Part 4

"Look at this picture, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, as his foolish face endeavoured to express something like wonder and admiration. "Observe the chiaro-scuro--the chiaro-scuro?--yes, that's the word, though I don't exactly remember what it means. Admire the foreshortening--the harmony--the repose--the expression, and all that. Fine effect--admirable picture! The subject is Joshua commanding his son to stand still. Excellent subject! The son was a very restless boy, gentlemen, who required to be ruled with rather a high hand; so Mister Joshua, a good sort of father too, by all accounts, was obliged to teach him to be quiet in a manner boys don't in general admire. It is painted by the immortal Snooks. Talk of Rubens, and Raphael, and Corregio, and Titian, and others of the ancients,--they were never to be compared to the immortal Snooks--the sublime, the incomparable, the illustrious Snooks. He had such a miraculous--such an extraordinary--such an unrivalled--I don't know what it was; but he had something, at any rate, that was very fine, and gave a sort of wonderful incomprehensible--you understand me--to such a degree, that seven-and-twenty cities have carried on a most violent dispute about which had the honour of giving him birth, and each erected a stupendous monument, having nothing else upon it but this sublime inscription, 'HERE SNOOKS WAS BORN!' But when he died, gentlemen, there was a regular scramble for his remains, and one carried away an arm, another a leg, a third took possession of the head, a fourth of the body, and many rejoiced in being so fortunate as to be able to screw off a toe nail, or punch out one of his teeth; and on the strength of this some forty different towns and cities have raised most magnificent mausolea, bearing these excruciating words, 'HERE SNOOKS DIED!'"

"He must have enjoyed a great degree of fame indeed," remarked Oriel.

"Yes, sir," replied the connoisseur; "and although he has shared the fate of many, who, though popular when living, get pulled to pieces immediately they are dead, his reputation has only increased by it. Now, gentlemen, let me show you this painting. It is a sea piece, you will observe, and possesses all that amazing freshness and transparency, and--and--what d'ye call 'em, which is considered so admirable by the best judges. You may actually feel the moisture of the water, gentlemen, if you stay long enough; and that is the reason I put my hat on whenever I look at it, to prevent catching cold. Poor Tipple! his was a different fate from that of the immortal Snooks. No one thought of disputing about the honour of his birth or burial. He enjoyed no post mortem--post mortem?--yes, that's it--he enjoyed no post mortem gratifications. The nails were left upon his unhappy toes, and the teeth remained undisturbed in his miserable jaws. But he was a great artist,--who could paint water as he did? None! There was a sort of an indescribable, inimitable--and--and a whatso'name in his water, that nobody else's water ever looked like. You could see your face in it, Sir. But somehow or other while he was--not a hewer of wood--but a drawer of water, whether the sight of such a pure, sweet, refreshing beverage made him continually thirsty, I'm not certain, but he drank, gentlemen, not his own water, even when he drew it ever so mild, but strong waters, till they overpowered his weak constitution, got into his upper story by an hydraulic--hydraulic? Yes, that's the word--by an hydraulic power of their own, till he created a deluge in his own body, without the use of colours, which spoiled his palate, and made him obliged to brush. Ah! Tipple was a great artist. There was a sort of a truth, a nature, a thingembob about every thing he attempted, which gave to all his paintings a certain, a--you understand, which is perfectly delightful to look upon. He has not been appreciated by his cotempop--contompo--contempo--confound it, I forget the word, but however he was not appreciated by somebody. But perhaps, like me, he looked to posterity; and although he has not created a Posthumous museum, as some of his best productions form a portion of its invaluable contents, it is very possible that when posterity does me justice it will not forget the merits of Tipple."

After Posthumous had detailed at sufficient length his description of the contents of his library, he led the two friends into a suite of several rooms, not at all suitable for the purpose for which they had been erected, in which objects in natural history were arranged, if arrangement it might be called, for here were animals, vegetables, minerals, and fossils, mingled together as if they belonged to the same family, but the specimens, like those in the library, were every one imperfect--they were all deficient in something or other, which rendered them comparatively useless to the student and valueless to the collector. This defect, however, was not observed by the owner, who imagined that there was not a collection in the world that could boast of so many unique specimens from the stores of nature and art, as the Posthumous museum.

