Mounted on mettlesome broomsticks Andrew and Daniel were riding
merrily away to the Banbury Cross, of blessed memory, and little Vie
was erecting a pagoda of oyster-shells, under Christie's
superintendence, when a shrill scream from within sent horsemen and
architects flying to the rescue.
Gusty's pinafore was in a blaze; Ann Eliza was dancing frantically
about her sister as if bent on making a suttee of herself, while
George Washington hung out of window, roaring, "Fire!" "water!"
"engine!" "pa!" with a presence of mind worthy of his sex.
A speedy application of the hearth-rug quenched the conflagration,
and when a minute burn had been enveloped in cotton-wool, like a
gem, a coroner sat upon the pinafore and investigated the case.
It appeared that the ladies were "only playing paper dolls," when
Wash, sighing for the enlightenment of his race, proposed to make a
bonfire, and did so with an old book; but Gusty, with a firm belief
in future punishment, tried to save it, and fell a victim to her
principles, as the virtuous are very apt to do.
The book was brought into court, and proved to be an ancient volume
of ballads, cut, torn, and half consumed. Several peculiarly
developed paper dolls, branded here and there with large letters,
like galley-slaves, were then produced by the accused, and the judge
could with difficulty preserve her gravity when she found "John
Gilpin" converted into a painted petticoat, "The Bay of Biscay, O,"
situated in the crown of a hat, and "Chevy Chase" issuing from the
mouth of a triangular gentleman, who, like Dickens's cherub,
probably sung it by ear, having no lungs to speak of.
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