.” He had there seen many fleas,
occupied certainly in various pursuits and avocations, but occupied, he
was bound to add, in a manner which no man of well-regulated mind could
fail to regard with sorrow and regret. One flea, reduced to the level of
a beast of burden, was drawing about a miniature gig, containing a
particularly small effigy of His Grace the Duke of Wellington; while
another was staggering beneath the weight of a golden model of his great
adversary Napoleon Bonaparte. Some, brought up as mountebanks and
ballet-dancers, were performing a figure-dance (he regretted to observe,
that, of the fleas so employed, several were females); others were in
training, in a small card-board box, for pedestrians,—mere sporting
characters—and two were actually engaged in the cold-blooded and
barbarous occupation of duelling; a pursuit from which humanity recoiled
with horror and disgust. He suggested that measures should be
immediately taken to employ the labour of these fleas as part and parcel
of the productive power of the country, which might easily be done by the
establishment among them of infant schools and houses of industry, in
which a system of virtuous education, based upon sound principles, should
be observed, and moral precepts strictly inculcated. He proposed that
every flea who presumed to exhibit, for hire, music, or dancing, or any
species of theatrical entertainment, without a licence, should be
considered a vagabond, and treated accordingly; in which respect he only
placed him upon a level with the rest of mankind. He would further
suggest that their labour should be placed under the control and
regulation of the state, who should set apart from the profits, a fund
for the support of superannuated or disabled fleas, their widows and
orphans. With this view, he proposed that liberal premiums should be
offered for the three best designs for a general almshouse; from which—as
insect architecture was well known to be in a very advanced and perfect
state—we might possibly derive many valuable hints for the improvement of
our metropolitan universities, national galleries, and other public
edifices.
‘THE PRESIDENT wished to be informed how the ingenious gentleman proposed
to open a communication with fleas generally, in the first instance, so
that they might be thoroughly imbued with a sense of the advantages they
must necessarily derive from changing their mode of life, and applying
themselves to honest labour. This appeared to him, the only difficulty.
‘THE AUTHOR submitted that this difficulty was easily overcome, or rather
that there was no difficulty at all in the case. Obviously the course to
be pursued, if Her Majesty’s government could be prevailed upon to take
up the plan, would be, to secure at a remunerative salary the individual
to whom he had alluded as presiding over the exhibition in Regent-street
at the period of his visit. That gentleman would at once be able to put
himself in communication with the mass of the fleas, and to instruct them
in pursuance of some general plan of education, to be sanctioned by
Parliament, until such time as the more intelligent among them were
advanced enough to officiate as teachers to the rest.
‘The President and several members of the section highly complimented the
author of the paper last read, on his most ingenious and important
treatise. It was determined that the subject should be recommended to
the immediate consideration of the council.
‘MR. WIGSBY produced a cauliflower somewhat larger than a
chaise-umbrella, which had been raised by no other artificial means than
the simple application of highly carbonated soda-water as manure. He
explained that by scooping out the head, which would afford a new and
delicious species of nourishment for the poor, a parachute, in principle
something similar to that constructed by M. Garnerin, was at once
obtained; the stalk of course being kept downwards. He added that he was
perfectly willing to make a descent from a height of not less than three
miles and a quarter; and had in fact already proposed the same to the
proprietors of Vauxhall Gardens, who in the handsomest manner at once
consented to his wishes, and appointed an early day next summer for the
undertaking; merely stipulating that the rim of the cauliflower should be
previously broken in three or four places to ensure the safety of the
descent.
‘THE PRESIDENT congratulated the public on the _grand gala_ in store for
them, and warmly eulogised the proprietors of the establishment alluded
to, for their love of science, and regard for the safety of human life,
both of which did them the highest honour.
‘A Member wished to know how many thousand additional lamps the royal
property would be illuminated with, on the night after the descent.
‘MR. WIGSBY replied that the point was not yet finally decided; but he
believed it was proposed, over and above the ordinary illuminations, to
exhibit in various devices eight millions and a-half of additional lamps.
