Kitabı oku: «Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas», sayfa 18
I endeavored once more to approach the window, but the crowd had already increased considerably; and I had nothing for it but to go in and buy the paper, which now had taken a strong hold upon me.
Cheap as was the paper, it cost me that day’s dinner; and it was with a very great anxiety to test the value of my sacrifice that I hastened to the little miserable den which I had hired as my sleeping-place.
Once within, I fastened the door, and, spreading out the journal on my bed, proceeded to search for the Texan paragraph. It was headed in capitals, and easily found. It ran thus: —
“WANTED – A few downright, go-ahead ones, to join an excursion into the One-Star Republic, – the object being to push a way down South, and open a new trade-line for home doings. Applicants to address the Office of the paper, and rally at Galveston, with rifle, pistols, ammunition, horse, pack, and a bowie, on Tuesday, the 8th instant.”
I ‘m sure I knew that paragraph off by heart before bedtime, but just as I have seen a stupid man commit a proposition in Euclid to memory, – without ever being able to work it. I was totally at a loss what to make of the meaning of the expedition. It was, to say the least, somewhat mysterious; and the whole being addressed to “go-ahead ones,” who were to come with rifles and bowie-knives, showed that they were not likely to be missionaries. There was one wonderful clause about it, – it smacked of adventure. There was a roving wildness in the very thought which pleased me, and I straightway opened a consultation with myself how I could compass the object. My stock of money had dwindled down to four dollars; and although I still possessed some of the best articles of my wardrobe, the greater portion had been long since disposed of.
Alas! the more I thought over it, the more hopeless did my hope of journey appear, – I made every imaginable good bargain in my fancy; I disposed of old waistcoats and gaiters as if they had been the honored vestments of heroes and sages; I knocked down my shoes at prices that old Frederick’s boots would n’t have fetched; and yet, with all this, I fell far short of a sum sufficient to purchase my equipment, – in fact, I saw that if I compassed the “bowie-knife,” it would be the full extent of my powers. I dwelt upon this theme so long that I grew fevered and excited: I got to believe that here was a great career opening before me, to which one petty, miserable obstacle opposed itself. I was like a man deterred from undertaking an immense journey, by the trouble of crossing a rivulet.
In this frame of mind I went to bed, but only to rove over my rude fancies, and, in a state between sleep and waking, to imagine that some tiny hand held me back, and prevented me ascending a path on which Fortune kept waving her hand for me to follow. When day broke, I found myself sitting at my window, with the newspaper in my hands, – though how I came there, or how long I had spent in that attitude, I cannot say; I only know that my limbs were excessively cold, and my temples hot, and that while my hands were benumbed and swollen, my heart beat faster and fuller than I had ever felt it before.
“Now for the ‘Picayune,’” said I, starting from my chair; “though I never may make the journey, at least I ‘ll ask the road.”
CHAPTER XVIII. THE ORDINARY OF ALL NATIONS
Making my way with difficulty through the crowd which filled the hall of the house, and which consisted of purchasers, newsvenders, reporters, printers’ devils, and others interested in the “Picayune,” all eagerly discussing the news of the day, I reached a small back office, where, having knocked timidly twice, I was desired to enter.
A man seated at a coarse deal table was cutting out paragraphs from various newspapers, which, as he threw them at either side of him, were eagerly caught up by two or three ragged urchins who were in waiting behind him. He looked up at me as I entered, and roughly asked what I wanted.
“I have seen an advertisement in your paper, headed, ‘Expedition to Texas ‘ – ”
“Upstairs, – No. 3, – two-pair back,” said he, and went on with his labor.
I hesitated, hoping he might add something; but seeing that he had said all he intended or was likely to say, I slowly withdrew.
“Upstairs, then, – No. 3, – two-pair back,” said I to myself, and mounted, with the very vaguest notions of what business I had when I got there. There was no difficulty in finding the place; many others were hastening towards it at the same time; and, in company with some half-dozen very ill-favored and meanly clad fellows, I entered a large room, where about forty men were assembled, who stood in knots or groups, talking in low and confidential tones together.
“Is there a committee to-day?” asked one of those who came in with me.
“Business is over,” said another.
“And is the lottery drawn?”
“Ay, every ticket, except one or two.”
“Who’s won Butcher’s mare?”
“Tell us that if you can,” said a huge fellow, with a red worsted comforter round his throat; “that’s exactly what we want to know.”
