[Illustration: TO]
_Spacious Gentleman._—"Will you have the kindness, young man, to measure
me for a pair of those at 12_s._?"]
[Illustration:
THE BRIDGE OF SIZE.
]
WHAT DO ALL ENGLISHMEN TAKE OFF THEIR
HATS TO?[8]
Who is it that gets the most salutes in England? We do not mean the
powder which is thundered into the Queen's ears wherever she goes, but
the quiet salute which a person makes by taking his hat off.
Now, every Englishman dislikes taking his hat off. It is a trouble, and
no genuine John Bull likes more trouble than he can help. It must be
something, then, of very great importance—of general love and feeling—a
chord that strikes all Englishmen's hearts—that makes everybody, without
a single exception, take his hat off to it?
What can it be?
Is it Prince Albert? No; for, familiar as the prints of His Royal
Highness may have made his handsome face in the eyes of those who look
into print shops, still, from love of retirement, he is not generally
known by the public, and he could easily pass down Lowther Arcade
without fear of being recognised.
Who is it, then?
Is it the Duke of Wellington? No. It is true he commands a number of
upraised hats. All those who know his venerable nose, and know how much
England is indebted to it, pay him that little mark of respect. But,
popular as the Duke is, every one is not acquainted with him, and there
are even a few who still nourish a dislike of his political opinions,
forgetting the best part, and only recollecting the worst part, of the
man.
[Illustration:
A GOOD PARTY CRY.
]
Can it be a creditor?
Certainly not; for debtors always make a practice of avoiding their
creditors, especially those of a large amount, or one of the Hebrew
persuasion. There may be a few who get a stray lift of the _chapeau_, by
way of reconciliation, but in general the eyes of him that owes rarely
meet the eyes of him to whom money is owing. We are all blind to our own
interest, especially when we pay 10 per cent. for it.
Perhaps it is the wind?
Now, this is a vile quibble; for the reader knows well enough that no
man takes off his hat to the wind. On the contrary, the whole energy of
a man's ten fingers is concentrated on the rebellious rim, with the view
of holding the fugitive castor on. The wind takes off many hats; it is
repeatedly done on Waterloo Bridge, and round the corner of St. Paul's
Churchyard—you will see it any day during March; but it is preposterous
to say that a single hat is ever taken off to the wind.
Well, then, what is it?
Patience for ten lines, and you shall know. Growl, amiable reader, but
read.
It is, you must know, a curious instrument, or rather a collection of
instruments, that go at once to the bosoms of all Englishmen. It subdues
discord, and substitutes pleasant harmony for it. No sooner is a note of
it heard than off flies every hat, the whole assembly rises; fifty
thousand bare heads—if there are so many present—instantly respect the
majesty of the appeal, and fifty thousand voices—if you can only count
them—join in glad response to it.
But what is it?
Foreigners even respect it, and take off their hats.
Once more—What is it?