PANTOPRAGMATICS
Cool the wine, Doris. Pour it in the cup,
Simple, unmixed with water. Such dilution
Serves only to wash out the spirit of man.
The doctor, under the attraction of his new acquaintance, had allowed
more time than usual to elapse between his visits to Gryll Grange,
and when he resumed them he was not long without communicating
the metamorphosis of the old Tower, and the singularities of its
inhabitants. They dined well as usual, and drank their wine cool.
_Miss Gryll._ There are many things in what you have told us that excite
my curiosity; but first, what do you suppose is the young gentleman's
religion?
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ From the great liking he seems to have taken to
me, I should think he was of the Church of England, if I did not
rather explain it by our Greek sympathy. At the same time, he kept very
carefully in view that Saint Catharine is a saint of the English Church
Calendar. I imagine there is less of true piety than of an abstract
notion of ideal beauty, even in his devotion to her. But it is so far
satisfactory that he wished to prove his religion, such as it is, to be
within the pale of the Church of England.
_Miss Gryll._ I like the idea of his closing the day with a hymn, sung
in concert by his seven Vestals.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I am glad you think charitably of the damsels.
It is not every lady that would. But I am satisfied they deserve it.
_Mr. Gryll._ I should like to know the young gentleman. I wish you could
manage to bring him here. Should not you like to see him, Morgana?
_Miss Gryll._ Yes, uncle.
_Mr. Gryll._ Try what you can do, doctor. We shall have before long some
poetical and philosophical visitors. That may tempt him to join us.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ It may; but I am not confident. He seems to me
to be indisposed to general society, and to care for nothing but woods,
rivers, and the sea; Greek poetry, Saint Catharine, and the seven
Vestals. However, I will try what can be done.
_Mr. Gryll._ But, doctor, I think he would scarcely have provided such
a spacious dining-room, and so much domestic accommodation, if he had
intended to shut himself up from society altogether. I expect that
some day when you go there you will find a large party. Try if he will
co-operate in the Aristophanic comedy.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ A good idea. That may be something to his mind.
_Miss Gryll._ Talking of comedy, doctor, what has become of Lord
Curryfin, and his lecture on fish.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Why, Lord Michin Malicho,{1} Lord
Facing-both-ways, and two or three other arch-quacks, have taken
to merry-andrewising in a new arena, which they call the Science of
Pantopragmatics, and they have bitten Lord Curryfin into tumbling with
them; but the mania will subside when the weather grows cool; and no
doubt we shall still have him at Thornback Bay, teaching the fishermen
how to know a herring from a halibut.
1 'Marry, this is _miching mallecho_: it means mischief.'
--Hamlet.
_Miss Gryll._ But pray, doctor, what is this new science?
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Why that, Miss Gryll, I cannot well make out.
I have asked several professors of the science, and have got nothing in
return but some fine varieties of rigmarole, of which I can make neither
head nor tail. It seems to be a real art of talking about an imaginary
art of teaching every man his own business. Nothing practical comes of
it, and, indeed, so much the better. It will be at least harmless, as
long as it is like Hamlet's reading, 'words., words, words.' Like most
other science, it resolves itself into lecturing, lecturing, lecturing,
about all sorts of matters, relevant and irrelevant: one enormous bore
prating about jurisprudence, another about statistics, another about
education, and so forth; the _crambe repetita_ of the same rubbish,
which has already been served up 'twiës hot and twiës cold,'{1} at as
many other associations nicknamed scientific.
_Miss Gryll._ Then, doctor, I should think Lord Curryfin's lecture would
be a great relief to the unfortunate audience.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ No doubt more amusing and equally profitable.
Not a fish more would be caught for it, and this will typify the result
of all such scientific talk. I had rather hear a practical cook lecture
on bubble and squeak: no bad emblem of the whole affair.
_Mr. Gryll._ It has been said a man of genius can discourse on anything.
Bubble and squeak seems a limited subject; but in the days of the French
Revolution there was an amusing poem with that title;{2} and there might
be an amusing lecture; especially if it were like the poem, discursive
and emblematical. But men so dismally far gone in the affectation of
earnestness would scarcely relish it.
1 And many a Jacke of Dover hast thou sold,
That hath been twiës hot and twiës cold.
Chaucer: The Coke's Prologue.
2 'Babble and Squeak: a Gallimaufry of British Beef with the
Chopped Cabbage of Gallic Philosophy.' By Huddesford.