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diff --git a/1467-h/1467-h.htm b/1467-h/1467-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01e3cbc --- /dev/null +++ b/1467-h/1467-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2641 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Some Christmas Stories, by Charles Dickens</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Some Christmas Stories, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Some Christmas Stories + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: May 6, 2015 [eBook #1467] +[This file was first posted in June/July 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME CHRISTMAS STORIES*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1911 Chapman and Hall Christmas Stories +edition, Volume 1, by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1><span class="smcap">Some Short Christmas Stories</span><br /> +by<br /> +<span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span></h1> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Christmas Tree</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>What Christmas is as we Grow Older</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Poor Relation’s Story</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Child’s Story</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Schoolboy’s Story</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nobody’s Story</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>A +CHRISTMAS TREE.<br /> +[1850]</h2> +<p>I <span class="smcap">have</span> been looking on, this +evening, at a merry company of children assembled round that +pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree. The tree was planted +in the middle of a great round table, and towered high above +their heads. It was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of +little tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered with bright +objects. There were rosy-cheeked dolls, hiding behind the +green leaves; and there were real watches (with movable hands, at +least, and an endless capacity of being wound up) dangling from +innumerable twigs; there were French-polished tables, chairs, +bedsteads, wardrobes, eight-day clocks, and various other +articles of domestic furniture (wonderfully made, in tin, at +Wolverhampton), perched among the boughs, as if in preparation +for some fairy housekeeping; there were jolly, broad-faced little +men, much more agreeable in appearance than many real +men—and no wonder, for their heads took off, and showed +them to be full of sugar-plums; there were fiddles and drums; +there were tambourines, books, work-boxes, paint-boxes, +sweetmeat-boxes, peep-show boxes, and all kinds of boxes; there +were trinkets for the elder girls, far brighter than any grown-up +gold and jewels; there were baskets and pincushions in all +devices; there were guns, swords, and banners; there were witches +standing in enchanted rings of pasteboard, to tell fortunes; +there were teetotums, humming-tops, needle-cases, pen-wipers, +smelling-bottles, conversation-cards, bouquet-holders; real +fruit, made artificially dazzling with gold leaf; imitation +apples, pears, and walnuts, crammed with surprises; in short, as +a pretty child, before me, delightedly whispered to another +pretty child, her bosom friend, “There was everything, and +more.” This motley collection of odd objects, +clustering on the tree like magic fruit, and flashing back the +bright looks directed towards it from every side—some of +the diamond-eyes admiring it were hardly on a level with the +table, and a few were languishing in timid wonder on the bosoms +of pretty mothers, aunts, and nurses—made a lively +realisation of the fancies of childhood; and set me thinking how +all the trees that grow and all the things that come into +existence on the earth, have their wild adornments at that +well-remembered time.</p> +<p>Being now at home again, and alone, the only person in the +house awake, my thoughts are drawn back, by a fascination which I +do not care to resist, to my own childhood. I begin to +consider, what do we all remember best upon the branches of the +Christmas Tree of our own young Christmas days, by which we +climbed to real life.</p> +<p>Straight, in the middle of the room, cramped in the freedom of +its growth by no encircling walls or soon-reached ceiling, a +shadowy tree arises; and, looking up into the dreamy brightness +of its top—for I observe in this tree the singular property +that it appears to grow downward towards the earth—I look +into my youngest Christmas recollections!</p> +<p>All toys at first, I find. Up yonder, among the green +holly and red berries, is the Tumbler with his hands in his +pockets, who wouldn’t lie down, but whenever he was put +upon the floor, persisted in rolling his fat body about, until he +rolled himself still, and brought those lobster eyes of his to +bear upon me—when I affected to laugh very much, but in my +heart of hearts was extremely doubtful of him. Close beside +him is that infernal snuff-box, out of which there sprang a +demoniacal Counsellor in a black gown, with an obnoxious head of +hair, and a red cloth mouth, wide open, who was not to be endured +on any terms, but could not be put away either; for he used +suddenly, in a highly magnified state, to fly out of Mammoth +Snuff-boxes in dreams, when least expected. Nor is the frog +with cobbler’s wax on his tail, far off; for there was no +knowing where he wouldn’t jump; and when he flew over the +candle, and came upon one’s hand with that spotted +back—red on a green ground—he was horrible. The +cardboard lady in a blue-silk skirt, who was stood up against the +candlestick to dance, and whom I see on the same branch, was +milder, and was beautiful; but I can’t say as much for the +larger cardboard man, who used to be hung against the wall and +pulled by a string; there was a sinister expression in that nose +of his; and when he got his legs round his neck (which he very +often did), he was ghastly, and not a creature to be alone +with.</p> +<p>When did that dreadful Mask first look at me? Who put it +on, and why was I so frightened that the sight of it is an era in +my life? It is not a hideous visage in itself; it is even +meant to be droll, why then were its stolid features so +intolerable? Surely not because it hid the wearer’s +face. An apron would have done as much; and though I should +have preferred even the apron away, it would not have been +absolutely insupportable, like the mask. Was it the +immovability of the mask? The doll’s face was +immovable, but I was not afraid of <i>her</i>. Perhaps that +fixed and set change coming over a real face, infused into my +quickened heart some remote suggestion and dread of the universal +change that is to come on every face, and make it still? +Nothing reconciled me to it. No drummers, from whom +proceeded a melancholy chirping on the turning of a handle; no +regiment of soldiers, with a mute band, taken out of a box, and +fitted, one by one, upon a stiff and lazy little set of +lazy-tongs; no old woman, made of wires and a brown-paper +composition, cutting up a pie for two small children; could give +me a permanent comfort, for a long time. Nor was it any +satisfaction to be shown the Mask, and see that it was made of +paper, or to have it locked up and be assured that no one wore +it. The mere recollection of that fixed face, the mere +knowledge of its existence anywhere, was sufficient to awake me +in the night all perspiration and horror, with, “O I know +it’s coming! O the mask!”</p> +<p>I never wondered what the dear old donkey with the +panniers—there he is! was made of, then! His hide was +real to the touch, I recollect. And the great black horse +with the round red spots all over him—the horse that I +could even get upon—I never wondered what had brought him +to that strange condition, or thought that such a horse was not +commonly seen at Newmarket. The four horses of no colour, +next to him, that went into the waggon of cheeses, and could be +taken out and stabled under the piano, appear to have bits of +fur-tippet for their tails, and other bits for their manes, and +to stand on pegs instead of legs, but it was not so when they +were brought home for a Christmas present. They were all +right, then; neither was their harness unceremoniously nailed +into their chests, as appears to be the case now. The +tinkling works of the music-cart, I <i>did</i> find out, to be +made of quill tooth-picks and wire; and I always thought that +little tumbler in his shirt sleeves, perpetually swarming up one +side of a wooden frame, and coming down, head foremost, on the +other, rather a weak-minded person—though good-natured; but +the Jacob’s Ladder, next him, made of little squares of red +wood, that went flapping and clattering over one another, each +developing a different picture, and the whole enlivened by small +bells, was a mighty marvel and a great delight.</p> +<p>Ah! The Doll’s house!—of which I was not +proprietor, but where I visited. I don’t admire the +Houses of Parliament half so much as that stone-fronted mansion +with real glass windows, and door-steps, and a real +balcony—greener than I ever see now, except at watering +places; and even they afford but a poor imitation. And +though it <i>did</i> open all at once, the entire house-front +(which was a blow, I admit, as cancelling the fiction of a +staircase), it was but to shut it up again, and I could +believe. Even open, there were three distinct rooms in it: +a sitting-room and bed-room, elegantly furnished, and best of +all, a kitchen, with uncommonly soft fire-irons, a plentiful +assortment of diminutive utensils—oh, the +warming-pan!—and a tin man-cook in profile, who was always +going to fry two fish. What Barmecide justice have I done +to the noble feasts wherein the set of wooden platters figured, +each with its own peculiar delicacy, as a ham or turkey, glued +tight on to it, and garnished with something green, which I +recollect as moss! Could all the Temperance Societies of +these later days, united, give me such a tea-drinking as I have +had through the means of yonder little set of blue crockery, +which really would hold liquid (it ran out of the small wooden +cask, I recollect, and tasted of matches), and which made tea, +nectar. And if the two legs of the ineffectual little +sugar-tongs did tumble over one another, and want purpose, like +Punch’s hands, what does it matter? And if I did once +shriek out, as a poisoned child, and strike the fashionable +company with consternation, by reason of having drunk a little +teaspoon, inadvertently dissolved in too hot tea, I was never the +worse for it, except by a powder!</p> +<p>Upon the next branches of the tree, lower down, hard by the +green roller and miniature gardening-tools, how thick the books +begin to hang. Thin books, in themselves, at first, but +many of them, and with deliciously smooth covers of bright red or +green. What fat black letters to begin with! “A +was an archer, and shot at a frog.” Of course he +was. He was an apple-pie also, and there he is! He +was a good many things in his time, was A, and so were most of +his friends, except X, who had so little versatility, that I +never knew him to get beyond Xerxes or Xantippe—like Y, who +was always confined to a Yacht or a Yew Tree; and Z condemned for +ever to be a Zebra or a Zany. But, now, the very tree +itself changes, and becomes a bean-stalk—the marvellous +bean-stalk up which Jack climbed to the Giant’s +house! And now, those dreadfully interesting, double-headed +giants, with their clubs over their shoulders, begin to stride +along the boughs in a perfect throng, dragging knights and ladies +home for dinner by the hair of their heads. And +Jack—how noble, with his sword of sharpness, and his shoes +of swiftness! Again those old meditations come upon me as I +gaze up at him; and I debate within myself whether there was more +than one Jack (which I am loth to believe possible), or only one +genuine original admirable Jack, who achieved all the recorded +exploits.</p> +<p>Good for Christmas-time is the ruddy colour of the cloak, in +which—the tree making a forest of itself for her to trip +through, with her basket—Little Red Riding-Hood comes to me +one Christmas Eve to give me information of the cruelty and +treachery of that dissembling Wolf who ate her grandmother, +without making any impression on his appetite, and then ate her, +after making that ferocious joke about his teeth. She was +my first love. I felt that if I could have married Little +Red Riding-Hood, I should have known perfect bliss. But, it +was not to be; and there was nothing for it but to look out the +Wolf in the Noah’s Ark there, and put him late in the +procession on the table, as a monster who was to be +degraded. O the wonderful Noah’s Ark! It was +not found seaworthy when put in a washing-tub, and the animals +were crammed in at the roof, and needed to have their legs well +shaken down before they could be got in, even there—and +then, ten to one but they began to tumble out at the door, which +was but imperfectly fastened with a wire latch—but what was +<i>that</i> against it! Consider the noble fly, a size or +two smaller than the elephant: the lady-bird, the +butterfly—all triumphs of art! Consider the goose, +whose feet were so small, and whose balance was so indifferent, +that he usually tumbled forward, and knocked down all the animal +creation. Consider Noah and his family, like idiotic +tobacco-stoppers; and how the leopard stuck to warm little +fingers; and how the tails of the larger animals used gradually +to resolve themselves into frayed bits of string!</p> +<p>Hush! Again a forest, and somebody up in a +tree—not Robin Hood, not Valentine, not the Yellow Dwarf (I +have passed him and all Mother Bunch’s wonders, without +mention), but an Eastern King with a glittering scimitar and +turban. By Allah! two Eastern Kings, for I see another, +looking over his shoulder! Down upon the grass, at the +tree’s foot, lies the full length of a coal-black Giant, +stretched asleep, with his head in a lady’s lap; and near +them is a glass box, fastened with four locks of shining steel, +in which he keeps the lady prisoner when he is awake. I see +the four keys at his girdle now. The lady makes signs to +the two kings in the tree, who softly descend. It is the +setting-in of the bright Arabian Nights.</p> +<p>Oh, now all common things become uncommon and enchanted to +me. All lamps are wonderful; all rings are talismans. +Common flower-pots are full of treasure, with a little earth +scattered on the top; trees are for Ali Baba to hide in; +beef-steaks are to throw down into the Valley of Diamonds, that +the precious stones may stick to them, and be carried by the +eagles to their nests, whence the traders, with loud cries, will +scare them. Tarts are made, according to the recipe of the +Vizier’s son of Bussorah, who turned pastrycook after he +was set down in his drawers at the gate of Damascus; cobblers are +all Mustaphas, and in the habit of sewing up people cut into four +pieces, to whom they are taken blind-fold.