It was the property of a Virginia gentleman, long since dead, who had attained, at a very early age, the enormous weight of some seven or eight and twenty stone. It had no resemblance to that of Slawkenbergius—as delineated by Sterne—nor to Dan Jackson's, so frequently and fondly described by Swift—nor to that of the sensual Bardolph, so famous in dramatic annals, for the phosphorescent quality of shining in the dark, ascribed to it by his friend Falstaff. In short, such was its unique conformation, that it would have defied the skill of Dr. Taliacotius himself, even with the choice of any part of the human body, to manufacture any thing at all like it. Although it approached more the bulbous kind of nose, than any other, and in shape, strongly resembled the nose of the Hippopotamus, or river horse, it was so disproportionately small, when contrasted with the two tumuli of flesh between which it was deeply imbedded, that it was quite invisible to any person taking a profile view of the face, which seemed to be literally noseless. Add to this, the projection of an upper lip of double the usual thickness, which so nearly closed the two apertures through which the proprietor breathed, as to render it perfectly manifest to all beholders, that to sleep in any other way but with his mouth at least half open, was utterly impracticable. This accordingly, was his invariable habit; and the consequences can be much more easily imagined, (difficult as it was,) than described. To relate every tale that I have heard of his snoring achievements, would certainly bring into some suspicion the veracity of those from whom I heard them. In tender regard, therefore, for their character, I will repeat only two; but by these alone, both you and your readers may judge pretty well of the rest.
The first was, that on a memorable occasion, when his crater was in full blast, his nasal explosions actually burst open a bran new door, although the bolt of the lock was turned. At another time, it is related of him, that arriving late at night at his favorite tavern in Alexandria, he was conducted into a room, furnished with two beds, in one of which was a little Frenchman, fast asleep, who had gone to rest without any expectation of receiving a fellow lodger. Into the empty bed the fat gentleman soon entered; and being a precious sleeper, he remained but a few minutes awake. Much, however, and most startling work was always to be done, before sound sleep ensued; for a prelude was to be performed, which might aptly be compared to the fearful sounds of a man in the agonies of death by strangulation, from the rupture of a blood vessel. This being almost enough to awaken the dead, we may readily suppose that the little Frenchman was instantly aroused,—aroused too, in the utmost extremity of such terror as would probably be caused in any one, at the idea of a murder being committed in his room. This conviction flashed upon his mind, with all its accompanying horror, at the moment he awoke. In the twinkling of an eye, he sprang out of bed—not exactly "in puris naturalibus," but certainly in a dress very unsuitable for company, and rushed headlong down three flights of stairs, crying out at the top of his voice, "murder! mon dieu! murder! murder!" As may well be imagined, this produced a general rush of the lodgers from their apartments, and in costume similar to his own.—The females were screaming in their highest key—the men, in their far harsher tones, were roaring out, "what's the matter? what's the matter?" while the little Frenchman reiterated still more loudly his piteous cries of "murder! mon dieu! murder! murder!" A scene of such indescribable confusion ensued, that some time elapsed before the equally terrified tavern keeper, who had joined the throng, had the least chance of unravelling the mystery. At last, however, sufficient quiet was restored to enable him to understand from the little Frenchman, why he had fled from his room with such precipitation. An irrepressible burst of laughter had nearly suffocated the poor landlord, before he could gain sufficient breath to explain to his guests, that the whole cause of their dreadful alarm, was nothing more than the fat gentleman's tuning and preluding upon his nasal instrument, as was his invariable custom, preliminary to the much deeper sleep that always followed; and which was indicated by a combination of such unearthly sounds, that they might reasonably thank their stars that the preparation they had received was no worse.
DEMOCRITUS, JR.
SWIMMING.
Some of our readers will doubtless remember an allusion in the tale of "The Doom" to an individual who performed the feat of swimming across the James, at the falls above this city. A valuable correspondent, who was the bold swimmer alluded to, writes us as follows:
"I noticed the allusion in the Doom. The writer seems to compare my swim with that of Lord Byron, whereas there can be no comparison between them. Any swimmer 'in the falls' in my days, would have swum the Hellespont, and thought nothing of the matter. I swam from Ludlam's wharf to Warwick, (six miles,) in a hot June sun, against one of the strongest tides ever known in the river. It would have been a feat comparatively easy to swim twenty miles in still water. I would not think much of attempting to swim the British Channel from Dover to Calais."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.