The Pirate

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XII.

  ----Thou hast described A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

  _Julius Caesar._

  If the smell which was wafted from the chimneys of Burgh-Westra up tothe barren hills by which the mansion was surrounded, could, as MistressBarbara opined, have refreshed the hungry, the noise which proceededfrom thence might have given hearing to the deaf. It was a medley of allsounds, and all connected with jollity and kind welcome. Nor were thesights associated with them less animating.

  Troops of friends were seen in the act of arriving--their dispersedponies flying to the moors in every direction, to recover their ownpastures in the best way they could;--such, as we have already said,being the usual mode of discharging the cavalry which had been leviedfor a day's service. At a small but commodious harbour, connected withthe house and hamlet, those visitors were landing from their boats, who,living in distant islands, and along the coast, had preferred makingtheir journey by sea. Mordaunt and his companions might see each partypausing frequently to greet each other, and strolling on successively tothe house, whose ever open gate received them alternately in suchnumbers, that it seemed the extent of the mansion, though suited to theopulence and hospitality of the owner, was scarce, on this occasion,sufficient for the guests.

  Among the confused sounds of mirth and welcome which arose at theentrance of each new company, Mordaunt thought he could distinguish theloud laugh and hearty salutation of the Sire of the mansion, and beganto feel more deeply than before, the anxious doubt, whether that cordialreception, which was distributed so freely to all others, would be onthis occasion extended to him. As they came on, they heard the voluntaryscrapings and bravura effusions of the gallant fiddlers, who impatientlyflung already from their bows those sounds with which they were toanimate the evening. The clamour of the cook's assistants, and the loudscolding tones of the cook himself, were also to be heard--sounds ofdissonance at any other time, but which, subdued with others, and bycertain happy associations, form no disagreeable part of the full choruswhich always precedes a rural feast.

  Meanwhile, the guests advanced, each full of their own thoughts.Mordaunt's we have already noticed. Baby was wrapt up in the melancholygrief and surprise excited by the positive conviction, that so muchvictuals had been cooked at once as were necessary to feed all themouths which were clamouring around her--an enormity of expense, which,though she was no way concerned in bearing it, affected her nerves, asthe beholding a massacre would touch those of the most indifferentspectator, however well assured of his own personal safety. Shesickened, in short, at the sight of so much extravagance, likeAbyssinian Bruce, when he saw the luckless minstrels of Gondar hacked topieces by the order of Ras Michael. As for her brother, they being nowarrived where the rude and antique instruments of Zetland agriculturelay scattered in the usual confusion of a Scottish barn-yard, histhoughts were at once engrossed in the deficiencies of the one-stiltedplough--of the _twiscar_, with which they dig peats--of the sledges, onwhich they transport commodities--of all and every thing, in short, inwhich the usages of the islands differed from those of the mainland ofScotland. The sight of these imperfect instruments stirred the blood ofTriptolemus Yellowley, as that of the bold warrior rises at seeing thearms and insignia of the enemy he is about to combat; and, faithful tohis high emprise, he thought less of the hunger which his journey hadoccasioned, although about to be satisfied by such a dinner as rarelyfell to his lot, than upon the task which he had undertaken, ofcivilizing the manners, and improving the cultivation, of Zetland.

  "_Jacta est alea_," he muttered to himself; "this very day shall provewhether the Zetlanders are worthy of our labours, or whether their mindsare as incapable of cultivation as their peat-mosses. Yet let us becautious, and watch the soft time of speech. I feel, by my ownexperience, that it were best to let the body, in its present state,take the place of the mind. A mouthful of that same roast-beef, whichsmells so delicately, will form an apt introduction to my grand plan forimproving the breed of stock."

