S. Calypso_ in a Storm," which hangs to this day
over the Admiral's mantelpiece.
I could dwell on this evening for ever; not that the company was so
large as usual, but because it was the last night of our simplicity.
With the next morning we passed out of our golden age, and in the
foolishness of our hearts welcomed the change.
It was announced to us in this manner--
The duets had been beaten out of Miss Limpenny's piano--an early
Collard, with a top like a cupboard, fluted in pink silk and
wearing a rosette in front; the performers, on retiring, had
curtseyed in acknowledgment of the Vicar's customary remark about the
"Three Graces "; the Admiral had wrung from his double-bass the
sounds we had learnt to identify with elfin merriment (though
suggestive, rather, of seasick mutineers under hatches), and our
literary collector, Mr. Moggridge, was standing up to recite a trifle
of his own--"flung off"--as he explained, "not pruned or polished."
The hush in the drawing-room was almost painful--for in those days we
all admired Mr. Moggridge--as the poet tossed back a stray lock from
his forehead, flung an arm suddenly out at right angles to his
person, and began sepulchrally--
"Maiden"--
(Here he looked very hard at Miss Lavinia Limpenny.)
"Maiden, what dost thou in the chill churchyard
Beside yon grassy mound?
The night hath fallen, the rain is raining hard,
Damp is the ground.
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