Vell, I'd give a farden to know vy they calls this here Hatton Garden.
I'm sartain sure it must be done in jest; for if every hat aint hoff
instead of hon, I'm blest! Hat on, indeed! vell, sartinly it's vindy;
and here's a pretty shindy. They've rose the flat'lent element at last,
and here it's peppering on, a precious blast! It's nuffin but a reglar
blast of ruin, undoin' every von vith vot it's doin. Vell, blacksmiths
must be most unconscionable fellows, if, such a day as this, they vants
a bellows. I can't even svear; my pals u'd hardly know me: I don't feel
no occasion to say "blow me." Oh! oh! here's a go! The voman's blowing
over; she's a reglar charmer, but so unkimmon fat it can't much harm
her. Vont there be chimbley accidents:—ay! lots. Look, look at Harmer
and Flower's flower-pots; they're a fallin' on that old gentleman's head
as valks below; and vot's vurse, it's too vindy for him to return the
"blow." [They say as Alderman Harmer has left the town off, and he's
made a breeze in the city vith the vind as he vhisk'd his gown off.]
Vell, I'm hoff, so here goes; my eyes, how it blows! That ere image-boy
can't hold his tray; ain't his kings and queens, and dukes, a rattlin
avay. There goes a couple slick; the vind's broke Vellington and little
Vic. Go it, my hearty! that's it, you've shivered Bonyparty; and,
notwithstanding the furious vay in vich it blows and rains, if he ain't
a stopping to pick up Napoleon's remains! Vell, I've heard of "mad as a
March air," and precious mad I find it is, still I can't say as I care:
as long as I get home safe, and there's nobody killed, I sees no great
harm _in_ it; only I hopes that them as vere particularly anxious to
raise the vind, is vell satisfied this very minit!
16. Gibbon died, 1794. "De _gusti_bus non est disputandum."
High winds, and no mistake.
"Will you not take another cup?" said the mistress of the tea-party.
"No," answered the awkward gentleman, who had prematurely risen to
depart; but, upon the word, his foot slipped over the hearth-rug, and he
fell. "In refusing that cup of tea, and tumbling so soon after, you
remind me of 'Gibbon's Roman Empire,'" said the wag of the tea-party.
"Why?" "Because you are a living illustration of the _decline and
fall_."
[Illustration:
MARCH—Theatrical fun-dinner
]