Part 3

"Let us leave these miserable brawlers," exclaimed Oriel, hurrying his companion from the spot. "Truly has my father said that the only religion is philanthropy, and the only worship of God consists in doing good to man. Nothing annoys me so much as observing a parcel of noisy fellows sowing dissension around them on the hypocritical pretence of teaching the surest means of saving sinners from perdition. Disputes about religion, entered into by persons professing different forms of faith, may be compared to the wranglings of a party of men concerning the excellence of different roads in a country of the geography of which all are ignorant."

"You should not judge of the whole class of teachers by such examples as we have just passed," remarked Zabra. "That the general influence of the clerical profession is beneficial has been denied by some narrow-minded men, who, because there have been a few instances of unworthiness obtaining distinction in the church, and of vicious propensities disgracing a professed teacher of virtue, denounce the institution that created them as unlikely to produce any real good to the community. But who condemns a fruitful tree, because, while it bears a profitable crop, a handful of blighted fruit may occasionally be found on its branches? The clergy are but a section of the vast mass of the social fabric; and it is as absurd for any one with a knowledge of human nature, to expect that every individual member of its body should be led into the profession by no other motive than the love of virtue, as to imagine that every soldier should be brave and join the ranks only from a desire for glory--or, that every lawyer should be honest, and embrace the law exclusively to advocate the principles of justice. It is, certainly, a natural expectation, that all who affect to show others the road to heaven should travel that way themselves, and to satisfy this expectation is the grand object of the institution of priesthood; but it is as rare that the allurements of the world can be prevented producing vicious effects upon those who are obliged to mingle in them, as it is difficult to guard against the encroachments of a disease by those who are forced to inhale an infectious atmosphere. The wonder should be, not that any fall, but that so many escape. When we come to consider the immense contributions to the general stock of intelligence afforded by the clergy, which embrace every branch of human learning and scientific acquirement--the active benevolence of at least a large majority--their unceasing endeavours to instil into the hearts of the people the refreshing influence of a pure system of morals--and the effect of their individual respectability in commanding attention to the great object for which they labour--illiberal indeed must he be who denies the utility of an establishment productive of so much good. To despise a sporting parson, a political priest, or a fashionable divine, is both right and natural, and they must receive condemnation from all who know how to appreciate the actions of a servant who serves any master but his own; but while an acknowledgment must be regretfully made of the existence of such hypocritical pretenders in the ranks of the church, when we reflect upon the vast fund of real piety, of pure philanthropy, and of sound learning it possesses, the influence of which cannot be otherwise than beneficial in the highest degree, we should rejoice that there is a class of men in existence that provides so liberally for the moral wants of the people, which, both by the precept and example of its worthiest members, affords such admirable means for counteracting the evil effects likely to be produced by its inefficient or immoral brethren. That the clergy produce good, it is impossible to deny; and that they do not produce so much good as is desirable, arises more from inaptitude in the community to be taught, than from want of ability in the clergy to instruct."

"You deserve a rich benefice for your defence, Zabra," said Oriel Porphyry, with a smile; "and I have no doubt if those sentiments continue, and you embrace the profession, you will become one of the highest dignitaries of the church. But what is this fellow talking about so earnestly? More wonders, I suppose."

He was a man ill-clad and ill-looking, who carried a bundle of papers in his hand, which he was trying to sell to the persons who were listening attentively to some intelligence he was bawling in the street with all the strength of his lungs.

"Extraordinary example of combustion!" shouted the fellow. "All the materials of matter which made up the bodies of Cutandrun, the famous inventor of infallible fire-escapes, and his family, have been placed in a state of decomposition by the action of phlogiston upon his house and stock. Here is a philosophical account, detailing the causes and effects of the phenomena--giving a scientific analysis of the ashes found in different situations--with an entirely new theory of the laws which render combustion so destructive in its agency upon inflammable matter. Only one penny."

"Well, that is certainly one way of describing a fire," observed Oriel Porphyry. "But chemistry, I suppose, is as well understood here as other branches of science appear to be. However, we must be proceeding, or we shall never arrive at our destination. As I am very doubtful about the right direction, I think we had better avail ourselves of one of these vehicles."

The director of a small light carriage for two persons was then hailed; and the two friends were about to enter it, when several boys, carrying bundles of papers, ran up to them, and commenced vociferating with loud voices entreaties to purchase their goods.

"Buy the Sydney Philosophical and Critical Quarterly Review. Only one penny," cried one little urchin.

"Here's the Universal Encyclopædia of Useful Knowledge, only one halfpenny," exclaimed a second.

"Neither are to be compared to these treatises by the Society for the Diffusion of Science among the Insane, sir,--only one farthing!" bawled a third.

"Away with you!" shouted Oriel Porphyry, as he sprang into the carriage, followed by his companion.

