Jacob Faithful Part 40

"Our friend is not himself," said Mr Tinfoil, producing a key bugle; "but--

"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, To soften rocks, and rend the knotted oak.

"And, therefore, will we try the effect of it upon his senses." Mr Tinfoil then played the air in "Midas":--

"Pray, Goody, please to moderate," etcetera.

During which Mr Winterbottom looked more sulky than ever. As soon as the air was finished, another of the party responded with his flute, from the other boat--while Mr Quince played what he called base, by snapping his fingers. The sounds of the instruments floated along the flowing and smooth water, reaching the ears and attracting the attention of many who, for a time, rested from their labour, or hung listlessly over the gunnels of the vessels, watching the boats, and listening to the harmony. All was mirth and gaiety--the wherries kept close to each other, and between the airs the parties kept up a lively and witty conversation, occasionally venting their admiration upon the verdure of the sloping lawns and feathering trees with which the banks of the n.o.ble river are so beautifully adorned; even Mr Winterbottom had partially recovered his serenity, when he was again irritated by a remark of Quince, who addressed him.

"You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man--a proper man as one shall see on a summer's day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus."

"Take care I don't play the devil with your physiognomy, Mr Western,"

retorted Winterbottom.

Here Caliban, in the third boat, began playing the fiddle and singing to it--

"Gaffer, Gaffer's son, and his little jacka.s.s, Were trotting along the road."

The chorus of which ditty was "Ee-aw, Ee-aw!" like the braying of a jacka.s.s.

"Bless thee, Bottom, bless thee; thou art translated," cried Quince, looking at Winterbottom.

"Very well--very well, Mr Western. I don't want to upset the wherry, and therefore you're safe at present, but the reckoning will come--so I give you warning."

"Slaves of my lamp, do my bidding. I will have no quarrelling here.

You, Quince, shut your mouth; you, Winterbottom, draw in your lips, and I, your queen, will charm you with a song," said t.i.tania, waving her little hand. The fiddler ceased playing, and the voice of the fair actress rivetted all our attention.

"Wilt thou waken, bride of May, While flowers are fresh, and sweet bells chime, Listen and learn from my roundelay How all life's pilot boats sailed one day A match with Time!

"Love sat on a lotus-leaf aloft, And saw old Time in his loaded boat, Slowly he crossed Life's narrow tide, While Love sat clapping his wings, and cried, 'Who will pa.s.s Time?'

"Patience came first, but soon was gone, With helm and sail to help Time on; Care and Grief could not lend an oar, And Prudence said (while he staid on sh.o.r.e), 'I wait for Time.'

"Hope filled with flowers her cork-tree bark, And lighted its helm with a glow-worm's spark; Then Love, when he saw his bark fly past, Said, 'Lingering Time will soon be pa.s.sed, Hope outspeeds time.'

"Wit went nearest Old Time to pa.s.s, With his diamond oar and boat of gla.s.s A feathery dart from his store he drew, And shouted, while far and swift it flew, 'O Mirth kills Time!'

"But Time sent the feathery arrow back, Hope's boat of Amaranthus miss'd its track; Then Love bade its b.u.t.terfly pilots move, And laughing, said 'They shall see how Love Can conquer Time.'"

I need hardly say that the song was rapturously applauded, and most deservedly so. Several others were demanded from the ladies and gentlemen of the party, and given without hesitation; but I cannot now recall them to my memory. The bugle and flute played between whiles, and all was laughter and merriment.

"There's a sweet place," said Tinfoil, pointing to a villa on the Thames; "Now, with the fair t.i.tania and ten thousand a-year, one could there live happy."

"I'm afraid the fair t.i.tania must go to market without the latter enc.u.mbrance," replied the lady; "The gentleman must find the ten thousand a-year, and I must bring as my dowry--"

"Ten thousand charms," interrupted Tinfoil--"that's most true, and pity 'tis 'tis true. Did your fairyship ever hear my epigram on the subject?

"Let the lads of the East love the maids of _Cash-meer_, Nor affection with interests clash; Far other idolatry pleases us here, We adore but the maids of _Mere Cash_."

"Excellent, good Puck! Have you any more?"

"Not of my own, but you have heard what Winterbottom wrote under the bust of Shakespeare last Jubilee?"

"I knew not that Apollo had ever visited him."

"You shall hear:--

"In _this here_ place the bones of Shakespeare lie, But _that ere_ form of his shall never die; A _speedy end and soon_ this world may have, But Shakespeare's name shall _bloom_ beyond the grave."

"I'll trouble you, Mr Tinfoil, not to be so very witty at my expense,"

growled out Winterbottom. "I never wrote a line of poetry in my life."

"No one said you did, Winterbottom; but you won't deny that you wrote those lines."

Mr Winterbottom disdained a reply. Gaily did we pa.s.s the variegated banks of the river, swept up with a strong flood-tide, and at last arrived at a little island agreed upon as the site of the pic-nic. The company disembarked, and were busy looking for a convenient spot for their entertainment, Quince making a rapid escape from Winterbottom, the latter remaining on the bank. "Jenkins," said he to the man christened Caliban, "you did not forget the salad?"

"No, sir, I brought it myself. It's on the top of the little hamper."

Mr Winterbottom, who, it appears, was extremely partial to salad, was satisfied with the reply, and walked slowly away.

"Well," said Tom to me, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his handkerchief, "I wouldn't have missed this for anything. I only wish father had been here. I hope that young lady will sing again before we part."

"I think it very likely, and that the fun is only begun," replied I.

"But come, let's lend a hand to get the prog out of the boat."

"Pat! pat! and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.

This green plot shall be our stage," cried Quince, addressing the others of the party.

The locality was approved of, and now all were busy in preparation. The hampers were unpacked, and cold meats, poultry, pies of various kinds, pastry, etcetera, appeared in abundance.

"This is no manager's feast," said Tinfoil; "the fowls are not made of wood, nor is small beer subst.i.tuted for wine. Don Juan's banquet to the Commendador is a farce to it."

"All the manager's stage banquets are farces, and very sorry jokes into the bargain," replied another.

"I wish old Morris had to eat his own suppers."

"He must get a new set of teeth, or they'll prove a _deal_ too tough."

"Hiss! turn him out! he's made a _pun_."

The hampers were now empty; some laid the cloth upon the gra.s.s, and arranged the plates, and knives and forks. The ladies were as busy as the gentlemen--some were wiping the gla.s.ses, others putting salt into the salt-cellars. t.i.tania was preparing the salad. Mr Winterbottom, who was doing nothing, accosted her; "May I beg as a favour that you do not cut the salad too small? It loses much of its crispness."

"Why, what a Nebuchadnezzar you are! However, sir, you shall be obeyed."

"Who can fry fish?" cried Tinfoil. "Here are two pairs of soles and some eels. Where's Caliban?"

"Here I am, sir," replied the man on his knees, blowing up a fire which he had kindled. "I have got the soup to mind."

"Where's Stephano?"