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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20198-0.txt b/20198-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5da57fa --- /dev/null +++ b/20198-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,24566 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lavengro, by George Borrow, Edited by +Theodore Watts + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + + + + +Title: Lavengro + the Scholar - the Gypsy - the Priest + + +Author: George Borrow + +Editor: Theodore Watts + +Release Date: January 13, 2010 [eBook #20198] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO*** + + +Transcribed from the 1893 Ward, Lock, Bowden, and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + LAVENGRO: + THE SCHOLAR—THE GYPSY—THE PRIEST. + + + BY + GEORGE BORROW, + AUTHOR OF + “THE BIBLE IN SPAIN,” ETC. + + _WITH AN INTRODUCTION_ + BY + THEODORE WATTS. + + WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, AND CO. + LONDON: WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. + NEW YORK: EAST 12TH STREET. + MELBOURNE: ST. JAMES’S STREET. SYDNEY: YORK STREET. + + 1893. + +[Picture: Borrow’s home at Oulton (now pulled down), showing the summer +house where much of his work was written. (From a Photograph kindly lent +by Mr. Welchman, of Lowestoft, and taken by Mr. F. G. Mayhew, of the same +place.)] + + + + +NOTES UPON GEORGE BORROW. + + +I. BORROW AS A SPLENDID LITERARY AMATEUR. + + +There are some writers who cannot be adequately criticised—who cannot, +indeed, be adequately written about at all—save by those to whom they are +personally known. I allude to those writers of genius who, having only +partially mastered the art of importing their own individual +characteristics into literary forms, end their life-work as they began +it, remaining to the last amateurs in literary art. Of this class of +writers George Borrow is generally taken to be the very type. Was he +really so? + +There are passages in “Lavengro” which are unsurpassed in the prose +literature of England—unsurpassed, I mean, for mere perfection of +style—for blending of strength and graphic power with limpidity and music +of flow. Is “Lavengro” the work of a literary amateur who, yielding at +will to every kind of authorial self-indulgence, fails to find artistic +expression for the life moving within him—fails to project an +individuality that his friends knew to have been unique? Of other +writers of genius, admirable criticism may be made by those who have +never known them in the flesh. Is this because each of those others, +having passed from the stage of the literary amateur to that of the +literary artist, is able to pour the stream of his personality into the +literary mould and give to the world a true image of himself? It has +been my chance of life to be brought into personal relations with many +men of genius, but I feel that there are others who could write about +them more adequately than I. Does Borrow stand alone? The admirers of +his writings seem generally to think he does, for ever since I wrote my +brief and hasty obituary notice of him in 1881, I have been urged to +enlarge my reminiscences of him—urged not only by philologers and +gypsologists, but by many others in England, America, and Germany. But I +on my part have been for years urging upon the friend who introduced me +to him, and who knew him years ago,—knew him when he was the +comparatively young literary lion of East Anglia,—Dr. Gordon Hake, to do +what others are urging me to do. Not only has the author of “Parables +and Tales” more knowledge of the subject than any one else, but having a +greater reputation than I, he can speak with more authority, and having a +more brilliant pen than I, he can give a more vital picture than I can +hope to give of our common friend. If he is, as he seems to be, fully +determined not to depict Borrow in prose, let me urge him to continue in +verse that admirable description of him contained in one of the +well-known sonnets addressed to myself in “The New Day”:— + + “And he, the walking lord of gipsy lore! + How often ’mid the deer that grazed the Park, + Or in the fields and heath and windy moor, + Made musical with many a soaring lark, + Have we not held brisk commune with him there, + While Lavengro, then towering by your side, + With rose complexion and bright silvery hair, + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride + To tell the legends of the fading race— + As at the summons of his piercing glance, + Its story peopling his brown eyes and face, + While you called up that pendant of romance + To Petulengro with his boxing glory, + Your Amazonian Sinfi’s noble story!” + + + +II. IS THERE A KEY TO “LAVENGRO”? + + +Dr. Hake, however, and those others among Borrow’s friends who are apt to +smile at the way in which critics of the highest intelligence will stand +baffled and bewildered before the eccentricities of “Lavengro” and “The +Romany Rye”—some critics treating the work as autobiography spoilt, and +some as spoilt fiction—forget that while it is easy to open a locked door +with a key, to open a locked door without a key is a very different +undertaking. On the subject of autobiographies and the autobiographic +method, I had several interesting talks with Borrow. I remember an +especial one that took place on Wimbledon Common, on a certain autumn +morning when I was pointing out to him the spot called Gypsy Ring. He +was in a very communicative mood that day, and more amenable to criticism +than he generally was. I had been speaking of certain bold coincidences +in “Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye”—especially that of Lavengro’s meeting +by accident in the neighbourhood of Salisbury Plain the son of the very +apple-woman of London Bridge with whom he had made friends, and also of +such apparently manufactured situations as that of Lavengro’s coming upon +the man whom Wordsworth’s poetry had sent into a deep slumber in a +meadow. + +“What is an autobiography?” he asked. “Is it a mere record of the +incidents of a man’s life? or is it a picture of the man himself—his +character, his soul?” + +Now this I think a very suggestive question of Borrow’s with regard to +himself and his own work. That he sat down to write his own life in +“Lavengro” I know. He had no idea then of departing from the strict line +of fact. Indeed, his letters to his friend Mr. John Murray would alone +be sufficient to establish this in spite of his calling “Lavengro” a +dream. In the first volume he did almost confine himself to matters of +fact. But as he went on he clearly found that the ordinary tapestry into +which Destiny had woven the incidents of his life were not tinged with +sufficient depth of colour to satisfy his sense of wonder; for, let it be +remembered, that of love as a strong passion he had almost none. Surely +no one but Lavengro could have lived in a dingle with a girl like Belle +Berners, and passed the time in trying to teach her Armenian. Without +strong passion no very deeply coloured life-tapestry can, in these +unadventurous days, be woven. The manufactured incidents of which there +are so many in “Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye,” are introduced to give +colour to a web of life that strong Passion had left untinged. But why? +In order to flash upon the personality of Lavengro, and upon Lavengro’s +attitude towards the universe unseen as well as seen, a light more +searching, as Borrow considered, than any picture of actual experience +could have done. In other words, to build up the truth of the character +of Lavengro, Borrow does not shrink from manipulating certain incidents +and inventing others. And when he wishes to dive very boldly into the +“abysmal deeps of personality,” he speaks and moves partly behind the +mask of some fictitious character, such as the man who touched for the +evil chance, and such as the hypochondriac who taught himself Chinese to +ward off despair, but could not tell the time of day by looking at the +clock. This is not the place for me to enter more fully into this +matter, but I am looking forward to a fitting occasion of showing whether +or not “Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye” form a spiritual autobiography; +and if they do, whether that autobiography does or does not surpass every +other for absolute truth of spiritual representation. Meantime, let it +be remembered by those who object to Borrow’s method that, as I have just +hinted, at the basis of his character was a deep sense of wonder. Let it +be remembered that he was led to study the first of the many languages he +taught himself—Irish—because there was, as he said, “something mysterious +and uncommon in its use.” Let it be remembered that it was this instinct +of wonder, not the impulse of the mere _poseur_, that impelled him to +make certain exaggerated statements about the characters themselves who +are introduced into his books. + + + +III. ISOPEL BERNERS. + + +For instance, the tall girl, Isopel Berners—the most vigorous sketch he +has given us—is perfect as she is adorable. Among heroines she stands +quite alone; there is none other that is in the least like her. Yet she +is in many of her qualities typical of a class. Among the very bravest +of all human beings in the British Islands are, or were, the nomadic +girls of the high road and the dingle. Their bravery is not only an +inherited quality: it is in every way fostered by their mode of life. No +tenderness from the men with whom they travel, either as wives or as +mistresses, do they get—none of the chivalry which girls in most other +grades of life experience—and none do they expect. In all disputes +between themselves and the men, their associates, they know that the +final argument is the knock-down blow. With the Romany girl, too, this +is the case, to be sure; but then, while the Romany girl, as a rule, +owing to tribal customs, receives the blow in patience, the English girl +is apt to return it, and with vigour. This condition of things gives the +English road-girl a frank independence of bearing which distinguishes her +from girls of all other classes. There is something of the charm of the +savage about her, even to her odd passion for tattoo. No doubt Isopel is +an idealisation of the class; but the class, with all its drawbacks, has +a certain winsomeness for men of Borrow’s temperament. + +But, unfortunately, his love of the wonderful, his instinct for +exaggeration, asserts itself even here. I need give only one instance of +what I mean. He makes Isopel Berners speak of herself as being taller +than Lavengro. Now, as Borrow gives Lavengro his own character and +physique in every detail, even to the silvery hair and even to the +somewhat peculiar method of sparring, and as he himself stood six feet +two inches, Isopel must have been better adapted to shine as a giantess +in a show than as a fighting woman capable of cowing the “Flaming Tinman” +himself. + +It is a very exceptional woman that can really stand up against a trained +boxer, and it is, I believe, or used to be, an axiom among the nomads +that no fighting woman ought to stand more than about five feet ten +inches at the outside. A handsome young woman never looks so superb as +when boxing; but it is under peculiar disadvantages that she spars with a +man, inasmuch as she has, even when properly padded (as assuredly every +woman ought to be) to guard her chest with even more care than she guards +her face. The truth is, as Borrow must have known, that women, in order +to stand a chance against men, must rely upon some special and surprising +method of attack—such, for instance, as that of the sudden “left-hand +body blow” of the magnificent gypsy girl of whose exploits I told him +that day at “Gypsy Ring”—who, when travelling in England, was attached to +Boswell’s boxing-booth, and was always accompanied by a favourite bantam +cock, ornamented with a gold ring in each wattle, and trained to clap his +wings and crow whenever he saw his mistress putting on the gloves—the +most beautiful girl, gypsy or other, that ever went into East Anglia. +This “left-hand body blow” of hers she delivered so unexpectedly, and +with such an engine-like velocity, that but few boxers could “stop it.” + +But, with regard to Isopel Berners, neither Lavengro, nor the man she +thrashed when he stole one of her flaxen hairs to conjure with, gives the +reader the faintest idea of Isopel’s method of attack or defence, and we +have to take her prowess on trust. + +In a word, Borrow was content to give us the Wonderful, without taking +that trouble to find for it a logical basis which a literary master would +have taken. And instances might easily be multiplied of this +exaggeration of Borrow’s, which is apt to lend a sense of unreality to +some of the most picturesque pages of “Lavengro.” + + + +IV. BORROW’S USE OF PATOIS. + + +Nor does Borrow take much trouble to give organic life to a dramatic +picture by the aid of _patois_ in dialogue. In every conversation +between Borrow’s gypsies, and between them and Lavengro, the illusion is +constantly being disturbed by the vocabulary of the speakers. It is hard +for the reader to believe that characters such as Jasper Petulengro, his +wife, and sister Ursula, between whom so much of the dialogue is +distributed, should make use of the complex sentences and book-words +which Borrow, on occasion, puts into their mouths. + +I remember once remarking to him upon the value of _patois_ within +certain limits—not only in imaginative but in biographic art. + +His answer came in substance to this, that if the matter of the dialogue +be true to nature, the entire verisimilitude of the form is a secondary +consideration. + +“Walter Scott,” said he, “has run to death the method of _patois_ +dialogue.” + +He urged, moreover, that the gypsies really are extremely fond of +uncommon and fine words. And this, no doubt, is true, especially in +regard to the women. There is nothing in which the native superiority of +the illiterate Romany woman over the illiterate English woman of the road +is more clearly seen than in the love of long “book-words” (often +mispronounced) displayed