Tales from Blackwood Volume V Part 22

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

3.

His hair was curled in order, At the rising of the sun, In comely rows and buckles smart That about his ears did run; And before there was a toupee That some inches up did grow, And behind there was a long queue That did o'er his shoulders flow.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

4.

And whenever we forgathered, He took off his wee three-c.o.c.kit, And he proffered you his snuff-box, Which he drew from his side pocket, And on Burdett or Buonaparte, He would make a remark or so, And then along the plainstones Like a provost he would go.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

5.

In dirty days he picked well His footsteps with his rattan, Oh! you ne'er could see the least speck On the shoes of Captain Paton; And on entering the Coffee-room About _two_, all men did know, They would see him with his Courier In the middle of the row.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

6.

Now and then upon a Sunday He invited me to dine, On a herring and a mutton-chop Which his maid dressed very fine; There was also a little Malmsey, And a bottle of Bordeaux, Which between me and the Captain Pa.s.sed nimbly to and fro.

Oh! I ne'er shall take pot-luck with Captain Paton no mo!

7.

Or if a bowl was mentioned, The Captain he would ring, And bid Nelly run to the West-port.

And a stoup of water bring; Then would he mix the genuine stuff, As they made it long ago, With limes that on his property In Trinidad did grow.

Oh! we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paton's punch no mo!

8.

And then all the time he would discourse So sensible and courteous, Perhaps talking of last sermon He had heard from Dr Porteous, Or some little bit of scandal About Mrs so and so, Which he scarce could credit, having heard The _con_ but not the _pro_.

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!

9.

Or when the candles were brought forth, And the night was fairly setting in, He would tell some fine old stories About Minden-field or Dettingen-- How he fought with a French major, And despatched him at a blow, While his blood ran out like water On the soft gra.s.s below.

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!

10.

But at last the Captain sickened And grew worse from day to day.

And all missed him in the Coffee-room From which now he stayed away; On Sabbaths, too, the Wee Kirk Made a melancholy show, All for wanting of the presence Of our venerable beau.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

11.

And in spite of all that Cleghorn And Corkindale could do, It was plain from twenty symptoms That death was in his view; So the Captain made his test'ment, And submitted to his foe, And we layed him by the Rams-horn Kirk-- 'Tis the way we all must go.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

12.

Join all in chorus, jolly boys, And let punch and tears be shed, For this prince of good old fellows, That, alack-a-day! is dead; For this prince of worthy fellows, And a pretty man also, That has left the Saltmarket In sorrow, grief, and woe!

For it ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.

BY THE LATE COUNTESS D'ARBOUVILLE.

[_MAGA._ MAY 1849.]

"What is that?" exclaimed several persons a.s.sembled in the dining-room of the chateau of Burcy.

The Countess of Moncar had just inherited, from a distant and slightly regretted relation, an ancient chateau which she had never seen, although it was at barely fifteen leagues from her habitual summer residence. One of the most elegant and admired women in Paris, Madame de Moncar was but moderately attached to the country. Quitting the capital at the end of June, to return thither early in October, she usually took with her some of the companions of her winter gaieties, and a few young men, selected amongst her most a.s.siduous partners. Madame de Moncar was married to a man much older than herself, who did not always protect her by his presence. Without abusing the great liberty she enjoyed, she was gracefully coquettish, elegantly frivolous, pleased with trifles--with a compliment, an amiable word, an hour's triumph--loving a ball for the pleasure of adorning herself, fond of admiration, and not sorry to inspire love. When some grave old aunt ventured a sage remonstrance--"_Mon Dieu!_" she replied; "do let me laugh and take life gaily. It is far less dangerous than to listen in solitude to the beating of one's heart. For my part, I do not know if I even have a heart!" She spoke the truth, and really was uncertain upon that point.

Desirous to remain so, she thought it prudent to leave herself no time for reflection.

One fine morning in September, the countess and her guests set out for the unknown chateau, intending to pa.s.s the day there. A cross road, reputed practicable, was to reduce the journey to twelve leagues. The cross road proved execrable: the travellers lost their way in the forest; a carriage broke down; in short, it was not till mid-day that the party, much fatigued, and but moderately gratified by the picturesque beauties of the scenery, reached the chateau of Burcy, whose aspect was scarcely such as to console them for the annoyances of the journey. It was a large sombre building with dingy walls. In its front a garden, then out of cultivation, descended from terrace to terrace; for the chateau, built upon the slope of a wooded hill, had no level ground in its vicinity. On all sides it was hemmed in by mountains, the trees upon which sprang up amidst rocks, and had a dark and gloomy foliage that saddened the eyesight. Man's neglect added to the natural wild disorder of the scene. Madame de Moncar stood motionless and disconcerted upon the threshold of her newly-acquired mansion.

"This is very unlike a party of pleasure," said she; "I could weep at sight of this dismal abode. Nevertheless here are n.o.ble trees, lofty rocks, a roaring cataract; doubtless, there is a certain beauty in all that; but it is of too grave an order for my humour," added she with a smile. "Let us go in and view the interior."