"At what velocity shall I apply the power?" inquired the conductor very civilly.

"Oh, moderate; and put me down at the house of Posthumous, in Botany Square," said his customer.

"Yes, sir," replied the man.

"Here's an article on the ponderability of imponderable substances; worth double the money for the whole review," cried one of the little booksellers.

"Here's a treatise on----" but what it was on must remain unknown; for both Zabra and his patron were far out of sight and hearing of their tormentors before the last sentence was concluded; and, in a few minutes, they found themselves opposite a stately mansion, which they stopped some time to examine. It seemed an edifice of more modern date than any near it on either side. A flight of broad steps led, under a small portico supported by pillars which in thickness seemed to rival their length, to an entrance by folding doors large enough to admit a regiment of soldiers, over which was placed three draperied figures in marble, sculptured as large as life, blowing trumpets towards three points of the compass, and dropping each a wreath upon the bust of a man with a foolish countenance, upon the base of which, in large letters, was conspicuously placed the name "POSTHUMOUS." Small windows were on each side, and above the door. Over the portico was placed a row of caryatidæ, resembling opera dancers making a pirouette, that supported an entablature, upon which a cumbrous attic was raised, forming an elevation as heavy and incongruous as it is possible to conceive.

CHAP. III.

POSTHUMOUS AND HIS MUSEUM.

With considerable parade Oriel Porphyry and his companion were ushered through long passages containing a variety of monstrous antiquities, into a small room filled with books and curiosities, where, at a curiously shaped table covered with a number of strange things, sat the original of the bust over the door--a man much beyond the middle age, with a short body, long legs and arms, broad shoulders, a clumsy head, and a foolish face. He was dressed in a tawdry morning gown, and was examining some articles of rarity brought him by several dealers, who were waiting till he had made his purchases.

"You tell me that this is a very rare copy," said Posthumous, appearing to regard with much attention a large book he held in his hand.

"The only copy in existence, sir, I assure you," replied the bookseller. "It fetched thirty guineas at the sale of Bookworm's library."

"And you are quite convinced that it is the stupidest book that ever was published?" inquired the collector.

"I have abundant testimonials to prove it, sir," rejoined the other. "The fact is, that the work, when published, which was as much as a thousand years ago, was so generally attacked by the reviewers for the incomprehensible nonsense with which it was filled, that the author, in a fit of shame, tried to buy up all the copies; and in this design he succeeded, with the exception of the one you have, which had fortunately fallen into the hands of a person celebrated for collecting works of a similar nature. All the rest were destroyed."

"And how much do you want for it?" asked the buyer.

"As you are a particular customer, and as I am very desirous that it should enrich the Posthumous Library, for which it is admirably adapted, I shall only ask you twenty pounds," said the seller.

"'Tis mine--and there's the money!" exclaimed the former, as if delighted with his purchase. "And you are quite sure it is decidedly the stupidest book in existence?" he added.

"I am positive," replied the other.

"Inestimable treasure!" cried the collector, clasping the volume in an ecstasy. "Now has the Posthumous Library a jewel which the whole world could not rival. Have you anything else?"

"Here is an unique copy of a very rare work, called 'The Philosophy of Flea-catching,' in sheets, clean and uncut. The learned Scribble-gossip says that this volume has now become so scarce that there is only one other copy extant, which is in the public library in India. This, however, has one important advantage over the other, which renders it of incalculably more value; for, if you notice, it has the Finis at the end printed backwards."

"Wonderful!" muttered his patron, as he noticed the extraordinary feature. "And what shall I pay you for it?"

"Only ten guineas, sir."

"There they are; and much reason will posterity have to congratulate itself that I am the fortunate possessor of 'The Philosophy of Flea-catching,' with the Finis printed backwards."

"Exactly so, sir, exactly. Your observations are always full of meaning. I wish you good morning."

"Good morning, Catalogue, good morning--and mind you show me everything rare that comes into your possession," cried Posthumous.

"Depend upon it, sir, you shall always have the first refusal," replied Catalogue; and he took his departure.

"And what have you brought me wrapt up in that green baize, Marble?" inquired the wealthy manufacturer, of a little shrivelled old man, who had been waiting for an opportunity to exhibit the article he had for sale.

"An antique--a real antique, sir!" said the little fellow, hastily taking off the covering. "The bust of a beautiful lady of rank, from the the chisel of the immortal Chantrey."

"Why she hasn't any nose!" exclaimed the virtuoso in a tone of disappointment. "Her face is battered to pieces, and she has lost half her shoulder."