by the former. Strong, however, as is the +Romany chi’s passion for fine words, her sentences are rarely complex +like some of the sentences Borrow puts into her mouth. + +With regard, however, to the charge of idealising gypsy life—a charge +which has often been brought against Borrow—it must be remembered that +the gypsies to whom he introduces us are the better kind of gryengroes +(horse-dealers), by far the most prosperous of all gypsies. Borrow’s +“gryengroes” are not in any way more prosperous than those he knew. + +These nomads have an instinctive knowledge of horseflesh—will tell the +amount of “blood” in any horse by a lightning glance at his quarters—and +will sometimes make large sums before the fair is over. + +Yet, on the whole, I will not deny that Borrow was as successful in +giving us vital portraits of English and Irish characters as of Romany +characters, perhaps more so. + +That hypochondriacal strain in Borrow’s nature, which Dr. Hake alludes +to, perhaps prevented him from sympathising fully with the joyous Romany +temper. But over and above this, and charming as the Petulengro family +are, they do not live as do the characters of Mr. Groome in his +delightful book “In Gypsy Tents”—a writer whose treatises on the gypsies +in the “Encyclopædia Britannica,” and in “Chambers’ Encyclopedia,” are as +full of the fruits of actual personal contact with the gypsies as of the +learning to be derived from books. + + + +V. THE SAVING GRACE OF PUGILISM. + + +Borrow’s “Flaming Tinman” is, of course, a brilliant success, but then +he, though named Bosville, is not a pure gypsy. He is what is called on +the roads, I believe, a “half and half”; and in nothing is more clearly +seen that “prepotency of transmission,” which I have elsewhere attributed +to the Anglo-Saxon in the racial struggle, than in hybrids of this kind. +A thorough-bred Romany chal can be brutal enough, but the “Flaming +Tinman’s” peculiar shade of brutality is Anglo-Saxon, not Romany. The +Tinman’s ironical muttering while unharnessing his horse, “Afraid. H’m! +Afraid; that was the word, I think,” is worthy of Dickens at his very +best—worthy of Dickens when he created Rogue Riderhood—but it is hardly +Romany, I think. + +The battle in the dingle is superb. + +Borrow is always at his strongest when describing a pugilistic encounter: +for in the saving grace of pugilism as an English accomplishment, he +believed as devoutly almost as he believed in East Anglia and the Bible. +It was this more than anything else that aroused the ire of the critics +of “Lavengro” when it first appeared. One critical journal characterised +the book as the work of a “barbarian.” + +This was in 1851, when Clio seemed set upon substituting Harlequin’s wand +for Britannia’s trident, seemed set upon crowning her with the cap and +bells of Folly in her maudlin mood,—the marvellous and memorable year +when England—while every forge in Europe was glowing with expectance, +ready to beat every ploughshare into a sword—uttered her famous prophecy, +that from the day of the opening of the Prince Consort’s glass show in +Hyde Park, bullets, bayonets, and fists were to be institutions of a +benighted past. + +Very different was the prophecy of this “eccentric barbarian,” Borrow, +especially as regards the abolition of the British fist. His prophecy +was that the decay of pugilism would be followed by a flourishing time in +England for the revolver and the assassin’s knife,—a prophecy which I can +now recommend to those two converts to the virtues of Pugilism, Mr. +Justice Grantham and the present Editor of the _Daily News_, the former +of whom in passing sentence of death (at the Central Criminal Court, on +Wednesday, January 11th, 1893) upon a labourer named Hosler, for stabbing +one Dennis Finnessey to death in a quarrel about a pot of beer, borrowed +in the most impudent manner from the “eccentric barbarian,” when he said, +“If men would only use their fists instead of knives when tempted to +violence, so many people would not be hanged”; while the latter remarked +that “the same thing has been said from the bench before, _and cannot be +said too often_.” When the “eccentric barbarian” argued that pugnacity +is one of the primary instincts of man—when he argued that no +civilisation can ever eradicate this instinct without emasculating +itself—when he argued that to clench one’s fist and “strike out” is the +irresistible impulse of every one who has been assaulted, and that to +make it illegal to “strike out,” to make it illegal to learn the art to +“strike out” with the best effect, is not to quell the instinct, but +simply to force it to express itself in other and more dangerous and +dastardly ways—when he argued thus more than forty years ago, he saw more +clearly than did his critics into the future—a future which held within +its womb not only the American civil war and the gigantic Continental +struggles whose bloody reek still “smells to heaven,” but also the +present carnival of dynamite, the revolver, and the assassin’s knife. + + + +VI. BORROW’S GYPSIES. + + +To those who knew Borrow, the striking thing about “Lavengro” and “The +Romany Rye” is not that there is so much about the gypsies, but that +there is comparatively so little, and that he only introduces one family +group. Judged from these two books the reader would conclude that he +knew nothing whatever of the Lees, the Stanleys, and the most noticeable +of all, the Lovells, and yet those who knew him are aware that he was +thrown into contact with most of these. But here, as in everything else, +Borrow’s eccentric methods can never be foreseen. The most interesting +of all the gypsies are the Welsh gypsies. The Welsh variety of the +Romany tongue is quite peculiar, and the Romanies of the Principality are +superior to all others in these islands in intelligence and in their +passion for gorgio respectability. Borrow in “Lavengro” takes the reader +to the Welsh border itself, and then turns back, leaving the Welsh Romany +undescribed. And in the only part of “Wild Wales” where gypsy life is +afterwards glanced at, the gypsies introduced are not Welsh, but English. + +The two great successes amongst Borrow’s Romany characters are +undoubtedly Mrs. Petulengro’s mother (old Mrs. Herne) and her grandchild +Leonora, but these are the two wicked characters of the group. It is +impossible to imagine anything better told than the attempt of these two +to poison Lavengro: it is drama of the rarest kind. The terrible +ironical dialogue over the prostrate and semi-conscious Lavengro, between +the child-murderess and the hag-murderess who have poisoned him, is like +nothing else in literature. This scene alone should make “Lavengro” +immortal. In no other race than the Romany would a child of the elf-like +intelligence and unconscious wickedness of Leonora be possible; but also +it must be said that in no other race than the Romany would be possible a +child like her who is made the subject of my sonnet, “A Gypsy Child’s +Christmas,” printed in the “Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society”—a sonnet +which renders in verse a real incident recorded by my friend before +alluded to:— + + Dear Sinfi rose and danced along “The Dells,” + Drawn by the Christmas chimes, and soon she sate + Where, ’neath the snow around the churchyard gate, + The ploughmen slept in bramble-banded cells: + The gorgios passed, half fearing gipsy spells, + While Sinfi, gazing, seemed to meditate; + She laughed for joy, then wept disconsolate: + “De poor dead gorgios cannot hear de bells.” + + Within the church the clouds of gorgio-breath + Arose, a steam of lazy praise and prayer, + To Him who weaves the loving Christmas-stair + O’er sorrow and sin and wintry deeps of Death; + But where stood He? Beside our Sinfi there, + Remembering childish tears in Nazareth. + +Perhaps Borrow’s pictures of the gypsies, by omitting to depict the +Romany woman on her loftier, her tragic side, fail to demonstrate what he +well knew to be the Romany’s great racial mark of distinction all over +Europe, the enormous superiority of the gypsy women over the gypsy men, +not in intelligence merely, but in all the higher human qualities. While +it is next to impossible to imagine a gypsy hero, gypsy heroines—women +capable of the noblest things—are far from uncommon. + +The “Amazonian Sinfi,” alluded to in Dr. Hake’s sonnet, was a heroine of +this noble strain, and yet perhaps she was but a type of a certain kind +of Romany chi. + +It was she of the bantam cock and “the left-hand body blow” alluded to +above. + +This same gypsy girl also illustrated another side of the variously +endowed character of the Romany women, ignored, or almost ignored by +Borrow—their passion for music. The daughter of an extremely well-to-do +“gryengro,” or dealer in horses, this gypsy girl had travelled over +nearly all England, and was familiar with London, where, in the studio of +a certain romantic artist, she was in great request as a face-model. But +having been brought into close contact with a travelling band of +Hungarian gypsy musicians who visited England some years ago, she +developed a passion for music that showed her to be a musical genius. +The gypsy musicians of Hungary, who are darker than the tented gypsies, +are the most intelligent and most widely-travelled of even Hungarian +gypsies—indeed, of all the Romany race, and with them Sinfi soon +developed into the “Fiddling Sinfi,” who was famous in Wales and also in +East Anglia, and the East Midlands. After a while she widened her +reputation in a curious way as the only performer on the old Welsh +stringed instrument called the “crwth,” or cruth. I told Borrow her +story at Gypsy Ring. Having become, through the good nature of an +eminent Welsh antiquary, the possessor of a crwth, and having discovered +the unique capabilities of that rarely-seen instrument, she soon taught +herself to play upon it with extraordinary effect, fascinating her Welsh +patrons by the ravishing strains she could draw from it. This obsolete +instrument is six-stringed, with two of the strings reaching beyond the +key-board, and a bridge placed, not at right angles to the sides of the +instrument, but in an oblique direction. Though in some respects +inferior to the violin, it is in other respects superior to it. Sinfi’s +performances on this remarkable instrument showed her to be a musical +genius of a high order. + + + +VII. MY FIRST MEETING WITH BORROW. + + +But I am not leaving myself much room for personal reminiscences of +Borrow after all—though these are what I sat down to write. + +Dr. Hake, in his memoirs of “Eighty Years,” records thus the first +meeting between Borrow and myself at Roehampton, at the doctor’s own +delightful house, whose windows at the back looked over Richmond Park, +and in front over the wildest part of Wimbledon Common. + + “Later on, George Borrow turned up while Watts was there, and we went + through a pleasant trio, in which Borrow, as was his wont, took the + first fiddle. The reader must not here take metaphor for music. + Borrow made himself very agreeable to Watts, recited a fairy tale in + the best style to him, and liked him.” + +There is, however, no doubt that Borrow would have run away from me had I +been associated in his mind with the literary calling. But at that time +I had written nothing at all save poems, and a prose story or two of a +romantic kind, and even these, though some of the poems have since +appeared, were then known only through private circulation. + +About me there was nothing of the literary flavour: no need to flee away +from me as he fled from the writing fraternity. He had not long before +this refused to allow Dr. Hake to introduce the late W. R. S. Ralston to +him, simply because the Russian scholar moved in the literary world. + +With regard to newspaper critiques of books his axiom was that “whatever +is praised by the press is of necessity bad,” and he refused to read +anything that was so praised. + +After the “fairy tale” mentioned by Dr. Hake was over, we went, at +Borrow’s suggestion, for a ramble through Richmond Park, calling on the +way at the “Bald-Faced Stag” in Kingston Vale, in order that Borrow +should introduce me to Jerry Abershaw’s sword, which was one of the +special glories of that once famous hostelry. A divine summer day it was +I remember—a day whose heat would have been oppressive had it not been +tempered every now and then by a playful silvery shower falling from an +occasional wandering cloud, whose slate-coloured body thinned at the +edges to a fringe of lace brighter than any silver. + +These showers, however, seemed, as Borrow remarked, merely to give a rich +colour to the sunshine, and to make the wild flowers in the meadows on +the left breathe more freely. In a word, it was one of those uncertain +summer days whose peculiarly English charm was Borrow’s special delight. +He liked rain, but he liked it falling on the green umbrella (enormous, +shaggy, like a gypsy-tent after a summer storm) he generally carried. As +we entered the Robin Hood Gate we were confronted by a sudden weird +yellow radiance, magical and mysterious, which showed clearly enough that +in the sky behind us there was gleaming over the fields and over +Wimbledon Common a rainbow of exceptional brilliance, while the raindrops +sparkling on the ferns seemed answering every hue in the magic arch far +away. Borrow told us some interesting stories of Romany superstitions in +connection with the rainbow—how, by making a “trus’hul” (cross) of two +sticks, the Romany chi who “pens the dukkerin can wipe the rainbow out of +the sky,” etc. Whereupon Hake, quite as original a man as Borrow, and a +humourist of a still rarer temper, launched out into a strain of wit and +whim, which it is not my business here to record, upon the subject of the +“Spirit of the Rainbow” which a certain child went out to find. + +Borrow loved Richmond Park, and he seemed to know every tree. I found +also that he was extremely learned in deer, and seemed familiar with +every dappled coat which, washed and burnished by the showers, seemed to +shine in the sun like metal. Of course, I observed him closely, and I +began