It was Washington's Birthday,and the gentleman who had the pleasure of being Father of his Country decided to celebrate it at the Associated Shades'floating palace on the Styx,as the Elysium Weekly Gossip,"a Journal of Society,"called it,by giving a dinner to a select number of friends.Among the invited guests were Baron Munchausen,Doctor Johnson,Confucius,Napoleon Bonaparte,Diogenes,and Ptolemy.Boswell was also present,but not as a guest.He had a table off to one side all to himself,and upon it there were no china plates,silver spoons,knives,forks,and dishes of fruit,but pads,pens,and ink in great quantity.It was evident that Boswell's reportorial duties did not end with his labors in the mundane sphere.
The dinner was set down to begin at seven o'clock,so that the guests,as was proper,sauntered slowly in between that hour and eight.The menu was particularly choice,the shades of countless canvas-back ducks,terrapin,and sheep having been called into requisition,and cooked by no less a person than Brillat-Savarin,in the hottest oven he could find in the famous cooking establishment superintended by the government.Washington was on hand early,sampling the olives and the celery and the wines,and giving to Charon final instructions as to the manner in which he wished things served.
The first guest to arrive was Confucius,and after him came Diogenes,the latter in great excitement over having discovered a comparatively honest man,whose name,however,he had not been able to ascertain,though he was under the impression that it was something like Burpin,or Turpin,he said.
At eight the brilliant company was arranged comfortably about the board.An orchestra of five,under the leadership of Mozart,discoursed sweet music behind a screen,and the feast of reason and flow of soul began.
"This is a great day,"said Doctor Johnson,assisting himself copiously to the olives.
"Yes,"said Columbus,who was also a guest--"yes,it is a great day,but it isn't a marker to a little day in October I wot of.""Still sore on that point?"queried Confucius,trying the edge of his knife on the shade of a salted almond.
"Oh no,"said Columbus,calmly."I don't feel jealous of Washington.
He is the Father of his Country and I am not.I only discovered the orphan.I knew the country before it had a father or a mother.
There wasn't anybody who was willing to be even a sister to it when Iknew it.But G.W.here took it in hand,groomed it down,spanked it when it needed it,and started it off on the career which has made it worth while for me to let my name be known in connection with it.
Why should I be jealous of him?"
"I am sure I don't know why anybody anywhere should be jealous of anybody else anyhow,"said Diogenes."I never was and I never expect to be.Jealousy is a quality that is utterly foreign to the nature of an honest man.Take my own case,for instance.When I was what they call alive,how did I live?""I don't know,"said Doctor Johnson,turning his head as he spoke so that Boswell could not fail to hear."I wasn't there."Boswell nodded approvingly,chuckled slightly,and put the Doctor's remark down for publication in The Gossip.
"You're doubtless right,there,"retorted Diogenes."What you don't know would fill a circulating library.Well--I lived in a tub.Now,if I believed in envy,I suppose you think I'd be envious of people who live in brownstone fronts with back yards and mortgages,eh?""I'd rather live under a mortgage than in a tub,"said Bonaparte,contemptuously.
"I know you would,"said Diogenes."Mortgages never bothered you--but I wouldn't.In the first place,my tub was warm.I never saw a house with a brownstone front that was,except in summer,and then the owner cursed it because it was so.My tub had no plumbing in it to get out of order.It hadn't any flights of stairs in it that had to be climbed after dinner,or late at night when I came home from the club.It had no front door with a wandering key-hole calculated to elude the key ninety-nine times out of every hundred efforts to bring the two together and reconcile their differences,in order that their owner may get into his own house late at night.It wasn't chained down to any particular neighborhood,as are most brownstone fronts.If the neighborhood ran down,I could move my tub off into a better neighborhood,and it never lost value through the deterioration of its location.I never had to pay taxes on it,and no burglar was ever so hard up that he thought of breaking into my habitation to rob me.So why should I be jealous of the brownstone-house dwellers?I am a philosopher,gentlemen.I tell you,philosophy is the thief of jealousy,and I had the good-luck to find it out early in life.""There is much in what you say,"said Confucius."But there's another side to the matter.If a man is an aristocrat by nature,as I was,his neighborhood never could run down.Wherever he lived would be the swell section,so that really your last argument isn't worth a stewed icicle.""Stewed icicles are pretty good,though,"said Baron Munchausen,with an ecstatic smack of his lips."I've eaten them many a time in the polar regions.""I have no doubt of it,"put in Doctor Johnson."You've eaten fried pyramids in Africa,too,haven't you?""Only once,"said the Baron,calmly."And I can't say I enjoyed them.They are rather heavy for the digestion.""That's so,"said Ptolemy."I've had experience with pyramids myself.""You never ate one,did you,Ptolemy?"queried Bonaparte.
"Not raw,"said Ptolemy,with a chuckle."Though I've been tempted many a time to call for a second joint of the Sphinx."There was a laugh at this,in which all but Baron Munchausen joined.
