Part 18 (1/2)
FOOTNOTES:
[40] See Hibbert's Description of the Zetland Islands, p. 470.
CHAPTER XIV.
We'll keep our customs--what is law itself, But old establish'd custom? What religion, (I mean, with one-half of the men that use it,) Save the good use and wont that carries them To wors.h.i.+p how and where their fathers wors.h.i.+pp'd?
All things resolve in custom--we'll keep ours.
_Old Play._
We left the company of Magnus Troil engaged in high wa.s.sail and revelry.
Mordaunt, who, like his father, shunned the festive cup, did not partake in the cheerfulness which the s.h.i.+p diffused among the guests as they unloaded it, and the pinnace, as it circ.u.mnavigated the table. But, in low spirits as he seemed, he was the more meet prey for the story-telling Halcro, who had fixed upon him, as in a favourable state to play the part of listener, with something of the same instinct that directs the hooded crow to the sick sheep among the flock, which will most patiently suffer itself to be made a prey of. Joyfully did the poet avail himself of the advantages afforded by Mordaunt's absence of mind, and unwillingness to exert himself in measures of active defence. With the unfailing dexterity peculiar to prosers, he contrived to dribble out his tale to double its usual length, by the exercise of the privilege of unlimited digressions; so that the story, like a horse on the _grand pas_, seemed to be advancing with rapidity, while, in reality, it scarce was progressive at the rate of a yard in the quarter of an hour. At length, however, he had discussed, in all its various bearings and relations, the history of his friendly landlord, the master fas.h.i.+oner in Russel Street, including a short sketch of five of his relations, and anecdotes of three of his princ.i.p.al rivals, together with some general observations upon the dress and fas.h.i.+on of the period; and having marched thus far through the environs and outworks of his story, he arrived at the body of the place, for so the Wits' Coffeehouse might be termed. He paused on the threshold, however, to explain the nature of his landlord's right occasionally to intrude himself into this well-known temple of the Muses.
”It consisted,” said Halcro, ”in the two princ.i.p.al points, of bearing and forbearing; for my friend Thimblethwaite was a person of wit himself, and never quarrelled with any jest which the wags who frequented that house were flinging about, like squibs and crackers on a rejoicing night; and then, though some of the wits--ay, and I daresay the greater number, might have had some dealings with him in the way of trade, he never was the person to put any man of genius in unpleasant remembrance of such trifles. And though, my dear young Master Mordaunt, you may think this is but ordinary civility, because in this country it happens seldom that there is either much borrowing or lending, and because, praised be Heaven, there are neither bailiffs nor sheriff-officers to take a poor fellow by the neck, and because there are no prisons to put him into when they have done so, yet, let me tell you, that such a lamblike forbearance as that of my poor, dear, deceased landlord, Thimblethwaite, is truly uncommon within the London bills of mortality. I could tell you of such things that have happened even to myself, as well as others, with these cursed London tradesmen, as would make your hair stand on end.--But what the devil has put old Magnus into such note? he shouts as if he were trying his voice against a north-west gale of wind.”
Loud indeed was the roar of the old Udaller, as, worn out of patience by the schemes of improvement which the factor was now undauntedly pressing upon his consideration, he answered him, (to use an Ossianic phrase,) like a wave upon a rock,
”Trees, Sir Factor--talk not to me of trees! I care not though there never be one on the island, tall enough to hang a c.o.xcomb upon. We will have no trees but those that rise in our havens--the good trees that have yards for boughs, and standing-rigging for leaves.”
”But touching the draining of the lake of Braebaster, whereof I spoke to you, Master Magnus Troil,” said the persevering agriculturist, ”whilk I opine would be of so much consequence, there are two ways--down the Linklater glen, or by the Scalmester burn. Now, having taken the level of both”----
”There is a third way, Master Yellowley,” answered the landlord.
”I profess I can see none,” replied Triptolemus, with as much good faith as a joker could desire in the subject of his wit, ”in respect that the hill called Braebaster on the south, and ane high bank on the north, of whilk I cannot carry the name rightly in my head”----
”Do not tell us of hills and banks, Master Yellowley--there is a third way of draining the loch, and it is the only way that shall be tried in my day. You say my Lord Chamberlain and I are the joint proprietors--so be it--let each of us start an equal proportion of brandy, lime-juice, and sugar, into the loch--a s.h.i.+p's cargo or two will do the job--let us a.s.semble all the jolly Udallers of the country, and in twenty-four hours you shall see dry ground where the loch of Braebaster now is.”
A loud laugh of applause, which for a time actually silenced Triptolemus, attended a jest so very well suited to time and place--a jolly toast was given--a merry song was sung--the s.h.i.+p unloaded her sweets--the pinnace made its genial rounds--the duet betwixt Magnus and Triptolemus, which had attracted the attention of the whole company from its superior vehemence, now once more sunk, and merged into the general hum of the convivial table, and the poet Halcro again resumed his usurped possession of the ear of Mordaunt Mertoun.
”Whereabouts was I?” he said, with a tone which expressed to his weary listener more plainly than words could, how much of his desultory tale yet remained to be told. ”O, I remember--we were just at the door of the Wits' Coffeehouse--it was set up by one”----
”Nay, but, my dear Master Halcro,” said his hearer, somewhat impatiently, ”I am desirous to hear of your meeting with Dryden.”
”What, with glorious John?--true--ay--where was I? At the Wits'
Coffeehouse--Well, in at the door we got--the waiters, and so forth, staring at me; for as to Thimblethwaite, honest fellow, his was a well-known face.--I can tell you a story about that”----
”Nay, but John Dryden?” said Mordaunt, in a tone which deprecated further digression.
”Ay, ay, glorious John--where was I?--Well, as we stood close by the bar, where one fellow sat grinding of coffee, and another putting up tobacco into penny parcels--a pipe and a dish cost just a penny--then and there it was that I had the first peep of him. One Dennis sat near him, who”----
”Nay, but John Dryden--what like was he?” demanded Mordaunt.
”Like a little fat old man, with his own grey hair, and in a full-trimmed black suit, that sat close as a glove. Honest Thimblethwaite let no one but himself shape for glorious John, and he had a slas.h.i.+ng hand at a sleeve, I promise you--But there is no getting a mouthful of common sense spoken here--d----n that Scotchman, he and old Magnus are at it again!”
It was very true; and although the interruption did not resemble a thunder-clap, to which the former stentorian exclamation of the Udaller might have been likened, it was a close and clamorous dispute, maintained by question, answer, retort, and repartee, as closely huddled upon each other as the sounds which announce from a distance a close and sustained fire of musketry.