Part 18 (2/2)
”Hear reason, sir?” said the Udaller; ”we will hear reason, and speak reason too; and if reason fall short, you shall have rhyme to boot.--Ha, my little friend Halcro!”
Though cut off in the middle of his best story, (if that could be said to have a middle, which had neither beginning nor end,) the bard bristled up at the summons, like a corps of light infantry when ordered up to the support of the grenadiers, looked smart, slapped the table with his hand, and denoted his becoming readiness to back his hospitable landlord, as becomes a well-entertained guest. Triptolemus was a little daunted at this reinforcement of his adversary; he paused, like a cautious general, in the sweeping attack which he had commenced on the peculiar usages of Zetland, and spoke not again until the Udaller poked him with the insulting query, ”Where is your reason now, Master Yellowley, that you were deafening me with a moment since?”
”Be but patient, worthy sir,” replied the agriculturist; ”what on earth can you or any other man say in defence of that thing you call a plough, in this blinded country? Why, even the savage Highlandmen, in Caithness and Sutherland, can make more work, and better, with their gascromh, or whatever they call it.”
”But what ails you at it, sir?” said the Udaller; ”let me hear your objections to it. It tills our land, and what would ye more?”
”It hath but one handle or stilt,” replied Triptolemus.
”And who the devil,” said the poet, aiming at something smart, ”would wish to need a pair of stilts, if he can manage to walk with a single one?”
”Or tell me,” said Magnus Troil, ”how it were possible for Neil of Lupness, that lost one arm by his fall from the crag of Nekbreckan, to manage a plough with two handles?”
”The harness is of raw seal-skin,” said Triptolemus.
”It will save dressed leather,” answered Magnus Troil.
”It is drawn by four wretched bullocks,” said the agriculturist, ”that are yoked breast-fas.h.i.+on; and two women must follow this unhappy instrument, and complete the furrows with a couple of shovels.”
”Drink about, Master Yellowley,” said the Udaller; ”and, as you say in Scotland, 'never fash your thumb.' Our cattle are too high-spirited to let one go before the other; our men are too gentle and well-nurtured to take the working-field without the women's company; our ploughs till our land--our land bears us barley; we brew our ale, eat our bread, and make strangers welcome to their share of it. Here's to you, Master Yellowley.”
This was said in a tone meant to be decisive of the question; and, accordingly, Halcro whispered to Mordaunt, ”That has settled the matter, and now we will get on with glorious John.--There he sat in his suit of full-trimmed black; two years due was the bill, as mine honest landlord afterwards told me,--and such an eye in his head!--none of your burning, blighting, falcon eyes, which we poets are apt to make a rout about,--but a soft, full, thoughtful, yet penetrating glance--never saw the like of it in my life, unless it were little Stephen Kleancogg's, the fiddler, at Papastow, who”----
”Nay, but John Dryden?” said Mordaunt, who, for want of better amus.e.m.e.nt, had begun to take a sort of pleasure in keeping the old gentleman to his narrative, as men herd in a restiff sheep, when they wish to catch him. He returned to his theme, with his usual phrase of ”Ay, true--glorious John--Well, sir, he cast his eye, such as I have described it, on mine landlord, and 'Honest Tim,' said he, 'what hast thou got here?' and all the wits, and lords, and gentlemen, that used to crowd round him, like the wenches round a pedlar at a fair, they made way for us, and up we came to the fireside, where he had his own established chair,--I have heard it was carried to the balcony in summer, but it was by the fireside when I saw it,--so up came Tim Thimblethwaite, through the midst of them, as bold as a lion, and I followed with a small parcel under my arm, which I had taken up partly to oblige my landlord, as the shop porter was not in the way, and partly that I might be thought to have something to do there, for you are to think there was no admittance at the Wits' for strangers who had no business there.--I have heard that Sir Charles Sedley said a good thing about that”----
”Nay, but you forget glorious John,” said Mordaunt.