“Well, I’m whipped if it ain’t among those numbers,” said a pale man with one eye, “and I ‘ll give fifty dollars for one of ‘em.”
“You would, would you?” said another, jeering. “Lord, how soft you ‘ve grown! Why, she’s worth five hundred dollars, that ‘ere beast!”
“Butcher gave a mustang and two hundred and seventy for her,” cried another.
“Well, she broke his neck, for all that,” growled out he of the red neckcloth; “you’ll see that some chap will win her that don’t want a beast, and she ‘ll be sold for a trifle.”
“And there’s a free passage to Galveston, grub and liquor, in the same ticket,” said another, – “an almighty sight of luck for one man!”
“It ain’t me, anyhow,” said red cravat; and then, with a tremendous oath, added: “I’ve been a putter in at these Texas lotteries for four years, and never won anything but a blessed rosary.”
“What became of it, Dick?” said another, laughing.
“The beads fitted my rifle-bore, and I fired ‘em away when lead was scarce.”
Various discussions followed about luck and lotteries, with anecdotes of all kinds respecting fortunate winners; then came stories of Texan expeditions in former times, which I began to perceive were little else than speculations of a gambling kind, rarely intended to go farther than the quay of New Orleans.
On the present occasion, however, it would seem a real expedition had been planned. Some had already sailed, others were to follow the very day after the lottery, and only waited to learn who was the fortunate winner of Butcher’s mare, at that time waiting at Galveston for an owner.
I waited a long time, in hope of acquiring something like an insight into the scope of the enterprise, but in vain; indeed, it was easy to see that, of the company, not a single one, in all likelihood, intended to join the expedition. When I left the “Picayune,” therefore, I was but little wiser than when I entered it; and yet somehow the whole scheme had taken a fast hold on my imagination, which readily filled in the details of what I was ignorant. The course of reading in which I had indulged on board Sir Dudley’s yacht was doubtless the reason of this. My mind had laid up so many texts for adventurous fancies that on the slightest pretext I could call up any quantity of enterprise and vicissitude.
A hundred times I asked myself if it were likely that any of these Texan adventurers would accept, of my services to wait upon them. I was not ignorant of horses, a tolerably fair groom, could cook a little, – that much I had learned on board the yacht; besides, wherever my qualifications failed, I had a ready witted ingenuity that supplied the place almost as well as the “real article.”
“Ah!” thought I, “who knows how many are passing at this moment whose very hearts would leap with joy to find such a fellow as I am,’ accustomed to in-door and out, wages no object, and no objection to travel! ‘” Possessed with this notion, I could not help fancying that in every look that met mine as I went, I could read something like an inquiry, a searching glance that seemed to say, “Bless me! ain’t that Con? As I live, there’s Con Cregan! What a rare piece of fortune to chance upon him at this juncture!”
I own it did require a vivid and warm imagination so to interpret the expressions which met my eyes at every moment, seeing that the part of the town into which I had wandered was that adjoining to the docks, – a filthy, gloomy quarter, chiefly resorted to by Jew slop-sellers, ship-chandlers, and such like, with here and there a sailors’ ordinary usually kept by a negro or half-breed.
I had eaten nothing that day, and it was now late in the afternoon, so that it was with a very strong interest I peeped occasionally into the little dens, where, under a paper lantern with the inscription, “All for Twelve Cents,” sat a company, usually of sailors and watermen, whose fare harmonized most unpleasantly with their features.
The combat between a man’s taste and his exchequer is never less agreeable than when it concerns a dinner. To feel that you have a soul for turtle and truffles, and yet must descend to mashed potatoes and herrings; to know that a palate capable of appreciating a salmi des perdreaux must be condemned to the indignity of stock fish, – what an indignity is that! The whole man revolts at it! You feel, besides, that such a meal is unrelieved by those suggestive excursions of fancy which a well-served table abounds in. In the one case you eat like the beast of the field, – it is a question of supporting nature, and no more; in the other, there is a poetry interwoven that elevates and exalts. With what discursive freedom does the imagination range from the little plate of oysters that preludes your soup, to pearl fishery and the coral reefs, “with moonlight sleeping on the breaking surf!” And then your soup, be it turtle or mulligatawny, how associated is it with the West Indies or the East, bearing on its aromatic vapor thousands of speculative reflections about sugar and slavery, pepper-pots, straw hats, pickaninnies, and the Bishop of Barbadoes; or the still grander themes of elephants, emeralds, and the Indus, with rajahs, tigers, punkahs, and the Punjaub!