to wonder whether I had encountered, in the silvery-haired giant +striding by my side, with a vast umbrella under his arm, a true “Child of +the Open Air.” + +“Did a true Child of the Open Air ever carry a gigantic green umbrella +that would have satisfied Sarah Gamp herself?” I murmured to Hake, while +Borrow lingered under a tree and, looking round the Park, said, in a +dreamy way, “Old England! Old England!” + + + +VIII. A CHILD OF THE OPEN AIR UNDER A GREEN UMBRELLA. + + +Perhaps, however, I had better define what Hake and I meant by this +phrase, and to do this I cannot do better than quote the definition of +Nature-worship, by H. A. the “Swimming Rye,” which we had both been just +discussing, and which I quoted not long after this memorable walk in a +literary journal:— + + “With all the recent cultivation of the picturesque by means of + water-colour landscape, descriptive novels, ‘Cook’s excursions,’ + etc., the real passion for Nature is as rare as ever it was,—perhaps + rarer. It is quite an affair of individual temperament: it cannot be + learned; it cannot be lost. That no writer has ever tried to explain + it shows how little it is known. Often it has but little to do with + poetry, little with science. The poet, indeed, rarely has it at its + very highest; the man of science as rarely. I wish I could define + it:—in human souls—in one, perhaps, as much as in another—there is + always that instinct for contact which is a great factor of progress; + there is always an irresistible yearning to escape from isolation, to + get as close as may be to some other conscious thing. In most + individuals this yearning is simply for contact with other human + souls; in some few it is not. There are some in every country of + whom it is the blessing, not the bane, that, owing to some + exceptional power, or to some exceptional infirmity, they can get + closer to ‘_Natura Benigna_’ herself, closer to her whom we now call + ‘Inanimate Nature,’ than to the human mother who bore them—far closer + than to father, brother, sister, wife, or friend. Darwin among + English _savants_, and Emily Brontë among English poets, and Sinfi + Lovell among English gypsies, showed a good deal of the + characteristics of the ‘Children of the Open Air.’ But in the case + of the first of these, besides the strength of his family ties the + pedantic inquisitiveness, the methodising pedantry of the man of + science; in the second, the sensitivity to human contact; and in the + third, subjection to the love passion—disturbed, and indeed partially + stifled, the native instinct with which they were undoubtedly + endowed. + + “Between the true ‘Children of the Open Air’ and their fellows there + are barriers of idiosyncrasy, barriers of convention, or other + barriers quite indefinable, which they find most difficult to + overpass, and, even when they succeed in overpassing them, the + attempt is not found to be worth the making. For, what the + Nature-worshipper finds in intercourse with his fellow-men is, not + the unegoistic frankness of Nature, his first love, inviting him to + touch her close, soul to soul—but another _ego_ enisled like his + own—sensitive, shrinking, like his own—a soul which, love him as it + may, is, nevertheless, and for all its love, the central _ego_ of the + universe to itself, the very Alcyone round whom all other + Nature-worshippers revolve like the rest of the human constellations. + But between these and Nature there is no such barrier, and upon + Nature they lavish their love—‘a most equal love,’ that varies no + more with her change of mood than does the love of a man for a + beautiful woman, whether she smiles, or weeps, or frowns. To them a + Highland glen is most beautiful; so is a green meadow; so is a + mountain gorge or a barren peak; so is a South American savannah. A + balmy summer is beautiful, but not more beautiful than a winter’s + sleet beating about the face, and stinging every nerve into delicious + life. + + “To the ‘Child of the Open Air’ life has but few ills; poverty cannot + touch him. Let the Stock Exchange rob him of his Turkish bonds, and + he will go and tend sheep in Sacramento Valley, perfectly content to + see a dozen faces in a year; so far from being lonely, he has got the + sky, the wind, the brown grass, and the sheep. And as life goes on, + love of Nature grows both as a cultus and a passion, and in time + Nature seems ‘to know him and love him’ in her turn.” + +It was the umbrella, green, manifold and bulging, under Borrow’s arm, +that made me ask Dr. Hake, as Borrow walked along beneath the trees, “Is +he a genuine Child of the Open Air”? And then, calling to mind +“Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye,” I said, “He went into the Dingle, and +lived alone—went there not as an experiment in self-education, as Thoreau +went and lived by Walden Pond. He could enjoy living alone, for the +‘horrors’ to which he was occasionally subject did not spring from +solitary living. He was never disturbed by passion as was the +nature-worshipper who once played such selfish tricks with Sinfi Lovell, +and as Emily Brontë would certainly have been had she been placed in such +circumstances as Charlotte Brontë placed Shirley.” + +“But the most damning thing of all,” said Hake, “is that umbrella, +gigantic and green: a painful thought that has often occurred to me.” + +“Passion has certainly never disturbed his nature-worship,” said I. “So +devoid of passion is he that to depict a tragic situation is quite beyond +his powers. Picturesque he always is, powerful never. No one reading an +account of the privations of Lavengro during the ‘Joseph Sell’ period +finds himself able to realise from Borrow’s description the misery of a +young man tenderly reared, and with all the pride of an East Anglian +gentleman, living on bread and water in a garret, with starvation staring +him in the face. It is not passion,” I said to Hake, “that prevents +Borrow from enjoying the peace of the nature-worshipper. It is Ambition! +His books show that he could never cleanse his stuffed bosom of the +perilous stuff of ambition. To become renowned, judging from many a +peroration in ‘Lavengro,’ was as great an incentive to Borrow to learn +languages as to Alexander Smith’s poet-hero it was an incentive to write +poetry.” + +“Ambition and the green gamp,” said Hake. “But, look, the rainbow is +fading from the sky without the intervention of gypsy sorceries, and see +how the ferns are changing colour with the change in the light.” + +But I soon found that if Borrow was not a perfect Child of the Open Air, +he was something better: a man of that deep sympathy with human kind, +which the “Child of the Open Air” must needs lack. + + + +IX. THE GYPSIES OF NORMAN CROSS. + + +Knowing Borrow’s extraordinary shyness and his great dislike of meeting +strangers, Dr. Hake, while Borrow was trying to get as close to the deer +as they would allow, expressed to me his surprise at the terms of cordial +friendship that sprang up between us during that walk. But I was not +surprised: there were several reasons why Borrow should at once take to +me—reasons that had nothing whatever to do with any inherent +attractiveness of my own. + +By recalling what occurred I can throw a more brilliant light upon +Borrow’s character than by any kind of analytical disquisition. + +Two herons rose from the Ponds and flew away to where they probably had +their nests. By the expression on Borrow’s face as he stood and gazed at +them, I knew that, like myself, he had a passion for herons. + +“Were there many herons around Whittlesea Mere before it was drained?” I +said. + +“I should think so,” said he, dreamily, “and every kind of water bird.” + +Then, suddenly turning round upon me with a start, he said, “But how do +you know that I knew Whittlesea Mere?” + +“You say in ‘Lavengro’ that you played among the reeds of Whittlesea Mere +when you were a child.” + +“I don’t mention Whittlesea Mere in ‘Lavengro,’” he said. + +“No,” said I, “but you speak of a lake near the old State prison at +Norman Cross, and that was Whittlesea Mere.” + +“Then you know Whittlesea Mere?” said Borrow, much interested. + +“I know the place that _was_ Whittlesea Mere before it was drained,” I +said, “and I know the vipers around Norman Cross, and I think I know the +lane where you first met Jasper Petulengro. He was a generation before +my time. Indeed, I never was thrown much across the Petulengroes in the +Eastern Counties, but I knew some of the Hernes and the Lees and the +Lovells.” + +I then told him what I knew about Romanies and vipers, and also gave him +Marcianus’s story about the Moors being invulnerable to the viper’s bite, +and about their putting the true breed of a suspected child to the test +by setting it to grasp a viper—as he, Borrow, when a child, grasped one +of the vipers of Norman Cross. + +“The gypsies,” said Borrow, “always believed me to be a Romany. But +surely you are not a Romany Rye?” + +“No,” I said, “but I am a student of folk-lore; and besides, as it has +been my fortune to see every kind of life in England, high and low, I +could not entirely neglect the Romanies, could I?” + +“I should think not,” said Borrow, indignantly. “But I hope you don’t +know the literary class among the rest.” + +“Hake is my only link to _that_ dark world,” I said; “and even you don’t +object to Hake. I am purer than he, purer than you, from the taint of +printers’ ink.” + +He laughed. “Who are you?” + +“The very question I have been asking myself ever since I was a child in +short frocks,” I said, “and have never yet found an answer. But Hake +agrees with me that no well-bred soul should embarrass itself with any +such troublesome query.” This gave a chance to Hake, who in such local +reminiscences as these had been able to take no part. The humorous +mystery of Man’s personality had often been a subject of joke between him +and me in many a ramble in the Park and elsewhere. At once he threw +himself into a strain of whimsical philosophy which partly amused and +partly vexed Borrow, who stood waiting to return to the subject of the +gypsies and East Anglia. + +“You are an Englishman?” said Borrow. + +“Not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman,” I said, using a phrase +of his own in “Lavengro”—“if not a thorough East Anglian an East +Midlander; who, you will admit, is nearly as good.” + +“Nearly,” said Borrow. + +And when I went on to tell him that I once used to drive a genuine +“Shales mare,” a descendant of that same famous Norfolk trotter who could +trot fabulous miles an hour, to whom he with the Norfolk farmers raised +his hat in reverence at the Norwich horse fair, and when I promised to +show him a portrait of this same East Anglian mare with myself behind her +in a dogcart—an East Anglian dogcart—when I praised the stinging saltness +of the sea water off Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and Cromer, the quality which +makes it the best, the most buoyant, the most delightful of all sea water +to swim in—when I told him that the only English river in which you could +see reflected the rainbow he loved was “the glassy Ouse” of East Anglia, +and the only place in England where you could see it reflected in the wet +sand was the Norfolk coast, and when I told him a good many things +showing that I was in very truth not only an Englishman, but an East +Englishman, my conquest of the “Walking Lord of Gypsy Lore” was complete, +and from that moment we became friends. + +Hake meanwhile stood listening to the rooks in the distance. He turned +and asked Borrow whether he had never noticed a similarity between the +kind of muffled rattling roar made by the sea-waves upon a distant pebbly +beach and the sound of a large rookery in the distance. + +“It is on _sand_ alone,” said Borrow, “that the sea strikes its true +music—Norfolk sand: a rattle is not music.” + +“The best of the sea’s lutes,” I said, “is made by the sands of Cromer.” + +I have read over to my beloved old friend Dr. Hake, the above meagre +account of that my first delightful ramble with Borrow. He whose memory +lets nothing escape, has reminded me of a score of interesting things +said and done on that memorable occasion. But in putting into print any +record of one’s intercourse with a famous man, there is always an +unpleasant sense of lapsing into egotism. And besides, the reader has +very likely had enough now of talk between Borrow and me. + + + +X. THE FUTURE OF BORROW’S WORKS. + + +He whom London once tried hard, but in vain, to lionise, lived during +some of the last years of his life in Hereford Square, unknown to any +save about a dozen friends. At the head of them stood Mr. John Murray, +whose virtues, both as publisher and as English gentleman, he was never +tired of extolling. + +Afterwards he went down to East Anglia—that East Anglia he loved so +well—went there, as he told me, to die. + +But it was not till one day in 1881 that Borrow achieved, in the Cottage +by the Oulton Broads which his genius once made famous, and where so much +of his best work had been written, the soul’s great conquest over its +fleshly trammels, the conquest we call death, but which he believed to be +life. His body was laid by the side of that of his wife at Brompton. + +When I wrote his obituary notice in the _Athenæum_ no little wonder was +expressed in various quarters that the “Walking Lord of Gypsy Lore” had +been walking so lately the earth. + +And yet his “Bible in Spain” had still a regular sale. His “Lavengro” +and “Romany Rye” were still allowed by all competent critics to be among +the most delightful books in the language. Indeed, at his death, Borrow +was what he now is, and what he will continue to be long after Time has +played havoc with nine-tenths of the writers whose names are week by +week, and day by day, “paragraphed” in the papers as “literary +celebrities”—an English classic. + +Apart from Borrow’s undoubted genius as a writer the subject-matter of +his writings has an interest that will not wane but will go on growing. +The more the features of our “Beautiful England,” to use his own phrase, +are changed by the multitudinous effects of the railway system, the more +attraction will readers find in books which depict her before her beauty +was marred—books which depict her in those antediluvian days when there +was such a thing as space in the island—when in England there was a sense +of distance, that sense without which there can be no romance—when the +stage-coach was in its glory—when the only magician who could convey man +and his belongings at any rate of speed beyond man’s own walking rate was +the horse—the beloved horse whose praises Borrow loved to sing, and whose +ideal was reached in the mighty “Shales”—when the great high roads were +alive, not merely with the bustle of business, but with real adventure +for the traveller—days and scenes which Borrow better than any one else +could paint. A time will come, I say, when not only books full of +descriptive genius, like “Lavengro,” but even such comparatively tame +descriptions of England as the “Gleanings in England and Wales” of the +now forgotten East Midlander, Samuel Jackson Pratt, will be read with a +new interest. But why was Borrow so entirely forgotten at the moment of +his death? Simply because, like many another man of genius and many a +scholar, he refused to figure in the literary arena—went on his way +quietly influencing the world, but mixing only with his private friends. + + THEODORE WATTS. + + + + +AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. + + +In the following pages I have endeavoured to describe a dream, partly of +study, partly of adventure, in which will be found copious notices of +books, and many descriptions of life and manners, some in a very unusual +form. + +The scenes of action lie in the British Islands;—pray be not displeased, +gentle reader, if perchance thou hast imagined that I was about to +conduct thee to distant lands, and didst promise thyself much instruction +and entertainment from what I might tell thee of them. I do assure thee +that thou hast no reason to be displeased, inasmuch as there are no +countries in the world less known by the British than these selfsame +British Islands, or where more strange things are every day occurring, +whether in road or street, house or dingle. + +The time embraces nearly the first quarter of the present century: this +information again may, perhaps, be anything but agreeable to thee; it is +a long time to revert to, but fret not thyself, many matters which at +present much occupy the public mind originated in some degree towards the +latter end of that period, and some of them will be treated of. + +The principal actors in this dream, or drama, are, as you will have +gathered from the title-page, a Scholar, a Gypsy, and a Priest. Should +you imagine that these three form one, permit me to assure you that you +are very much mistaken. Should there be something of the Gypsy manifest +in the Scholar, there is certainly nothing of the Priest. With respect +to the Gypsy—decidedly the most entertaining character of the three—there +is certainly nothing of the Scholar or the Priest in him; and as for the +Priest, though there may be something in him both of scholarship and +gypsyism, neither the Scholar nor the Gypsy would feel at all flattered +by being confounded with him. + +Many characters which may be called subordinate will be found, and it is +probable that some of these characters will afford much more interest to +the reader than those styled the principal. The favourites with the +writer are a brave old soldier and his helpmate, an ancient gentlewoman +who sold apples, and a strange kind of wandering man and his wife. + +Amongst the many things attempted in this book is the encouragement of +charity, and free and genial manners, and the exposure of humbug, of +which there are various kinds, but of which the most perfidious, the most +debasing, and the most cruel, is the humbug of the Priest. + +Yet let no one think that irreligion is advocated in this book. With +respect to religious tenets, I wish to observe that I am a member of the +Church of England, into whose communion I was baptized, and to which my +forefathers belonged. Its being the religion in which I was baptized, +and of my forefathers, would be a strong inducement to me to cling to it; +for I do not happen to be one of those choice spirits “who turn from +their banner when the battle bears strongly against it, and go over to +the enemy,” and who receive at first a hug and a “viva,” and in the +sequel contempt and spittle in the face; but my chief reason for +belonging to it is, because, of all Churches calling themselves Christian +ones, I believe there is none so good, so well founded upon Scripture, or +whose ministers are, upon the whole, so exemplary in their lives and +conversation, so well read in the book from which they preach, or so +versed in general learning, so useful in their immediate neighbourhoods, +or so unwilling to persecute people of other denominations for matters of +doctrine. + +In the communion of this Church, and with the religious consolation of +its ministers, I wish and hope to live and die, and in its and their +defence will at all times be ready, if required, to speak, though humbly, +and to fight, though feebly, against enemies, whether carnal or +spiritual. + +And is there no priestcraft in the Church of England? There is +certainly, or rather there was, a modicum of priestcraft in the Church of +England, but I have generally found that those who are most vehement +against the Church of England are chiefly dissatisfied with her, because +there is only a modicum of that article in her—were she stuffed to the +very cupola with it, like a certain other Church, they would have much +less to say against the Church of England. + +By the other Church, I mean Rome. Its system was once prevalent in +England, and, during the period that it prevailed there, was more +prolific of debasement and crime than all other causes united. The +people and the government at last becoming enlightened by means of the +Scripture, spurned it from the island with disgust and horror, the land +instantly after its disappearance becoming a fair field, in which arts, +sciences, and all the amiable virtues flourished, instead of being a +pestilent marsh where swine-like ignorance wallowed, and artful +hypocrites, like so many Wills-o’-the-wisp, played antic gambols about, +around, and above debased humanity. + +But Popery still wished to play her old part, to regain her lost +dominion, to reconvert the smiling land into the pestilential morass, +where she could play again her old antics. From the period of the +Reformation in England up to the present time, she has kept her +emissaries here, individuals contemptible in intellect, it is true, but +cat-like and gliding, who, at her bidding, have endeavoured, as much as +in their power has lain, to damp and stifle every genial, honest, loyal, +and independent thought, and to reduce minds to such a state of dotage as +would enable their old Popish mother to do what she pleased with them. + +And in every country, however enlightened, there are always minds +inclined to grovelling superstition—minds fond of eating dust, and +swallowing clay—minds never at rest, save when prostrate before some +fellow in a surplice; and these Popish emissaries found always some weak +enough to bow down before them, astounded by their dreadful denunciations +of eternal woe and damnation to any who should refuse to believe their +Romania; but they played a poor game—the law protected the servants of +Scripture, and the priest with his beads seldom ventured to approach any +but the remnant of those of the eikonolatry—representatives of worm-eaten +houses, their debased dependants, and a few poor crazy creatures amongst +the middle classes—he played a poor game, and the labour was about to +prove almost entirely in vain, when the English legislature, in +compassion or contempt, or, yet more probably, influenced by that spirit +of toleration and kindness which is so mixed up with Protestantism, +removed almost entirely the disabilities under which Popery laboured, and +enabled it to raise its head, and to speak out almost without fear. + +And it did raise its head, and, though it spoke with some little fear at +first, soon discarded every relic of it; went about the land uttering its +damnation cry, gathering around it—and for doing so many thanks to it—the +favourers of priestcraft who lurked within the walls of the Church of +England; frightening with the loudness of its voice the weak, the timid, +and the ailing; perpetrating, whenever it had an opportunity, that +species of crime to which it has ever been most partial—_Deathbed +robbery_; for as it is cruel, so is it dastardly. Yes, it went on +enlisting, plundering, and uttering its terrible threats till—till it +became, as it always does when left to itself, a fool, a very fool. Its +plunderings might have been overlooked, and so might its insolence, had +it been common insolence, but it—, and then the roar of indignation which +arose from outraged England against the viper, the frozen viper which it +had permitted to warm itself upon its bosom. + +But thanks, Popery, you have done all that the friends of enlightenment +and religious liberty could wish; but if ever there were a set of foolish +ones to be found under Heaven, surely it is the priestly rabble who came +over from Rome to direct the grand movement—so long in its getting up. + +But now again the damnation cry is withdrawn, there is a subdued meekness +in your demeanour, you are now once more harmless as a lamb. Well, we +shall see how the trick—“the old trick”—will serve you. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Birth—My Father—Tamerlane—Ben Brain—French Protestants—East Anglia—Sorrow +and Troubles—True Peace—A Beautiful Child—Foreign Grave—Mirrors—Alpine +Country Emblems—Slow of Speech—The Jew—Strange Gestures. + +On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D---, a beautiful little +town in a certain district of East Anglia, I first saw the light. + +My father was a Cornish man, the youngest, as I have heard him say, of +seven brothers. He sprang from a family of gentlemen, or, as some people +would call them, gentillâtres, for they were not very wealthy; they had a +coat of arms, however, and lived on their own property at a place called +Tredinnock, which being interpreted means _the house on the hill_, which +house and the neighbouring acres had been from time immemorial in their +possession. I mention these particulars that the reader may see at once +that I am not altogether of low and plebeian origin; the present age is +highly aristocratic, and I am convinced that the public will read my +pages with more zest from being told that I am a gentillâtre by birth +with Cornish blood {1} in my veins, of a family who lived on their own +property at a place bearing a Celtic name signifying the house on the +hill, or more strictly the house on the _hillock_. + +My father was what is generally termed a posthumous child—in other words, +the gentillâtre who begot him never had the satisfaction of invoking the +blessing of the Father of All upon his head, having departed this life +some months before the birth of his youngest son. The boy, therefore, +never knew a father’s care; he was, however, well tended by his mother, +whose favourite he was; so much so, indeed, that his brethren, the +youngest of whom was considerably older than himself, were rather jealous +of him. I never heard, however, that they treated him with any marked +unkindness; and it will be as well to observe here that I am by no means +well acquainted with his early history, of which, indeed, as I am not +writing his life, it is not necessary to say much. Shortly after his +mother’s death, which occurred when he was eighteen, he adopted the +profession of arms, which he followed during the remainder of his life, +and in which, had circumstances permitted, he would probably have shone +amongst the best. By nature he was cool and collected, slow to anger, +though perfectly fearless, patient of control, of great strength; and, to +crown all, a proper man with his hands. + +With far inferior qualifications many a man has become a field-marshal or +general; similar ones made Tamerlane, who was not a gentillâtre, but the +son of a blacksmith, emperor of one-third of the world; but the race is +not always for the swift, nor the battle for the strong, indeed I ought +rather to say very seldom; certain it is, that my father, with all his +high military qualifications, never became emperor, field-marshal, or +even general; indeed, he had never an opportunity of distinguishing +himself save in one battle, and that took place neither in Flanders, +Egypt, nor on the banks of the Indus or Oxus, but in Hyde Park. + +Smile not, gentle reader, many a battle has been fought in Hyde Park, in +which as much skill, science, and bravery have been displayed as ever +achieved a victory in Flanders or by the Indus. In such a combat as that +to which I allude I opine that even Wellington or Napoleon would have +been heartily glad to cry for quarter ere the lapse of five minutes, and +even the Blacksmith Tartar would, perhaps, have shrunk from the opponent +with whom, after having had a dispute with him, my father engaged in +single combat for one hour, at the end of which time the champions shook +hands and retired, each having experienced quite enough of the other’s +prowess. The name of my father’s antagonist was Brain. + +What! still a smile? did you never hear that name before? I cannot help +it! Honour to Brain, who four months after the event which I have now +narrated was champion of England, having conquered the heroic Johnson. +Honour to Brain, who, at the end of other four months, worn out by the +dreadful blows which he had received in his manly combats, expired in the +arms of my father, who read the Bible to him in his latter moments—Big +Ben Brain. + +You no longer smile, even _you_ have heard of Big Ben. + +I have already hinted that my father never rose to any very exalted rank +in his profession, notwithstanding his prowess and other qualifications. +After serving for many years in the line, he at last entered as captain +in the militia regiment of the Earl of ---, at