“O ma'am, there's no help for it!” cried he; “you won't have the
hunting, to be sure, nor amusing yourself with wading a foot and a-half
through the dirt, by way of a little pleasant walk, as we poor equerries
do! It's a wonder to me we outlive the first month. But the agreeable
puffs of the passages you will have just as completely as any of us.
Let's see, how many blasts must you have every time you go to the queen?
First, one upon your opening your door; then another, as you get down
the three steps from it, which are exposed to the wind from the garden
door downstairs; then a third, as you turn the corner to enter the
passage; then you come plump upon another from the hall door; then comes
another, fit to knock you down, as you turn to the upper passage; then,
just as you turn towards the queen's room, comes another; and last, a
whiff from the king's stairs, enough to blow you half a mile off!”
“Mere healthy breezes,” I cried, and assured him I did not fear them.
“Stay till Christmas,” cried he, with a threatening air, “only stay till
then, and let's see what you'll say to them; you'll be laid up as sure
as fate! you may take my word for that. One thing, however, pray let
me caution you about--don't go to early prayers in November; if you do,
that will completely kill you! Oh, ma'am, you know nothing yet of all
these matters! only pray, joking apart, let me have the honour just to
advise you this one thing, or else it's all over with you, I do assure
you!”
It was in vain I begged him to be more merciful in his prophecies;
he failed not, every night, to administer to me the same pleasant
anticipations.
“Why the princesses,” cried he, “used to it as they are, get regularly
knocked up before this business is over; off they drop, one by
one:--first the queen deserts us; then Princess Elizabeth is done for;
then princess royal begins coughing; then Princess Augusta gets the
snuffles; and all the poor attendants, my poor sister at their head,
drop off, one after another, like so many snuffs of candles: till at
last, dwindle, dwindle, dwindle--not a soul goes to the chapel but
the king, the parson, and myself; and there we three freeze it out
together!”
One evening, when he had been out very late hunting with the king, he
assumed so doleful an air of weariness, that had not Miss Port exerted
her utmost powers to revive him, he would not have uttered a word
the whole night; but when once brought forward, he gave us more
entertainment than ever, by relating his hardships.
“After all the labours,” cried he, “of the chase, all the riding, the
trotting, the galloping, the leaping, the--with your favour, ladies,
I beg pardon, I was going to say a strange word, but the--the
perspiration--and--and all that--after being wet through over head,
and soused through under feet, and popped into ditches, and jerked over
gates, what lives we do lead! Well, it's all honour! that's my only
comfort! Well, after all this, fagging away like mad from eight in the
morning to five or six in the afternoon, home we come, looking like so
many drowned rats, with not a dry thread about us, nor a morsel within
us--sore to the very bone, and forced to smile all the time! and then
after all this what do you think follows?--'Here, Goldsworthy,' cries
his majesty: so up I comes to him, bowing profoundly, and my hair
dripping down to my shoes; 'Goldsworthy,' cries his majesty. 'Sir,' says
I, smiling agreeably, with the rheumatism just creeping all over me!
but still, expecting something a little comfortable, I wait patiently
to know his gracious pleasure, and then, 'Here, Goldsworthy, say!' he
cries, 'will you have a little barley water?' Barley water in such
a plight as that! Fine compensation for a wet jacket, truly!--barley
water! I never heard of such a thing in my life! barley water after a
whole day's hard hunting!”
“And pray did you drink it?”
“I drink it?--Drink barley water? no, no; not come to that neither. But
there it was, sure enough!--in a jug fit for a sick room, just such a
thing as you put upon a hob in a chimney, for some poor miserable
soul that keeps his bed! just such a thing as that!--And, 'Here,
Goldsworthy,' says his majesty, 'here's the barley water.'”
“And did the king drink it himself?”
“Yes, God bless his majesty! but I was too humble a subject to do the
same as the king!--Barley water, quoth I!--Ha! ha!--a fine treat truly!
Heaven defend me! I'm not come to that, neither!--bad enough too, but
not so bad as that.”