CHAPTER II.

THE PAST, SO CALLED.

I HEARD the din of voices the same in sounds as before the change in me had taken place; but for a little time I saw nothing distinctly. What now came to my ears was not anything relating to Palmerston or Prince Albert, railroads or the Crystal Palace, but a buzz concerning Admiral Byng and Minorca, the Hessian and the Hanoverian troops, with conjectures whether the King would be able to go to his German dominions this year. By degrees my vision returned, and I saw, though it was still through clouds of tobacco, the same number of persons I had met with on entering the house; but they were quite changed in dress, and the room quite changed in character. It was no longer a small square parlour, partially wainscoted and partly papered, but wholly wainscoted, and having a variety of snug recesses and corners, a bow-window, a number of pictures of very contemptible taste and execution, and a little carved work upon the ceiling and over the mantel-piece. The persons whom I had heard talking were sitting at a round table with a bowl of punch in the centre, and pipes and glasses at hand. Still there was one among them of station apparently a little above

the others; and he had lying on the table by his side a smart cocked-hat, while the end of a sword issued from under the ample skirts of his coat. His hair was powdered, and brought to a pigtail behind; his waistcoat was flapped at the pockets; his tight breeches were buckled just below his knees, and were succeeded by stout stockings of a fine fabric with clocks, and high shoes fastened by gold or gilt clasps. I cannot say that, to my prepossessions, the impress was on the whole that of gentility, but the feeling, rather, of his being a footman in a great family. Nor did his manner of speaking remove the impression; for he clipped his phrases, and broadened some of his vowels; he seemed to think you was to be the proper grammar in speaking to one person; or if he meant to address him very familiarly, he thee'd and thou'd him. All this to my ears sounded excessively vulgar or queer; and the interjections or adverbs with which he very thickly interlarded his discourse added to the effect which I mean by the term queer, as body o' me, od's life, 'zounds, od's heart, 'sdeath, fie on't, plague on't, and others with still less delicacy of sound. There was little in the costume of his companions, and still less in the dialect, different in kind and character from what appeared in him: they all had three-cornered hats, their hair or their wigs bore evidence of being sometimes powdered, and, though they had no swords, there was in each one's dress the loop to receive one.

Such were the transformed persons in whose presence I found myself. In the mean time, though my understanding had exchanged its phenomena, my memory of what had been called present, but which would now be called past, remained. I remembered having

entered the house under other circumstances; I remembered having called for a cigar and a pint of ale; and I remembered having smoked the one and drunk the other. Now this permanence of memory requires to be accounted for: I do not think it could or would happen in the case of an ordinary person. But having early convinced myself that past, present, and future, were distinctions without a difference, my memory has stretched itself to correspond with my reason, and can collect its stores in every direction, without bar from those vulgar divisions which shut out the bulk of mankind from the phenomena of all things, but those of the little day between birth and death. I am sure my philosophic reader quite understands me: the fact as stated will be as clear to his mind as it is to mine.

As I did not sit at the table of the other guests, but at a little table apart, I apprehend that I had escaped their notice, till one of them, in a loud whisper, asked his immediate neighbour if he knew who that man was, and when he had come in. On this I thought it necessary to address the company, which I did in the following manner; and I add the conversation that ensued, designating the persons alphabetically, the first letter standing for the gentleman already alluded to, as being apparently of the most importance in the company.

"Gentlemen," said I, "it seems that you wonder at my being here, but I assure you I have no wish to intrude my company longer than you may permit my stay. I think I am not mistaken in believing this to be a house of public entertainment, and I entered it, without any attempt at secrecy, at that front door."Here I was interrupted, and told that the one I pointed to was the back door. "Well, gentlemen, front or

back, I came in at that door, and since I have been sitting here I have smoked out a cigar—(no, I see it must have been a pipe, for here it is, still warm with the remaining ashes)—and I have finished this pewter pint of ale-(no, it was brought to me, I now observe, in this curious earthen jug);—and while thus refreshing myself I have been busy with my own thoughts, rather than impertinently listening to your conversation; though, from such words as have occasionally sounded in my ears, I believe your talk has not been of any private affairs, but of public matters."

A. "Odsbodikens, man! what are you, and where dost come from? By the looseness of your garb" (I had on my paletot coat and ordinary trousers), "and by that black tie round your neck, I should say you're immediately from shipboard; though thou look'st not like an English sailor, nor dost thou talk like one, for thine is a sort of book talk.

Now I'll wager a guinea

you've come from Hanover to get some menial service at Kensington."

"You are mistaken, sir," said I. "I am an Englishman, and, were I not doubtful of your belief, I should say that I am a householder of this parish."

B. "A householder of Mary bone! Why, friend, if that was true, you couldn't 'scape being known to some of us here. Mary bone is not so large as to hide a man that belongs to it. Come, your name and calling."

"My name is Franz Carvel, and I am a brushmaker of Queen Anne Street."

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C." Whew! a brushmaker in Queen Anne Street! There's housemaids enow that use brushes in those fine new country houses, but as to makers and sellers of brushes, I reckon you'll find none in that neighbour

hood. What dost mean, man, by such an unconscionable”

D. "Hold, neighbour Jackson: I suspect there's some truth here, though under disguise. Now, Sir, let me ask you a straightforward question. Ar'n't you the son-in-law of Farmer Bilson who lives over against this very house? Your coming in by that door almost proves it."

E. "You needn't answer the question, Mr. Carvel. I should have known you at once though in that disguise, had I not believed you was at the Jew's-harp this evening, taking leave of the Hampstead gentlefolk before going into business again. Pray come and take your seat among us, Mr. Carvel, and let me push this glass to you.'

"I will willingly join you, gentlemen,” said I, “but not under false colours. I am not the Franz Carvel you speak of, though, if I mistake not, I am a distant relation."

A. "Distant? How great may the distance be?" "I begin to think," said I, "that it must be some hundred years."

A. "You are facetious, sir. But we are no longer boys to be puzzled as we used to be when people asked us how far it was from the first of May to the foot of London Bridge."

"I assure you," said I, "that I was long puzzled by that problem, nor have I yet quite made it out. Even at this moment I am in a similar puzzle. May I ask whether the date I see above there, over the mantel-piece, has anything to do with the room in which we are sitting?"