_An interesting communication, from which the reader may learn that
the most important events are not those which absorb the
greatest portion of time in their recital.--Major Snapwell
communicates to Mr. Seymour and the Vicar, his determination to
celebrate the marriage of his nephew by a fête at Osterly
Park.--An antiquarian discussion of grave importance.--An
interview with Ned Hopkins, during which the wit displayed both
cunning and humour.--The Thaumatrope.--Its improved
construction.--Philosophy of its action.--Another optical
toy.--The nature of Optical Spectra illustrated and
explained.--The Spectral Cross of Constantine._
For some time had Major Snapwell been occupied in making arrangements
for an event, which he hailed not only as the accomplishment of his
most ardent wishes, but as the guarantee of his future happiness. We
did not think it right to impart this secret to our readers, until the
period should arrive when, in conformity with the usage of the world,
the subject might be referred to without reserve or impropriety. To
such a period has our history arrived, and we shall therefore at once
communicate the whole story, by relating the substance of a
conversation which took place between Major Snapwell and the Vicar, in
the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, in the library of Overton Lodge.
“Your hand, my dearest friend! your hand, and with it the
congratulations of your heart,” exclaimed the Major, as he approached
Mr. Twaddleton; “our friends here,” added he, as he bowed to Mr. and
Mrs. Seymour, “are already acquainted with the proposed union between
my worthy nephew, Henry Beecham, and the charming Isabella Villers; and
may Heaven shed the dew of its blessing upon them!”
“Amen!” ejaculated the vicar.
“Well, sir, I am most anxious that the ceremony should take place at
Overton, and that you should officiate upon the occasion.”
“Most cheerfully shall I comply with your request; ‘_connubio jungam
stabili_,’ as the immortal poet has it,” was the vicar’s reply.
“I have also to inform you,” continued the major, “that it is my wish
to diffuse a portion of that delight, which this event will impart to
me, over the neighbourhood in which I shall probably pass the days that
may be yet spared to me; listen, therefore, to the plan which I have
devised for carrying this into effect. I design to give a public
entertainment, upon a plan as novel as its scale shall be extensive; it
shall not be a mere blaze of the spirits, but the recreation of the
mind, and the jubilee of reason.”
“An entertainment!” muttered the vicar, whose countenance afforded any
thing but encouragement to such a scheme.
“Ay, vicar; an entertainment which shall be conducted with every regard
to ancient usage, and classical correctness,” said the major, as he
cast a sly glance at Mr. Seymour.
The countenance of the vicar brightened; and he begged his worthy
friend to be more explicit, and to state the nature of his intended
fête.
“You already know that this boy of mine is shortly to conduct Miss
Villers to the temple of Hymen; I would seize that happy occasion for
giving a rural fête, in my park, to the inhabitants of Overton and its
neighbourhood; and, as there are no less than three events which I am
anxious to celebrate, I propose that this same fête shall be continued
through three successive days. On the first shall be commemorated the
providential escape of my nephew from shipwreck; on the second, his
marriage; and on the third, my purchase and occupation of Osterley
Park--What think you of my plan?”
“Why, truly, it would admit of much appropriate pageantry, and the
arrangement is, doubtless, countenanced by classical authority.
Augustus triumphed three days, for the purpose of commemorating three
great events; the first of which was the defeat of the Pannonians and
Dalmatii; the second, the battle of Actium; and the third, the
reduction of Egypt. Then, again, we have the _Ludi Magni_ of the
Romans, and the solemn Athenian feast, _Apaturia_, which lasted during
three days; and above all, the Secular Games, which were continued
through the same period. In the face of such authorities, it would
certainly ill become me to offer any objection; although, as vicar of
the parish, I cannot conscientiously close my eyes against the evils
which might possibly arise from such protracted revelry. I would,
therefore, with submission, propose that the three events to which you
allude, should be celebrated by three distinct festivals on one and the
same day.”
The major saw plainly that the vicar might be made to approve of, or
dissent from, any plan, by the dexterous use of classical authority; he
therefore determined to use it as a talisman for the accomplishment of
his purpose.