"You see, gentlemen, before you, the wonders of nature, from a tadpole to an elephant!" exclaimed the manufacturer, in a tone of exultation. "I have collected these--I have collected them for the benefit of posterity, and not without considerable expense and labour, as you may believe. But when a man is excited into action--yes, excited into action--by an idea so comprehensive, so universal--so whatso'name, as forming a museum for the benefit of posterity, he thinks not of the trouble to which he may be put, or the money he may be out of pocket, when he is endeavouring to develope--yes, that's it--endeavouring to develope his own philosophical conceptions. Well--this is an--this is a--this is an animal of some kind, but the name I do not at present remember. You can at once perceive how much it differs from all other animals: in the first place, it has four legs--two behind and two before--an extraordinary coincidence--coincidence? Yes, that's the word--and it possesses a tail, which, marvellous as it may seem, is invariably placed upon the rump of the animal, and as nearly opposite to its head as head and tail can be. Now you will notice the head. It has, you see--two jaws, one above and the other below; and, though it may appear strange, the upper jaw never sinks below the under jaw even if the poor beast be ever so chap-fallen--and the under never rises above the upper jaw. Very curious that. That animal, you will observe by the teeth--I don't know how though, is carnivorous--carnivorous? Yes, that's the word, which means that it eats nothing but grass. It's called by zoologists one of the roomy--roomy--roomy--one of the roomy something, but I'll be hanged if I can remember what--and I suppose it is because it requires a sort of an expanse--an extensive, a--whatdyecallem, to move about in. Now _this_ animal is a different species altogether. It is what they call a--you understand. It has the same number of legs, the same number of tails, and the same number of heads as the other animal, and yet their natures are entirely, absolutely, and something else which I've forgot, different. Isn't it wonderful? This is a grani--yes, a granivorous quadruped, and consequently eats flesh, mutton chops, beef steaks, or anything else of the same sort. You see these hoofs, how admirably adapted they are for tearing their prey, much better than knives and forks, when they, under the influence of a certain impulse or instinct, or whatso'name, roam about the wilds looking after their eatables. Wonderful, isn't it? Both these animals belong to the class mammalia; yes--mammalia--a word that signifies that their mothers are called mammies."

"You quite enlighten me on the subject," observed Oriel Porphyry, endeavouring to suppress a laugh.

"Ay, Sir, I've studied it for a very long length of time," replied his host. "I know it thoroughly, you may depend upon it. Now, Sir, here is a fish. Fishes swim, you know, Sir."

"I was aware of that," remarked Oriel, as gravely as he could.

"But they don't swim when they're dead, Sir," rejoined the manufacturer, as if desirous of making his auditors wonder at the extraordinary fact. "Curious phenomenon--phenomenon? Yes, that's the word--curious phenomenon that. Well, this fish is dead, and were you to try ever so, you could not induce it to swim. You will observe that it has scales. Now the animals we have just examined have no scales. Singular, isn't it? That peculiarity in its organiza--organi--organ something, which I have forgot, is a wise provision of nature--a sort of whatsoname to prevent the fish from getting wet through when exposed to the continual action of the watery element--yes, of the watery element. So these scales are very important in its animal economy--ay, animal economy--and you will remember, as a remarkable coincidence that completely proves the value of these things, that Justice is always represented with scales, Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful!" replied both the young men in a breath.

"Now this is a reptile, you will observe," said Posthumous, pointing to a small snake in a glass case. "This has scales, and yet it is not a fish. Strange, isn't it? Here's the name. It is the _Bipède cannelé_. The first word signifies that it's a biped, like man, though it's got no legs; and the other word denotes that it's found in canals. Here are some shells: this one is called _Coriocella nigra_, because it always frequents the cellars of the blacks; and this is the _Velutina capulöidea_, the first word of which means that it was discovered by Veluti, a chonchologist--a chonchologist?--yes, a chonchologist, celebrated in his day for the ardour with which he investigated--I mean the spirit with which he penetrated--no, that's not it; but, at any rate, it was a peculiar whatso'name with which he made his researches; and what the other word implies I am not quite certain; but it appears by the last syllables to mean some low idea which it isn't worth inquiring into."

"And what are these things?" inquired Zabra, looking at a confused mass of insects lying together in a case.

"Those are the Chalcididæ," replied the manufacturer, reading from a paper affixed to it; "a family of hymenopterous insects, which the heathens made sacred to their god Hymen, because they were very much given to the marriage state; and this belongs to the section Pupivora, because they are always found upon puppies. You will observe that they have wings, and these wings are used for flying. But all insects have not got wings, consequently some of them cannot fly. Wonderful, isn't it? As I said before, it is a wise provision of nature to give them a sort of a facility--a convenience--a thingembob, for the purpose of more easily transporting them from place to place. Isn't it strange?"