</p> +<p>Any iron ring let into stone is the entrance to a cave which +only waits for the magician, and the little fire, and the +necromancy, that will make the earth shake. All the dates +imported come from the same tree as that unlucky date, with whose +shell the merchant knocked out the eye of the genie’s +invisible son. All olives are of the stock of that fresh +fruit, concerning which the Commander of the Faithful overheard +the boy conduct the fictitious trial of the fraudulent olive +merchant; all apples are akin to the apple purchased (with two +others) from the Sultan’s gardener for three sequins, and +which the tall black slave stole from the child. All dogs +are associated with the dog, really a transformed man, who jumped +upon the baker’s counter, and put his paw on the piece of +bad money. All rice recalls the rice which the awful lady, +who was a ghoule, could only peck by grains, because of her +nightly feasts in the burial-place. My very +rocking-horse,—there he is, with his nostrils turned +completely inside-out, indicative of Blood!—should have a +peg in his neck, by virtue thereof to fly away with me, as the +wooden horse did with the Prince of Persia, in the sight of all +his father’s Court.</p> +<p>Yes, on every object that I recognise among those upper +branches of my Christmas Tree, I see this fairy light! When +I wake in bed, at daybreak, on the cold, dark, winter mornings, +the white snow dimly beheld, outside, through the frost on the +window-pane, I hear Dinarzade. “Sister, sister, if +you are yet awake, I pray you finish the history of the Young +King of the Black Islands.” Scheherazade replies, +“If my lord the Sultan will suffer me to live another day, +sister, I will not only finish that, but tell you a more +wonderful story yet.” Then, the gracious Sultan goes +out, giving no orders for the execution, and we all three breathe +again.</p> +<p>At this height of my tree I begin to see, cowering among the +leaves—it may be born of turkey, or of pudding, or mince +pie, or of these many fancies, jumbled with Robinson Crusoe on +his desert island, Philip Quarll among the monkeys, Sandford and +Merton with Mr. Barlow, Mother Bunch, and the Mask—or it +may be the result of indigestion, assisted by imagination and +over-doctoring—a prodigious nightmare. It is so +exceedingly indistinct, that I don’t know why it’s +frightful—but I know it is. I can only make out that +it is an immense array of shapeless things, which appear to be +planted on a vast exaggeration of the lazy-tongs that used to +bear the toy soldiers, and to be slowly coming close to my eyes, +and receding to an immeasurable distance. When it comes +closest, it is worse. In connection with it I descry +remembrances of winter nights incredibly long; of being sent +early to bed, as a punishment for some small offence, and waking +in two hours, with a sensation of having been asleep two nights; +of the laden hopelessness of morning ever dawning; and the +oppression of a weight of remorse.</p> +<p>And now, I see a wonderful row of little lights rise smoothly +out of the ground, before a vast green curtain. Now, a bell +rings—a magic bell, which still sounds in my ears unlike +all other bells—and music plays, amidst a buzz of voices, +and a fragrant smell of orange-peel and oil. Anon, the +magic bell commands the music to cease, and the great green +curtain rolls itself up majestically, and The Play begins! +The devoted dog of Montargis avenges the death of his master, +foully murdered in the Forest of Bondy; and a humorous Peasant +with a red nose and a very little hat, whom I take from this hour +forth to my bosom as a friend (I think he was a Waiter or an +Hostler at a village Inn, but many years have passed since he and +I have met), remarks that the sassigassity of that dog is indeed +surprising; and evermore this jocular conceit will live in my +remembrance fresh and unfading, overtopping all possible jokes, +unto the end of time. Or now, I learn with bitter tears how +poor Jane Shore, dressed all in white, and with her brown hair +hanging down, went starving through the streets; or how George +Barnwell killed the worthiest uncle that ever man had, and was +afterwards so sorry for it that he ought to have been let +off. Comes swift to comfort me, the +Pantomime—stupendous Phenomenon!—when clowns are shot +from loaded mortars into the great chandelier, bright +constellation that it is; when Harlequins, covered all over with +scales of pure gold, twist and sparkle, like amazing fish; when +Pantaloon (whom I deem it no irreverence to compare in my own +mind to my grandfather) puts red-hot pokers in his pocket, and +cries “Here’s somebody coming!” or taxes the +Clown with petty larceny, by saying, “Now, I sawed you do +it!” when Everything is capable, with the greatest ease, of +being changed into Anything; and “Nothing is, but thinking +makes it so.” Now, too, I perceive my first +experience of the dreary sensation—often to return in +after-life—of being unable, next day, to get back to the +dull, settled world; of wanting to live for ever in the bright +atmosphere I have quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with +the wand like a celestial Barber’s Pole, and pining for a +Fairy immortality along with her. Ah, she comes back, in +many shapes, as my eye wanders down the branches of my Christmas +Tree, and goes as often, and has never yet stayed by me!</p> +<p>Out of this delight springs the toy-theatre,—there it +is, with its familiar proscenium, and ladies in feathers, in the +boxes!—and all its attendant occupation with paste and +glue, and gum, and water colours, in the getting-up of The Miller +and his Men, and Elizabeth, or the Exile of Siberia. In +spite of a few besetting accidents and failures (particularly an +unreasonable disposition in the respectable Kelmar, and some +others, to become faint in the legs, and double up, at exciting +points of the drama), a teeming world of fancies so suggestive +and all-embracing, that, far below it on my Christmas Tree, I see +dark, dirty, real Theatres in the day-time, adorned with these +associations as with the freshest garlands of the rarest flowers, +and charming me yet.</p> +<p>But hark! The Waits are playing, and they break my +childish sleep! What images do I associate with the +Christmas music as I see them set forth on the Christmas +Tree? Known before all the others, keeping far apart from +all the others, they gather round my little bed. An angel, +speaking to a group of shepherds in a field; some travellers, +with eyes uplifted, following a star; a baby in a manger; a child +in a spacious temple, talking with grave men; a solemn figure, +with a mild and beautiful face, raising a dead girl by the hand; +again, near a city gate, calling back the son of a widow, on his +bier, to life; a crowd of people looking through the opened roof +of a chamber where he sits, and letting down a sick person on a +bed, with ropes; the same, in a tempest, walking on the water to +a ship; again, on a sea-shore, teaching a great multitude; again, +with a child upon his knee, and other children round; again, +restoring sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing to the +deaf, health to the sick, strength to the lame, knowledge to the +ignorant; again, dying upon a Cross, watched by armed soldiers, a +thick darkness coming on, the earth beginning to shake, and only +one voice heard, “Forgive them, for they know not what they +do.”</p> +<p>Still, on the lower and maturer branches of the Tree, +Christmas associations cluster thick. School-books shut up; +Ovid and Virgil silenced; the Rule of Three, with its cool +impertinent inquiries, long disposed of; Terence and Plautus +acted no more, in an arena of huddled desks and forms, all +chipped, and notched, and inked; cricket-bats, stumps, and balls, +left higher up, with the smell of trodden grass and the softened +noise of shouts in the evening air; the tree is still fresh, +still gay. If I no more come home at Christmas-time, there +will be boys and girls (thank Heaven!) while the World lasts; and +they do! Yonder they dance and play upon the branches of my +Tree, God bless them, merrily, and my heart dances and plays +too!</p> +<p>And I do come home at Christmas. We all do, or we all +should. We all come home, or ought to come home, for a +short holiday—the longer, the better—from the great +boarding-school, where we are for ever working at our +arithmetical slates, to take, and give a rest. As to going +a visiting, where can we not go, if we will; where have we not +been, when we would; starting our fancy from our Christmas +Tree!</p> +<p>Away into the winter prospect. There are many such upon +the tree! On, by low-lying, misty grounds, through fens and +fogs, up long hills, winding dark as caverns between thick +plantations, almost shutting out the sparkling stars; so, out on +broad heights, until we stop at last, with sudden silence, at an +avenue. The gate-bell has a deep, half-awful sound in the +frosty air; the gate swings open on its hinges; and, as we drive +up to a great house, the glancing lights grow larger in the +windows, and the opposing rows of trees seem to fall solemnly +back on either side, to give us place. At intervals, all +day, a frightened hare has shot across this whitened turf; or the +distant clatter of a herd of deer trampling the hard frost, has, +for the minute, crushed the silence too. Their watchful +eyes beneath the fern may be shining now, if we could see them, +like the icy dewdrops on the leaves; but they are still, and all +is still. And so, the lights growing larger, and the trees +falling back before us, and closing up again behind us, as if to +forbid retreat, we come to the house.</p> +<p>There is probably a smell of roasted chestnuts and other good +comfortable things all the time, for we are telling Winter +Stories—Ghost Stories, or more shame for us—round the +Christmas fire; and we have never stirred, except to draw a +little nearer to it. But, no matter for that. We came +to the house, and it is an old house, full of great chimneys +where wood is burnt on ancient dogs upon the hearth, and grim +portraits (some of them with grim legends, too) lower +distrustfully from the oaken panels of the walls. We are a +middle-aged nobleman, and we make a generous supper with our host +and hostess and their guests—it being Christmas-time, and +the old house full of company—and then we go to bed. +Our room is a very old room. It is hung with +tapestry. We don’t like the portrait of a cavalier in +green, over the fireplace. There are great black beams in +the ceiling, and there is a great black bedstead, supported at +the foot by two great black figures, who seem to have come off a +couple of tombs in the old baronial church in the park, for our +particular accommodation. But, we are not a superstitious +nobleman, and we don’t mind. Well! we dismiss our +servant, lock the door, and sit before the fire in our +dressing-gown, musing about a great many things. At length +we go to bed. Well! we can’t sleep. We toss and +tumble, and can’t sleep. The embers on the hearth +burn fitfully and make the room look ghostly. We +can’t help peeping out over the counterpane, at the two +black figures and the cavalier—that wicked-looking +cavalier—in green. In the flickering light they seem +to advance and retire: which, though we are not by any means a +superstitious nobleman, is not agreeable. Well! we get +nervous—more and more nervous. We say “This is +very foolish, but we can’t stand this; we’ll pretend +to be ill, and knock up somebody.” Well! we are just +going to do it, when the locked door opens, and there comes in a +young woman, deadly pale, and with long fair hair, who glides to +the fire, and sits down in the chair we have left there, wringing +her hands. Then, we notice that her clothes are wet. +Our tongue cleaves to the roof of our mouth, and we can’t +speak; but, we observe her accurately. Her clothes are wet; +her long hair is dabbled with moist mud; she is dressed in the +fashion of two hundred years ago; and she has at her girdle a +bunch of rusty keys. Well! there she sits, and we +can’t even faint, we are in such a state about it. +Presently she gets up, and tries all the locks in the room with +the rusty keys, which won’t fit one of them; then, she +fixes her eyes on the portrait of the cavalier in green, and +says, in a low, terrible voice, “The stags know +it!” After that, she wrings her hands again, passes +the bedside, and goes out at the door. We hurry on our +dressing-gown, seize our pistols (we always travel with pistols), +and are following, when we find the door locked. We turn +the key, look out into the dark gallery; no one there. We +wander away, and try to find our servant. Can’t be +done. We pace the gallery till daybreak; then return to our +deserted room, fall asleep, and are awakened by our servant +(nothing ever haunts him) and the shining sun. Well! we +make a wretched breakfast, and all the company say we look +queer. After breakfast, we go over the house with our host, +and then we take him to the portrait of the cavalier in green, +and then it all comes out. He was false to a young +housekeeper once attached to that family, and famous for her +beauty, who drowned herself in a pond, and whose body was +discovered, after a long time, because the stags refused to drink +of the water. Since which, it has been whispered that she +traverses the house at midnight (but goes especially to that room +where the cavalier in green was wont to sleep), trying the old +locks with the rusty keys. Well! we tell our host of what +we have seen, and a shade comes over his features, and he begs it +may be hushed up; and so it is. But, it’s all true; +and we said so, before we died (we are dead now) to many +responsible people.