  By this time the visitors had reached the low but ample front of MagnusTroil's residence, which seemed of various dates, with large andill-imagined additions, hastily adapted to the original building, as theincreasing estate, or enlarged family, of successive proprietors,appeared to each to demand. Beneath a low, broad, and large porch,supported by two huge carved posts, once the head-ornaments of vesselswhich had found shipwreck upon the coast, stood Magnus himself, intenton the hospitable toil of receiving and welcoming the numerous guestswho successively approached. His strong portly figure was well adaptedto the dress which he wore--a blue coat of an antique cut, lined withscarlet, and laced and looped with gold down the seams and button-holes,and along the ample cuffs. Strong and masculine features, rendered ruddyand brown by frequent exposure to severe weather--a quantity of mostvenerable silver hair, which fell in unshorn profusion from under hisgold-laced hat, and was carelessly tied with a ribbon behind, expressedat once his advanced age, his hasty, yet well-conditioned temper, andhis robust constitution. As our travellers approached him, a shade ofdispleasure seemed to cross his brow, and to interrupt for an instantthe honest and hearty burst of hilarity with which he had been in theact of greeting all prior arrivals. When he approached TriptolemusYellowley, he drew himself up, so as to mix, as it were, some share ofthe stately importance of the opulent Udaller with the welcome affordedby the frank and hospitable landlord.

  "You are welcome, Mr. Yellowley," was his address to the factor; "youare welcome to Westra--the wind has blown you on a rough coast, and wethat are the natives must be kind to you as we can. This, I believe, isyour sister--Mistress Barbara Yellowley, permit me the honour of aneighbourly salute."--And so saying, with a daring and self-devotedcourtesy, which would find no equal in our degenerate days, he actuallyventured to salute the withered cheek of the spinster, who relaxed somuch of her usual peevishness of expression, as to receive the courtesywith something which approached to a smile. He then looked full atMordaunt Mertoun, and without offering his hand, said, in a tonesomewhat broken by suppressed agitation, "You too are welcome, MasterMordaunt."

  "Did I not think so," said Mordaunt, naturally offended by the coldnessof his host's manner, "I had not been here--and it is not yet too lateto turn back."

  "Young man," replied Magnus, "you know better than most, that from thesedoors no man can turn, without an offence to their owner. I pray you,disturb not my guests by your ill-timed scruples. When Magnus Troil sayswelcome, all are welcome who are within hearing of his voice, and it isan indifferent loud one.--Walk on, my worthy guests, and let us see whatcheer my lasses can make you within doors."

  So saying, and taking care to make his manner so general to the wholeparty, that Mordaunt should not be able to appropriate any particularportion of the welcome to himself, nor yet to complain of being excludedfrom all share in it, the Udaller ushered the guests into his house,where two large outer rooms, which, on the present occasion, served thepurpose of a modern saloon, were already crowded with guests of everydescription.

  The furniture was sufficiently simple, and had a character peculiar tothe situation of those stormy islands. Magnus Troil was, indeed, likemost of the higher class of Zetland proprietors, a friend to thedistressed traveller, whether by sea or land, and had repeatedly exertedhis whole authority in protecting the property and persons ofshipwrecked mariners; yet so frequent were wrecks upon that tremendouscoast, and so many unappropriated articles were constantly flung ashore,that the interior of the house bore sufficient witness to the ravages ofthe ocean, and to the exercise of those rights which the lawyers term_Flotsome and Jetsome_. The chairs, which were arranged around thewalls, were such as are used in cabins, and many of them were of foreignconstruction the mirrors and cabinets, which were placed against thewalls for ornament or convenience, had, it was plain fro
m their form,been constructed for ship-board, and one or two of the latter were ofstrange and unknown wood. Even the partition which separated the twoapartments, seemed constructed out of the bulkhead of some large vessel,clumsily adapted to the service which it at present performed, by thelabour of some native joiner. To a stranger, these evident marks andtokens of human misery might, at the first glance, form a contrast withthe scene of mirth with which they were now associated; but theassociation was so familiar to the natives, that it did not for a momentinterrupt the course of their glee.

  To the younger part of these revellers the presence of Mordaunt was likea fresh charm of enjoyment. All came around him to marvel at hisabsence, and all, by their repeated enquiries, plainly showed that theyconceived it had been entirely voluntary on his side. The youth feltthat this general acceptation relieved his anxiety on one painful point.Whatever prejudice the family of Burgh-Westra might have adoptedrespecting him, it must be of a private nature; and at least he had notthe additional pain of finding that he was depreciated in the eyes ofsociety at large; and his vindication, when he found opportunity to makeone, would not require to be extended beyond the circle of a singlefamily. This was consoling; though his heart still throbbed with anxietyat the thought of meeting with his estranged, but still beloved friends.Laying the excuse of his absence on his father's state of health, hemade his way through the various groups of friends and guests, each ofwhom seemed willing to detain him as long as possible, and having, bypresenting them to one or two families of consequence, got rid of histravelling companions, who at first stuck fast as burs, he reached atlength the door of a small apartment, which, opening from one of thelarge exterior rooms we have mentioned, Minna and Brenda had beenpermitted to fit up after their own taste, and to call their peculiarproperty.

