Out of the Hurly-Burly; Or, Life in an Odd CornerClark, Charles Heber
General
Out of the Hurly-Burly; Or, Life in an Odd Corner
Clark, Charles Heber
American fiction -- 19th century; Humorous stories
It is a good time, Mrs. Adeler, to offer a few remarks upon that subject
of perennial interest, the weather, and especially to refer to some
facts in reference to that useful but uncertain implement, the umbrella.
I do not know why it is so, but by common agreement the umbrella has
been permitted to assume a comic aspect. No man, particularly no
journalist, can be considered as having wholly discharged his duty to
his fellow-creatures unless he has permitted himself to make some
jocular remarks concerning the exception of umbrellas from the laws
which govern other kinds of property. The amount of facetiousness that
has attended the presentation of that theory is already incalculably
great, and there is no reason for believing that it will not be
increased to an infinite extent throughout the coming ages. It is
perhaps a feeble idea upon which to erect so vast a structure; but if it
makes even a dismal sort of merriment, we should not complain. And then
reflect with what humorous effect the comic artists introduce the
excessive and corpulent umbrella to their pictures of nervous or
emphatic old ladies, and how much more convulsive the laughter becomes
at the theatre when the low-comedy man carries with him an umbrella of
that unwieldy description! It is universally admitted that an umbrella
with distended sides is funny; and if general consent is given to such a
proposition, the consequences are quite as satisfactory as if the
article in question was really plethoric with humor.
[Illustration]
There are occasions when the simple elevation of an umbrella is
grotesquely absurd, as when a group of British guardsmen sheltered
themselves in this fashion from the rain during a certain battle, to the
infinite disgust of Wellington, who ordered the tender warriors to put
their umbrellas down lest the service should be made ridiculous. It was
a Frenchman, Émile Girardin, I think, who brought an umbrella with him
to the dueling-ground, and insisted upon holding it over his head during
the combat. "I do not mind being killed," he said, "but I object
decidedly to getting wet." They gave him much credit for admirable
coolness; but I cherish a private opinion that he was scared, and hoped,
by making the affair ridiculous, to bring it to a conclusion without
burning powder; and he succeeded, for the combatants shook hands and
went away friends.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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