The “Dwarf Man and the Black” give us a chance of meeting our love at——first sight. *
* “Sept. 8, 1757. Daily Advertiser. If the lady who stood
near a young gentleman to see the Dwarf Man and the Black in
Bartholomew Fair, on Wednesday evening, is single and will
inform the gentleman (who means the strictest honour) where
he may once more have the happiness of meeting her, she will
be waited on by a person of fortune. The lady wore a black
satin hat, puffed inside and out, a black cardinal, and a
genteel sprigged gown.”
The Midas-eared Musician scrapes on his violincello a teeth-setting-an-edge voluntary. John Coan, * the Norfolk Pigmy, motions us to his booth; and Hale the Piper ** dancing his “hornpipe,” bagpipes us a welcome to the fair!
“What,” exclaimed the Lauréat, “has become of this century of mountebanks? Ha! not one moving—still as the grave!”
Mr. Bosky was not often pathetic; but, being suddenly surprised into sentimentality, it is impossible to say what melancholy reflections might have resulted from the Merrie Mysteries, had not the landlord interrupted him by ushering into the room Uncle Timothy.
* This celebrated dwarf exhibited at Bartholomew Fair, Aug.
17, 1752.
** Under an engraving of Hale the Piper, by Sutton Nieholls,
are the music to his hornpipe, and the following lines.
“Before three monarchs I my skill did prove,
Of many lords and knights I had the love;
There's no musician e'er did know the peer
Of Hale the Piper in fair Darby Shire.
The consequence in part you here may know,
Pray look upon his hornpipe here below.”
Hail! modest piper, and farewell!
“Welcome, illustrious brother!” shouted Deputy Doublechin. “Better late than never!”
Uncle Timothy greeted the President, nodded to all around, and shook hands with some old stagers nearest the chair.
“Gentlemen,” continued the enthusiastic deputy, brimming Uncle Tim's glass, “our noble Vice drinks to all your good healths. Bravo! this looks like the merry old times! We have not a moment to lose. To-morrow prostrates this ancient roof-tree! Shall it be sawed asunder unsung? No, Uncle Timothy,—no! rather let it tumble to a dying fall!”
The satirical-nosed gentleman would as soon have been suspected of picking a pocket as eschewing a pun.