“That is the truth, my dear-he can do what he pleases with us and with all the thousands who have flocked to his playhouse since his Goodman's Fields days—he has made a fortune as a courier; transporting people to another world for an hour or two every night—a world that is less humdrum than this in which four beats go to every bar and every crotchet goes to a beat! Dear soul! he has made our hearts beat at times beyond all computation of time and space.”
“You will herring-bone the edges neatly, Fanny: I noticed some lack of neatness in the last of the napery that left your hand, my dear,” said Mrs. Burney, bending over her stepdaughter at her work-basket; and, indeed, it seemed that the caution was not unnecessary, for Fanny's eyes were gleaming and she was handling her work with as great indifference (for the moment) as though she esteemed plain sewing something of drudgery rather than a delight. And now, having administered her timely caution, the good lady turned to her husband, saying:
“To my mind what you have claimed for Mr. Garrick but adds emphasis to my contention that his visits have a disturbing influence upon a homely family, taking them out of themselves, so to speak, and transporting them far beyond the useful work of their daily life. I have noticed with pain for some time past that Fanny's heart has not been in her work: her cross-stitch has been wellnigh slovenly, and her herring-boning has really been indifferent—I say it with sorrow; but dear Fanny is too good a girl to take offence at my strictures, which she knows are honest and meant for her good.”
“Madam,” said Lieutenant Burney, “I pray you to give me leave to bear you out; but at the same time to make excuses for Fan. I must do so in justice to her, for the blame rests with me so far as the herring-boning is concerned. I confess, with tears in my eyes, that 'twas I who provided her with the last models for her herring-boning; and 'twas surely some demon in my breast that prompted me to substitute the skeleton of one of the South Sea fishes which I hooked when becalmed with Captain Cook within sight of Otaheite, for the true herring whose backbone is a model of regularity to be followed by all workers with the needle, when deprived of the flesh, which is the staple fare of hundreds of honest families and, while nourishing them amply, prevents their thoughts from carrying them beyond the region pervaded by the smell of their cooking.”
“That were a wide enough area upon occasions for the most ambitious of thinkers,” said Dr. Burney, controlling his features, seeing that his wife took the ward-room humour of his son with dreadful seriousness. He made a sign to James to go no further—but James had gone round the world once, and he was not to be checked in a humbler excursion.
“Yes, madam, 'tis my duty to confess that Fanny's model was the flying-fish, and not the simple Channel herring, hence the failure to achieve the beautiful regularity of design which exists in the backbone of the latter from the figurehead to the stern, larboard sloping in one direction and starboard in the other. If anyone be culpable 'tis myself, not Fanny; but I throw myself on your mercy, and only implore that the herring-boning of my sister will not result in a whaling for me.”
Mrs. Burney looked seriously from her brother to Fanny, and getting no cue from either, began:
“'Tis indeed honourable for you to endeavour by your confession to excuse the fault of your sister, James——-”
“The traditions of the service, madam——” began the lieutenant, laying his hand on his heart; but he got no further, for Fanny could restrain herself no longer; she burst into a laugh and dropped her work, and her father rose, holding up his hand.
“The jest has gone far enough, James,” he said. “We sleep in beds in this house and do not swing in hammocks. Keep your deep-sea jests until you are out of soundings, if it please you.”