« PředchozíPokračovat »
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 beerjugs, 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 chimneycorner.
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 “Or trace the progress of crime to 'baccer ?” growled the other.
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 churchtower 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 town-hall 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.
THE HOT WELLS OF CLIFTON.
SCRAP, No. II.
Water-grass-hill. The“ poems of Ossian,” a celtic bard, and the “rhymes of Rowley,” a Bristol priest, burst on the public at one and the same period; when the attention of literary men was for a time totally absorbed in discussing the respective discoveries of Macpherson and of Chatterton. “ The fashion of this world passeth away;" and what once engaged so much notice is now sadly neglected. Indeed, had not Bonaparte taken a fancy to the ravings of the mad highlander, and had not Chatterton swallowed oxalic acid, probably far more brief had been the space both would have occupied in the memory of mankind. In the garret of Holborn, where the latter expired, the following morceau was picked up by an Irish housemaid (a native of this parish), who, in writing home to a sweetheart, converted it into an envelope for her letter. It thus came into my possession.
TO THE HOT WELLS OF CLIFTON,
IN PRAISE OF RUM-PUNCH,
A Triglot Ode, viz.
Hoc magis in vitro “Hot wells” of Bristol, Λαμπουσ' ανθεσι συν Dulci digne mero
Chat bubble forth Νεκταρος αξιη
Non sine floribus Ss clear as crystal ;... Σ' αντλώ
Vas impleveris En parlour snug Ρευματι πολλω
to wish no hotter Μίσγων
Mel solvente To mir a jug Και μελιτος πολυ.
Of Rum and water. β.
2. Ανης καν τις εραν Si quis vel venerem Doth Love, young chiel, βουλεται η μαχαν
Aut prælia cogitat, One's bosom rufile ? Σοι Βακχου καθαρον
Is Bacchi calidos would any feel Σοι διαχρωννυσει
Kipe for a scuffle ? Φοινω
Rubro sanguine The simplest plan Θ' αιματι ναμα
Is just to take a Προθυμος τε
Well stiffened can Ταχ εσσεται.
Of old Jamaica.
3. Σε φλεγμ’ αιθαλοεν
Te flagrante bibax Beneath the zone Σειριου αστερος
Grog in a pail or Αρμοζει πλωτορί: Sugit navita: tu
Rum—best alone --Συ κρυος ηδυν εν
Delights the sailor.
Fessis vomere Νησοις
The can he swills Αντιλεσαισι
Alone gibes bigour
Præbes ac Ποιεις
In the Antilles Κ’ αιθιοπων φυλω.
Homini nigro. Co white or nigger. δ.
4. Κρηναις εν τε καλαις Fies nobilium Thy claims, O fount, Εσσεαι αγλαη
Tu quoque fontium Deserbe attention: Σ' εν κοιλω κυλακι
Me dicente; cavum Wenceforward count
Dum calicem reples On classic mention. Ενθεμενης εως
Right pleasant stuff Υμνησω,
Thine to the lip is... Λαλον εξ ου
We've had enough Σον δε
καθαλλεται. Desiliunt tum. ρευμα
“ WHO MILKED MY COW?" OR, THE MARINE GHOST.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “ RATTLIN THE REefer." Captain the Honourable Augustus Fitzroy Fitzalban, of that beautiful ship his Majesty's frigate Nænia, loved many things. He loved his ship truly, and with a perdurable affection; yet he loved something still more, his very aristocratic self. He had also vowed to love and cherish another person ; but what gallant spirit would yield love, even if it were as plenty as blackberries, upon compulsion ? The less you give away, the more must remain to be employed in the service of the possessor. Captain Augustus Fitzroy Fitzalban had a great deal of unoccupied love at his disposal. Considering duly these premises, there can be nothing surprising in the fact if he had a surplus affection or two to dispose of, and that he most ardently loved new milk every morning for breakfast.
