University of Virginia Library

3. III.
THE GREENLION AND OLIVER CROMWELL.

Mr. Punch, My dear Sir,—It is now
two weeks since a rayther strange lookin
man engaged 'partments at the Greenlion.
He stated he was from the celebrated
United States, but beyond this he said
nothin. He seem'd to prefer sollytood.
He remained mostly in his room, and whenever
he did show hisself he walkt in a
moody and morose manner in the garding,
with his hed bowed down and his arms
foldid across his brest. He reminded me
sumwhat of the celebrated but onhappy
Mr. Haller, in the cheerful play of The
Stranger. This man puzzled me. I'd
been puzzled afore several times, but never
so severally as now. Mine Ost of the
Greenlion said I must interrigate this

strange bein, who claimed to be my coun
tryman. “He hasn't called for a drop of
beer since he's been in this ere Ouse,” said
the landlord. “I look to you,” he added,
“to clear up this dark, this orful mistry!”

I wringed the lan'lord's honest hand, and
told him to consider the mistry cleared up.

I gained axes to the misterus bein's room,
and by talkin sweet to him for a few
minits, I found out who he was. Then
returnin to the lan'lord, wo was nervisly
pacin up and down the bar, I said,

“Sweet Rolando, don't tremble no more!
I've torn the marsk from the hawty stranger's
face, and dived into the recesses of his
inmost sole! He's a Trans-Mejim!”

I'd been to the Beefanham theatre the
previs evenin, and probly the drammer I
saw affected me, because I'm not in the
habit of goin on as per above. I like the
Beefanham theatre very much indeed, because
there a enthoosiastic lover of the
theatre like myself can unite the legitermit
drammer with fish. Thus, while your enrapterd
soul drinks in the lorfty and noble
sentences of the gifted artists, you can eat

a biled mack'ril jest as comfor'bly as in your
own house. I felt constrained, however,
to tell a fond mother who sot immegitly
behind me, and who was accompanied by
a gin bottle and a young infant—I felt constraned
to tell that mother, when her infant
playfully mingled a rayther oily mack'ril
with the little hair which is left on my
vener'ble hed, that I had a bottle of scented
hair oil at home, which on the whole I tho't
I preferred to that which her orfspring was
greasin me with. This riled the excellent
female, and she said, “Git out! You never
was a infank yourself, I spose! Oh no!
You was too good to be a infank you was!
You slid into the world all ready grow'd,
didn't you? Git out!” “No, Madam,” I
replied, “I too was once a infant! I was a
luvly child. Peple used to come in large
and enthoosiastic crowds from all parts of
the country to see me, I was such a sweet
and intel'gent infant. The excitement was
so intens, in fack, that a extra hotel was
startid in the town to accomodate the peple
who thronged to my cradle.” Havin finished
these troothful statemints, I smilt
sweetly on the worthy female. She said,
“Drat you, what do you come a-chaffin me
for?” and the estymible woman was really
gettin furis, when I mollyfied her by praisin
her child, and by axin pardin for all I'd
said, “This little gal,” I observed, “this
surprisingly luvly gal—” when the mother
said, It's t'other sect is he, Sir: it's a boy.”
“Wall,” I said, “then this little boy, whose
eye is like a eagle a-soaring proudly in the
azure sky, will some day be a man, if he
don't choke hisself to death in childhood's
sunny hours with a smelt or a bloater, or
some other drefful calamity. How surblime
the tho't, my dear Madam, that this
infant as you fondle on your knee on this
night, may grow up into a free and independent
citizen, whose vote will be worth
from ten to fifteen pounds, accordin as
suffrages may range at that joyus perid!”

Let us now return, jentle reader, to the
lan'lord of the Greenlion, who we left in
the bar in a state of anxiety and perspire.
Rubbin his hot face with a red hankercher,
he said, “Is the strange bein a American?”

“He is.”

“A Gen'ral?”

“No.”

“A Colonial?”

“No.”

“A Majer?”

“Not a Majer.”

“A Capting?”

“He is not.”

“A leftenant?”

“Not even that.”

“Then,” said the lan'lord of the Greenlion,
“you ar deceeved! He is no countryman
of yours.”

“Why not?” I said.

