REFLECTIONS ON WATER. "When the butt is out, we will drink water: not a drop before."-TEMPEST. I HAVE Stephano's aversion to Water. I never take any by chance into my mouth, without the proneness of our Tritons and Dolphins of the Fountain, to spout it forth again. It is, on the palate, as in tubs and hand-basins, egregiously washy. It hath not for me, even what is called " an amiable weakness." For the sake only of quantity, not quality, do I sometimes adulterate my Cogniac or Geneva with the flimsy fluid. Aquarius is not my sign; at the praises heaped on Sir Hugh Myddleton, for leading his trite streamlet up to London,—my lip curleth. Methinks if such a sloppy labour could at one time more than another betray a misguided taste, it was in those days, when we are told," The Grete Conduict, in Chepe, did runne forth Wyne." And then to hear talk withal of the New River Head,-as if, forsooth, the weak current poured even from Ware unto London, were capable of that goodly headed capital, the caput, of Stout Porter, or lusty Ale. your mouth The taste for aquatics is none of mine. I laugh at Cowes-it should be Calves'-Regattas; it passeth my understanding, to conceive the pleasure of contending with all your sail and sea, your might and main, for a prize cup of water. Gentle reader, if ever we two should encounter at good-men's feasts, say not before me, that " waters," for fear of my compelled rejoinder, "The more pump you!" I am told-Dic mihi-by Sir Lauder Dick, that the great floods in Morayshire destroyed I know not how many Scottish bridges, and I believe it. The element was always our Arch-Enemy. Witness the Deluge, when the whole human-kind would have perished, with water on the chest, but for Noah's chest on the water. Drowning -by some called Dying made Easy-is to my notions horrible. Conceive an unfortunate gentleman-not by any means thirsty-compelled to swill gulp after gulp of the vapid fluid, even to swelling, as the water you know will swell a man." If I said I would rather be hanged, it would be but the truth; although 66 THE ARCH-ENEMY. "Veritas in Puteo" hath given me almost a disrelish for truth itself. 66 Excepting their imaginary Castaly, I should be glad to know what poet hath sung ever in the praise of Water? Of wine, many. "Tak Tent," saith the Scottish Burns; "O, was ye at the Sherry?"singeth another. The lofty Douglas, in commending Norval, thus hinteth his cellar: "His Port I like. Shakspeare discourseth eloquently of both as 66 Red and white," and addeth-" with sweet and cunning hand laid on ;"-i. e. laid on in pipes. For Madeira, see Bowles of it; and the Muse of Pringle luxuriates in the Cape. Then is there also Mountain celebrated by Pope,-"The Shepherd loves the mountain," -to Moslem, forbidden draught; yet which Mahomet would condescend to fetch himself, if it failed in coming to hand. Sack, too,-as dear to Oriental Sultanas as his Malmsey to Clarence,-is by Byron touched on in his Corsair; but then, through some Koran-scrupulousness perchance, they take it-in Water! Praise there hath been of water; but, as became the subject, in prose; M. hath written a volume, I am told, in its commendation, and above all of its nutritive quality; and truly to see it floating the Victory with all her armament and complement of guns, and men, one must confess there is some support in it-at least as an outward application! but then taken internally, look at the wreck of the Royal George! The mention of Men-of-War, bringeth to mind, opportunely, certain marine reminiscences, pertinent to this subject; referring some years backward, when, with other uniform than my present invariable sables, I was stationed at *** on the coast of Sussex. Little as my present-tense habits, and occupations, savour of the past sea-service,-yet, reader, in the Navy List, amongst the Commanders, or years by-gone in the Ship's Books of H.M.S. Hyperion, presently lying in the sequestered harbour of Newhaven, thou wilt find occurring the surname of Hood; a name associated by friends, marine and mechanic, with a contrivance for expelling the old enemy, water, by a novel construction of Ships' pumps. Stanchest of my sect-the