Stories of Comedy
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Various >> Stories of Comedy
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"Now this is enough to provoke a saint!" said Bagshaw; and no one
attempting to deny the position, with this salvo for his own character
of philosophic patience, he indulged himself in the full expression of
his vexation and sorrow. After a minute examination, he declared the pie
to be "a complete squash," and that nobody could venture to eat it but
at the imminent risk of being choked. As he was about to throw it over
the hedge, Miss Snubbleston, seized with an unusual fit of generosity,
called out to him,--
"What _are_ you doing? Though it isn't fit for us to eat, it will be
quite a treat to the poor watermen. I dare say, poor souls, they don't
often get pigeon-pie."
But the good genius of Mr. Carlo prevailed; and the truth of the adage,
"'tis an ill wind that blows nobody good," was confirmed in his mind as
he found himself busily employed in the ingenious operation of
separating pigeon from porcelain. It was, doubtless, extremely ill-bred
in one dog not to invite another, and Cupid expressed his sense of the
slight by a long-continued yell, which drew down upon him, from the
equally disappointed bipeds of the company, sundry wishes, the positive
accomplishment of which would not have tended much to his personal
happiness. The next basket was opened. Things were not altogether in a
desperate state. Mr. Wrench's ham was in perfect order, and that, with
Miss Snubbleston's salad, and some bread, and--could it be possible!
After so much preparation, and Mr. Bagshaw's committee of "provender" to
boot, that no one should have thought of so obvious a requisite as
bread! There would not be time to send Mr. Bagshaw to Twickenham town to
procure some, for it was getting late, and if they lost the tide, they
should be on the water till midnight, and they did not like the
appearance of the sky, which was by no means so blue as it had hitherto
been. However, the want of bread did not _much_ signify; they could make
a shift with Miss Snubbleston's biscuits and poundcakes. But Uncle John
did not come out on an excursion of pleasure to make shift; no more did
Bagshaw; no more did any of the others. There was nothing else to be
done; so where is Miss Snubbleston's basket? And where is Master
Charles? gracious! Don't be alarmed, the precious rarity is in no
danger. He was soon discovered behind a tree, whither he had dragged the
fruit and cakes, and was engaged with all his might and main, in an
endeavor, with a piece of stick, to force out an apple. In this attempt,
as it was presently seen, the interesting child had cracked a bottle,
the contents of which--merely a preparation of oil, vinegar, and mustard
for the salad--were quietly dribbling through the poundcakes, biscuits,
and fruit. Similar aspirations to those which had lately been so
cordially expressed for the Dutch pug were now most devoutly formed in
behalf of Master Charles.
"This comes of bringing their plaguy brats with them," said Uncle and
Bagshaw.
Whilst this scene was going on, Jack Richards, perceiving that the
service of the table was incomplete, bethought him of Uncle John's
silver-handled knives and forks and spoons; he felt first in one pocket,
and then in the other, then he ran down to search the boat, then he
rummaged the baskets.
"Jack, my boy," hallooed Uncle John, "don't trouble yourself, you'll
never see _that_ again."
"What, sir?"
"I could not bear the smell of it any longer, so I slyly drew it out of
your pocket, and dexterously let it fall into the deepest part of the
Thames."
And here Uncle John chuckled, and looked about him for applause.
"Bless me, sir! Don't say so--why--bless my heart--you don't
know--before we got into the boat, I put the sausage into your pocket,
and your case of cutlery into my own!"
There was a general burst of laughter against Uncle John. He turned as
pale as--nay, paler than anything that has ever yet been dragged into
the comparison; for an instant he stood stock-still, then thrust his
hand into his pocket, drew forth the unfortunate substitute, and at the
same time exclaiming D----tion! dashed it violently to the ground. He
next buttoned his coat from the bottom to the top, pulled down his
cuffs, whispered to his no longer admired Jack Richards, "You shall hear
from me, Mr.----," and saying aloud to Bagshaw, "This comes of your
confounded party of pleasure, sir," away he went, and returned to town
outside a Twickenham coach; resolving by the way to call out _that_ Mr.