</p> +<p>There is no end to the old houses, with resounding galleries, +and dismal state-bedchambers, and haunted wings shut up for many +years, through which we may ramble, with an agreeable creeping up +our back, and encounter any number of ghosts, but (it is worthy +of remark perhaps) reducible to a very few general types and +classes; for, ghosts have little originality, and +“walk” in a beaten track. Thus, it comes to +pass, that a certain room in a certain old hall, where a certain +bad lord, baronet, knight, or gentleman, shot himself, has +certain planks in the floor from which the blood <i>will not</i> +be taken out. You may scrape and scrape, as the present +owner has done, or plane and plane, as his father did, or scrub +and scrub, as his grandfather did, or burn and burn with strong +acids, as his great-grandfather did, but, there the blood will +still be—no redder and no paler—no more and no +less—always just the same. Thus, in such another +house there is a haunted door, that never will keep open; or +another door that never will keep shut, or a haunted sound of a +spinning-wheel, or a hammer, or a footstep, or a cry, or a sigh, +or a horse’s tramp, or the rattling of a chain. Or +else, there is a turret-clock, which, at the midnight hour, +strikes thirteen when the head of the family is going to die; or +a shadowy, immovable black carriage which at such a time is +always seen by somebody, waiting near the great gates in the +stable-yard. Or thus, it came to pass how Lady Mary went to +pay a visit at a large wild house in the Scottish Highlands, and, +being fatigued with her long journey, retired to bed early, and +innocently said, next morning, at the breakfast-table, “How +odd, to have so late a party last night, in this remote place, +and not to tell me of it, before I went to bed!” +Then, every one asked Lady Mary what she meant? Then, Lady +Mary replied, “Why, all night long, the carriages were +driving round and round the terrace, underneath my +window!” Then, the owner of the house turned pale, +and so did his Lady, and Charles Macdoodle of Macdoodle signed to +Lady Mary to say no more, and every one was silent. After +breakfast, Charles Macdoodle told Lady Mary that it was a +tradition in the family that those rumbling carriages on the +terrace betokened death. And so it proved, for, two months +afterwards, the Lady of the mansion died. And Lady Mary, +who was a Maid of Honour at Court, often told this story to the +old Queen Charlotte; by this token that the old King always said, +“Eh, eh? What, what? Ghosts, ghosts? No +such thing, no such thing!” And never left off saying +so, until he went to bed.</p> +<p>Or, a friend of somebody’s whom most of us know, when he +was a young man at college, had a particular friend, with whom he +made the compact that, if it were possible for the Spirit to +return to this earth after its separation from the body, he of +the twain who first died, should reappear to the other. In +course of time, this compact was forgotten by our friend; the two +young men having progressed in life, and taken diverging paths +that were wide asunder. But, one night, many years +afterwards, our friend being in the North of England, and staying +for the night in an inn, on the Yorkshire Moors, happened to look +out of bed; and there, in the moonlight, leaning on a bureau near +the window, steadfastly regarding him, saw his old college +friend! The appearance being solemnly addressed, replied, +in a kind of whisper, but very audibly, “Do not come near +me. I am dead. I am here to redeem my promise. +I come from another world, but may not disclose its +secrets!” Then, the whole form becoming paler, +melted, as it were, into the moonlight, and faded away.</p> +<p>Or, there was the daughter of the first occupier of the +picturesque Elizabethan house, so famous in our +neighbourhood. You have heard about her? No! +Why, <i>She</i> went out one summer evening at twilight, when she +was a beautiful girl, just seventeen years of age, to gather +flowers in the garden; and presently came running, terrified, +into the hall to her father, saying, “Oh, dear father, I +have met myself!” He took her in his arms, and told +her it was fancy, but she said, “Oh no! I met myself +in the broad walk, and I was pale and gathering withered flowers, +and I turned my head, and held them up!” And, that +night, she died; and a picture of her story was begun, though +never finished, and they say it is somewhere in the house to this +day, with its face to the wall.</p> +<p>Or, the uncle of my brother’s wife was riding home on +horseback, one mellow evening at sunset, when, in a green lane +close to his own house, he saw a man standing before him, in the +very centre of a narrow way. “Why does that man in +the cloak stand there!” he thought. “Does he +want me to ride over him?” But the figure never +moved. He felt a strange sensation at seeing it so still, +but slackened his trot and rode forward. When he was so +close to it, as almost to touch it with his stirrup, his horse +shied, and the figure glided up the bank, in a curious, unearthly +manner—backward, and without seeming to use its +feet—and was gone. The uncle of my brother’s +wife, exclaiming, “Good Heaven! It’s my cousin +Harry, from Bombay!” put spurs to his horse, which was +suddenly in a profuse sweat, and, wondering at such strange +behaviour, dashed round to the front of his house. There, +he saw the same figure, just passing in at the long French window +of the drawing-room, opening on the ground. He threw his +bridle to a servant, and hastened in after it. His sister +was sitting there, alone. “Alice, where’s my +cousin Harry?” “Your cousin Harry, +John?” “Yes. From Bombay. I met him +in the lane just now, and saw him enter here, this +instant.” Not a creature had been seen by any one; +and in that hour and minute, as it afterwards appeared, this +cousin died in India.</p> +<p>Or, it was a certain sensible old maiden lady, who died at +ninety-nine, and retained her faculties to the last, who really +did see the Orphan Boy; a story which has often been incorrectly +told, but, of which the real truth is this—because it is, +in fact, a story belonging to our family—and she was a +connexion of our family. When she was about forty years of +age, and still an uncommonly fine woman (her lover died young, +which was the reason why she never married, though she had many +offers), she went to stay at a place in Kent, which her brother, +an Indian-Merchant, had newly bought. There was a story +that this place had once been held in trust by the guardian of a +young boy; who was himself the next heir, and who killed the +young boy by harsh and cruel treatment. She knew nothing of +that. It has been said that there was a Cage in her bedroom +in which the guardian used to put the boy. There was no +such thing. There was only a closet. She went to bed, +made no alarm whatever in the night, and in the morning said +composedly to her maid when she came in, “Who is the pretty +forlorn-looking child who has been peeping out of that closet all +night?” The maid replied by giving a loud scream, and +instantly decamping. She was surprised; but she was a woman +of remarkable strength of mind, and she dressed herself and went +downstairs, and closeted herself with her brother. +“Now, Walter,” she said, “I have been disturbed +all night by a pretty, forlorn-looking boy, who has been +constantly peeping out of that closet in my room, which I +can’t open. This is some trick.” “I +am afraid not, Charlotte,” said he, “for it is the +legend of the house. It is the Orphan Boy. What did +he do?” “He opened the door softly,” said +she, “and peeped out. Sometimes, he came a step or +two into the room. Then, I called to him, to encourage him, +and he shrunk, and shuddered, and crept in again, and shut the +door.” “The closet has no communication, +Charlotte,” said her brother, “with any other part of +the house, and it’s nailed up.” This was +undeniably true, and it took two carpenters a whole forenoon to +get it open, for examination. Then, she was satisfied that +she had seen the Orphan Boy. But, the wild and terrible +part of the story is, that he was also seen by three of her +brother’s sons, in succession, who all died young. On +the occasion of each child being taken ill, he came home in a +heat, twelve hours before, and said, Oh, Mamma, he had been +playing under a particular oak-tree, in a certain meadow, with a +strange boy—a pretty, forlorn-looking boy, who was very +timid, and made signs! From fatal experience, the parents +came to know that this was the Orphan Boy, and that the course of +that child whom he chose for his little playmate was surely +run.</p> +<p>Legion is the name of the German castles, where we sit up +alone to wait for the Spectre—where we are shown into a +room, made comparatively cheerful for our reception—where +we glance round at the shadows, thrown on the blank walls by the +crackling fire—where we feel very lonely when the village +innkeeper and his pretty daughter have retired, after laying down +a fresh store of wood upon the hearth, and setting forth on the +small table such supper-cheer as a cold roast capon, bread, +grapes, and a flask of old Rhine wine—where the +reverberating doors close on their retreat, one after another, +like so many peals of sullen thunder—and where, about the +small hours of the night, we come into the knowledge of divers +supernatural mysteries. Legion is the name of the haunted +German students, in whose society we draw yet nearer to the fire, +while the schoolboy in the corner opens his eyes wide and round, +and flies off the footstool he has chosen for his seat, when the +door accidentally blows open. Vast is the crop of such +fruit, shining on our Christmas Tree; in blossom, almost at the +very top; ripening all down the boughs!</p> +<p>Among the later toys and fancies hanging there—as idle +often and less pure—be the images once associated with the +sweet old Waits, the softened music in the night, ever +unalterable! Encircled by the social thoughts of +Christmas-time, still let the benignant figure of my childhood +stand unchanged! In every cheerful image and suggestion +that the season brings, may the bright star that rested above the +poor roof, be the star of all the Christian World! A +moment’s pause, O vanishing tree, of which the lower boughs +are dark to me as yet, and let me look once more! I know +there are blank spaces on thy branches, where eyes that I have +loved have shone and smiled; from which they are departed. +But, far above, I see the raiser of the dead girl, and the +Widow’s Son; and God is good! If Age be hiding for me +in the unseen portion of thy downward growth, O may I, with a +grey head, turn a child’s heart to that figure yet, and a +child’s trustfulness and confidence!</p> +<p>Now, the tree is decorated with bright merriment, and song, +and dance, and cheerfulness. And they are welcome. +Innocent and welcome be they ever held, beneath the branches of +the Christmas Tree, which cast no gloomy shadow! But, as it +sinks into the ground, I hear a whisper going through the +leaves. “This, in commemoration of the law of love +and kindness, mercy and compassion. This, in remembrance of +Me!”</p> +<h2><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>WHAT +CHRISTMAS IS AS WE GROW OLDER.<br /> +[1851]</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Time</span> was, with most of us, when +Christmas Day encircling all our limited world like a magic ring, +left nothing out for us to miss or seek; bound together all our +home enjoyments, affections, and hopes; grouped everything and +every one around the Christmas fire; and made the little picture +shining in our bright young eyes, complete.</p> +<p>Time came, perhaps, all so soon, when our thoughts over-leaped +that narrow boundary; when there was some one (very dear, we +thought then, very beautiful, and absolutely perfect) wanting to +the fulness of our happiness; when we were wanting too (or we +thought so, which did just as well) at the Christmas hearth by +which that some one sat; and when we intertwined with every +wreath and garland of our life that some one’s name.</p> +<p>That was the time for the bright visionary Christmases which +have long arisen from us to show faintly, after summer rain, in +the palest edges of the rainbow! That was the time for the +beatified enjoyment of the things that were to be, and never +were, and yet the things that were so real in our resolute hope +that it would be hard to say, now, what realities achieved since, +have been stronger!</p> +<p>What! Did that Christmas never really come when we and +the priceless pearl who was our young choice were received, after +the happiest of totally impossible marriages, by the two united +families previously at daggers—drawn on our account? +When brothers and sisters-in-law who had always been rather cool +to us before our relationship was effected, perfectly doted on +us, and when fathers and mothers overwhelmed us with unlimited +incomes? Was that Christmas dinner never really eaten, +after which we arose, and generously and eloquently rendered +honour to our late rival, present in the company, then and there +exchanging friendship and forgiveness, and founding an +attachment, not to be surpassed in Greek or Roman story, which +subsisted until death? Has that same rival long ceased to +care for that same priceless pearl, and married for money, and +become usurious? Above all, do we really know, now, that we +should probably have been miserable if we had won and worn the +pearl, and that we are better without her?</p> +<p>That Christmas when we had recently achieved so much fame; +when we had been carried in triumph somewhere, for doing +something great and good; when we had won an honoured and +ennobled name, and arrived and were received at home in a shower +of tears of joy; is it possible that <i>that</i> Christmas has +not come yet?</p> +<p>And is our life here, at the best, so constituted that, +pausing as we advance at such a noticeable mile-stone in the +track as this great birthday, we look back on the things that +never were, as naturally and full as gravely as on the things +that have been and are gone, or have been and still are? If +it be so, and so it seems to be, must we come to the conclusion +that life is little better than a dream, and little worth the +loves and strivings that we crowd into it?</p> +<p>No! Far be such miscalled philosophy from us, dear +Reader, on Christmas Day! Nearer and closer to our hearts +be the Christmas spirit, which is the spirit of active +usefulness, perseverance, cheerful discharge of duty, kindness +and forbearance! It is in the last virtues especially, that +we are, or should be, strengthened by the unaccomplished visions +of our youth; for, who shall say that they are not our teachers +to deal gently even with the impalpable nothings of the +earth!</p> +<p>Therefore, as we grow older, let us be more thankful that the +circle of our Christmas associations and of the lessons that they +bring, expands! Let us welcome every one of them, and +summon them to take their places by the Christmas hearth.</p> +<p>Welcome, old aspirations, glittering creatures of an ardent +fancy, to your shelter underneath the holly! We know you, +and have not outlived you yet. Welcome, old projects and +old loves, however fleeting, to your nooks among the steadier +lights that burn around us. Welcome, all that was ever real +to our hearts; and for the earnestness that made you real, thanks +to Heaven! Do we build no Christmas castles in the clouds +now? Let our thoughts, fluttering like butterflies among +these flowers of children, bear witness! Before this boy, +there stretches out a Future, brighter than we ever looked on in +our old romantic time, but bright with honour and with +truth. Around this little head on which the sunny curls lie +heaped, the graces sport, as prettily, as airily, as when there +was no scythe within the reach of Time to shear away the curls of +our first-love. Upon another girl’s face near +it—placider but smiling bright—a quiet and contented +little face, we see Home fairly written. Shining from the +word, as rays shine from a star, we see how, when our graves are +old, other hopes than ours are young, other hearts than ours are +moved; how other ways are smoothed; how other happiness blooms, +ripens, and decays—no, not decays, for other homes and +other bands of children, not yet in being nor for ages yet to be, +arise, and bloom and ripen to the end of all!