Mudfog and Other Sketches | Page 6

intended to represent a
herald, but bearing a much stronger resemblance to a court-card on
horseback. This was one of the Circus people, who always came down
to Mudfog at that time of the year, and who had been engaged by

Nicholas Tulrumble expressly for the occasion. There was the horse,
whisking his tail about, balancing himself on his hind-legs, and
flourishing away with his fore-feet, in a manner which would have
gone to the hearts and souls of any reasonable crowd. But a Mudfog
crowd never was a reasonable one, and in all probability never will be.
Instead of scattering the very fog with their shouts, as they ought most
indubitably to have done, and were fully intended to do, by Nicholas
Tulrumble, they no sooner recognized the herald, than they began to
growl forth the most unqualified disapprobation at the bare notion of
his riding like any other man. If he had come out on his head indeed, or
jumping through a hoop, or flying through a red-hot drum, or even
standing on one leg with his other foot in his mouth, they might have
had something to say to him; but for a professional gentleman to sit
astride in the saddle, with his feet in the stirrups, was rather too good a
joke. So, the herald was a decided failure, and the crowd hooted with
great energy, as he pranced ingloriously away.
On the procession came. We are afraid to say how many
supernumeraries there were, in striped shirts and black velvet caps, to
imitate the London watermen, or how many base imitations of
running-footmen, or how many banners, which, owing to the heaviness
of the atmosphere, could by no means be prevailed on to display their
inscriptions: still less do we feel disposed to relate how the men who
played the wind instruments, looking up into the sky (we mean the fog)
with musical fervour, walked through pools of water and hillocks of
mud, till they covered the powdered heads of the running-footmen
aforesaid with splashes, that looked curious, but not ornamental; or
how the barrel-organ performer put on the wrong stop, and played one
tune while the band played another; or how the horses, being used to
the arena, and not to the streets, would stand still and dance, instead of
going on and prancing;--all of which are matters which might be
dilated upon to great advantage, but which we have not the least
intention of dilating upon, notwithstanding.
Oh! it was a grand and beautiful sight to behold a corporation in glass
coaches, provided at the sole cost and charge of Nicholas Tulrumble,
coming rolling along, like a funeral out of mourning, and to watch the
attempts the corporation made to look great and solemn, when Nicholas
Tulrumble himself, in the four-wheel chaise, with the tall postilion,

rolled out after them, with Mr. Jennings on one side to look like a
chaplain, and a supernumerary on the other, with an old
life-guardsman's sabre, to imitate the sword- bearer; and to see the tears
rolling down the faces of the mob as they screamed with merriment.
This was beautiful! and so was the appearance of Mrs. Tulrumble and
son, as they bowed with grave dignity out of their coach-window to all
the dirty faces that were laughing around them: but it is not even with
this that we have to do, but with the sudden stopping of the procession
at another blast of the trumpet, whereat, and whereupon, a profound
silence ensued, and all eyes were turned towards Mudfog Hall, in the
confident anticipation of some new wonder.
'They won't laugh now, Mr. Jennings,' said Nicholas Tulrumble.
'I think not, sir,' said Mr. Jennings.
'See how eager they look,' said Nicholas Tulrumble. 'Aha! the laugh
will be on our side now; eh, Mr. Jennings?'
'No doubt of that, sir,' replied Mr. Jennings; and Nicholas Tulrumble, in
a state of pleasurable excitement, stood up in the four-wheel chaise, and
telegraphed gratification to the Mayoress behind.
While all this was going forward, Ned Twigger had descended into the
kitchen of Mudfog Hall for the purpose of indulging the servants with a
private view of the curiosity that was to burst upon the town; and,
somehow or other, the footman was so companionable, and the
housemaid so kind, and the cook so friendly, that he could not resist the
offer of the first-mentioned to sit down and take something--just to
drink success to master in.
So, down Ned Twigger sat himself in his brass livery on the top of the
kitchen-table; and in a mug of something strong, paid for by the
unconscious Nicholas Tulrumble, and provided by the companionable
footman, drank success to the Mayor and his procession; and, as Ned
laid by his helmet to imbibe the something