was the pull of the drinker. “Very good; very good, indeed,” said the flea. “There’s a fine delicate bouquet in it.”

“Humph,” cried the younger flea, “for my part, I think ’twould bear a little more body. But, my sire, as I’ve heard you say, there’s no judging truly from the first cup. Here goes again. Why, how the fellow kicks!”

 

Mr. Jericho’s Marvellous Dream.

 

“Such, my son,” said the elder flea, “is man: such his wastefulness upon himself, such his injustice to what—cocking his nose towards the stars—he calls the lower animals. At least, two bottles of wine, a gill or more of brandy, to say nothing of a draught or two of malt, are burning in his arteries, and in hot mist rising to his brain. Now, what work, what watching, what risk of limb and life—what multiplication of toil—to produce the various beverage he has guzzled! What digging and ploughing of the land; what vine-dressing; what sailing upon the stormy seas; what glass-blowing; what bottling, before the [Pg 21]liquor, like a melted jewel, shone in his eye, and trickled down his throat! Yet here he lies, and with no conscious labour of his own, is at once the wine-press and distiller for the fleas. And when we seek to take our temperate draught—smallest drops; merest seed-rubies—how the miser kicks, and flounders, and when he has sense enough, what wicked words at times he pitches at us! But such”—said the elder flea, preparing itself for another stoup—“such is man.” And again the flea pierced the wine-skin, and sucked up another draught, and again Jericho plunged, and twisted.

[Pg 21]

“The bin improves,” said the younger flea, drinking very hard. “And yet, I’m sure there’s burgundy in it. Now, never but twice before have I tasted burgundy; and then I suffered for it; just as if the grapes were grown on a soil of sulphur. Nevertheless, ’tis a rare cellar this, after the turpentine and vitriol of our last lodgings: so, hang the headache, and let’s have t’ other bumper.”

“Not another drop,” cried the elder flea. “Let the poor wretch beneath us teach us moderation. Consider his face. How dead and stupified it looks! How it shone above the table last night; and what a piece of dirty dough it looks at this moment! What light was in the lamp, and now what dullness and smoke!”

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