And so you proceed, dreamily following out in fancy the hints each course supplies, and roving with your cutlets to the “cattle upon a thousand hills,” or dallying with the dessert to the orange-groves of Zaute or Sicily.
I do love all this. The bouquet of my Bordeaux brings back the Rhone, as the dry muscat of my Johannisberg pictures the vine-clad cliffs of the Vaterland, with a long diminuendo train of thought about Metternich and the Holy Alliance – the unlucky treaty of ‘15 – Vienna – Madame Schrader – and Castelli.
And how pleasantly and nationally does one come back with the port to our “ancient ally, Portugal,” with a mind-painted panorama of Torres Vedras and the Douro, – with Black Horse Square and the Tagus, – “the Duke” ever and anon flitting across the scene, and making each glass you carry to your lips a heartfelt “long life to him!”
Alas and alas! such prandial delights were not for me; I must dine for twelve cents, or, by accepting the brilliant entertainment announced yonder, price half-a-dollar, keep Lent the rest of the week.
The temptation to which I allude ran thus: —
Ladies and Gentlemen’s Grand Ordinary of all Nations
At 5 o’clock precisely.
Thumbo-rig – Mint julep – and a Ball. The “Half-dollar.”
Monsieur Palamede de Rosanne directs the Ceremonies.
If there was a small phrase in the aforesaid not perfectly intelligible, it seemed, upon the principle of the well-known adage, only to heighten the inducement. The “Thumbo-rig” above might mean either a new potation or a new dance. Still, conceding this unknown territory, there was quite sufficient in the remainder of the advertisement to prove a strong temptation. The house, too, had a pretentious air about it that promised well. There was a large bow-window, displaying a perfect landscape of rounds and sirloins, with a tasteful drapery of sausages overhead; while a fragrant odor of rum, onions, fresh crabs, cheese, salt cod, and preserved ginger made the very air ambrosial.
As I stood and sniffed, my resolution staggered under the assaults made on eye, nose, and palate, a very smartly-dressed female figure crossed the way, holding up her dress full an inch or so higher than even the mud required, and with a jaunty air displayed a pair of very pink stockings on very well-turned legs. I believe – I ‘m not sure, but I fear – the pink stockings completed what the pickled beef began. I entered. Having paid my money at the bar, and given up my hat and greatcoat, I was ushered by a black waiter, dressed in a striped jacket and trousers, as if he had been ruled with red ink, into a large room, where a very numerous company of both sexes were assembled, some seated, some standing, but all talking away with buzz and confusion that showed perfect intimacy to be the order of the day. The men, it was easy to see, were chiefly in the “shipping interest.” There was a strong majority of mates and small skippers, whose varied tongues ranged from Spanish and Portuguese to Dutch and Danish; French, English and Russian were also heard in the mêlée, showing that the Grand Ordinary had a world-made repute. The ladies were mostly young, very condescending in their manners, somewhat overdressed, and for the most part French.
As I knew no one, I waited patiently to be directed where I should sit, and was at last shown to a place between a very fat lady of créole tint – another dip would have made her black – and a little brisk man, whom I soon heard was Monsieur Palamede himself.
The dinner was good, the conversation easiest of the easy, taking in all, from matters commercial to social, – the whole seasoned with the greatest good-humor and no small share of smartness. Personal adventures by land and sea, – many of the latter recounted by men who made no scruple of confessing that they “dealt in ebony,” – the slave-trade. Little incidents of life, that told much for the candor of the recounter, were heard on all sides, until at length I really felt ashamed of my own deficiency in not having even contributed an anecdote for the benefit of the company. This preyed upon me the more as I saw myself surrounded by persons who really, if their own unimpeachable evidence was to be credited, began the world in ways and shapes the most singular and uncommon. Not a man or woman of the party that had not slipped into existence in some droll, quaint fashion of their own, so that positively, and for the first time, I really grew ashamed to think that I belonged to “decent people” who had not compromised me in the slightest degree. “Voilà un jeune homme qui ne dit pas un mot!” said a pretty-looking woman, with fair brown hair and a very liquid pair of blue eyes. The speech was addressed to me, and the whole table at once turned their glances towards me.
“Ay, very true,” said a short, stout little skipper, with an unmistakable slash from a cutlass across his nose; “a sharp-looking fellow like that has a story if he will only tell it.”