that period just raised, +and to which he was sent by the Duke of York to instruct the young levies +in military manœuvres and discipline; and in this mission I believe he +perfectly succeeded, competent judges having assured me that the regiment +in question soon came by his means to be considered as one of the most +brilliant in the service, and inferior to no regiment of the line in +appearance or discipline. + +As the head-quarters of this corps were at D---, the duties of my father +not unfrequently carried him to that place, and it was on one of these +occasions that he became acquainted with a young person of the +neighbourhood, for whom he formed an attachment, which was returned; and +this young person was my mother. + +She was descended from a family of French Protestants, natives of Caen, +who were obliged to leave their native country when old Louis, at the +instigation of the Pope, thought fit to revoke the Edict of Nantes: their +name was Petrement, and I have reason for believing that they were people +of some consideration; that they were noble hearts and good Christians +they gave sufficient proof in scorning to bow the knee to the tyranny of +Rome. So they left beautiful Normandy for their faith’s sake, and with a +few louis d’ors in their purse, a Bible in the vulgar tongue, and a +couple of old swords, which, if report be true, had done service in the +Huguenot wars, they crossed the sea to the isle of civil peace and +religious liberty, and established themselves in East Anglia. + +And many other Huguenot families bent their steps thither, and devoted +themselves to agriculture or the mechanical arts; and in the venerable +old city, the capital of the province, in the northern shadow of the +Castle of De Burgh, the exiles built for themselves a church where they +praised God in the French tongue, and to which, at particular seasons of +the year, they were in the habit of flocking from country and from town +to sing— + +“Thou hast provided for us a goodly earth; Thou waterest her furrows, +Thou sendest rain into the little valleys thereof, Thou makest it soft +with the drops of rain, and blessest the increase of it.” + +I have been told that in her younger days my mother was strikingly +handsome; this I can easily believe: I never knew her in her youth, for +though she was very young when she married my father (who was her senior +by many years), she had attained the middle age before I was born, no +children having been vouchsafed to my parents in the early stages of +their union. Yet even at the present day, now that years threescore and +ten have passed over her head, attended with sorrow and troubles +manifold, poorly chequered with scanty joys, can I look on that +countenance and doubt that at one time beauty decked it as with a +glorious garment? Hail to thee, my parent! as thou sittest there, in thy +widow’s weeds, in the dusky parlour in the house overgrown with the +lustrous ivy of the sister isle, the solitary house at the end of the +retired court shaded by lofty poplars. Hail to thee, dame of the oval +face, olive complexion, and Grecian forehead; by thy table seated with +the mighty volume of the good Bishop Hopkins spread out before thee; +there is peace in thy countenance, my mother; it is not worldly peace, +however, not the deceitful peace which lulls to bewitching slumbers, and +from which, let us pray, humbly pray, that every sinner may be roused in +time to implore mercy not in vain! Thine is the peace of the righteous, +my mother, of those to whom no sin can be imputed, the score of whose +misdeeds has been long since washed away by the blood of atonement, which +imputeth righteousness to those who trust in it. It was not always thus, +my mother; a time was, when the cares, pomps, and vanities of this world +agitated thee too much; but that time is gone by, another and a better +has succeeded; there is peace now on thy countenance, the true peace; +peace around thee, too, in thy solitary dwelling, sounds of peace, the +cheerful hum of the kettle and the purring of the immense Angola, which +stares up at thee from its settle with its almost human eyes. + +No more earthly cares and affections now, my mother! Yes, one. Why dost +thou suddenly raise thy dark and still brilliant eye from the volume with +a somewhat startled glance? What noise is that in the distant street? +Merely the noise of a hoof; a sound common enough; it draws nearer, +nearer, and now it stops before thy gate. Singular! And now there is a +pause, a long pause. Ha! thou hearest something—a footstep; a swift but +heavy footstep! thou risest, thou tremblest, there is a hand on the pin +of the outer door, there is some one in the vestibule, and now the door +of thy apartment opens, there is a reflection on the mirror behind thee, +a travelling hat, a gray head and sunburnt face. My dearest Son! My +darling Mother! + +Yes, mother, thou didst recognize in the distant street the hoof-tramp of +the wanderer’s horse. + +I was not the only child of my parents; I had a brother some three years +older than myself. He was a beautiful child; one of those occasionally +seen in England, and in England alone; a rosy, angelic face, blue eyes, +and light chestnut hair; it was not exactly an Anglo-Saxon countenance, +in which, by the by, there is generally a cast of loutishness and +stupidity; it partook, to a certain extent, of the Celtic character, +particularly in the fire and vivacity which illumined it; his face was +the mirror of his mind; perhaps no disposition more amiable was ever +found amongst the children of Adam, united, however, with no +inconsiderable portion of high and dauntless spirit. So great was his +beauty in infancy that people, especially those of the poorer classes, +would follow the nurse who carried him about in order to look at and +bless his lovely face. At the age of three months an attempt was made to +snatch him from his mother’s arms in the streets of London, at the moment +she was about to enter a coach; indeed, his appearance seemed to operate +so powerfully upon every person who beheld him that my parents were under +continual apprehension of losing him; his beauty, however, was perhaps +surpassed by the quickness of his parts. He mastered his letters in a +few hours, and in a day or two could decipher the names of people on the +doors of houses and over the shop-windows. + +As he grew up his personal appearance became less prepossessing, his +quickness and cleverness, however, rather increased; and I may say of +him, that with respect to everything which he took in hand he did it +better and more speedily than any other person. Perhaps it will be asked +here, what became of him? Alas! alas! his was an early and a foreign +grave. As I have said before, the race is not always for the swift, nor +the battle for the strong. + +And now, doubtless, after the above portrait of my brother, painted in +the very best style of Rubens, the reader will conceive himself justified +in expecting a full-length one of myself, as a child, for as to my +present appearance, I suppose he will be tolerably content with that +flitting glimpse in the mirror. But he must excuse me; I have no +intention of drawing a portrait of myself in childhood; indeed it would +be difficult, for at that time I never looked into mirrors. No attempts, +however, were ever made to steal me in my infancy, and I never heard that +my parents entertained the slightest apprehension of losing me by the +hands of kidnappers, though I remember perfectly well that people were in +the habit of standing still to look at me, ay, more than at my brother; +from which premises the reader may form any conclusion with respect to my +appearance which seemeth good unto him and reasonable. Should he, being +a good-natured person, and always inclined to adopt the charitable side +in any doubtful point, be willing to suppose that I, too, was eminently +endowed by nature with personal graces, I tell him frankly that I have no +objection whatever to his entertaining that idea; moreover, that I +heartily thank him, and shall at all times be disposed, under similar +circumstances, to exercise the same species of charity towards himself. + +With respect to my mind and its qualities I shall be more explicit; for +were I to maintain much reserve on this point, many things which appear +in these memoirs would be highly mysterious to the reader, indeed +incomprehensible. Perhaps no two individuals were ever more unlike in +mind and disposition than my brother and myself: as light is opposed to +darkness, so was that happy, brilliant, cheerful child to the sad and +melancholy being who sprang from the same stock as himself, and was +nurtured by the same milk. + +Once, when travelling in an Alpine country, I arrived at a considerable +elevation; I saw in the distance, far below, a beautiful stream hastening +to the ocean, its rapid waters here sparkling in the sunshine, and there +tumbling merrily in cascades. On its banks were vineyards and cheerful +villages; close to where I stood, in a granite basin, with steep and +precipitous sides, slumbered a deep, dark lagoon, shaded by black pines, +cypresses, and yews. It was a wild, savage spot, strange and singular; +ravens hovered above the pines, filling the air with their uncouth notes, +pies chattered, and I heard the cry of an eagle from a neighbouring peak; +there lay the lake, the dark, solitary, and almost inaccessible lake; +gloomy shadows were upon it, which, strangely modified as gusts of wind +agitated the surface, occasionally assumed the shape of monsters. So I +stood on the Alpine elevation, and looked now on the gay distant river, +and now at the dark granite-encircled lake close beside me in the lone +solitude, and I thought of my brother and myself. I am no moralizer; but +the gay and rapid river and the dark and silent lake were, of a verity, +no bad emblems of us two. + +So far from being quick and clever like my brother, and able to rival the +literary feat which I have recorded of him, many years elapsed before I +was able to understand the nature of letters, or to connect them. A +lover of nooks and retired corners, I was as a child in the habit of +fleeing from society, and of sitting for hours together with my head on +my breast. What I was thinking about it would be difficult to say at +this distance of time; I remember perfectly well, however, being ever +conscious of a peculiar heaviness within me, and at times of a strange +sensation of fear, which occasionally amounted to horror, and for which I +could assign no real cause whatever. + +By nature slow of speech, I took no pleasure in conversation, nor in +hearing the voices of my fellow-creatures. When people addressed me I +not unfrequently, especially if they were strangers, turned away my head +from them, and if they persisted in their notice burst into tears, which +singularity of behaviour by no means tended to dispose people in my +favour. I was as much disliked as my brother was deservedly beloved and +admired. My parents, it is true, were always kind to me; and my brother, +who was good nature itself, was continually lavishing upon me every mark +of affection. + +There was, however, one individual who, in the days of my childhood, was +disposed to form a favourable opinion of me. One day a Jew—I have quite +forgotten the circumstance, but I was long subsequently informed of +it—one day a travelling Jew knocked at the door of a farmhouse in which +we had taken apartments; I was near at hand, sitting in the bright +sunshine, drawing strange lines on the dust with my fingers, an ape and +dog were my companions; the Jew looked at me and asked me some questions, +to which, though I was quite able to speak, I returned no answer. On the +door being opened, the Jew, after a few words, probably relating to +pedlary, demanded who the child was, sitting in the sun; the maid replied +that I was her mistress’s youngest son, a child weak _here_, pointing to +her forehead. The Jew looked at me again, and then said, “’Pon my +conscience, my dear, I believe that you must be troubled there yourself +to tell me any such thing. It is not my habit to speak to children, +inasmuch as I hate them, because they often follow me and fling stones +after me; but I no sooner looked at that child than I was forced to speak +to it—his not answering me shows his sense, for it has never been the +custom of the wise to fling away their words in indifferent talk and +conversation; the child is a sweet child, and has all the look of one of +our people’s children. Fool, indeed! did I not see his eyes sparkle just +now when the monkey seized the dog by the ear? they shone like my own +diamonds—does your good lady want any, real and fine? Were it not for +what you tell me, I should say it was a prophet’s child. Fool, indeed! +he can write already, or I’ll forfeit the box which I carry on my back, +and for which I should be loth to take two hundred pounds!” He then +leaned forward to inspect the lines which I had traced. All of a sudden +he started back, and grew white as a sheet; then, taking off his hat, he +made some strange gestures to me, cringing, chattering, and showing his +teeth, and shortly departed, muttering something about “holy letters,” +and talking to himself in a strange tongue. The words of the Jew were in +due course of time reported to my mother, who treasured them in her +heart, and from that moment began to entertain brighter hopes of her +youngest-born than she had ever before ventured to foster. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Barracks and Lodgings—A Camp—The Viper—A Delicate Child—Blackberry +Time—Meum and Tuum—Hythe—The Golgotha—Daneman’s Skull—Superhuman +Stature—Stirring Times—The Sea-Board. + +I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life; indeed I remember +only two periods, and these by no means lengthy, when I was, strictly +speaking, stationary. I was a soldier’s son, and as the means of my +father were by no means sufficient to support two establishments, his +family invariably attended him wherever he went, so that from my infancy +I was accustomed to travelling and wandering, and looked upon a monthly +change of scene and residence as a matter of course. Sometimes we lived +in barracks, sometimes in lodgings, but generally in the former, always +eschewing the latter from motives of economy, save when the barracks were +inconvenient and uncomfortable; and they must have been highly so indeed +to have discouraged us from entering them; for though we were gentry +(pray bear that in mind, gentle reader), gentry by birth, and +incontestably so by my father’s bearing the commission of good old George +the Third, we were _not fine gentry_, but people who could put up with as +much as any genteel Scotch family who find it convenient to live on a +third floor in London, or on a sixth at Edinburgh or Glasgow. It was not +a little that could discourage us: we once lived within the canvas walls +of a camp, at a place called Pett, in Sussex; and I believe it was at +this place that occurred the first circumstance, or adventure, call it +which you will, that I can remember in connection with myself: it was a +strange one, and I will relate it. + +It happened that my brother and myself were playing one evening in a +sandy lane, in the neighbourhood of this Pett camp; our mother was at a +slight distance. All of a sudden a bright yellow, and, to my infantine +eye, beautiful and glorious object made its appearance at the top of the +bank from between the thick quickset, and, gliding down, began to move +across the lane to the other side, like a line of golden light. Uttering +a cry of pleasure, I sprang forward, and seized it nearly by the middle. +A strange sensation of numbing coldness seemed to pervade my whole arm, +which surprised me the more as the object to the eye appeared so warm and +sunlike. I did not drop it, however, but, holding it up, looked at it +intently, as its head dangled about a foot from my hand. It made no +resistance; I felt not even the slightest struggle; but now my brother +began to scream and shriek like one possessed. “O mother, mother!” said +he, “the viper! my brother has a viper in his hand!” He then, like one +frantic, made an effort to snatch the creature away from me. The viper +now hissed amain, and raised its head, in which were eyes like hot coals, +menacing, not myself, but my brother. I dropped my captive, for I saw my +mother running towards me; and the reptile, after standing for a moment +nearly erect and still hissing furiously, made off, and disappeared. The +whole scene is now before me, as vividly as if it occurred yesterday—the +gorgeous viper, my poor dear frantic brother, my agitated parent, and a +frightened hen clucking under the bushes: and yet I was not three years +old. + +It is my firm belief that certain individuals possess an inherent power, +or fascination, over certain creatures, otherwise I should be unable to +account for many feats which I have witnessed, and, indeed, borne a share +in, connected with the taming of brutes and reptiles. I have known a +savage and vicious mare, whose stall it was dangerous to approach, even +when bearing provender, welcome, nevertheless, with every appearance of +pleasure, an uncouth, wiry-headed man, with a frightfully seamed face, +and an iron hook supplying the place of his right arm, one whom the +animal had never seen before, playfully bite his hair and cover his face +with gentle and endearing kisses; and I have already stated how a viper +would permit, without resentment, one child to take it up in his hand, +whilst it showed its dislike to the approach of another by the fiercest +hissings. Philosophy can explain many strange things, but there are some +which are a far pitch above her, and this is one. + +I should scarcely relate another circumstance which occurred about this +time but for a singular effect which it produced upon my constitution. +Up to this period I had been rather a delicate child; whereas almost +immediately after the occurrence to which I allude I became both hale and +vigorous, to the great astonishment of my parents, who naturally enough +expected that it would produce quite a contrary effect. + +It happened that my brother and myself were disporting ourselves in +certain fields near the good town of Canterbury. A female servant had +attended us, in order to take care that we came to no mischief: she, +however, it seems, had matters of her own to attend to, and, allowing us +to go where we listed, remained in one corner of a field, in earnest +conversation with a red-coated dragoon. Now it chanced to be blackberry +time, and the two children wandered under the hedges, peering anxiously +among them in quest of that trash so grateful to urchins of their degree. +We did not find much of it however, and were soon separated in the +pursuit. All at once I stood still, and could scarcely believe my eyes. +I had come to a spot where, almost covering the hedge, hung clusters of +what seemed fruit, deliciously-tempting fruit—something resembling grapes +of various colours, green, red, and purple. Dear me, thought I, how +fortunate! yet have I a right to gather it? is it mine? for the +observance of the law of _meum_ and _tuum_ had early been impressed upon +my mind, and I entertained, even at that tender age, the utmost horror +for theft; so I stood staring at the variegated clusters, in doubt as to +what I should do. I know not how I argued the matter in my mind; the +temptation, however, was at last too strong for me, so I stretched forth +my hand and ate. I remember, perfectly well, that the taste of this +strange fruit was by no means so pleasant as the appearance; but the idea +of eating fruit was sufficient for a child, and, after all, the flavour +was much superior to that of sour apples, so I ate voraciously. How long +I continued eating I scarcely know. One thing is certain, that I never +left the field as I entered it, being carried home in the arms of the +dragoon in strong convulsions, in which I continued for several hours. +About midnight I awoke, as if from a troubled sleep, and beheld my +parents bending over my couch, whilst the regimental surgeon, with a +candle in his hand, stood nigh, the light feebly reflected on the +whitewashed walls of the barrack-room. + +Another circumstance connected with my infancy, and I have done. I need +offer no apology for relating it, as it subsequently exercised +considerable influence over my pursuits. We were, if I remember right, +in the vicinity of a place called Hythe, in Kent. One sweet evening, in +the latter part of summer, our mother took her two little boys by the +hand, for a wander about the fields. In the course of our stroll we came +to the village church; an old gray-headed sexton stood in the porch, who, +perceiving that we were strangers, invited us to enter. We were +presently in the interior, wandering about the aisles, looking on the +walls, and inspecting the monuments of the notable dead. I can scarcely +state what we saw; how should I? I was a child not yet four years old, +and yet I think I remember the evening sun streaming in through a stained +window upon the dingy mahogany pulpit, and flinging a rich lustre upon +the faded tints of an ancient banner. And now once more we were outside +the building, where, against the wall, stood a low-eaved pent-house, into +which we looked. It was half filled with substances of some kind, which +at first looked like large gray stones. The greater part were lying in +layers; some, however, were seen in confused and mouldering heaps, and +two or three, which had perhaps rolled down from the rest, lay separately +on the floor. “Skulls, madam,” said the sexton; “skulls of the old +Danes! Long ago they came pirating into these parts: and then there +chanced a mighty shipwreck, for God was angry with them, and He sunk +them; and their skulls, as they came ashore, were placed here as a +memorial. There were many more when I was young, but now they are fast +disappearing. Some of them must have belonged to strange fellows, madam. +Only see that one; why, the two young gentry can scarcely lift it!” And, +indeed, my brother and myself had entered the Golgotha, and commenced +handling these grim relics of mortality. One enormous skull, lying in a +corner, had fixed our attention, and we had drawn it forth. Spirit of +eld, what a skull was yon! + +I still seem to see it, the huge grim thing; many of the others were +large, strikingly so, and appeared fully to justify the old man’s +conclusion that their owners must have been strange fellows; but compared +with this mighty mass of bone they looked small and diminutive, like +those of pigmies; it must have belonged to a giant, one of those +red-haired warriors of whose strength and stature such wondrous tales are +told in the ancient chronicles of the north, and whose grave-hills, when +ransacked, occasionally reveal secrets which fill the minds of puny +moderns with astonishment and awe. Reader, have you ever pored days and +nights over the pages of Snorro? probably not, for he wrote in a language +which few of the present day understand, and few would be tempted to read +him tamed down by Latin dragomans. A brave old book is that of Snorro, +containing the histories and adventures of old northern kings and +champions, who seemed to have been quite different men, if we may judge +from the feats which they performed, from those of these days. One of +the best of his histories is that which describes the life of Harald +Haardraade, who, after manifold adventures by land and sea, now a pirate, +now a mercenary of the Greek emperor, became King of Norway, and +eventually perished at the battle of Stanford Bridge, whilst engaged in a +gallant onslaught upon England. Now, I have often thought that the old +Kemp, whose mouldering skull in the Golgotha at Hythe my brother and +myself could scarcely lift, must have resembled in one respect at least +this Harald, whom Snorro describes as a great and wise ruler and a +determined leader, dangerous in battle, of fair presence, and measuring +in height just _five ells_, {10} neither more nor less. + +I never forgot the Daneman’s skull; like the apparition of the viper in +the sandy lane, it dwelt in the mind of the boy, affording copious food +for the exercise of imagination. From that moment with the name of Dane +were associated strange ideas of strength, daring, and superhuman +stature; and an undefinable curiosity for all that is connected with the +Danish race began to pervade me; and if, long after, when I became a +student, I devoted myself with peculiar zest to Danish lore and the +acquirement of the old Norse tongue and its dialects, I can only explain +the matter by the early impression received at Hythe from the tale of the +old sexton, beneath the pent-house, and the sight of the Danish skull. + +And thus we went on straying from place to place, at Hythe to-day, and +perhaps within a week looking out from our hostel-window upon the streets +of old Winchester, our motions ever in accordance with the “route” of the +regiment, so habituated to change of scene that it had become almost +necessary to our existence. Pleasant were these days of my early +boyhood; and a melancholy pleasure steals over me as I recall them. +Those were stirring times of which I am speaking, and there was much +passing around me calculated to captivate the imagination. The dreadful +struggle which so long convulsed Europe, and in which England bore so +prominent a part, was then at its hottest; we were at war, and +determination and enthusiasm shone in every face; man, woman, and child +were eager to fight the Frank, the hereditary, but, thank God, never +dreaded enemy of the Anglo-Saxon race. “Love your country and beat the +French, and then never mind what happens,” was the cry of entire England. +Oh, those were days of power, gallant days, bustling days, worth the +bravest days of chivalry, at least; tall battalions of native warriors +were marching through the land; there was the glitter of the bayonet and +the gleam of the sabre; the shrill squeak of the fife and loud rattling +of the drum were heard in the streets of country towns, and the loyal +shouts of the inhabitants greeted the soldiery on their arrival or +cheered them at their departure. And now let us leave the upland, and +descend to the sea-board; there is a sight for you upon the billows! A +dozen men-of-war are gliding majestically out of port, their long +buntings streaming from the top-gallant masts, calling on the skulking +Frenchman to come forth from his bights and bays; and what looms upon us +yonder from the fog-bank in the east? a gallant frigate towing behind her +the long low hull of a crippled privateer, which but three short days ago +had left Dieppe to skim the sea, and whose crew of ferocious hearts are +now cursing their imprudence in an English hold. Stirring times those, +which I love to recall, for they were days of gallantry and enthusiasm, +and were moreover the days of my boyhood. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Pretty D---—The Venerable Church—The Stricken Heart—Dormant Energies—The +Small Packet—Nerves—The Books—A Picture—Mountain-like Billows—The +Foot-print—Spirit of De Foe—Reasoning Powers—Terrors of God—Heads of the +Dragons—High Church Clerk—A Journey—The Drowned Country. + +And when I was between six and seven years of age we were once more at +D---, the place of my birth, whither my father had been despatched on the +recruiting service. I have already said that it was a beautiful little +town—at least it was at the time of which I am speaking; what it is at +present I know not, for thirty years and more have elapsed since I last +trod its streets. It will scarcely have improved, for how could it be +better than it then was? I love to think on thee, pretty, quiet D---, +thou pattern of an English country town, with thy clean but narrow +streets branching out from thy modest market-place, with thine +old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable thatch, +with thy one half-aristocratic mansion, where resided thy Lady +Bountiful—she, the generous and kind, who loved to visit the sick, +leaning on her gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a +respectful distance behind. Pretty quiet D---, with thy venerable +church, in which moulder the mortal remains of England’s sweetest and +most pious bard. + +Yes, pretty D---, I could always love thee, were it but for the sake of +him who sleeps beneath the marble slab in yonder quiet chancel. It was +within thee that the long-oppressed bosom heaved its last sigh, and the +crushed and gentle spirit escaped from a world in which it had known +nought but sorrow. Sorrow! do I say? How faint a word to express the +misery of that bruised reed; misery so dark that a blind worm like myself +is occasionally tempted to exclaim, Better had the world never been +created than that one so kind, so harmless, and so mild, should have +undergone such intolerable woe! But it is over now, for, as there is an +end of joy, so has affliction its termination. Doubtless the All-wise +did not afflict him without a cause: who knows but within that unhappy +frame lurked vicious seeds which the sunbeams of joy and prosperity might +have called into life and vigour? Perhaps the withering blasts of misery +nipped that which otherwise might have terminated in fruit noxious and +lamentable. But peace to the unhappy one, he is gone to his rest; the +deathlike face is no longer occasionally seen timidly and mournfully +looking for a moment through the window-pane upon thy market-place, quiet +and pretty D---; the hind in thy neighbourhood no longer at evening-fall +views, and starts as he views, the dark lathy figure moving beneath the +hazels and alders of shadowy lanes, or by the side of murmuring trout +streams; and no longer at early dawn does the sexton of the old church +reverently doff his hat as, supported by some kind friend, the +death-stricken creature totters along the church path to that mouldering +edifice with the low roof, inclosing a spring of sanatory waters, built +and devoted to some saint—if the legend over the door be true, by the +daughter of an East Anglian king. + +But to return to my own history. I had now attained the age of six: +shall I state what intellectual progress I had been making up to this +period? Alas! upon this point I have little to say calculated to afford +either pleasure or edification. I had increased rapidly in size and in +strength: the growth of the mind, however, had by no means corresponded +with that of the body. It is true, I had acquired my letters, and was by +this time able to read imperfectly; but this was all: and even this poor +triumph over absolute ignorance would never have been effected but for +the unremitting attention of my parents, who, sometimes by threats, +sometimes by entreaties, endeavoured to rouse the dormant energies of my +nature, and to bend my wishes to the acquisition of the rudiments of +knowledge; but in influencing the wish lay the difficulty. Let but the +will of a human being be turned to any particular object, and it is ten +to one that sooner or later he achieves it. At this time I may safely +say that I harboured neither wishes nor hopes; I had as yet seen no +object calculated to call them forth, and yet I took pleasure in many +things which perhaps unfortunately were all within my sphere of +enjoyment. I loved to look upon the heavens, and to bask in the rays of +the sun, or to sit beneath hedgerows and listen to the chirping of the +birds, indulging the while in musing and meditation as far as my very +limited circle of ideas would permit; but, unlike my brother, who was at +this time at school, and whose rapid progress in every branch of +instruction astonished and delighted his preceptors, I took no pleasure +in books, whose use, indeed, I could scarcely comprehend, and bade fair +to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame into the +cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents. + +But the time was now at hand when the ice which had hitherto bound the +mind of the child with its benumbing power was to be thawed, and a world +of sensations and ideas awakened to which it had hitherto been an entire +stranger. One day a young lady, an intimate acquaintance of our family, +and godmother to my brother, drove up to the house in which we dwelt; she +staid some time conversing with my mother, and on rising to depart she +put down on the table a small packet, exclaiming, “I have brought a +little present for each of the boys: the one is a History of England, +which I intend for my godson when he returns from school, the other is—” +and here she said something which escaped my ear, as I sat at some +distance, moping in a corner:—“I intend it for the youngest yonder,” +pointing to myself; she then departed, and, my mother going out shortly +after, I was left alone. + +I remember for some time sitting motionless in my corner, with my eyes +bent upon the ground; at last I lifted my head and looked upon the packet +as it lay on the table. All at once a strange sensation came over me, +such as I had never experienced before—a singular blending of curiosity, +awe, and pleasure, the remembrance of which, even at this distance of +time, produces a remarkable effect upon my nervous system. What strange +things are the nerves—I mean those more secret and mysterious ones in +which I have some notion that the mind or soul, call it which you will, +has its habitation; how they occasionally tingle and vibrate before any +coming event closely connected with the future weal or woe of the human +being. Such a feeling was now within me, certainly independent of what +the eye had seen or the ear had heard. A book of some description had +been brought for me, a present by no means calculated to interest me; +what cared I for books? I had already many into which I never looked but +from compulsion; friends, moreover, had presented me with similar things +before, which I had entirely disregarded, and what was there in this +particular book, whose very title I did not know, calculated to attract +me more than the rest? yet something within told me that my fate was +connected with the book which had been last brought; so, after looking on +the packet from my corner for a considerable time, I got up and went to +the table. + +The packet was lying where it had been left—I took it up; had the +envelope, which consisted of whitish brown paper, been secured by a +string or a seal I should not have opened it, as I should have considered +such an act almost in the light of a crime; the books, however, had been +merely folded up, and I therefore considered that there could be no +possible harm in inspecting them, more especially as I had received no +injunction to the contrary. Perhaps there was something unsound in this +reasoning, something sophistical; but a child is sometimes as ready as a +grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that which he is inclined to +do. But whether the action was right or wrong, and I am afraid it was +not altogether right, I undid the packet: it contained three books; two +from their similarity seemed to be separate parts of one and the same +work; they were handsomely bound, and to them I first turned my +attention. I opened them successively, and endeavoured to make out their +meaning; their contents, however, as far as I was able to understand +them, were by no means interesting; whoever pleases may read these books +for me, and keep them too, into the bargain, said I to myself. + +I now took up the third book: it did not resemble the others, being +longer and considerably thicker; the binding was of dingy calf-skin. I +opened it, and as I did so another strange thrill of pleasure shot +through my frame. The first object on which my eyes rested was a +picture; it was exceedingly well executed, at least the scene which it +represented made a vivid impression upon me, which would hardly have been +the case had the artist not been faithful to nature. A wild scene it +was—a heavy sea and rocky shore, with mountains in the background, above +which the moon was peering. Not far from the shore, upon the water, was +a boat with two figures in it, one of which stood at the bow, pointing +with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful shape in the water; fire was +flashing from the muzzle of the gun, and the monster appeared to be +transfixed. I almost thought I heard its cry. I remained motionless, +gazing upon the picture, scarcely daring to draw my breath, lest the new +and wondrous world should vanish of which I had now obtained a glimpse. +“Who are those people, and what could have brought them into that strange +situation?” I asked of myself; and now the seed of curiosity, which had +so long lain dormant, began to expand, and I vowed to myself to become +speedily acquainted with the whole history of the people in the boat. +After looking on the picture till every mark and line in it were familiar +to me, I turned over various leaves till I came to another engraving; a +new source of wonder—a low sandy beach on which the furious sea was +breaking in mountain-like billows; cloud and rack deformed the firmament, +which wore a dull and leaden-like hue; gulls and other aquatic fowls were +toppling upon the blast, or skimming over the tops of the maddening +waves—“Mercy upon him! he must be drowned!” I exclaimed, as my eyes fell +upon a poor wretch who appeared to be striving to reach the shore; he was +upon his legs, but was evidently half smothered with the brine; high +above his head curled a horrible billow, as if to engulf him for ever. +“He must be drowned! he must be drowned!” I almost shrieked, and dropped +the book. I soon snatched it up again, and now my eye lighted on a third +picture; again a shore, but what a sweet and lovely one, and how I wished +to be treading it; there were beautiful shells lying on the smooth white +sand, some were empty like those I had occasionally seen on marble +mantelpieces, but out of others peered the heads and bodies of wondrous +crayfish; a wood of thick green trees skirted the beach and partly shaded +it from the rays of the sun, which shone hot above, while blue waves +slightly crested with foam were gently curling against it; there was a +human figure upon the beach, wild and uncouth, clad in the skins of +animals, with a huge cap on his head, a hatchet at his girdle, and in his +hand a gun; his feet and legs were bare; he stood in an attitude of +horror and surprise; his body was bent far back, and his eyes, which +seemed starting out of his head, were fixed upon a mark on the sand—a +large distinct mark—a human footprint! + +Reader, is it necessary to name the book which now stood open in my hand, +and whose very prints, feeble expounders of its wondrous lines, had +produced within me emotions strange and novel? Scarcely, for it was a +book which has exerted over the minds of Englishmen an influence +certainly greater than any other of modern times, which has been in most +people’s hands, and with the contents of which even those who cannot read +are to a certain extent acquainted; a book from which the most luxuriant +and fertile of our modern prose writers have drunk inspiration; a book, +moreover, to which, from the hardy deeds which it narrates and the spirit +of strange and romantic enterprise which it tends to awaken, England owes +many of her astonishing discoveries both by sea and land, and no +inconsiderable part of her naval glory. + +Hail to thee, spirit of De Foe! What does not my own poor self owe to +thee? England has better bards than either Greece or Rome, yet I could +spare them easier far than De Foe, “unabashed De Foe,” as the hunchbacked +rhymer styled him. + +The true chord had now been touched; a raging curiosity with respect to +the contents of the volume, whose engravings had fascinated my eye, +burned within me, and I never rested until I had fully satisfied it; +weeks succeeded weeks, months followed months, and the wondrous volume +was my only study and principal source of amusement. For hours together +I would sit poring over a page till I had become acquainted with the +import of every line. My progress, slow enough at first, became by +degrees more rapid, till at last, under “a shoulder of mutton sail,” I +found myself cantering before a steady breeze over an ocean of +enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that I cared not how long it +might be ere it reached its termination. + +And it was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge. + +About this time I began to be somewhat impressed with religious feelings. +My parents were, to a certain extent, religious people; but, though they +had done their best to afford me instruction on religious points, I had +either paid no attention to what they endeavoured to communicate, or had +listened with an ear far too obtuse to derive any benefit. But my mind +had now become awakened from the drowsy torpor in which it had lain so +long, and the reasoning powers which I possessed were no longer inactive. +Hitherto I had entertained no conception whatever of the nature and +properties of God, and with the most perfect indifference had heard the +divine name proceeding from the mouths of people—frequently, alas! on +occasions when it ought not to be employed; but I now never heard it +without a tremor, for I now knew that God was an awful and inscrutable +being, the maker of all things; that we were His children, and that we, +by our sins, had justly offended Him; that we were in very great peril +from His anger, not so much in this life as in another and far stranger +state of being yet to come; that we had a Saviour withal to whom it was +necessary to look for help: upon this point, however, I was yet very much +in the dark, as, indeed, were most of those with whom I was connected. +The power and terrors of God were uppermost in my thoughts; they +fascinated though they astounded me. Twice every Sunday I was regularly +taken to the church, where, from a corner of the large spacious pew, +lined with black leather, I would fix my eyes on the dignified +high-church rector, and the dignified high-church clerk, and watch the +movement of their lips, from which, as they read their respective +portions of the venerable liturgy, would roll many a portentous word +descriptive of the wondrous works of the Most High. + +_Rector_. “Thou didst divide the sea, through Thy power: Thou brakest +the heads of the dragons in the waters.” + +_Philoh_. “Thou smotest the heads of Leviathan in pieces: and gavest him +to be meat for the people in the wilderness.” + +_Rector_. “Thou broughtest out fountains and waters out of the hard +rocks: Thou driedst up mighty waters.” + +_Philoh_. “The day is Thine, and the night is Thine: Thou hast prepared +the light and the sun.” + +Peace to your memories, dignified rector, and yet more dignified clerk! +By this time ye are probably gone to your long homes, and your voices are +no longer heard sounding down the aisles of the venerable church; nay, +doubtless, this has already long since been the fate of him of the +sonorous “Amen!”