Chapter III

_Mr. De Lancaster relates some curious Properties peculiar to certain Islands._

Mr. De Lancaster had brought his dissertation to a conclusion, when Philip entered the room: he had been told by David Williams what effect his experiment had produced, and as it had brought Mrs. De Lancaster out of her chamber, he had begun to apprehend greater consequences from its operation, than he was either prepared to encounter, or disposed to wish, till upon meeting Mr. Llewellyn he was informed by that sagacious gentleman, that the surprise, into which his patient had been thrown by the unexpected serenade of David’s harp had proved extremely prejudicial to her health, and that he thought it of the last consequence to her life, never to expose her to such dangerous experiments again--I cannot for my soul conceive, said that learned sage, what expectations you could form from such a ridiculous chimæra, but to hurry her into fits, which you have done, and to drive her out of her senses which very possibly you may do. If I am thus to be interrupted in the management of her case, how am I to be answerable for her life?

Thus rebuffed by the anti-musical doctor, Philip sought refuge in the society of the company below stairs from the persecution of those above. He sate silent and dull, but as this was nothing extraordinary on his part, nobody concerned themselves about him.

Mr. De Lancaster asked Captain Wilson in what province of Ireland his regiment was quartered, and upon being answered that it was in Munster, he gravely observed, that he would then be upon the spot, where, if so disposed, he might enquire into the truth of the extraordinary properties recorded by Giraldus Cambrensis of a certain island in the aforesaid province which, if related by any other than a historian of his established character for veracity and research, might have staggered all credulity.

Upon Henry’s desiring to be informed what those properties were--he replied, I premised that they were extraordinary, and I own to you they require confirmation, for Giraldus deliberately tells us, that there is an island in that province, known in his time, and in fact from the time of Saint Patrick, into which no woman, nor any female creature living, could enter.

Well done, Giraldus! cried the colonel, that is an interesting discovery for married men.

A blessed one--said Philip in an under voice.

I hardly think I shall be able to find it, said the captain, and if I do, I don’t believe I shall chuse it for my head quarters.

It is fitter for a hermitage or a monkish convent, Edward observed.

Hold, cried De Lancaster, I have Giraldus on the table, and here he tells us of an island, where no woman can be delivered of a child.

Pooh! said the colonel, he is an old woman himself, and can be delivered of nothing but lies.

Hold, resumed the expounder of Giraldus; here is another island, which is partly inhabited by good, and partly by evil spirits.

All islands are alike for that, said the colonel.

Have a little patience; we have not done yet with Giraldus’s islands, for here is one, where dead bodies cannot putrefy; and look! here is another, that outgoes all the others, where nobody can ever die--Mark his words--_Nemo unquam moritur, unquam mortuus fuit, vel morte naturali mori potuit_.

Excellent Giraldus! exclaimed the colonel; if he does but make out his immortal island to be that which women cannot enter, the grand desideratum is obtained.

He does not say that, replied De Lancaster.

Then he had better have said nothing about it, Philip cried out from his corner, for fear our wives should find it out.

At this instant our hero John made his appearance with a most flaming and tremendous sketch of David Williams, playing on his harp at sun-down, as he had seen him in the gallery. This was the first unlucky start of John’s genius in the branch of portrait-painting, and though it was in the grand gusto of Michael Angelo, it was not quite so good as Michael Angelo would have made it, though John had bestowed as much red ink upon it as would have served a merchant’s clerk for a twelve-month.

At the sight of that red ink, so profusely squandered, Philip betrayed no small alarm, and demanded where he got it. John had found a bottle of it upon the chimney-piece in his father’s bedroom.

It is not ink, cried Philip; it is the blood of Saint Januarius, and you have ruined me.

The vehemence of Philip’s exclamation, and the horror of his countenance, were too ridiculous to be withstood, and even the gravity of the grandfather was not proof against the laugh.

Hollah! friend John, cried the colonel, you have drawn a devil in the blood of a saint.

John demanded how long the saint had been dead; and the colonel answered at a guess, that it was not much more than a thousand years, but the monks could bring his blood to life again, when they had occasion for a vial of red ink.

You may make a laughing matter of it, said Philip, but I got it with considerable difficulty, and not at the price of red ink, assure yourself.

And what was the use of it, when you had got it, said the colonel?

Sir, replied poor Philip with much solemnity--It has various uses: it is a preservative against storms by sea or land; against thunder and lightning; it guards your house from fire, keeps off evil spirits, and prevents or cures diseases.

And so it may still, said the old gentleman, for the sight of John’s drawing brings to my recollection the famous recipe, which John De Gaddesden has bequeathed to us for those, who may be seized with that terrible disorder the small-pox, and I believe I can give it to you in his own, or very nearly his own, words--“after the eruption of the small pox, says that ancient and learned leech, cause the whole body of your patient to be wrapt in scarlet, or in any other red envelope, and command every thing about the couch of the sick person to be made red, for this will be found an excellent and speedy cure. It was in this manner, he adds, I treated the son of the noble King Edward the Second of England, when he had the small pox, and I cured him without leaving any marks.”--This being granted, my grandson’s performance, although not eminently meritorious for its art, may yet be turned to beneficial purposes, and Saint Januarius may share the credit of them with John De Gaddesden.

Philip, who perceived he was not likely to receive any redress, walked away to meditate in silence over the loss of his miraculous vial. John was called up to his mother’s apartment, and when there admitted, Betty was ordered to retire, and she addressed him as will be found in the following chapter.