England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘Or trace the progress of crime to ’bacca?’ growled another.
‘Neither,’ replied Nicholas Tulrumble, shaking hands with them both,
whether they would or not. ‘I’ve come down to say that I’m very sorry
for having made a fool of myself, and that I hope you’ll give me up the
old chair, again.’
The old fellows opened their eyes, and three or four more old fellows
opened the door, to whom Nicholas, with tears in his eyes, thrust out his
hand too, and told the same story. They raised a shout of joy, that made
the bells in the ancient church-tower vibrate again, and wheeling the old
chair into the warm corner, thrust old Nicholas down into it, and ordered
in the very largest-sized bowl of hot punch, with an unlimited number of
pipes, directly.
The next day, the Jolly Boatmen got the licence, and the next night, old
Nicholas and Ned Twigger’s wife led off a dance to the music of the
fiddle and tambourine, the tone of which seemed mightily improved by a
little rest, for they never had played so merrily before. Ned Twigger
was in the very height of his glory, and he danced hornpipes, and
balanced chairs on his chin, and straws on his nose, till the whole
company, including the corporation, were in raptures of admiration at the
brilliancy of his acquirements.
Mr. Tulrumble, junior, couldn’t make up his mind to be anything but
magnificent, so he went up to London and drew bills on his father; and
when he had overdrawn, and got into debt, he grew penitent, and came home
again.
As to old Nicholas, he kept his word, and having had six weeks of public
life, never tried it any more. He went to sleep in the town-hall at the
very next meeting; and, in full proof of his sincerity, has requested us
to write this faithful narrative. We wish it could have the effect of
reminding the Tulrumbles of another sphere, that puffed-up conceit is not
dignity, and that snarling at the little pleasures they were once glad to
enjoy, because they would rather forget the times when they were of lower
station, renders them objects of contempt and ridicule.
This is the first time we have published any of our gleanings from this
particular source. Perhaps, at some future period, we may venture to
open the chronicles of Mudfog.
FULL REPORT OF THE
FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG
ASSOCIATION
FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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