Miss Port and myself had, afterwards, an extremely risible evening with Colonels Goldsworthy, Wellbred, and Manners the rest were summoned away to the king, or retired to their own apartments. Colonel Wellbred began the sport, undesignedly, by telling me something new relative to Dr. Herschel’s volcanoes. This was enough for Colonel Manners, who declared aloud his utter contempt for such pretended discoveries. He was deaf to all that could be said in answer, and protested he wondered how any man of common sense could ever listen to such a pack of stuff.
Mr. de Luc’s opinion upon the subject being then mentioned—he exclaimed, very disdainfully, “O, as to Mr. de Luc, he’s another man for a system himself, and I’d no more trust him than anybody: if you was only to make a little bonfire, and put it upon a hill a little way off, you might make him take it for a volcano directly!—And Herschel’s not a bit better. Those sort of philosophers are the easiest taken in in the world.” Our next topic was still more ludicrous. Colonel Manners asked me if I had not heard something, very harmonious at church in the morning? I answered I was too far off, if he meant from himself.
“Yes,” said he; “I was singing with Colonel Wellbred; and he said he was my second.—How did I do that song?”
“Song?—Mercy!” exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, “a song at church!—why it was the 104th Psalm!” “But how did I do it, Wellbred; for I never tried at it before?”
“Why—pretty well,” answered Colonel Wellbred, very composedly; “Only now and then you run me a little into ‘God save the king.’”
This dryness discomposed every muscle but of Colonel Manners, who replied, with great simplicity, “Why, that’s because that’s the tune I know best!”
“At least,” cried I, “’twas a happy mistake to make so near their majesties.”
“But, pray, now, Colonel Wellbred, tell me sincerely—could you really make out what I was singing?”
“O yes,” answered Colonel Wellbred; “with the words.”
“Well, but pray, now, what do you call my voice?”