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 oil-skin 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. Mudfogis 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
large window on one side of the door, and a small one on the other is
particularly happy. There is a fine bold 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 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 demeanor, 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 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 wagon; 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 Lighter man’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 fore-fingers; 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, the
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 backs, 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 speech,
everybody knew 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 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 afternoons 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 license, 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 readers 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 fire-place 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 breast-plate,
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.”
“Til 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; in as much 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 skylight,
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
overnight, 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 confidant 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
fourwheel 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 endeavoring 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.
“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 townhall, 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 lowroofed,
bay-windowed house, with a bar, kitchen, and tap-room all in one, and
a large fire-place 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 redfaced 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
townhall 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, in as much 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 tomorrow.”
“Three-quarters past 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 armchair,
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 sealskin 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 anyone 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 valves, 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 tomorrow; 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 tomorrow’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’oeil which no eyewitness 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 Regentstreet, 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
cardboard 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!