“Yes, Sir, it is, Sir,” rejoined the Apothecary to the Forces; “and now, Sir, let me ask you, Sir, what is your rank, Sir?”
“The only difference between our respective ranks is this,” said the stranger, “that you are Apothecary to the Forces;—I am Commander-in-Chief of the same forces; and now, Sir, I order you, to be out of these quarters in half an hour!”
The tiny gentleman stared; and with the most polite and submissive bow, (when he had recovered from the consternation into which the explanation had thrown him,) pulled out his watch and said, “Half an hour? your lordship—half an hour? that’s very short notice indeed:—say thirty-five minutes, and it shall be done.”
The Commander-in-Chief nodded assent, and laughing heartily, left the little gentleman to take his own time in removing.
THE HUSSAR AND THE COMMISSARY;
OR,
“MY COUSIN,” THE MARQUIS.
It is an even chance
That bridegrooms, after they are fairly groom’d,
May retrograde a little in the dance.
Byron.
That “a cobler should stick to his last,” is a homely old saying, of infinite worth, were men to act upon the spirit which it inculcates; but, unfortunately, like many other wholesome things, it is too often rejected as unpalatable, if not neglected altogether. The danger of the infraction of this maxim, however, has been proved by men of every grade, from the highest to the lowest—from Cobler Buonaparte down to Cobler Cobbett—the one marched to Russia, and lost the world by it; the other trudged to Windsor, and gained but a laugh for his pains. Ambition is at the bottom of all this: that passion which killed alike the Roman Cato and the London Daw. The one slew himself that he might not witness his rival’s success; the other died of grief because he could not bear to see his walk upon the stage usurped by an understrapper. Poor Daw had played for many years the fore leg of the elephant in Blue Beard with éclat—he was the original leg; and it broke his heart to find himself thrown into the background, by being obliged to take the hind,[12] instead of his foremost character. But this is a digression; let us return to our adage—“A cobler should stick to his last,” and proceed to an illustration of it in an affair which happened at Lisbon, in 1813.
A Commissariat clerk was on duty in that city at this period, who possessed a handsome wife. With his pay and allowances, amounting to about 180l. a-year, he managed to live very comfortably, enjoying the society of his brethren, and appearing, in every respect, a gentleman. But, unfortunately for him, the British Ambassador, then at Lisbon, (Lord Charles Stuart,) according to custom, gave periodical balls; and what was still more unfortunate, these balls were open to every respectable member of the army who might choose to attend. Of this privilege the wife of the gentleman in question determined to avail herself, and prevailed on her husband to accompany her. Whether it required much persuasion to accomplish the consent of the latter, is not known; but certain it is, that they both attended the balls, and “turned out” in a style that would not have disgraced a Commissary-general. Besides the expensive circle of acquaintance into which this attendance at the Ambassador’s balls must necessarily have led a married man, another and greater evil soon and clearly manifested itself. The Hussar brigade had then just arrived at Lisbon, splendidly equipped; and, of course, its members figured as the lions of the ball-room. Amongst them was a noble Marquis, a Captain, of elegant and insinuating manners, and remarkable for his gallantry in the field—of Venus; for he had not yet essayed in that of Mars,—and with the Commissariat gentleman’s wife the noble Captain danced. Without entering into a philosophical examination of the characters of women in general, let us assume, that few ladies, who know how to properly esteem the pleasures of dancing in public, could well have resisted the claims to admiration which a handsome Hussar, decorated with a title, and a pair of scarlet trowsers, all laced with gold, must have brought to his aid. The heroine of this page proved her taste, and admired the Marquis, as every lady possessing her susceptibility and her notions of the beau ideal, must have done. It is natural to look favourably upon those who admire us. Admiration possesses extraordinary procreative powers,—it even reproduces itself. The Marquis and the Commissariat clerk’s wife became, on the first night of their dancing together, familiar acquaintances; nay, before the ball broke up, they were found to be bona fide relations—absolute cousins-German, by the mother’s side! There is no doubt—they were cousins: the Marquis first traced the consanguinity, the lady was delighted at the discovery, and the credulous husband believed it! Many garrulous people, however, attempted to prove, that this cousinship was only got up, to cozen the Commissary, between the noble dancer and the sympathetic danseuse.[13] Be that as it may, both husband and wife felt highly honoured, as we have said, by the discovery; and the former invited the Marquis, most pressingly, to his quarters.
The noble relation became a frequent visitor, and the Commissary spoke of his “Cousin, the Marquis,” to all his acquaintances with exultation; nor was the lady backward in her civilities, for she entertained her guest at dinner—at tea—at supper—at all things, and at all times, within her power, in such a way, that the cousins were scarcely ever out of each other’s society.