“Then you force me to say, sir, you’re a fool,”
Return’d the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool;
It made the listener stagger;
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
“The traveller lied
Who had the impudence to tell it you.”
“Zounds! then d’ye mean to swear before my face
That anchovies don’t grow like cloves and mace?”
“I do!”
Disputants often after hot debates
Leave the contention as they found it—bone,
And take to duelling, or thumping têtes;
Thinking, by strength of artery, to atone
For strength of argument; and he who winces
From force of words, with force of arms convinces!
With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) serv’d to show
It might be better they shook hands—but no;
When each opines himself, though frighten’d, right,
Each is, in courtesy, oblig’d to fight!
And they did fight: from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pull’d his trigger first;
And fearing, from the braggart’s ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizz’d its very worst,
Ran up, and with a duelistic tear,
(His ire evanishing like morning vapours,)
Found him possess’d of one remaining ear,
Who, in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth:
For, while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried—“The deuce is in’t—
Sir! I meant—capers!”
Characters.
THE OLD GENTLEMAN.
Our old gentleman, in order to be exclusively himself, must be either a widower or a bachelor. Suppose the former. We do not mention his precise age, which would be invidious;—nor whether he wears his own hair or a wig; which would be wanting in universality. If a wig, it is a compromise between the more modern scratch and the departed glory of the toupee. If his own hair, it is white, in spite of his favourite grandson, who used to get on the chair behind him, and pull the silver hairs out, ten years ago. If he is bald at top, the hair-dresser, hovering and breathing about him like a second youth, takes care to give the bald place as much powder as the covered; in order that he may convey, to the sensorium within, a pleasing indistinctness of idea respecting the exact limits of skin and hair. He is very clean and neat; and in warm weather is proud of opening his waistcoat half way down, and letting so much of his frill be seen; in order to show his hardiness as well as taste. His watch and shirt-buttons are of the best; and he does not care if he has two rings on a finger. If his watch ever failed him at the club or coffee-house, he would take a walk every day to the nearest clock of good character, purely to keep it right. He has a cane at home, but seldom uses it, on finding it out of fashion with his elderly juniors. He has a small cocked hat for gala days, which he lifts higher from his head than the round one, when made a bow to. In his pockets are two handkerchiefs, (one for the neck at night-time,) his spectacles, and his pocket-book. The pocket-book, among other things, contains a receipt for a cough, and some verses cut out of an odd sheet of an old magazine, on the lovely duchess of A., beginning—
When beauteous Mira walks the plain.
He intends this for a common-place book which he keeps, consisting of passages in verse and prose cut out of newspapers and magazines, and pasted in columns; some of them rather gay. His principal other books are Shakspeare’s Plays and Milton’s Paradise Lost; the Spectator, the History of England; the works of Lady M. W. Montague, Pope, and Churchill; Middleton’s Geography, the Gentleman’s Magazine; Sir John Sinclair on Longevity; several plays with portraits in character; Account of Elizabeth Canning, Memoirs of George Ann Bellamy, Poetical Amusements at Bath-Easton, Blair’s Works, Elegant Extracts; Junius as originally published; a few pamphlets on the American War and Lord George Gordon, &c. and one on the French Revolution. In his sitting rooms are some engravings from Hogarth and Sir Joshua; an engraved portrait of the Marquis of Granby; ditto of M. le Comte de Grasse surrendering to Admiral Rodney; a humorous piece after Penny; and a portrait of himself, painted by Sir Joshua. His wife’s portrait is in his chamber, looking upon his bed. She is a little girl, stepping forward with a smile and a pointed toe, as if going to dance. He lost her when she was sixty.
The Old Gentleman is an early riser, because he intends to live at least twenty years longer. He continues to take tea for breakfast, in spite of what is said against its nervous effects; having been satisfied on that point some years ago by Dr. Johnson’s criticism on Hanway, and a great liking for tea previously. His china cups and saucers have been broken since his wife’s death, all but one, which is religiously kept for his use. He passes his morning in walking or riding, looking in at auctions, looking after his India bonds or some such money securities, furthering some subscription set on foot by his excellent friend sir John, or cheapening a new old print for his portfolio. He also hears of the newspapers; not caring to see them till after dinner at the coffee-house. He may also cheapen a fish or so; the fishmonger soliciting his doubting eye as he passes, with a profound bow of recognition. He eats a pear before dinner.