VII.—MATINS.
Whank!—tick-a-lick!—ker-thump!—swoosh!—Whank!—tick-a-lick!—ker-thump!—swoosh!—These were the sounds that first greeted my opening ears. So, then, we were fairly under way, advancing, if not rejoicing. Our freighted Icarus was soaring on well-oiled wings: how soon might his waxy pinions droop under the fierce gaze of the sun! At least it was a satisfaction to know that thus far the gloomy forebodings of the Seer had not been fulfilled. On looking out through a six-inch rose-window, I saw joyous daylight dancing over the boundless, placid waters,—not a speck of land in sight. We must have started long since; but my eyes, fast sealed under the opiate rays of the Luminary, had hitherto refused to ope their lids to the garish beams of his rival. Soon I heard beneath a rustling snap, as of a bow, and suddenly there sped forth the twanging shaft of the
First Victim.—I say!
Second Victim.—Very sensible, but brief. Give us another bit.
First Victim.—How are ye this mornin'?
Second Victim.—Utterly glorified. Delicious sleep,—splendid day,—balmy air, with condiments thrown in. I hope you are nicely to-day?
First Victim.—Wal, no, can't say I be. Feel sort o' seedy like,—feel jest 's ef I'd ben creouped up in a sugar-box. Couldn't even git a cat-nap,—didn't sleep a wink.
Second Victim.—That's bad, indeed; but the bracing air here will soon——
First Victim.—Air! That 'ere dock-smell nigh finished me. No skim-milk smell about that, but the ginooine jam,—an awful pooty nosegay! 'T was reg'lar rank p'is'n. Never see anythin' like it. Oh, 'twas te'ble! Took hold o' my nose dreffle bad; I'm afeard my stomach'll be a goner. 'T wa'n't none o' yer sober perfumes nuther, but kind o' half-seas-over all the time, an' pooty consid'able in the wind. Judge there's ben a large fatality in cats lately. Ugh! that blamed dock-smell! Never forgit it the longest day I live. Don't b'lieve I breathed oncet all night.
Second Victim.—Yes, it was slightly aromatic, I confess,—'Sabæan odors from the spicy shores of Araby the Blest,'—you know what Milton says. But there's one great comfort: this thick night-air is so very healthy, you know. I think you made a very great mistake, Mr. Rink, in not inhaling it thoroughly. I kept pumping it in all night, from a sense of duty, at forty bellows-power.