Volume 101 — THE ARMADA FROM THE SPANISH.
Reading edition
(Commenced by Mr. J.A. Froude and concluded by the Duke of Medina Sidonia.)
It may be remembered that the English writer in Longman's Magazine, had got to the point when after trying to get out of the expedition by pleading poverty, incompetency, and anything else I could think of, I was forced to go on my way to England with apparent satisfaction. We had putrid pork and mouldy biscuit, but still I informed the King that we were "content and cheerful." Had I given him any other intelligence, the chances are that he would have had my head—not a good one, but sufficient to meet my modest requirements.
Well, we sailed towards England, and as Mr. J.A. FROUDE has already explained (quoting from my own letter to King PHILIP), "knowing nothing of navigation," I soon made a bad shot. Instead of going to Tilbury, I drifted towards Cronstadt, even then a fortress of some consideration. I could tell you a great deal more, were it not that I succumbed to sea-sickness and gave up my command. The expedition was now, of course, commanded by the steward, but the duties of his unpleasant office left him but little time for directing an invasion. Well, we got within reach of England when the wind began to blow, and before I could hitch myself up with a marling-spike, every man Jack of us was ready for Davy Jones's locker!
But why should I dwell upon the events of the next few days? We were out-manoeuvred and beaten. I myself took refuge in a wood of mahogany trees, and it was my delight and my privilege to supply the requirements of the British colony in all that they desired. The result of this was that I and a few personal friends took refuge in a forest in which mahogany trees flourished. It was in this leafy prison that I supplied the genuine old Armada mahogany "as advertised." I would be afraid to say how many places I supplied with wood from the Armada. I may hint that I know something of the tables at Westminster and the benches of Gray's Inn. But there, that is many years ago, and all I can say now is, "Heave away, boys," and "Three cheers for the Don, the Keys, and the Donkey." I was the Don, the keys were supplied to those who paid for them, and the donkeys could defend themselves. The Armada was not a success, and after this frank avowal, it seems to me that Mr. FROUDE need render no further explanation. Surely the story of the Spanish Invasion is copyright. And if it is, Mr. FROUDE has no right to tamper with my work, the more especially as it is immediately appropriated by that model of modern journalism the Review of Reviews.
PHILOSOPHICAL REFLECTION.—We have five senses. That's quite enough. If we had a sixth sense, what a new sense it would be!
"IN CELLAR DEEP."
(Latest Up-to-Date Version of a celebrated Bacchanalian ditty, as it might be revised by Dr. Mortimer Granville and Mr. James Payn.)
["No one drinks alcoholic liquor (unless it be beer) to quench thirst."—JAMES PAYN.]
In Cellar deep I sit and steep My soul in GRANVILLE'S logic. Companions mine, sound ale, good wine— That foils Teetotal dodge—hic! With solemn pate our sages prate, The Pump-slaves neatly pinking. He's proved an ass, whose days don't pass In drinking, drinking, drinking! In water pure there's danger sure, All fizzle-pop's deceiving; And ginger-beer must make you queer (If GRANVILLE you're believing). Safe, on the whole, is Alcohol; It saves man's strength from sinking. I injure none, and have good f—fun. Whilst drinking, drinking, drinking! Hic! Hic! Hooray!! New reasons gay For drink from doctors borrow! The last (not first) is simple thirst, Thatsh true—to LAWSON'S sorrow! Good Templarsh fain would "physic PAYN," And GRANVILLE squelch like winking; But all the same, true Wisdom's—hic—game Is drinking, drinking, drinking!
[Left playing it.