</p> +<p>Welcome, everything! Welcome, alike what has been, and +what never was, and what we hope may be, to your shelter +underneath the holly, to your places round the Christmas fire, +where what is sits open-hearted! In yonder shadow, do we +see obtruding furtively upon the blaze, an enemy’s +face? By Christmas Day we do forgive him! If the +injury he has done us may admit of such companionship, let him +come here and take his place. If otherwise, unhappily, let +him go hence, assured that we will never injure nor accuse +him.</p> +<p>On this day we shut out Nothing!</p> +<p>“Pause,” says a low voice. +“Nothing? Think!”</p> +<p>“On Christmas Day, we will shut out from our fireside, +Nothing.”</p> +<p>“Not the shadow of a vast City where the withered leaves +are lying deep?” the voice replies. “Not the +shadow that darkens the whole globe? Not the shadow of the +City of the Dead?”</p> +<p>Not even that. Of all days in the year, we will turn our +faces towards that City upon Christmas Day, and from its silent +hosts bring those we loved, among us. City of the Dead, in +the blessed name wherein we are gathered together at this time, +and in the Presence that is here among us according to the +promise, we will receive, and not dismiss, thy people who are +dear to us!</p> +<p>Yes. We can look upon these children angels that alight, +so solemnly, so beautifully among the living children by the +fire, and can bear to think how they departed from us. +Entertaining angels unawares, as the Patriarchs did, the playful +children are unconscious of their guests; but we can see +them—can see a radiant arm around one favourite neck, as if +there were a tempting of that child away. Among the +celestial figures there is one, a poor misshapen boy on earth, of +a glorious beauty now, of whom his dying mother said it grieved +her much to leave him here, alone, for so many years as it was +likely would elapse before he came to her—being such a +little child. But he went quickly, and was laid upon her +breast, and in her hand she leads him.</p> +<p>There was a gallant boy, who fell, far away, upon a burning +sand beneath a burning sun, and said, “Tell them at home, +with my last love, how much I could have wished to kiss them +once, but that I died contented and had done my +duty!” Or there was another, over whom they read the +words, “Therefore we commit his body to the deep,” +and so consigned him to the lonely ocean and sailed on. Or +there was another, who lay down to his rest in the dark shadow of +great forests, and, on earth, awoke no more. O shall they +not, from sand and sea and forest, be brought home at such a +time!</p> +<p>There was a dear girl—almost a woman—never to be +one—who made a mourning Christmas in a house of joy, and +went her trackless way to the silent City. Do we recollect +her, worn out, faintly whispering what could not be heard, and +falling into that last sleep for weariness? O look upon her +now! O look upon her beauty, her serenity, her changeless +youth, her happiness! The daughter of Jairus was recalled +to life, to die; but she, more blest, has heard the same voice, +saying unto her, “Arise for ever!”</p> +<p>We had a friend who was our friend from early days, with whom +we often pictured the changes that were to come upon our lives, +and merrily imagined how we would speak, and walk, and think, and +talk, when we came to be old. His destined habitation in +the City of the Dead received him in his prime. Shall he be +shut out from our Christmas remembrance? Would his love +have so excluded us? Lost friend, lost child, lost parent, +sister, brother, husband, wife, we will not so discard you! +You shall hold your cherished places in our Christmas hearts, and +by our Christmas fires; and in the season of immortal hope, and +on the birthday of immortal mercy, we will shut out Nothing!</p> +<p>The winter sun goes down over town and village; on the sea it +makes a rosy path, as if the Sacred tread were fresh upon the +water. A few more moments, and it sinks, and night comes +on, and lights begin to sparkle in the prospect. On the +hill-side beyond the shapelessly-diffused town, and in the quiet +keeping of the trees that gird the village-steeple, remembrances +are cut in stone, planted in common flowers, growing in grass, +entwined with lowly brambles around many a mound of earth. +In town and village, there are doors and windows closed against +the weather, there are flaming logs heaped high, there are joyful +faces, there is healthy music of voices. Be all +ungentleness and harm excluded from the temples of the Household +Gods, but be those remembrances admitted with tender +encouragement! They are of the time and all its comforting +and peaceful reassurances; and of the history that re-united even +upon earth the living and the dead; and of the broad beneficence +and goodness that too many men have tried to tear to narrow +shreds.</p> +<h2><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>THE +POOR RELATION’S STORY.<br /> +[1852]</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> was very reluctant to take +precedence of so many respected members of the family, by +beginning the round of stories they were to relate as they sat in +a goodly circle by the Christmas fire; and he modestly suggested +that it would be more correct if “John our esteemed +host” (whose health he begged to drink) would have the +kindness to begin. For as to himself, he said, he was so +little used to lead the way that really— But as they +all cried out here, that he must begin, and agreed with one voice +that he might, could, would, and should begin, he left off +rubbing his hands, and took his legs out from under his armchair, +and did begin.</p> +<p>I have no doubt (said the poor relation) that I shall surprise +the assembled members of our family, and particularly John our +esteemed host to whom we are so much indebted for the great +hospitality with which he has this day entertained us, by the +confession I am going to make. But, if you do me the honour +to be surprised at anything that falls from a person so +unimportant in the family as I am, I can only say that I shall be +scrupulously accurate in all I relate.</p> +<p>I am not what I am supposed to be. I am quite another +thing. Perhaps before I go further, I had better glance at +what I <i>am</i> supposed to be.</p> +<p>It is supposed, unless I mistake—the assembled members +of our family will correct me if I do, which is very likely (here +the poor relation looked mildly about him for contradiction); +that I am nobody’s enemy but my own. That I never met +with any particular success in anything. That I failed in +business because I was unbusiness-like and credulous—in not +being prepared for the interested designs of my partner. +That I failed in love, because I was ridiculously +trustful—in thinking it impossible that Christiana could +deceive me. That I failed in my expectations from my uncle +Chill, on account of not being as sharp as he could have wished +in worldly matters. That, through life, I have been rather +put upon and disappointed in a general way. That I am at +present a bachelor of between fifty-nine and sixty years of age, +living on a limited income in the form of a quarterly allowance, +to which I see that John our esteemed host wishes me to make no +further allusion.</p> +<p>The supposition as to my present pursuits and habits is to the +following effect.</p> +<p>I live in a lodging in the Clapham Road—a very clean +back room, in a very respectable house—where I am expected +not to be at home in the day-time, unless poorly; and which I +usually leave in the morning at nine o’clock, on pretence +of going to business. I take my breakfast—my roll and +butter, and my half-pint of coffee—at the old-established +coffee-shop near Westminster Bridge; and then I go into the +City—I don’t know why—and sit in +Garraway’s Coffee House, and on ’Change, and walk +about, and look into a few offices and counting-houses where some +of my relations or acquaintance are so good as to tolerate me, +and where I stand by the fire if the weather happens to be +cold. I get through the day in this way until five +o’clock, and then I dine: at a cost, on the average, of one +and threepence. Having still a little money to spend on my +evening’s entertainment, I look into the old-established +coffee-shop as I go home, and take my cup of tea, and perhaps my +bit of toast. So, as the large hand of the clock makes its +way round to the morning hour again, I make my way round to the +Clapham Road again, and go to bed when I get to my +lodging—fire being expensive, and being objected to by the +family on account of its giving trouble and making a dirt.</p> +<p>Sometimes, one of my relations or acquaintances is so obliging +as to ask me to dinner. Those are holiday occasions, and +then I generally walk in the Park. I am a solitary man, and +seldom walk with anybody. Not that I am avoided because I +am shabby; for I am not at all shabby, having always a very good +suit of black on (or rather Oxford mixture, which has the +appearance of black and wears much better); but I have got into a +habit of speaking low, and being rather silent, and my spirits +are not high, and I am sensible that I am not an attractive +companion.</p> +<p>The only exception to this general rule is the child of my +first cousin, Little Frank. I have a particular affection +for that child, and he takes very kindly to me. He is a +diffident boy by nature; and in a crowd he is soon run over, as I +may say, and forgotten. He and I, however, get on +exceedingly well. I have a fancy that the poor child will +in time succeed to my peculiar position in the family. We +talk but little; still, we understand each other. We walk +about, hand in hand; and without much speaking he knows what I +mean, and I know what he means. When he was very little +indeed, I used to take him to the windows of the toy-shops, and +show him the toys inside. It is surprising how soon he +found out that I would have made him a great many presents if I +had been in circumstances to do it.</p> +<p>Little Frank and I go and look at the outside of the +Monument—he is very fond of the Monument—and at the +Bridges, and at all the sights that are free. On two of my +birthdays, we have dined on à-la-mode beef, and gone at +half-price to the play, and been deeply interested. I was +once walking with him in Lombard Street, which we often visit on +account of my having mentioned to him that there are great riches +there—he is very fond of Lombard Street—when a +gentleman said to me as he passed by, “Sir, your little son +has dropped his glove.” I assure you, if you will +excuse my remarking on so trivial a circumstance, this accidental +mention of the child as mine, quite touched my heart and brought +the foolish tears into my eyes.</p> +<p>When Little Frank is sent to school in the country, I shall be +very much at a loss what to do with myself, but I have the +intention of walking down there once a month and seeing him on a +half holiday. I am told he will then be at play upon the +Heath; and if my visits should be objected to, as unsettling the +child, I can see him from a distance without his seeing me, and +walk back again. His mother comes of a highly genteel +family, and rather disapproves, I am aware, of our being too much +together. I know that I am not calculated to improve his +retiring disposition; but I think he would miss me beyond the +feeling of the moment if we were wholly separated.</p> +<p>When I die in the Clapham Road, I shall not leave much more in +this world than I shall take out of it; but, I happen to have a +miniature of a bright-faced boy, with a curling head, and an open +shirt-frill waving down his bosom (my mother had it taken for me, +but I can’t believe that it was ever like), which will be +worth nothing to sell, and which I shall beg may he given to +Frank. I have written my dear boy a little letter with it, +in which I have told him that I felt very sorry to part from him, +though bound to confess that I knew no reason why I should remain +here. I have given him some short advice, the best in my +power, to take warning of the consequences of being +nobody’s enemy but his own; and I have endeavoured to +comfort him for what I fear he will consider a bereavement, by +pointing out to him, that I was only a superfluous something to +every one but him; and that having by some means failed to find a +place in this great assembly, I am better out of it.</p> +<p>Such (said the poor relation, clearing his throat and +beginning to speak a little louder) is the general impression +about me. Now, it is a remarkable circumstance which forms +the aim and purpose of my story, that this is all wrong. +This is not my life, and these are not my habits. I do not +even live in the Clapham Road. Comparatively speaking, I am +very seldom there. I reside, mostly, in a—I am almost +ashamed to say the word, it sounds so full of pretension—in +a Castle. I do not mean that it is an old baronial +habitation, but still it is a building always known to every one +by the name of a Castle. In it, I preserve the particulars +of my history; they run thus:</p> +<p>It was when I first took John Spatter (who had been my clerk) +into partnership, and when I was still a young man of not more +than five-and-twenty, residing in the house of my uncle Chill, +from whom I had considerable expectations, that I ventured to +propose to Christiana. I had loved Christiana a long +time. She was very beautiful, and very winning in all +respects. I rather mistrusted her widowed mother, who I +feared was of a plotting and mercenary turn of mind; but, I +thought as well of her as I could, for Christiana’s +sake. I never had loved any one but Christiana, and she had +been all the world, and O far more than all the world, to me, +from our childhood!</p> +<p>Christiana accepted me with her mother’s consent, and I +was rendered very happy indeed. My life at my uncle +Chill’s was of a spare dull kind, and my garret chamber was +as dull, and bare, and cold, as an upper prison room in some +stern northern fortress. But, having Christiana’s +love, I wanted nothing upon earth. I would not have changed +my lot with any human being.