Part 142
_L._ With old Ibrahim to give us the bastinado. I have no fair Persian at hand to offer him; and, if I had, wouldn’t do it. But here’s ----; he shall have _him_.
_O._ (_grinding with laughter._) What, in woman’s clothes, to beguile him, and play the lute?
_L._ No; as a fair dealer; no less a prodigy, especially for a bookseller. You should save your head every day by a new joke; and we would have another new Arabian Nights, or the Adventures of Sultan Mahmoud and the Fair Dealer. You should be Scheherezade turned into a man. Every morning, the prince’s jester should say to you, “Brother Scratch-his-head, if you are awake, favour his Majesty with a handsome come-off.”
_E._ I cannot help thinking we are the Calenders, got into the house full of ladies; and that we shall have to repent, and rub our faces with ashes, crying out, “_This_ is the reward of our debauchery: _This_ is the reward of taking too many cups of coffee: _This_ is the reward of excessive girl and tobacco.”
_L._ But, alas! in that case we should have the repentance without the lady, which is unfair. No ladies, I believe, are admitted here, Mr. Gliddon?
_Mr. G._ No, sir; it has been often observed to me, by way of hint, that it was a pity ladies were not admitted into English coffee-houses, as they are on the continent; but this is a smoking as well as a coffee-room. Ladies do not smoke in England, as they do in the East; and then, as extremes meet, and the most respectable creatures in the world render a place, it seems, not respectable, I was to take care how I risked my character, and made my Divan too comfortable.
_O._ And we call ourselves a gallant nation! We also go to the theatres to sit and hear ourselves complimented on our liberal treatment of women, and suffer them all the while to enjoy the standing-room!
_C._ Women are best away, after all. We should be making love, while they ought to be making the coffee.
_L._ Women and smoking would not do together, unless we smoked perfumes, and saw their eyes through a cloud of fragrance, like Venus in her ambrosial mist. This room, I confess, being full of oriental scenes, reminds one of other things oriental--of love and a lute. I could very well fancy myself Noureddin, sitting here with my fair Persian, eating peaches, and sending forth one of the songs of Hafiz over those listening waters.
_J._ The next time Mr. Gliddon indulges us with a new specimen of his magnificence, he must give us animate instead of inanimate scenes, and treat us with a series of subjects out of the Arabian Nights--lovers, genii, and elegant festivities.
_Mr. G._ Gentlemen, here is a little festivity at hand, not, I hope, altogether inelegant. Your coffee and cigars are ready.
_C._ Ah, this is the substantial picturesque. I was beginning to long for something oriental to eat, elegant or not; an East-dumpling for instance.
_H._ I wonder whether they have any puns in the East.
_J._ To be sure they have. The elegancies of some of their writers consist of a sort of serious punning, like the conceits of our old prosers; such as, a man was “deserted for his deserts;” or “graceless, though full of gracefulness, was his grace, and in great disgrace.”
_C._ But I mean proper puns; puns worthy of a Pundit.
_L._ You have it. It is part of their daily _expunditure_. How can there be men and not puns?
To pun is human; to forgive it, fine.
_H._ There’s an instance in Blue Beard; in a pun set to music by Kelly;
_Fat_ima, _Fat_ima, _See-limbs_ here!
_C._ Good. I think I see Kelly, who used to stick his arms out, as if he were requesting you to see his limbs; and Mrs. Bland, whom he used to sing it to--a proper little Fatima. Come; I feel all the beauty of the room, now that one is “having something.” This is really very Grand, Signior; though to complete us, I think we ought to have some Sublime Port.
_Mr. G._ Excuse me: _whining_ is not allowed to a true Mussulman.
_C._ Some snuff, however.
_Mr. G._ The best to be had.
_W._ Take some of mine; I have cropped the flower of the shop.
_J._ You sneeze, C. I thought you too old a snuff-taker for that.
_C._ The air of the water always makes me sneeze. It’s the Persian gulf here.
_W._ This is a right pinch, friend C. I’ll help you at another, as you’ve helped me.
