“Great wit to madness nearly is allied,
And thin partitions do the bounds divide.”
So sings the poet; but whether the wit be great or little, the “thin
partition” separating madness from sanity is equally mysterious. It is
true that the excitability attendant upon genius approximates so closely
to madness, that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between them;
but, without the attendant “genius” to hold up the train of madness,
and call for our special permission and respect in any of its fantastic
excursions, the most ordinary crack-brain sometimes chooses to sport in
the regions of sanity, and, without the license which genius is supposed
to dispense to her children, poach over the preserves of common sense.
This is a well-known fact, and would not be reiterated here, but that
the circumstances about to be recorded hereafter might seem unworthy
of belief; and as the veracity of our history we would not have for one
moment questioned, we have ventured to jog the memory of our readers as
to the close neighbourhood of madness and common sense, before we record
a curious instance of intermitting madness in the old dowager O'Grady.
Her son's death had, by the violence of the shock, dragged her from the
region of fiction in which she habitually existed; but after the funeral
she relapsed into all her strange aberration, and her bird-clock and her
chimney-pot head-dress were once more in requisition.
The old lady had her usual attendance from her granddaughter, and the
customary offering of flowers was rendered, but they were not so cared
for as before, and Charlotte was dismissed sooner than usual from her
morning's attendance, and a new favourite received in her place. And
“of all the birds in the air,” who should this favourite be but Master
Ratty. Yes!--Ratty--the caricaturist of his grandmamma, was, “for the
nonce,” her closeted companion. Many a guess was given as to “what in
the world” grandmamma _could_ want with Ratty; but the secret was kept
between them, for this reason, that the old lady kept _the reward she
promised_ Ratty for preserving it in her own hands, until the duty she
required on his part should be accomplished, and the shilling a day to
which Ratty looked forward kept him faithful.
Now the duty Master Ratty had to perform was instructing his grandmamma
how to handle a pistol; the bringing up quick to the mark, and levelling
by “the sight,” was explained; but a difficulty arose in the old lady's
shutting her left eye, which Ratty declared to be indispensable, and
for some time Ratty was obliged to stand on a chair and cover his
grandmamma's eye with his hand while she took aim; this was found
inconvenient, however, and the old lady substituted a black silk shade
to obfuscate her sinister luminary in her exercises, which now advanced
to snapping the lock, and knocking sparks from the flint, which made the
old lady wink with her right eye. When this second habit was overcome,
the “dry” practice, that is, without powder, was given up; and a
“flash in the pan” was ventured upon, but this made her shut both eyes
together, and it was some time before she could prevail on herself to
hold her eye fixed on her mark, and pull the trigger. This, however, at
last was accomplished, and when she had conquered the fear of seeing the
flash, she adopted the plan of standing before a handsome old-fashioned
looking-glass which reached from the ceiling to the floor, and levelling
the pistol at her own reflection within it, as if she were engaged in
mortal combat; and every time she snapped and burned priming she
would exclaim, “I hit him that time!--I know I can kill him--_tremble,
villain_!”
As long as this pistol practice had the charm of novelty for Ratty,
it was all very well; but when, day by day, the strange mistakes and
nervousness of his grandmamma became less piquant from repetition, it
was not such good fun; and when the rantipole boy, after as much time
as he wished to devote to the old woman's caprice, endeavoured to
emancipate himself and was countermanded, an outburst of _“Oh, bother!”_
would take place, till the grandmother called up the prospective
shillings to his view, and Ratty bowed before the altar of Mammon. But
even Mammon failed to keep Ratty loyal; for that heathen god, Momus,
claimed a superior allegiance; Ratty worshipped the “cap and bells” as
the true crown, and “the bauble” as the sovereign sceptre. Besides, the
secret became troublesome to him, and he determined to let the whole
house know what “gran” and he were about, in a way of his own.
The young imp, in the next day's practice, worked up the grandmamma to a
state of great excitement, urging her to take a cool and determined aim
at the looking-glass. “Cover him well, gran,” said Ratty.
“I will,” said the dowager, resolutely.
“You ought to be able to hit him at six paces.”
“I stand at twelve paces.”
“No--you are only six from the looking-glass.”
“But the reflection, child, in the mirror, doubles the distance.”
“Bother!” said Ratty. “Here, take the pistol--mind your eye and don't
wink.”
“Ratty, you are singularly obtuse to the charms of science.”
“What's science?” said Ratty.
