“You shall hear, sir, in a very few words; and those, the very words of my late excellent and sagacious friend, the king of Siam.”
“I don’t see,” cried Jericho, “that the king of Siam”—
“If you please; one moment,” said Thrush, with mild authority. “‘Drunkards’ his majesty would say ’are of two sorts. The good-natured and the malicious. Now, the good-natured man in his drink babbles his praises and his affections; and with all his goodness, would blush when sober to say the loving things that run from him in his wine. His sober thoughts are written in his heart in the milk of human goodness. Now, the malicious man, who in his steady hours, has kept a fair face and a clean lip to his fellow—in his time of drink talks reviling and abuse. His thoughts are written not in milk, but in vinegar: but the fire of the wine brings out either character, showing both true, the words of milk and the words of verjuice.’ Now, this, sir, was the judgment of the king of Siam.”
“I—I do not see it. I can’t see it. Ridiculous! Preposterous,” cried Jericho.
“The king of Siam though in his royal tomb, and sprinkled with the loving ashes of fifty of his wives burnt at a great expense for that occasion only—the king of Siam” said Thrush with ominous gravity, “is still my friend. When we have disposed of our present business, I shall be happy to give the readiest attention to any disparagement you may feel disposed to vent upon the lamented potentate.”
“I am not at all the man, sir, to do anything of the sort,” cried Jericho. “I respect the—the—yes, the constituted authorities, in their tombs or out of ’em.”
“I am very happy to hear it. Because you must at once concede, on the authority of my friend, the king, that an affront in drink is a double insult. You called my friend, Colonel Bones, an officer in her Majesty’s uncle’s service”—
Jericho who, though he trod upon thorns, could not resist the sneer, asked, “What regiment?”
“No matter, sir,” said Thrush, “I have forgotten it. The Colonel himself may have forgotten it. Any regiment you like. The 59th Harlequins, or the 74th Pantaloons—it is no matter. You have insulted an officer; it may be, insulted him for years. You called him toad-eater—pauper—bone-picker! Now, sir, who shall say how long you may have carried about you those opprobrious epithets, written in the strongest vinegar upon your heart? Written, and only waiting the required volume of hot, fruity port, to dawn and break out into diabolic blackness? At length you drink; you become drunk; and thereupon immediately publish to the world the calumny writ in withering acid.” Jericho was astonished. Thrush, wiping his forehead after the exertion, dropt his voice, and in the politest, meekest manner, asked, “To whom will you do me the honour to refer me? Who is your friend?”
“Certainly; to be sure,” said Jericho with alacrity; and he immediately sat down, and penned a note to the Hon. Cesar Candituft. With what a halo of benevolence was that good creature immediately surrounded! With something of a smile at his lip, Jericho penned a few familiar lines. “He would leave the matter entirely in his hands.” This done, he handed the missive to Thrush, who took it with the satisfied air of a man who felt that he was proceeding in a manner most satisfactory to the feelings of all parties.