"All the more valuable for that, sir," replied the man very coolly. "It shows its antiquity. I could have brought you many things more handsome to look upon, but so rare a piece of sculpture I have never yet had in my possession. Look how exquisitely that neck is formed! Charming, sir. Though not a feature is visible, the bust breathes an air of grace which it is impossible to look on without admiring. Sawdust, the great timber merchant, offered me fifty guineas for it to adorn his gallery, but I remembered that my generous and enlightened patron Posthumous was forming a museum, and, knowing that this was the very thing he required, refused the offer."

"Very good of you, Marble. I detest that Sawdust; he has no taste," remarked the collector. "But are you sure this is an antique?"

"Am I sure of my existence, sir?" replied the little man, looking as dignified as he could. "My judgment in these matters is infallible. But as you do not seem to appreciate the merit of this beautiful example of art, I shall take it to Sawdust."

"Not for the world, Marble!" exclaimed Posthumous, producing the money. "Here's the price; but, I must say, I should have liked it all the better if it had possessed something like a human countenance."

"Take my word for it, sir, that is not of the slightest consequence," said the man, as he pocketed the money. "The spirit of a great artist is upon it, and that is all that a connoisseur should look to."

"And what have you there?" inquired the purchaser, perceiving that the dealer was uncovering another specimen.

"A picture, sir--and _such_ a picture!" responded the man emphatically, as he proceeded to place a small old oil painting in what he considered the most advantageous light. "A _chef d'oeuvre_, sir; a work of one of the old masters. An undoubted original. Don't you feel a sort of emotion overpower you as you stand before it?"

"Why, I do feel rather queer; but I thought it was indigestion," replied the connoisseur, closely examining the picture.

"Psha!" exclaimed the little man rather contemptuously. "You ought to feel the all-pervading influence of superior genius. You are looking upon a master-piece. Do you remark the harmony with which the colours are blended in that wonderful production, the poetical treatment of the subject, and the sweet repose that pervades the picture?"

"To tell you the truth," said the patron, looking a little puzzled, "I have been examining it very closely, and I can see nothing at all."

"The effect of the great age of the picture, sir," responded the dealer. "The influence of time has destroyed every vestige of colour on the canvass; and it is impossible to make out a single feature in the painting. But be assured, sir, it is a wonderful production--an invaluable work of art. Emperors would be glad of such an addition to their collections; and artists would travel over half the world to gaze upon an example so unique. I have had many handsome offers for it, sir. Sawdust bid very high. He knew its value, sir. But I resolved that it should enrich the invaluable Posthumous collection of paintings; and I therefore offer it to you at the low price of two hundred guineas."

"Humph! I'm obliged to you, Marble," remarked the manufacturer, still poking his foolish face as close to the canvass as he could, and apparently hesitating about making the purchase. "That fellow Sawdust has no soul for these things. But what is it about, Marble? I should like to know the subject. Tell me what it is about, Marble."

"Why, sir, it is about--as far as I and all the best judges can ascertain--it is about the most ancient painting in the world," replied the dealer.

"A very fine subject," said the connoisseur; "and now I do begin to perceive a sort of a what's-a-name. But do you think posterity would applaud my giving such a price for such a painting with such a subject?"

"They could not do otherwise than greatly applaud your fine discrimination and admirable liberality," responded the little man with all the enthusiasm of a picture-dealer.

"Then I must have it," remarked Posthumous, as he paid the money; "posterity will reward my exertions."

"There is no doubt of it, sir. I wish you good morning," cried the man, bustling out of the room with an air of peculiar satisfaction.

"Good morning to you, Marble," exclaimed the collector, still closely examining the painting; "and if you have any thing rare, be sure to let me know. But, if it be in sculpture, I should prefer seeing something with a nose to it; and if it be a painting, although this is a capital subject, I should like it to be a little more easily made out."

"I will endeavour to meet your wishes," said the dealer; and he made his bow.

"Capital subject!" continued the connoisseur, still intently poring over his puzzling purchase: "capital subject--but I don't see it very clearly yet. There is a something there, and there is a something here; but--hullo, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, noticing his visitors for the first time. "I beg pardon; but I really did not know you were in the room. Have you brought me any curiosities--any thing rare or antique?"

"This letter will explain to you our business," replied Oriel Porphyry, handing a note across the table.

