A Bayard From Bengal<br />Being some account of the Magnificent and Spanking Career of Chunder Binda by F. Anstey (websites to read books for free .TXT) 📖

admits himself is of a rather free description.

Of the Philosopher who composed these Proverbs or Fables little is known, even in his own country, except that (as all Scholiasts are aware) he was born on the 1st of April 1450 (old style), and for some years filled the important and responsible post of Archi-mandrake of Paraprosdokian. He probably met with a violent end.

I shall not undertake to provide a note to every parable, but only in cases where I think that the Parabolist is not quite as luminous as the nose on one's face, and needs the services of an experienced interpreter.

H. B. J.

[113]

The Butterfly visited so many flowers that she fell sick of a surfeit of nectar. She called it "Nervous Breakdown."

"Instead of vainly lamenting over those we have lost," said the young Cuckoo severely, to the Father and Mother Sparrow, "it seems to me that you should be rejoicing that I am still spared to you!"

Note.—A mere plagiaristic adaptation of the trite adage concerning the comparative values of birds in the hand and in the bush.—H. B. J.

"I am old enough to be thy Grandfather!" the Egg informed the Chicken.

"In that case," replied the Chicken, "it is high time thou bestirredst thyself!"

"Not so!" said the Egg, "since the longer I remain quiescent, the fitter I shall be for the career that is destined for me."[114]

"Indeed," inquired the Chicken, "and what may that be?"

"Politics!" answered the Egg with importance.

And the Chicken pondered long over that saying.

Note.—I must confess to following the Chicken's precedent, without arriving at any solution. For, logically, an Egg must be the junior of any Chicken. And again, even for parabolical purposes, it is far-fetched to represent an Egg as a potential Member of Parliament. On the whole, I am not entirely satisfied that my young friend is so proficient in acquaintance with Cryptic as he has represented to me.—H. B. J.

There is only one thing that irritateth a woman more than the man who doth not understand her, and that is the man who doth.

A certain Artificer constructed a mechanical Serpent which was so marvellously natural that it bit him in the back. "Had I but another hour to live," he lamented in his last agonies, "I would have patented the invention!"[115]

The Woman was so determined to be independent of Man that she voluntarily became the slave of a Machine.

Note.—I do not understand the meaning of the Fabulist here.—H. B. J.

"She used to be so fresh; but she is gone off terribly since I first knew her!" said the Slug of the Strawberry.

Note.—See my remark on the last parable.—H. B. J.

"Now, I call that downright Plagiarism!" observed the Ass, when he heard the Lion roar.

"A cheery laugh goes a long way in this world!" remarked the Hyena.

"But a bright smile goes further still!" said the Alligator, as he took him in.

Note.—If the honble Philosopher is censuring here merely the assumption of hilarity and not ordinary quiet facetiousness, I am [116] entirely with him. But I rather regard him as a total deficient in Humour and fanatically opposed to it in any form.—H. B. J.

"I trust I have now made myself perfectly clear?" observed the Cuttlefish, after discharging his ink.

The Cockney was assured that, if he placed the Sea-shell to his ear, he would hear the murmur of Ocean.

But all he caught distinctly was the melody of negro minstrels.

"It is some satisfaction to feel that we have both been sacrificed in a thoroughly deserving cause!" said the Brace-button, complacently, to the Threepenny Bit, as they met in the Offertory Bag.

Note.—This must be some local allusion, for I do not know what sort of receptacle an Offertory Bag may be, or why such articles should be inserted therein.—H. B. J.

[117]

Mistrust the Bridegroom who appeareth at his wedding with sticking-plaster on his chin [or "without sticking-plaster," &c.—the Styptic is capable of either interpretation.—Trans.].

Note.—Then I will humbly say that it must be a peculiarly elastic tongue. But in either form the Proverb is meaningless.—H. B. J.

"What!—My Original dead?" cried the Statue. "Then I have lost all chance of ever becoming celebrated!"

