There is nothing more wanting than to
propose the establishment of a Royal Humane Society for the
resuscitation of flies apparently drowned or suffocated. Can it possibly
be imagined by the man who has succeeded after infinite pains in
rescuing a greedy and intrusive insect from a gin-and-watery grave in
his own vile potations, that he has thereby consulted the happiness of
his fellow creatures, or promoted the cause of decency, cleanliness,
good order, and domestic comfort? Let him watch the career of the
mischievous little demon which he has thus been the means of restoring
to the world, when he might have arrested its progress for ever. Observe
the stout and respectable gentleman, loved, honoured, and esteemed in
all the various relations of father, husband, friend, citizen, and
Christian, who is on cushioned sofa composing himself for his wonted
nap, after a dinner in substance and quantity of the most satisfactory
description, and not untempered by a modicum of old port. His amiable
partner, with that refined delicacy and sense of decorum peculiar to the
female sex, has already withdrawn with her infant progeny, leaving her
good man, as she fondly imagines, to enjoy the sweets of uninterrupted
repose.
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