Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

I thought the question rather superfluous, I answered in the affirmative, and was served with the least of the three pieces-scrupulously selected by my entertainer-without any sauce; after which I observed him, to my infinite consternation, turn over all that remained, sauce included, into his own plate, along with a large proportion of the rice. He then helped me to one spoonful of the latter dish, and desiring me to make a hearty dinner, fell to in his usual absorbed manner, never taking his eye off his plate till it was empty. The two bites which I found upon my piece of chop were of course soon dispatched, and I was then left to survey the proceedings of my entertainer, who, to do him justice, did not keep me long waiting. Having finished his own part of the first course, he pulled a bottle of common beer, and having helped himself to a full tumbler, which he immediately drank off, poured out half a tumbler for me, and then emptied the remainder into his own glass, to stand as a stock for himself. The landlady now brought in a dish of fricasseed chops, consisting, like the former, of three small pieces; and having in like manner ascertained that I was disposed to eat of this meat also, handed me the least of the trio; after which, as before, he turned over the whole into his own plate, and soon became as abstracted as ever in the great business of devouring. He awoke at last, some time after I had finished my second pair of bites, to ask me to take a glass of wine. I held out my glass, and received it back about two-thirds full of port, which he poured from the black bottle above alluded to. He then filled his own, and drank it off; then filled one more, and drank that off; and once more again, and drank that off too; and then-and then-it was evident the bottle was empty. The landlady now appeared, to ask if any more chops were required, to which he answered in a direct negative, without seeming to think it in the least necessary that I should be consulted in the matter. Of course, I had to abandon myself to my fate. Din

ner was over.

My entertainer now talked of liquors. "What kind of wines do you like?" said he, naming Champagne, Burgundy, Hochheimer, and many others, with as much confidence as if he had had specimens of them all in his cellar. I spared the man-though he did not deserve it—if indeed it could be supposed that such a person would have been at a loss to parry whatever request had been made to him. I said, that, when dining in this quiet kind of way, I generally preferred a little spirits and water to any kind of wine. 66 Oh, very well," said he, catching me like wildfire, “I can give you the best whisky in the world—a most particular article—the king never knew of it, I believegot it sent me last August from the Highlands by my friend

66

member, by the bye, forshire, which is rather too bad❞—here he put his finger on the side of his nose; "but all the better for that, you know." A solitary bottle of whisky was accordingly brought out from the cupboard (I could swear it had no companion), and we began to liquidate part of it into punch. By way of giving him a fright, I made a large and strong tumbler, the effect of which was seen within the first quarter of an hour, in his beginning to talk of his inordinate propensity to tea and coffee. "Do you know," said he, "I am a most extravagant dog in tea and coffee. I keep all kinds of tea, and, indeed, chiefly live upon it when I am alone. Sometimes in summer I can take no dinner at all, but just have a cup of tea and a biscuit. I am fond of green-oh, I do doat upon green. It is the best tea in the world. For common use, however, bohea is a respectable tea. I like bohea very well, I must say. It is less of a drug, and cheers fully as much. Oh, you cannot think what a tea-drinker I am!" By and bye, observing that I was less severe upon the whisky than he expected, he dropped the conversation about tea and coffee; and, on a servant coming in and laying down a cup on a side-table, motioned it away, as if he had felt it to be a mal-apropos idea. I soon after relieved him from all further anxiety about either tea or toddy, by tak

ing my leave, alleging that the illness of a friend who lived with me made it necessary that I should be soon home. I could see, from his suddenly warmed manner, that he had never till now truly enjoyed my company. His parting expressions were the most cordial of the whole evening.

As I afterwards crawled to a tavern, to satisfy my hunger by a real dinner, I could not help deploring that a man of Hopper's talents and accomplishments should prefer living such a life, when, by sinking a little, and applying himself to honest industry, he might render himself much more truly respectable, and, I should suppose, much more truly happy. The life of this man, thought I, is a perpetual insincerity: it is a visionary show from first to last. And what is gained by such a departure from reality?-only an equivocal kind of countenance from persons almost as hollow and deceptious as himself, and a somewhat larger share of certain indulgences, which, however, are the most paltry and the most transient on earth.