  Mordaunt had contributed no small share of the invention and mechanicalexecution employed in fitting up this favourite apartment, and indisposing its ornaments. It was, indeed, during his last residence atBurgh-Westra, as free to his entrance and occupation, as to its propermistresses. But now, so much were times altered, that he remained withhis finger on the latch, uncertain whether he should take the freedom todraw it, until Brenda's voice pronounced the words, "Come in, then," inthe tone of one who is interrupted by an unwelcome disturber, who is tobe heard and dispatched with all the speed possible.

  At this signal Mertoun entered the fanciful cabinet of the sisters,which by the addition of many ornaments, including some articles ofconsiderable value, had been fitted up for the approaching festival. Thedaughters of Magnus, at the moment of Mordaunt's entrance, were seatedin deep consultation with the stranger Cleveland, and with a littleslight-made old man, whose eye retained all the vivacity of spirit,which had supported him under the thousand vicissitudes of a changefuland precarious life, and which, accompanying him in his old age,rendered his grey hairs less awfully reverend perhaps, but not lessbeloved, than would a more grave and less imaginative expression ofcountenance and character. There was even a penetrating shrewdnessmingled in the look of curiosity, with which, as he stepped for aninstant aside, he seemed to watch the meeting of Mordaunt with the twolovely sisters.

  The reception the youth met with resembled, in general character, thatwhich he had experienced from Magnus himself; but the maidens could notso well cover their sense of the change of circumstances under whichthey met. Both blushed, as, rising, and without extending the hand, farless offering the cheek, as the fashion of the times permitted, andalmost exacted, they paid to Mordaunt the salutation due to an ordinaryacquaintance. But the blush of the elder was one of those transientevidences of flitting emotion, that vanish as fast as the passingthought which excites them. In an instant she stood before the youthcalm and cold, returning, with guarded and cautious courtesy, the usualcivilities, which, with a faltering voice, Mordaunt endeavoured topresent to her. The emotion of Brenda bore, externally at least, adeeper and more agitating character. Her blush extended over every partof her beautiful skin which her dress permitted to be visible, includingher slender neck, and the upper region of a finely formed bosom.Neither did she even attempt to reply to what share of his confusedcompliment Mordaunt addressed to her in particular, but regarded himwith eyes, in which displeasure was evidently mingled with feelings ofregret, and recollections of former times. Mordaunt felt, as it were,assured upon the instant, that the regard of Minna was extinguished, butthat it might be yet possible to recover that of the milder Brenda; andsuch is the waywardness of human fancy, that though he had neverhitherto made any distinct difference betwixt these two beautiful andinteresting girls, the favour of her, which seemed most absolutelywithdrawn, became at the moment the most interesting in his eyes.

  He was disturbed in these hasty reflections by Cleveland, who advanced,with military frankness, to pay his compliments to his preserver, havingonly delayed long enough to permit the exchange of the ordinarysalutation betwixt the visitor and the ladies of the family. He made hisapproach with so good a grace, that it was impossible for Mordaunt,although he dated his loss of favour at Burgh-Westra from thisstranger's appearance on the coast, and domestication in the family, todo less than return his advances as courtesy demanded, accept his thankswith an appearance of satisfaction, and hope that his time had pastpleasantly since their last meeting.

  Cleveland was about to answer, when he was anticipated by the little oldman, formerly noticed, who now thrusting himself forward, and seizingMordaunt's hand, kissed him on the forehead; and then at the same timeechoed and answered his question--"How passes time at Burgh-Westra? Wasit you that asked it, my prince of the cliff and of the scaur? Howshould it pass, but with all the wings that beauty and joy can add tohelp its flight!"