_C._ Snuff’s a capital thing. I cannot help thinking there is something providential in snuff. If you observe, different refreshments come up among nations at different eras of the world. In the Elizabethan age, it was beef-steaks. Then tea and coffee came up; and people being irritable sometimes, perhaps with the new light let in upon them by the growth of the press, snuff was sent us to “support uneasy thoughts.” During the Assyrian monarchy, cherry-brandy may have been the thing. I have no doubt Semiramis took it; unless we suppose it too matronly a drink for _So-Mere-a-Miss_.
(Here the whole Assyrian monarchy is run down in a series of puns.)
_H._ Gentlemen, we shall make the Tour of Babel before we have done.
_L._ Talking of the refreshments of different ages, it is curious to see how we identify smoking with the Eastern nations; whereas it is a very modern thing among them, and was taught them from the west. One wonders what the Turks and Persians did before they took to smoking; just as the ladies and gentlemen of these nervous times wonder how their ancestors existed without tea for breakfast.
_J._ Coffee is a modern thing too in the East, though the usual accompaniment of their tobacco. “Coffee without Tobacco,” quoth the Persian, as our friend’s learned placard informs us, “is like meat without salt.”[479] But coffee is of Eastern growth. It is a species of jasmin. I remember, in a novel I read once, the heroine was described in grand terms, as “presiding at the hysonian altar;” that is to say, making tea. This lady might have asked her lover, whether before his hysonian recreation, he would not “orientalize in a cup of jessamine.”
_W._ I met with a little story in a book yesterday, which I must tell you, not because it is quite new or very applicable, but because it is Eastern, and made me laugh. I don’t know whether it is in the jest-books; but I never saw it before. A fellow was going home through one of the streets of Bagdad with a forbidden bottle of wine under his cloak, when the cadi stopped him. “What have you got there, fellow?” The fellow, who had contrived to plant himself against a wall, said, “Nothing, sir.” “Put out your hand, sir.” The right hand was put out; there was nothing in it. “Your left, sir.” The left was put out, equally innocent. “You see, sir,” said the fellow, “I have nothing.” “Come away from the wall,” said the cadi. “No, sir,” returned he, “_it will break_.”
_H._ Good. That is really dramatic. It reminds me that I must be off to the play.
_J._ And I.
_C._ And I.
_O._ And I. We’ll make a party of it, and finish our evening worthily with Shakspeare; one of the greatest of men, and most good-natured of punsters.
_L._ By the by, Mr. Gliddon, your room is not so large as in the lithographic print they have made of it; but it is more Eastern and picturesque.
_W._ We’ll have a more faithful print to accompany this conversation, for I am resolved to be treacherous for this night only, and publish it. It is not a proper specimen of what my friends _could_ say; but it is not unlike something of what they do; and sociality, on all sides, will make the best of it.
☞
[479] A quotation from a prospectus published by Mr. Gliddon. As this prospectus is written in the “style social,” and contains some particulars of his establishment, which our article has not noticed, we lay a few passages from it before our readers:--
“The recreation of smoking, which was introduced into this country in an age of great men, by one of the greatest and most accomplished men of that or any other age, was for a long time considered an elegance, and a mark of good-breeding. Its very success gradually got it an ill name by rendering it too common and popular; and something became necessary to give it a new turn in its favour,--to alter the association of ideas connected with it, and awaken its natural friends to a due sense of its merits. Two circumstances combined to effect this desirable change. One was the discovery of a new mode of smoking by means of rolling up the fragrant leaf itself, and making it perform the office of its own pipe; the other was the long military experience in our late wars, which have rendered us so renowned; and which, by throwing the most gallant of our gentry upon the hasty and humble recreations eagerly snatched at by all campaigners, opened their eyes to the difference between real and imaginary good-breeding, and made them see that what comforted the heart of man under such grave circumstances, must have qualities in it that deserved to be rescued from an ill name. Thus arose the cigar, and with it a reputation that has been continually increasing. There is no rank in society into which it has not made its way, not excepting the very highest. If James the First, an uncouth prince, unworthy of his clever, though mistaken race, and who hated the gallant introducer of tobacco, did not think it beneath his princely indignation to write in abuse of it, George the Fourth, who has unquestionably a better taste for some of the best things in the world, has not thought it beneath his princely refinement to give the cigar his countenance.