"Sit down, my good sir, sit down," cried the antiquarian; and, on his visitors complying with his request, he proceeded slowly to read the letter; and, during the period he took in its perusal, Oriel amused himself with examining the extraordinary contents of the room in which he was sitting. The chamber was low and dark, and every corner in it was filled with books heaped up together, without the slightest attempt at arrangement; some glittering with handsome bindings, new and unsoiled; and others old and ragged, covered with dirt, and dark with age. With these were pictures, some leaning against the wall, some upon chairs, others one upon another upon the floor, surrounded by huge fragments of stone, broken pieces of statuary, bronzes, ancient weapons, specimens of pottery, and a variety of other antiquities. Here was a full-length statue deprived of a leg, there an antique bust with half a nose; in one place a vase gaping with a conspicuous fracture, in another a sepulchral urn chipped out of all resemblance to what it once was. Of all the varied contents of the room, there remained nothing that had not in some manner been rendered useless, if at any time it had been considered of value, or, if perfect, had the slightest pretensions to be considered antique. But the most amusing piece of antiquity in this collection was evidently the proprietor, whose face and head expressed a more perfect appearance of want of intellect than the most skilful sculptor could have produced. His nose was a bulging lump of flesh, that looked like any thing but the thing for which it was intended; his eyes were deep set in his head, and were continually gazing in a settled stare of foolish wonder and delight; and his mouth, which was more than usually large, when its possessor was not talking stood invitingly half open, as if to ensnare all the flies in its neighbourhood. And with these characteristics there was a pompous manner with which he said his foolish nothings, that rendered the man more highly ridiculous.

"So you have come to purchase, instead of to sell," exclaimed he with much astonishment. "I had rather you had brought me some rare antiques to enrich my museum--the Posthumous Museum, as it is called. Do they talk of it in Columbia?"

"I cannot say I ever heard it mentioned," said Oriel, endeavouring to conceal a smile.

"Ah! posterity will do me honour; and it is for posterity I labour," added the manufacturer. "But I will give orders about what you require by and by. In the meantime, you must take up your abode with me, that you may be enabled to appreciate all the wonderful things I have collected in my museum for the benefit of posterity, that, when you return to your country, you may say how invaluable is the Posthumous Museum, and how enlightened and liberal is he who has spent a large fortune in collecting together its precious contents! I shall have a conversazione this evening, when you will meet with some of the most celebrated literati in this great empire; till then, I will endeavour to amuse you by making you aware of the value of this unrivalled collection of antiquities. In the first place, you behold this dagger," said he, showing an ordinary weapon of that description. "Well, this is the identical dagger that Macbeth saw in the air when he exclaimed, 'Is this a dagger that I see before me?' and so on."

"But Macbeth merely imagined that he beheld such a weapon," observed Oriel, amused at the credulity of his host.

"Exactly so; and this is the very weapon Macbeth imagined he beheld," replied the antiquarian. "It is undoubtedly genuine: I have documents to prove it. This is the very seal with which Magna Charta signed King John--no!--King John signed Runnemede--no, that's not it either--Runnemede signed the Barons--I am not just sure I have it now, but it must be one or the other. And this is the very seal;" and he produced a seal about the size of a small lantern. "Here is an undoubted Jew's harp--a great rarity. I don't know what Jew it belonged to; but its genuineness is placed beyond suspicion."

"It bears no resemblance to the harps in present use, either in size or appearance," remarked Zabra.

"A proof of its great antiquity," replied Posthumous. "You see it has but one string. Now, it is upon record that, at a remote age, there was a fiddler called Pagan Ninny. Whether he was called a pagan because he was a ninny, or a ninny because he was a pagan, it is impossible to prove; but certain it is that he played upon one string; and he played so well, that instruments upon one string came into fashion both among the Pagans and the Jews; and that is the reason why there is but one string to this Jew's harp. You observe this cake of mineral substance," he continued, pointing to a small bluish mass. "There is a deep interest attached to this specimen. I never look at it without feeling emotions of--that is to say, emotions of a what's-a-name, with which every monied man must sympathise. It is the remains of a great man--of a very great man--of a man whose credit with the world was exceeded by none in his day. It is the ashes of Abraham Newland!"

The manufacturer turned away, but whether to conceal a tear or to produce another curiosity was doubtful; however he was only a few seconds before he again approached his visitors, bearing a large fragment of wood crumbling into decay. "But here, gentlemen," said he, "here is an object that cannot fail to awaken--to awaken--that is to say, it cannot fail to awaken, but what it ought to awaken I do not exactly remember now; however, that is not of the slightest consequence. You have, no doubt, read of England, a very ancient island. Well, the inhabitants being very industrious did not like being disturbed by their neighbours, an idle dishonest set of rascals, who were continually coming upon their territory and doing a great deal of damage; so to keep out these troublesome marauders--marauders--marauders?--yes, that's the word, and having very fine forests of timber in their country, they surrounded their island with wooden walls; and this specimen, gentlemen, is an unquestionable fragment of the wooden walls of old England, procured for me at great expense by a traveller, who being in that part of the world found it in the remains of a wall within a very short distance of the sea-coast. It is the only antiquity of the kind in existence. None but the Posthumous Museum can boast of such an invaluable relic of the ancient ages: for posterity I acquired it, and for having become its fortunate possessor posterity will not fail to do justice to my memory."

Posthumous continued to give descriptions of a great variety of similar objects in the same fashion, till he approached some pictures, one of which he selected with great care, and placed in a favourable light.