170 A COMPOSITE FAMILY. north-and of that connection the fruit was three heatherlegged animals, apparently of the female sex-hair not absolutely red, but foxey-fairney tickled cheeks-eyes of the colour of "three times skimmed sky-blue" milk-papa's buck teeth-what seems very unaccountable, hair-lipped all; and, though their mamma asserted smilingly that they were fine growing girls, of such a set shape, that I venture to affirm, that for the two last years they have grown about as much as the leg of that table. They have, however, I was given to understand, finished their education, and one of them had very nearly played us a tune on the piano. To her present lord and master, my friend, with whom I was in love a quarter of a century ago, has presented four productions, of which the one in flounced trousers, with enormous feet and legs, is said to be a girl, and the three in fancy kilts-in compliment, I suppose, to the father of the other brood-boys, but so wishy-washy that their sex seems problematical. North. What is the total of the whole? Tickler. Eleven-by that side of the house-in Cockneys, Irish, and Highlanders half-and-half-and in Lowlanders entire. North. By the other side of the house? Tickler. One Dutch girl born at the Cape-very round, and rather pretty-down-looking, and on the eve of marriage— two tall and not inelegant creatures, seemingly Chinese, but in fact by the mother's side Hindoos-and four mulattoes, of which two, boys, would look well in livery, with a cockade in their hats as captain's servants-and two, girls, would be producible on waggons in the rear of a marching regiment. It being a coarse day, the whole family were at home, sitting on chairs, and sofas, and stools, and the carpet, and what not; and I must say I never saw, North, a set of more contented creatures, or a richer scene of connubial felicity in all my life. North. Rich? Tickler. Their income is under three hundred a-year, and at this hour they don't owe twenty pounds. North. You must bring the Captain, honest fellow, to the next Noctes. By the by, Tickler, we must rescind that resolution by which strangers are excluded from the Noctes. Tickler. Let us wait till the Fiftieth Noctes-to speak grammatically, and then we shall celebrate a JUBILEE. North. Be it so. The Noctes shall endure till all eternity; and soon as the Millennium comes, we shall bring down, by special retainer, Edward Irving. Tickler (after a long pause). Come, North, none of your fits of absence. Where were you just now? North. Meditating on my many infirmities. Tickler. Lay your hand on your heart, North, and tell me truly what is the sin that most easily besets you-while I keep a phrenological eye on your development. North. Personal vanity. Night and day do I struggle against it—but all in vain-Tickler. I am an incorrigible puppy. Tickler. I cannot deny it. North. My happiness is in the hands of my tailor. In a perfectly well cut coat and faultless pair of breeches, I am in heaven a wrinkle on my pantaloons puts me into purgatoryand a Tickler. Stop. Your language may get too strong. North. Many a leading article have I stuck, by attempting it in tights that unduly confined the play of muscle. Last year, Scaife and Willis raised the sale a thousand, by a pair that were perfect, if ever there were a pair of perfect breeches in this sublunary world. Tickler. Yet you never were a handsome man, Kit-never le Beau Sabreur.1 North. That may be your opinion, sir; but it was not that of the world during the last quarter of the eighteenth century. My error never lay in thinking myself a fine animal-for that I certainly was-but in feeling inordinate pleasure and pride in the possession of those personal endowments which, alas! proved fatal to so many of the most amiable of the sex; and in being too Tickler. The last victim of disappointed passion had certainly white teeth-but she was a lady of a very dark complexion-her lips, either for ornament or use, were to my taste by far too thick. Surely, my dear North, her hair was strongly disposed to be woolly-and, in short, pardon me for saying it, she had the universal reputation of being positively, intus et in cute, a negress. North. Pshaw! But do you remember poor Alpina ? 1 The designation of Marshal Murat. 172 NORTH A GAY DECEIVER. Tickler. An absolute Albino. North. These, Tickler, were extreme cases-but, between the negress and the Albino, what infinite varieties of female loveliness had to lay their deaths at my door! Tickler. I much doubt if any one single woman ever ate half a pound of mutton the less per diem on your account, taking the average of her year's dinners. North. Would it were so! But alas! my sleep is haunted by the ghosts of Tickler. Never when you sleep in your easy-chair, Northelse your face is an adept in falsehood-for then your features smile like those of a sleeping child during the holidays. You are then the very beau ideal of a happy and a harmless old gentleman. North. What a leg, Tickler! Tickler. Which of the two do you allude to ? North. This one-the right one-the one with the calf. Tickler. Well-I confess I prefer the other-it is so slimnay, so elegant in tights. But you must have had your advantage in having legs of such opposite characters; while to