“I will tell you, Sir,” said the lan'lord.
“My son-in-law is employed in a bankin
house where ev'ry American as comes to
these shores goes to git his drafts casht,
and he says that not one has arrived on
these shores durin the last 18 months as
wasn't a Gen'ral, a Colonial, a Majer, a
Capting, or a leftenant! This man, as I said
afore, has deceeved you! He's a impostuer!”

I reeled into a chair. For a minit I was
speechlis. At length I murmerd, “Alars!
I fear it is too troo! Even I was a Capting
of the Home Gards.”

“To be sure,” said the lan'lord; “you all
do it, over there.”

“Wall,” I said, “whatever nation this
person belongs to, “we may as well go and
hear him lectur this evenin. He is one of
these spirit fellers—he is a Trans-Mejim,
and when he slings himself into a trans-state,
he says the sperrits of departed great
men talk through him. He says that to-night
sev'ril em'nent persons will speak
through him—among others, Cromwell.”

“And this Mr. Cromwell—is he dead?”
said the lan'lord.

I told him that Oliver was no more.

“It's a umbug,” said the lan'lord; to which
I replied that we'd best go and see, and we
went. We was late, on account of the
lan'lord's extensiv acquaintans with the public
house keepers along the road, and the
hall was some two miles distant, but we
got there at last. The hall was about half
full, and the Mejim was just then assumin'
to be Benjamin Franklin, who was speakin
about the Atlantic Cable.

He said the Cable was really a merrytorious
affair, and that messiges could be
sent to America, and there was no doubt

about their gettin there in the course of a
week or two, which he said was a beautiful
idear, and much quicker than by steamer
or canal-boat. It struck me that if this was
Franklin a spiritooal life hadn't improved
the old gentleman's intellecks particly.

The audiens was mostly composed of
rayther pale peple, whose eyes I tho't rolled
round in a somewhat wild manner. But
they was well-behaved, and the females
kept saying, “How beautiful! What a
surblime thing it is,” et cetry, et cetry.
Among the females was one who was a
fair and rosy young woman. She sot on
the same seat we did, and the lan'lord of
the Greenlion, whose frekent intervoos with
other lan'lords that evenin had been too
much for him, fastened his left eye on the
fair and rosy young person, and smilin lovinly
upon her, said, “You may give me,
my dear, four-penny-worth of gin—cold
gin. I take it cold, because—”

There was cries of “Silence! Shame!
Put him out! the Skoffer!”

“Ain't we at the Spotted Boar?” the
lan'lord hoarsely whispered.

“No,” I answered, “It's another kind
of bore. Lis'en. Cromwell is goin' to
speak through our inspired fren', now.”

“Is he?” said the lan'lord—“is he?
Wall, I've suthin to say, also. Was this
Cromwell a licensed vittler?”

“Not that I ever heard,” I anserd.

“I'm sorry for that,” said the lan'lord
with a sigh; “but you think he was a man
who would wish to see licensed vittlers respected
in their rights?”

“No doubt.”

“Wall,” said the lan'lord, “jest you keep
a eye on me.” Then risin to his feet he
said, in a somewhat husky yet tol'bly distink
voice, “Mr. Crumbwell!”

“Cromwell!” I cried.

“Yes, Mr. Cromwell: that's the man I
mean, Mr. Cromble! won't you please advise
that gen'l'man who you're talkin
through; won't you advise 'im during your
elekant speech to settle his bill at my 'ouse
to-night, Mr. Crumbles,” said the lan'lord,
glarin' savigely round on the peple, “because
if he don't, there'll be a punched 'ed
to be seen at the Greenlion, where I don't

want no more of this everlastin nonsens.
I'll talk through 'im! Here's a sperrit,”
said the lan'lord, a smile once more beamin
on his face, “which will talk through him
like a Dutch father! I'm the sperrit for
you, young feller!” “You're a helthy old
sperret,” I remarkt; and then I saw the
necessity of gettin him out of the hall.
The wimin was yellin and screamin, and
the men was hollerin' perlice. A perliceman
really came and collerd my fat fren.
“It's only a fit, Sir Richard,” I said. I always
call the perlice Rir Richard. It pleases
them to think I'm the victim of a deloosion;
and they always treat me perlitely.
This one did, certainly, for he let us go.
We saw no more of the Trans-Mejim.

It's diffikilt, of course, to say how long
these noosances will be allowed to prowl
round. I should say, however, if pressed
for a answer, that they will prob'ly continner
on jest about as long as they can find peple
to lis'en to 'em. Am I right?