The Grand Panjandrum was an aged gentleman of color, whose wrinkled face was enlivened by an irrepressible comicality of expression, which not even the solemnity of this occasion could quell. He was arrayed in a college cap and gown, with a Master’s red hood and long bands. His face was a study. He was evidently doing his best to exhibit the deepest solemnity of expression, but his droll, keen, twinkling eyes darted furtively about, with an intense relish of the scene before him, and his efforts at gravity were sadly disturbed by the broad grin which, from time to time, would flash out irrepressibly over the dark background of his face. After a few furtive glances he bowed; and then, with an audible chuckle, he awaited further proceedings.
“Grand Panjandrum,” said the figure on the dais, in an impressive voice.
“Yes, sah.”
“Yes, what?” said the other, in a tone of rebuke.
“Yes, sah,—yes, mos’wossifle,” he added, correcting himself. A grin broke out over his face, which, however, was instantly checked by a demure cough.
“Grand Panjandrum, you have heard our map-dates.”
“Mandates?” said the other, in a puzzled tone.
“Yes,—orders.”
“Yes, sah, mos’ wossifle.”
“Have you carried out the instructions of the Venerable Brethren?”