"Georgiana Pescod is positive that he was wild in his youth.
But how," Miss Sally asked herself, "can Georgiana possibly know?
And if he were--"
I leave you, my reader, as you know the female heart, to continue
Miss Sally's broken musings.
CHAPTER II.
OUR MAYOR.
_Cedant arma togae_. It is time we turned from the Major to the
Mayor, from the man of gallantry to the magistrate.
You know, I dare say, the story of the King of England and the King
of Portugal. The King of Portugal paid the King of England a visit.
"My brother," said the King of England, after some days, "I wish to
ask you a question." "Say on," said the King of Portugal. "I am
curious to know what in these realms of mine has most impressed you?"
The King of Portugal considered a while. "Your roast beef is
excellent," said he. "And after our roast beef, what next?"
The King of Portugal considered a while longer. "Your boiled beef
very nearly approaches it." So, if you had asked us on what first of
all we prided ourselves in Troy, we had pointed to our Major. If you
had asked "What next?" we had pointed to our Mayor.
And these, our Dioscuri, were one and the same man! In truth, I
suppose we ought to have been proudest of him as Mayor; since as
Mayor he represented the King himself among us--nay, to all intents
and purposes _was_ the King. More than once in his public speeches
he reminded us of this: and we were glad to remember it when--as
sometimes happened--we ran a cargo from Roscoff or Guernsey and left
a cask or two privily behind the Mayor's quay door.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29