Sir C. Nothing! O, dear, yes. I remember, at one time, I did, somehow, go about a good deal. Leech. You should go to Switzerland. I have been. Nothing there-people say so much about everything. There certainly were a few glaciers, some monks, and large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and Mont Blanc; yes, and there was ice on the top, too; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's-less trouble, and more in it. Leech. Then if Switzerland wouldn't do, I'd try Italy. Sir C. My dear Leech, I've tried it over and over again— and what then? Leech. Did not Rome inspire you? Sir C. O, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole. People talk so much about these things! There's the Coliseum, now -round, very round,—a goodish ruin enough; but I was disappointed with it. Capitol-tolerably high; and St. Peter'smarble, and mosaics, and fountains-dome certainly not badly scooped; but there was nothing in it. Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have nothing like St. Peter's in London. Sir C. No, because we don't want it; but if we wanted such a thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gentlemen meet, pass resolutions, institute, and in twelve months it would be run up; nay, if that were all, we'd buy St. Peter's itself, and have it sent over. Leech. Ha, ha! well said-you're quite right. What say you to beautiful Naples? Sir C. Not bad-excellent watermelons, and goodish opera. They took me up Vesuvius-a horrid bore! It smoked a good deal, certainly, but altogether a wretched mountain-saw the crater-looked down, but there was nothing in it. Sir C. Humbugs!-nothing in any of them. You bore me. Is it possible that you cannot invent something that would make my blood boil in my veins, my hair stand on end, my heart beat, my pulse rise; that would produce an excitement, an emotion, a sensation, a palpitation? But no !— Leech. I've an idea! Sir C. Leech. You? What is it? Sir C. Hum!-well, not bad. notion; it never did strike me tobored with the exertion of choosing. had like a dinner-for ordering! There's novelty about the O, but no: I should be If a wife, now, could be Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that comes: on my life, she'll not refuse twelve thousand pounds a year. Sir C. Come, I don't dislike the project; I almost feel something like a sensation coming. I haven't felt so excited for some time; it's a novel enjoyment-a surprise. I'll try it. OLD FICKLE AND TRISTRAM FICKLE.-ALLINGHAM. Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit, can accrue to you, from such conduct as yours? One moment, you tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers. Tristram. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir. Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a philosopher; and, for the noise of drums, trumpets, and hautboys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was ever heard at the tower of Babel. Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy is folly; so I have cut the philosophers, of all sects, from Plato and Aristotle down to the puzzlers of modern date. Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day, for barrelling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live like Diogenes? Tri. You should not have paid him anything, sir, for the tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out. Old F. No jesting, sir; this is no laughing matter. Your follies have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the whole round of arts and sciences in a month, and have been of fifty different minds in half an hour. Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. Don't tell me of versatility, sir. Let me see a little steadiness. You have never yet been constant to anything, but extravagance. Tri. Yes, sir, one thing more. Old F. What is that, sir? Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wan dered, my heart has always been constantly attached to the kindest of parents; and, from this moment, I am resolved to lay my follies aside, and pursue that line of conduct which will be most pleasing to the best of fathers and of friends. Old F. Well said, my boy! well said! indeed. (Patting him on the shoulder.) You make me happy Tristram, let me know what you really mean to do. Tri. To study the law Old F. The law ! Tri. I am most resolutely bent on following that profession. Old F. No! Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. Old F. Better and better; I am overjoyed. Why, 't is the very thing I wished. Now I am happy. (TRISTRAM makes gestures, as if speaking.) See how his mind is engaged! Tri. Gentlemen of the jury: Old F. Why, Tristram Tri. This is a cause Old F. Oh, my dear boy! I forgive you all your tricks. I see something about you now, that I can depend on. (TRISTRAM continues making gestures.) Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause— Old F Bravo! bravo! excellent boy! I'll go and order your books directly. Tri. 'Tis done, sir. Old F. What! already? Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I first thought of embracing the arduous profession of the law. Old F. What! do you mean to read by the foot? Tri. By the foot, sir,--that is the only way to become a solid lawyer. Old F. Twelve square feet of learning! Well Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber Old F. A barber! What! is he to teach you to shave close? Tri. He is to shave one-half of my head, sir. Old F. You will excuse me, if I cannot perfectly understand what that has to do with the study of the law. Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, sir, the Athenian orator? He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up in a coal-cellar. Old F. Ah! he was perfectly right to lock himself up, after having undergone such an operation as that. He certainly would have made rather an odd figure abroad. Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriotism of his countrymen-lightning in his eye, and thunder in his voice-he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in its force the throne of Philip trembles while he speaks,-he denounces, and indignation fills the bosom of his hearers,-he exposes the impending danger, and every one sees impending ruin, he threatens the tyrant, they grasp their swords,-he calls for vengeance, their thirsty weapons glitter in the air, and thousands reverberate the cry. One soul animates a nation, and that soul is the soul of the orator. Old F. Oh! what a figure he'll make in the King's Bench! But come, I will tell you now what my plan is, and then you Tri. But, as I have justice on my side- tram! Zounds! he doesn't hear a word I say! Why, Tris Tri. I beg your pardon, sir; I was prosecuting my studies. Old F. Now attend Tri. As my learned friend observes,-go on, sir, I am all attention. Old F. Well, my friend, the counsellor Tri. Say learned friend, if you please, sir. We gentlemen of the law always Old F. Well, well, my learned friend Tri. A black patch! Old F. Will you listen, and be silent? Tri. I am as mute as a judge. Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward, who is very handsome, and who has a very handsome fortune. She would make you a charming wife. Tri. This is an action Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness, and his gravity Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant. Old F. But now you are grown serious and steady, and have resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you together; you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest follows, of course. Tri. A verdict in my favor. Old F. You marry, and sit down happy for life. Tri. In the King's Bench. Old F. Bravo-ha, ha, ha! But now run to your study, |