"What bird is this?" asked Oriel, pointing to a stuffed specimen.

"Ha! now you will observe another extraordinary thing," exclaimed his host. "This creature also possesses wings, and yet it is not an insect. Marvellous coincidence! This is one of the Agami, so called because it is considered excellent game; and has the scientific name of _Psophia crepitans_, from its fondness of creeping upon sofas. You observe that this animal has but two legs: the first animals we noticed had four, and the fish had none; yet all of them, by that sort of natural a--you understand, are enabled to go about wherever they like, and indulge themselves in every kind of--something I don't remember, according to their individual capacities--their individual capacities?--yes, their individual capacities. Isn't it wonderful?"

"And pray what stones are these?" inquired Zabra, directing attention to two or three large fragments of stone leaning against the wall.

"They are not stones, but fossils," replied Posthumous, trying to look amazingly sagacious; "and the difference between a stone and a fossil is a--the difference between a fossil and a stone. Isn't it strange?"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed his visitors.

"You see it is very hard," continued their companion, "and has the skeleton of an animal long since extinct--extinct? yes, extinct--long since extinct, plainly marked upon it. It is said that, once upon a time, long before I can remember, there was a shower of rain came down, that not only wetted every one to the skin, in spite of their umbrellas, but actually drowned all the animals in the world, except those--yes, except those who were not drowned. Well, the poor things when they were dead couldn't move in the least; and, in course of time, by the continual deposit of--of whatso'name upon their bodies, they became squeezed into the earth round about them, and that becoming hard, they became hard also. Now these are minerals. The earth, you know, is made like a bread and butter pudding; a layer of bread and butter, then a layer of currants, and so on; in what are called _strata_--yes, _strata_, because they're always straight;--and sometimes they find coal, and sometimes stone, and sometimes clay, and sometimes something I don't remember, and sometimes something I have forgot; and all these things are kept together in their proper places by a sort of--you understand--which holds the world firmly together, so that people may walk upon it without fear of its tumbling to pieces. Wonderful, isn't it?"

In this way Posthumous proceeded describing to his visitors the contents of his museum. Every object was noticed, and all relating to it he knew, which appeared at all times more novel than authentic, was minutely detailed, with a look and a manner marked by self-approbation and stupidity, that were exceedingly amusing, till the hour arrived for dinner; when he seemed, with considerable reluctance, to leave its many attractions, and led the way into a dining-room, which was also crammed with every species of antiquity he had considered sufficiently valuable for his collection, where, with a mummy at his feet, and a statue without a head at his elbow, he did the honours of hospitality, mingling them with liberal allusions to the benefit he was intent upon doing posterity.

CHAP. IV.

A CONVERSAZIONE.

It was evening, and every part of the Posthumous museum was brilliantly lit up and filled with visitors. The manufacturer gave a conversazione, and his rooms were filled with some of the most celebrated characters in the world of wealth, fashion, and literature of Sydney. Some turned over the leaves of books--others looked through portfolios of prints--some examined the paintings--and others scrutinised the antiquities--a few appeared intent upon studying the appearances of the different specimens of natural history, and others seemed equally desirous of becoming acquainted with the disposition of their companions. Some in little circles were arguing upon various subjects, and in a room by themselves were a more select party enjoying the performance of some excellent music. Posthumous did not seem on terms of intimacy with many of his guests, for they passed him with as much indifference as if he was some one not worthy to be known; but he was remarkably attentive to Oriel and his companion, describing, as they passed along, the different persons that crowded his rooms, and only occasionally stopping in his remarks to exchange a few words with some of his visitors with whom he knew he might be familiar.

"You see that person before you in the brown and yellow thingembob, with a long nose and a remarkable sort of a whatso'name in his appearance," said Posthumous. The two friends saw who was meant, but did not recognise him by the description. "There, he's examining that Chinese idol. He's a clever man--decidedly a clever man. He lived most part of his life in China, because, he said, the country always suited him to a T; and has written ever so many books about its geography and use of the globes, habits, customs, laws, antiquities, and something else I don't remember. He says their chronolo--chronology?--yes, chronology, that's the word--he says their chronology is the most ancient in the world; but I'll be bound to say that there's a more ancient chronology in my museum, only I can't tell exactly where to lay my hands upon it. But a very learned writer is Chopstick--very learned. It was he who discovered that the tea-plant was originally cultivated in England, as he found there a river called _Tees_, and ascertained that the ancient name of the people was _Celtæ_, so called from their selling teas. That little man in the snuff-coloured--you understand, knows more about antiquities than any body in Australia. It was he who proved so clearly that our city was originally built by Sir Philip Sydney, an architect who was very partial to erecting arcades, so much so that he wrote a work about them called Arcadia, and from him our metropolis has derived its name. Talking of antiquities, do you know I met in a book the other day something about a psychological--psychological? yes, that was the word--something about a psychological curiosity; and although I have offered any price for a psychological curiosity, I have not been able to procure one. But let us hear what Dustofages is saying about that piece of ancient brickwork. It has an inscription upon it which has puzzled me completely."

