heart! Forgive an old servant of the family, if he grieves to see you forget some of the duties for which society has a claim upon you. Sir Cha. What do you mean by duties? War. Duties, Sir Charles, which the extravagant man of fashion can never fulfil. Such as to support the dignity of an English landholder, for the honour of old England; to promote the welfare of his honest tenants; and to succour the industrious poor, who naturally look up to him for assistance. But I shall obey you, Sir Charles. [Exit. Sir Cha. A tiresome old blockhead! But where is this Ollapod? His jumble of physic and shooting may enliven Ha! Ollapod! me. Enter OLLAPOD. Olla. Sir Charles, I have the honour to be your slave Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here. Sore throats were plenty; so were woodcocks. Flushed four couple, in a half-mile walk from our town, to cure Mrs. Quarles of a quinsey. May coming on soon, Sir Charles -season of delight, love, and campaigning! Hope you come to sojourn Sir Charles. Should n't be always on the wing- that's being too flighty. He he he! Do you take, good sir? Do you take? Sir Cha. O yes, I take. But, by the cockade in your hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations. Olla. He! he! yes, Sir Charles, I have now the honour to be cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell out unexpected-pop on a sudden-like the going off of a field-piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy! Sir Cha. Explain. Olla. Happening to be at home-rainy day—no going out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed-was busy behind the counter-you know my shop, Sir Charles-Galen's head over the door-new gilt him last week, by-the-bye-looks as fresh as a pill. Sir Cha. Well, no more on that head now-proceed. Olla. On that head! he he! he! That's very well, very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir, I owe you one. Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient; when who should strut into the shop but Lieutenant Grains. the brewer-sleek as a dray-horse-in a smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up, with a rhubarb-coloured lapelie. I confess his figure struck me. I looked at him as I was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military ardour. Sir Cha. Inoculated! I hope your ardour was of a favourable sort. Olla. Ha! ha! That's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir, I owe you one. We first talked of shooting. He knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told him the day before I had killed six brace of birds. I thumped on at the mortar. We then talked of physic. I told him the day before I had killed-lost, I mean-six brace of patients. I thumped on at the mortar, eyeing him all the while, for he looked very flashy, to be sure; and I felt an itching to belong to the corps. The medical and military-both deal in death, you know-so 'twas natural. He! he! Do you take, good sir? do you take? Sir Cha. Take? O nobody can miss. Olla. He then talked of the corps itself; said it was sickly; and, if a professional person would administer to the health of the association-dose the men and drench the horse-he could, perhaps, procure him a cornetcy. Sir Cha. Well, you jumped at the offer. Olla. Jumped! I jumped over the counter. Kicked down Churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of Lieutenant Grain's smart coloured jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-coloured lapelle; embraced him and his offer; and I am now Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the association corps of cavalry, at your service. Sir Cha. I wish you joy of your appointment. You may now distil water for the shop, from the laurels you gather in the field. Olla. Water for-Oh! laurel water-he! he!-Come that's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir, I owe you one. Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small mistake I made has ceased to operate. Sir Cha. A mistake? Olla. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle, on a grand field-day, I clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet-drink into one of my holsters; intending to proceed to the patient after the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, and jalaped-galloped I mean-wheeled and flourished with great éclat-but, when the word "fire" was given, meaning to pull out my pistol in a deuce of a hurry, I presented, neck-foremost, the infernal diet-drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle; and the medicine being unfortunately fermented by the jolting of my horse, it forced out the cork, with a prodigious pop, full in the face of my gallant commander. Sir Cha. Any new faces since I left the country? except Miss Emily Worthington. Sir Cha. The very girl whom I had lost sight of in London. But I am in a flame-in a fever-till I hear further. Olla. In a fever! I'll send you physic enough to fill a baggage waggon. Sir Cha. [Aside.] So a long bill is the price of his polite ness. Olla. You need not bleed; but you must have medicine. Sir Cha. If I must have medicine, Ollapod, I fancy I shall bleed pretty freely. Olla. He! he! Come, that's very well, very well indeed. I thank you, good sir; I owe you one. Before dinner a strong dose of coloquintida, senna, scammony, and gambouge. Sir Cha. Oh! hang scammony and gambouge. Olla. At night a narcotic-next day, saline draught, camphorated jalap. Sir Cha. Zounds! only go, and I'll swallow your whole shop. Olla. Galen forbid! 'Tis enough to kill every customer I have in the parish. Then we'll throw in the bark. Bythe-bye, talking of bark, Sir Charles, that Juno of yours is the prettiest pointer bitch Sir Cha. Well-well-she is yours. Olla. My dear Sir Charles! such sport next shooting season! If I had but a double-barrelled gun! Sir Cha. Take mine, that hangs in the hall. Olla. My dear Sir Charles! Here's a morning's work! senna and coloquintida― Sir Cha. Well, be gone then. [Aside. [Pushing him. Olla. I'm off. Scammony and gambouge Sir Cha. Nay, fly man! Olla. I do, Sir Charles. A double-barrelled gun-I fly -the bark-I'm going-Juno, the bitch-a narcoticSir Cha. O! the deuce. [Pushing him off. COLMAN. THE REVIEW. DEPUTY BULL. Enter THOMAS. Thomas. Here's a man, sir, come after the footman's place. Bull. I hope he is civiller than the last fellow. Does he look modest? Thomas. Oh yes, sir, he's an Irishman. Bull. Well, we are used to them in the Bull family. Let me see him. [Exit THOMAS]. I hope I shall be able to keep a servant at last. They are all so confounded saucy to me, because I have been a grocer. Enter LOONEY MACTWOlter. So, you want a place. Loo. You may say that, with your own ugly mouth. before? Loo. Does a duck swim? You have been in service Bull. Who have you lived with? Loo. I lived with the Mactwolters nineteen years, and then they turned me off. Bull. The Mactwolters! Why did they turn you off? Loo. They went dead, Bull. That's an awkward way of discharging a servant. Who were they? Loo. My own beautiful father, and most beautiful mother. They died of a whiskey fever, and left myself, Looney Mactwolter, heir to their estate. Bull. They had an estate it seems. Loo. Yes; they had a pig. Bull. Umph! But they died, you say, when you were nineteen. What have you been doing ever since? Loo. I'm a physicianer. Bull. The deuce you are. Loo. Yes; I'm a cow-doctor. Bull. And what brought you here? Loo. Hay-making. I've a fork below, hire me, then I'll have a knife to it, and prettily I'll toss about your beef, Mr. Bull. Bull. I don't doubt you. This fellow would ram a cart load of chuck-steaks down his throat with a paving-rod. What can you do as a footman? Can you clean plate? Loo. Clean a plate! Botheration, man! would you hire me for your kitchen maid? I can dirty one with anybody in the parish. Bull. Do you think now, Looney, you could contrive to beat a coat? Loo. Faith can I, in the Connaught fashion. Bull. How's that? Loo. With a man in it. Och! Let me alone for dusting your ould jacket, Mr. Bull. Bull. The deuce take you, I say! Loo. Be aisy, and I'll warrant we'll agree. Give me what I ax, and we'll never tumble out about the wages. Re-enter THOMAS. Thomas. Here's another man come after the place, I believe, sir. Bull. Another man ! Let me see him. [Exit THOMAS. Loo. Faith, now, you'll bother yourself betwixt us. You'll be like a cat in a tripe-shop, and not know where to choose. T |