The Sketches of Seymour by Robert Seymour (pdf to ebook reader txt) 📕

cautiously round the angle of the wall, he beheld a portly gentleman in black running along with the unwieldy gait of a chased elephant.

"Old Flank'em, of the Finishing Academy, by jingo!" exclaimed Sugarlips. "It's a mercy we didn't finish him! Why, he must actually have been on the point of turning the corner. I think we had better be off; for, if the old dominie catches us, he will certainly liberate our sparrows, and
- put us in the cage!"

But, where's the spoil?"

"Spoil, indeed!" cried Sugarlips; "you've spoiled him nicely. I've an idea, Tom, you were too near, as the spendthrift nephew said of his miserly uncle. If you can't get an aim at a greater distance, you'd never get a name as a long shot - that's my mind."


PRECEPT.


Uncle Samson was a six-bottle man. His capacity was certainly great, whatever might be said of his intellect; for I have seen him rise without the least appearance of elevation, after having swallowed the customary half dozen. He laughed to scorn all modern potations of wishy-washy French and Rhine wines - deeming them unfit for the palate of a true-born Englishman. Port, Sherry, and Madeira were his only tipple - the rest, he would assert, were only fit for finger-glasses!

- He was of a bulky figure, indeed a perfect Magnum among men, with a very apoplectic brevity of neck, and a logwood complexion, - and though a staunch Church-of-England-man, he might have been mistaken, from his predilection for the Port, to be a true Mussulman. To hear him discourse upon the age of his wines - the 'pinhole,' the 'crust,' the 'bees'-wing,' etc., was perfectly edifying - and every man who could not imbibe the prescribed quantum, became his butt. To temperance and tea-total societies he attributed the rapid growth of radicalism and dissent.

"Water," he would say, with a sort of hydrophobic shudder, "is only a fit beverage for asses!" - "To say a man could drink like a fish, was once the greatest encomium that a bon-vivant could bestow upon a brother Bacchanalian - but, alas! in this matter-of-fact and degenerate age, men do so literally - washing their gills with unadulterated water! - Dropsy and water on the chest must be the infallible result! If such an order of things continue, all the puppies in the kingdom, who would perhaps have become jolly dogs in their time, will be drowned! Yes, they'll inevitably founder, like a water-logged vessel, in sight of port. These water-drinkers will not have a long reign. They would feign persuade us that 'Truth lies at the bottom of a well,' - lies, indeed! I tell you Horace knew better, and that his assertion of 'There is truth in wine,' was founded on experience - his draughts had no water-mark in 'em, depend on it."

He was a great buyer of choice "Pieces," and his cellar contained one of the best stocks in the kingdom, both in the wood and bottle. Poor Uncle! - he has now been some years "in the wood" himself, and snugly stowed in the family vault!

Having been attacked with a severe cold, he was compelled to call in the Doctor, who sent him a sudorific in three Lilliputian bottles; but although he received the advice of his medical friend, he followed Shakspeare's,

"Throw physic to the dogs,"

and prescribed for himself a bowl of wine-whey as a febrifuge. His housekeeper remonstrated, but he would have his 'whey,' and he died! leaving a handsome fortune, and two good-looking nephews to follow him to the grave.

Myself and Cousin (the two nephews aforesaid) were vast favourites with the old gentleman, and strenuously did he endeavour to initiate us in the art of drinking, recounting the feats of his youth, and his drinking-bouts with my father, adding, with a smile, "But you'll never be a par with, your Uncle, Ned, till you can carry the six bottles under your waistcoat."

My head was certainly stronger than my Cousin's; he went as far as the third bottle - the next drop was on the floor! Now I did once manage the fourth bottle - but then - I must confess I was obliged to give it up!

"Young men," would my Uncle say, "should practice 'sans intermission,' until they can drink four bottles without being flustered, then they will be sober people; for it won't be easy to make them tipsy - a drunken man I abominate!"


EXAMPLE.

"You see I make no splash!"


There are some individuals so inflated with self-sufficiency, and entertain such an overweaning opinion of their skill in all matters, that they must needs have a finger in every pie.

Perhaps a finer specimen than old V , of this genius of egotistic, meddling mortals, never existed. He was a man well-to-do in the world, and possessed not only a large fortune, but a large family.

He had an idea that no man was better qualified to bring up his children in the way they should go; and eternally plagued the obsequious tutors of his sons with his novel mode of instilling the rudiments of the Latin tongue, although he knew not a word of the language; and the obedient mistresses of his daughters with his short road to attaining a perfection in playing the piano-forte, without knowing a note of the gamut: but what could they say; why, nothing more or less than they were 'astonished;' which was vague enough to be as true as it was flattering.

And then he was so universally clever, that he even interfered in the culinary department of his household, instructing the red-elbowed, greasy, grinning Cook, in the sublime art of drawing, stuffing, and roasting a goose, for which she certainly did not fail to roast the goose (her master) when she escaped to the regions below.

