Reader, _my_ name's Nubibus. I am "that Romeo." My ruling passion is a
taste for the rurals. My love of green fields may be almost termed a
green sickness. You may talk of your ottomans and your fauteuils, _I_
never sit so easy as in a rustic chair. But, unhappily, my pleasure is
not without a damper. The rain is my most mortal foe: my skies are
always cloudy: my trees are continually on the drip: my Pan is always a
Watering Pan. At the moment of my birth, even, it was observed that the
watchman was going his rounds and crying, "Past four o'clock, and a
rainy morning:" and many of my best friends think it likely that my last
days will be accompanied by a drop.
Last Friday was a notable instance of my unluck. The morning was most
beautiful—sun shining, birds singing, weather-glass down at _Stormy_,
and Moore's Almanack at _Heavy Rain_—everything, in short, promised a
fine day; and I immediately dressed myself in my most summery attire,
and set off to join Mrs. Timon Duggins's pic-nic party to Battersea
Fields. I found all the company already assembled in her little parlour,
in Greek Street, Soho, and I could hear them greet my arrival with, "Oh!
here's _that_ Mr. Nubibus! we're sure to have rain if he comes."
However, I took no notice of their impertinences, but calmly brushed the
dust off my gossamer pumps, to show that I had no fear on my own
account: tho', sooth to say, I had taken care not to come without my old
friend, my walking-stick umbrella. Well, off we set, took boat at
Hungerford Stairs, and reached our place of destination without
misadventure. Miss Arabella Dix was the first lady to land, which she
did by stepping into a squashy place among the rushes, from which she
came out with an abundant supply of mud and water, and not without an
angry look at me, as much as to say, "Ay, it's all thro' _that_ Mr.
Nubibus!" But this was not the worst. Gallantry forbade that Miss
Arabella should remain in her unfortunate dampness while there were so
many dry gentlemen in company: and, as it unluckily turned out that mine
was the only small foot of the party, I was obliged to give up my dry
pumps to Miss Arabella; tho' I own it went to my very _sole_ to do so.
"Oh! how I _do_ love the country!" exclaimed Miss Arabella, as soon as
she had established herself in my dry shoes; "the sky, the water, the
trees, how delightful!" I felt as if I could have hugged her. My taste
to a T.
"And there! there's a spectacle! that lovely _rainbow_!" I felt as if I
could have committed homicide upon the provoking creature, and clenched
my walking-stick umbrella with the force of a maniac. On came the
rainbow; clap went the thunder; down poured the rain—cats and dogs,
puppies and _kitlings_. All eyes were turned upon me reproachfully. Up
went umbrellas and parasols; out came cloaks and Mackintoshes. An air of
triumph seemed to pervade the company as they remarked that there were
no means of shelter left for me. I let them enjoy their triumph for a
while, and then I quietly unscrewed the top of my walking-stick
umbrella. My walking-stick umbrella, did I say? Alas! I had brought my
bamboo telescope instead.
Young Ariel Hicks, a young gentleman of fifteen years of age, and as
many stones weight, now offered me a share of his parapluie; but, as
Hicks was only four feet two inches in height, and I stood five feet ten
in my shoes (or rather, in Miss Arabella's), I was soon tired of doing
penance in the form of a letter S, and boldly declared my utter contempt
for all kinds of showers, and thunder-showers in particular. What made
our situation still more provoking, was the presence of an opposition
pic-nic party in the adjoining field, cosily enjoying themselves under a
waterproof tent, from the entrance of which a grinning face would every
now and then peep out, evidently in high glee at our miserable
appearance. The weather getting clear, it was proposed to have a ramble
among the green trees: but the Dryads and Hamadryads turning out to be
anything but what their name imported, we were glad to escape from their
dripping bowers with all possible speed. Hungry as wolves, and shivering
with cold, we now addressed ourselves to Mrs. Timon Duggins, who had
undertaken to be purveyor to the whole party. Mrs. Timon Duggins was as
hungry as we. But where was "Mr. Gunterses young man?—Mr. Gunterses
young man, that she (Mrs. D.) had ordered to be on the ground punctually
at two o'clock?" Echo, and several of the young ladies and gentlemen
answered "Where?" But still Mr. Gunter's young man appeared not. At last
Mrs. Timon Duggins, employing one end of her spectacles as an eye-glass,
exclaimed, "Why, there he is!" and there, sure enough, we saw him,
standing with his baskets on his arm, watching the departure of the
rival party, who were merrily sailing down the river to the tune of the
Canadian Boat Song, sung by the whole strength of the company. The young
jackal was soon summoned, and bid to spread the repast: but what was our
horror on learning that he had mistaken the rival party for ours, and
suffered them to eat up all our provisions. Half dead with cold and
hunger, we turned the baskets inside out: but nothing was left except a
few ices and a bottle or two of ginger-beer!
By great good fortune one of the Twickenham steamers was just then going
by, and as Ariel Hicks, who was an amateur sailor, had some acquaintance
with the skipper, he succeeded in procuring us some prog from the
vessel. We had scarcely got our knives and forks well fixed in it,
however, when the rain again began to fall in torrents, and we were glad
to get away to our boats and Mackintoshes. Our voyage home was not less
disastrous. The boat had been filled to about ankle deep by the late
heavy rains, and we were obliged to sit all the way with our feet held
up above high-water mark—except those who thought proper to put them in
the wet _by way of relief_.
The next morning there was but one answer to all inquiries—"Our
compliments, and we're very ill in bed of colds and rheumatisms; and
it's all owing to _that_ Mister Nubibus."