"Treason! treason!" shrieked her majesty of the mouth; and, seizing by the hinder part of his breeches the unfortunate Tarpaulin, who had just commenced pouring out for himself a skull of liqueur, she lifted him high into the air, and let him fall without ceremony into the huge open puncheon of his beloved ale. Bobbing up and down for a few seconds, like an apple in a bowl of toddy, he at length finally disappeared amid the whirlpool of foam which, in the already effervescent liquor, his struggles easily succeeded in creating.

Not tamely, however, did the tall seaman behold the discomfiture of his companion. Jostling King Pest through the open trap, the valiant Legs slammed the door down upon him with an oath, and strode towards the centre of the room. Here tearing down the skeleton which swung over the table, he laid it about him with so much energy and goodwill, that, as the last glimpses of light died away within the apartment, he succeeded in knocking out the brains of the little gentleman with the gout. Rushing then with all his force against the fatal hogshead full of October ale and Hugh Tarpaulin, he rolled it over and over in an instant. Out burst a deluge of liquor so fierce, so impetuous, so overwhelming, that the room was flooded from wall to wall; the loaded table was overturned; the tressels were thrown upon their backs, the tub of punch into the fireplace, and the ladies into hysterics. Piles of death-furniture floundered about. Jugs, pitchers, and carboys mingled. promiscuously in the melée, and wicker flagons encountered desperately with bottles of junk. The man with the horrors was drowned upon the spot; the little stiff gentleman floated off in his coffin; and the victorious Legs, seizing by the waist the fat lady in the shroud, rushed out with her into the street, and made a bee-line for the "Free-and-Easy," followed under easy sail by the redoubtable Hugh Tarpaulin, who, having sneezed three or four times, panted and puffed after him with the Archduchess Ana-Pest.

153

LIONIZING.

all people went

Upon their ten toes in wild wonderment.

Bishop Hall's Satires.

I AM that is to say I was a great man; but I am neither the author of Junius nor the man in the mask; for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.

The first action of my life was the taking hold of my nose with both hands. My mother saw this and called me a genius; my father wept for joy, and presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered before I was breeched.

I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to understand that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous, he might, by merely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half-dozen of drams.

When I came of age my father asked me, one day, if I would step with him into his study.

"My son," said he, when we were seated, "what is the chief end of your existence ?"

"My father," I answered, "it is the study of Nosology." "And what, Robert," he inquired, "is Nosology?

Sir," I said, "it is the Science of Noses.'

"And can you tell me," he demanded, "what is the meaning of a nose ?”

"A nose, my father," I replied, greatly softened, "has been variously defined by about a thousand different authors." [Here I pulled out my watch.] "It is now noon or thereabouts; we shall have time enough to get through with the mall before midnight. To commence, then: The nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance, that bump, that excrescence, that

"Will do, Robert," interrupted the good old gentleman. "I am thunderstruck at the extent of your information-I am, positively. upon my soul." [Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his heart.] "Come here!" [Here he took me by the arm. "Your education may now be considered as finishedit is high time you should scuffle for yourself, and you cannot do a better thing than merely follow your nose -SO-SO-SO- -"-[Here he kicked me down stairs and out of the door]-"so get out of my house and God bless you!"

As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this accident rather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by the paternal advice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith. All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.

"Wonderful genius!" said the Quarterly.

Superb physiologist!" said the Westminster. "Clever fellow!" said the Foreign.

"Fine writer!" said the Edinburgh.

Profound thinker!" said the Dublin.

"Great man!" said Bentley.

"One of us!" said Blackwood.

"Who can he be?" said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.

"What can he be? said big Miss Bas-Bleu. "Where can he be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu. But I paid these people no attention whatever. I just stepped into the shop of an artist.

The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the Marquis of So-and-So was holding the Duchess's poodle; the Earl of This-and-That was flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of Touch-meNot was leaning upon the back of her chair.

I approached the artist and turned up my nose.

66

Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace.

"Oh, my!" lisped the Marquis.

"Oh, shocking!" groaned the Earl.

"Oh, abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.
"What will you take for it?" asked the artist.
"For his nose! shouted her Grace.

"A thousand pounds," said I, sitting down. "A thousand pounds?" inquired the artist, musingly. "A thousand pounds," said I.

"Beautiful!" said he, entranced.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"Do you warrant it?" he asked, turning the nose to the light.

"I do," said I, blowing it well.

"Is it quite original ?" he inquired, touching it with

reverence.

"Humph!" said I, twisting it to one side.

"Has no copy been taken ?" he demanded, surveying it through a microscope. "None," said I, turning it up.

"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his guard by the beauty of the manœuvre. "A thousand pounds," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he. Precisely," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he. "Just so," said I.

"What a piece of

"You shall have them," said he. virtu!" So he drew me a check upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged rooms in Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the "Nosology," with a portrait of the proboscis.That sad little rake, the Prince of Wales, invited me to dinner.

We were all lions and recherchés.

There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry, Iamblicus, Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus Tyrius, and Syrianus.

There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted Turgôt, Price, Priestly, Condorcêt, De Stäel, and the Ambitious Student in Ill Health.'

There was Sir Positive Paradox. He observed that all

fools were philosophers, and that all philosophers were fools.

There was Estheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms; bi-part and pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive intelligence and homöomeria.

There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus; heresy and the Council of Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism ; Homousios and Homouioisios.

There was Fricassée from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton of red tongue; cauliflowers with velouté sauce; veal à la St. Menehoult; marinade à la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en mosäiques.

There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbrünnen; upon Mousseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon Haubrion, Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grâve, upon Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon St. Peray. He shook his head at Clos de Vougeot, and told, with his eyes shut, the difference between Sherry and Amontillado.

There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of Cimabué, Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino -of the gloom of Caravaggio, of the amenity of Albano, of the colours of Titian, of the frows of Rubens, and of the waggeries of Jan Steen.