who had Stayed when anyone else would have
simply Abandoned all Hope. He remained with me almost until the Dawn, and left with the Promise that somehow, in spite of Sorrow, our ways would Cross again. Sam’s last gift to me was
my blue Ribbon from the Fair, which, much to my Surprise, he had retained all this time. He now pinned it upon my Waistcoat , gave me a final Embrace, and then was Gone .
9
M r Bisset was up before the Sun the next Morning, directing the porters at the Inn on how to load up his Wagon. I was soon hefted up in my
Enclosure and lashed to my neighbours with strong leather straps, as securely as any Prisoner in Newgate . From the talk I had heard, we were to take a Northern course, stopping in
Drumcondra, Drogheda, Dundalk, Banbridge and, lastly, Belfast, these places constituting an impromptu Irish tour on our way back to England. Mr Bisset meant eventually to get to London,
where the scales of Fame weighed the Heaviest , but he was loath to pass up any opportunity along the Way. From Belfast, we would take ship, returning by way of Liverpool, Chester,
Stoke-on-Trent, Birmingham and Northampton , the old showman’s circuit, before arriving in the great Metropolis where he had already secured a promise of a month-long engagement at
Astley’s principal establishment, adjacent to Westminster Bridge.
Our first day’s journey was the shortest, being just over two miles. Our way led out through the City, across a narrow Canal , and past rough pastures and small farms into a small,
closely packed Village of drab brick houses, which bore the name Drumcondra . There was an Inn, a small stone Church, and a brownish sort of village Green, to one side of which was the
Market square where Mr Bisset planned to stage his Show—and yet a more Desolate spot, and more Uncongenial to Entertainment of any Kind would have been Difficult to imagine. The few
people I could see looked to be nearly the same Colour as the grey-brown bricks of their homes, walking about in a sort of Torpor , as though they had no will of their own but awaited
the Instruction or Command of another. The children there did not smile, and the Dogs looked hungry; it was a Weary town, and one in which, had we been Wise, we would never have Tarried .
Immune to the charms—or lack thereof—of this drab agglomeration of people and Buildings, Mr Bisset at once established himself at the Inn . He had been assured by the
proprietor that the Accommodations were pleasant, and that the next day being a Market day, his Show would doubtless be well attended. Mr Bellows was the innkeeper’s name; in his
appearance he was as oily as a wax Taper , and certainly put forth an incandescent Glow of welcome that first evening. We were all accommodated in the best Manner, myself with the other
Animals in the Yard, and my Master in the finest Room, which had a sort of Loge overlooking us. Fresh slops were our dinner, although, without Sam to keep me Company, these seemed a cold and
lonely meal indeed. It was not long before Quiet reigned over us Animals, while the sound of Messrs Bisset and Bellows, with their clinking glasses and their Guffaws, carried on late into the
night.
And so day dawned—grey and sullen—without a bird, or a beam of light to its name. True to the Innkeeper’s word, there was the Bustle of a Market-day outside the window, but to
behold these creatures as they went about their Business was a cheerless sight, for not one of them looked up to see their or any other portion of the Sky—keeping instead low and steady, much
as garden Worms, who live in dread of the sudden descent of a Spade. We established ourselves at once on what seemed the best part of the Pitch and set about our usual Routines, but to our
invitations there was no ready answer. ‘Has anyone a question for the Learned Pig?’ my Master asked. ‘Come, come, now, let the curious among you speak! Any Query, upon any
Matter?’ But question came there
simply Abandoned all Hope. He remained with me almost until the Dawn, and left with the Promise that somehow, in spite of Sorrow, our ways would Cross again. Sam’s last gift to me was
my blue Ribbon from the Fair, which, much to my Surprise, he had retained all this time. He now pinned it upon my Waistcoat , gave me a final Embrace, and then was Gone .
9
M r Bisset was up before the Sun the next Morning, directing the porters at the Inn on how to load up his Wagon. I was soon hefted up in my
Enclosure and lashed to my neighbours with strong leather straps, as securely as any Prisoner in Newgate . From the talk I had heard, we were to take a Northern course, stopping in
Drumcondra, Drogheda, Dundalk, Banbridge and, lastly, Belfast, these places constituting an impromptu Irish tour on our way back to England. Mr Bisset meant eventually to get to London,
where the scales of Fame weighed the Heaviest , but he was loath to pass up any opportunity along the Way. From Belfast, we would take ship, returning by way of Liverpool, Chester,
Stoke-on-Trent, Birmingham and Northampton , the old showman’s circuit, before arriving in the great Metropolis where he had already secured a promise of a month-long engagement at
Astley’s principal establishment, adjacent to Westminster Bridge.
Our first day’s journey was the shortest, being just over two miles. Our way led out through the City, across a narrow Canal , and past rough pastures and small farms into a small,
closely packed Village of drab brick houses, which bore the name Drumcondra . There was an Inn, a small stone Church, and a brownish sort of village Green, to one side of which was the
Market square where Mr Bisset planned to stage his Show—and yet a more Desolate spot, and more Uncongenial to Entertainment of any Kind would have been Difficult to imagine. The few
people I could see looked to be nearly the same Colour as the grey-brown bricks of their homes, walking about in a sort of Torpor , as though they had no will of their own but awaited
the Instruction or Command of another. The children there did not smile, and the Dogs looked hungry; it was a Weary town, and one in which, had we been Wise, we would never have Tarried .
Immune to the charms—or lack thereof—of this drab agglomeration of people and Buildings, Mr Bisset at once established himself at the Inn . He had been assured by the
proprietor that the Accommodations were pleasant, and that the next day being a Market day, his Show would doubtless be well attended. Mr Bellows was the innkeeper’s name; in his
appearance he was as oily as a wax Taper , and certainly put forth an incandescent Glow of welcome that first evening. We were all accommodated in the best Manner, myself with the other
Animals in the Yard, and my Master in the finest Room, which had a sort of Loge overlooking us. Fresh slops were our dinner, although, without Sam to keep me Company, these seemed a cold and
lonely meal indeed. It was not long before Quiet reigned over us Animals, while the sound of Messrs Bisset and Bellows, with their clinking glasses and their Guffaws, carried on late into the
night.
And so day dawned—grey and sullen—without a bird, or a beam of light to its name. True to the Innkeeper’s word, there was the Bustle of a Market-day outside the window, but to
behold these creatures as they went about their Business was a cheerless sight, for not one of them looked up to see their or any other portion of the Sky—keeping instead low and steady, much
as garden Worms, who live in dread of the sudden descent of a Spade. We established ourselves at once on what seemed the best part of the Pitch and set about our usual Routines, but to our
invitations there was no ready answer. ‘Has anyone a question for the Learned Pig?’ my Master asked. ‘Come, come, now, let the curious among you speak! Any Query, upon any
Matter?’ But question came there
Similar Books
