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PAUL CLIFFORD, Volume 2.
By Edward Bulwer Lytton
Begirt with many a gallant slave, Apparelled as becomes the brave, Old Giaffir sat in his divan: . . . . . . . Much I misdoubt this wayward boy Will one day work me more annoy. Bride of Abydos.
The learned and ingenious John Schweighaeuser (a name facile to spell andmellifluous to pronounce) hath been pleased, in that Appendix continensparticulam doctrinae de mente humana, which closeth the volume of his"Opuscula Academica," to observe (we translate from memory) that, "in theinfinite variety of things which in the theatre of the world occur to aman's survey, or in some manner or another affect his body or his mind,by far the greater part are so contrived as to bring to him rather somesense of pleasure than of pain or discomfort." Assuming that this holdsgenerally good in well-constituted frames, we point out a notable examplein the case of the incarcerated Paul; for although that youth was in noagreeable situation at the time present, and although nothing veryencouraging smiled upon him from the prospects of the future, yet, assoon as he had recovered his consciousness, and given himself a rousingshake, he found an immediate source of pleasure in discovering, first,that several ladies and gentlemen bore him company in his imprisonment;and, secondly, in perceiving a huge jug of water within his reach, which,as his awaking sensation was that of burning thirst, he delightedlyemptied at a draught. He then, stretching himself, looked around with awistful earnestness, and discovered a back turned towards him, andrecumbent on the floor, which at the very first glance appeared to himfamiliar. "Surely," thought he, "I know that frieze coat, and thepeculiar turn of those narrow shoulders." Thus soliloquizing, he raisedhimself, and putting out his leg, he gently kicked the reclining form."Muttering strange oaths," the form turned round, and raising itself uponthat inhospitable part of the body in which the introduction of foreignfeet is considered anything but an honour, it fixed its dull blue eyesupon the face of the disturber of its slumbers, gradually opening themwider and wider, until they seemed to have enlarged themselves intoproportions fit for the swallowing of the important truth that burst uponthem, and then from the mouth of the creature issued,—
"Queer my glims, if that be n't little Paul!"
"Ay, Dummie, here I am! Not been long without being laid by the heels,you see! Life is short; we must make the best use of our time!"
Upon this, Mr. Dunnaker (it was no less respectable a person) scrambledup from the floor, and seating himself on the bench beside Paul, said ina pitying tone,—
"Vy, laus-a-me! if you be n't knocked o' the head! Your poll's asbloody as Murphy's face ven his throat's cut!"
["Murphy's face,"unlearned reader, appeareth, in Irish phrase,
to mean "pig's head."]
"'T is only the fortune of war, Dummie, and a mere trifle; the headsmanufactured at Thames Court are not easily put out of order. But tellme, how come you here?"
"Vy, I had been lushing heavy vet—"
'Till you grew light in the head, eh,—and fell into the kennel?"
"Yes."
"Mine is a worse business than that, I fear;" and therewith Paul, in alower voice, related to the tru