  "And wit and song, too, my good old friend," said Mordaunt,half-serious, half-jesting, as he shook the old man cordially by thehand.--"These cannot be wanting, where Claud Halcro comes!"

  "Jeer me not, Mordaunt, my good lad," replied the old man; "When yourfoot is as slow as mine, your wit frozen, and your song out of tune"----

  "How can you belie yourself, my good master?" answered Mordaunt, who wasnot unwilling to avail himself of his old friend's peculiarities tointroduce something like conversation, break the awkwardness of thissingular meeting, and gain time for observation, ere requiring anexplanation of the change of conduct which the family seemed to haveadopted towards him. "Say not so," he continued. "Time, my old friend,lays his hand lightly on the bard. Have I not heard you say, the poetpartakes the immortality of his song? and surely the great English poet,you used to tell us of, was elder than yourself when he pulled thebow-oar among all the wits of London."

  This alluded to a story which was, as the French term it, Halcro's_cheval de bataille_, and any allusion to which was certain at once toplace him in the saddle, and to push his hobby-horse into full career.

  His laughing eye kindled with a sort of enthusiasm, which the ordinaryfolk of this world might have called crazed, while he dashed into thesubject which he best loved to talk upon. "Alas, alas, my dear MordauntMertoun--silver is silver, and waxes not dim by use--and pewter ispewter, and grows the longer the duller. It is not for poor Claud Halcroto name himself in the same twelvemonth with the immortal John Dryden.True it is, as I may have told you before, that I have seen that greatman, nay I have been in the Wits' Coffeehouse, as it was then called,and had once a pinch out of his own very snuff-box. I must have told youall how it happened, but here is Captain Cleveland who never heardit.--I lodged, you must know, in Russel Street--I question not but youknow Russel Street, Covent Garden, Captain Cleveland?"

  "I should know its latitude pretty well, Mr. Halcro," said the Captain,smiling; "but I believe you mentioned the circumstance yesterday, andbesides we have the day's duty in hand--you must play us this song whichwe are to study."

  "It will not serve the turn now," said Halcro, "we must think ofsomething that will take in our dear Mordaunt, the first voice in theisland, whether for a part or solo. I will never be he will touch astring to yo
u, unless Mordaunt Mertoun is to help us out.--What say you,my fairest Night?--what think you, my sweet Dawn of Day?" he added,addressing the young women, upon whom, as we have said elsewhere, he hadlong before bestowed these allegorical names.

  "Mr. Mordaunt Mertoun," said Minna, "has come too late to be of our bandon this occasion--it is our misfortune, but it cannot be helped."

  "How? what?" said Halcro, hastily--"too late--and you have practisedtogether all your lives? take my word, my bonny lasses, that old tunesare sweetest, and old friends surest. Mr. Cleveland has a fine bass,that must be allowed; but I would have you trust for the first effect toone of the twenty fine airs you can sing where Mordaunt's tenor joins sowell with your own witchery--here is my lovely Day approves of thechange in her heart."

  "You were never in your life more mistaken, father Halcro," said Brenda,her cheeks again reddening, more with displeasure, it seemed, than withshame.

  "Nay, but how is this?" said the old man, pausing, and looking at themalternately. "What have we got here?--a cloudy night and a redmorning?--that betokens rough weather.--What means all this, youngwomen?--where lies the offence?--In me, I fear; for the blame is alwayslaid upon the oldest when young folk like you go by the ears."

  "The blame is not with you, father Halcro," said Minna, rising, andtaking her sister by the arm, "if indeed there be blame anywhere."

  "I should fear then, Minna," said Mordaunt, endeavouring to soften histone into one of indifferent pleasantry, "that the new comer has broughtthe offence along with him."

  "When no offence is taken," replied Minna, with her usual gravity, "itmatters not by whom such may have been offered."

  "Is it possible, Minna!" exclaimed Mordaunt, "and is it you who speakthus to me?--And you too, Brenda, can you too judge so hardly of me, yetwithout permitting me one moment of honest and frank explanation?"

  "Those who should know best," answered Brenda, in a low but decisivetone of voice, "have told us their pleasure, and it must bedone.--Sister, I think we have staid too long here, and shall be wantedelsewhere--Mr. Mertoun will excuse us on so busy a day."