</p> +<p>Avarice was, unhappily, my uncle Chill’s +master-vice. Though he was rich, he pinched, and scraped, +and clutched, and lived miserably. As Christiana had no +fortune, I was for some time a little fearful of confessing our +engagement to him; but, at length I wrote him a letter, saying +how it all truly was. I put it into his hand one night, on +going to bed.</p> +<p>As I came down-stairs next morning, shivering in the cold +December air; colder in my uncle’s unwarmed house than in +the street, where the winter sun did sometimes shine, and which +was at all events enlivened by cheerful faces and voices passing +along; I carried a heavy heart towards the long, low +breakfast-room in which my uncle sat. It was a large room +with a small fire, and there was a great bay window in it which +the rain had marked in the night as if with the tears of +houseless people. It stared upon a raw yard, with a cracked +stone pavement, and some rusted iron railings half uprooted, +whence an ugly out-building that had once been a dissecting-room +(in the time of the great surgeon who had mortgaged the house to +my uncle), stared at it.</p> +<p>We rose so early always, that at that time of the year we +breakfasted by candle-light. When I went into the room, my +uncle was so contracted by the cold, and so huddled together in +his chair behind the one dim candle, that I did not see him until +I was close to the table.</p> +<p>As I held out my hand to him, he caught up his stick (being +infirm, he always walked about the house with a stick), and made +a blow at me, and said, “You fool!”</p> +<p>“Uncle,” I returned, “I didn’t expect +you to be so angry as this.” Nor had I expected it, +though he was a hard and angry old man.</p> +<p>“You didn’t expect!” said he; “when +did you ever expect? When did you ever calculate, or look +forward, you contemptible dog?”</p> +<p>“These are hard words, uncle!”</p> +<p>“Hard words? Feathers, to pelt such an idiot as +you with,” said he. “Here! Betsy +Snap! Look at him!”</p> +<p>Betsy Snap was a withered, hard-favoured, yellow old +woman—our only domestic—always employed, at this time +of the morning, in rubbing my uncle’s legs. As my +uncle adjured her to look at me, he put his lean grip on the +crown of her head, she kneeling beside him, and turned her face +towards me. An involuntary thought connecting them both +with the Dissecting Room, as it must often have been in the +surgeon’s time, passed across my mind in the midst of my +anxiety.</p> +<p>“Look at the snivelling milksop!” said my +uncle. “Look at the baby! This is the gentleman +who, people say, is nobody’s enemy but his own. This +is the gentleman who can’t say no. This is the +gentleman who was making such large profits in his business that +he must needs take a partner, t’other day. This is +the gentleman who is going to marry a wife without a penny, and +who falls into the hands of Jezabels who are speculating on my +death!”</p> +<p>I knew, now, how great my uncle’s rage was; for nothing +short of his being almost beside himself would have induced him +to utter that concluding word, which he held in such repugnance +that it was never spoken or hinted at before him on any +account.</p> +<p>“On my death,” he repeated, as if he were defying +me by defying his own abhorrence of the word. “On my +death—death—Death! But I’ll spoil the +speculation. Eat your last under this roof, you feeble +wretch, and may it choke you!”</p> +<p>You may suppose that I had not much appetite for the breakfast +to which I was bidden in these terms; but, I took my accustomed +seat. I saw that I was repudiated henceforth by my uncle; +still I could bear that very well, possessing Christiana’s +heart.</p> +<p>He emptied his basin of bread and milk as usual, only that he +took it on his knees with his chair turned away from the table +where I sat. When he had done, he carefully snuffed out the +candle; and the cold, slate-coloured, miserable day looked in +upon us.</p> +<p>“Now, Mr. Michael,” said he, “before we +part, I should like to have a word with these ladies in your +presence.”</p> +<p>“As you will, sir,” I returned; “but you +deceive yourself, and wrong us, cruelly, if you suppose that +there is any feeling at stake in this contract but pure, +disinterested, faithful love.”</p> +<p>To this, he only replied, “You lie!” and not one +other word.</p> +<p>We went, through half-thawed snow and half-frozen rain, to the +house where Christiana and her mother lived. My uncle knew +them very well. They were sitting at their breakfast, and +were surprised to see us at that hour.</p> +<p>“Your servant, ma’am,” said my uncle to the +mother. “You divine the purpose of my visit, I dare +say, ma’am. I understand there is a world of pure, +disinterested, faithful love cooped up here. I am happy to +bring it all it wants, to make it complete. I bring you +your son-in-law, ma’am—and you, your husband, +miss. The gentleman is a perfect stranger to me, but I wish +him joy of his wise bargain.”</p> +<p>He snarled at me as he went out, and I never saw him +again.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>It is altogether a mistake (continued the poor relation) to +suppose that my dear Christiana, over-persuaded and influenced by +her mother, married a rich man, the dirt from whose carriage +wheels is often, in these changed times, thrown upon me as she +rides by. No, no. She married me.</p> +<p>The way we came to be married rather sooner than we intended, +was this. I took a frugal lodging and was saving and +planning for her sake, when, one day, she spoke to me with great +earnestness, and said:</p> +<p>“My dear Michael, I have given you my heart. I +have said that I loved you, and I have pledged myself to be your +wife. I am as much yours through all changes of good and +evil as if we had been married on the day when such words passed +between us. I know you well, and know that if we should be +separated and our union broken off, your whole life would be +shadowed, and all that might, even now, be stronger in your +character for the conflict with the world would then be weakened +to the shadow of what it is!”</p> +<p>“God help me, Christiana!” said I. +“You speak the truth.”</p> +<p>“Michael!” said she, putting her hand in mine, in +all maidenly devotion, “let us keep apart no longer. +It is but for me to say that I can live contented upon such means +as you have, and I well know you are happy. I say so from +my heart. Strive no more alone; let us strive +together. My dear Michael, it is not right that I should +keep secret from you what you do not suspect, but what distresses +my whole life. My mother: without considering that what you +have lost, you have lost for me, and on the assurance of my +faith: sets her heart on riches, and urges another suit upon me, +to my misery. I cannot bear this, for to bear it is to be +untrue to you. I would rather share your struggles than +look on. I want no better home than you can give me. +I know that you will aspire and labour with a higher courage if I +am wholly yours, and let it be so when you will!”</p> +<p>I was blest indeed, that day, and a new world opened to +me. We were married in a very little while, and I took my +wife to our happy home. That was the beginning of the +residence I have spoken of; the Castle we have ever since +inhabited together, dates from that time. All our children +have been born in it. Our first child—now +married—was a little girl, whom we called Christiana. +Her son is so like Little Frank, that I hardly know which is +which.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>The current impression as to my partner’s dealings with +me is also quite erroneous. He did not begin to treat me +coldly, as a poor simpleton, when my uncle and I so fatally +quarrelled; nor did he afterwards gradually possess himself of +our business and edge me out. On the contrary, he behaved +to me with the utmost good faith and honour.</p> +<p>Matters between us took this turn:—On the day of my +separation from my uncle, and even before the arrival at our +counting-house of my trunks (which he sent after me, <i>not</i> +carriage paid), I went down to our room of business, on our +little wharf, overlooking the river; and there I told John +Spatter what had happened. John did not say, in reply, that +rich old relatives were palpable facts, and that love and +sentiment were moonshine and fiction. He addressed me +thus:</p> +<p>“Michael,” said John, “we were at school +together, and I generally had the knack of getting on better than +you, and making a higher reputation.”</p> +<p>“You had, John,” I returned.</p> +<p>“Although” said John, “I borrowed your books +and lost them; borrowed your pocket-money, and never repaid it; +got you to buy my damaged knives at a higher price than I had +given for them new; and to own to the windows that I had +broken.”</p> +<p>“All not worth mentioning, John Spatter,” said I, +“but certainly true.”</p> +<p>“When you were first established in this infant +business, which promises to thrive so well,” pursued John, +“I came to you, in my search for almost any employment, and +you made me your clerk.”</p> +<p>“Still not worth mentioning, my dear John +Spatter,” said I; “still, equally true.”</p> +<p>“And finding that I had a good head for business, and +that I was really useful <i>to</i> the business, you did not like +to retain me in that capacity, and thought it an act of justice +soon to make me your partner.”</p> +<p>“Still less worth mentioning than any of those other +little circumstances you have recalled, John Spatter,” said +I; “for I was, and am, sensible of your merits and my +deficiencies.”</p> +<p>“Now, my good friend,” said John, drawing my arm +through his, as he had had a habit of doing at school; while two +vessels outside the windows of our counting-house—which +were shaped like the stern windows of a ship—went lightly +down the river with the tide, as John and I might then be sailing +away in company, and in trust and confidence, on our voyage of +life; “let there, under these friendly circumstances, be a +right understanding between us. You are too easy, +Michael. You are nobody’s enemy but your own. +If I were to give you that damaging character among our +connexion, with a shrug, and a shake of the head, and a sigh; and +if I were further to abuse the trust you place in +me—”</p> +<p>“But you never will abuse it at all, John,” I +observed.</p> +<p>“Never!” said he; “but I am putting a +case—I say, and if I were further to abuse that trust by +keeping this piece of our common affairs in the dark, and this +other piece in the light, and again this other piece in the +twilight, and so on, I should strengthen my strength, and weaken +your weakness, day by day, until at last I found myself on the +high road to fortune, and you left behind on some bare common, a +hopeless number of miles out of the way.”</p> +<p>“Exactly so,” said I.</p> +<p>“To prevent this, Michael,” said John Spatter, +“or the remotest chance of this, there must be perfect +openness between us. Nothing must be concealed, and we must +have but one interest.”</p> +<p>“My dear John Spatter,” I assured him, “that +is precisely what I mean.”</p> +<p>“And when you are too easy,” pursued John, his +face glowing with friendship, “you must allow me to prevent +that imperfection in your nature from being taken advantage of, +by any one; you must not expect me to humour it—”</p> +<p>“My dear John Spatter,” I interrupted, “I +<i>don’t</i> expect you to humour it. I want to +correct it.”</p> +<p>“And I, too,” said John.</p> +<p>“Exactly so!” cried I. “We both have +the same end in view; and, honourably seeking it, and fully +trusting one another, and having but one interest, ours will be a +prosperous and happy partnership.”</p> +<p>“I am sure of it!” returned John Spatter. +And we shook hands most affectionately.</p> +<p>I took John home to my Castle, and we had a very happy +day. Our partnership throve well. My friend and +partner supplied what I wanted, as I had foreseen that he would, +and by improving both the business and myself, amply acknowledged +any little rise in life to which I had helped him.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I am not (said the poor relation, looking at the fire as he +slowly rubbed his hands) very rich, for I never cared to be that; +but I have enough, and am above all moderate wants and +anxieties. My Castle is not a splendid place, but it is +very comfortable, and it has a warm and cheerful air, and is +quite a picture of Home.</p> +<p>Our eldest girl, who is very like her mother, married John +Spatter’s eldest son. Our two families are closely +united in other ties of attachment. It is very pleasant of +an evening, when we are all assembled together—which +frequently happens—and when John and I talk over old times, +and the one interest there has always been between us.</p> +<p>I really do not know, in my Castle, what loneliness is. +Some of our children or grandchildren are always about it, and +the young voices of my descendants are delightful—O, how +delightful!—to me to hear. My dearest and most +devoted wife, ever faithful, ever loving, ever helpful and +sustaining and consoling, is the priceless blessing of my house; +from whom all its other blessings spring. We are rather a +musical family, and when Christiana sees me, at any time, a +little weary or depressed, she steals to the piano and sings a +gentle air she used to sing when we were first betrothed. +So weak a man am I, that I cannot bear to hear it from any other +source. They played it once, at the Theatre, when I was +there with Little Frank; and the child said wondering, +“Cousin Michael, whose hot tears are these that have fallen +on my hand!”</p> +<p>Such is my Castle, and such are the real particulars of my +life therein preserved. I often take Little Frank home +there. He is very welcome to my grandchildren, and they +play together. At this time of the year—the Christmas +and New Year time—I am seldom out of my Castle. For, +the associations of the season seem to hold me there, and the +precepts of the season seem to teach me that it is well to be +there.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>“And the Castle is—” observed a grave, kind +voice among the company.</p> +<p>“Yes. My Castle,” said the poor relation, +shaking his head as he still looked at the fire, “is in the +Air. John our esteemed host suggests its situation +accurately. My Castle is in the Air! I have +done. Will you be so good as to pass the story?”</p> +<h2><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>THE +CHILD’S STORY.<br /> +[1852]</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time, a good many years +ago, there was a traveller, and he set out upon a journey. +It was a magic journey, and was to seem very long when he began +it, and very short when he got half way through.</p> +<p>He travelled along a rather dark path for some little time, +without meeting anything, until at last he came to a beautiful +child. So he said to the child, “What do you do +here?” And the child said, “I am always at +play. Come and play with me!”