“I like your proposition,” replied the major, “but I greatly fear that
you will not be able to support it by any classical authority; and
remember, that every thing must be conducted in the strictest
accordance with ancient usage.”
“I respect your intention,” answered the vicar, “and will immediately
search the writings of Lipsius for a precedent; an author who has
collected fifteen laws of the Roman entertainments; or, perhaps, the
Pandects of Franciscus Modius, who has so ably treated of nuptial
ceremonies, will furnish the desired information.”
Mr. Seymour here interrupted the conversation, by enquiring of the
major the plan of those amusements which he proposed to provide.
“I will convert the elm meadow at Osterley Park into a fair,” replied
the major, “wherein every species of amusement shall be exhibited: I
will engage that vagabond Punch, who, like a snail, travels about the
country with his house at his back, to display his hereditary wit, and
mimic drolleries; tumblers, rope-dancers, conjurors, fire-eaters, and,
in short, the whole merry train of Comus, shall be pressed into our
service. After these exhibitions, the company may weave the mazy dance,
for platforms shall be erected for their accommodation; I will arrange
orchestras for music, and ornamented tents for refreshments. The
vicar,” observed the major, with an arch smile, “shall open the ball
with the bride.”
“Had I numbered a few olympiads less, major, I might not have declined
so flattering a distinction,” replied Mr. Twaddleton, evidently not
displeased with the compliment.
“Find some classical authority for the measure, and let your age
sanction the propriety of my proposal,” said the major.
“Your suggestion merits attention,--let me see--I have it, major.
Socrates learned to dance very late in life, and Cato, with all his
severity of manners, disdained not, at the age of sixty, to practise
it. I will, therefore, comply with your desire, and certainly lead the
bride down the first dance.”
“The canal,” continued the major, “shall, for the first time, float the
proud emblems of British glory on its glassy bosom; and when the shades
of evening fall, my Lilliputian ships shall engage--such cannonading!
such nautical evolutions!! Mr. Seymour.”
“How charming! how very delightful!” exclaimed Louisa and Fanny: “but
pray, papa, do allow Tom to return from school to witness all these
amusements.”
“Fear not,” said the major; “I shall make that a condition; and I trust
your papa will not refuse the request.”
“Certainly not,” replied the father; “I shall be anxious to seize so
favourable an opportunity for explaining to my children the various
tricks they will witness, and the machinery by which the numerous
deceptions will be accomplished; thus shall I convert that which, to
the common eye, will appear as a scene of idle revelry, into a school
of philosophy, and in accordance with my favourite plan, ‘turn sport
into science.’”
“Upon my word, Mr. Seymour, you are a perfect alchymist, and extract
gold from every thing you touch; you have already derived scientific
information from the most miscellaneous and trifling amusements, and
will, no doubt, upon this occasion, convert our very pies and puddings
into instruments of instruction; thus verifying the old adage, ‘that
there is reason in roasting of eggs,’” said the major.
“I perceive that the major is not aware of the philosophy which
suggested that adage,” observed the vicar.
“Nor am I,” said Mr. Seymour, “and therefore pray enlighten us upon
that point.”
“You doubtless know that there is a little air bag at the large end of
every egg, called the _folliculus aeris_, and which, as we are told, is
designed to furnish a supply of air to the growing chick; if,
therefore, an egg be exposed to the temperature of hot embers, this air
will be suddenly expanded, the shell burst, and its contents scattered
into the ashes. To prevent such an occurrence, the careful house-wife
pricks the blunt end of the shell with a needle, so as to allow the
expanded air to escape, and thus to prevent the accident I have just
explained; from which it appears that there is reason, or philosophy,
in roasting an egg.”
“Capital, upon my word!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour.
“Well, but, papa, we have interrupted the major in his delightful
description; he had not concluded the account of his proposed fête,”
said Louisa.
“Pray go on,” cried Fanny: “let me see, where did you leave off? Oh, I
remember, you were interrupted in a temporary tent, which I hope you
intend to decorate with garlands.”
