Part 27

CV.

Nor {247}need it be said that ere long they were wed, These lovers, no more to be parted: Full soon the tree spread; and young children were bred; True Fowles--who were ne’er chicken-hearted.

CVI.

That fort on the rocks (when repaired from the knocks Received in Sir Roderick’s fighting) Made a snug little box, where, like true fighting-cocks, They live, at the hour I am writing.

CVIII.

Fowle’s deeds are well known--not in that land alone, But, where’er tales of valour hearts quicken, Men exclaim in loud tone to this day, “We must own Such or such man’s ‘as game as a chicken.’”

CVIII.

The Baron lived long; he was healthy and strong, And never ate things one had best shun; So went in “ding dong” at the sound of the gong, And was blest with a wondrous digestion.

CIX.

Now I’ve told all I know about Fowle and his foe, There’s no more that requires explanation: On all I’ll bestow my blessing, and so Conclude, with a bow, my narration.

As soon as the Monarch of the Rhine had finished his poetical legend (to which his companion listened with the most profound attention), he rose from his seat, and declared {248}that he could really wait no longer, or he should be late for his appointment with those other continental rivers to which he had already alluded. Regret was plainly visible upon the countenance of Father Thames as his Brother Rhine expressed this determination, and he began to endeavour to persuade him to stay a little longer. He of the Rhine, however, seemed to be inexorable, and reminded his entertainer of the good old motto, “Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest,” which he declared that he had always held to be an exceedingly wise and proper saying.

Father Thames raised no objection to this, but at the same time observed that he also had several rivers who desired to see him, but that he had postponed their visit in order to do full justice to that of his foreign friend. The Isis and the Cam had indeed sent representatives to wait upon him, as was their annual custom, and enormous crowds of people in steamers, on barges, and on his banks had come out to witness the arrival and triumphant progress of these, which had taken place between Putney and Mortlake, and had as usual created great excitement. But other visitors he had put off, and had still more time to devote to the Rhine Monarch if he could be prevailed upon to stay. This, however, was impossible, and the two friends were about to part when Father Thames casually observed, “I hope all will go well with you, Brother Rhine, until we meet again.”

The other heaved a deep sigh. “I hope so, indeed,” he replied; “but in these days of progress who can tell what will happen next? Instead of haunted castles I have now Legislative Bodies, which are often possessed by much worse spirits than those which occupied the old {249}ruins; instead of giants I have Ministers; and in the place of river-demons an enlightened Press; and goodness only knows what may become of me at any moment.”

“I, too,” responded Father Thames, “have trials which are almost beyond endurance. What with Water Companies, Conservancy Boards, and Embankments, I have of late years been driven nearly wild; and although they have at some places given up the fine old practice of draining into my waters everything that was foul and abominable, and thus creating a public nuisance in the shape of disagreeable and unwholesome odours, which they afterwards had the impudence to attribute to me, and associate the nuisance with my name, yet I am scurvily treated by mankind in general, and made the unwilling receptacle of dead cats and other unpleasant objects, and have my water taken from me in large quantities, when I would much rather retain it.”

“All this is very bad,” remarked the Rhine King. “Why not leave such a country and come home with me?”

“No, thank you,” drily returned Father Thames, “not even the blessings which you have enumerated as now in your possession could tempt me to take such a step. I should miss my beef and ale too much.”

“Ale!” hastily interrupted his companion. “How you continue to harp upon that beverage of yours, which, after all, cannot compare with that which I drink on mine own river. Come, good brother, before I go let me sing you one of our famous Rhine songs in honour of the immortal wine with which my banks are blessed.” And without more ado about the matter, the Rhine {250}Monarch sang as follows in a rich and voice:--

“A fig for your sherry or foaming champagne! I’d not give a groat for the whole of your stock; Of thirst if I hear my companions complain, I hold out my bottle with--‘Accipe Hoc! Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’ I hold out my bottle with--‘Accipe Hoc!’

II.

“At night your port-wine bibber drowsily nods, And wakes hot and heavy at crowing of cock; The liquor offer is fit for the gods, And blesses the drinker, so--‘Accipe Hoc! Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’ It blesses the drinker, so--‘Accipe Hoc!’

III.

“Of brandy and whisky I sing not in praise, For feet they make stagger and heads they make rock; But the man who is hoping to lengthen his days, Should list to my counselling--‘Accipe Hoc! Accipe Hoc,’ &c.

IV.

“Away with your brewing, away with your ale! (Though such a proposal your feelings may shock;) For all your malt liquors infallibly pale Before my Rhine vintage, so--‘Accipe Hoc! Accipe Hoc,’ &c.

“‘Tis wine that ne’er robs man of senses or wit, But hearts can make lively and tongues can unlock; Makes dull men for once for good company fit, And bright ones still brighter, so--‘Accipe Hoc! Accipe Hoc,’ &c.

VI.

“Come, fill up your glasses! the toast shall be mine, And loud in applause on the table you’ll knock; When I give you ‘The glorious vintage of Rhine!’ And long may each comrade sing, ‘Accipe Hoc! Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’ Long may each comrade sing, ‘Accipe Hoc!’”

As {251}the Monarch of the Rhine proceeded, I observed a cloud gathering over the brow of Father Thames, which grew darker when uncomplimentary allusion was made to his favourite ale, and by the time that his guest had concluded his song had deepened into a tremendous and awful frown. Scarcely was the last word out of the singer’s mouth than he burst forth in fury. “Brooks and fountains!” he exclaimed in a loud voice, “is it thus I am to be insulted upon mine own waters? and am I to sit still and be silent while these insolent foreigners extol their thin and miserable drinks at the expense of the noble beverage upon which Britons have fattened and thriven ever since they were a people? Off with thee now, then, as soon as thou listest, thou hock-swilling loon, for I cannot put up with such trash!”