Richards, and to eject the Bagshaws from the snug corner they held in
his last will and testament.
This explosion seemed to have banished pleasure for that day. They were
all, more or less, out of humor; and instead of making the best of
things, as they had hitherto done, they now made the worst of them. Sir
Thomas's hamper of _his choice wine_ (which, by the by, he purchased at
a cheap shop for the occasion) was opened; and slices of ham were cut
with the only knife and fork. Jack Richards tried to be facetious, but
it would not do. He gave Bagshaw a poke in the ribs, which was received
with a very formal, "Sir, I must beg--" To Mr. Wrench, junior, he
said,--
"You have not spoken much to-day--but you have made amends for your
silence--d' ye take?--Your _ham_ is good, though your _tongue_ is not
worth much!"
Instead of laughing, Mr. Wrench simpered something about impertinent
liberties and satisfaction. On being invited by Sir Thomas to a second
glass of his old East India, he said that one was a dose--had rather not
double the _Cape_; and at the first glass of champagne, he inquired
whether there had been a plentiful supply of gooseberries that year. In
short, whether it were that the company knew not how to appreciate his
style of wit and pleasantry, or that he was in reality a very
disagreeable person, the fact is that--but hold! let us say nothing ill
of him; he died last week, at Folkestone, of a surfeit of goose, in the
forty-ninth year of his age. For the consolation of such as were amused
by him, and regret his loss, be it remembered that there are still to be
found many Jack Richards in this world.
As we have said, they now resolved to make the worst of everything; the
grass was damp, the gnats were troublesome, Carlo's nose was in
everybody's face, Cupid's teeth at everybody's calves, and Master
Charles was ill of the many sour apples; it was growing late, and no
good could come of sitting longer in the open air. They re-embarked. By
the time they reached Putney it was pitch dark, and the tide was setting
against them. They moved on in mute impatience, for there was a slight
sprinkling of rain. It now fell in torrents. Master Charles grew
frightened and screamed. Cupid yelped, and Carlo howled. Accompanied the
rest of the way by these pleasing sounds, at one in the morning (two
hours and a half later than they intended) they arrived at Westminster
stairs, dull, dreary, drowsy, discontented, and drenched.
FATHER TOM AND THE POPE,
As related by Mr. Michael Heffernan, Master of the National
School at Tallymactaggart, in the County Leitrim, to a friend,
during his official visit to Dublin for the purpose of studying
political economy, in the spring of 1838.
BY SAMUEL FERGUSON.
I.
HOW FATHER TOM WENT TO TAKE POT-LUCK AT THE VATICAN.
When his Riv'rence was in Room, ov coorse the Pope axed him to take
pot-look wid him. More be token, it was on a Friday; but, for all that,
there was plenty of mate; for the Pope gev himself an absolution from
the fast on account of the great company that was in it,--at laste so
I'm tould. Howandiver, there's no fast on the dhrink, anyhow,--glory be
to God!--and so, as they wor sitting, afther dinner, taking their sup
together, says the Pope, says he, "Thomaus," for the Pope, you know,
spakes that away, and all as one as ov uz,--"Thomaus _a lanna_," says
he, "I'm tould you welt them English heretics out ov the face."
"You may say that," says his Riv'rence to him again. "Be my soul," says
he, "if I put your Holiness undher the table, you won't be the first
Pope I floored."
Well, his Holiness laughed like to split; for you know, Pope was the
great Prodesan that Father Tom put down upon Purgathory; and ov coorse
they knew all the ins and outs of the conthravarsy at Room. "Faix,
Thomaus," says he, smiling across the table at him mighty
agreeable,--"it's no lie what they tell me, that yourself is the
pleasant man over the dhrop ov good liquor."
"Would you like to thry?" says his Riv'rence.
"Sure, and amn't I thrying all I can?" says the Pope. "Sorra betther
bottle ov wine's betuxt this and Salamanca, nor there's fornenst you on
the table; it's raal Lachrymachrystal, every spudh ov it."
"It's mortial could," says Father Tom.
