That "a stitch in time saves nine," is a wise saw; unhappily, like
many others of the same thrifty kind, but little heeded in this our
day. So it was with Lord Edward. A rent had, by some mischance been
made in the central seam, and, on the morning of the hurricane, was
still unmended. When the gale came, it sought a quarrel with any thing
it could lay hold of, and the harmless trowsers of Lord Edward became
subject to its mighty and resistless devastation; the blustering
Boreas entered by the seam aforesaid, and filled the trowsers like the
cheeks of a trumpeter. Yorkshire wool could not stand the inflated
pressure--the dress split to ribbons, and soundly flagellated the very
part it was intended to conceal. What could he do, "in sweet confusion
lost and dubious _flutterings_"--the only defence left against the
rude blast, was his shirt (for the weather was so warm that second
garments were dispensed with), and this too being old, fled in tatters
before the gale. In short, clap a sailor's jacket on the Gladiator in
Hyde-park, and you have a fair view of Lord Edward in the hurricane.
The case was inconvenient enough; but as the ship was in distress, and
we all expected to go to the bottom in half an hour, it was not worth
while to quit the deck to replace the dress, which would have availed
him nothing in the depths of the sea, particularly as we were not
likely to meet with any ladies there; nor if there had been any, was
it a matter of any moment whether we went to Davy's Locker with or
without breeches; but when the danger was passed, the joke began to
appear, and I was amusing a large company with the _tale_ when his
lordship came in.
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