Salmagundi; or, The whim-whams and opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, esq. [pseud.] and others. By William Irving, James Kirke Paulding and Washington Irving. Printed from the original ed., with a preface and notes by Evert A. Duyckinck.

254 SALMAGUNDI.
room pulling up his breeches, muttering something which, I
verily believe, was nothing more than a horrible, long Chinese
malediction.
He however left his manuscript behind him, which I now give
to the world. Whether he is serious on the occasion, or only
bantering, no one, I believe, can tell; for, whether in speaking
or writing, there is such an invincible gravity in his demeanor
and style, that even I, who have studied him as closely as an
antiquarian studies an old manuscript or inscription, am freqently at a loss to know what the rogue would be at. I have
seen him indulge in his favorite amusement of quizzing for hours
together, without any one having the least suspicion of the
matter, until he would suddenly twist his phiz into an expression that baffles all description, thrust his tongue in his cheek
and blow up in a laugh almost as loud as the shout of the
Romans on a certain occasion; which honest Plutarch avers
frightened several crows to such a degree that they fell down
stone dead into the Campus Martius. Jeremy Cockloft the
younger, who, like a true modern philosopher, delights in experiments that are of no kind of use, took the trouble to measure
one of Will's risible explosions, and declared to me that, according to accurate measurement, it contained thirty feet square
of solid laughter. What will the professors say to this?