Posthumous and his young visitors approached the table on which rested a considerable piece of brickwork that had attracted the attention of the little antiquarian.

"I am tolerably certain," said Dustofages with a grave face, to a few anxious students of the art in which he was so famous, that thronged near him, "I am tolerably certain that this inscription is in the English language, and from its appearance I should pronounce it to be cotemporaneous with the Georgian dynasty."

"Wonderful!" murmured Posthumous.

"The first three letters are evidently a T, an R, and a Y, which make the word TRY," continued the antiquarian: "and the letters of the next word, though nearly obliterated, taken together, form the name WARRENS--and this ancient inscription, therefore, is 'Try Warrens'--but what it means I am not so confident. Perhaps this Warrens was a notorious offender whom the people wished to have tried and punished; and therefore expressed their wishes in a conspicuous manner, that the government might notice it, and _try Warrens_: this was a way the populace then had of making their sentiments known to their rulers as may be ascertained by an antique fragment in the Australian Museum, on which is inscribed the words, 'Down with the Whigs!'"

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Posthumous.

"But as in the whole course of my reading I have met with no allusion to any notorious character of the name of Warrens," continued the little man, "it is quite as probable that some obscure individual made the inscription as a sort of memento to attract the attention of his mistress, expressive of his love and fidelity--he wished her to _try Warrens_. In the English anthology, from a very ancient poem, I met with these lines, addressed by a lover to his mistress--

"Try me, try me, Prove ere you deny me"--

which proves that lovers were desirous of being tried; and as so many inscriptions exist in which the ancients showed their attachment to their females by inscriptions on wood and stone, declaring their wishes, there can be but little doubt that these words were placed here by some enamoured youth who was desirous that a particular female, whose name has not come down to us, should 'Try Warrens.'"

"Isn't it wonderful?" cried the delighted Posthumous, and without waiting for an answer hurried his companions to another room. "How do you do, Bluey?" he exclaimed, addressing a tall thin lady with a bilious complexion, who appeared to be examining some minerals.

"Rather say, how does my will do," replied the lady, very gravely; "for it is my will that does every thing. I must have the will to do, before the action can be done. If you mean merely to inquire into the state of the mere animal machine, I must reply, that of the chemical combinations now in process, the acids overpower the alkalis, and produce an acetous fermentation in the natural laboratory, that disturbs the sanatory functions of my particular system, and tends to create new combinations injurious in their action upon the animal fibre; but as I know that as a sufficient proportion of the earthy salts, either in carbonates or sulphates, held in solution, or in any other form that may be most convenient, operating upon the acids, will counteract their unhealthy tendency and render them inert, I do not care for the disorder of my organic substances. It is not of sufficient importance to distract my attention from the interesting study of chemical affinities."

"Well, I'm sorry you're so bad," remarked the inquirer, in a tone of regret.

"Bad is the antagonist of good," said the lady, sharply; "and I beg to say that I am not bad. Bad is evil--I am not evil--therefore I am not bad. Bad is base--I am not base--therefore I am not bad. In fact, bad is a very unphilosophical term to apply upon such an occasion. You should have said that you regretted that there should exist any chemical combinations in my system of natural processes that support life, which are not characteristic of a state of health."

"At any rate, I hope you will soon get better," responded her host.

"Better is worse than bad," replied his guest with additional severity. "To be better, implies an antecedent state of badness, and I tell you again I am not bad, I have not been bad, and I do not intend to be bad."

"Well, good bye--good bye," he exclaimed, attempting to hurry away.

"There is no sense in the phrase 'good bye;' it means nothing," said the lady hastily: "it is an abbreviation of 'good be with you.' Now, if you mean to say that I am good, I deny it. I deny that I am either good or bad; good and bad being qualities not existing in the object, for what appears good to one may seem bad to another; but they arise in the idea of the individual."

Posthumous and his companions were glad when they were out of hearing of the lady, whose metaphysics and chemistry they could not appreciate in the way she desired.