“And you may see,” cried another, “that we are above petty prejudices here; roguery only lies heavy on the conscience that conceals it.” The speaker was a tall, sallow man, with singularly intelligent features; he had been a Jesuit tutor in the family of an Italian noble, and after consigning his patron to the Inquisition, had been himself banished from Rome.
Pressing entreaties and rough commands, half imperious instances and very seductive glances, all were directed towards me, with the object of extorting some traits of my life, and more particularly of that part of it which concerned my birth and parentage. If the example of the company invited the most unqualified candor, I cannot say that it overcame certain scruples I felt about revealing my humble origin. I was precisely in that anomalous position in life when such avowals are most painful. Without ambition, the confession had not cost me any sacrifice; while, on the other hand, I had not attained that eminence which has a proud boastfulness in saying, “Yes, I, such as you see me now, – great, titled, wealthy, and powerful, – I was the son of a newsvender or a lamplighter.” Such avowals, highly lauded as they are by the world, especially when made by archbishops or chancellors, or other great folk, at public dinners, are, to my thinking, about as vainglorious bits of poor human nature as the most cynical could wish to witness. They are the mere victories of vanity over self-esteem. Now, I had no objection that the world should think me a young gentleman of the very easiest notions of right and wrong, with a conscience as elastic as gutta-percha, picking my way across life’s stream on the stepping-stones made by other men’s skulls, – being, as the phrase has it, a very loose fish indeed; but I insisted on their believing that I was well-born. Every one has his weakness, – this was Con Cregan’s; and as these isolated fissures in strong character are nearly allied with strength, so was it with me: had I not had this frailty, I had never cherished so intensely the passion to become a gentleman. This is all digressionary; but I ‘ll not ask pardon of my dear reader for all that. If he be reading in his snug, well-cushioned chair, with every appliance of ease about him, he’ll not throw down these “Confessions” for a bit of prosing that invites the sleep that is already hovering round him. If he has taken me up in the few minutes before dinner, he ‘ll not regret the bit of meditation which does not involve him in a story. If he be spelling me out in a mail-train, he’ll be grateful for the “skipping” place, which leaves him time to look out and see the ingenious preparations that are making by the “down” or the “up” train to run into and smash the unhappy convoy of which he forms a part.
“Come, my young lad, out with it. Let us hear a bit about the worthy people who took the sin of launching you into the wide ocean. You must have had owners one time or other.” This was said by a hearty looking old man, with hair white as snow, and an enormous pair of eyebrows to match.
“Willingly, sir,” said I, with an air of the easiest confidence; “I should be but too proud if anything in a history humble as mine is could amuse this honorable company. But the truth is, a life so devoid of interest would be only a tax upon its patience to listen to; and as to my birth, I can give little, indeed no, information. The earliest record of my existence that I possess is from the age of two days and three hours.”
“That will do, – do admirably!” chorused the party, who laughed heartily at the gravity with which I spoke, and which to them seemed an earnest of my extreme simplicity. “We shall be quite satisfied with that,” cried they again.
“Well, then, gentlemen, thanking you for the indulgence with which you consent to overlook my want of accuracy, I proceed. At the tender age I have mentioned, I was won in a raffle!”
“Won in a raffle! won in a raffle!” screamed one after the other; and amid shouts of laughter the phrase continued to be echoed from end to end of the table. “That beats you hollow, Giles!” “By Jove, how scarce babies must be in the part you come from, if people take tickets for em!” Such were some of the commentaries that broke out amidst the mirth.
“I move,” said a dapper little Frenchman who had been a barber and a National Guard once, “I move that the honorable deputy make a statement to the Chamber respecting the interesting fact to which he has alluded.”
The motion was carried by acclamation, and I was accordingly induced to ascend the tribune, – a kind of rude pulpit that was brought specially into the room, and stationed at the side of the president’s chair; the comments on my personal appearance, age, air, and probable rank, which were made all the while, evidencing the most candid spirit one can well imagine.
“A right-down slick and shrewd ‘un, darn me if he ain’t!”
“A very wide awake young gemman,” quoth number two.
“Il a de ‘beaux yeux,’ celui-là,” – this was a lady’s remark.
“Set that young ‘un among the girls ‘down east,’ and he’ll mow ‘em down like grass.”
“A Londoner, – swell-mobbish a bit, I take it.”
“Not at all, he a’nt; he’s a bank clerk or a post-office fellow bolted with a lot of tin.”