"Well, man alive," says the Pope, "sure, and here's the best ov good
claret in the cut decanther."
"Not maining to make little ov the claret, your Holiness," says his
Riv'rence, "I would prefir some hot wather and sugar, wid a glass ov
spirits through it, if convanient."
"Hand me over the bottle of brandy," says the Pope to his head butler,
"and fetch up the materi'ls," says he.
"Ah, then, your Holiness," says his Riv'rence, mighty eager, "maybe
you'd have a dhrop ov the native in your cellar? Sure, it's all one
throuble," says he, "and, troth, I dunna how it is, but brandy always
plays the puck wid my inthrails."
"'Pon my conscience, then," says the Pope, "it's very sorry I am,
Misther Maguire," says he, "that it isn't in my power to plase you; for
I'm sure and certaint that there's not as much whiskey in Room this
blessed minit as 'ud blind the eye ov a midge."
"Well, in troth, your Holiness," says Father Tom, "I knewn there was no
use in axing; only," says he, "I didn't know how else to exqueeze the
liberty I tuck," says he, "of bringing a small taste," says he, "of the
real stuff," says he, hauling out an imperi'l quart bottle out ov his
coat-pocket; "that never seen the face ov a guager," says he, setting it
down on the table fornenst the Pope; "and if you'll jist thry the full
ov a thimble ov it, and it doesn't rise the cockles ov your Holiness's
heart, why then, my name," says he, "isn't Tom Maguire!" and with that
he out's wid the cork.
Well, the Pope at first was going to get vexed at Father Tom for
fetching dhrink thataway in his pocket, as if there wasn't lashins in
the house: so says he, "Misther Maguire," says he, "I'd have you to
comprehind the differ betuxt an inwitation to dinner from the succissor
of Saint Pether, and from a common nagur of a Prodesan squirean that
maybe hasn't liquor enough in his cupboard to wet more nor his own
heretical whistle. That may be the way wid them that you wisit in
Leithrim," says he, "and in Roscommon; and I'd let you know the differ
in the prisint case," says he, "only that you're a champion ov the
Church and entitled to laniency. So," says he, "as the liquor's come,
let it stay. And, in troth, I'm curi's myself," says he, getting mighty
soft when he found the delightful smell ov the _putteen_, "in
inwistigating the composition ov distilled liquors; it's a branch ov
natural philosophy," says he, taking up the bottle and putting it to his
blessed nose.
Ah! my dear, the very first snuff he got ov it, he cried out, the dear
man, "Blessed Vargin, but it has the divine smell!" and crossed himself
and the bottle half a dozen times running.
"Well, sure enough, it's the blessed liquor now," says his Riv'rence,
"and so there can be no harm any way in mixing a dandy of punch; and,"
says he, stirring up the materi'ls wid his goolden meeddlar,--for
everything at the Pope's table, to the very shcrew for drawing the
corks, was ov vergin goold,--"if I might make boold," says he, "to spake
on so deep a subjic afore your Holiness, I think it 'ud considherably
whacilitate the inwestigation ov its chemisthry and phwarmaceutics, if
you'd jist thry the laste sup in life ov it inwardly."
"Well, then, suppose I do make the same expiriment," says the Pope, in a
much more condescinding way nor you'd have expected,--and wid that he
mixes himself a real stiff facer.
"Now, your Holiness," says Father Tom, "this bein' the first time you
ever dispinsed them chymicals," says he, "I'll jist make bould to lay
doun one rule ov orthography," says he, "for conwhounding them,
_secundum mortem_."
"What's that?" says the Pope.
"Put in the sperits first," says his Riv'rence; "and then put in the
sugar; and remember, every dhrop ov wather you put in after that, spoils
the punch."
"Glory be to God!" says the Pope, not minding a word Father Tom was
saying. "Glory be to God!" says he, smacking his lips. "I never knewn
what dhrink was afore," says he. "It bates the Lachymalchrystal out ov
the face!" says he,--"it's Necthar itself, it is, so it is!" says he,
wiping his epistolical mouth wid the cuff ov his coat.