  The sisters linked their arms together. Halcro in vain endeavoured tostop them, making, at the same time, a theatrical gesture, andexclaiming,

  "Now, Day and Night, but this is wondrous strange!"

  Then turned to Mordaunt Mertoun, and added--"The girls are possessedwith the spirit of mutability, showing, as our master Spenser wellsaith, that

  'Among all living creatures, more or lesse, Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.'

  Captain Cleveland," he continued, "know you any thing that has happenedto put these two juvenile Graces out of tune?"

  "He will lose his reckoning," answered Cleveland, "that spends time inenquiring why the wind shifts a point, or why a woman changes her mind.Were I Mr. Mordaunt, I would not ask the proud wenches another questionon such a subject."

  "It is a friendly advice, Captain Cleveland," replied Mordaunt, "and Iwill not hold it the less so that it has been given unasked. Allow me toenquire if you are yourself as indifferent to the opinion of your femalefriends, as it seems you would have me to be?"

  "Who, I?" said the Captain, with an air of frank indifference, "I neverthought twice upon such a subject. I never saw a woman worth thinkingtwice about after the anchor was a-peak--on shore it is another thing;and I will laugh, sing, dance, and make love, if they like it, withtwenty girls, were they but half so pretty as those who have left us,and make them heartily welcome to change their course in the sound of aboatswain's whistle. It will be odds but I wear as fast as they can."

  A patient is seldom pleased with that sort of consolation which isfounded on holding light the malady of which he complains; and Mordauntfelt disposed to be offended with Captain Cleveland, both for takingnotice of his embarrassment, and intruding upon him his own opinion andhe replied, therefore, somewhat sharply, "that Captain Cleveland'ssentiments were only suited to such as had the art to become universalfavourites wherever chance happened to throw them, and who could notlose in one place more than their merit was sure to gain for them inanother."

  This was spoken ironically; but there was, to confess the truth, asuperior knowledge of the world, and a consciousness of external meritat least, about the man, which rendered his interference doublydisagreeable. As Sir Lucius O'Trigger says, there was an air of successabout Captain Cleveland which was mighty provoking. Young, handsome, andwell assured, his air of nautical bluntness sat naturally and easilyupon him, and was perhaps particularly well fitted to the simple mannersof the remote country in which he found himself; and where, even in thebest families, a greater degree of refinement might have rendered hisconversation rather less acceptable. He was contented, in the presentinstance, to smile good-humouredly at the obvious discontent of MordauntMertoun, and replied, "You are angry with me, my good friend, but youcannot make me angry with you. The fair hands of all the pretty women Iever saw in my life would never have fished me up out of the Roost ofSumburgh. So, pray, do not quarrel with me; for here is Mr. Halcrowitness that I have struck both jack and topsail, and should you fire abroadside into me, cannot return a single shot."

  "Ay, ay," said Halcro, "you must be friends with Captain Cleveland,Mordaunt. Never quarrel with your friend, because a woman is whimsical.Why, man, if they kept one humour, how the devil could we make so manysongs on them as we do? Even old Dryden himself, glorious old John,could have said little about a girl that was always of one mind--as wellwrite verses upon a mill-pond. It is your tides and your roosts, andyour currents and eddies, that come and go, and ebb and flow, (byHeaven! I run into rhyme when I so much as think upon them,) that smileone day, rage the next, flatter and devour, delight and ruin us, and soforth--it is these that give the real soul of poetry. Did you never hearmy Adieu to the Lass of Northmaven--that was poor Bet Stimbister, whom Icall Mary for the sound's sake, as I call myself Hacon after my greatancestor Hacon Goldemund, or Haco with the golden mouth, who came to theisland with Harold Harfager, and was his chief Scald?--Well, but wherewas I?--O ay--poor Bet Stimbister, she (and partly some debt) was thecause of my leaving the isles of Hialtland, (better so called thanShetland, or Zetland even,) and taking to the broad world. I have had atramp of it since that time--I have battled my way through the world,Captain, as a man of mold may, that has a light head, a light purse, anda heart as light as them both--fought my way, and paid my way--that is,either with money or wit--have seen kings changed and deposed as youwould turn a tenant out of a scathold--knew all the wits of the age, andespecially the glorious John Dryden--what man in the islands can say asmuch, barring lying?--I had a pinch out of his own snuff-box--I willtell you how I came by such promotion."

