. And with your permission, I'll
relate the tale in proof of it. I had a friend engaged to a young lady, niece of
an old sea-captain of the old school, the Benbow school, the wooden leg and
pigtail school; a perfectly salt old gentleman with a pickled tongue, and a dash
of brine in every deed he committed. He looked rolled over to you by the last
wave on the shore, sparkling: he was Neptune's own for humour. And when his
present to the bride was opened, sure enough there lay a couple of bottles of
the oldest Jamaica rum in the British Isles, born before himself, and his father
to boot. 'Tis a fabulous spirit I beg you to believe in, my lady, the sole merit
of the story being its portentous veracity. The bottles were tied to make them
appear twins, as they both had the same claim to seniority. And there was a
label on them, telling their great age, to maintain their identity. They were in
truth a pair of patriarchal bottles rivalling many of the biggest houses in the
kingdom for antiquity. They would have made the donkey that stood between the
two bundles of hay look at them with obliquity: supposing him to have, for an
animal, a rum taste, and a turn for hilarity. Wonderful old bottles! So, on the
label, just over the date, was written large: UNCLE BENJAMIN'S WEDDING-PRESENT
TO HIS NIECE BESSY. Poor Bessy shed tears of disappointment and indignation
enough to float the old gentleman on his native element, ship and all. She vowed
it was done curmudgeonly to vex her, because her uncle hated wedding-presents
and had grunted at the exhibition of cups and saucers, and this and that
beautiful service, and épergnes and inkstands, mirrors, knives and forks,
dressing-cases, and the whole mighty category. She protested, she flung herself
about, she declared those two ugly bottles should not join the exhibition in the
dining-room, where it was laid out for days, and the family ate their meals
where they could, on the walls, like flies. But there was also Uncle Benjamin's
legacy on view, in the distance, so it was ruled against her that the bottles
should have their place. And one fine morning down came the family after a
fearful row of the domestics; shouting, screaming, cries for the police, and
murder topping all. What did they see? They saw two prodigious burglars extended
along the floor, each with one of the twin bottles
