I
Limby Lumpy was the only son of his mamma. His father was called the
'Pavior's Assistant'; for he was so large and heavy, that when he used
to walk through the streets the men who were ramming the stones down
with a large wooden rammer would say, 'Please to walk over these
stones, sir.' And then the men would get a rest.
Limby was born on the 1st of April; I do not know how long ago; but,
before he came into the world, such preparations were made. There was a
beautiful cradle; and a bunch of coral, with bells on it; and lots of
little caps; and a fine satin hat; and tops and bottoms for pap; and two
nurses to take care of him. He was, too, to have a little chaise, when
he grew big enough; after that, he was to have a donkey, and then a
pony. In short, he was to have the moon for a plaything, if it could be
got; and, as to the stars, he would have had them, if they had not been
too high to reach.
Limby made a rare to-do when he was a little baby. But he never was a
_little_ baby--he was always a big baby; nay, he was a big baby till
the day of his death.
'Baby Big,' his mamma used to call him; he was 'a noble baby,' said his
aunt; he was 'a sweet baby,' said old Mrs. Tomkins, the nurse; he was 'a
dear baby,' said his papa,--and so he was, for he _cost_ a good deal. He
was 'a darling baby,' said his aunt, by the mother's side; 'there never
was such a fine child,' said everybody, before the parents; when they
were at another place they called him 'a great, ugly, fat child.'
Limby was almost as broad as he was long. He had what some people called
an open countenance; that is, one as broad as a full moon. He had what
his mamma called beautiful auburn locks, but what other people said were
carroty; not before the mother, of course.
Limby had a flattish nose and a widish mouth, and his eyes were a little
out of the right line. Poor little dear, he could not help that, and
therefore it was not right to laugh at him.
Everybody, however, laughed to see him eat his pap, for he would not be
fed with the patent silver pap-spoon which his father bought him; but
used to lay himself flat on his back, and seize the pap-boat with both
hands, and never leave go of it till its contents were fairly in his
dear little stomach.
So Limby grew bigger and bigger every day, till at last he could
scarcely draw his breath, and was very ill; so his mother sent for three
apothecaries and two physicians, who looked at him, and told his mamma
there were no hopes: the poor child was dying of over-feeding. The
physicians, however, prescribed for him--a dose of castor oil.
His mamma attempted to give him the castor oil; but Limby, although he
liked tops and bottoms, and cordial, and pap, and sweetbread, and
oysters, and other things nicely dished up, had no fancy for castor oil,
and struggled, and kicked, and fought every time his nurse or mamma
attempted to give it him.
'Limby, my darling boy,' said his mamma, 'my sweet cherub, my only
dearest, do take its oily poily--there's a ducky, deary--and it shall
ride in a coachy poachy.'
'O! the dear baby,' said the nurse, 'take it for nursey. It will take it
for nursey--that it will.'
The nurse had got the oil in a silver medicine spoon, so contrived that
if you could get it into the child's mouth the medicine must go down.
Limby, however, took care that no spoon should go into his mouth; and
when the nurse tried the experiment for the nineteenth time, gave a
plunge and a kick, and sent the spoon up to the ceiling, knocked off
nurse's spectacles, upset the table on which all the bottles and glasses
were, and came down whack on the floor.
His mother picked him up, clasped him to her breast, and almost
smothered him with kisses. 'O! my dear boy,' said she, 'it shan't take
the nasty oil--it won't take it, the darling; naughty nurse to hurt
baby: it shall not take nasty physic'; and then she kissed him again.
Poor Limby, although only two years old, knew what he was at--he was
trying to get the master of his mamma; he felt he had gained his point,
and gave another kick and a squall, at the same time planted a blow on
his mother's eye.
'Dear little creature,' said she, 'he is in a state of high convulsions
and fever--he will never recover.'
But Limby did recover, and in a few days was running about the house,
and the master of it; there was nobody to be considered, nobody to be
consulted, nobody to be attended to, but Limby Lumpy.