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Updated: May 9, 2025
The flunkey's red nose grew pale with astonishment and fear; yet he managed to stammer out "'Pon my life, sir really, sir Mr. Porkley, sir he's at home, certainly, sir in his library, sir writing his next Sunday's sermons, sir can't see any one, sir " "Catiff, conduct me to his presence!"
I come as a messenger of Benevolence! I come as a dove of Peace with the olive branch in my claw! Porkley, greatest philanthropist of the age, come down, for suffering humanity requires your assistance!" "What do you mean, sir?" demanded the reverend Falstaff, as he vainly strove to extricate his hand from my affectionate grasp, "who are you and what do you want?"
He was merely smoking a short pipe and sipping a glass of brandy and water, like a sensible man for is it not better to take one's comfort than to play the part of a hypocrite? I think so. "My dear Brother Porkley," cried I, rushing forward and grasping the astonished parson by the hand, which I shook with tremendous violence, "I come on a mission of Charity and Love!
There, in his library, sat Brother Porkley, a monstrously fat man with a pale, oily face that contained about as much expression as the surface of a cheese. But how was Brother Porkley engaged when I intruded upon him? Was he writing a sermon, or attentively perusing some good theological work? Neither. Oh, then perhaps the excellent man was at prayer. Wrong again.
I rushed by him into the hall, dashed my hat recklessly upon the table, and shouted "Where's Brother Porkley? Show me to him instantly! Don't dare say he's out, for I know that he's at home! It's a matter of life and death! Woman dying children starving and the devil to pay generally. Wake Snakes, you fat porpoise, and conduct me to your master!"
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