With true feminine
jealousy too they change colour when excited, for envy seems to
pervade all animate nature."
"It's called the Devil's Hole where they are, ain't it?" sais I.
"Yes," said he, "it is, and it is situated not far from Moore's
favourite tree, under whose shade he used to recline while writing his
poetry, at a time when his deputy was equally idle, and instead of
keeping his accounts, kept his money. Bermuda is a fatal place to
poets. Moore lost his purse there, and Waller his favourite ring; the
latter has been recently found, the former was never recovered. In one
thing these two celebrated authors greatly resembled each other, they
both fawned and flattered on the great."
"Yes," said Cutler, "and both have met their reward. Everybody regrets
that anything was known of either, but his poetry--"
"Well," sais I, "I am glad I am not an Englishman, or as true as the
world, a chap like Lord John Russell would ruin me for ever. I am not
a poet, and can't write poetry, but I am a Clockmaker, and write
common sense. Now a biographer like that man, that knows as little of
one as he does of the other, would ruin me for everlastingly. It ain't
pleasant to have such a burr as that stick on to your tail, especially
if you have no comb to get it off, is it? A politician is like a bee;
he travels a zig-zag course every way, turnin' first to the right and
then to the left, now makin' a dive at the wild honeysuckle, and then
at the sweet briar; now at the buck-wheat blossom, and then at the
rose; he is here and there and everywhere; you don't know where the
plague to find him; he courts all and is constant to none.
Pages:
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542