|The Lauréat of Little Britain was now left at liberty to follow his
daily avocations; but that liberty was no guarantee that he would follow
them; except, as some folks follow the fashions, at a considerable
distance. He read the morning papers, went upon 'Change, inquired the
price of stocks, set his watch by the dial of Bow Church, returned home,
turned over the leaves of his ledger, hummed, whistled, poked the fire,
scribbled on the blotting-paper, and cracked a joke with his solemn
clerk. Still, with all these manifestations of being mightily busy about
doing nothing, it was obvious that his wits were running a wild goose
chase after Uncle Timothy's new blue coat and brass buttons. But the
oddest is behind. Mrs. Norah Noclack suddenly betrayed unwonted symptoms
of vocality. Her first notes fell on the astonished ear of the solemn
clerk, and served him as the ghost of Banquo did Macbeth--pushed him
from his stool. He hurried to the stair-head, marvelling what musical
coil could be going on in the still-room. He next applied his oblique
eye to the key-hole, and,--seeing is believing,--beheld the locomotive
old lass rehearsing a minuet before the mirror, to the chromatic
accompaniment of her wiry falsetto. Big with the portentous discovery,
he bustled to Mr. Bosky, to whom, after unpacking his budget of strange
news, he proposed the instant holding of a commission of lunacy, for the
due and proper administration of her few hundreds in long annuities,
two large boxes, and a chest of drawers, full of old-fashioned finery,
besides sundry trinkets, the spoils of three courtships.
A few days after, the carolling of Mrs. Norah surprised Uncle Timothy,
who recognising the real culprit in the eccentric muse of Mr. Benjamin
Bosky, he took the lauréat to task for putting his wardrobe into metre,
hitching his Christian name into ludicrous rhyme, and turning the head
and untuning the voice of the hitherto anti-musical Norah Noclack. Mr.
Bosky exhibited deep contrition, but as Mr. Bosky's contrition bore
considerable resemblance to Mr. Liston's tragedy, Uncle Timothy always
dreaded to encounter it when anything serious was in the case. And so
completely did the old chantress inoculate the solemn clerk with her
musical mania, that one evening, when called upon for a toast and a
song at the club * of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, held in an
ancient trophied chamber over the venerable gateway of the Priory,
he startled his brother knights with his unwonted enthusiasm. “Uncle
Timothy! Sound trumpets! wave banners! shout voices!” This was the
longest public oration that Mr. Fixture had made in his life. Certainly
the only song that he was ever known to have sung was the old-fashioned
housekeeper's----
* This club consists of more than fifteen hundred members.
Their orgies are celebrated every Monday evening throughout
the year. The chair is taken at nine, and vacated at twelve.
APOTHEOSIS OF UNCLE TIM'S BRAN NEW BUTTONS AND BLUE.
If I had my widow or maiden's whim--
I know who--I know who
It should be! Why, Uncle Tim,
In his bran new buttons and blue.
Tim's a middle ag'd gentleman sleek,
With a laughing eye and a cherry cheek!
He loves a good joke
Like other blythe folk;
A Christmas carol,
A cup from the barrel,
And a glass of old wine seven days in the week!
Hear him sing, and hear him talk,
The veriest merriest cock of the walk;
Daintily dress'd
Like a buck in his best!
Loyal and true
As his holiday blue!
With black silk stock and embroider'd vest;
In Wellingtons trim
Struts Uncle Tim!
With beaver and cane,
And smart gold chain--
Di'mond pin
Stuck under his chin--
All Little Britain
Were never so smitten!
We ne'er shall look on his like again!
Heigho! my heart is low!
Devils blue
As Tim's bran new!
Fidgets, fumes,
Mops and brooms!
Tantrums all from top to toe!
Heigho!
Such a quiz! such a beau!
Such a shape! such a make!
Would I were a lady,
As blooming as May-day;
With carriages, house, and
Twice twenty thousand;
If it only were for Uncle Timothy's sake!