“Leave all that to the vicar, young lady; he will, no doubt, display
his classical taste in the emblematical appointments.”
“I shall terminate the festivities of the day by a grand display of
fire-works; the arrangements of which will necessarily fall under my
own more immediate direction. The vicar,” added the major, “will
perhaps allow me to proclaim him as master of the revels; for he is, as
we all well know, deeply versed in ancient customs, and I am especially
anxious that every department should be conducted with classical taste.”
“I willingly accept the office,” said Mr. Twaddleton, with a gracious
smile, “since there is authority for my acquiescence. The Romans, in
their entertainments, usually appointed a person whom they styled king,
and held responsible upon such occasions. I accept it also, on a
different ground; that my presence may check the enthusiasm of the
people, and restrain the hilarity of the evening within the boundary of
rational decorum.”
“If in the arrangement of your banquet, my assistance can prove of any
service, command me,” said Mrs. Seymour.
“Believe me sincere, my dear madam, when I say, that the kind manner in
which you receive my plan, and offer to promote its execution, affords
me the highest gratification; if I decline your services, it is only
from a fear of usurping the sovereignty of our master of the
ceremonies,” replied the major.
“What! am I to descend into the lower regions, and hold converse with
your ancient Sibyl, the cook? Would you call upon me to marshal the
dishes? Am I, at once, to perform the offices of ‘_Dapifer_,’
‘_Lardrenius_,’ ‘_Magister Coquorum_,’ and ‘_Prægustator_?’” cried the
horrified vicar.
“Have I not declared that every part of my entertainment shall be
strictly classical? and ought not each dish to convey some moral
device, some allegorical design? Are we to feed with as little
discrimination as the dogs that devoured the sacred Apis?”
The knowledge which the reader must have already collected of Mr.
Twaddleton’s character will have satisfied him that, in every action of
his life, he was more or less influenced by the spell of ancient
authority; but we doubt whether he may not yet have to learn the extent
to which the reverend gentleman carried this enthusiasm. We shall,
accordingly, beg to state a few instances, which will serve to
illustrate this circumstance. Be it known, then, that the very first
act which announced the preferment of the Reverend Peter Twaddleton to
the dignity of Vicar of Overton, was not, as some might suppose, an
increased rate of compensation for the tithes; nor was it a rate levied
for the repairs of his house; but the removal of the vane from the
spire of the church, which, as it consisted of a simple cross piece of
iron, seemed to the vicar’s imagination to be wriggling about, without
any consciousness of its ancient origin and dignity. He therefore, at
his own expense, replaced it by the figure of a cock, which he caused
to be duly executed after an authentic model. It will be remembered
that the crowing of the cock warned Peter; for which reason the monks
first placed the figure of that bird on their churches, as an emblem to
call the people to prayers; and, since the image was made to revolve
with the wind, it soon acquired the name of the _weathercock_. With
respect to the arrangement of his table, he displayed an equal
veneration for ancient forms. He perpetuated the use of the wassail
bowl, which was scrupulously prepared with apples and ale, according to
the most orthodox receipt. His mince-pies at Christmas were fabricated
with the same inflexible adherence to ancient authority; he maintained
that the introduction of meat into their composition was a scandalous
heresy; that the choicest productions of the East ought alone to be
admitted, since the custom was originally intended to allegorise the
offerings made by the wise men who came from afar to worship, bringing
_spices_, &c. He was also as critical with respect to the _shape_, as
he was with regard to the _composition_ of these dainty inventions; he
insisted upon the ancient or coffin shape, which he stated to have been
in imitation of the cratch, or manger, wherein the infant Jesus had
lain. His table was, with the same antiquarian correctness, punctually
supplied at Easter with a gammon of bacon; a custom, which would,
perhaps, have been more honoured in the breach than in the observance,
since it was evidently founded on the abhorrence our forefathers
thought proper to express towards the Jews, at the season of
commemorating the resurrection.[61] The idea was in direct opposition
to the liberal sentiments of the vicar, but, being an ancient custom,
he never ventured to question its propriety. In like manner, his
tranquillity would have been sadly disturbed, had Annette ever
forgotten the _pancakes_ on Shrove-Tuesday; for he was decidedly of
opinion that it was a dish which had derived its origin from the
heathen Fornacalia, a festival instituted by Numa,[62] in honour of the
goddess Fornax; and was intended to commemorate the making of bread
before the invention of ovens. Upon the subject of cross-buns he
displayed great profundity; he observed, that the word _bun_ was
derived from _boun_, a species of sacred bread described by Hesychius,
and which was anciently offered to the gods; in support of which
opinion he quoted Julius Pollux and Diogenes Laertius; nor did he
relinquish the subject, until he had ably descanted upon the address
with which heathen customs had been, as it were, naturalized, and
perpetuated as Christian observances. The _boun_, he would say, lost
its idolatrous impurity by receiving the sign of the cross; in the same
manner that Druidical idols, and _stones erect_, by having crosses cut
upon them, continued to receive a justifiable reverence, even as late
as the seventh century.
