“I am told that ablution in the common aqueous fluid is becoming more fashionable than any medicated baths,” said Evelina, “and that some people of rank actually use a composition of alkali and oil to remove the pulverous particles that may have lodged upon their epidermis in the course of the day.”
“I fear from the commands you have issued, Madam,” rejoined Cecilia, “that you were oblivious of the alteration that has been effected in the superior dormitory. The air there is no longer changed by means of tubes—but there is a fan-feather ventilator fixed in the ceiling, which by its gentle undulations occasions a free circulation of the aeriform fluid. I do not think, however, that it is quite adequate to supply the place of the tubes, as upon entering the room this morning, I perceived a strong sensation of azote, and found that the proportion of nitrogen more than trebled that of oxygen throughout the whole apartment.”
“I am sorry for it, but as it cannot be avoided we must submit. Now, Mr. Abelard, I am ready to attend to you.”
“I have taken the liberty of—of—wishing,” said the butler, in his turn affecting confusion, “to show you a little poetry. These are some verses of my own, in the acromonogrammatic style, only every line begins with the same word with which the last ended, instead of the same letter. Will you permit me to read them to you?”
Mrs. Russel graciously simpered assent, and Abelard, unfolding the paper, and read as follows:—
On Love.
Of all the powers in Heaven above,
Above all others, triumphs Love;
Love rules the soul—the heart invades,
Invades the cities and the shades.
Shades form no shelter from its power,
Power trembles in his courtly bower.
Bower of beauty—art thou free?
Free thou art not—nor canst thou be!
Be every other class released,
Released from love, thy woe’s increased;
Increased by all the weight of care,
Care flowing from complete despair.
“Charming!” exclaimed Mrs. Russel, only I own I don’t understand why despair comes in the last line.”
“Despair—despair: oh! to rhyme with care, my Eloisa. I hope I shall have no other reason to talk of despair.”
“Oh dear, Mr. Abelard, do not endeavour to take undue advantage of my tenderness.”
“Forbid, Heaven!” exclaimed he, taking her hand, when their love-scene was cruelly interrupted by the unexpected sight of Edric, who happened at this moment to pass in Lord Gustavus de Montfort’s balloon. The recognition was mutual, and Edric was so exceedingly agitated by this encounter, which convinced him that his father was in town, that he determined to delay his journey no longer, as his dread of meeting him was excessive. He therefore resolved to seek his tutor, and, if he found him inclined to procrastinate, to set off without him. On reaching the doctor’s chamber, however, he found half his uneasiness converted into laughter at the ludicrous situation of the poor philosopher, who, surrounded as he was on every side by a crowd of tradesmen clamorous for orders, looked something like Mercury encircled by a tribe of discontented ghosts upon the banks of the Styx.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Jones,” said he; “I see you understand me. The coats are to be those woven in machines, where the wool is stripped off the sheep’s back by one end, and the coat comes out completely made, in the newest fashion, at the other.”
“Very well, Sir,” said Mr. Jones, wagging his ears in token of assent; for in those days of universal education, even the muscles of the head were trained to perform functions which in former days it was only supposed possible they might attain: “You are quite right, Sir—no person of fashion ever wears anything else now.”
“Oh, Edric!” cried the doctor, “I shall be ready to attend to you directly:—and so, Mrs. Celestina, you must make the soup, if you please, waterproof; and you, Mr. Crispin, must have the boots ready to dissolve, at a moment’s notice. Oh, dear! oh, dear, what a perplexity I am in, my head is going just like a steamboat, at the rate of sixty miles an hour?”
“Upon my word, doctor,” said Edric, looking round in dismay, “if we are to take half the things assembled here, I do not know where we shall find a balloon large enough and strong enough even to raise us from the ground.”
“I will show you one,” replied the doctor, mysteriously; and solemnly drawing forth from his bosom a key, which appeared to have been suspended by a ribbon from his neck, he slowly opened, with great difficulty, a secret drawer in his escritoire, and produced from its inmost recesses a small bottle of Indian rubber. The gravity of the doctor’s manner, and the length of time that he had employed in this operation, had excited Edric’s curiosity, and he burst into a violent and uncontrollable fit of laughter when he saw the result.
“What is the matter, Edric?” asked the doctor, with the utmost solemnity; “what can be the occasion of this unceremonious and ill-timed levity?”
“Parturient mountains, my dear doctor,” replied Edric, still laughing—“you know the rest.”
“Ridicule, Edric,” said the doctor gravely, “is by no means the test of truth. Fools often—nay, generally, laugh at what they cannot understand, and when I shall have explained the motives of my conduct, I trust you will feel ashamed of your present weak and unseasonable mirth. Caoutchouc, Edric, is a substance capable of astonishing dilation and contraction; whilst the peculiar elasticity and tenacity of its fibres give it a strength and solidity, very rare in bodies when in a state of extreme tension. But before I inform you of the novel use to which I intend to apply it; there are several very extraordinary phenomena relating to elastic bodies, which I am happy to have an apposite opportunity of explaining to you.” (Edric yawned.) “You know, elastic substances have the power of wonderfully resisting a force which would annihilate solids, apparently infinitely stronger than themselves, as a featherbed will repulse a cannonball that would penetrate with ease through a thick