The hungry guests, eager to see if the cook, who had been sent forward upon the previous day, as an advanced guard, had safely arrived, willingly a.s.sented. Having obtained the agreeable certainty that breakfast would soon be upon the table, they rambled through the chateau. The old-fas.h.i.+oned furniture with tattered coverings, the arm-chairs with three legs, the tottering tables, the discordant sounds of a piano, which for a good score of years had not felt a finger, afforded abundant food for jest and merriment. Gaiety returned. Instead of grumbling at the inconveniences of this uncomfortable mansion, it was agreed to laugh at everything. Moreover, for these young and idle persons, the expedition was a sort of event, an almost perilous campaign, whose originality appealed to the imagination. A f.a.ggot was lighted beneath the wide chimney of the drawing-room; but clouds of smoke were the result, and the company took refuge in the pleasure-grounds. The aspect of the gardens was strange enough: the stone-benches were covered with moss; the walls of the terraces, crumbling in many places, left s.p.a.ce between their ill-joined stones for the growth of numerous wild plants, which sprung out erect and lofty, or trailed with flexible grace towards the earth. The walks were overgrown and obliterated by gra.s.s; the parterres, reserved for garden-flowers, were invaded by wild ones, which grow wherever the heavens afford a drop of water and a ray of sun; the insipid bear-bine enveloped and stifled in its envious embrace the beauteous rose of Provence; the blackberry mingled its acrid fruits with the red cl.u.s.ters of the currant-bush; ferns, wild mint with its faint perfume, thistles with their th.o.r.n.y crowns, grew beside a few forgotten lilies. When the company entered the enclosure, numbers of the smaller animals, alarmed at the unaccustomed intrusion, darted into the long gra.s.s, and the startled birds flew chirping from branch to branch. Silence, for many years the undisturbed tenant of this peaceful spot, fled at the sound of human voices and of joyous laughter. The solitude was appreciated by none--none grew pensive under its influence; it was recklessly broken and profaned.

The conversation ran upon the gay evenings of the past season, and was interspersed with amiable allusions, expressive looks, covert compliments, with all the thousand nothings, in short, resorted to by persons desirous to please each other, but who have not yet acquired the right to be serious.

The steward, after long search for a breakfast-bell along the dilapidated walls of the chateau, at last made up his mind to shout from the steps that the meal was ready--the half-smile with which he accompanied the announcement, proving that, like his betters, he resigned himself for one day to a deviation from his habits of etiquette and propriety. Soon a merry party surrounded the board. The gloom of the chateau, its desert site and uncheery aspect, were all forgotten; the conversation was general and well sustained; the health of the lady of the castle--the fairy whose presence converted the crazy old edifice into an enchanted palace, was drunk by all present. Suddenly all eyes were turned to the windows of the dining-room.

"What is that?" exclaimed several of the guests.

A small carriage of green wicker-work, with great wheels as high as the body of the vehicle, pa.s.sed before the windows, and stopped at the door.

It was drawn by a grey horse, short and punchy, whose eyes seemed in danger from the shafts, which, from their point of junction with the carriage, sloped obliquely upwards. The hood of the little cabriolet was brought forward, concealing its contents, with the exception of two arms covered with the sleeves of a blue _blouse_, and of a whip which fluttered about the ears of the grey horse.

"_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed Madame de Moncar, "I forgot to tell you I was obliged to invite the village doctor to breakfast. The old man was formerly of some service to my uncle's family, and I have seen him once or twice. Be not alarmed at the addition to our party: he is very taciturn. After a few civil words, we may forget his presence; besides, I do not suppose he will remain very long."

At this moment the dining-room door opened, and Dr Barnaby entered.

He was a little old man, feeble and insignificant-looking, of calm and gentle countenance. His grey hairs were collected into a queue, according to a bygone fas.h.i.+on; a dash of powder whitened his temples, and extended to his furrowed brow. He wore a black coat, and steel buckles to his breeches. Over one arm hung a riding-coat of brown taffety. In the opposite hand he carried his hat and a thick cane. His whole appearance proved that he had taken unusual pains with his toilet; but his black stockings and coat were stained with mud, as if the poor old man had fallen into a ditch. He paused at the door, astonished at the presence of so many persons. For an instant a tinge of embarra.s.sment appeared upon his face; but recovering himself, he silently saluted the company. The strange manner of his entrance gave the guests a violent inclination to laugh, which they repressed more or less successfully.

Madame de Moncar alone, in her character of mistress of the house, and incapable of failing in politeness, perfectly preserved her gravity.

"Dear me, doctor! have you had an overturn?" was her first inquiry.

Before replying, Dr Barnaby glanced at all these young people in the midst of whom he found himself, and, simple and artless though his physiognomy was, he could not but guess the cause of their hilarity.

He replied quietly:

"I have not been overturned. A poor carter fell under the wheels of his vehicle; I was pa.s.sing, and I helped him up." And the doctor took possession of a chair left vacant for him at the table. Unfolding his napkin, he pa.s.sed a corner through the b.u.t.ton-hole of his coat, and spread out the rest over his waistcoat and knees. At these preparations, smiles hovered upon the lips of many of the guests, and a whisper or two broke the silence; but this time the doctor did not raise his eyes.

Perhaps he observed nothing.

"Is there much sickness in the village?" inquired Madame de Moncar, whilst they were helping the new-comer.

"Yes, madam, a good deal."