In short, the extent to which our excellent but eccentric vicar was
carried, on such occasions, can scarcely be credited, except by those
who are acquainted with the extravagant whimsies of a genuine
antiquary. We have never contemplated this part of his character
without congratulating the rising generation at Overton on the
circumstance of the offices of village schoolmaster and vicar of the
parish not having centered in the same individual; for we have not the
shadow of a doubt, so great was his veneration for ancient usages, but
he would have whipped up every child within his jurisdiction, on the
morning of Childermas-day, or that of the Holy Innocents, as we are
informed was the ancient custom, “in order that the memorial of Herod’s
murder of the Innocents might stick the closer.” On the other hand, he
would readily have forgiven any offence had the boy only cited a few
lines from a favourite classic; for often had he been heard to relate
with much satisfaction the well-known story of the Athenian Captives,
whose lives were preserved in Sicily, from their being able to repeat
portions of the dramas of Euripides. Whether, in spite of the censure
and remonstrance of St. Austin, he would have ventured to continue the
half-holiday on a Thursday, it is difficult to say; although the high
antiquity of a custom originally established in honour of Jupiter,
would, doubtless, have produced its influence upon the judgment of the
antiquary.
One more anecdote, and we trust our illustrations of the vicar’s
character will be perfect. The reader will remember, that to Dr.
Doseall, the renowned Esculapius of the village, he had given the title
of _Polyphemus_: this might appear inconsistent with his acknowledged
kindness, and we are therefore bound to state his justification. “Was
it not,” he asked, “a notorious custom in Athens to give nicknames
expressive of personal peculiarities? Do we not learn from
Aristophanes, that the poet Theognis, from the deficient warmth of his
compositions, went by the name of _Snow_? and moreover, did not the
Athenians, as a body, from their passion for news, and their habit of
swallowing open-mouthed the flying rumours of the day, receive the
soubriquet of _Gapers_, just as the London inhabitants of the present
day rejoice in that of _Cockneys_?”
We have thought it right to relate these few anecdotes, in order to
vindicate the propriety of the major’s choice, and to convince the
reader that a better qualified master of the ceremonies could not
possibly have been provided. Having, therefore, paid this homage to the
judgment of the major, and to the antiquarian lore of the vicar, we
shall return to the party, whom we had rather abruptly quitted, and
continue our relation of the conversation which followed.
“So, then, you have determined that the vicar shall superintend the
banquet,” said Mrs. Seymour. “There is, however, one part of the
ceremony which I shall certainly not feel disposed to resign into his
hands, the ordering and disposition of the bridal cakes; the genius of
Gunter shall be invoked to produce one of the most triumphant specimens
of his art.”
“Psha, nonsense! you surely would not countenance that ice-clad
mountain, through whose dark regions the demon of indigestion holds
undisputed sway.”
“Why, zounds, vicar, do you expect me to submit to such vagaries?--a
wedding without a cake!--it cannot be tolerated. I shall next hear of
an English feast without roast-beef,” vociferated the major.
