My mother was a great
performer. I recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano in
which she had to imitate a _thunderstorm_. So admirably did she hit it
off, that when we went to tea all the cream was _turned sour_, as well
as three casks of _beer_ in the cellar."
At this assertion Mr Phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst
out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered
it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to
him.
"I really beg pardon, Captain Kearney, but the idea of such an expensive
talent was too amusing. Will you permit me to ask you a question? As
there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people
killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?"
"No sir," replied Captain Kearney, very angrily; "but her performance
_electrified_ us, which was something like it. Perhaps, Mr Phillott, as
you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with
you?"
"With great pleasure," replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that
he had gone far enough.
"Well, gentlemen," said the captain, "we shall soon be in the land of
plenty. I shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at
Jamaica. We must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of
the _Sylvia_ (that was the name of the privateer brig), and I am happy
to say that I shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all
the party present. Steward, coffee.
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