</p> +<p>So, he played with that child, the whole day long, and they +were very merry. The sky was so blue, the sun was so +bright, the water was so sparkling, the leaves were so green, the +flowers were so lovely, and they heard such singing-birds and saw +so many butteries, that everything was beautiful. This was +in fine weather. When it rained, they loved to watch the +falling drops, and to smell the fresh scents. When it blew, +it was delightful to listen to the wind, and fancy what it said, +as it came rushing from its home—where was that, they +wondered!—whistling and howling, driving the clouds before +it, bending the trees, rumbling in the chimneys, shaking the +house, and making the sea roar in fury. But, when it +snowed, that was best of all; for, they liked nothing so well as +to look up at the white flakes falling fast and thick, like down +from the breasts of millions of white birds; and to see how +smooth and deep the drift was; and to listen to the hush upon the +paths and roads.</p> +<p>They had plenty of the finest toys in the world, and the most +astonishing picture-books: all about scimitars and slippers and +turbans, and dwarfs and giants and genii and fairies, and +blue-beards and bean-stalks and riches and caverns and forests +and Valentines and Orsons: and all new and all true.</p> +<p>But, one day, of a sudden, the traveller lost the child. +He called to him over and over again, but got no answer. +So, he went upon his road, and went on for a little while without +meeting anything, until at last he came to a handsome boy. +So, he said to the boy, “What do you do here?” +And the boy said, “I am always learning. Come and +learn with me.”</p> +<p>So he learned with that boy about Jupiter and Juno, and the +Greeks and the Romans, and I don’t know what, and learned +more than I could tell—or he either, for he soon forgot a +great deal of it. But, they were not always learning; they +had the merriest games that ever were played. They rowed +upon the river in summer, and skated on the ice in winter; they +were active afoot, and active on horseback; at cricket, and all +games at ball; at prisoner’s base, hare and hounds, follow +my leader, and more sports than I can think of; nobody could beat +them. They had holidays too, and Twelfth cakes, and parties +where they danced till midnight, and real Theatres where they saw +palaces of real gold and silver rise out of the real earth, and +saw all the wonders of the world at once. As to friends, +they had such dear friends and so many of them, that I want the +time to reckon them up. They were all young, like the +handsome boy, and were never to be strange to one another all +their lives through.</p> +<p>Still, one day, in the midst of all these pleasures, the +traveller lost the boy as he had lost the child, and, after +calling to him in vain, went on upon his journey. So he +went on for a little while without seeing anything, until at last +he came to a young man. So, he said to the young man, +“What do you do here?” And the young man said, +“I am always in love. Come and love with +me.”</p> +<p>So, he went away with that young man, and presently they came +to one of the prettiest girls that ever was seen—just like +Fanny in the corner there—and she had eyes like Fanny, and +hair like Fanny, and dimples like Fanny’s, and she laughed +and coloured just as Fanny does while I am talking about +her. So, the young man fell in love directly—just as +Somebody I won’t mention, the first time he came here, did +with Fanny. Well! he was teased sometimes—just as +Somebody used to be by Fanny; and they quarrelled +sometimes—just as Somebody and Fanny used to quarrel; and +they made it up, and sat in the dark, and wrote letters every +day, and never were happy asunder, and were always looking out +for one another and pretending not to, and were engaged at +Christmas-time, and sat close to one another by the fire, and +were going to be married very soon—all exactly like +Somebody I won’t mention, and Fanny!</p> +<p>But, the traveller lost them one day, as he had lost the rest +of his friends, and, after calling to them to come back, which +they never did, went on upon his journey. So, he went on +for a little while without seeing anything, until at last he came +to a middle-aged gentleman. So, he said to the gentleman, +“What are you doing here?” And his answer was, +“I am always busy. Come and be busy with +me!”</p> +<p>So, he began to be very busy with that gentleman, and they +went on through the wood together. The whole journey was +through a wood, only it had been open and green at first, like a +wood in spring; and now began to be thick and dark, like a wood +in summer; some of the little trees that had come out earliest, +were even turning brown. The gentleman was not alone, but +had a lady of about the same age with him, who was his Wife; and +they had children, who were with them too. So, they all +went on together through the wood, cutting down the trees, and +making a path through the branches and the fallen leaves, and +carrying burdens, and working hard.</p> +<p>Sometimes, they came to a long green avenue that opened into +deeper woods. Then they would hear a very little, distant +voice crying, “Father, father, I am another child! +Stop for me!” And presently they would see a very +little figure, growing larger as it came along, running to join +them. When it came up, they all crowded round it, and +kissed and welcomed it; and then they all went on together.</p> +<p>Sometimes, they came to several avenues at once, and then they +all stood still, and one of the children said, “Father, I +am going to sea,” and another said, “Father, I am +going to India,” and another, “Father, I am going to +seek my fortune where I can,” and another, “Father, I +am going to Heaven!” So, with many tears at parting, +they went, solitary, down those avenues, each child upon its way; +and the child who went to Heaven, rose into the golden air and +vanished.</p> +<p>Whenever these partings happened, the traveller looked at the +gentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees, +where the day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to come +on. He saw, too, that his hair was turning grey. But, +they never could rest long, for they had their journey to +perform, and it was necessary for them to be always busy.</p> +<p>At last, there had been so many partings that there were no +children left, and only the traveller, the gentleman, and the +lady, went upon their way in company. And now the wood was +yellow; and now brown; and the leaves, even of the forest trees, +began to fall.</p> +<p>So, they came to an avenue that was darker than the rest, and +were pressing forward on their journey without looking down it +when the lady stopped.</p> +<p>“My husband,” said the lady. “I am +called.”</p> +<p>They listened, and they heard a voice a long way down the +avenue, say, “Mother, mother!”</p> +<p>It was the voice of the first child who had said, “I am +going to Heaven!” and the father said, “I pray not +yet. The sunset is very near. I pray not +yet!”</p> +<p>But, the voice cried, “Mother, mother!” without +minding him, though his hair was now quite white, and tears were +on his face.</p> +<p>Then, the mother, who was already drawn into the shade of the +dark avenue and moving away with her arms still round his neck, +kissed him, and said, “My dearest, I am summoned, and I +go!” And she was gone. And the traveller and he +were left alone together.</p> +<p>And they went on and on together, until they came to very near +the end of the wood: so near, that they could see the sunset +shining red before them through the trees.</p> +<p>Yet, once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the +traveller lost his friend. He called and called, but there +was no reply, and when he passed out of the wood, and saw the +peaceful sun going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to +an old man sitting on a fallen tree. So, he said to the old +man, “What do you do here?” And the old man +said with a calm smile, “I am always remembering. +Come and remember with me!”</p> +<p>So the traveller sat down by the side of that old man, face to +face with the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back +and stood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome +boy, the young man in love, the father, mother, and children: +every one of them was there, and he had lost nothing. So, +he loved them all, and was kind and forbearing with them all, and +was always pleased to watch them all, and they all honoured and +loved him. And I think the traveller must be yourself, dear +Grandfather, because this what you do to us, and what we do to +you.</p> +<h2><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>THE +SCHOOLBOY’S STORY.<br /> +[1853]</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Being</span> rather young at +present—I am getting on in years, but still I am rather +young—I have no particular adventures of my own to fall +back upon. It wouldn’t much interest anybody here, I +suppose, to know what a screw the Reverend is, or what a griffin +<i>she</i> is, or how they do stick it into +parents—particularly hair-cutting, and medical +attendance. One of our fellows was charged in his +half’s account twelve and sixpence for two +pills—tolerably profitable at six and threepence a-piece, I +should think—and he never took them either, but put them up +the sleeve of his jacket.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Schoolboy with book: illustrated by Fred Walker" +title= +"Schoolboy with book: illustrated by Fred Walker" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>As to the beef, it’s shameful. It’s +<i>not</i> beef. Regular beef isn’t veins. You +can chew regular beef. Besides which, there’s gravy +to regular beef, and you never see a drop to ours. Another +of our fellows went home ill, and heard the family doctor tell +his father that he couldn’t account for his complaint +unless it was the beer. Of course it was the beer, and well +it might be!</p> +<p>However, beef and Old Cheeseman are two different +things. So is beer. It was Old Cheeseman I meant to +tell about; not the manner in which our fellows get their +constitutions destroyed for the sake of profit.</p> +<p>Why, look at the pie-crust alone. There’s no +flakiness in it. It’s solid—like damp +lead. Then our fellows get nightmares, and are bolstered +for calling out and waking other fellows. Who can +wonder!</p> +<p>Old Cheeseman one night walked in his sleep, put his hat on +over his night-cap, got hold of a fishing-rod and a cricket-bat, +and went down into the parlour, where they naturally thought from +his appearance he was a Ghost. Why, he never would have +done that if his meals had been wholesome. When we all +begin to walk in our sleeps, I suppose they’ll be sorry for +it.</p> +<p>Old Cheeseman wasn’t second Latin Master then; he was a +fellow himself. He was first brought there, very small, in +a post-chaise, by a woman who was always taking snuff and shaking +him—and that was the most he remembered about it. He +never went home for the holidays. His accounts (he never +learnt any extras) were sent to a Bank, and the Bank paid them; +and he had a brown suit twice a-year, and went into boots at +twelve. They were always too big for him, too.</p> +<p>In the Midsummer holidays, some of our fellows who lived +within walking distance, used to come back and climb the trees +outside the playground wall, on purpose to look at Old Cheeseman +reading there by himself. He was always as mild as the +tea—and <i>that’s</i> pretty mild, I should +hope!—so when they whistled to him, he looked up and +nodded; and when they said, “Halloa, Old Cheeseman, what +have you had for dinner?” he said, “Boiled +mutton;” and when they said, “An’t it solitary, +Old Cheeseman?” he said, “It is a little dull +sometimes:” and then they said, “Well good-bye, Old +Cheeseman!” and climbed down again. Of course it was +imposing on Old Cheeseman to give him nothing but boiled mutton +through a whole Vacation, but that was just like the +system. When they didn’t give him boiled mutton, they +gave him rice pudding, pretending it was a treat. And saved +the butcher.</p> +<p>So Old Cheeseman went on. The holidays brought him into +other trouble besides the loneliness; because when the fellows +began to come back, not wanting to, he was always glad to see +them; which was aggravating when they were not at all glad to see +him, and so he got his head knocked against walls, and that was +the way his nose bled. But he was a favourite in +general. Once a subscription was raised for him; and, to +keep up his spirits, he was presented before the holidays with +two white mice, a rabbit, a pigeon, and a beautiful puppy. +Old Cheeseman cried about it—especially soon afterwards, +when they all ate one another.</p> +<p>Of course Old Cheeseman used to be called by the names of all +sorts of cheeses—Double Glo’sterman, Family +Cheshireman, Dutchman, North Wiltshireman, and all that. +But he never minded it. And I don’t mean to say he +was old in point of years—because he +wasn’t—only he was called from the first, Old +Cheeseman.</p> +<p>At last, Old Cheeseman was made second Latin Master. He +was brought in one morning at the beginning of a new half, and +presented to the school in that capacity as “Mr. +Cheeseman.” Then our fellows all agreed that Old +Cheeseman was a spy, and a deserter, who had gone over to the +enemy’s camp, and sold himself for gold. It was no +excuse for him that he had sold himself for very little +gold—two pound ten a quarter and his washing, as was +reported. It was decided by a Parliament which sat about +it, that Old Cheeseman’s mercenary motives could alone be +taken into account, and that he had “coined our blood for +drachmas.” The Parliament took the expression out of +the quarrel scene between Brutus and Cassius.</p> +<p>When it was settled in this strong way that Old Cheeseman was +a tremendous traitor, who had wormed himself into our +fellows’ secrets on purpose to get himself into favour by +giving up everything he knew, all courageous fellows were invited +to come forward and enrol themselves in a Society for making a +set against him. The President of the Society was First +boy, named Bob Tarter. His father was in the West Indies, +and he owned, himself, that his father was worth Millions. +He had great power among our fellows, and he wrote a parody, +beginning—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Who made believe to be so meek<br /> +That we could hardly hear him speak,<br /> +Yet turned out an Informing Sneak?<br /> + + +Old Cheeseman.