The Midas-eared Musician scrapes on his violincello a teeth-setting-an-edge voluntary. John Coan, * the Norfolk Pigmy, motions us to his booth; and Hale the Piper ** dancing his "hornpipe," bagpipes us a welcome to the fair!
"What," exclaimed the Lauréat, "has become of this century of mountebanks? Ha! not one moving--still as the grave!"
Mr. Bosky was not often pathetic; but, being suddenly surprised into sentimentality, it is impossible to say what melancholy reflections might have resulted from the Merrie Mysteries, had not the landlord interrupted him by ushering into the room Uncle Timothy.
* This celebrated dwarf exhibited at Bartholomew Fair, Aug. 17, 1752.
** Under an engraving of Hale the Piper, by Sutton Nieholls, are the music to his hornpipe, and the following lines.
"Before three monarchs I my skill did prove, Of many lords and knights I had the love; There's no musician e'er did know the peer Of Hale the Piper in fair Darby Shire. The consequence in part you here may know, Pray look upon his hornpipe here below." Hail! modest piper, and farewell!
"Welcome, illustrious brother!" shouted Deputy Doublechin. "Better late than never!"
Uncle Timothy greeted the President, nodded to all around, and shook hands with some old stagers nearest the chair.
"Gentlemen," continued the enthusiastic deputy, brimming Uncle Tim's glass, "our noble Vice drinks to all your good healths. Bravo! this looks like the merry old times! We have not a moment to lose. To-morrow prostrates this ancient roof-tree! Shall it be sawed asunder unsung? No, Uncle Timothy,--no! rather let it tumble to a dying fall!"
The satirical-nosed gentleman would as soon have been suspected of picking a pocket as eschewing a pun.
"Your eloquence, Mr. Deputy, is irresistible,--"Man anticipates Time in the busy march of destruction. His own mortal frame, broken by intemperance, becomes a premature ruin; he fells the stately oak in the towering majesty of its verdure and beauty; he razes the glorious temple hallowed by Time! and the ploughshare passes over the sacred spot it once dignified and adorned!
Man is ever quarrelling with Time. Time flies too swiftly; or creeps too slowly. His distempered vision conjures up a dwarf or a giant; hence Time is too short, or Time is too long! Now Time hangs heavy on his hands; yet for most things he cannot find Time! Though fame-serving, he makes a lackey of Time; asking Time to pay his debts; Time to eat his dinner; Time for all things! He abuses those, that never gave him a hard word; and, in a fit of ennui, to get rid of himself he kills Time; which is never recovered, but lost in Eternity!" And Uncle Timothy, keeping time and the tune, sang his retrospective song of