“Science, child, is knowledge of a lofty and abstruse nature, developing
itself in wonderful inventions--gunpowder, for instance, is made by
science.”
“Indeed it is not,” said Ratty; “I never saw his name on a canister.
Pigou, Andrew, and Wilks, or Mister Dartford Mills, are the men for
gunpowder. You know nothing about it, gran.”
“Ratty, you are disrespectful, and will not listen to instruction. I
knew Kirwan--the great Kirwan, the chemist, who always wore his hat--”
“Then he knew chemistry better than manners.”
“Ratty, you are very troublesome. I desire you listen, sir. Kirwan, sir,
told me all about science, and the Dublin Society have his picture, with
a bottle in his hand--”
“Then he was fond of drink,” said Ratty.
“Ratty, don't be pert. To come back to what I was originally saying--I
repeat, sir, I am at twelve paces from my object, six from the mirror,
which, doubled by reflection, makes twelve; such is the law of optics. I
suppose you know what optics are?”
“To be sure I do.”
“Tell me, then.”
“Our eyes,” said Ratty.
“Eyes!” exclaimed the old lady, in amaze.
“To be sure,” answered Ratty, boldly. “Didn't I hear the old blind man
at the fair asking charity 'for the loss of his blessed optics'?”
“Oh, what lamentable ignorance, my child!” exclaimed the old lady. “Your
tutor ought to be ashamed of himself.”
“So he is,” said Ratty. “He hasn't had a pair of new breeches for the
last seven years, and he hides himself whenever he sees mamma or the
girls.”
“Oh, you ignorant child! Indeed, Ratty, my love, you must study. I will
give you the renowned Kirwan's book. Charlotte tore some of it for curl
papers; but there's enough left to enlighten you with the sun's rays,
and reflection and refraction--”
“I know what _that_ is,” said Ratty.
“What?”
“Refraction.”
“And what is it, dear?”
“Bad behaviour,” said Ratty.
“Oh, Heavens!” exclaimed his grandmother.
“Yes, it is,” said Ratty, stoutly; “the tutor says I'm refractory when I
behave ill; and he knows Latin better than you.”
“Ratty, Ratty! you are hopeless!” exclaimed his grandmamma.
“No, I am not,” said Ratty. “I'm always _hoping_. And I hope Uncle
Robert will break his neck some day, and leave us his money.”
The old woman turned up her eyes, and exclaimed, “You wicked boy!”
“Fudge!” said Ratty; “he's an old shaver, and we want it; and indeed,
gran, you ought to give me ten shillings for ten days' teaching, now;
and there's a fair next week, and I want to buy things.”
“Ratty, I told you when you made me perfect in the use of my weapon I
would pay you. My promise is sacred, and I will observe it with that
scrupulous honour which has ever been the characteristic of the family;
as soon as I hit something, and satisfy myself of my mastery over the
weapon, the money shall be yours, but not till then.”
“Oh, very well,” said Ratty; “go on then. _Ready_--don't bring up your
arm that way, like the handle of a pump, but raise it nice from the
elbow--that's it. _Ready--fire!_ Ah! there you blink your eye, and drop
the point of your pistol--try another. _Ready--fire!_ That's better. Now
steady the next time.”
[Illustration: A Crack Shot]
The young villain then put a charge of powder and ball into the pistol
he handed his grandmother, who took steady aim at her reflection in the
mirror, and at the words, _“Ready--fire!”_ bang went the pistol--the
magnificent glass was smashed--the unexpected recoil of the weapon made
it drop from the hand of the dowager, who screamed with astonishment at
the report and the shock, and did not see for a moment the mischief she
had done; but when the shattered mirror caught her eyes, she made a rush
at Ratty, who was screeching with laughter in the far corner of the room
where he ran to when he had achieved his trick, and he was so helpless
from the excess of his cachinnation, that the old lady cuffed him
without his being able to defend himself. At last he contrived to get
out of her clutches and jammed her against the wall with a table so
tightly, that she roared “Murder!” The report of the pistol ringing
through the house brought all its inmates to the spot; and there
the cries of murder from the old lady led them to suppose some awful
tragedy, instead of a comedy, was enacting inside; the door was locked,
too, which increased the alarm, and was forced in the moment of terror
from the outside. When the crowd rushed in, Master Ratty rushed out, and
left the astonished family to gather up the bits of the story, as well
as they could, from the broken looking-glass and the cracked dowager.