“You shall, doubtless, have your cake; but let it be the true Roman
bride-cake, made after the receipt which Cato has given in his work,
_De Re Rustica_, chapter 121. You must be aware, Mr. Seymour, that the
_mustacea_ of the Romans, the species of cake used at weddings,
consisted of meal, aniseed, cummin, and several other aromatic
ingredients.”
“And do you seriously believe that any of us will swallow such a
medicated farrago?” said the major.
“The unenlightened may, perhaps, refuse it; and should the children
prefer your modern combination, they might stand excused, since
classical inspiration rarely descends upon a boy, until he has
construed a Greek chorus,” observed the vicar.
“Were I to swallow a grain of it,” said Mrs. Seymour, “I verily believe
I should be ill for a week.”
“Mere prejudice, madam; the object of the _mustacea_ was actually to
remove or prevent the indigestion which might be occasioned by eating
too copiously at the marriage entertainment; and it must, I think, be
acknowledged that the compound was better adapted for such a purpose
than the modern bride-cake, to which it gave origin.”
“With respect to the _roast-beef_, to which the major has just
alluded,” continued the vicar, “I shall only observe, that it was not
until the reign of Henry VIII. that it appears to have taken its part
in the formation of our national character.”
“I would beg to enquire to whom the selection and arrangement of the
comic entertainments are to be intrusted. Unless the major should have
already found a competent person, I think I can recommend to his notice
an individual who is eminently qualified for the duties,” said Mr.
Seymour.
“I am, at this moment, in quest of such a director,” said the major.
“Ned Hopkins, then, who has for some time past taken up his abode at
our village alehouse, is the very person, of all others, whom you seek.
I have no doubt that for a trifling consideration he will undertake the
office; and I feel equally confident that he will execute its duties to
your satisfaction.”
“Ned Hopkins!” exclaimed the vicar, with some surprise.
“To be sure; and who better understands the trim of those itinerant
sons of Comus? Was not his father a mountebank doctor, and a professor
of the art of legerdemain?”
“I value not Ned Hopkins the less on that account; the immortal Virgil
was the son of a servant, or assistant, to a wandering astrologer, or
‘Medicus Magus,’ as Juvenal has it; and the mother of Euripides was a
cabbage-woman, for which Aristophanes so unjustifiably ridicules him.
But my dislike to Ned Hopkins is founded upon his own dissipated
habits, his disgusting jokes, and Bacchanalian buffoonery.”
“Ay,” continued Mr. Seymour, “and his bad puns, vile quotations, and
hackneyed proverbs; and yet you must confess that, after all, he is a
very clever fellow.”
“Sir,” observed the vicar, “Satan does not usually select a fool as his
ambassador.”
“Upon my word, gentlemen, this must needs be a very amusing fellow; and
you have so far excited my curiosity, as to make me desirous of hearing
something farther of his history and habits,” said the major.
“He is one of those loose spirits,” replied Mr. Seymour, “who live upon
expedients; and measuring their consciences by their wants, derive a
revenue from sources, of which those who jog on quietly through the
beaten paths of life have not the most remote conception. He commenced
his career under the tutelage of the first fire-eater of the day, but
having clumsily scalded his mouth, he lost his reputation, and found it
advisable to seek some other stage for the display of his abilities.
Possessed of a very considerable degree of native humour and caustic
shrewdness, he engaged himself as a ‘mercenary,’ or literary drudge, to
a popular publisher of comic song books, sanguinary murders, magical
magazines, amorous valentines, oracles of health, and plans for the
liquidation of the national debt; which occupations have, as I have
been credibly informed, produced for him during a successful season,
some twenty or thirty pounds in the lawful coin of the realm: but Ned,
like many a great genius, was better pleased with an hour of idleness
than a week of study; and, strange to say, would at any time have
preferred a cup of wine to a bucketful of the finest water from
Helicon; no sooner, therefore, had he collected a few pounds, than he
descended from his high literary station, a lofty garret; and, taking
up his abode at some hedge alehouse, would enjoy a life of happy
leisure, until every particle of that worldly substance which he had
gained by inspiration from above, was gratefully returned to the skies
in the form of tobacco fumes. For some months past,” added Mr. Seymour,
“he has been a constant resident at the Bag of Nails, where, as I am
led to believe, he pays for nothing but his tobacco; the worthy hostess
having found him a very profitable bait for customers, is too willing
to barter the drippings of the kitchen for his wit, and the leakage of
the tap-room for his songs.”