‘The Member expressed himself much gratified with this announcement.
‘MR. BLUNDERUM delighted the section with a most interesting and valuable
paper “on the last moments of the learned pig,” which produced a very
strong impression on the assembly, the account being compiled from the
personal recollections of his favourite attendant. The account stated in
the most emphatic terms that the animal’s name was not Toby, but Solomon;
and distinctly proved that he could have no near relatives in the
profession, as many designing persons had falsely stated, inasmuch as his
father, mother, brothers and sisters, had all fallen victims to the
butcher at different times. An uncle of his indeed, had with very great
labour been traced to a sty in Somers Town; but as he was in a very
infirm state at the time, being afflicted with measles, and shortly
afterwards disappeared, there appeared too much reason to conjecture that
he had been converted into sausages. The disorder of the learned pig was
originally a severe cold, which, being aggravated by excessive trough
indulgence, finally settled upon the lungs, and terminated in a general
decay of the constitution. A melancholy instance of a presentiment
entertained by the animal of his approaching dissolution, was recorded.
After gratifying a numerous and fashionable company with his
performances, in which no falling off whatever was visible, he fixed his
eyes on the biographer, and, turning to the watch which lay on the floor,
and on which he was accustomed to point out the hour, deliberately passed
his snout twice round the dial. In precisely four-and-twenty hours from
that time he had ceased to exist!
‘PROFESSOR WHEEZY inquired whether, previous to his demise, the animal
had expressed, by signs or otherwise, any wishes regarding the disposal
of his little property.
‘MR. BLUNDERUM replied, that, when the biographer took up the pack of
cards at the conclusion of the performance, the animal grunted several
times in a significant manner, and nodding his head as he was accustomed
to do, when gratified. From these gestures it was understood that he
wished the attendant to keep the cards, which he had ever since done. He
had not expressed any wish relative to his watch, which had accordingly
been pawned by the same individual.
‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know whether any Member of the section had ever
seen or conversed with the pig-faced lady, who was reported to have worn
a black velvet mask, and to have taken her meals from a golden trough.
‘After some hesitation a Member replied that the pig-faced lady was his
mother-in-law, and that he trusted the President would not violate the
sanctity of private life.
‘THE PRESIDENT begged pardon. He had considered the pig-faced lady a
public character. Would the honourable member object to state, with a
view to the advancement of science, whether she was in any way connected
with the learned pig?
‘The Member replied in the same low tone, that, as the question appeared
to involve a suspicion that the learned pig might be his half-brother, he
must decline answering it.
‘SECTION B.—ANATOMY AND MEDICINE.
COACH-HOUSE, PIG AND TINDER-BOX.
_President_—Dr. Toorell. _Vice-Presidents_—Professors Muff and Nogo.
‘DR. KUTANKUMAGEN (of Moscow) read to the section a report of a case
which had occurred within his own practice, strikingly illustrative of
the power of medicine, as exemplified in his successful treatment of a
virulent disorder. He had been called in to visit the patient on the 1st
of April, 1837. He was then labouring under symptoms peculiarly alarming
to any medical man. His frame was stout and muscular, his step firm and
elastic, his cheeks plump and red, his voice loud, his appetite good, his
pulse full and round. He was in the constant habit of eating three meals
_per diem_, and of drinking at least one bottle of wine, and one glass of
spirituous liquors diluted with water, in the course of the
four-and-twenty hours. He laughed constantly, and in so hearty a manner
that it was terrible to hear him. By dint of powerful medicine, low
diet, and bleeding, the symptoms in the course of three days perceptibly
decreased. A rigid perseverance in the same course of treatment for only
one week, accompanied with small doses of water-gruel, weak broth, and
barley-water, led to their entire disappearance. In the course of a
month he was sufficiently recovered to be carried down-stairs by two
nurses, and to enjoy an airing in a close carriage, supported by soft
pillows. At the present moment he was restored so far as to walk about,
with the slight assistance of a crutch and a boy. It would perhaps be
gratifying to the section to learn that he ate little, drank little,
slept little, and was never heard to laugh by any accident whatever.