“Der ist ein echter Schelm,” growled out an old Dantzic skipper; “I kenn him vehr wohl, – steal your wash wid a leetle scheer, – scissars you call him, ha! ha!”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said I, assuming a pose of the most dignified importance, “before entering upon the circumstance to which you have so graciously attached a little interest, let me assure you – not that the fact can or ought to have any weight with this distinguished company – that I have no claim upon your sympathy with regard to any of the pleas whispered around me. I am neither thief, pickpocket, runaway postman, burglar, nor highwayman. If I be, as you are pleased to say, ‘wide awake,’ I believe it is only a common precaution, considering the company I find myself in; and if I really could lay claim to the flattering praise of a fair lady on the left, it would be merely from accidentally reflecting her own bright glances. I present myself, then, with much diffidence before you, for the simple reason that I come in a character somewhat strange in these parts, – I am a gentleman!”
The ineffable impertinence of this address succeeded to a miracle. Some laughed, some applauded, a few muttered an unintelligible discontent; but the majority of the men and all the women were with me, and I saw that audacity had gained the day. Ay, and so will it ninety-nine times out of the hundred in everything through life! The strategic axiom, that no fortress is impregnable, is a valuable worldly lesson, and one ought never to forget that a storming-party rarely fails.
“The circumstance to which I alluded a few miuutes back – I dare not presume to call it a story – occurred thus :
“There was a large and brilliant party assembled to pass the Christmas at the Duke of Y – ‘s; you will understand my reserve. The company included many of the first persons in fashionable life, and a Royal *Duke to boot, a great friend of her Grace, and, some said, an old admirer of one of her sisters, who – so went the rumor – showed the strength of her attachment to his Royal Highness by never having accepted any of the brilliant offers of marriage made her. She was remarkably beautiful, and although a little past the first bloom of youth, in full possession of her charms at the time I speak of. Old Lord K – was one of the guests; and I am sure many of the distinguished company to whom I now address myself will not need any more particular description of the man they must have met a hundred times every London season, well known, indeed, as he is, with his light-blue coat and his buckskin tights, his wide beaver hat, and his queue; his eccentricities, his wealth, and his great avarice are themes all London is acquainted with.” I paused.
A buzz of acknowledgment and recognition followed, and I resumed: —
“Lord E – , you are aware, was a great musical amateur; he was the leader of everything of that kind about town, and whenever he could prevail upon himself to open his house in Carlton Terrace, it was always to Lablache, and Kubini, and Marini, and the reat of them. Well, it was just at the period of this Christmas visit – over which I may remark, en passant, Lady Blanche’s indisposition cast a shade of gloom – that, in making some alteration in the mansion, they discovered in a concealed press in the wall a mahogany case, on opening which were found the moth and worm eaten remains of a violin. A parchment document enclosed in a little scroll of brass, and which had escaped the ravages of time, explained that this was the instrument of the celebrated Giacomo Battesta Pizzicbetoni, the greatest violinist that ever lived, – the composer of ‘II Diavolo e la sua Moglia’ and the ‘Balia di Paradise,’ and many other great works, with which you are all familiar.”
The company chorused assent, and I continued: “The party had somehow not gone off well; the accustomed spirit aud animation of the scene were wanting. Perhaps Lady Blanche’s illness had some share in this; in any case, every one seemed low aud out of sorts, and the pleasant people talked of taking leave, when his Royal Highness proposed, by way of doing something, that they should have a raffle for this wonderful fiddle, of which, though only seen by the host and another, every one was talking.
“Even this much of stir was hailed with enthusiasm, the secrecy and mystery increasing the interest to a high degree.
The tickets were two guineas each; and Lord E – , dying to possess ‘a real Pizzichetoni,’ took twenty of them. The number was limited to a hundred; but such was the judicious management of those who directed the proceedings that the shares were at a ‘high premium’ on the day of drawing, his Royal Highness actually buying up several at five guineas apiece. The excitement, too, was immense; encyclopedias were ransacked for histories of the violin, and its great professors and proficients. The ‘Conversations Lexicon’ opened of itself at the letter P., and Pizzichetoni’s name turned up in every corner and on every theme, fifty times a day. What a time I have heard that was! nothing talked of but bow-action, shifting, bridging, double fingering, and the like, from morning to night. Lord E – became, in consequence of this run about a favorite subject, a personage of more than ordinary importance; instead of being deemed, what he was commonly called at the clubs, the Great ‘Borassus,’ he was listened to with interest and attention; and, in fact, from the extent of his knowledge of the subject, and his acquaintance with every detail of its history, each felt that to his Lordship ought by right to fall the fortunate ticket.