virgins, with downcast eyes, you had gently to put forth the leg that, ever since I knew it, looked all ankle from instep to knee-pan, an innocent-looking leg that would not harm a flyto widows, with less timorous eyes, you could, at the same moment, exhibit the leg that, ever since I knew it, looked all calf- a dangerous leg that could trample a dragon-and thus you might bring down your bird, right and left. North. No more impertinence, if you please, Tim. I know no purer-no higher pleasure, than to sit in full fig before a large mirror, and admire myself-my person-my body—the outer man of Christopher North. From an hour's such contemplation, I always feel that I rise up a better—a wiser-a happier man. Tickler. No wonder. North. Never surely was there a countenance that so happily united in its every feature the expression of moral goodness and that of intellectual grandeur. But perhaps my person is even more— Tickler. A mere atomy. I wonder you are not afraid to sleep by yourself-you must be so like a skeleton in a shroud. North. All living creatures, Tickler, derive their chief hap WOMEN IN EDINBURGH. 173 piness from self-admiration. Not a more complete coxcomb than a toad. He is willing to confess that he may be rather yellowish-rather tawny or so about the gills; but then what an eye in his head-so full of the fire of genius! It is not possible to look at a rat for five minutes sitting by himself on a dunghill, without being convinced that he esteems his tail one of the most captivating productions of animated nature. A pug-dog would never twist his tail so over one side of his rump, did he not live under the blessed delusion of knowing himself to be a million times more beautiful than any of Adonis' darlings that used to lick the hands of Venus. No degree of dumpiness in women is incompatible with a belief in a good figure. Tickler. Oh, North! North! There are some truly ugly women in Edinburgh! North. There are indeed, Tickler. Strong, bony, flat, menlike women, who walk fast and firm; look you hard in the face, God knows why, while the forehead immediately above their eyebrows is puckered up into a knot of wrinkles; their mouths unconsciously wide open Tickler. While all intent in scrutinising the object of their search, they totally forget all the rest of the external world, and run themselves, back front foremost, perhaps against some unlucky baker with a board of loaves on his head, which all tumble into the kennel. Why, there may perhaps be some little excuse for the ugly devils, when fascinated by such a rattlesnake as Christopher North; but what the deuce do they see in an ordinary-looking man of six feet four, like me, or what the deuce do they want with me at my time of life? I declare, North, that the very next time one of those great grey-eyed glowering gawkies opens her mouth at me in Princes Street, and selects me from all the mighty multitude of mankind, for ocular inspection, I will demand a public explanation, perhaps apology; or, should the day be warm, offer to strip on the spot, provided she will do the same, on condition, after a mutual lecture on comparative anatomy, of my ever after being suffered to pass by her and all her female relatives, without further scrutiny. North. They positively have not the manners of modest women. Tickler. Nor the minds of modest women. North. You never see anything of the kind in the strangers 174 ENTER THE SHEPHERD ON SKATES. within our gates-in the Englishwomen who honour, by their fair and sweet presence, our metropolis. They walk along with soft and gentle, but not unobservant eyes, like ladies, and I love them all, for they are all lovable, whereas Tickler. Come, Kit, don't let us two sour old cynics be too severe on our country women, for they make excellent wives and mothers. North. So I am told. Wives and mothers! Alas! Tickler, our silent homes! Tickler. Replenish. That last jug was most illustrious. I wish James were here. North. Hush! hark! It must be he !-and yet 'tis not just the pastoral tread either of the Bard of Benger. "Alike, but oh how different!" Tickler. "His very step has music in't as he comes up the stair!" Shepherd (bursting in with a bang). Huzzaw! Huzzaw! huzzaw ! North. God bless you, James; your paw, my dear Sus. Tickler. What? thirty-six miles? North. So it is true that you have purchased the famous American trotter? Shepherd. Nae trotters like my ain trotters! I've won my bate, sirs. North. Bet? Shepherd. Ay,-a bate,-a bate o' twenty guineas. Tickler. What the deuce have you got on your feet, James? Shepherd. Skites.' I've skited frae St Mary's Loch to the Canawl Basin in fowre minutes and a half within the three hours, without turnin a hair. Tickler. Do keep a little further off, James, for your face has waxed intolerably hot, and I perceive that you have raised the thermometer a dozen degrees. Shepherd (flinging a purse of gold on the table). It'ill require a gey strang thaw to melt that, chiels; sae tak your change out o' that, as Joseph' says, either in champaigne, or yill, or porter, or Burgundy, or cedar, or Glenlivet, just whatsomever you like best to drink and devoor; and we shanna be lang without supper, for in comin along the transe I shooted to 2 Joseph Hume. 1 Skites-skates. |