"'Pon my secret honor," says his Riv'rence, "I'm raally glad to see your
Holiness set so much to your satiswhaction; especially," says he, "as,
for fear ov accidents, I tuck the liberty of fetching the fellow ov that
small vesshel," says he, "in my other coat-pocket. So devil a fear of
our running dhry till the but-end of the evening, anyhow," says he.
"Dhraw your stool into the fire, Misther Maguire," says the Pope, "for
faix," says he, "I'm bent on anilizing the metaphwysics ov this
phinomenon. Come, man alive, clear off," says he, "you're not dhrinking
at all."
"Is it dhrink?" says his Riv'rence; "by Gorra, your Holiness," says he,
"I'd dhrink wid you till the cows 'ud be coming home in the morning."
So wid that they tackled to, to the second fugil apiece, and fell into a
larned discourse.
But it's time for me now to be off to the lecthir at the Boord. O, my
sorra light upon you, Docther Whately, wid your plitical econimy and
your hydherastatics! What the _divul_ use has a poor hedge-masther like
me wid sich deep larning as is only fit for the likes ov them two I left
over their second tumbler? Howandiver, wishing I was like them, in
regard ov the sup ov dhrink, anyhow, I must brake off my norration for
the prisint; but when I see you again, I'll tell you how Father Tom made
a hare ov the Pope that evening, both in theology and the cube root.
II.
HOW FATHER TOM SACKED HIS HOLINESS IN THEOLOGY AND LOGIC.
Well, the lecther's over, and I'm kilt out and out. My bitther curse be
upon the man that invinted the same Boord! I thought onc't I'd fadomed
the say ov throuble; and that was when I got through fractions at ould
Mat Kavanagh's school, in Firdramore,--God be good to poor Mat's sowl,
though he did deny the cause the day he suffered! but its fluxions
itself we're set to bottom now, sink or shwim! May I never die if my
head isn't as throughother, as anything wid their ordinals and
cardinals,--and, begad, it's all nothing to the econimy lecthir that I
have to go to at two o'clock. Howandiver, I mustn't forget that we left
his Riv'rence and his Holiness sitting fornenst one another in the
parlor ov the Vatican, jist afther mixing their second tumbler.
When they had got well down into the same, they fell, as I was telling
you, into learned discourse. For you see, the Pope was curious to find
out whether Father Tom was the great theologinall that people said; and
says he "Mister Maguire," says he, "What answer do you make to the
heretics when they quote them passidges agin thransubstantiation out ov
the Fathers?" says he.
"Why," says his Riv'rence, "as there is no sich passidges I make myself
mighty asy about them; but if you want to know how I dispose ov them,"
says he, "just repate one ov them, and I'll show you how to
catapomphericate it in two shakes."
"Why then," says the Pope, "myself disremimbers the particlar passidges
they allidge out ov them ould felleys," says he, "though sure enough
they're more numerous nor edifying,--so we'll jist suppose that a
heretic was to find sich a saying as this in Austin, 'Every sensible man
knows that thransubstantiation is a lie,'--or this out of Tertullian or
Plutarch, 'the bishop ov Rome is a common imposther,'--now tell me,
could you answer him?"
"As easy as kiss," says his Riv'rence. "In the first, we're to
understand that the exprission, 'Every sinsible man,' signifies simply,
'every man that judges by his nath'ral sinses'; and we all know that
nobody follying them seven deludhers could ever find out the mysthery
that's in it, if somebody didn't come in to his assistance wid an eighth
sinse, which is the only sinse to be depended on, being the sinse ov the
Church. So that, regarding the first quotation which your Holiness has
supposed, it makes clane for us, and tee-totally agin the heretics."
"That's the explanation sure enough," says his Holiness; "and now what
div you say to my being a common imposther?"
"Faix, I think," says his Riv'rence, "wid all submission to the better
judgment ov the learned father that your Holiness has quoted, he'd have
been a thrifle nearer the thruth, if he had said that the bishop ov
Rome is the grand imposther and top-sawyer in that line over us all."
"What do you mane?" says the Pope, getting quite red in the face.
