omewhat later
after his night at mess, I managed to have things in something like
order; he and his confounded drum, which, whenever he was not
story-telling, he was sure to be practising on, being, in fact the
greatest difficulties opposed to my managerial functions. One property
he possessed, so totally at variance with all habits of order, that it
completely baffled me. So numerous were his narratives, that no
occasion could possibly arise, no chance expression be let fall on the
stage, but Fin had something he deemed, apropos, and which, sans facon,
he at once related for the benefit of all whom it might concern; that
was usually the entire corps dramatique, who eagerly turned from stage
directions and groupings, to laugh at his ridiculous jests. I shall
give an instance of this habit of interruption, and let the unhappy
wight who has filled such an office as mine pity my woes.

I was standing one morning on the stage drilling my "corps" as usual.
One most refractory spirit, to whom but a few words were entrusted, and
who bungled even those, I was endeavouring to train into something like
his part.

"Come now, Elsmore, try it again--just so. Yes, come forward in this
manner--take her hand tenderly--press it to your lips; retreat towards
the flat, and then bowing deferentially--thus, say 'Good night, good
night'--that's very simple, eh? Well, now that's all you have to do, and
that brings you over here--so you make your exit at once."

"Exactly so, Mr. Elsmore, always contrive to be near the door under such
circumstances. That was the way with my poor friend, Curran. Poor
Philpot, when he dined with the Guild of Merchant Tailors, they gave him
a gold box with their arms upon it--a goose proper, with needles saltier
wise, or something of that kind; and they made him free of their 'ancient
and loyal corporation,' and gave him a very grand dinner. Well, Curran
was mighty pleasant and agreeable, and kept them laughing all night, till
the moment he rose to go away, and then he told them that he never spent
so happy an evening, and all that. 'But, gentlemen,' said he, 'business
has its calls, and I must tear myself away; so wishing you now'--there
were just eighteen of them--'wishing you now every happiness and
prosperity, permit me to take my leave'--and here he stole near the door
--'to take my leave, and bid you both good night.'" With a running fire
of such stories, it may be supposed how difficult was my t