BARNABY RUDGE - A TALE OF THE RIOTS OF 'EIGHTY by Charles ...

as near a counterpart of his own face as his skill could compassand devise,--was a gentleman almost as quick of apprehension, andof almost as subtle a wit, as the mighty John himself. But thedifference between them lay in this: that whereas Mr Willet'sextreme sagacity and acuteness were the efforts of unassistednature, the Lion stood indebted, in no small amount, to beer; ofwhich he swigged such copious draughts, that most of his facultieswere utterly drowned and washed away, except the one great facultyof sleep, which he retained in surprising perfection. The creakingLion over the house-door was, therefore, to say the truth, rather adrowsy, tame, and feeble lion; and as these social representativesof a savage class are usually of a conventional character (beingdepicted, for the most part, in impossible attitudes and ofunearthly colours), he was frequently supposed by the more ignorantand uninformed among the neighbours, to be the veritable portraitof the host as he appeared on the occasion of some great funeralceremony or public mourning.'What noisy fellow is that in the next room?' said Joe, when he haddisposed of his breakfast, and had washed and brushed himself.'A recruiting serjeant,' replied the Lion.Joe started involuntarily. Here was the very thing he had beendreaming of, all the way along.'And I wish,' said the Lion, 'he was anywhere else but here. Theparty make noise enough, but don't call for much. There's greatcry there, Mr Willet, but very little wool. Your father wouldn'tlike 'em, I know.'Perhaps not much under any circumstances. Perhaps if he could haveknown what was passing at that moment in Joe's mind, he would haveliked them still less.'Is he recruiting for a--for a fine regiment?' said Joe, glancing