”Ay, glorious you may well call him. They talk of their Blackmore, and Shadwell, and such like,--not fit to tie the latchets of John's shoes--'Well,' he said to my landlord, 'what have you got there?' and he, bowing, I warrant, lower than he would to a duke, said he had made bold to come and show him the stuff which Lady Elizabeth had chose for her nightgown.--'And which of your geese is that, Tim, who has got it tucked under his wing?'--'He is an Orkney goose, if it please you, Mr.
Dryden,' said Tim, who had wit at will, 'and he hath brought you a copy of verses for your honour to look at.'--'Is he amphibious?' said glorious John, taking the paper,--and methought I could rather have faced a battery of cannon than the crackle it gave as it opened, though he did not speak in a way to dash one neither;--and then he looked at the verses, and he was pleased to say, in a very encouraging way indeed, with a sort of good-humoured smile on his face, and certainly for a fat elderly gentleman,--for I would not compare it to Minna's smile, or Brenda's,--he had the pleasantest smile I ever saw,--'Why, Tim,' he said, 'this goose of yours will prove a swan on your hands.' With that he smiled a little, and they all laughed, and none louder than those who stood too far off to hear the jest; for every one knew when he smiled there was something worth laughing at, and so took it upon trust; and the word pa.s.sed through among the young Templars, and the wits, and the smarts, and there was nothing but question on question who we were; and one French fellow was trying to tell them it was only Monsieur Tim Thimblethwaite; but he made such work with his Dumbletate and Timbletate, that I thought his explanation would have lasted”----
”As long as your own story,” thought Mordaunt; but the narrative was at length finally cut short, by the strong and decided voice of the Udaller.
”I will hear no more on it, Mr. Factor!” he exclaimed.
”At least let me say something about the breed of horses,” said Yellowley, in rather a cry-mercy tone of voice. ”Your horses, my dear sir, resemble cats in size, and tigers in devilry!”
”For their size,” said Magnus, ”they are the easier for us to get off and on them--[as Triptolemus experienced this morning, thought Mordaunt to himself]--and, as for their devilry, let no one mount them that cannot manage them.”
A twinge of self-conviction, on the part of the agriculturist, prevented him from reply. He darted a deprecatory glance at Mordaunt, as if for the purpose of imploring secrecy respecting his tumble; and the Udaller, who saw his advantage, although he was not aware of the cause, pursued it with the high and stern tone proper to one who had all his life been unaccustomed to meet with, and unapt to endure, opposition.
”By the blood of Saint Magnus the Martyr,” he said, ”but you are a fine fellow, Master Factor Yellowley! You come to us from a strange land, understanding neither our laws, nor our manners, nor our language, and you propose to become governor of the country, and that we should all be your slaves!”
”My pupils, worthy sir, my pupils!” said Yellowley, ”and that only for your own proper advantage.”
”We are too old to go to school,” said the Zetlander. ”I tell you once more, we will sow and reap our grain as our fathers did--we will eat what G.o.d sends us, with our doors open to the stranger, even as theirs were open. If there is aught imperfect in our practice, we will amend it in time and season; but the blessed Baptist's holyday was made for light hearts and quick heels. He that speaks a word more of reason, as you call it, or any thing that looks like it, shall swallow a pint of sea-water--he shall, by this hand!--and so fill up the good s.h.i.+p, the Jolly Mariner of Canton, once more, for the benefit of those that will stick by her; and let the rest have a fling with the fiddlers, who have been summoning us this hour. I will warrant every wench is on tiptoe by this time. Come, Mr. Yellowley, no unkindness, man--why, man, thou feelest the rolling of the Jolly Mariner still”--(for, in truth, honest Triptolemus showed a little unsteadiness of motion, as he rose to attend his host)--”but never mind, we shall have thee find thy land-legs to reel it with yonder bonny belles. Come along, Triptolemus--let me grapple thee fast, lest thou _trip_, old Triptolemus--ha, ha, ha!”
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