“Too true; but there is method in my madness.” which I found to be so when Alice (who could have wished a more charming waitress?) returned with the illustrations.
Illustrations in the highest form of art; for they appealed to the ear with the soft music of their jingle, the nostrils by their fragrance, the touch by their coldness, to the eye by the fascinating contrast of cracked ice and vivid green; while the imagination, soaring above the regions of sense, beheld within those frosted goblets, jocund, blooming summer seated in the lap of rimy winter,—or the triumph of man over nature.
Ole Virginny nebber tire!
“What kind of an idiot did you say?” said Charley, as we chinked glasses.
“I couldn’t find any straws,” said Alice.
“I accept your apology,” said Charley. His voice sounded soft, mellow, and far away; for his nose was plunged beneath a mass of crushed ice. “Straws,” added he, growing magnanimous, “they are only fit to show which way the wind blows.” And with a magnificent sweep of his left hand he indicated his disdain for all possible atmospheric currents. “Ladies and gentlemen,” added he, as he rose from his seat; and this time there was an indescribable jumble in the voice of the orator—(not at all, Mr. Teetotaller! ’twas caused by the cracked ice),—for as Charley rose to continue the reading of his Essay on Military Glory, he had pointed the stem of his goblet at the ceiling; striving, at the same time, by a skilful adjustment of his features, to prevent its contents from falling on the floor,—such great store did Alice set by her new carpet. But, of course, when he opened his mouth to say ladies and gentlemen, a baby avalanche fell in upon his organs of speech; so that he didn’t manage to say anything of the kind. “That,” said he, placing the glass upon the table, “will do as a vignette; the illustrations we shall contrive to work in farther on.”
One julep gives Charley the swagger of a four-bottle man.
“Where was I?” asked he, drawing the manuscript from his pocket. “I’ll begin again. HANNIBAL! No, confound it! Ah, here we are: “An average man has strength to go to the bottom of a julep; only a philosopher can sound the depth of a thought.”
At these words Alice rose from her seat, and, leaning forward, first fixed a scrutinizing glance upon her husband, then advanced towards him with a twinkle in her merry-glancing hazel eye.
“If half the audience,” said Charley, with an imperious wave of the hand, “will persist in wandering over the floor, the reading is suspended.”