‘DR. W. R. FEE, in complimenting the honourable member upon the
triumphant cure he had effected, begged to ask whether the patient still
bled freely?
‘DR. KUTANKUMAGEN replied in the affirmative.
‘DR. W. R. FEE.—And you found that he bled freely during the whole course
of the disorder?
‘DR. KUTANKUMAGEN.—Oh dear, yes; most freely.
‘DR. NEESHAWTS supposed, that if the patient had not submitted to be bled
with great readiness and perseverance, so extraordinary a cure could
never, in fact, have been accomplished. Dr. Kutankumagen rejoined,
certainly not.
‘MR. KNIGHT BELL (M.R.C.S.) exhibited a wax preparation of the interior
of a gentleman who in early life had inadvertently swallowed a door-key.
It was a curious fact that a medical student of dissipated habits, being
present at the _post mortem_ examination, found means to escape
unobserved from the room, with that portion of the coats of the stomach
upon which an exact model of the instrument was distinctly impressed,
with which he hastened to a locksmith of doubtful character, who made a
new key from the pattern so shown to him. With this key the medical
student entered the house of the deceased gentleman, and committed a
burglary to a large amount, for which he was subsequently tried and
executed.
‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know what became of the original key after the
lapse of years. Mr. Knight Bell replied that the gentleman was always
much accustomed to punch, and it was supposed the acid had gradually
devoured it.
‘DR. NEESHAWTS and several of the members were of opinion that the key
must have lain very cold and heavy upon the gentleman’s stomach.
‘MR. KNIGHT BELL believed it did at first. It was worthy of remark,
perhaps, that for some years the gentleman was troubled with a
night-mare, under the influence of which he always imagined himself a
wine-cellar door.
‘PROFESSOR MUFF related a very extraordinary and convincing proof of the
wonderful efficacy of the system of infinitesimal doses, which the
section were doubtless aware was based upon the theory that the very
minutest amount of any given drug, properly dispersed through the human
frame, would be productive of precisely the same result as a very large
dose administered in the usual manner. Thus, the fortieth part of a
grain of calomel was supposed to be equal to a five-grain calomel pill,
and so on in proportion throughout the whole range of medicine. He had
tried the experiment in a curious manner upon a publican who had been
brought into the hospital with a broken head, and was cured upon the
infinitesimal system in the incredibly short space of three months. This
man was a hard drinker. He (Professor Muff) had dispersed three drops of
rum through a bucket of water, and requested the man to drink the whole.
What was the result? Before he had drunk a quart, he was in a state of
beastly intoxication; and five other men were made dead drunk with the
remainder.
‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know whether an infinitesimal dose of soda-water
would have recovered them? Professor Muff replied that the twenty-fifth
part of a teaspoonful, properly administered to each patient, would have
sobered him immediately. The President remarked that this was a most
important discovery, and he hoped the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen
would patronize it immediately.
‘A Member begged to be informed whether it would be possible to
administer—say, the twentieth part of a grain of bread and cheese to all
grown-up paupers, and the fortieth part to children, with the same
satisfying effect as their present allowance.
‘PROFESSOR MUFF was willing to stake his professional reputation on the
perfect adequacy of such a quantity of food to the support of human
life—in workhouses; the addition of the fifteenth part of a grain of
pudding twice a week would render it a high diet.
‘PROFESSOR NOGO called the attention of the section to a very
extraordinary case of animal magnetism. A private watchman, being merely
looked at by the operator from the opposite side of a wide street, was at
once observed to be in a very drowsy and languid state. He was followed
to his box, and being once slightly rubbed on the palms of the hands,
fell into a sound sleep, in which he continued without intermission for
ten hours.
‘SECTION C.—STATISTICS.
