“I am to presume, then, to speak courteously, that you are still, ‘a man of leisure.’” “Ay, verily am I; as idle, sir, as a chimney in the dog-days,” replied the wag of the tap-room. “That, by the by, is not a very happy simile of yours, when applied to a man who is _smoking_ all day long,” observed Mr. Seymour. “I admit it,” said Ned, “so here’s another for you,--as lazy as Ludlam’s dog, that leaned his head against the wall to bark. But, after all, Mr. Seymour, a day of leisure is to me a golden age, and I am of my Lord Peterborough’s way of thinking, who used to say, ‘a golden age was that in which every one might _pipe_ when and where he pleased.’” The wag, at this instant, gave such a practical illustration of his theme, as would have suffocated the major, had not his military habits rendered him smoke proof. “In short, gentlemen,” continued Ned, “a pipe is the solace of my life and the mainspring of my spirits; knock out my pipe and you knock out my brains. I verily believe that, if I could not obtain the ‘furies’ frankincense,’ as they have been pleased to call tobacco, I should be like Vicar Breedon, who, according to William Lilly, cut the bell-ropes and smoked them.” So saying, he gave another puff, and then removing the pipe from his mouth, sang the following ditty:-- “Little tube of magic power, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire, Lip of wax, and eye of fire; And thy snowy taper waist, With my finger gently braced.” &c. &c. “Always merry, Ned,” cried Mr. Seymour. “Lord bless you, sir, what is life but a jest? I jest to live, and I live but to jest. And so I shall continue to do, until I am put to bed by the shovel.” “Your father was a reputed jester, was he not?” asked Mr. Seymour. “He was, God bless his memory! and it was his constant prayer that his son Neddy might turn out as sharp a man as his father; and if there be any truth in the adage that ‘dogs bark as they are bred,’ I certainly had as good a chance of success as most people. Momus rocked my cradle; I ate fire before I was seven years old; and so anxiously did my father superintend my education, that he never suffered me to cut a morsel, until I had cut a joke. ‘Neddy,’ he used to say, ‘I perceive you are like my bagpipes, never audible except your pouch is full of wind; for after a good meal you are as mum as a mouse in a mill; so remember, my lad, no joke no pudding.’ Thus schooled, I became, through necessity, a wit, and earned every mouthful by a pun; in short, after a little time, my genius illumined every dish, and, like the fire of London, blazed from Pudding Lane to Pie Corner.” “And you afterwards appeared on the stage, as a candidate for popular applause, which you were fortunate enough to obtain; how came you to desert your calling?” said the major.