“The art of smoking is a contemplative art; and being naturally allied to other arts meditative, hath an attachment to a book and a newspaper. Books and newspapers are accordingly found at the Cigar Divan; the latter consisting of the principal daily papers, and the former of a PROFUSE COLLECTION OF THE MOST ENTERTAINING PERIODICALS. The situation of the house is unexceptionable, being _at an equal distance from the city and the west end, and in the immediate neighbourhood of the great theatres_. Writers of the most opposite parties have conspired to speak in the highest terms of the establishment, on their own personal knowledge; and should any authority be wanting to induce a reader of this paper to taste all the piquant advantages of fragrance, and fine drinks, and warmth, and quiet, and literature, which they have done the proprietor the honour to expatiate on, he may find it, if a man of wit and the town, in the person of Fielding; if a philosopher, in that of Hobbes; if a divine, in that of Aldrich; and if a soldier, seaman, patriot, statesman, or cavalier, in the all-accomplished person of sir Walter Raleigh.”--See also an article in the New Monthly Magazine, for January, 1826.
* * * * *
LAURENCE-KIRK SNUFF-BOXES.
James Sandy, the inventor of these pocket-utensils, lived a few years ago at Alyth, a town on the river Isla, in Perthshire, North Britain. The genius and eccentricity of character which distinguished him have been rarely surpassed. Deprived at an early age of the use of his legs, he contrived, by dint of ingenuity, not only to pass his time agreeably, but to render himself an useful member of society.
Sandy soon displayed a taste for mechanical pursuits; and contrived, as a workshop for his operations, a sort of circular bed, the sides of which being raised about eighteen inches above the clothes, were employed as a platform for turning-lathes, table-vices, and cases for tools of all kinds. His talent for practical mechanics was universal. He was skilled in all sorts of turning, and constructed several very curious lathes, as well as clocks and musical instruments of every description, which were no less admired for the sweetness of their tone than the elegance of their workmanship. He excelled, too, in the construction of optical instruments, and made some reflecting telescopes, the specula of which were not inferior to those finished by the most eminent London artists. He likewise suggested some important improvements in the machinery for spinning flax; and, as before stated, he was the first who made the wooden-jointed snuff-boxes, generally called Laurence-Kirk boxes, some of which, fabricated by this self-taught artist, were purchased and sent as presents to the royal family.
To his other endowments he added an accurate knowledge of drawing and engraving, and in both these arts produced specimens of great merit.
For upwards of fifty years Sandy quitted his bed only three times, and on these occasions his house was either inundated with water, or threatened with danger from fire. His unbounded curiosity prompted him to hatch different kinds of birds’ eggs by the natural warmth of his body, and he reared his various broods with all the tenderness of a parent. On visiting him it was no unusual thing to see singing birds of different species, to which he may be said to have given birth, perched on his head, and warbling the artificial notes he had taught them.
Naturally possessed of a good constitution, and an active, cheerful turn of mind, his house was the general coffee-room of the village, where the affairs of church and state were freely discussed. In consequence of long confinement his countenance had rather a sickly cast, but it was remarkably expressive, particularly when he was surrounded by his country friends. This singular man had acquired by his ingenuity and industry an honourable independence, and died possessed of considerable property. About three weeks before his death he married.
* * * * *
INN-YARDS.