  "But the song, Mr. Halcro," said Captain Cleveland.

  "The song?" answered Halcro, seizing the Captain by the button,--for hewas too much accustomed to have his audience escape from him duringrecitation, not to put in practice all the usual means ofprevention,--"The song? Why I gave a copy of it, with fifteen others, tothe immortal John. You shall hear it--you shall hear them all, if youwill but stand still a moment; and you too, my dear boy, MordauntMertoun, I have scarce heard a word from your mouth these six months,and now you are running away from me." So saying, he secured him withhis other hand.

  "Nay, now he has got us both in tow," said the seaman, "there is nothingfor it but hearing him out, though he spins as tough a yarn as ever anold man-of-war's-man twisted on the watch at midnight."

  "Nay, now, be silent, be silent, and let one of us speak at once," saidthe poet, imperatively; while Cleveland and Mordaunt, looking at eachother with a ludicrous expression of resignation to their fate, waitedin submission for the well-known and inevitable tale. "I will tell youall about it," continued Halcro. "I was knocked about the world likeother young fellows, doing this, that, and t'other for a livelihood;for, thank God, I could turn my hand to any thing--but loving still theMuses as much as if the ungrateful jades had found me, like so manyblockheads, in my own co
ach and six. However, I held out till my cousin,old Lawrence Linkletter, died, and left me the bit of an island yonder;although, by the way, Cultmalindie was as near to him as I was; butLawrence loved wit, though he had little of his own. Well, he left methe wee bit island--it is as barren as Parnassus itself. What then?--Ihave a penny to spend, a penny to keep my purse, a penny to give to thepoor--ay, and a bed and a bottle for a friend, as you shall know, boys,if you will go back with me when this merriment is over.--But where wasI in my story?"

  "Near port, I hope," answered Cleveland; but Halcro was too determined anarrator to be interrupted by the broadest hint.

  "O ay," he resumed, with the self-satisfied air of one who has recoveredthe thread of a story, "I was in my old lodgings in Russel Street, withold Timothy Thimblethwaite, the Master Fashioner, then the best-knownman about town. He made for all the wits, and for the dull boobies offortune besides, and made the one pay for the other. He never denied awit credit save in jest, or for the sake of getting a repartee; and hewas in correspondence with all that was worth knowing about town. He hadletters from Crowne, and Tate, and Prior, and Tom Brown, and all thefamous fellows of the time, with such pellets of wit, that there was noreading them without laughing ready to die, and all ending with cravinga further term for payment."

  "I should have thought the tailor would have found that jest ratherserious," said Mordaunt.

  "Not a bit--not a bit," replied his eulogist, "Tim Thimblethwaite (hewas a Cumberland-man by birth) had the soul of a prince--ay, and diedwith the fortune of one; for woe betide the custard-gorged alderman thatcame under Tim's goose, after he had got one of those letters--egad, hewas sure to pay the kain! Why, Thimblethwaite was thought to be theoriginal of little Tom Bibber, in glorious John's comedy of the WildGallant; and I know that he has trusted, ay, and lent John money to bootout of his own pocket, at a time when all his fine court friends blewcold enough. He trusted me too, and I have been two months on the scoreat a time for my upper room. To be sure, I was obliging in his way--notthat I exactly could shape or sew, nor would that have been decorous fora gentleman of good descent; but I--eh, eh--I drew bills--summed up thebooks"----

  "Carried home the clothes of the wits and aldermen, and got lodging foryour labour?" interrupted Cleveland.

  "No, no--damn it, no," replied Halcro; "no such thing--you put me out inmy story--where was I?"

  "Nay, the devil help you to the latitude," said the Captain, extricatinghis button from the gripe of the unmerciful bard's finger and thumb,"for I have no time to take an observation." So saying, he bolted fromthe room.