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>—and on in that way through more than a dozen verses, +which he used to go and sing, every morning, close by the new +master’s desk. He trained one of the low boys, too, a +rosy-cheeked little Brass who didn’t care what he did, to +go up to him with his Latin Grammar one morning, and say it so: +<i>Nominativus pronominum</i>—Old Cheeseman, <i>raro +exprimitur</i>—was never suspected, <i>nisi +distinctionis</i>—of being an informer, <i>aut emphasis +gratîa</i>—until he proved one. +<i>Ut</i>—for instance, <i>Vos damnastis</i>—when he +sold the boys. <i>Quasi</i>—as though, +<i>dicat</i>—he should say, <i>Pretærea +nemo</i>—I’m a Judas! All this produced a great +effect on Old Cheeseman. He had never had much hair; but +what he had, began to get thinner and thinner every day. He +grew paler and more worn; and sometimes of an evening he was seen +sitting at his desk with a precious long snuff to his candle, and +his hands before his face, crying. But no member of the +Society could pity him, even if he felt inclined, because the +President said it was Old Cheeseman’s conscience.</p> +<p>So Old Cheeseman went on, and didn’t he lead a miserable +life! Of course the Reverend turned up his nose at him, and +of course <i>she</i> did—because both of them always do +that at all the masters—but he suffered from the fellows +most, and he suffered from them constantly. He never told +about it, that the Society could find out; but he got no credit +for that, because the President said it was Old Cheeseman’s +cowardice.</p> +<p>He had only one friend in the world, and that one was almost +as powerless as he was, for it was only Jane. Jane was a +sort of wardrobe woman to our fellows, and took care of the +boxes. She had come at first, I believe, as a kind of +apprentice—some of our fellows say from a Charity, but +<i>I</i> don’t know—and after her time was out, had +stopped at so much a year. So little a year, perhaps I +ought to say, for it is far more likely. However, she had +put some pounds in the Savings’ Bank, and she was a very +nice young woman. She was not quite pretty; but she had a +very frank, honest, bright face, and all our fellows were fond of +her. She was uncommonly neat and cheerful, and uncommonly +comfortable and kind. And if anything was the matter with a +fellow’s mother, he always went and showed the letter to +Jane.</p> +<p>Jane was Old Cheeseman’s friend. The more the +Society went against him, the more Jane stood by him. She +used to give him a good-humoured look out of her still-room +window, sometimes, that seemed to set him up for the day. +She used to pass out of the orchard and the kitchen garden +(always kept locked, I believe you!) through the playground, when +she might have gone the other way, only to give a turn of her +head, as much as to say “Keep up your spirits!” to +Old Cheeseman. His slip of a room was so fresh and orderly +that it was well known who looked after it while he was at his +desk; and when our fellows saw a smoking hot dumpling on his +plate at dinner, they knew with indignation who had sent it +up.</p> +<p>Under these circumstances, the Society resolved, after a +quantity of meeting and debating, that Jane should be requested +to cut Old Cheeseman dead; and that if she refused, she must be +sent to Coventry herself. So a deputation, headed by the +President, was appointed to wait on Jane, and inform her of the +vote the Society had been under the painful necessity of +passing. She was very much respected for all her good +qualities, and there was a story about her having once waylaid +the Reverend in his own study, and got a fellow off from severe +punishment, of her own kind comfortable heart. So the +deputation didn’t much like the job. However, they +went up, and the President told Jane all about it. Upon +which Jane turned very red, burst into tears, informed the +President and the deputation, in a way not at all like her usual +way, that they were a parcel of malicious young savages, and +turned the whole respected body out of the room. +Consequently it was entered in the Society’s book (kept in +astronomical cypher for fear of detection), that all +communication with Jane was interdicted: and the President +addressed the members on this convincing instance of Old +Cheeseman’s undermining.</p> +<p>But Jane was as true to Old Cheeseman as Old Cheeseman was +false to our fellows—in their opinion, at all +events—and steadily continued to be his only friend. +It was a great exasperation to the Society, because Jane was as +much a loss to them as she was a gain to him; and being more +inveterate against him than ever, they treated him worse than +ever. At last, one morning, his desk stood empty, his room +was peeped into, and found to be vacant, and a whisper went about +among the pale faces of our fellows that Old Cheeseman, unable to +bear it any longer, had got up early and drowned himself.</p> +<p>The mysterious looks of the other masters after breakfast, and +the evident fact that old Cheeseman was not expected, confirmed +the Society in this opinion. Some began to discuss whether +the President was liable to hanging or only transportation for +life, and the President’s face showed a great anxiety to +know which. However, he said that a jury of his country +should find him game; and that in his address he should put it to +them to lay their hands upon their hearts and say whether they as +Britons approved of informers, and how they thought they would +like it themselves. Some of the Society considered that he +had better run away until he found a forest where he might change +clothes with a wood-cutter, and stain his face with blackberries; +but the majority believed that if he stood his ground, his +father—belonging as he did to the West Indies, and being +worth millions—could buy him off.</p> +<p>All our fellows’ hearts beat fast when the Reverend came +in, and made a sort of a Roman, or a Field Marshal, of himself +with the ruler; as he always did before delivering an +address. But their fears were nothing to their astonishment +when he came out with the story that Old Cheeseman, “so +long our respected friend and fellow-pilgrim in the pleasant +plains of knowledge,” he called him—O yes! I +dare say! Much of that!—was the orphan child of a +disinherited young lady who had married against her +father’s wish, and whose young husband had died, and who +had died of sorrow herself, and whose unfortunate baby (Old +Cheeseman) had been brought up at the cost of a grandfather who +would never consent to see it, baby, boy, or man: which +grandfather was now dead, and serve him right—that’s +my putting in—and which grandfather’s large property, +there being no will, was now, and all of a sudden and for ever, +Old Cheeseman’s! Our so long respected friend and +fellow-pilgrim in the pleasant plains of knowledge, the Reverend +wound up a lot of bothering quotations by saying, would +“come among us once more” that day fortnight, when he +desired to take leave of us himself, in a more particular +manner. With these words, he stared severely round at our +fellows, and went solemnly out.</p> +<p>There was precious consternation among the members of the +Society, now. Lots of them wanted to resign, and lots more +began to try to make out that they had never belonged to +it. However, the President stuck up, and said that they +must stand or fall together, and that if a breach was made it +should be over his body—which was meant to encourage the +Society: but it didn’t. The President further said, +he would consider the position in which they stood, and would +give them his best opinion and advice in a few days. This +was eagerly looked for, as he knew a good deal of the world on +account of his father’s being in the West Indies.</p> +<p>After days and days of hard thinking, and drawing armies all +over his slate, the President called our fellows together, and +made the matter clear. He said it was plain that when Old +Cheeseman came on the appointed day, his first revenge would be +to impeach the Society, and have it flogged all round. +After witnessing with joy the torture of his enemies, and +gloating over the cries which agony would extort from them, the +probability was that he would invite the Reverend, on pretence of +conversation, into a private room—say the parlour into +which Parents were shown, where the two great globes were which +were never used—and would there reproach him with the +various frauds and oppressions he had endured at his hands. +At the close of his observations he would make a signal to a +Prizefighter concealed in the passage, who would then appear and +pitch into the Reverend, till he was left insensible. Old +Cheeseman would then make Jane a present of from five to ten +pounds, and would leave the establishment in fiendish +triumph.</p> +<p>The President explained that against the parlour part, or the +Jane part, of these arrangements he had nothing to say; but, on +the part of the Society, he counselled deadly resistance. +With this view he recommended that all available desks should be +filled with stones, and that the first word of the complaint +should be the signal to every fellow to let fly at Old +Cheeseman. The bold advice put the Society in better +spirits, and was unanimously taken. A post about Old +Cheeseman’s size was put up in the playground, and all our +fellows practised at it till it was dinted all over.</p> +<p>When the day came, and Places were called, every fellow sat +down in a tremble. There had been much discussing and +disputing as to how Old Cheeseman would come; but it was the +general opinion that he would appear in a sort of triumphal car +drawn by four horses, with two livery servants in front, and the +Prizefighter in disguise up behind. So, all our fellows sat +listening for the sound of wheels. But no wheels were +heard, for Old Cheeseman walked after all, and came into the +school without any preparation. Pretty much as he used to +be, only dressed in black.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” said the Reverend, presenting him, +“our so long respected friend and fellow-pilgrim in the +pleasant plains of knowledge, is desirous to offer a word or +two. Attention, gentlemen, one and all!”</p> +<p>Every fellow stole his hand into his desk and looked at the +President. The President was all ready, and taking aim at +old Cheeseman with his eyes.</p> +<p>What did Old Cheeseman then, but walk up to his old desk, look +round him with a queer smile as if there was a tear in his eye, +and begin in a quavering, mild voice, “My dear companions +and old friends!”</p> +<p>Every fellow’s hand came out of his desk, and the +President suddenly began to cry.</p> +<p>“My dear companions and old friends,” said Old +Cheeseman, “you have heard of my good fortune. I have +passed so many years under this roof—my entire life so far, +I may say—that I hope you have been glad to hear of it for +my sake. I could never enjoy it without exchanging +congratulations with you. If we have ever misunderstood one +another at all, pray, my dear boys, let us forgive and +forget. I have a great tenderness for you, and I am sure +you return it. I want in the fulness of a grateful heart to +shake hands with you every one. I have come back to do it, +if you please, my dear boys.”</p> +<p>Since the President had begun to cry, several other fellows +had broken out here and there: but now, when Old Cheeseman began +with him as first boy, laid his left hand affectionately on his +shoulder and gave him his right; and when the President said +“Indeed, I don’t deserve it, sir; upon my honour I +don’t;” there was sobbing and crying all over the +school. Every other fellow said he didn’t deserve it, +much in the same way; but Old Cheeseman, not minding that a bit, +went cheerfully round to every boy, and wound up with every +master—finishing off the Reverend last.</p> +<p>Then a snivelling little chap in a corner, who was always +under some punishment or other, set up a shrill cry of +“Success to Old Cheeseman! Hooray!” The +Reverend glared upon him, and said, “<i>Mr.</i> Cheeseman, +sir.” But, Old Cheeseman protesting that he liked his +old name a great deal better than his new one, all our fellows +took up the cry; and, for I don’t know how many minutes, +there was such a thundering of feet and hands, and such a roaring +of Old Cheeseman, as never was heard.</p> +<p>After that, there was a spread in the dining-room of the most +magnificent kind. Fowls, tongues, preserves, fruits, +confectionaries, jellies, neguses, barley-sugar temples, trifles, +crackers—eat all you can and pocket what you like—all +at Old Cheeseman’s expense. After that, speeches, +whole holiday, double and treble sets of all manners of things +for all manners of games, donkeys, pony-chaises and drive +yourself, dinner for all the masters at the Seven Bells (twenty +pounds a-head our fellows estimated it at), an annual holiday and +feast fixed for that day every year, and another on Old +Cheeseman’s birthday—Reverend bound down before the +fellows to allow it, so that he could never back out—all at +Old Cheeseman’s expense.</p> +<p>And didn’t our fellows go down in a body and cheer +outside the Seven Bells? O no!</p> +<p>But there’s something else besides. Don’t +look at the next story-teller, for there’s more yet. +Next day, it was resolved that the Society should make it up with +Jane, and then be dissolved. What do you think of Jane +being gone, though! “What? Gone for +ever?” said our fellows, with long faces. “Yes, +to be sure,” was all the answer they could get. None +of the people about the house would say anything more. At +length, the first boy took upon himself to ask the Reverend +whether our old friend Jane was really gone? The Reverend +(he has got a daughter at home—turn-up nose, and red) +replied severely, “Yes, sir, Miss Pitt is +gone.” The idea of calling Jane, Miss Pitt! +Some said she had been sent away in disgrace for taking money +from Old Cheeseman; others said she had gone into Old +Cheeseman’s service at a rise of ten pounds a year. +All that our fellows knew, was, she was gone.</p> +<p>It was two or three months afterwards, when, one afternoon, an +open carriage stopped at the cricket field, just outside bounds, +with a lady and gentleman in it, who looked at the game a long +time and stood up to see it played. Nobody thought much +about them, until the same little snivelling chap came in, +against all rules, from the post where he was Scout, and said, +“It’s Jane!” Both Elevens forgot the game +directly, and ran crowding round the carriage. It +<i>was</i> Jane! In such a bonnet! And if +you’ll believe me, Jane was married to Old Cheeseman.</p> +<p>It soon became quite a regular thing when our fellows were +hard at it in the playground, to see a carriage at the low part +of the wall where it joins the high part, and a lady and +gentleman standing up in it, looking over. The gentleman +was always Old Cheeseman, and the lady was always Jane.