_For the Table Book._
It was a November morning--sullen and lowering. A dense fog left the houses but half distinguishable on either side the way, as I passed through Holborn to the Saracen’s Head, Snow-hill, where I had taken my place the preceding evening in the ---- coach, in order to pay a long-promised visit to my friend and schoolfellow T----. My feelings were any thing but enviable. They were in a state of _seasonable_ and almost intolerable irritation, resulting from all successive evils of a shivering and early resignation of enveloping bed-clothes, a hurried dressing, (productive of an utter failure in the arrangement of the bow of my neckcloth,) a trembling hand that caused a gash in my chin with a blunt razor, (all my others had been officiously packed up by Mrs. Sally,) a breakfast swallowed standing, (which I abominate, as it _stands_ to reason it must be unwholesome,) tea that seemed “as if it never would grow _cool_,” though poured out in the saucer, and sundry admonitory twitchings of the bit of court-plaster on my sliced chin, threatening the total discomfiture of my habilimentary economy. All these things tended but little towards rendering my frame of mind peculiarly equable, while hurrying forward towards the point of destination, gulping down fresh (no not _fresh_) mouthfuls of the thick yellow atmosphere, at each extorted exclamation of disgust and impatience.
At last I arrived in the inn-yard, fully prepared for an expected look of surprise, and accompanying exclamation of--“The ---- coach, sir! why, Lord bless you, sir, it’s off long ago; it leaves here at seven precisely, and it’s now nearly half past.” Conceive then what was my agreeable astonishment when I learned that the real time was only half past six! I found that, owing to my anxious fears lest I should be too late, I had neglected to perceive that my watch had gained half an hour in the course of the night; and the shame I now felt at having thus suffered my irritability to get the better of me, led me to reflect upon the patient gentleness of the mild and amiable Fanny, (my friend’s wife,) who is indeed a perfect specimen of a delightful woman. In her are joined those two qualities so rarely united (yet, which, when they are so, form a gem)--a truly feminine and gentle heart, and a strong and well-informed mind. It is truly delightful to see her blend the domestic duties of a housewife, (the fulfilment of which is ever graceful in a female,) and the affectionate attentions of a mother and wife, with literary information and attainments.
I was called off from this pleasing subject of reflection by a view of the scene before me. The coach, a handsome, well-built vehicle, stood on one side of the yard in all the brilliancy of a highly-varnished claret ground, and burnishe The four beautiful, spirited animals belonging to it, with their glossy bright skins covered with cloths till the moment of “putting to,” were then led forth by a fellow in corduroy breeches, laying in massive rolls on his large muscular limbs, and terminating in a pair of dull and never-shining top-boots--a waistcoat which had been of red plush, spotted with black; but the glories of its gules and sable were well nigh effaced by the long line of successive cross-quarterings of grease and mud--a face hard and liny, that looked impenetrable, and certainly conveyed no idea to my mind of a “Robin Ostler,” who “never joy’d since the price of oats rose,” much less could it have ever been “the death of him.” He came forward with that slouching gait and hoarse rasping voice, so well personified by the admirable and all-observing Matthews.
Then the coachman appeared--well buttoned up to the throat in an enormous box-coat of a whitish drab colour, fastened with immense mother-o’-pearl buttons--a yellow silk handkerchief round his neck, reaching just under the nether lip, and covering the tips of his ears--a hat with brims, like the walls of Babylon--and an air of affected _nonchalance_, which tells you, that you are expected to look upon him in a very different light from the attentive “coachee” of some few years back. He is now a complete fine gentleman; for as the gentleman affects the coachman, why should not the coachman affect the gentleman? They are now not to be known apart.
