AN EXTENSIVE ORDER.
Spacious Gentleman.—"Will you have the kindness, young man, to measure me for a pair of those at 12s.?">[
THE BRIDGE OF SIZE.
WHAT DO ALL ENGLISHMEN TAKE OFF THEIR
HATS TO?[[8]]
Who is it that gets the most salutes in England? We do not mean the powder which is thundered into the Queen's ears wherever she goes, but the quiet salute which a person makes by taking his hat off.
Now, every Englishman dislikes taking his hat off. It is a trouble, and no genuine John Bull likes more trouble than he can help. It must be something, then, of very great importance—of general love and feeling—a chord that strikes all Englishmen's hearts—that makes everybody, without a single exception, take his hat off to it?
What can it be?
Is it Prince Albert? No; for, familiar as the prints of His Royal Highness may have made his handsome face in the eyes of those who look into print shops, still, from love of retirement, he is not generally known by the public, and he could easily pass down Lowther Arcade without fear of being recognised.
Who is it, then?
Is it the Duke of Wellington? No. It is true he commands a number of upraised hats. All those who know his venerable nose, and know how much England is indebted to it, pay him that little mark of respect. But, popular as the Duke is, every one is not acquainted with him, and there are even a few who still nourish a dislike of his political opinions, forgetting the best part, and only recollecting the worst part, of the man.
A GOOD PARTY CRY.
Can it be a creditor?
Certainly not; for debtors always make a practice of avoiding their creditors, especially those of a large amount, or one of the Hebrew persuasion. There may be a few who get a stray lift of the chapeau, by way of reconciliation, but in general the eyes of him that owes rarely meet the eyes of him to whom money is owing. We are all blind to our own interest, especially when we pay 10 per cent. for it.
Perhaps it is the wind?
Now, this is a vile quibble; for the reader knows well enough that no man takes off his hat to the wind. On the contrary, the whole energy of a man's ten fingers is concentrated on the rebellious rim, with the view of holding the fugitive castor on. The wind takes off many hats; it is repeatedly done on Waterloo Bridge, and round the corner of St. Paul's Churchyard—you will see it any day during March; but it is preposterous to say that a single hat is ever taken off to the wind.
Well, then, what is it?
Patience for ten lines, and you shall know. Growl, amiable reader, but read.
It is, you must know, a curious instrument, or rather a collection of instruments, that go at once to the bosoms of all Englishmen. It subdues discord, and substitutes pleasant harmony for it. No sooner is a note of it heard than off flies every hat, the whole assembly rises; fifty thousand bare heads—if there are so many present—instantly respect the majesty of the appeal, and fifty thousand voices—if you can only count them—join in glad response to it.
But what is it?
Foreigners even respect it, and take off their hats.
Once more—What is it?
Well, that which has most hats taken off to it, is—
Stop! I have it (cries a young musician, who had the signal honour of beating the big drum in the Drury Lane orchestra on the stormy nights of Monte Christo): It's—
Be quiet, sir. It's no such thing. Learn, young man, that you've no right to rob any one of his secret. Sit down, sir, and allow us to say—
Well, then, say it, and be—
Hush—breathe not a word that may be offensive to
EARS POLITE.
We were just going to say, if you had not interrupted us, that that which has more hats taken off than anything else is—is—is—
Is what?
Is God Save the Queen!
And this proves that we English are the most loyal people in the world—at least as far as hats go.
But who can tell whether the reason why the tremendous shower of revolutions, which have fallen this year as thick as hail all over the Continent, have done such little injury in England, is simply because our beloved country is deeply insured in every office, farm, mansion, cottage, in every English heart, by the loyal policy of God Save the Queen?
So, "Hats off!" and let us all sing—
"May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing, with heart and applause,
God Save the Queen!"
[8]. The base perpetrator of the above has been dismissed. We hope the reader is pacified.—Ed. C. A.
Fraternité, Egalité, Liberté—d'Après la Republique Rouge.