Coachy now began to apprehend the consequences of a complaint from a person of much weight in Southampton, and politely begged of Cleaver to take an outside seat. The travellers on the top of the coach were as much terrified as the inside ones; and Cleaver was forced to sit on the box next to the driver, who sported an enormous mangel-wurzel smeller of his own, and seemed much amused with the terrors of his passengers.
Cleaver's expedition was most prosperous. He terrified gipsy parties at Netly, shocked the members of the Yacht Club, interrupted the sketches of tourists, and kept High-street, above and below bar, in a state of constant consternation, after having been refused admittance into half of the hotels. The very parish beadles seemed to have an eye to his nose. In short, the Strasburg burghers had not been more terrified with the sneezer of Han Kenbergins's traveller, than were the good people of Southampton with that of their visitor. Having thus brought his snout into notoriety, he returned to town on a day when he had discovered that Lord Doodly's butler was going up. The conversation naturally fell upon noses, as the butler declared that he never in all his born days had seen such a pair of nozzles as Cleaver's and his young master's. Our adventurer then informed him that there was only one doctor upon earth who could cure such terrific diseases, and him he was going up to consult. His fellow traveller of course observed, that if he could cure his scent-box he could cure anything; and Cleaver promised him, over a tankard of ale, to let him hear from him if he was so fortunate as to get rid of his distressing disorder.
Two months after, a loud ringing announced a stranger at the gate of Doodly Hall. It was Cleaver, with his natural facial handle, asking for the butler. Overjoyed at a discovery so acceptable to his master, who, in return for his services, might be disposed to overlook his spoliations with more indulgence, Cleaver was introduced by him to the family, who all recollected his former frightful appearance. Lord Impy, the heir of the title and estate, was forthwith sent to London to be placed under Doall's care. Again he had the good fortune to relieve him, and his fame had spread far and near, ere the nasal conflagration broke out again with redoubled virulence.
Cleaver's services were soon requited by the hand of Emmelina, and a partnership in the board. He gradually acquired a smattering of medical knowledge; and, being well aware that affable manners bring on conversation, and conversation tends to draw out ignorance, he very wisely assumed a haughty, and at times a brutal manner; making it a rule never to answer a question, and requesting his patients to hold their tongues when they presumed to trespass on their ailments. His unmannerly behaviour was called frankness, his silence erudition, and his insolence independence. He thus became one of the wealthiest quacks in London. His romantic Emmelina for some time rendered him most miserable; but, fortunately for him, she one night set fire to the house while performing "The Devil to pay" in her private theatricals, and was duly consumed with the premises. With his usual good luck, they had been insured for three times their value; and the doctor was enabled to move to a more fashionable part of the West End, with the additional puff of a fire, a burnt wife, and a disconsolate husband!
The librarian proceeded to relate the adventures of various other medical men; and we then entered an adjoining room, hung round with portraits of distinguished characters, amongst whom I was particularly anxious to learn the history of the once popular patriot, Sir Ruby Ratborough.
PETER PLUMBAGO'S
CORRESPONDENCE.
Dear Tom,—I'm aware you will need no apology For a nice short epistle concerning geology; The subject perhaps has been worn to a thread,— But I can't drive Philosophy out of my head! Before the great meeting in Bristol, no doubt It was harder to drive such a thing in than out; But a one-pound subscription once placing it there, It takes root in the brain, and sprouts faster than hair: So that, though I get lectures at night from the wife of me, I can't pluck Philosophy out for the life of me.
Well, Tom,—a prime fellow, brimfull of divinity, Told jokes about chaos and bones to infinity; And proved that the world (this he firmly believes) Long before Adam's day had seen thousands of Eves! Now, Tom, do you know in this earth that so great a Proportion of hard rocks inclining in strata Is caked with dead lizards and crocodiles' bone, That a singular fact's incontestably shown— Viz. All flesh (which is grass) must in time become stone! Either limestone, or crystal, or mineral salt, (Vide specim.) Lot's wife—crystallized "in a fault." Fancy, Tom, that your skull may come under the chisel, And turn out a filter for water to drizzle! Or imagine the rubicund nose of our uncle, In some fair lady's brooch, blazing forth a carbuncle! Though learning is grand, and one labours to win it, There perhaps lurks a something distressing, Tom, in it. Thus, whate'er our good character while our life lasted, When turned into rocks, may we not, Tom, be blasted? However refined were our tastes and behaviour, When slabs, to be thumped by the vulgarest pavior! Who knows but that Newton's immortalised pate May not some day become a dull schoolboy's old slate; That head, which threw such astonishing light upon The secrets of nature—a ninny to write upon! Man's knowledge is ignorance, wisdom is folly; The more philosophic, the more melancholy.
But, Tom, I've a theory,—my own, Tom,—my pet, Though not quite mature to be published as yet, Next year I expect 'twill be brought to perfection, And be read at the great Geological Section. The subject of Frogs having pleased the community, (A subject on which none may gibe with impunity,) It struck me the cold-blooded matter they own Must be midway 'twixt animal substance and stone. They have heads, so have we!—and no tails, so have rocks!— They've no red blood, like pebbles! but two eyes, like cocks! Then again,—unlike Christians, with warm, "vital spark,"— They are cold, so are flints! a strong circumstance—mark! An argument some use—there is not much in 't, That stones have no skins—Hah! then what's a skin flint? Every day, Tom, I feel more secure my position, Frogs are Animal Rocks in a state of transition! If I prove this,—and savans but act with propriety,— I'm sure to preside at the Royal Society! Then think, Tom, the glory of Bristol! a resident Elected in London, to sit as the President! Hark! I hear, Tom, my unphilosophic virago Of a wife! I must finish— Yours, PETER PLUMBAGO. October 14th, 1836.