Now Captain the Honourable Augustus Fitzroy Fitzalban-(how delightful it is to give the whole title when it is either high-sounding or euphonous!)-had large estates and wide pasture-lands populous with lowing kine. But all these availed him not; for, though he was sovereign lord and master pro tempore over all as far as the eye
could reach, on the morning of the 6th of June 1826, he could not command so much of the sky-blueish composition that is sold for milk in London, as could be bought for one halfpenny in that sovereign city of many pumps. The fields spread around the honourable captain were wide and green enough, but, alas! they were not pastured with mammiferous animals. Neptune has never been known to take cream to his chocolate and coffee. He would scorn to be called a milk-and-water gentleman. There is the sea-cow certainly, but we never heard much respecting the quality of her butter.
We are careful. We will not lay ourselves open to animadversion. We have read books. We have seen things. Therefore we cannot suffer the little triumph to the little critics who were just going to tell us that all the cetaceous tribes suckle their young. We can tell these critics more than they know themselves. Whale's milk is good for the genus homo. We know two brawny fellows, maintop-men, who, being cast overboard when infants, were, like Romulus and Remus with their she-bear, suckled by a sperm-whale; and, when their huge wet-nurse wished to wean them, she cast them ashore on one of the Friendly Islands. We think that we hear the incredulous exclaim, “ Very like a whale !" Why, so it was.
But to return to another matter of history. On the memorable morning before indicated, the honourable captain, the first lieutenant, the doctor, the marine officer, the officer and the midshipman of the morning watch, had all assembled to breakfast in the cabin. They had not forgotten their appetites, particularly the gentlemen of the morning watch. They were barbarous and irate in their hunger, as their eyes wandered over cold fowl and ham, hot rolls, grilled kidneys, and devilled legs of turkey.
“ By all the stars in heaven," said the honourable commander, “ no milk again this morning! Give me, you rascally steward, tinued the captain, “ a plain, straightforward, categorical answer. Why does this infernal cow, for which I gave such a heap of dollars,
give me no milk?”—“ Well, sir,” said the trembling servitor; “ if, sir, you must have a plain answer, I really-believe-it is—because -I don't know."
“ A dry answer," said the doctor, who was in most senses a dry fellow. “ You son of a shotten herring!" said the captain,
milk her ?”—“ Yes, sir."
" Then why, in the name of all that is good, don't you?"_“I do, sir, but it won't come.”
“Then let us go," said the captain, quite resignedly, "let us go, gentlemen, and see what ails this infernal cow; I can't eat my breakfast without milk, and breakfast is the meal that I generally enjoy most."
So he, leading the way, was followed by his company, who cast many a longing, lingering look behind.
Forward they went to where the cow was stalled by capstan-bars, as comfortably as a prebendary, between two of the guns on the main-deck. She seemed in excellent condition ; ate her nutritious food with much appetite; and, from her appearance, the captain might have very reasonably expected, not only an ample supply of milk and cream for breakfast and tea, but also a sufficient quantity to afford him custards for dinner.
Well, there stood the seven officers of his Majesty's naval service round the arid cow, looking very like seven wise men just put to sea in a bowl.
Try again," said the captain to his servant. If the attempt had been only fruitless, there had been no matter for wonder; it was milk
“ The fool can't milk,” said the captain; then turning round to his officers despondingly, he exclaimed, “gentlemen, can any of you?"
Having all protested that they had left off, some thirty, some forty, and some fifty years, according to their respective ages, and the marine officer saying that he never had had any practice at all, having been brought up by hand, the gallant and disappointed hero was obliged to order the boatswain's mates to pass the word fore and aft, to send every one to him who knew how to milk a cow.
Seventeen Welshmen, sixty-five Irishmen, (all on board,) and four lads from Somersetshire made their appearance, moistened their fingers, and set to work, one after the other ; yet there was no milk.
“What do you think of this, doctor?” said the captain to him, taking him aside.—“ That the animal has been milked a few hours before."
“ Hah! If I was sure of that. And the cow could have been milked only by some one who could milk ?”—“ The inference seems indis
The captain turned upon the numerous aspirants for lacteal honours with no friendly eye, exclaiming sorrowfully, “ Too many to flog, too many to flog. Let us return to our breakfast; though I shall not be able to eat a morsel or drink a drop. Here, boatswain's-mate, pass the word round the ship that I'll give five guineas reward to any one who will tell me who milked the captain's cow."
The gentlemen then all retired to the cabin, and, with the exception of the captain, incontinently fell upon the good things. Now, the