The Pirate
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 had
finished his song; "so are most who hear that same ditty. Words and
music both mine own; and, without saying much of the wit of it, there is
a sort of eh--eh--simplicity and truth about it, which gets its way to
most folk's heart. Even your father cannot resist it--and he has a heart
as impenetrable to poetry and song as Apollo himself could draw an arrow
against. But then he has had some ill luck in his time with the
women-folk, as is plain from his owing them such a grudge--Ay, ay, there
the charm lies--none of us but has felt the same sore in our day. But
come, my dear boy, they are mustering in the hall, men and women
both--plagues as they are, we should get on ill without them--but
before 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 heathenish
rants, which Rochester, Etheridge, and these wild fellows, used to
string together. A parson might sing the song, and his clerk bear the
burden--but there is the confounded bell--we must go now--but never
mind--we'll get into a quiet corner at night, and I'll tell you all
about it."
CHAPTER XIII.
Full in the midst the polish'd table shines,
And the bright goblets, rich with generous wines;
Now each partakes the feast, the wine prepares,
Portions the food, and each the portion shares;
Nor till the rage of thirst and hunger ceased,
To the high host approach'd the sagacious guest.
_Odyssey._
The hospitable profusion of Magnus Troil's board, the number of guests
who feasted in the hall, the much greater number of retainers,
attendants, humble friends, and domestics of every possible description,
who revelled without, with the multitude of the still poorer, and less
honoured assistants, who came from every hamlet or township within
twenty miles round, to share the bounty of the munificent Udaller, were
such as altogether astonished Triptolemus Yellowley, and made him
internally doubt whether it would be prudent in him at this time, and
amid the full glow of his hospitality, to propose to the host who
presided over such a splendid banquet, a radical change in the whole
customs and usages of his country.
True, the sagacious Triptolemus felt conscious that he possessed in his
own person wisdom far superior to that of all the assembled feasters, to
say nothing of the landlord, against whose prudence the very extent of
his hospitality formed, in Yellowley's opinion, sufficient evidence. But
yet the Amphitryon with whom one dines, holds, for the time at least,
an influence over the minds of his most distinguished guests; and if the
dinner be in good style and the wines of the right quality, it is
humbling to see that neither art nor wisdom, scarce external rank
itself, can assume their natural and wonted superiority over the
distributor of these good things, until coffee has been brought in.
Triptolemus felt the full weight of this temporary superiority, yet he
was desirous to do something that might vindicate the vaunts he had made
to his sister and his fellow-traveller, and he stole a look at them from
time to time, to mark whether he was not sinking in their esteem from
postponing his promised lecture on the enormities of Zetland.
But Mrs. Barbara was busily engaged in noting and registering the waste
incurred in such an entertainment as she had probably never before
looked upon, and in admiring the host's indifference to, and the guests'
absolute negligence of, those rules of civility in which her youth had
been brought up. The feasters desired to be helped from a dish which was
unbroken, and might have figured at supper, with as much freedom as if
it had undergone the ravages of half-a-dozen guests; and no one seemed
to care--the landlord himself least of all--whether those dishes only
were consumed, which, from their nature, were incapable of
re-appearance, or whether the assault was extended to the substantial
rounds of beef, pasties, and so forth, which, by the rules of good
housewifery, were destined to stand two attacks, and which, therefore,
according to Mrs. Barbara's ideas of politeness, ought not to have been
annihilated by the guests upon the first onset, but spared, like Outis
in the cave of Polyphemus, to be devoured the last. Lost in the
meditations to which these breaches of convivial discipline gave rise,
and in the contemplation of an ideal larder of cold meat which she could
have saved out of the wreck of roast, boiled, and baked, sufficient to
have supplied her cupboard for at least a twelvemonth, Mrs. Barbara
cared very little whether or not her brother supported in its extent the
character which he had calculated upon assuming.
Mordaunt Mertoun also was conversant with far other thoughts, than those
which regarded the proposed reformer of Zetland enormities. His seat was
betwixt two blithe maidens of Thule, who, not taking scorn that he had
upon other occasions given preference to the daughters of the Udaller,
were glad of the chance which assigned to them the attentions of so
distinguished a gallant, who, as being their squire at the feast, might
in all probability become their partner in the subsequent dance. But,
whilst rendering to his fair neighbours all the usual attentions which
society required, Mordaunt kept up a covert, but accurate and close
observation, upon his estranged friends, Minna and Brenda. The Udaller
himself had a share of his attention; but in him he could remark
nothing, except the usual tone of hearty and somewhat boisterous
hospitality, with which he was accustomed to animate the banquet upon
all such occasions of general festivity. But in the differing mien of
the two maidens there was much more room for painful remark.
