Olla Podrida

Podrida, by Frederick Marryat
(AKA Captain Marryat)

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Title: Olla Podrida
Author: Frederick Marryat (AKA Captain Marryat)
Release Date: October 21, 2007 [EBook #23139]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLLA
PODRIDA ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

Olla Podrida
by Captain Marryat.
CHAPTER ONE.

April 3, 1835.
Reader, did you ever feel in that peculiarly distressing state of mind in
which one oppressing idea displaces or colours every other, absorbing,
intermingling with, empoisoning, and, like the filth of the harpy,
turning every thing into disgust--when a certain incubus rides upon the
brain, as the Old Man of the Mountain did upon the shoulders of
Sinbad, burdening, irritating, and rendering existence a misery--when,
looking around, you see but one object perched everywhere and
grinning at you--when even what you put into your mouth tastes of but
that one something, and the fancied taste is so unpleasant as almost to
prevent deglutition--when every sound which vibrates in your ear
appears to strike the same discordant note, and all and every thing will
remind you of the one only thing which you would fain forget;--have
you ever felt any thing like this, reader? If you have not, then thank
God, by way of grace, before you out with your knife and fork and
begin to cut up the contents of these pages.
I have been and am now suffering under one of these varieties of
"Phobias," and my disease is a Politicophobia, I will describe the
symptoms.
I am now in the metropolis of England, and when I walk out every
common house appears to me to be the House of Commons--every
lordly mansion the House of Lords--every man I meet, instead of being
a member of society, is transferred by imagination into a member of the
senate--every chimney-sweep into a bishop, and a Bavarian girl, with
her "Py a proom," into an ex-chancellor. If I return home, the ring at the
bell reminds me of a Peel--as I mount the stairs I think of the
"Lobby"--I throw myself on the sofa, and the cushion is transformed
into a woolsack--if a solitary visitor calls in, I imagine a public meeting,
and call out chair! chair!--and I as often address my wife as Mr Speaker,
as I do with the usual appellative of "my dear."
This incubus, like the Catholic anathema, pursues me everywhere--at
breakfast, the dry toast reminds me of the toasts at public dinners-- tea,
of the East India charter--sugar, of the West India question--the loaf, of
agricultural distress--and, as every one knows that London eggs are a

lottery, according as they prove bad or good, so am I reminded of a
Whig or Tory measure. When the newspaper is brought in, I walk
round and round it as a dog will do round the spot he is about to lie
down upon. I would fain not touch it; but at last, like a fascinated bird
who falls per force into the reptile's mouth, so do I plunge into its
columns, read it with desperation, and when the poison has circulated,
throw it away in despair. If I am reminded to say grace at dinner, I
commence "My Lords, and gentlemen;" and when I seek my bed, as I
light my taper, I move "that the House do now adjourn." The
tradesmen's bills are swelled by my disease into the budget, and the
checks upon my banker into supplies. Even my children laugh and
wonder at the answers which they receive. Yesterday one brought me
her book of animals, and pointing to a boa constrictor, asked its name,
and I told her it was an O'Connell. I am told that I mentioned the names
of half the members of the Upper and Lower House, and at the time
really believed that I was calling the beasts by their right names. Such
are the effects of my unfortunate disease.
Abroad I feel it even worse than at home. Society is unhinged, and
every one is afraid to offer an opinion. If I dine out, I find that no one
will speak first--he knows not whether he accosts a friend or foe, or
whether he may not be pledging his bitter enemy. Every man looks at
his neighbour's countenance to discover if he is Whig or Tory: they
appear to be examining one another like the dogs who meet in the street,
and it is impossible to conjecture whether the