But 'tis needless to add, these are all vague surmises,
For thus, we're assured, the whole matter arises:
Lord Kenyon's respected old father (like many
Respected old fathers) was fond of a penny;
And loved so to save,[2] that--there's not the least question--
His death was brought on by a bad indigestion,
From cold apple-pie-crust his Lordship _would_ stuff in
At breakfast to save the expense of hot muffin.
Hence it is, and hence only, that cold apple-pies
Are beheld by his Heir with such reverent eyes--
Just as honest King Stephen his beaver might doff
To the fishes that carried his kind uncle off--
And while _filial_ piety urges so many on,
'Tis pure _apple_-pie-ety moves my Lord Kenyon.
[1] See the anecdote, which the Duchess of Marlborough relates in her
Memoirs, of this polite hero appropriating to himself one day, at dinner,
a whole dish of green peas--the first of the season--while the poor
Princess Anne, who was then in a longing condition, sat by vainly
entreating with her eyes for a share.
[2] The same prudent propensity characterizes his descendant, who (as is
well known) would not even go to the expense of a diphthong on his
father's monument, but had the inscription spelled, economically,
thus:--"_mors janua vita_"
NEW-FASHIONED ECHOES.
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