</p> +<p>The first time I ever saw them, I saw them in that way. +There had been a good many changes among our fellows then, and it +had turned out that Bob Tarter’s father wasn’t worth +Millions! He wasn’t worth anything. Bob had +gone for a soldier, and Old Cheeseman had purchased his +discharge. But that’s not the carriage. The +carriage stopped, and all our fellows stopped as soon as it was +seen.</p> +<p>“So you have never sent me to Coventry after all!” +said the lady, laughing, as our fellows swarmed up the wall to +shake hands with her. “Are you never going to do +it?”</p> +<p>“Never! never! never!” on all sides.</p> +<p>I didn’t understand what she meant then, but of course I +do now. I was very much pleased with her face though, and +with her good way, and I couldn’t help looking at +her—and at him too—with all our fellows clustering so +joyfully about them.</p> +<p>They soon took notice of me as a new boy, so I thought I might +as well swarm up the wall myself, and shake hands with them as +the rest did. I was quite as glad to see them as the rest +were, and was quite as familiar with them in a moment.</p> +<p>“Only a fortnight now,” said Old Cheeseman, +“to the holidays. Who stops? +Anybody?”</p> +<p>A good many fingers pointed at me, and a good many voices +cried “He does!” For it was the year when you +were all away; and rather low I was about it, I can tell you.</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Old Cheeseman. “But +it’s solitary here in the holiday time. He had better +come to us.”</p> +<p>So I went to their delightful house, and was as happy as I +could possibly be. They understand how to conduct +themselves towards boys, <i>they</i> do. When they take a +boy to the play, for instance, they <i>do</i> take him. +They don’t go in after it’s begun, or come out before +it’s over. They know how to bring a boy up, +too. Look at their own! Though he is very little as +yet, what a capital boy he is! Why, my next favourite to +Mrs. Cheeseman and Old Cheeseman, is young Cheeseman.</p> +<p>So, now I have told you all I know about Old Cheeseman. +And it’s not much after all, I am afraid. Is it?</p> +<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>NOBODY’S STORY</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> lived on the bank of a mighty +river, broad and deep, which was always silently rolling on to a +vast undiscovered ocean. It had rolled on, ever since the +world began. It had changed its course sometimes, and +turned into new channels, leaving its old ways dry and barren; +but it had ever been upon the flow, and ever was to flow until +Time should be no more. Against its strong, unfathomable +stream, nothing made head. No living creature, no flower, +no leaf, no particle of animate or inanimate existence, ever +strayed back from the undiscovered ocean. The tide of the +river set resistlessly towards it; and the tide never stopped, +any more than the earth stops in its circling round the sun.</p> +<p>He lived in a busy place, and he worked very hard to +live. He had no hope of ever being rich enough to live a +month without hard work, but he was quite content, GOD knows, to +labour with a cheerful will. He was one of an immense +family, all of whose sons and daughters gained their daily bread +by daily work, prolonged from their rising up betimes until their +lying down at night. Beyond this destiny he had no +prospect, and he sought none.</p> +<p>There was over-much drumming, trumpeting, and speech-making, +in the neighbourhood where he dwelt; but he had nothing to do +with that. Such clash and uproar came from the Bigwig +family, at the unaccountable proceedings of which race, he +marvelled much. They set up the strangest statues, in iron, +marble, bronze, and brass, before his door; and darkened his +house with the legs and tails of uncouth images of horses. +He wondered what it all meant, smiled in a rough good-humoured +way he had, and kept at his hard work.</p> +<p>The Bigwig family (composed of all the stateliest people +thereabouts, and all the noisiest) had undertaken to save him the +trouble of thinking for himself, and to manage him and his +affairs. “Why truly,” said he, “I have +little time upon my hands; and if you will be so good as to take +care of me, in return for the money I pay over”—for +the Bigwig family were not above his money—“I shall +be relieved and much obliged, considering that you know +best.” Hence the drumming, trumpeting, and +speech-making, and the ugly images of horses which he was +expected to fall down and worship.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand all this,” said he, +rubbing his furrowed brow confusedly. “But it +<i>has</i> a meaning, maybe, if I could find it out.”</p> +<p>“It means,” returned the Bigwig family, suspecting +something of what he said, “honour and glory in the +highest, to the highest merit.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said he. And he was glad to hear +that.</p> +<p>But, when he looked among the images in iron, marble, bronze, +and brass, he failed to find a rather meritorious countryman of +his, once the son of a Warwickshire wool-dealer, or any single +countryman whomsoever of that kind. He could find none of +the men whose knowledge had rescued him and his children from +terrific and disfiguring disease, whose boldness had raised his +forefathers from the condition of serfs, whose wise fancy had +opened a new and high existence to the humblest, whose skill had +filled the working man’s world with accumulated +wonders. Whereas, he did find others whom he knew no good +of, and even others whom he knew much ill of.</p> +<p>“Humph!” said he. “I don’t quite +understand it.”</p> +<p>So, he went home, and sat down by his fireside to get it out +of his mind.</p> +<p>Now, his fireside was a bare one, all hemmed in by blackened +streets; but it was a precious place to him. The hands of +his wife were hardened with toil, and she was old before her +time; but she was dear to him. His children, stunted in +their growth, bore traces of unwholesome nurture; but they had +beauty in his sight. Above all other things, it was an +earnest desire of this man’s soul that his children should +be taught. “If I am sometimes misled,” said he, +“for want of knowledge, at least let them know better, and +avoid my mistakes. If it is hard to me to reap the harvest +of pleasure and instruction that is stored in books, let it be +easier to them.”</p> +<p>But, the Bigwig family broke out into violent family quarrels +concerning what it was lawful to teach to this man’s +children. Some of the family insisted on such a thing being +primary and indispensable above all other things; and others of +the family insisted on such another thing being primary and +indispensable above all other things; and the Bigwig family, rent +into factions, wrote pamphlets, held convocations, delivered +charges, orations, and all varieties of discourses; impounded one +another in courts Lay and courts Ecclesiastical; threw dirt, +exchanged pummelings, and fell together by the ears in +unintelligible animosity. Meanwhile, this man, in his short +evening snatches at his fireside, saw the demon Ignorance arise +there, and take his children to itself. He saw his daughter +perverted into a heavy, slatternly drudge; he saw his son go +moping down the ways of low sensuality, to brutality and crime; +he saw the dawning light of intelligence in the eyes of his +babies so changing into cunning and suspicion, that he could have +rather wished them idiots.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand this any the better,” +said he; “but I think it cannot be right. Nay, by the +clouded Heaven above me, I protest against this as my +wrong!”</p> +<p>Becoming peaceable again (for his passion was usually +short-lived, and his nature kind), he looked about him on his +Sundays and holidays, and he saw how much monotony and weariness +there was, and thence how drunkenness arose with all its train of +ruin. Then he appealed to the Bigwig family, and said, +“We are a labouring people, and I have a glimmering +suspicion in me that labouring people of whatever condition were +made—by a higher intelligence than yours, as I poorly +understand it—to be in need of mental refreshment and +recreation. See what we fall into, when we rest without +it. Come! Amuse me harmlessly, show me something, +give me an escape!”</p> +<p>But, here the Bigwig family fell into a state of uproar +absolutely deafening. When some few voices were faintly +heard, proposing to show him the wonders of the world, the +greatness of creation, the mighty changes of time, the workings +of nature and the beauties of art—to show him these things, +that is to say, at any period of his life when he could look upon +them—there arose among the Bigwigs such roaring and raving, +such pulpiting and petitioning, such maundering and +memorialising, such name-calling and dirt-throwing, such a shrill +wind of parliamentary questioning and feeble replying—where +“I dare not” waited on “I +would”—that the poor fellow stood aghast, staring +wildly around.</p> +<p>“Have I provoked all this,” said he, with his +hands to his affrighted ears, “by what was meant to be an +innocent request, plainly arising out of my familiar experience, +and the common knowledge of all men who choose to open their +eyes? I don’t understand, and I am not +understood. What is to come of such a state of +things!”</p> +<p>He was bending over his work, often asking himself the +question, when the news began to spread that a pestilence had +appeared among the labourers, and was slaying them by +thousands. Going forth to look about him, he soon found +this to be true. The dying and the dead were mingled in the +close and tainted houses among which his life was passed. +New poison was distilled into the always murky, always sickening +air. The robust and the weak, old age and infancy, the +father and the mother, all were stricken down alike.</p> +<p>What means of flight had he? He remained there, where he +was, and saw those who were dearest to him die. A kind +preacher came to him, and would have said some prayers to soften +his heart in his gloom, but he replied:</p> +<p>“O what avails it, missionary, to come to me, a man +condemned to residence in this foetid place, where every sense +bestowed upon me for my delight becomes a torment, and where +every minute of my numbered days is new mire added to the heap +under which I lie oppressed! But, give me my first glimpse +of Heaven, through a little of its light and air; give me pure +water; help me to be clean; lighten this heavy atmosphere and +heavy life, in which our spirits sink, and we become the +indifferent and callous creatures you too often see us; gently +and kindly take the bodies of those who die among us, out of the +small room where we grow to be so familiar with the awful change +that even its sanctity is lost to us; and, Teacher, then I will +hear—none know better than you, how willingly—of Him +whose thoughts were so much with the poor, and who had compassion +for all human sorrow!”</p> +<p>He was at work again, solitary and sad, when his Master came +and stood near to him dressed in black. He, also, had +suffered heavily. His young wife, his beautiful and good +young wife, was dead; so, too, his only child.</p> +<p>“Master, ’tis hard to bear—I know +it—but be comforted. I would give you comfort, if I +could.”</p> +<p>The Master thanked him from his heart, but, said he, “O +you labouring men! The calamity began among you. If +you had but lived more healthily and decently, I should not be +the widowed and bereft mourner that I am this day.”</p> +<p>“Master,” returned the other, shaking his head, +“I have begun to understand a little that most calamities +will come from us, as this one did, and that none will stop at +our poor doors, until we are united with that great squabbling +family yonder, to do the things that are right. We cannot +live healthily and decently, unless they who undertook to manage +us provide the means. We cannot be instructed unless they +will teach us; we cannot be rationally amused, unless they will +amuse us; we cannot but have some false gods of our own, while +they set up so many of theirs in all the public places. The +evil consequences of imperfect instruction, the evil consequences +of pernicious neglect, the evil consequences of unnatural +restraint and the denial of humanising enjoyments, will all come +from us, and none of them will stop with us. They will +spread far and wide. They always do; they always have +done—just like the pestilence. I understand so much, +I think, at last.”</p> +<p>But the Master said again, “O you labouring men! +How seldom do we ever hear of you, except in connection with some +trouble!”</p> +<p>“Master,” he replied, “I am Nobody, and +little likely to be heard of (nor yet much wanted to be heard of, +perhaps), except when there is some trouble. But it never +begins with me, and it never can end with me. As sure as +Death, it comes down to me, and it goes up from me.”</p> +<p>There was so much reason in what he said, that the Bigwig +family, getting wind of it, and being horribly frightened by the +late desolation, resolved to unite with him to do the things that +were right—at all events, so far as the said things were +associated with the direct prevention, humanly speaking, of +another pestilence. But, as their fear wore off, which it +soon began to do, they resumed their falling out among +themselves, and did nothing. Consequently the scourge +appeared again—low down as before—and spread +avengingly upward as before, and carried off vast numbers of the +brawlers. But not a man among them ever admitted, if in the +least degree he ever perceived, that he had anything to do with +it.</p> +<p>So Nobody lived and died in the old, old, old way; and this, +in the main, is the whole of Nobody’s story.</p> +<p>Had he no name, you ask? Perhaps it was Legion. It +matters little what his name was. Let us call him +Legion.</p> +<p>If you were ever in the Belgian villages near the field of +Waterloo, you will have seen, in some quiet little church, a +monument erected by faithful companions in arms to the memory of +Colonel A, Major B, Captains C, D and E, Lieutenants F and G, +Ensigns H, I and J, seven non-commissioned officers, and one +hundred and thirty rank and file, who fell in the discharge of +their duty on the memorable day. The story of Nobody is the +story of the rank and file of the earth. They bear their +share of the battle; they have their part in the victory; they +fall; they leave no name but in the mass. The march of the +proudest of us, leads to the dusty way by which they go. +O! Let us think of them this year at the Christmas fire, +and not forget them when it is burnt out.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME CHRISTMAS STORIES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1467-h.htm or 1467-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/6/1467 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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