HAY-LOFT, ORIGINAL PIG.
_President_—Mr. Woodensconce. _Vice-Presidents_—Mr. Ledbrain and Mr.
Timbered.
‘MR. SLUG stated to the section the result of some calculations he had
made with great difficulty and labour, regarding the state of infant
education among the middle classes of London. He found that, within a
circle of three miles from the Elephant and Castle, the following were
the names and numbers of children’s books principally in circulation:—
‘Jack the Giant-killer 7,943
Ditto and Bean-stalk 8,621
Ditto and Eleven Brothers 2,845
Ditto and Jill 1,998
Total 21,407
‘He found that the proportion of Robinson Crusoes to Philip Quarlls was
as four and a half to one; and that the preponderance of Valentine and
Orsons over Goody Two Shoeses was as three and an eighth of the former to
half a one of the latter; a comparison of Seven Champions with Simple
Simons gave the same result. The ignorance that prevailed, was
lamentable. One child, on being asked whether he would rather be Saint
George of England or a respectable tallow-chandler, instantly replied,
“Taint George of Ingling.” Another, a little boy of eight years old, was
found to be firmly impressed with a belief in the existence of dragons,
and openly stated that it was his intention when he grew up, to rush
forth sword in hand for the deliverance of captive princesses, and the
promiscuous slaughter of giants. Not one child among the number
interrogated had ever heard of Mungo Park,—some inquiring whether he was
at all connected with the black man that swept the crossing; and others
whether he was in any way related to the Regent’s Park. They had not the
slightest conception of the commonest principles of mathematics, and
considered Sindbad the Sailor the most enterprising voyager that the
world had ever produced.
‘A Member strongly deprecating the use of all the other books mentioned,
suggested that Jack and Jill might perhaps be exempted from the general
censure, inasmuch as the hero and heroine, in the very outset of the
tale, were depicted as going _up_ a hill to fetch a pail of water, which
was a laborious and useful occupation,—supposing the family linen was
being washed, for instance.
‘MR. SLUG feared that the moral effect of this passage was more than
counterbalanced by another in a subsequent part of the poem, in which
very gross allusion was made to the mode in which the heroine was
personally chastised by her mother
“‘For laughing at Jack’s disaster;”
besides, the whole work had this one great fault, _it was not true_.
‘THE PRESIDENT complimented the honourable member on the excellent
distinction he had drawn. Several other Members, too, dwelt upon the
immense and urgent necessity of storing the minds of children with
nothing but facts and figures; which process the President very forcibly
remarked, had made them (the section) the men they were.
‘MR. SLUG then stated some curious calculations respecting the dogs’-meat
barrows of London. He found that the total number of small carts and
barrows engaged in dispensing provision to the cats and dogs of the
metropolis was, one thousand seven hundred and forty-three. The average
number of skewers delivered daily with the provender, by each dogs’-meat
cart or barrow, was thirty-six. Now, multiplying the number of skewers
so delivered by the number of barrows, a total of sixty-two thousand
seven hundred and forty-eight skewers daily would be obtained. Allowing
that, of these sixty-two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight skewers,
the odd two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight were accidentally
devoured with the meat, by the most voracious of the animals supplied, it
followed that sixty thousand skewers per day, or the enormous number of
twenty-one millions nine hundred thousand skewers annually, were wasted
in the kennels and dustholes of London; which, if collected and
warehoused, would in ten years’ time afford a mass of timber more than
sufficient for the construction of a first-rate vessel of war for the use
of her Majesty’s navy, to be called “The Royal Skewer,” and to become
under that name the terror of all the enemies of this island.
‘MR. X. LEDBRAIN read a very ingenious communication, from which it
appeared that the total number of legs belonging to the manufacturing
population of one great town in Yorkshire was, in round numbers, forty
thousand, while the total number of chair and stool legs in their houses
was only thirty thousand, which, upon the very favourable average of
three legs to a seat, yielded only ten thousand seats in all. From this
calculation it would appear,—not taking wooden or cork legs into the
account, but allowing two legs to every person,—that ten thousand
individuals (one-half of the whole population) were either destitute of
any rest for their legs at all, or passed the whole of their leisure time
in sitting upon boxes.