“So did it, in fact, turn out. After much vacillation, with the last two numbers remained the final decision. One belonged to the Royal Duke, the other to Lord E – .
“‘You shall have a hundred guineas for your chance, E – ,’ said the Duke; ‘what say you?’
“‘Your Ruyal Highness’s wish is a command,’ said he, bowing and blushing; ‘but were it otherwise, and to any other than your Royal Highness, I should as certainly say nay.’
“‘Then “nay” must be the answer to me also; I cannot accept of such a sacrifice: and, after all, you are much more worthy of such a treasure than I am, – I really only meant it for a present to Mori.’
“‘A present, your Royal Highness!’ cried he, horrified; ‘I would n’t give such a jewel to anything short of St. Cecilia, – the violin, you are aware, was her instrument.’
“‘Now, then, for our fortunes!’ cried the Duke, as he drew forth his ticket. ‘I believe I ‘m the lucky one: this is number 2000.’
“‘Two thousand and one!’ exclaimed Lord E – , holding up his, and, in an ecstasy of triumph, sat down to recover himself.
“‘Here is the key, my Lord,’ said one of the party, advancing towards him.
“He sprang up, and thrust it into the lock; in his agitation he shook the box, and a slight, soft cadence, like a faint cry, was heard.
“‘The soul of music hovers o’er it still,’ he exclaimed theatrically, and, flinging back the lid, discovered – Me! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in a very smart white robe, with very tasty embroidery, and a lace cap which I am assured was pure Valenciennes, there I lay! I am not aware whether my infantine movements were peculiarly seductive or not; but I have been told that I went through my gamut at a key that even overtopped the laughter around me.
“‘A very bad jest – a mauvaise plaisanterie of the worst taste, I must say,’ said Lord E – turning away, and leaving the room.
“I never rightly knew how the matter was afterwards made up, but certainly it was by his lordship’s directions, and at his charge, that I was nursed, reared, and educated. My expenses at Eton and Oxford, as well as the cost of my commission, came from him; and it was only a few days ago, on learning his death, that I also learned the termination of my good fortune in life. He bequeathed me what he styled my ‘family mansio,’ – the fiddle-case; thus repaying by this cruel jest the practical joke passed upon himself so many years before.”
“What name did they give you, sir?”
“‘I was called after the celebrated violinist of Cremona who lived in the seventh century, who was named Cornelius Crejanus, or, as some spell, Creganus; and, in compliance with modern usages, they anglicized me into Con Cregan.”
“I have the honor to propose Con Cregan’s health,” said the president; “and may he see many happy years ere he next goes to sleep in a wooden box!”
This very gratifying toast was drunk with the most flattering acclamations, and I descended from the tribune the “man of the evening.”
If some of the company who put credence in my story did not hesitate to ascribe a strong interest in me to the Royal Duke himself, others, who put less faith in my narrative, thought less of my parentage, and more of myself; so that what I lost on one hand, I gained on the other.
There was a discretion, a certain shadowy prudery about certain portions of my story, of which I have not attempted to convey any notion here, but which I saw had “told” with the fair part of my audience, who, possibly not over rigid in many of their opinions, were well pleased with the delicate reserve in which I shrouded my direct allusion to my parentage. A rough, red-whiskered skipper, indeed, seemed disposed to pour a broadside into this mystery, by asking “If his Royal Highness never took any notice of me?” but the refined taste of the company concurred in the diplomatic refusal to answer a question of which the “hon. gentleman on the straw chair” had given “no notice.”
The pleasures of the table, – a very luscious bowl of the liquid which bore the mysterious epithet of “Thumbo-rig,” and which was a concoction of the genus punch, spiced, sugared, and iced to a degree that concealed its awful tendency to anti-Mathewism; bright eyes that were no churls of their glances; merry converse; and that wondrous “magnetism of the board” which we call good fellowship, – made the time pass rapidly. Toasts and sentiments of every fashion went round, and we were political, literary, arbitrary, amatory, sentimental, and satiric by turns. They were pleasant varlets! and in their very diversity of humors there was that clash and collision of mind and metal that tell more effectively than the best packed party of choice wits who ever sat and watched each other.