Note.—This is an obvious mistranslation, since a Statue is only erected when the Original is already celebrated.—H. B. J.

"What is your favourite Perfume?" they asked the Hog, and he answered them, "Pigwash."

"How vulgar!" exclaimed the Stoat. "Mine is Patchouli!"

But the Fox said that, in his opinion, the less scent one used the better.

Note.—This merely records the well-known physiological fact that [118] some persons are born without the olfactory sense. Emperor Vespasian was accustomed to declare (erroneously) that "pecunia non olet."—H. B. J.

"I wonder they allow such a cruel contrivance as that 'Catch 'em alive, oh!' paper!" said the Spider tearfully, as she sat in her web.

Note.—From this we learn that there may be a soft spot in the
most unpromising quarters. Even Alexander the Great, who spent the
blood of his troops like pocket money, is recorded to have wept at a
review on suddenly reflecting that all his soldiers would probably
be deceased in a hundred years. It is barely possible that Piljosh
may have been a spectator of this incident.—H. B. J.

A certain Pheasant was pluming herself upon having become a member of the Anti-Sporting League.

"Softly, friend!" said a wily old Cock, "for, should this League of thine succeed in its object, every man's hand would be against us both by day and night; whereas, at present, our lives are protected all night by vigilant[119] keepers, and spared all day by our owner and his guests, who are incapable of shooting for nuts!"

Note. —This is a glaring non sequitur and fallacy. I myself have never shot for nuts—but it does not necessarily follow that any pheasant would remain intact after I discharged my rifle-barrel!—H. B. J.

"It is not what we look that signifieth," said the Scorpion virtuously, "it is what we are!"

Note.—True enough—but the moral would have been improved by attributing the saying to some insect of more innocuous character than a Scorpion. Perhaps this is so in the original Styptic, for, as I have said, I cannot repose implicit faith in my young friend's version.—H. B. J.

"I have composed the most pathetic poem in the world!" declared the Poet.

"How can'st thou be sure of that," he was asked.

"Because," he replied, "I recited it to the Crocodile, and she could not refrain from shedding tears!"[120]

"It is gratifying to find oneself appreciated at last," said the Cabbage, when the Cigar Merchant labelled him as a Cabaña.

"Don't talk to me about Cactus," said the Ostrich contemptuously to the Camel. "Insipid stuff, I call it! No—for real flavour and delicacy, give me a pair of Sheffield scissors!"

"The accommodation might be more luxurious, it's true," remarked the philosophic Mouse, when he found himself in the Trap, "but, after all, it's not as if I was going to stay here long!"

"People tell me he can shine when he chooses," said the Extinguisher of the Candle. "All I know is, he's positively dull whenever he's with me!"

There was once a Musical Box which played but one tune, to which its owner was never[121] weary of listening. But, after a time, he desired a novelty, and could not rest until he had exchanged the barrel for another. However, he sickened of the second tune sooner than of the first, and so he exchanged it for a third, which he liked not at all.

Accordingly he commanded that the Box should return to the first tune of all—and lo! this had become an abomination unto his ears, nor could he conceive how he had ever been able to endure it!

So the Musical Box was laid upon the shelf, and the Owner procured for himself a cheap mouth-organ which could play any air that was suggested to it, and thus became an established favourite.

Note.—This is apparently designed to illustrate the ficklety of the Musical Character.—H. B. J.

"Do come in!" snapped the severed Shark's Head to the Ship's Cat. "As you perceive, I am carrying on business as usual during the alterations."[122]

The Bulbul had no sooner finished her song than the Bullfrog began to make profuse apologies for having left his music at home.

To a Butterscotch Machine the Penny and the Tin Disc are alike.

Note.—Surely not if an official is looking on!—H. B. J.

"My dears," said the Converted Cannibal reverently to his Wife and Family, as they sat down to their Baked Missionary, "do not let us omit to ask a blessing!"