[ocr errors]

MIGHT, COULD, WOULD, OR SHOULD." It is known, or ought to be known, to all persons, that there are two departments in a common verb, called the Indicative and the Subjunctive Moods. When we imply that a thing is done, was done, or will be done, we speak in the indicative—that is, we indicate or simply notify some transaction of which we are enabled to speak with the confidence arising from exact knowledge. But when we mean to say that such and such a thing may be done, or might be done, or will have been done when a certain other thing permits-when we speak, in short, in “if's and an's,” or in a faint hesitating way, as if we did not like to come to the point -then we are using the subjunctive mood, which is so called because some condition is always supposed to be sub

joined to the act of which we are speaking. In this latter mood there is a tense called the pluperfect, which is used when we say that any one might, could, would, or should have done any kind of thing.

Now, this pluperfect tense of the subjunctive mood, this “might, could, would, or should,” is a grievous bore, insomuch that we could almost wish it to be drummed out of the English grammar altogether. It is something like intentions, as contrasted with deeds, frequently supplanting an honest and useful indicative, and, with not the tenth part of the merit of that respectable mood, carrying off all the glory due to it alone. People have a way of saying that a man of words and not of deeds is like a garden full of weeds; but this principle is in reality very imperfectly acknowledged or acted upon. We may have a kind of abstract notion that deeds are better than words; yet did we, for our own part, never see, when the actual deeds of one man were contrasted with those which we suppose might have been done by another-when all that one friend has been honestly able to do was measured against what we expect from some other who has only been talking of doing it-we never saw, we say, that the former got any fair degree of credit, compared with what was gratuitously bestowed upon the latter. The subjunctive generally carries it hollow from the indicative the measure of the reason in the one case being apparently no match for the measure of the imagination in the other. This is certainly a most discouraging thing for the gentlemen who do, and ought to be put a stop to in this and every other well-regulated state. It is really too bad, when one takes the trouble to act upon the indicative in every thing, that the honour due to him should be carried off by the lazy gentlemen of the subjunctive, who insolently tell us that they could if they had a mind, and whom we slavishly hold up as able to do any thing, merely because we have never yet had any specimen of their abilities whereby to judge more correctly.

Every class of persons, we believe, could recite the in

juries they have suffered in this way-for let any person on earth do his very best, ay, perhaps the very best that could be done, there will be some other body, who, from merely holding his peace, and perhaps looking a little grave, is generally believed to be able to do a great deal better. This greatness in the subjunctive is a pest every where: it rules the court, the camp, the grove. Perhaps, however, it is nowhere so rife as in literature that is to say, if a thing can be said to be in literature, which, it is only supposed, might, could, would, or should be in literature. Be it understood anyhow, that there is a class of gentlemen, of good education or otherwise, who, though they never be detected in so much as a letter in a local newspaper signed Civis, being merely suspected of literary habits, and having a rather plausible way of pronouncing upon things, get far more credit among all who know them, than almost any existing author who comes plump down with his half-dozen volumes in the year, thereby affording the whole community a means of judging of his pretensions. If you speak of any well-known author, a certain degree of merit is acknowledged; but "ah, sir," ten to one this is added, "he is nothing to our acquaintance H—; there's a fellow for you-never would publish any thing though-great loss to the world-he is the man!" Now, in all probability His nothing but a heavy proser, who never felt the least impulse of the diviner kind of mind all his days; but what is that? There is nothing known against him. Every body is safe in praising him, for he has given out no specimen of his ingenuity to pick exceptions with, and the person whom you are endeavouring to inspire with as great a fallacy as yourself, must just take it in and make the best of it. Very different it is when you speak of an indicative man; you must cruise with some caution there, or you will be met in the teeth, perhaps, with a declaration that he whom you admire is a goose-a sentence which cannot but be accepted as reflecting equal discredit upon the admirer and the admired. It is this that

« PredošláPokračovať »