Captain Cleveland sat betwixt the sisters, was sedulous in his
attentions to both, and Mordaunt was so placed, that he could observe
all, and hear a great deal, of what passed between them. But Cleveland's
peculiar regard seemed devoted to the elder sister. Of this the younger
was perhaps conscious, for more than once her eye glanced towards
Mordaunt, and, as he thought, with something in it which resembled
regret for the interruption of their intercourse, and a sad remembrance
of former and more friendly times; while Minna was exclusively engrossed
by the attentions of her neighbour; and that it should be so, filled
Mordaunt with surprise and resentment.
Minna, the serious, the prudent, the reserved, whose countenance and
manners indicated so much elevation of character--Minna, the lover of
solitude, and of those paths of knowledge in which men walk best without
company--the enemy of light mirth, the friend of musing melancholy, and
the frequenter of fountain-heads and pathless glens--she whose character
seemed, in short, the very reverse of that which might be captivated by
the bold, coarse, and daring gallantry of such a man as this Captain
Cleveland, gave, nevertheless, her eye and ear to him, as he sat beside
her at table, with an interest and a graciousness of attention, which,
to Mordaunt, who well knew how to judge of her feelings by her manner,
intimated a degree of the highest favour. He observed this, and his
heart rose against the favourite by whom he had been thus superseded, as
well as against Minna's indiscreet departure from her own character.
"What is there about the man," he said within himself, "more than the
bold and daring assumption of importance which is derived from success
in petty enterprises, and the exercise of petty despotism over a ship's
crew?--His very language is more professional than is used by the
superior officers of the British navy; and the wit which has excited so
many smiles, seems to me such as Minna would not formerly have endured
for an instant. Even Brenda seems less taken with his gallantry than
Minna, whom it should have suited so little."
Mordaunt was doubly mistaken in these his angry speculations. In the
first place, with an eye which was, in some respects, that of a rival,
he criticised far too severely the manners and behaviour of Captain
Cleveland. They were unpolished, certainly; which was of the less
consequence in a country inhabited by so plain and simple a race as the
ancient Zetlanders. On the other hand, there was an open, naval
frankness in Cleveland's bearing--much natural shrewdness--some
appropriate humour--an undoubting confidence in himself--and that
enterprising hardihood of disposition, which, without any other
recommendable quality, very often leads to success with the fair sex.
But Mordaunt was farther mistaken, in supposing that Cleveland was
likely to be disagreeable to Minna Troil, on account of the opposition
of their characters in so many material particulars. Had his knowledge
of the world been a little more extensive, he might have observed, that
as unions are often formed betwixt couples differing in complexion and
stature, they take place still more frequently betwixt persons totally
differing in feelings, in taste, in pursuits, and in understanding; and
it would not be saying, perhaps, too much, to aver, that two-thirds of
the marriages around us have been contracted betwixt persons, who,
judging _a priori_, we should have thought had scarce any charms for
each other.
A moral and primary cause might be easily assigned for these anomalies,
in the wise dispensations of Providence, that the general balance of
wit, wisdom, and amiable qualities of all kinds, should be kept up
through society at large. For, what a world were it, if the wise were to
intermarry only with the wise, the learned with the learned, the amiable
with the amiable, nay, even the handsome with the handsome? and, is it
not evident, that the degraded castes of the foolish, the ignorant, the
brutal, and the deformed, (comprehending, by the way, far the greater
portion of mankind,) must, when condemned to exclusive intercourse with
each other, become gradually as much brutalized in person and
disposition as so many ourang-outangs? When, therefore, we see the
"gentle joined to the rude," we may lament the fate of the suffering
individual, but we must not the less admire the mysterious disposition
of that wise Providence which thus balances the moral good and evil of
life;--which secures for a family, unhappy in the dispositions of one
parent, a share of better and sweeter blood, transmitted from the other,
and preserves to the offspring the affectionate care and protection of
at least one of those from whom it is naturally due. Without the
frequent occurrence of such alliances and unions--mis-sorted as they
seem at first sight--the world could not be that for which Eternal
Wisdom has designed it--a place of mixed good and evil--a place of trial
at once, and of suffering, where even the worst ills are checkered with
something that renders them tolerable to humble and patient minds, and
where the best blessings carry with them a necessary alloy of
embittering depreciation.
When, indeed, we look a little closer on the causes of those unexpected
and ill-suited attachments, we have occasion to acknowledge, that the
means by which they are produced do not infer that complete departure