  "A silly, ill-bred, conceited fool," said Halcro, looking after him;"with as little manners as wit in his empty coxcomb. I wonder whatMagnus and these silly wenches can see in him--he tells such damnablelong-winded stories, too, about his adventures and sea-fights--everysecond word a lie, I doubt not. Mordaunt, my dear boy, take example bythat man--that is, take warning by him--never tell long stories aboutyourself. You are sometimes given to talk too much about your ownexploits on crags and skerries, and the like, which only breaksconversation, and prevents other folk from being heard. Now I see youare impatient to hear out what I was saying--Stop, whereabouts was I?"

  "I fear we must put it off, Mr. Halcro, until after dinner," saidMordaunt, who also meditated his escape, though desirous of effecting itwith more delicacy towards his old acquaintance than Captain Clevelandhad thought it necessary to use.

  "Nay, my dear boy," said Halcro, seeing himself about to be utterlydeserted, "do not you leave me too--never take so bad an example as toset light by old acquaintance, Mordaunt. I have wandered many a wearystep in my day; but they were always lightened when I could get hold ofthe arm of an old friend like yourself."

  So saying, he quitted the youth's coat, and sliding his hand gentlyunder his arm, grappled him more effectually; to which Mordauntsubmitted, a little moved by the poet's observation upon the unkindnessof old acquaintances, under which he himself was an immediate sufferer.But when Halcro renewed his formidable question, "Whereabouts was I?"Mordaunt, preferring his poetry to his prose, reminded him of the songwhich he said he had written upon his first leaving Zetland,--a song towhich, indeed, the enquirer was no stranger, but which, as it must benew to the reader, we shall here insert as a favourable specimen of thepoetical powers of this tuneful descendant of Haco the Golden-mouthed;for, in the opinion of many tolerable judges, he held a respectable rankamong the inditers of madrigals of the period, and was as well qualifiedto give immortality to his Nancies of the hills or dales, as many agentle sonnetteer of wit and pleasure about town. He was something of amusician also, and on the present occasion seized upon a sort of lute,and, quitting his victim, prepared the instrument for an accompaniment,speaking all the while that he might lose no time.

  "I learned the lute," he said, "from the same man who taught honestShadwell--plump Tom, as they used to call him--somewhat roughly treatedby the glorious John, you remember--Mordaunt, you remember--

  'Methinks I see the new Arion sail, The lute still trembling underneath thy nail; At thy well sharpen'd thumb, from shore to shore, The trebles squeak for fear, the basses roar.'

  Come, I am indifferently in tune now--what was it to be?--ay, Iremember--nay, The Lass of Northmaven is the ditty--poor Bet Stimbister!I have called her Mary in the verses. Betsy does well for an Englishsong; but Mary is more natural here." So saying, after a short prelude,he sung, with a tolerable voice and some taste, the following verses:

  MARY.

  Farewell to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell! To the calms of thy haven, The storms on thy fell-- To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary! We meet not again.

  Farewell the wild ferry, Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. There's a maid may look over These wild waves in vain-- For the skiff of her lover-- He comes not again.

  The vows thou hast broke, On the wild currents fling them; On the quicksand and rock Let the mermaidens sing them. New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain; But there's one who will never Believe them again.

  O were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and No man be beguiled-- Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given, And the hope would fix there, That should anchor on heaven!

  "I see you are softened, my young friend," said Halcro, when he hadfinished his song; "so are most who hear that same ditty. Words andmusic both mine own; and, without saying much of the wit of it, there isa sort of eh--eh--simplicity and truth about it, which gets its way tomost folk's heart. Even your father cannot resist it--and he has a heartas impenetrable to poetry and song as Apollo himself could draw an arrowagainst. But then he has had some ill luck in his time with thewomen-folk, as is plain from his owing them such a grudge--Ay, ay, therethe charm lies--none of us but has felt the same sore in our day. Butcome, my dear boy, they are mustering in the hall, men and womenboth--plagues as they are, we should get on ill without them--butbefore we go, only mark the last turn--

  'And the hope would fix there,'--

  that is, in the supposed island--a place which neither was nor will be--

  'That should anchor on heaven.'

  Now you see, my good young man, there are here none of your heathenishrants, which Rochester, Etheridge, and these wild fellows, used tostring together. A parson might sing the song, and his clerk bear theburden--but there is the confounded bell--we must go now--but nevermind--we'll get into a quiet corner at night, and I'll tell you allabout it."