FOOTNOTES:
[29] The intelligent reader, familiar with the Odyssey, need not to be reminded that with this wand of Moly, which Mercury presented to Ulysses, the Grecian hero was enabled to restore his unhappy companions, who, by the magic of the goddess Circe, had been transformed into swine.
[30] A true copy from the records.
[31] “Cromwell,” says an old writer, “hath beat up his drums clean through the Old Testament. You may learn the genealogy of our Saviour by the names of his regiment. The muster-master has no other list than the first chapter of St. Matthew.” If the Puritan sergeant had lost this roll, Nehemiah XII. would serve him instead.
[32] The actual name of one of the Puritans.
[33] General Monk, the restorer of royalty.
[34] The Puritans believed the period of the revolution to be the latter days spoken of in prophecy.
CHAPTER XVI.
“I charge you, oh women! for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you; and I charge you, oh men! for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that between you and the women the play may please.”
As you Like It.
“There is the devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man; a tun of man is thy companion.”
Henry IV.
The good-natured guests at the Governor's awarded all due, and more than due merit to the masque which was prepared for their entertainment. Alfred Bernard became at once the hero of the evening, and many a bright eye glanced towards him, and envied the fair Virginia the exclusive attention which he paid to her. Some young cavaliers there were, whose envy carried them so far, that they sneered at the composition of the young poet; declared the speeches of Liberty to be prosy and tiresome; and that the song of Christmas was coarse, rugged, and devoid of wit; nay, they laughed at the unnatural transformation of the grim-visaged Puritan into the royal Charles, and referred sarcastically to the pretentious pedantry of the young author, in introducing the threadbare story of Ulysses and the Moly into a modern production—and at the inconsistent jumble of ancient mythology and pure Christianity. Bernard heard them not, and if he had, he would have scorned their strictures, instead of resenting them. But he was too much engrossed in conversation with Virginia to heed either the good-natured applause of his friends, or the peevish jealousy of his young rivals. Indeed, the loyalty of the piece amply atoned for all its imperfections, and the old colonists smiled and nodded their heads, delighted at the wholesome tone of sentiment which characterized the whole production.
The character of Christmas was well sustained by Richard Presley,[35] a member of the House of Burgesses, whose jolly good humour, as broad sometimes as his portly stomach, fitted him in an eminent degree for the part. He was indeed one of those merry old wags, who, in an illustrated edition of Milton, might have appeared in L'Allegro, to represent the idea of “Laughter holding both his sides.”
Seeing Sir William Berkeley and Colonel Temple engaged in earnest conversation, in one corner of the room, the old burgess bustled, or rather waddled up to them, and remaining quiet just long enough to hear the nature of their conversation chimed in, with,
“Talking about Bacon, Governor? Why he is only imitating old St. Albans, and trying to establish a novum organum in Virginia. By God, it seems to me that Sir Nicholas exhausted the whole of his mediocria firma policy, and left none of it to his kinsmen. Do you not know what he meant by that motto, Governor?”
“No;” said Sir William, smiling blandly.
“Well, I'll tell you, and add another wrinkle to your face. Mediocria firma, when applied to Bacon, means nothing more nor less than sound middlings. But I tell you what, this young mad-cap, Bacon, will have to adopt the motto of another namesake of his, and ancestor, perhaps, for friars aye regarded their tithes more favourably than their vows of virtue—and were fathers in the church as well by the first as the second birth.”
“What ancestor do you allude to now, Dick?” asked the Governor.
“Why, old Friar Bacon, who lamented that time was, time is, and time will be. And to my mind, when time shall cease with our young squealing porker here, we will e'en substitute hemp in its stead.”
“Thou art a mad wag, Presley,” said the Governor, laughing, “and seem to have sharpened thy wit by strapping it on the Bible containing the whole Bacon genealogy. Come, Temple, let me introduce to your most favourable acquaintance, Major Richard Presley, the Falstaff of Virginia, with as big a paunch, and if not as merry a wit, at least as great a love for sack—aye, Presley?”
“Yes, but indifferent honest, Governor, which I fear my great prototype was not,” replied the old wag, as he shook hands with Colonel Temple.
“Well, I believe you can be trusted, Dick,” said the Governor, kindly, “and I may yet give you a regiment of foot to quell this modern young Hotspur of Virginia.”
“Aye, that would be rare fun,” said Presley, with a merry laugh, “but look ye, I must take care to attack him in as favourable circumstances as the true Falstaff did, or 'sblood he might embowell me.”
“I would like to own the tobacco that would be raised over your grave then, Dick,” said the Governor, laughing, “but never fear but I will supply you with a young Prince Hal, as merry, as wise, and as brave.”
“Which is he, then? for I can't tell your true prince by instinct yet.”
“There he stands talking to Miss Virginia Temple. You know him, Colonel Temple, and I trust that you have not found that my partiality has overrated his real merit.”