“I am very curious to become acquainted with this comical being,” said
the major.
“Suppose we walk into the village,” said Mr. Seymour; “we shall be
certain of finding him smoking his pipe on a bench before the alehouse
door; where he is as regularly stationed by his patroness, to catch
customers, as the saucer of treacle is placed in the window of a
pastry-cook to attract flies.”
“You will excuse my accompanying you,” cried Mr. Twaddleton; “I cannot
relish his stale jokes and potted stories.”
The gentlemen accordingly directed their route through Forest Lane, and
took leave of the vicar at the entrance of the church-yard. On arriving
within twenty yards of the public-house, Mr. Seymour noticed a column
of smoke which curled in wreaths about its porch. “There sits Ned,”
cried he; “I knew we should find him at his post.”
“Hopkins! Hopkins!” cried Mr. Seymour, “I fear you have not taken the
worthy vicar’s advice.”
“An old dog cannot alter its way of barking, sir; nor is it easy to
straight in the oak the crook that grew in the sapling.”
“I am to presume, then, to speak courteously, that you are still, ‘a
man of leisure.’”
“Ay, verily am I; as idle, sir, as a chimney in the dog-days,” replied
the wag of the tap-room.
“That, by the by, is not a very happy simile of yours, when applied to
a man who is _smoking_ all day long,” observed Mr. Seymour.
“I admit it,” said Ned, “so here’s another for you,--as lazy as
Ludlam’s dog, that leaned his head against the wall to bark. But, after
all, Mr. Seymour, a day of leisure is to me a golden age, and I am of
my Lord Peterborough’s way of thinking, who used to say, ‘a golden age
was that in which every one might _pipe_ when and where he pleased.’”
The wag, at this instant, gave such a practical illustration of his
theme, as would have suffocated the major, had not his military habits
rendered him smoke proof.
“In short, gentlemen,” continued Ned, “a pipe is the solace of my life
and the mainspring of my spirits; knock out my pipe and you knock out
my brains. I verily believe that, if I could not obtain the ‘furies’
frankincense,’ as they have been pleased to call tobacco, I should be
like Vicar Breedon, who, according to William Lilly, cut the bell-ropes
and smoked them.” So saying, he gave another puff, and then removing
the pipe from his mouth, sang the following ditty:--
“Little tube of magic power,
Charmer of an idle hour,
Object of my warm desire,
Lip of wax, and eye of fire;
And thy snowy taper waist,
With my finger gently braced.”
&c. &c.
“Always merry, Ned,” cried Mr. Seymour.
“Lord bless you, sir, what is life but a jest? I jest to live, and I
live but to jest. And so I shall continue to do, until I am put to bed
by the shovel.”
“Your father was a reputed jester, was he not?” asked Mr. Seymour.
“He was, God bless his memory! and it was his constant prayer that his
son Neddy might turn out as sharp a man as his father; and if there be
any truth in the adage that ‘dogs bark as they are bred,’ I certainly
had as good a chance of success as most people. Momus rocked my cradle;
I ate fire before I was seven years old; and so anxiously did my father
superintend my education, that he never suffered me to cut a morsel,
until I had cut a joke. ‘Neddy,’ he used to say, ‘I perceive you are
like my bagpipes, never audible except your pouch is full of wind; for
after a good meal you are as mum as a mouse in a mill; so remember, my
lad, no joke no pudding.’ Thus schooled, I became, through necessity, a
wit, and earned every mouthful by a pun; in short, after a little time,
my genius illumined every dish, and, like the fire of London, blazed
from Pudding Lane to Pie Corner.”