Even his medical attendant was compelled to acknowledge the efficacy of his domestic prescriptions of water-gruel and honey in catarrhs, and roasted onions in ear-aches, and sundry other simple appliances; and, in fine, found himself, on most occasions, rather a 'consulting surgeon,' than an apothecary, for he was compelled to yield to the man who had studied Buchan's and Graham's Domestic Medicine. And the only consolation he derived from his yielding affability, were the long bills occasioned by the mistakes of this domestic quack, who was continually running into errors, which required all his skill to repair. Nay, his wife's mantua-maker did not escape his tormenting and impertinent advice; for he pretended to a profound knowledge in all the modes, from the time of Elizabeth to Victoria, and deemed his judgment in frills, flounces, and corsages, as undeniable and infallible.

Of course the sempstress flattered his taste; for his wife, poor soul! she soon had tact enough to discover, had no voice in the business.

His eldest son, George, had a notion that he could angle. Old V
immediately read himself up in Walton, and soon convinced - himself, that he was perfect in that line, and quite capable of teaching the whole art and mystery.

"See, George," said he, when they had arrived at a convenient spot for their first attempt, "this is the way to handle your tackle; drop it gently into the water, - so!" and, twirling the line aloft, he hooked the branches of an overhanging tree! - sagaciously adding, "You see I make no splash! and hold your rod in this manner!"

George was too much afraid of his imperious father, to point out his error, and old V consequently stood in the broiling sun for a full quarter of an hour, before he discovered that he had caught a birch instead of a perch!


A MUSICAL FESTIVAL.


Matter-of-fact people read the story of Orpheus, and imagine that his "charming rocks" and "soothing savage beasts," is a mere fabulous invention. No such thing: it is undoubtedly founded on fact. Nay, we could quote a thousand modern instances of the power of music quite as astonishing.

One most true and extraordinary occurrence will suffice to establish the truth of our proposition beyond a doubt. Molly Scraggs was a cook in a first-rate family, in the most aristocratic quarter of the metropolis.

The master and mistress were abroad, and Molly had nothing to do but to indulge her thoughts; and, buried as she was in the pleasant gloom and quiet of an underground kitchen, nothing could possibly be more favourable to their developement. She was moreover exceedingly plump, tender, and sentimental, and had had a lover, who had proved false to his vows.

In this eligible situation and temper for receiving soft impressions, she sat negligently rocking herself in her chair, and polishing the lid of a copper saucepan! when the sweet, mellifluous strains of an itinerant band struck gently upon the drum of her ear. "Wapping Old Stairs" was distinctly recognized, and she mentally repeated the words so applicable to her bereaved situation.

"Your Molly has never proved false she declares," 'till the tears literally gushed from her "blue, blue orbs," and trickled down her plump and ruddy cheeks; but scarcely had she plunged into the very depths of the pathos induced by the moving air, which threatened to throw her into a gentle swoon, or kicking hysterics, when her spirit was aroused by the sudden change of the melancholy ditty, to the rampant and lively tune, with the popular burden of, "Turn about and wheel about, and jump Jim Crow!"

This certainly excited her feelings; but, strange to say, it made her leap from her chair, exasperated, as it were, by the sudden revulsion, and rush into the area.

"Don't, for goodness sake, play that horrid 'chune,'" said Molly, emphatically addressing the minstrels.

The 'fiddle' immediately put his instrument under his arm, and, touching the brim of his napless hat, scraped a sort of bow, and smilingly asked the cook to name any other tune she preferred.

"Play us," said she, "'Oh! no, we never mention her,' or summat o' that sort; I hate jigs and dances mortally."

"Yes, marm," replied the 'fiddle,' obsequiously; and, whispering the 'harp' and 'bass,' they played the air to her heart's content.

In fact, if one might guess by the agility with which she ran into the kitchen, she was quite melted; and, returning with the remnants of a gooseberry pie and the best part of a shoulder of mutton, she handed them to the musicians.

"Thanky'e, marm, I'm sure," said the 'bass,' sticking his teeth into the pie-crust.

"The mutton 's rayther fat, but it 's sweet, at any rate - "

"Yes, marm," said the 'fiddle;' "it's too fat for your stomach, I'm sure, marm;" and consigned it to his green-baize fiddle-case.

"Now," said Molly, - "play us, 'Drink to me only,' and I'll draw you a mug o' table-ale."

"You're vastly kind," said the 'fiddle;' "it's a pleasure to play anythink for you, marm, you've sich taste;" and then turning to his comrades, he added, with a smile - "By goles! if she ain't the woppingest cretur as ever I set eyes on - "

The tune required was played, and the promised ale discussed. The 'bass,' with a feeling of gratitude, voted that they should give a parting air unsolicited.

"Vot shall it be?" demanded the 'harp.'

"Vy, considering of her size," replied the 'fiddle,' "I thinks as nothink couldn't be more appropriate than