Adam's-Ale-Shunners-wert thou, old Samuel Spiller! in the muster-roll charactered an Able Seaman ; but 66 most notable for a Landsman's aversion to unmitigated Water, hard, or soft-fresh or salt! A petty Officer wert thou in that armed band versus contraband, the Coast Blockade; by some miscalled the Preventive Service, if service it be to prevent the influx of wholesome spirits. To do the smuggler bare justice, no seaman, Nelson-bred, payeth greater reverence, or obedience to that signal sentence, England expects every man to do his duty!" than he. Thine, Spiller, was done to the uttermost. Spirits, legal or illegal, in tub or flask, or pewter measure, didst thou inexorably seize, and gaugerlike try the depth thereof,-thy Royal Master, His Majesty, at the latter end of the seizures, faring no better than thy own begotten sea-urchin, of whom, one day remarking that "he took after his father," the young would-be Trinculo retorted, "Father never leaveth none to take." There were strange rumours afloat, and ashore— Samuel! of thy unprofitable vigilance. Many an illicit Child, i. e. a small keg, hath been laid at thy door. Thou hadst a becoming respect for thy comrades, as brave men and true, who could stand fire, but the smugglers, I fear, were ranked a streak higher, as men who could stand treat. Still were thy misdeeds like much of thy own beverage-beyond proof. Even as those delinquent utterers of base notes, who swallow their own dangerous forgeries, so didst thou gulp down whatever might else have appeared against thee in evidence. There was no entrapping thee, like rat, or weazel, in that Gin, from which deriving a sea-peerage, thou wert commonly known-with no offence, I trust, to the Noble Vassal of Kensingtonas Lord Hollands. It was by way of water-penance for one of these Cassio-like derelictions of mine Ancient, that one evening-the evening succeeding the Great Sea Tempest of 1814-I gave him charge of a boat's crew, to bring in sundry fragmental relics of some shipwreckt Argosy, that were reported to be adrift in our offing. In two hours he returned, and like Venator and Piscator, we immediately fell into dialogue,Piscator, i. e. Spiller, "for fear of dripping the carpet," standing aloof, a vox et preterea nihil, in a dark entry. "Well, Spiller,"-my phraseology was not then inoculated with the quaintness it hath since imbibed from after lecture-"Well, Spiller, what have you picked up?" "A jib-boom, I think, Sir; a capital spar; and part of a Ship's starn. The Planter of Barbadies'-famous place for rum, Sir!" "Was there any sea-are you wet?" "Only up to my middle, Sir." "Very well-stow away the wreck, and go to your grog. Tell Bunce to give you all double allowance." "Thank your honour's honour!" The voice ceased: and a pair of ponderous sea-soles, with tramp audible as the marble foot of the Spectre in Giovanni, went hurrying down our main-hatchway. Certain misgivings of a discrepancy between the imputed drenching and the weather, an appeal askance of the rum cask, joined with a curiosity perchance, to inspect the ship-fragments -our flottsom and jettsom, led me soon afterwards below, and there, in the mess-room, sate mine officer, high and dry, with a huge tankard in his starboard hand. I made an obvious remark on it, and had an answer-for Michael Spiller was no adept in the Chesterfieldian refinements from the interior of the drinking-vessel "Your Honour's right, and I ax your Honour's pardon. I warn't wet! but I was very dry!" A BLOW-UP. "Here we go up, up, up."-THE LAY OF THE FIRST MINSTREL. NEAR Battle, Mr. Peter Baker Was Powder-maker, Not Alderman Flower's flour,-the white that puffs But something blacker, bloodier, and louder, This stuff, as people know, is semper To make it therefore, is a ticklish business, Frequenting fights and Powder-works well know, Sometimes upon the grinders. But then the melancholy phrase to soften, And advertised-than all Price Currents louder, To lay it all to Mr. Baker's vanity, That he might have to say-" That was my thunder!" Whether, with iron hoof, Not sparkle-proof, Some ninny-hammer struck upon a nail, Whether some glow-worm of the Guy Faux stamp, |