"Why, sir, the bees are, "pon honour, sir, they are as large as your sheep in this country."
"Why, then, one would require to keep a pretty sharp look-out ahead, in case of a near encounter with such a winged monster."
"Not at all, sir. They make such a roaring noise, sir, with their wings, that you can hear them, like the bulls of Bashan, a full mile distant."
"Terrible! But are they numerous?"
"Oh, exceedingly!"
"And what kind of flowers have they to feed on?"
"Why, just ordinary flowers. They cover them all over, and insert their proboscis into a thousand, without stirring from their position."
"Yes! And what kind of skeps have they?"
"Oh, just ordinary skeps, like ours in this country."
"Yes! And how do these bees get into the skeps?"
"Oh, _just let them see to that_!"
But these may be termed the magnificent blazers. There is an animal of this species of very reduced dimensions; and yet, from its numbers and activity, it is not less provoking and annoying than the giant race. You cannot mention a long walk which you have taken, but it out-walks you by at least ten miles. You cannot drink your three bottles at a sitting, but it empties five. You made, whilst a boy, some hairbreadth escapes, but they are nothing to what it has escaped. You have had a very bad fever, and lay a whole week insensible; this creature roared a whole month. You have broken your tendon Achilles; this unfortunate has cut all the arteries and tendons of the leg. Go where you will, the land has been travelled before you. Do what you may, the thing has been done, and much better done, already. In fact, you are only the copy of the original before you; a shaping out of a web; a degenerate branch of a vine in full growth; an Italian alphabet in the presence of a Roman. "I thought my master a wise man; but this man makes my master a fool," says the housemaid in Dean Swift; and it is thus that the emmet Blazer befools you, turn where you may. Whom have we next in this our show-box of rarities? Step in, sir. Don"t stumble on the doorway, like Protesilaus in setting out for Troy. Oh, I ask your pardon--
"THE BLUNDERING IDIOT."
Sit down there, sir--no, not on that sofa--with your dirty garments, and shoes bemired; but on that arm-chair, where you may roll about to your heart"s content. Now, sir, be silent; for I see you are about to blunder out whatever comes uppermost (and that is generally froth and sc.u.m), and listen to me. I am going to read you a lecture. It was owing to your blundering interference that I am not the Laird of Peatie"s Mill at this moment. You went to my uncle, and, by the way of recommending his nephew, told him that I was an intimate acquaintance of yours, and that you and I had many a happy night together at Johnnie Dowie"s. Now, you ought to have known my uncle"s views and habits--in short, his character--and that he had all his life long an utter abhorrence of anything approaching to dissipation. My uncle inst.i.tuted inquiry, and found that what you stated was true, at least to a certain extent; and, in consequence, cut me off with a shilling, leaving Peatie"s Mill to a miserly, mean fellow, who had once informed him of the approaching failure of one who owed him money. You need not make any apology now, the thing is done, and cannot be undone. When I was on the point of being married to an heiress, with a good person and a fine property, you came again as my evil genius, denying a report, which I had myself propagated, of my early indiscretions, and a.s.suring her cousin that I was totally incapable of anything of the kind; that I was a perfect Nathaniel, or Joseph, or what not; and, in short, so disgusted the lady with your praises of me, that she immediately cut me, and married the master of a coasting vessel. I know what you are going to say; but I know, too, that you had no business to pop your nose into other people"s business. Besides, at last election, did not you a.s.sure the members to whom you, amongst others, applied in my favour, that I was at heart a Tory, though I had a.s.sumed Whig colours of late; and all this because you knew his own father had been a violent Tory in old times. This so disgusted my patron, that I lost the stamps by it. Your blundering idiocy, sir--without any bad motive to arm it to mischief--has done more injury to yourself, as well as to others, than would be the very worst intentions and the most malevolent endeavours. But I spare you--convinced, as I am, that nothing which I can say will ever drain the blundering propensity out of your nature. But whom have we here?--
"A BORN IDIOT."
"Well, ma"am, let me have your own story from your own lips."
"Why, sir, do you use no more ceremony with me, knowing who I am, sir?
When your ancestors, sir, were working on the queen"s highways, and breaking stones----"
"I beg your pardon, madam; but it is but a short time since Macadamising was introduced, and my ancestors happened to live at a period prior to the breaking of stones on high-roads as a business."
"Well, sir, but you have interrupted me, and I forgot what I was going to say. Oh ay! I was going to tell you that my ancestors rode in coaches, when yours drove carts; that mine spent thousands upon thousands, whilst yours were dealing in tarry-woo and candle grease; and yet you, sir--you now sit in this cottage of yours (as you must needs call it)--you have the audacity, and the impertinence, and the presumption, forsooth, to call my son to account for shooting a few of your dirty birds over your poor, paltry acres."
"Ma"am, I only warned him off my preserves, and did it in civil language, too; but your son, taking his cue, I have no doubt, from so accomplished a parent, used improper and ungentlemanly language to me, and threatened to horsewhip me; so I thought it was only justice to myself to put him into the hands of my man of business."
"Your man of business, sir! And who gave you, or your father"s son, a man of business, pray? What business may you have to manage, which a servant la.s.s may not conduct to a favourable conclusion with a three-p.r.o.nged grape?"
"Madam, I will stand this no longer. This house is my own. Depart!"
There she goes, wagging her tail and tossing her head, the Born Idiot!
But here comes a change of person, in
"THE CANTING IDIOT."
But, hush! I hear the voice of psalmody. She has taken to what she terms a "sweet psalm," and must not on any account be disturbed.
