Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 489, May 14, 1831», страница 5
I awoke very hungry, and consequently disposed to be very talkative, but was silenced by finding myself surrounded by a crowd of persons of both sexes, who were eagerly gazing on me. A certain prostrate look of sly, shy humility, lengthened their pale faces, to the exclusion of all intellectual expression. They formed a sort of religious meeting, called a tea-and-tract party; but the open door discovered preparations for a more substantial conclusion to the obbligato prayers and lectures of the evening. My new mistress was evidently descanting on my merits, and read that paragraph from the chaplain's letter which described my early associations, my knowledge of the Creed, and announced me as a source of edification to her servants. Two or three words of this harangue operating on my memory, I put forth my profession of faith with a clearness of articulation and fidelity really wonderful for a bird. What exclamations! what turning-up of eyes! I was stifled with caresses, intoxicated with praises, and crammed with sweetmeats. The moral agent grew pale with jealousy, when Doctor Direful was announced. He rushed into the room like a whirlwind, but stood aghast at beholding the devout crowd that encircled me. Instead of the usual apophthegms, and serious discourse, he heard nothing but "Pretty Poll," "Scratch a poll," "What a dear bird," &c. The malicious moral agent chuckled, and explained that the bird had, for the moment, usurped the attention which should exclusively belong to his reverence, who had taken the pains to come so far to enlighten the dark inmates of Sourcraut Hall. Dr. Direful stood rolling his fierce eye (he had but one) on the abashed assembly; and, pushing me off my perch, drove me with his handkerchief into the dense crowd which filled the bottom of the room, and consisted of all the servants of the house, with some recently converted Papists from among the Sourcraut tenantry. All drew back in horror, to let one so anathematised pass without contact. I coiled myself up near a droll-looking little postilion, who, while turning up the whites of his eyes, was coaxing me to him with a fragment of plumb-cake, which he had stolen from the banquet-table. Dr. Direful returned to the centre of the room, and mounted a desk to commence his lecture. The auditory crowded and cowered timidly round him, while he, looking down on them with a wrathful and contemptuous glance, was about to pour forth the pious venom which hung upon his lips, when a sharp cry of "Get along out of that" struck him dumb. Inquiry was useless, for all were ready to swear that they had not uttered a word. Dr. Direful called them "blasphemous liars," and proceeded one and all to empty the vials of his wrath through the words of a text of awful denunciation, which I dare not here repeat; but his words were again arrested by the exclamation of, "Aisy now, aisy—what a devil of a hurry you are in!" uttered in quick succession.—He jumped down from his altitude; and, in reply to his renewed inquiries, a serious coachman offered up to the vengeance of this Moloch of methodism the mischievous postilion, who had that morning detected the not always sober son of the whip in other devotions than those to which he professed exclusive addiction. When I saw the rage of all parties, I thought of the roasted Indians of the Brazils, and shuddered for the poor lad. After a short, but inquisitorial examination, in which he in vain endeavoured to throw the blame on me, he was stripped of his gaudy dress, and in spite of his well-founded protestations of innocence, turned almost naked from the house. When peace was restored, a hymn was sung as an exorcism of the evil spirit that had gotten among the assembly; when, being determined to exculpate the poor postilion, I joined with all my force in the chorus, with my Catholic "Gloria in excelsis," which I abruptly changed into "Polly put the kettle on." Thus taken in the fact, I was, without ceremony, denounced as an emissary from Clongowes, brought to Sourcraut Hall by the Papist O'Gallagher, with a forged letter, to disturb the community. I was immediately cross-examined by a religious attorney, as if I had been a white-boy or a ribbon-man. "Come forward," he said, "you bird of satan!—speak out, and answer for yourself, for its yourself can do it, you egg of the devil! What brought you here?" I answered, "It was all for my sweet sowl's sake, jewel!"