CHAPTER V.
“A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
One, whom the music of his own vain tongue,
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
A man of compliments.”
Love's Labor Lost.
“Well, Mr. Bernard,” said the old Colonel as they entered the room, “take a seat, and let's have a social chat. We old planters don't get a chance often to hear the news from Jamestown, and I am afraid you will find me an inquisitive companion. But first join me in a pipe. There is no greater stimulant to conversation than the smoke of our Virginia weed.”
“You must excuse me,” said Bernard, smiling, “I have not yet learned to smoke, although, if I remain in Virginia, I suppose I will have to contract a habit so general here.”
“What, not smoke!” said the old man, in surprise. “Why tobacco is at once the calmer of sorrows, the assuager of excitement; the companion of solitude, the life of company; the quickener of fancy, the composer of thought.”
“I had expected,” returned Bernard, laughing at his host's enthusiasm, “that so rigid a loyalist as yourself, would be a convert to King James's Counterblast. Have you never read that work of the royal pedant?”
“Read it!” cried the Colonel, impetuously. “No! and what's more, with all my loyalty and respect for his memory, I would sooner light my pipe with a page of his Basilicon, than subscribe to the sentiments of his Counterblast.”
“Oh, he had his supporters too,” replied Bernard, smiling. “You surely cannot have forgotten the song of Cucullus in the Lover's Melancholy;” and the young man repeated, with mock solemnity, the lines,