“By no means,” returned Temple; “I never saw a young man with whom I was more pleased. He is at once so ingenuous and frank, and so intelligent and just in his views and opinions on all subjects—who is he, Sir William? One would judge, from his whole mien and appearance, that noble blood ran in his veins.”
“I believe not,” replied Berkeley, “or if so, as old Presley would say, he was hatched in the nest where some noble eagle went a birding. I am indebted to my brother, Lord Berkeley, for both my chaplain and my private secretary. Good Parson Hutchinson seems to have been the guardian of Bernard in his youth, but what may be the real relation between them I am unable to say.”
“Perhaps, like Major Presley's old Friar Bacon,” said Temple, “the good parson may have been guilty of some indiscretion in his youth, for which he would now atone by his kindness to the offspring of his early crime.”
“Hardly so,” replied the Governor, “or he would probably acknowledge him openly as his son, without all this mystery. I have several times hinted at the subject to Mr. Hutchinson, but it seems to produce so much real sorrow, that I have never pushed my inquiries farther. All that I know is what I tell you, that my brother, in whose parish this Mr. Hutchinson long officiated as rector, recommended him to me—and the young man, who has been thoroughly educated by his patron, or guardian, by the same recommendation, has been made my private secretary.”
“He is surely worthy to fill some higher post,” said Temple.
“And he will not want my aid in building up his fortunes,” returned Berkeley; “but they have only been in the colony about six months as yet—and the young man has entwined himself about my heart like a son. My own bed, alas! is barren, as you know, and it seems that a kind providence had sent this young man here as a substitute for the offspring which has been denied to me. See Temple,” he added, in a whisper, “with what admiring eyes he regards your fair daughter. And if an old man may judge of such matters, it is with maiden modesty returned.”
“I think that you are at fault,” said Temple, with a sigh; “my daughter's affections are entirely disengaged at present.”
“Well, time will develope which of us is right. It would be a source of pride and pleasure, Harry, if I could live to see a union between this, my adopted boy, and the daughter of my early friend,” said the old Governor, as a tear glistened in his eye; “but come, Presley, the dancing has ceased for a time,” he added aloud, “favour the company with a song.”
“Oh, damn it, Governor,” replied the old burgess, “my songs won't suit a lady's ear. They are intended for the rougher sex.”
“Well, never fear,” said the Governor, “I will check you if I find you are overleaping the bounds of propriety.”
“Very well, here goes then—a loyal ditty that I heard in old England, about five years agone, while I was there on a visit. Proclaim order, and join in the chorus as many as please.”
And with a loud, clear, merry voice, the old burgess gave vent to the following, which he sung to the tune of the “Old and Young Courtier;” an air which has survived even to our own times, though adapted to the more modernized words, and somewhat altered measure of the “Old English Gentleman:”—
“Young Charley is a merry prince; he's come unto his own,
And long and merrily may he fill his martyred father's throne;
With merry laughter may he drown old Nolly's whining groan,
And when he dies bequeath his crown to royal flesh and bone.
Like a merry King of England,
And England's merry King.
“With bumpers full, to royal Charles, come fill the thirsty glasses,
The pride of every loyal heart, the idol of the masses;
Yet in the path of virtue fair, old Joseph far surpasses,
The merry prince, whose sparkling eye delights in winsome lasses.
Like a merry King of England,
And England's merry King.
“For Joseph from dame Potiphar, as holy men assert,
Leaving his garment in her hand, did naked fly unhurt;
But Charley, like an honest lad, will not a friend desert,
And so he still remains behind, nor leaves his only shirt.
Like a merry King of England,
And England's merry King.
“Then here's to bonny Charley, he is a prince divine,
He hates a Puritan as much as Jews detest a swine;
But, faith, he loves a shade too much his mistresses and wine,
Which makes me fear that he will not supply the royal line,
With a merry King of England,
And England's merry King.”
The singer paused, and loud and rapturous was the applause which he received, until, putting up his hand in a deprecating manner, silence was again restored, and with an elaborate impromptu, which it had taken him about two hours that morning to spin from his old brain, he turned to Berkeley, and burst forth again.
“Nor let this mirror of the king by us remain unsung,
To whom the hopes of Englishmen in parlous times have clung:
Let Berkeley's praises still be heard from every loyal tongue,
While Bacon and his hoggish herd be cured, and then be hung.
Like young rebels of the King,
And the King's young rebels.”
Various were the comments drawn forth by the last volunteer stanza of the old loyalist. With lowering looks, some of the guests conversed apart in whispers, for there were a good many in the Assembly, who, though not entirely approving the conduct of Bacon, were favourably disposed to his cause. Sir William Berkeley himself restrained his mirth out of respect for a venerable old man, who stood near him, and towards whom many eyes were turned in pity. This was old Nathaniel Bacon, the uncle of the young insurgent, and himself a member of the council. There were dark rumours afloat, that this old man had advised his nephew to break his parole and fly from Jamestown; but, although suspicion had attached to him, it could never be confirmed. Even those who credited the rumour rather respected the feelings of a near relative, in thus taking the part of his kinsman, than censured his conduct as savouring of rebellion.