“a very simple one, sir,” returned the other.

[pg 143]

“the facts are briefly these: my maternal uncle had lately returned from india with an immense fortune, a handsome portion of which was my own in expectance, on no worse authority than his own promise. he was a widower with an only daughter, with whom, and himself, i one evening found myself in the carriage, on our way to a dinner-party given by a nobleman, then intimately connected with east indian affairs. we were very late: and my uncle, the nabob, who rode backward, was extremely fidgety, insisting that we were going beyond our destination. every other minute he was thrusting his head out of the front window to dispute with the coachman, who in truth, was a little less sober, and more obstinate, than became him. and so we went onwards, till my uncle’s temper, always irritable, was worked up almost to combustion. in such moods he was rather apt to give vent to serio-comic ebullitions; and my ill-fortune has gifted me with risible muscles of exquisite sensibility. i was in the very midst of an ill-smothered laugh, when my fair cousin, giving me a sudden push, and then clasping her hands, exclaimed that we were going past the house. i instantly jumped up and made for the check-string, but with no more effect than if i had pulled at anything else. gracious heaven! i had better have pulled the string of a shower-bath, full of scalding hot water, to pour itself on my devoted head!—by that one infernal pull, sir, i pulled myself out of half a plum!”

“a sad pull, indeed, sir!” said the florid plump man in black. “but—humph—begging your pardon, sir, i cannot really derive any such deduction from the premises.”

“a split with ducrow.”

“a moment’s patience, sir,” continued the unfortunate coach-stopper.

[pg 144]

“lord forbid check-strings,—lord forbid all strings whatever! i was in despair, sir. i could have sunk through the bottom of the carriage!—i believe i went down on my knees. i said everything i could think of—and begged fifty thousand pardons, but my uncle was obdurate. ‘pray don’t mention it,’ he said, in his most caustic tone—‘it has saved me fifty thousand pounds. it’s a very good practical joke, although it will not read quite so well in my will.’”

“but surely, sir,” objected the plump man, “your uncle never acted on a conclusion, jumped to, as i may say, by such very imperfect inferences?”

“you did not know my uncle, sir,” answered the unfortunate kinsman, with a deep sigh. “but you shall judge of his character from the clause itself:—item, i give and bequeath to my jocose nephew, arthur carruthers oliphant, for pulling his uncle’s pigtail, the sum of one shilling, sterling.”

the undying one.

“he shall not die.”—uncle toby.

i.

of all the verses, grave or gay,

that ever whiled an hour,

i never knew a mingled lay

at once so sweet and sour,

as that by ladye norton spun,

and christened “the undying one.”

ii.

i’m very certain that she drew

a portrait, when she penn’d

that picture of a perfect jew,

whose days will never end:

i’m sure it means my uncle lunn,

for he is an undying one.

[pg 145]

iii.

those twenty years he’s been the same,

and may be twenty more;

but memory’s pleasures only claim

his features for a score;

yet in that time the change is none—

the image of th’ undying one!