‘SECTION D.—MECHANICAL SCIENCE.
COACH-HOUSE, ORIGINAL PIG.
_President_—Mr. Carter. _Vice-Presidents_—Mr. Truck and Mr. Waghorn.
‘PROFESSOR QUEERSPECK exhibited an elegant model of a portable railway,
neatly mounted in a green case, for the waistcoat pocket. By attaching
this beautiful instrument to his boots, any Bank or public-office clerk
could transport himself from his place of residence to his place of
business, at the easy rate of sixty-five miles an hour, which, to
gentlemen of sedentary pursuits, would be an incalculable advantage.
‘THE PRESIDENT was desirous of knowing whether it was necessary to have a
level surface on which the gentleman was to run.
‘PROFESSOR QUEERSPECK explained that City gentlemen would run in trains,
being handcuffed together to prevent confusion or unpleasantness. For
instance, trains would start every morning at eight, nine, and ten
o’clock, from Camden Town, Islington, Camberwell, Hackney, and various
other places in which City gentlemen are accustomed to reside. It would
be necessary to have a level, but he had provided for this difficulty by
proposing that the best line that the circumstances would admit of,
should be taken through the sewers which undermine the streets of the
metropolis, and which, well lighted by jets from the gas pipes which run
immediately above them, would form a pleasant and commodious arcade,
especially in winter-time, when the inconvenient custom of carrying
umbrellas, now so general, could be wholly dispensed with. In reply to
another question, Professor Queerspeck stated that no substitute for the
purposes to which these arcades were at present devoted had yet occurred
to him, but that he hoped no fanciful objection on this head would be
allowed to interfere with so great an undertaking.
‘MR. JOBBA produced a forcing-machine on a novel plan, for bringing
joint-stock railway shares prematurely to a premium. The instrument was
in the form of an elegant gilt weather-glass, of most dazzling
appearance, and was worked behind, by strings, after the manner of a
pantomime trick, the strings being always pulled by the directors of the
company to which the machine belonged. The quicksilver was so
ingeniously placed, that when the acting directors held shares in their
pockets, figures denoting very small expenses and very large returns
appeared upon the glass; but the moment the directors parted with these
pieces of paper, the estimate of needful expenditure suddenly increased
itself to an immense extent, while the statements of certain profits
became reduced in the same proportion. Mr. Jobba stated that the machine
had been in constant requisition for some months past, and he had never
once known it to fail.
‘A Member expressed his opinion that it was extremely neat and pretty.
He wished to know whether it was not liable to accidental derangement?
Mr. Jobba said that the whole machine was undoubtedly liable to be blown
up, but that was the only objection to it.
‘PROFESSOR NOGO arrived from the anatomical section to exhibit a model of
a safety fire-escape, which could be fixed at any time, in less than half
an hour, and by means of which, the youngest or most infirm persons
(successfully resisting the progress of the flames until it was quite
ready) could be preserved if they merely balanced themselves for a few
minutes on the sill of their bedroom window, and got into the escape
without falling into the street. The Professor stated that the number of
boys who had been rescued in the daytime by this machine from houses
which were not on fire, was almost incredible. Not a conflagration had
occurred in the whole of London for many months past to which the escape
had not been carried on the very next day, and put in action before a
concourse of persons.
‘THE PRESIDENT inquired whether there was not some difficulty in
ascertaining which was the top of the machine, and which the bottom, in
cases of pressing emergency.
‘PROFESSOR NOGO explained that of course it could not be expected to act
quite as well when there was a fire, as when there was not a fire; but in
the former case he thought it would be of equal service whether the top
were up or down.’
