Bracebridge Hall, or The HumoristsIrving, Washington
General
Bracebridge Hall, or The Humorists
Irving, Washington
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; National characteristics, English -- Fiction
Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the ground together, and
indulged a vast deal of harmless raking among the buxom country girls.
Master Simon would give some of them a kiss on meeting with them, and
would ask after their sisters, for he is acquainted with most of the
farmers' families. Sometimes he would whisper, and affect to talk
mischievously with them, and, if bantered on the subject, would turn
it off with a laugh, though it was evident he liked to be suspected of
being a gay Lothario amongst them.
He had much to say to the farmers about their farms; and seemed to
know all their horses by name. There was an old fellow, with round
ruddy face, and a night-cap under his hat, the village wit, who took
several occasions to crack a joke with him in the hearing of his
companions, to whom he would turn and wink hard when Master Simon had
passed.
The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at one time, been
interrupted by the appearance of the radical on the ground, with two
or three of his disciples. He soon got engaged in argument in the very
thick of the throng, above which I could hear his voice, and now and
then see his meagre hand, half a mile out of the sleeve, elevated in
the air in violent gesticulation, and flourishing a pamphlet by way of
truncheon. He was decrying these idle nonsensical amusements in time
of public distress, when it was every one's business to think of other
matters, and to be miserable. The honest village logicians could make
no stand against him, especially as he was seconded by his proselytes;
when, to their great joy, Master Simon and the general came drifting
down into the field of action. I saw that Master Simon was for making
off, as soon as he found himself in the neighbourhood of this
fire-ship; but the general was too loyal to suffer such talk in his
hearing, and thought, no doubt, that a look and a word from a
gentleman would be sufficient to shut up so shabby an orator. The
latter, however, was no respecter of persons, but rather seemed to
exult in having such important antagonists. He talked with greater
volubility than ever, and soon drowned them in declamation on the
subject of taxes, poor's rates, and the national debt. Master Simon
endeavoured to brush along in his usual excursive manner, which had
always answered amazingly well with the villagers; but the radical was
one of those pestilent fellows that pin a man down to facts; and,
indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in his pocket, to support every
thing he advanced by printed documents. The general, too, found
himself betrayed into a more serious action than his dignity could
brook; and looked like a mighty Dutch Indiaman, grievously peppered by
a petty privateer. It was in vain that he swelled and looked big, and
talked large, and endeavoured to make up by pomp of manner for poverty
of matter; every home-thrust of the radical made him wheeze like a
bellows, and seemed to let a volume of wind out of him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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