Now, gutta percha is a most admirable material, especially adapted for boats, ropes, and other commodities to be used in the Arctic regions; but, unfortunately, it has the slight drawback of softening like “hardbake” at a high temperature, and consequently it is not particularly suited for firemen’s helmets, owing to its liability to run down the faces of the “brigade” like treacle, when exposed to a “terrific conflagration;” nor is it especially adapted to the manufacture of shaving-pots, seeing that the infusion of the boiling water is certain to elongate the vessel into something approximating the form and appearance of a huge German sausage; and we have known candlesticks made of the treacherous “gutta” gutter away with the expiring “stearine” until nothing was left of the antique candelabrum but a leathery pancake on the tablecloth; picture-frames, too, composed of the same uncertain substance have been found, in the dog-days, to suffer almost as much as aldermen from the extreme heat of the weather, and to grow as limp and bendy at the joints as an acrobat, while the cornices ran down into a series of chocolate-coloured stalactites. Nor is the soluble stuff better adapted to the formation of harness, for gutta percha traces have been occasionally seen, when the thermometer stood at 80° in the shade, to elongate like vulcanized India-rubber, and to leave the vehicle a considerable distance behind the horse which was supposed to be drawing it, while the whip which was intended for the flagellation of the animal has gone as soft as a lollipop, and of no more service than a straw; and to this catalogue of commodities unfitted to be manufactured in gutta percha still one other article must be added, and that is—as an Irishman would say—wooden legs; for though legs are intended to run as well as to walk, it is somewhat inconvenient to find them, on the least increase of temperature, run away altogether, and the limb which was meant as a crutchlike support give way, for all the world as though the wearer had become suddenly afflicted with the “rickets,” his gutta percha leg gradually bending in or bulging out, like a barley-sugar bird-cage at an evening party.
Presently the tender thread of Major Oldschool’s discourse was rudely snapped asunder by a kind of echo duet performed by the captain of the “Busy Bee” in deep bass, and the call-boy in shrill treble, the burden of which was—“ease her! ease her!—back her! back her!—stop her! stop her!”—and then bump went the vessel against the Westminster pier, making the barge wabble on the water like a yeast dumpling in a saucepan.
Until this moment the Major, whose back had been resting against the funnel, had not attempted to stir a foot, and no sooner was he roused from his reverie by the cry of “Now, then, any one for Westminster?” than, seizing Mr. Sandboys by the arm, he cried, “Here we are. Come along, quick! or we shall be carried off to Chelsea;” and made a desperate effort to reach the plank that connected the “Bee” with the pier; but no sooner did he trust the weight of his body to the treacherous gutta percha limb, which the heat of the funnel had by this time rendered as limp as a stale sugar-stick in a confectioner’s window, than it bent under him like a soldier’s penny cane, and down went the Major on his side, dragging the terrified Cursty along with him.
The Major was so unprepared for the mishap, that he was utterly unaware of the cause of his sudden fall, until, on attempting to get up, and trusting once more to his “gummy” leg, he was again precipitated on top of the bewildered Cursty, before that gentleman had time to rise. On looking to the state of his new limb, however, the problem was speedily solved, for he found that his gutta percha calf, softened by the heat of the funnel, had run into his boot, while his artificial ankle had swollen into a “model gout,” while what was originally the thick part of the leg, had been attenuated into a mere tendon, no thicker than a harp-string.
Major Oldschool raved at all new-fangled inventions, and vowed as he clasped his head with vexation, that there was nothing like wood, after all, and called himself an idiot for allowing himself to be talked into any such “tomfoolery,” while the passengers laughed violently at the catastrophe; and even the Sandboys, vexed as they felt at the further postponement of their visit to the Crystal Palace, could not refrain from taking part in the merriment excited on the occasion.
To proceed to the Exhibition with such a leg was utterly impossible, and to the Sandboys’ great discomfiture nothing remained to be done but to have the uni-ped Major carried to a cab, and conveyed back to Craven-street as rapidly as possible.
Mr. Cursty Sandboys, as usual, saw that the calamity had been planned by some of the invisible sprites and mischievous elfins in the employ of that blind and spiteful old maid passing under the name of Destiny or Fate, and whom he felt thoroughly convinced were having a hearty demoniac laugh in their phantom sleeves at the many annoyances they were causing him; and no sooner was he once more located within the parlour of Major Oldschool, than he registered a vow on the ceiling of that apartment, that he would never again move a leg to get to that bothering Crystal Palace. It was no use talking to him—go home he would—and people might laugh as they pleased.
That evening, as the Major and Cursty sat enjoying their toddy after the family had retired to rest, and Mr. Sandboys was growing eloquent, under the influence of the whisky punch, on the many beauties of his native Buttermere, Major Oldschool begged Cursty to defer his return to Cumberland until he (the Major) had escorted Elcy to the Exhibition, and availed himself of that opportunity to speak to the young lady on the subject of their morning’s conversation; for, as he said, half laughing, he could not think of marrying a lady who was unacquainted with the wonders of the Exhibition—he might as well pick a wife from a convent at once, and unite himself with one who had had her head shaved, and foresworn the world and every kind of show. As an additional inducement, moreover, the Major promised that if he were fortunate enough to gain the young lady’s consent, he would return with the family, be married at Lanthwaite Green Church, as his old friend had been, and pass the rest of his days with the family at Buttermere.
As soon as the Major was provided with a new limb, he accompanied Elcy and her brother to the Great Exhibition, and there, as he led her through all the countries of the civilized globe, he endeavoured to reveal the state of his feelings—now, as they paused for a moment in France, he asked her whether she thought she could be happy with him for life—and now, as they rambled through China, he inquired whether she fancied she would be very miserable if she had him for a companion for the remainder of her days. Elcy replied that he had been so kind to them all, that she was sure she should always be glad to be in his company, and that ever since her first acquaintance with him, she had esteemed him as one of her father’s best friends—all which so encouraged the Major, that he availed himself of the solitude of America to beg to be informed whether her esteem for him as a friend could make her love him as a husband?