It is true that there are odd stories abroad of her early life, and some rather suspicious reports respecting a certain serjeant of a certain regiment. Suspicions, too, have been entertained of her being concerned in the burning of a certain will, by which her husband became possessed of property to a comfortable extent; but she has no family, and of late years has taken to religion, and, some say, occasionally to a less safe stimulant. Be that as it may, Mrs Glaiks is at the head of all manner of female a.s.sociations of a religious character. She is a perfect adept in judging of young preachers and evangelical discourses. If she p.r.o.nounce her verdict, the matter is settled; there is no appeal, not even to her poor henpecked husband, whose conscience, every now and then, requires all her care and eloquence to soothe. She has already taken possession of this world by a _trick_, and she means to take the next by _force_.
She is urgent with the Lord, in season and out of season, and has been at great pains in converting a handsome young man, who was addicted to wine and its usual accompaniments. She says that she has been the unworthy instrument, in G.o.d"s hand, of his soul"s salvation; and meets with him more frequently in private than John Glaiks approves of. Pa.s.s on, Mrs Glaiks--
"If honest worth to heaven rise, Ye"ll mend ere ye come near it."
But what a mighty fuss is here! The door flies wide open, till the hinges crack again, as _in_ there rolls, in all the majesty of a new suit of clothes, and a mighty self.
"THE POMPOUS IDIOT."
Reader! it is not Samuel Johnson, nor his Leader Bozzie. These were both pompous enough, G.o.d knows; but they were not idiots--it is "my Uncle Thomas." My Uncle Thomas was once a colonel in the Galloway Militia, and has long retired in single blessedness, to live upon a small family inheritance, which is scarcely sufficient to support himself, with a _man in livery_ and a servant girl, to work his means, and act as chambermaid. My uncle rises every morning at seven, rings his bell, and calls his servant to shave and dress him. All this is done in solemn silence; for it would be presumption in John to utter a word, unless he be spoken to. My uncle, having surveyed his full, round person in the gla.s.s, takes possession of his arm-chair, then pokers the fire; looks out at his window; scolds a turkey-c.o.c.k for spreading his feathers and keeping up a row in the back court; rings the bell again, and says--
"Why, sir, what do you stare at? Let me have breakfast."
Breakfast with my uncle is a serious concern. The cups are not in order; the bread is burned to a cinder; the b.u.t.ter is rancid, and the cream is only fit to feed pigs with. However, he has at last breakfasted, and been again surveyed and brushed by John, and is now prepared for the onerous duties of the day. These consist, first, in taking snuff, which he does regularly with three raps on the box-lid, a gaze around, to see if he is observed, and a knowing plunge of the forefinger and thumb into the midst of the powder. But his box is empty, though in fact half-full, and John, having been well scolded, is despatched to his own shop, Donald Mackechnie"s, for the real Irish. The box is impressed with the family arms, and the family motto, "_dum vivo spero_." At last the supply arrives; his gold-headed cane, presented to him when colonel of the Galloway Militia, is taken in hand; his hat is brushed, and planted in proper att.i.tude on his head; and forth he sallies, in his pepper-and-salt habiliments, to scold the schoolboys for neglecting to take off, or even touch, their hats, as he pa.s.ses along what he terms his gravel-walk, which is nothing more nor less than a cart-road leading to a stone-quarry. A cow has escaped from under the care of his keeper, and poor Davie Proudfoot, the herd-boy, is in hot pursuit. The cow is directing her steps, somewhat unceremoniously, towards the colonel"s favourite walk, and he is loudly appealed to by the boy, to a.s.sist him in "wearing" the brute. My uncle stares with ineffable rage and contempt upon the unfortunate tender of cattle.
"What, sir!--what mean you, sir, to ask a colonel in His Majesty"s service _to turn a cow_?"
My uncle has gone, in quest of an appet.i.te, beyond his usual bounds, and having observed a person pa.s.sing over the grounds of a neighbouring laird, with a gun under his arm, and of a questionable appearance, he determines to inform Lord Douglas, the neighbouring laird, as he usually designates his lordship, of the fact; and for this purpose, in order to receive information, he calls at the door of a cottage. A little girl, about ten years of age, makes her appearance, and is accosted with--
"La.s.sie, where is your mother?"
"Mither, oh, mither--she"s b.u.t.t the house; but what do you want wi"
her?"
"You are an ill-educated girl," says my uncle. "Why don"t you say "sir"
to me when you address me? But go and tell your mother to speak to me--away!"
"Mither! mither! haste and come here--there"s a _man_ wantin to speak to you."
This was more than my uncle could stand: so he instantly decamped, gold-headed cane and all, to ruminate over the indignities to which he had been subjected.
"Go," said he one day to John, when acting as butler to the colonel, his master, and the young laird of Puddentuscal, who had been invited to dinner--"go to catacomb seventeen, and bring us a bottle of vintage twenty-six."
"Catacomb here, and vintage there," replied John, with a comical expression on his face, "that"s the last bottle on the table I"ve got frae Peter Cruikshanks, for the twa cheeses we selt him."
My uncle died one day, but had taken previous care to have himself carried shoulder-high to the grave. "_Sic transit gloria mundi!_"
"Miss Smiles! Oh, Miss Smiles, I am happy to see you, you have been _such_ a stranger! But how is your mother? I was sorry to hear of her late dangerous indisposition, and that you were obliged to call in the a.s.sistance of a doctor."
"Oh yes," replies