“And you afterwards appeared on the stage, as a candidate for popular
applause, which you were fortunate enough to obtain; how came you to
desert your calling?” said the major.
“He who licks honey from thorns pays too dearly for it,” replied the
wit. “So I packed my wardrobe in a pocket handkerchief, and trudged off
to Cockneyshire.”
“And what was your object?” asked the major.
“To carry my wit to a better market; and instead of retailing it at
country fairs, to offer it wholesale to some of the great publishers,
from whom I immediately received considerable orders. The profit which
rewarded my poetry soon convinced me, notwithstanding all that had been
said to the contrary, that there were still some gold mines in
Parnassus. I lived for the first week on liquid blacking. I well
remember it was winter, and although I contrived by my eulogies of the
jet polish, to obtain a daily meal from a neighbouring chop-house, I
was compelled to sit in my chamber at night without fire or candle,
until the publication of my song, ‘_Ah let my muse a flame inspire_,’
lighted a cheerful blaze in my grate, and enabled me to purchase a few
pounds of rush-lights. In short, gentlemen, without exhausting your
patience with a long recital of my adventures, suffice it to say, that
I have always been able to keep my pipe smoking by my _puffs_, my pot
boiling by the ebullition of my wit, and my grate blazing by the _fire_
of my genius; while paste and scissors have never failed to secure a
constant supply of _cabbage_, upon which I have thrived like any
caterpillar.”
Here Hopkins returned to the porch, and took a draught as deep as ever
Bitias drank, or the Athenian Diotimus, nicknamed the _Funnel_, ever
swallowed.
“Did I not say,” resumed the wag, “that my pipe was the nurse of wit? I
ought to have called her the _dry_ nurse. It is a hard case, gentlemen,
but I am in the situation of the flying-fish, incapable of keeping
myself up, unless I occasionally moisten my wings.”
“If you persist in this dreadful habit,” said Mr. Seymour, “you will
assuredly destroy the coat of your stomach!”
“The _coat_ of my stomach!” replied Ned; “if that is all, my stomach
must even be contented to do what its master has so often done before
it--go in its _waistcoat_, with the understanding that it shall have an
additional glass to keep it warm. The stomach had better give up its
_coat_ than its master his _habit_.”
“But suppose I could prove, that by giving up this system, you would
lengthen your days,” observed Mr. Seymour.
“Lengthen my days.--you are quite right, Mr. Seymour; being rather low
in cash, I was compelled to forego my comfort for one whole day, and it
was the longest day I ever knew in my life; you are quite correct, sir.”
“You are incorrigible, Ned. But come, what say you to a profitable
engagement?” asked Mr. Seymour.
“Why, as to that, sir, I have always a ready mouth for a ripe cherry.”
“You must know, then, that my friend, Major Snapwell, proposes to give
a grand rural fête to the inhabitants of Overton; and, as he intends to
convert his grounds into a fair upon the occasion, he is desirous of
finding some person acquainted with comic entertainments, who would
undertake the office of manager, to contract with the necessary
performers, and superintend all the arrangements.”
“I am the lad for the major’s silver,” said the delighted wag; “for
without vanity, I may say that few persons better understand the art of
mixing up the motley ingredients of fun and frolic; there is, besides,
that in the major’s face which I would willingly call master.”
“And were I to judge from your frontispiece,” said the major, “I should
say that every day in your calendar was a red-lettered one--the
painting of that red nose of yours must have cost a trifle.”
“Cannot tell; it is not yet finished,” retorted the wit.
Major Snapwell, with the assistance of Mr. Seymour, now entered more
fully into the nature and extent of the exhibitions which he wished
Hopkins to provide; but as he was, at present, unable to fix the exact
period for the fête, he directed him to take such steps only as might
be necessary for securing the performers, and to hold himself in
readiness for active service.
-----
Footnote 61:
Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times.
Footnote 62:
Ovid. Fast. 2. v. 525.
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[Illustration: Man using a Thaumatrope with a boy and girl looking on.]
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