The “luggage” is then brought forth and “loaded”--and all the passengers installed in their different places. The last directions are given. “More last words,” and a paper of biscuits is handed in at the coach-window to the little boy who is going to ----, under the special care of the coachman, and, as his mamma delightedly observes, is already become a favourite with the “kind-looking lady” opposite to him. The small parcel “to be left at Mr. K----’s at the small white cottage” is snugly slipt into the coach-pocket--and the final “all right” is given from the impatient passengers “behind.” How different is the quiet and orderly manner in which a vehicle is thus despatched to go hundreds of miles, from the dire bustle and utter “confusion of tongues” attendant upon the departure of a French diligence.----
Imagine a spacious yard, paved with stones shaped like enormous “sugared almonds,” jutting out in all directions to the utter annoyance of the _five_ poor animals, or rather skeletons, in rope harness, which are about to be yoked to an uncouth machine, looking the complete antipodes of rapidity of motion--of a colour perfectly indescribable, but something approaching to a dingy red, intermixed with a rusty, dusty black--straw peeping out in every direction; whether from roof, or sides, or entangled among the broken, rickety steps, which project in awful forewarning of grazed shins and sprained ancles. The _Conducteur_ in his dark blue jacket turned up with scarlet--leather breeches shining with the perpetual friction of the saddle--boots, like brewing vats--a hat, very nearly a “perfect cone,” with a rim, set in the middle of a regular copse-wood of coal black hair, surmounting a face whose dark complexion, fiercely sparkling eyes, and stiff mustachios, help to give force to the excessive tension of muscle in his countenance, which is actually convulsed with ire, as he sends forth volleys of _sacrés_ and _morbleus_ at the _maudit entêté_ on the roof, who persists in loading the different articles in exact opposition to all the passionate remonstrances and directions of poor _Monsieur le Conducteur_. _Femmes de chambres_ shrieking at the very top of their voices--“_Garçons_ of fifty” equally vociferous in bawling “_On vient! on vient!_” though no one calls--_Commissionaires_ insisting upon the necessity of passports to incredulous Englishmen, with an incessant “_Mais que diable donc, Monsieur!_”--Hordes of beggars shouting forth their humble petitions of “_Pour l’amour du bon Dieu un petit liard, Monsieur._” “_Ah! Seigneur, qu’est-ce que j’ai fait de mes clefs!_” screams the landlady. “_Sacré nom de tonnerre! tais-toi, donc_,” growls the landlord, in a voice like the thunder he invokes.
At last the ponderous vehicle is set in motion amid the deafening clamour of the surrounding group, and the hideous, unrelentingly, eternal cracking of the _Conducteur’s_ detested _fouet_!
M. H.
* * * * *
_For the Table Book._
THE TURNPIKE MAN.
“Good and bad of all sorts.”
As the “Commissioners” rely on the _trust_ reposed in the “Pikeman,” I imagine him to be worthy of being shown in the most favourable colours. Like a good sexton, he must attend to his toll--like a salesman, know his head of cattle--like a lottery prize-seeker, be acquainted with his number--like Fielding’s Minos, in his “Journey from this world to the next,” shut his gate against those who are brought up improperly to the bar. A modern Gilpin should scarcely risk a ride unwittingly through his demesne.
In the “dead waste and middle of the night,” when sleep steals over him wearily, how many calls of the coachman, the chaise driver, the stanhope gentleman, the important bagman, and the drover, is he obliged to obey! The imperative “Pike!”--“Gate!”--“Hallo!”--are like so many _knells_ rung in his ear. The clock is a friend to most men in the various occupations of life; the shadow on the grass warns the shepherd and hind to retire to rest; the dial gives the gardener leave to quit his vegetable and floral world in safety till the succeeding morning; but the pikeman finds no solace in the instructive progress of his Dutch-clock, or in the more highly favoured one with a window before its pulselike-pendulum, (as the person with a window in his breast,) or in the weather betokening “man and woman,” who, like an unhappy couple, never go out together.
Who that has looked upon the pikeman’s contracted span--his little white-painted hut, like a showman’s figured canvass--but shrewdly guesses that the best portions of his sunside of comforts are on the outside? What a Jack in the Box![480] He seems in his room like a singing-bird in a cage. His cat and dog are his companions, save when the newsman, postman, or any man, in short, arrives. Munden’s “Crack” is not to be seen at every turnpike gate. A magpie, or blackbird, often hangs and whistles, like himself, in stationary captivity. Yet he is a man of some information. The waggoner, the duellist, the huckster, and the Gretna folks, in pursuit of romantic happiness, sometimes make him useful. The horse patrol consults him in the way of business; few fights occur without his knowledge; and even the political express gives him broad hints as to the secret operations of his majesty’s ministers. He is completely _au fait_ in all common concerns in his vicinity--a local “finger-post.”