* * * * *
With the last section our correspondent concludes his most able and
faithful Report, which will never cease to reflect credit upon him for
his scientific attainments, and upon us for our enterprising spirit. It
is needless to take a review of the subjects which have been discussed;
of the mode in which they have been examined; of the great truths which
they have elicited. They are now before the world, and we leave them to
read, to consider, and to profit.
The place of meeting for next year has undergone discussion, and has at
length been decided, regard being had to, and evidence being taken upon,
the goodness of its wines, the supply of its markets, the hospitality of
its inhabitants, and the quality of its hotels. We hope at this next
meeting our correspondent may again be present, and that we may be once
more the means of placing his communications before the world. Until
that period we have been prevailed upon to allow this number of our
Miscellany to be retailed to the public, or wholesaled to the trade,
without any advance upon our usual price.
We have only to add, that the committees are now broken up, and that
Mudfog is once again restored to its accustomed tranquillity,—that
Professors and Members have had balls, and _soirées_, and suppers, and
great mutual complimentations, and have at length dispersed to their
several homes,—whither all good wishes and joys attend them, until next
year!
Signed BOZ.
FULL REPORT OF THE
SECOND MEETING OF THE MUDFOG
ASSOCIATION
FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING
IN October last, we did ourselves the immortal credit of recording, at an
enormous expense, and by dint of exertions unnpralleled in the history of
periodical publication, the proceedings of the Mudfog Association for the
Advancement of Everything, which in that month held its first great
half-yearly meeting, to the wonder and delight of the whole empire. We
announced at the conclusion of that extraordinary and most remarkable
Report, that when the Second Meeting of the Society should take place, we
should be found again at our post, renewing our gigantic and spirited
endeavours, and once more making the world ring with the accuracy,
authenticity, immeasurable superiority, and intense remarkability of our
account of its proceedings. In redemption of this pledge, we caused to
be despatched per steam to Oldcastle (at which place this second meeting
of the Society was held on the 20th instant), the same
superhumanly-endowed gentleman who furnished the former report, and
who,—gifted by nature with transcendent abilities, and furnished by us
with a body of assistants scarcely inferior to himself,—has forwarded a
series of letters, which, for faithfulness of description, power of
language, fervour of thought, happiness of expression, and importance of
subject-matter, have no equal in the epistolary literature of any age or
country. We give this gentleman’s correspondence entire, and in the
order in which it reached our office.
‘_Saloon of Steamer_, _Thursday night_, _half-past eight_.
‘WHEN I left New Burlington Street this evening in the hackney cabriolet,
number four thousand two hundred and eighty-five, I experienced
sensations as novel as they were oppressive. A sense of the importance
of the task I had undertaken, a consciousness that I was leaving London,
and, stranger still, going somewhere else, a feeling of loneliness and a
sensation of jolting, quite bewildered my thoughts, and for a time
rendered me even insensible to the presence of my carpet-bag and hat-box.
I shall ever feel grateful to the driver of a Blackwall omnibus who, by
thrusting the pole of his vehicle through the small door of the
cabriolet, awakened me from a tumult of imaginings that are wholly
indescribable. But of such materials is our imperfect nature composed!
‘I am happy to say that I am the first passenger on board, and shall thus
be enabled to give you an account of all that happens in the order of its
occurrence. The chimney is smoking a good deal, and so are the crew; and
the captain, I am informed, is very drunk in a little house upon deck,
something like a black turnpike. I should infer from all I hear that he
has got the steam up.
‘You will readily guess with what feelings I have just made the discovery
that my berth is in the same closet with those engaged by Professor
Woodensconce, Mr. Slug, and Professor Grime. Professor Woodensconce has
taken the shelf above me, and Mr. Slug and Professor Grime the two
shelves opposite. Their luggage has already arrived. On Mr. Slug’s bed
is a long tin tube of about three inches in diameter, carefully closed at
both ends. What can this contain? Some powerful instrument of a new
construction, doubtless.’
‘_Ten minutes past nine_.