Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 06
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 06
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
When the little man was asked to open his budget, "Why, gentlemen," said
he, "I do not see that I can do better than comply with the understood
wish of the company, by giving you a sketch of my own life, which you
will find to present, I think, as curious a race, or struggle, or
whatever else you may choose to call it, between luck and misfortune,
as perhaps you have heard of:--
You must know, then, my friends (went on the little gentleman in the
bright yellow waistcoat), that the indications of my future good fortune
began to exhibit themselves as early as they well could. I was born with
a caul upon my head, gentlemen, which all of you know is an indubitable
token that the little personage to whom it belongs will be singularly
fortunate in life. Well, gentleman, I was favoured, as I have already
said, with one of those desirable headpieces; and great was the joy the
circumstance gave rise to amongst the female friends and gossips who
were assembled on the occasion. The midwife said that everything I
should put my hand to would prosper, and that I would be, to a
certainty, at the very least, a general, a bishop, or a judge; the nurse
to whom I was subsequently consigned, on the same ground, dubbed me a
duke, and would never call me by any other title; whilst my poor mother
saw me, in perspective, sitting amongst the great ones of the earth,
surrounded with power, wealth, and glory. Such were the bright visions
of my future prosperity, to which my caul gave rise; and probably they
might have been realized, had it not been for an unlucky counteracting
or thwarting power that always stepped in, seemingly for no other
purpose but to disappoint my own hopes and those of my friends;
sometimes baulking my expectations altogether, when on the point of
fruition--sometimes converting that to evil in me which would assuredly
have produced good to any other person. But to proceed with my history.
I grew up a fine, stout, well-made child. Ay, you may laugh, gentlemen
(said the little man, good-humouredly, seeing a titter go round at this
personal allusion, which so ill accorded with his present deformed
appearance), but it was the case, I assure you, until I met with the
accidents that altered my shape to what you now see it. Well, I repeat,
that I grew a fine promising child, and, to the inexpressible amazement
and delight of my parents, showed symptoms of taking unusually early to
my legs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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