"What would I mane," says his Riv'rence, as composed as a docther ov
physic, "but that your Holiness is at the head ov all them,--troth I had
a'most forgot I wasn't a bishop myself," says he, the deludher was going
to say, as the head of all _uz_, "that has the gift ov laving on hands.
For sure," says he, "imposther and _imposithir_ is all one, so you're
only to undherstand _manuum_, and the job is done. Auvuich!" says he,
"if any heretic 'ud go for to cast up sich a passidge as that agin me,
I'd soon give him a p'lite art ov cutting a stick to welt his own back
wid."
"'Pon my apostolical word," says the Pope, "you've cleared up them two
pints in a most satiswhactery manner."
"You see," says his Riv'rence,--by this time they wor mixing their third
tumbler,--"the writings of them Fathers is to be thrated wid great
veneration; and it 'ud be the height ov presumption in any one to sit
down to interpret them widout providing himself wid a genteel assortment
ov the best figures of rhetoric, sich as mettonymy, hyperbol,
cattychraysis, prolipsis, mettylipsis, superbaton, pollysyndreton,
hustheronprotheron, prosodypeia and the like, in ordher that he may
never be at a loss for shuitable sintiments when he comes to their
high-flown passidges. For unless we thrate them Fathers liberally to a
handsome allowance ov thropes and figures they'd set up heresy at onc't,
so they would."
"It's thru for you," says the Pope; "the figures ov spache is the
pillars ov the Church."
"Bedad," says his Riv'rence, "I dunna what we'd do widout them at all."
"Which one do you prefir?" says the Pope; "that is," says he, "which
figure of spache do you find most usefullest when you're hard set?"
"Metaphour's very good," says his Riv'rence, "and so's mettonymy,--and
I've known prosodypeia stand to me at a pinch mighty well,--but for a
constancy, superbaton's the figure for my money. Devil be in me," says
he, "but I'd prove black white as fast as a horse 'ud throt wid only a
good stick ov superbaton."
"Faix," says the Pope, wid a sly look, "you'd need to have it backed, I
judge, wid a small piece of assurance."
"Well now, jist for that word," says his Riv'rence, "I'll prove it
widout aither one or other. Black," says he, "is one thing and white is
another thing. You don't conthravene that? But everything is aither one
thing or another thing; I defy the Apostle Paul to get over that
dilemma. Well! If anything be one thing, well and good; but if it be
another thing, then it's plain it isn't both things, and so can't be two
things,--nobody can deny that. But what can't be two things must be one
thing,--_Ergo_, whether it's one thing or another thing it's all one.
But black is one thing and white is another thing,--_Ergo_, black and
white is all one. _Quod erat demonsthrandum._"
"Stop a bit," says the Pope, "I can't althegither give in to your second
miner--no--your second major," says he, and he stopped. "Faix, then,"
says he, getting confused, "I don't rightly remimber where it was
exactly that I thought I seen the flaw in your premises. Howsomdiver,"
says he, "I don't deny that it's a good conclusion, and one that 'ud be
ov materil service to the Church if it was dhrawn wid a little more
distinctiveness."
"I'll make it as plain as the nose on your Holiness's face, by
superbaton," says his Riv'rence. "My adversary says, black is not
another color, that is white? Now that's jist a parallel passidge wid
the one out ov Tartulion that me and Hayes smashed the heretics on in
Clarendon Sthreet. 'This is my body, that is, the figure ov my body.'
That's a superbaton, and we showed that it oughtn't to be read that way
at all but this way, 'This figure of my body _is_ my body.' Jist so wid
my adversary's proposition, it mustn't be undherstood the way it reads,
by no manner of manes; but it's to be taken this way,--'Black, that is,
white, is not another color,'--green, if you like, or orange, by dad,
for anything I care, for my case is proved. 'Black,' that is, 'white,'
lave out the 'that,' by sinnalayphy, and you have the orthodox
conclusion, 'Black is white,' or by convarsion, 'White is black.'"
"It's as clear as mud," says the Pope.
