LORD IPSDEN had soon the mortification of discovering that this Mr. ----was a constant visitor at the house; and, although his cousin gave him her ear in this man's absence, on the arrival of her fellow-enthusiast he had ever the mortification of finding himself _de trop._
Once or twice he demolished this personage in argument, and was rewarded by finding himself more _de trop._
But one day Lady Barbara, being in a cousinly humor, expressed a wish to sail in his lordship's yacht, and this hint soon led to a party being organized, and a sort of picnic on the island of Inch Coombe; his lordship's cutter being the mode of conveyance to and from that spot.
Now it happened on that very day Jean Carnie's marriage was celebrated on that very island by her relations and friends.
So that we shall introduce our readers to THE RIVAL PICNICS.
We begin with _Les gens comme il faut._
PICNIC NO. 1.
The servants were employed in putting away dishes into hampers.
There was a calm silence. "Hem!" observed Sir Henry Talbot.
"Eh?" replied the Honorable Tom Hitherington.
"Mamma," said Miss Vere, "have you brought any work?"
"No, my dear."
"At a picnic," said Mr. Hitherington, isn't it the thing for somebody--aw--to do something?"
"Ipsden," said Lady Barbara, "there is an understanding _between_ you and Mr. Hitherington. I condemn you to turn him into English."
"Yes, Lady Barbara; I'll tell you, he means---do you mean anything, Tom?"
_Hitherington._ "Can't anybody guess what I mean?"
_Lady Barbara._ "Guess first yourself, you can't be suspected of being in the secret."
_Hither._ "What I mean is, that people sing a song, or run races, or preach a sermon, or do something funny at a picnic--aw--somebody gets up and does something."
_Lady Bar._ "Then perhaps Miss Vere, whose singing is famous, will have the complaisance to sing to us."
_Miss Vere._ "I should be happy, Lady Barbara, but I have not brought my music."
_Lady Bar._ "Oh, we are not critical; the ******st air, or even a fragment of melody; the sea and the sky will be a better accompaniment than Broadwood ever made."
_Miss V._ "I can't sing a note without book."
_Sir H. Talbot._ "Your music is in your soul--not at your fingers' ends."
_Lord Ipsden, to Lady Bar._ "It is in her book, and not in her soul."
_Lady Bar., to Lord Ips._ "Then it has chosen the better situation of the two."
_Ips._ "Miss Vere is to the fine art of music what the engrossers are to the black art of law; it all filters through them without leaving any sediment; and so the music of the day passes through Miss Vere's mind, but none remains--to stain its virgin snow."
He bows, she smiles.
_Lady Bar., to herself._ "Insolent. And the little dunce thinks he is complimenting her."
_Ips._ "Perhaps Talbot will come to our rescue--he is a fiddler."
_Tal._ "An ******* of the violin."
_Ips._ "It is all the same thing."
_Lady Bar._ "I wish it may prove so."
[Note: original has music notation here]
_Miss V._ "Beautiful."
_Mrs. Vere._ "Charming."
_Hither._ "Superb!"
_Ips._ "You are aware that good music is a thing to be wedded to immortal verse, shall I recite a bit of poetry to match Talbot's strain?"
_Miss V._ "Oh, yes! how nice."
_Ips. (rhetorically)._ "A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P.
Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. Y. X. W. V. U. T. S. O. N. M. L. K. J. I.
H. G. F. A. M. little p. little t."
_Lady Bar._ "Beautiful! Superb! Ipsden has been taking lessons on the thinking instrument."
_Hither._ "He has been _perdu_ among vulgar people."
_Tal._ "And expects a pupil of Herz to play him tunes!"
_Lady Bar._ "What are tunes, Sir Henry?"
_Tal._ "Something I don't play, Lady Barbara."
_Lady Bar._ "I understand you; something we ought to like."
_Ips._ "I have a Stradivarius violin at home. It is yours, Talbot, if you can define a tune."
_Tal._ "A tune is--everybody knows what."
_Lady Bar._ "A tune is a tune, that is what you meant to say."
_Tal._ "Of course it is."
_Lady Bar._ "Be reasonable, Ipsden; no man can do two things at once; how can the pupil of Herz condemn a thing and know what it means contemporaneously?"
_Ips._ "Is the drinking-song in 'Der Freischutz' a tune?"
_Lady Bar._ "It is."
_Ips._ "And the melodies of Handel, are they tunes?"
_Lady Bar. (pathetically)._ "They are! They are!"
_Ips._ "And the 'Russian Anthem,' and the 'Marseillaise,' and 'Ah, Perdona'?"
_Tal._ "And 'Yankee Doodle'?"
_Lady Bar._ "So that Sir Henry, who prided himself on his ignorance, has a wide field for its dominion.
_Tal._ "All good violin players do like me; they prelude, not play tunes."
_Ips._ "Then Heaven be thanked for our blind fiddlers. You like syllables of sound in unmeaning rotation, and you despise its words, its purposes, its narrative feats; carry out your principle, it will show you where you are. Buy a dirty palette for a picture, and dream the alphabet is a poem."
_Lady Bar., to herself._ "Is this my cousin Richard?"
_Hither._ "Mind, Ipsden, you are a man of property, and there are such things as commissions _de lunatico."_
_Lady Bar._ "His defense will be that his friends pronounced him insane.
_Ips._ "No; I shall subpoena Talbot's fiddle, cross-examination will get nothing out of that but, do, re, mi, fa."
_Lady Bar._ "Yes, it will; fa, mi, re, do."
_Tal._ "Violin, if you please."
_Lady Bar._ "Ask Fiddle's pardon, directly."
_Sound of fiddles is heard in the distance._
_Tal._ "How lucky for you, there are fiddles and tunes, and the natives you are said to favor, why not join them?"
_Ips. (shaking his head solemnly)._ "I dread to encounter another prelude."
_Hither._ "Come, I know you would like it; it is a wedding-party--two sea monsters have been united. The sailors and fishermen are all blue cloth and wash-leather gloves."
_Miss V._ "He! he!"
_Tal._ "The fishwives unite the colors of the rainbow--"
_Lady Bar._ "(And we all know how hideous they are)--to vulgar, blooming cheeks, staring white teeth, and sky-blue eyes."
_Mrs. V._ "How satirical you are, especially you, Lady Barbara."