There is but one Singer whom it is futile to encore—and that is a Dying Swan.

"I am doing a series of 'Notable Nests' for 'Sylvan Society,'" said the insinuating Serpent, on finding the Ringdove at home, "and I should so much like to include you." "You are very kind," said the Ringdove, in a flutter, "but I can assure you that there is no more[123] in my poor little eggs than in any other bird's!" "That may be," replied the Serpent, "but I must live somehow!"

"No outsiders there—only just their own particular set!" said the Cocksparrow, when he came home after having been to tea with the Birds of Paradise.

The Elephant was dying of starvation, and a kind-hearted person presented him with an acidulated drop.

Note.—It is well-nigh incredible that any Philosopher should be so ignorant of Natural History as to imagine that any Elephant would accept an acid drop, even if it was on its last legs for want of nutrition.

The conclusion of this anecdote would seem to be either lost, or unfit for publication.—H. B. J.

There was once a famous Violinist who serenaded his Mistress every evening, performing the most divine melodies upon his instrument.

But all the while she was straining her ears to listen to a piano-organ round the corner which was playing "Good-bye, Dolly Gray!"[124]

The Performing Lioness kisses her Trainer on the mouth—but only in public.

The Candle complained bitterly of the unpleasantness of seeing so many scorched moths in her vicinity.

"I have taken such a fancy to thee," said the Hawk genially to the Field-Mouse, "that I am going to put thee into a really good thing."

And he opened his beak.

There are persons who have no sense of the fitness of things.

Like the Grasshopper, who insisted on putting the Snail up for the Skipping Club.

The Cat scratched the Dog's nose out of sheer playfulness—but she had no time to explain.[125]

"After all, it is pleasant to be at home again!" said the Eagle's feathers on the shaft that pierced him.

But the Eagle's reply is not recorded.

Note.—Poet Byron also mentions this incident.—H.B.J.

A certain Painter set himself to depict a lovely landscape. "See!" he cried, as he exhibited his canvas to a Passing Stranger, "doth not this my picture resemble the scene with exactitude?"

"Since thou desirest to know," was the reply, "thou seemest to me to have portrayed nothing but a manure heap!"

"And am I to blame," exclaimed the indignant Painter, "if a manure heap chanced to be immediately in front of me?"

Before a Man marrieth a Woman he delighteth to describe unto her all his doings—even the most unimportant.

But, after marriage, he considereth that such talk may savour too much of egotism.[126]

Note.-This is very very shallow. I have never experienced any such compunctiousness with my own wives.—H. B. J.

"I shouldn't have minded so much," said the Bee, with some bitterness, just before breathing his last in the honey-pot, "only it happens to be my own make!"

"Is the White Rabbit beautiful?" someone inquired of the Albino Rat.

"She might be passable enough," replied the Rat, "but for one most distressing deformity. She has pink eyes!"

When the Ass was asked about his Cousin the Zebra, he said: "Do not speak about him—for he has disgraced us all. Never before has there been any eccentricity in our family!"

The full-blown Sausage professeth to have forgotten the days of his puppyhood.

"Will you allow me to pass?" said the courteous Garden Roller to the Snail.[127]

Had anyone met the Red Herring in the sea and foretold that he would one day be pursued by Hounds across a difficult country, the Herring would have accounted him but a vain babbler.

Yet so it fell out!

Note.—I shrewdly suspect that my young friend has made the rather natural mistake of substituting the word "Red Herring" for "Flying Fish."

It is not absolutely incredible that one of the latter department should fly inland and be chased by Dogs—but even Piljosh should be aware that no Herring could pop off in such a way.—H. B. J.

An Officious Busybody, perceiving a Phœnix well alight, promptly extinguished her by means of a convenient watering-pot.

"Had you refrained from this uncalled for interference," said the justly irate Bird, "I should by this time be rising gloriously from my ashes—instead of presenting the ridiculous appearance of a partially roasted Fowl!"

[128]