Part 17

As {251}the Monarch of the Rhine proceeded, I observed a cloud gathering over the brow of Father Thames, which grew darker when uncomplimentary allusion was made to his favourite ale, and by the time that his guest had concluded his song had deepened into a tremendous and awful frown. Scarcely was the last word out of the singer’s mouth than he burst forth in fury. “Brooks and fountains!” he exclaimed in a loud voice, “is it thus I am to be insulted upon mine own waters? and am I to sit still and be silent while these insolent foreigners extol their thin and miserable drinks at the expense of the noble beverage upon which Britons have fattened and thriven ever since they were a people? Off with thee now, then, as soon as thou listest, thou hock-swilling loon, for I cannot put up with such trash!”

The Rhine King had already risen; but at these words the greatest astonishment was depicted upon his countenance, for he had really meant no offence, so far as I could see, and for my own part I was myself astonished at the conduct of Father Thames in taking notice of such a trifle. He did so, however, and was apparently quite ready to follow up his words with corresponding actions; for, reaching out his left hand, he raised from beside him a species of instrument somewhat resembling a three-pronged fork, which I had not noticed before, and overset his tumbler with his right hand in the action. {252}This appeared to exasperate him still more, and as his companion muttered something about the effects of too much ale being to make a man lose his temper, he appeared to get more and more angry, and made as though he would rise.

Upon this the Monarch of the Rhine tarried no longer, but made a sudden bolt of it, carrying a couple of curiously shaped spears in his left hand, and leading in his right his attendant eagle, tied with a string which was fastened to a collar round its neck. In this undignified manner the Rhine King rushed off the island, and I was so thoroughly ashamed at the rude and inhospitable conduct of my native river that I anxiously started forward to stop the stranger king’s flight, to offer apologies, and, if possible, to set matters right between the two. In so doing, however, something struck my hat from my head, and with the shock I awoke, and sat up amazed. There, indeed, was {253}the dear old river flowing on and on at my feet; there was the island, and upon it were the reeds and willows as usual, but the River Monarchs were nowhere to be seen. They had passed away like a dream, and no doubt I should be told that all I had seen and heard was only the results of a visit to dreamland during my nap that afternoon.

It was getting dark, and I could only just see the stately shape of Windsor Castle rearing itself above the town in the distance, whilst, to the left, the buildings of my beloved Eton appeared to be shadows fading away in the fast-approaching darkness of night. “Absit omen!” I exclaimed as I sprang to my feet. “The glory of Eton shall never fail whilst England is England; and, least of all, shall the love of her sons for the dear old college ever fade or lessen whilst life endures. I, at least, will be a boy as long as I live in my love for Eton and Eton boys, and to their approval will I submit the legends which I have heard here to-day.”

Filled with these thoughts, I hurried home as fast as I could, and wrote down from memory what I had heard and seen, resolving, if possible, to obtain some further information from the same sources if ever the opportunity should again present itself.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg’s River Legends, by E. H. Knatchbull-Hugessen