"Many men," addressing Mr. Bosky, as they jogged out of the Three Jolly Trumpeters, "like to enjoy a reputation which they do not deserve; but"--here Mr. Merripall looked serious, and in right earnest--"to be thought tipsy, my good friend, without having had the gratification of getting so, is,
Bitter to swallow, and hard of digestion.'"
And the Lauréat of Little Britain fully agreed with the axiom so pertinaciously and poetically laid down by the comical coffin-maker.
The three practical jokers now emerged from their ambush to take a more active part in the sports. With the Peep of day Boys they would have stood no chance, for each member carried in his hand an executive fist, to which the noble tricksters were loth to cotton, for fear of being worsted. Lord Larkinton led the van up the stairs of the Owl and Ivy Bush, and dashing among the Blinkers, selected their president for his partner; Colonel Frolick patronized the vice; and Sir Frederick Fitzfun made choice of the Rev. Nehemiah Nosebags. The rest of the club were arranged to dance in pairs,--a very stout member with a very lean one, and a very short one with a very tall one,--so that there was variety, without being charming. Each danced with his pipe in his mouth. It was no pipe no dance.
They led off in full puff, dancing about, upon, and on all-fours under the tables. The fire-irons were confided to a musical brother, with instructions to imitate the triangles; and as the company danced round the room,--the room, returning the compliment, danced round them.
The club having been capered within an inch of their lives, Lord Larkinton begged Mr. Bo-peep to favour them with Jim Crow, consenting to waive the _jump obligato_, in consideration of his previous exertions. But he must sing it in character; and in the absence of lamp-black and charcoal, the corks were burnt, to enable Sir Frederick Fitzfun and Colonel Fro lick (my Lord holding his partner's physiognomy between his palms like a vice--the vice and Mr. Nosebags looking ruefully on) to transform Mr. Bopeep into a negro chorister. His sable toilet being completed, the president opened with "_Jim Crow_;" but his memory failing, he got into "_Sich a gittin' up stairs_." At fault again, he introduced the "Last rose of summer," then "The boaty rows" "Four-and-twenty fiddlers all of a row" "Old Rose and burn the bellows" "Blow high, blow low" "Three Tooley Street Tailors" "By the deep nine"