—and the answer decided my fate, without more to do. And now loaded with all the reproaches that the odium theologicum could suggest, I was cuffed, hunted, and finally driven out of the gates by the serious coachman, to perish on the highway. On recovering from my fright, I found myself at the edge of a dry ditch, where the poor shivering postilion sat lamenting his martyrdom. I went up to him, cowering and chattering; and at the sight of me the tears dried on his dirty cheeks—his sobs changed to a laugh of delight; and when I hopped on his wrist, and cried "Poor Pat," all his sufferings were forgotten. While thus occupied, a little carriage, drawn by a superb horse, with the reins thrown loose on his beautiful neck, ascended the hill. At the sight I screamed out "Get along out of that!" which so frightened the high-blooded creature that he started, and flung the two persons in the carriage fairly into the middle of the road. One of them, in a military dress, sprung at once on his feet, and laying the whip across the naked shoulders of the postilion, exclaimed, "I'll teach you, you little villain, to break people's necks." "Oh! murther! murther!" cried the poor boy, "shure, it was not me, plase your honour, only the parrot, Captain." "What parrot, you lying rascal?" "There, Captain, Sir, look forenenst you." The captain did look up, and saw me perched on the branch of a scrubby hawthorn-tree. Surprised and amused, he exclaimed, "By Jove! how odd! What a magnificent bird! Why Poll, what the deuce brought you here?" "Eh, sirs," I replied at random, "it was aw' for the love of the siller." The captain, and his little groom Midge, who had picked himself up on the other side of the cabriolet, shrieked with laughing. "I say, my boy," said the captain, "is that macaw your's?" "It is," said the little liar. "Would you take a guinea for it?" asked the captain. "Troth, would I; two," said the postilion. "Done," said the captain; and pulling out his purse, and giving the two guineas, I suffered myself to be caught and placed in the cabriolet. The young officer sprang in after me, and, taking the reins, pursued his journey. We slept that night at a miserable inn in a miserable town. The next morning we arrived at my old hotel in Sackville-street, and shortly after sailed for England.
The Honourable George Fitz-Forward, my new master, was a younger brother of small means and large pretensions. He had been quartered at Kil-mac-squabble with a detachment, where he had passed the winter in still-hunting, quelling ructions, shooting grouse and rebels, spitting over the bridge, and smoking cigars; and having obtained leave of absence, pour se d'écrasser, was on his way to London for the ensuing season. We travelled in the cab by easy stages, and halted only at great houses on the road, beginning with Plas Newyd, and ending at Sion House. My master's rank, and my talents, were as good as board wages to us; and as the summer was not yet sufficiently advanced for the London winter, we found every body at home, and had an amazingly pleasant time. My master was enchanted with his acquisition. I made the frais of every society; and my repartees and bonmots furnished the Lord Johns and Lady Louisas with subjects for whole reams of pink and blue note-paper. My master frequently said, "That bird is wonderful! he is a great catch!"—and my fame had spread over the whole west end of the town a full week before our arrival in London.
The Metropolitan, No. I
LONDON LYRICS, PROVERBS
My good Aunt Bridget, spite of age,
Versed in Valerian, Dock, and Sage,
Well knew the Virtues of herbs;
But Proverbs gain'd her chief applause,
"Child," she exclaimed, "respect old saws,
And pin your faith on Proverbs."
Thus taught, I dubb'd my lot secure;
And, playing long-rope, "slow and sure,"
Conceived my movement clever;
When lo! an urchin by my side
Push'd me head foremost in, and cried—
"Keep Moving," "Now or Never,"
At Melton, next, I join'd the hunt,
Of bogs and bushes bore the brunt,
Nor once my courser held in;
But when I saw a yawning steep,
I thought of "Look before you leap,"
And curb'd my eager gelding.
While doubtful thus I rein'd my roan,
Willing to save a fractured bone,
Yet fearful of exposure,
A sportsman thus my spirit stirr'd—
"Delays are dangerous;"—I spurr'd
My steed, and leap'd th' enclosure.
I ogled Jane, who heard me say
That "Rome was not built in a day,"
When lo: Sir Fleet O'Grady
Put this, my saw, to sea again,
And proved, by running off with Jane,
"Faint heart ne'er won fair Lady."
Aware "New Brooms sweep clean," I took
An untaught tyro for a cook,
(The tale I tell a fact is)
She spoilt my soup; but, when I chid,
She thus once more my work undid,
"Perfection comes from Practice."
Thus, out of every adage hit,
And, finding that ancestral wit
As changeful as the clime is:
From Proverbs, turning on my heel,
I now cull Wisdom from my seal,
Who's motto's "Ne quid nimis."