"Bedad," says his Riv'rence, "I'm in great humor for disputin' to-night.
I wisht your Holiness was a heretic jist for two minutes," says he,
"till you'd see the flaking I'd give you!"
"Well, then, for the fun o' the thing suppose me my namesake, if you
like," says the Pope, laughing, "though, by Jayminy," says he, "he's
not one that I take much pride out ov."
"Very good,--devil a bitther joke ever I had," says his Riv'rence.
"Come, then, Misther Pope," says he, "hould up that purty face ov yours,
and answer me this question. Which 'ud be the biggest lie, if I said I
seen a turkey-cock lying on the broad ov his back, and picking the stars
out ov the sky, or if I was to say that I seen a gandher in the same
intherrestin' posture, raycreating himself wid similar asthronomical
experiments? Answer me that, you ould swaddler?" says he.
"How durst you call me a swaddler, sir?" says the Pope, forgetting, the
dear man, the part that he was acting.
"Don't think to bully me!" says his Riv'rence. "I always daar to spake
the truth, and it's well known that you're nothing but a swaddling ould
sent ov a saint," says he, never letting on to persave that his Holiness
had forgot what they were agreed on.
"By all that's good," says the Pope, "I often hard ov the imperance ov
you Irish afore," says he, "but I never expected to be called a saint in
my own house, either by Irishman or Hottentot. I'll till you what,
Misther Maguire," says he, "if you can't keep a civil tongue in your
head, you had betther be walking off wid yourself; for I beg lave to
give you to undherstand, that it won't be for the good ov your health if
you call me by sich an outprobrious epithet again," says he.
"O, indeed! then things is come to a purty pass," says his Riv'rence,
(the dear funny soul that he ever was!) "when the lik ov you compares
one of the Maguires ov Tempo wid a wild Ingine! Why, man alive, the
Maguires was kings ov Fermanagh three thousand years afore your
grandfather, that was the first ov your breed that ever wore shoes and
stockings" (I'm bound to say, in justice to the poor Prodesan, that this
was all spoken by his Riv'rence by way of a figure ov spache), "was sint
his Majesty's arrand to cultivate the friendship of Prince Lee Boo in
Botteney Bay! O, Bryan dear," says he, letting on to cry, "if you were
alive to hear a _boddagh Sassenagh_ like this casting up his counthry to
me ov the name ov Maguire."
"In the name ov God," says the Pope, very solemniously, "what _is_ the
maning ov all this at all at all?" says he.
"Sure," says his Riv'rence, whispering to him across the table,--"sure,
you know we're acting a conthrawarsy, and you tuck the part ov the
Prodesan champion. You wouldn't be angry wid me, I'm sure, for sarving
out the heretic to the best ov my ability."
"O begad, I had forgot," says the Pope, the good-natured ould crethur;
"sure enough, you were only taking your part as a good Milesian Catholic
ought agin the heretic Sassenagh. Well," says he, "fire away now, and
I'll put up wid as many conthroversial compliments as you plase to pay
me."
"Well, then, answer me my question, you santimonious ould dandy," says
his Riv'rence.
"In troth, then," says the Pope, "I dunna which 'ud be the biggest lie,
to my mind," says he; "the one appears to be about as big a bounce as
the other."
"Why, then, you poor simpleton," says his Riv'rence, "don't you persave
that forbye the advantage the gandher 'ud have in the length ov his
neck, it 'ud be next to empossible for the turkey-cock lying thataway to
see what he was about, by rason ov his djollars and other accouthrements
hanging back over his eyes? The one about as big a bounce as the other!
O you misfortunate crethur! if you had ever larned your A B C in
theology, you'd have known that there's a differ betuxt them two lies so
great, that, begad, I wouldn't wondher if it 'ud make a balance ov five
years in purgathory to the sowl that 'ud be in it. Ay, and if it wasn't
that the Church is too liberal entirely, so she is, it 'ud cost his
heirs and succissors betther nor ten pounds to have him out as soon as
the other. Get along, man, and take half a year at dogmatical theology:
go and read your Dens, you poor dunce, you!"
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