—the one of the two who, with all due respect to the +rector, principally engrossed my boyish admiration—he, at least, is +scarcely now among the living! Living! why, I have heard say that he +blew a fife—for he was a musical as well as a Christian professor—a bold +fife, to cheer the Guards and the brave Marines as they marched with +measured step, obeying an insane command, up Bunker’s height, whilst the +rifles of the sturdy Yankees were sending the leaden hail sharp and thick +amidst the red-coated ranks; for Philoh had not always been a man of +peace, nor an exhorter to turn the other cheek to the smiter, but had +even arrived at the dignity of a halberd in his country’s service before +his six-foot form required rest, and the gray-haired veteran retired, +after a long peregrination, to his native town, to enjoy ease and +respectability on a pension of “eighteenpence a day;” and well did his +fellow-townsmen act when, to increase that ease and respectability, and +with a thoughtful regard for the dignity of the good church service, they +made him clerk and precentor—the man of the tall form and of the audible +voice, which sounded loud and clear as his own Bunker fife. Well, peace +to thee, thou fine old chap, despiser of dissenters, and hater of +papists, as became a dignified and high-church clerk; if thou art in thy +grave the better for thee; thou wert fitted to adorn a bygone time, when +loyalty was in vogue, and smiling content lay like a sunbeam upon the +land, but thou wouldst be sadly out of place in these days of cold +philosophical latitudinarian doctrine, universal tolerism, and +half-concealed rebellion—rare times, no doubt, for papists and +dissenters, but which would assuredly have broken the heart of the loyal +soldier of George the Third, and the dignified high-church clerk of +pretty D---. + +We passed many months at this place: nothing, however, occurred requiring +any particular notice, relating to myself, beyond what I have already +stated, and I am not writing the history of others. At length my father +was recalled to his regiment, which at that time was stationed at a place +called Norman Cross, in Lincolnshire, or rather Huntingdonshire, at some +distance from the old town of Peterborough. For this place he departed, +leaving my mother and myself to follow in a few days. Our journey was a +singular one. On the second day we reached a marshy and fenny country, +which, owing to immense quantities of rain which had lately fallen, was +completely submerged. At a large town we got on board a kind of +passage-boat, crowded with people; it had neither sails nor oars, and +those were not the days of steam-vessels; it was in a treck-schuyt, and +was drawn by horses. + +Young as I was, there was much connected with this journey which highly +surprised me, and which brought to my remembrance particular scenes +described in the book which I now generally carried in my bosom. The +country was, as I have already said, submerged—entirely drowned—no land +was visible; the trees were growing bolt upright in the flood, whilst +farmhouses and cottages were standing insulated; the horses which drew us +were up to the knees in water, and, on coming to blind pools and “greedy +depths,” were not unfrequently swimming, in which case the boys or +urchins who mounted them sometimes stood, sometimes knelt, upon the +saddle and pillions. No accident, however, either to the quadrupeds or +bipeds, who appeared respectively to be quite _au fait_ in their +business, and extricated themselves with the greatest ease from places in +which Pharaoh and all his hosts would have gone to the bottom. Nightfall +brought us to Peterborough, and from thence we were not slow in reaching +the place of our destination. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Norman Cross—Wide Expanse—Vive l’Empereur—Unpruned Woods—Man with the +Bag—Froth and Conceit—I beg your Pardon—Growing Timid—About Three +o’Clock—Taking One’s Ease—Cheek on the Ground—King of the Vipers—French +King—Frenchmen and Water. + +And a strange place it was, this Norman Cross, and, at the time of which +I am speaking, a sad cross to many a Norman, being what was then styled a +French prison, that is, a receptacle for captives made in the French war. +It consisted, if I remember right, of some five or six casernes, very +long, and immensely high; each standing isolated from the rest, upon a +spot of ground which might average ten acres, and which was fenced round +with lofty palisades, the whole being compassed about by a towering wall, +beneath which, at intervals, on both sides, sentinels were stationed, +whilst outside, upon the field, stood commodious wooden barracks, capable +of containing two regiments of infantry, intended to serve as guards upon +the captives. Such was the station or prison at Norman Cross, where some +six thousand French and other foreigners, followers of the grand +Corsican, were now immured. + +What a strange appearance had those mighty casernes, with their blank +blind walls, without windows or grating, and their slanting roofs, out of +which, through orifices where the tiles had been removed, would be +protruded dozens of grim heads, feasting their prison-sick eyes on the +wide expanse of country unfolded from that airy height. Ah! there was +much misery in those casernes; and from those roofs, doubtless, many a +wistful look was turned in the direction of lovely France. Much had the +poor inmates to endure, and much to complain of, to the disgrace of +England be it said—of England, in general so kind and bountiful. Rations +of carrion meat, and bread from which I have seen the very hounds +occasionally turn away, were unworthy entertainment even for the most +ruffian enemy, when helpless and a captive; and such, alas! was the fare +in those casernes. And then, those visits, or rather ruthless inroads, +called in the slang of the place “straw-plait hunts,” when in pursuit of +a contraband article, which the prisoners, in order to procure themselves +a few of the necessaries and comforts of existence, were in the habit of +making, red-coated battalions were marched into the prisons, who, with +the bayonet’s point, carried havoc and ruin into every poor convenience +which ingenious wretchedness had been endeavouring to raise around it; +and then the triumphant exit with the miserable booty; and, worst of all, +the accursed bonfire, on the barrack parade, of the plait contraband, +beneath the view of the glaring eyeballs from those lofty roofs, amidst +the hurrahs of the troops, frequently drowned in the curses poured down +from above like a tempest-shower, or in the terrific war-whoop of “_Vive +l’Empereur_!” + +It was midsummer when we arrived at this place, and the weather, which +had for a long time been wet and gloomy, now became bright and glorious; +I was subjected to but little control, and passed my time pleasantly +enough, principally in wandering about the neighbouring country. It was +flat and somewhat fenny, a district more of pasture than agriculture, and +not very thickly inhabited. I soon became well acquainted with it. At +the distance of two miles from the station was a large lake, styled in +the dialect of the country “a mere,” about whose borders tall reeds were +growing in abundance, this was a frequent haunt of mine; but my favourite +place of resort was a wild sequestered spot at a somewhat greater +distance. Here, surrounded with woods and thick groves, was the seat of +some ancient family, deserted by the proprietor, and only inhabited by a +rustic servant or two. A place more solitary and wild could scarcely be +imagined; the garden and walks were overgrown with weeds and briars, and +the unpruned woods were so tangled as to be almost impervious. About +this domain I would wander till overtaken by fatigue, and then I would +sit down with my back against some beech, elm, or stately alder tree, +and, taking out my book, would pass hours in a state of unmixed +enjoyment, my eyes now fixed on the wondrous pages, now glancing at the +sylvan scene around; and sometimes I would drop the book and listen to +the voice of the rooks and wild pigeons, and not unfrequently to the +croaking of multitudes of frogs from the neighbouring swamps and fens. + +In going to and from this place I frequently passed a tall elderly +individual, dressed in rather a quaint fashion, with a skin cap on his +head and stout gaiters on his legs; on his shoulders hung a moderate +sized leathern sack; he seemed fond of loitering near sunny banks, and of +groping amidst furze and low scrubby bramble bushes, of which there were +plenty in the neighbourhood of Norman Cross. Once I saw him standing in +the middle of a dusty road, looking intently at a large mark which seemed +to have been drawn across it, as if by a walking-stick. “He must have +been a large one,” the old man muttered half to himself, “or he would not +have left such a trail, I wonder if he is near; he seems to have moved +this way.” He then went behind some bushes which grew on the right side +of the road, and appeared to be in quest of something, moving behind the +bushes with his head downwards, and occasionally striking their roots +with his foot: at length he exclaimed, “Here he is!” and forthwith I saw +him dart amongst the bushes. There was a kind of scuffling noise, the +rustling of branches, and the crackling of dry sticks. “I have him!” +said the man at last; “I have got him!” and presently he made his +appearance about twenty yards down the road, holding a large viper in his +hand. “What do you think of that, my boy?” said he, as I went up to him; +“what do you think of catching such a thing as that with the naked hand?” +“What do I think?” said I. “Why, that I could do as much myself.” “You +do,” said the man, “do you? Lord! how the young people in these days are +given to conceit; it did not use to be so in my time: when I was a child, +childer knew how to behave themselves; but the childer of these days are +full of conceit, full of froth, like the mouth of this viper;” and with +his forefinger and thumb he squeezed a considerable quantity of foam from +the jaws of the viper down upon the road. “The childer of these days are +a generation of—God forgive me, what was I about to say!” said the old +man; and opening his bag he thrust the reptile into it, which appeared +far from empty. I passed on. As I was returning, towards the evening, I +overtook the old man, who was wending in the same direction. “Good +evening to you, sir,” said I, taking off a cap which I wore on my head. +“Good evening,” said the old man; and then, looking at me, “How’s this?” +said he, “you ar’n’t, sure, the child I met in the morning?” “Yes,” said +I, “I am; what makes you doubt it?” “Why, you were then all froth and +conceit,” said the old man, “and now you take off your cap to me.” “I +beg your pardon,” said I, “if I was frothy and conceited, it ill becomes +a child like me to be so.” “That’s true, dear,” said the old man; “well; +as you have begged my pardon, I truly forgive you.” “Thank you,” said I; +“have you caught any more of those things?” “Only four or five,” said +the old man; “they are getting scarce, though this used to be a great +neighbourhood for them.” “And what do you do with them?” said I; “do you +carry them home and play with them!” “I sometimes play with one or two +that I tame,” said the old man; “but I hunt them mostly for the fat which +they contain, out of which I make unguents which are good for various +sore troubles, especially for the rheumatism.” “And do you get your +living by hunting these creatures?” I demanded. “Not altogether,” said +the old man; “besides being a viper-hunter, I am what they call a +herbalist, one who knows the virtue of particular herbs; I gather them at +the proper season, to make medicines with for the sick.” “And do you +live in the neighbourhood?” I demanded. “You seem very fond of asking +questions, child. No, I do not live in this neighbourhood in particular, +I travel about; I have not been in this neighbourhood till lately for +some years.” + +From this time the old man and myself formed an acquaintance; I often +accompanied him in his wanderings about the neighbourhood, and on two or +three occasions assisted him in catching the reptiles which he hunted. +He generally carried a viper with him which he had made quite tame, and +from which he had extracted the poisonous fangs; it would dance and +perform various kinds of tricks. He was fond of telling me anecdotes +connected with his adventures with the reptile species. “But,” said he +one day, sighing, “I must shortly give up this business, I am no longer +the man I was, I am become timid, and when a person is timid in +viper-hunting he had better leave off, as it is quite clear his virtue is +leaving him. I got a fright some years ago, which I am quite sure I +shall never get the better of; my hand has been shaky more or less ever +since.” “What frightened you?” said I. “I had better not tell you,” +said the old man, “or you may be frightened too, lose your virtue, and be +no longer good for the business.” “I don’t care,” said I; “I don’t +intend to follow the business: I dare say I shall be an officer, like my +father.” “Well,” said the old man, “I once saw the king of the vipers, +and since then—” “The king of the vipers!” said I, interrupting him; +“have the vipers a king?” “As sure as we have,” said the old man, “as +sure as we have King George to rule over us, have these reptiles a king +to rule over them.” “And where did you see him?” said I. “I will tell +you,” said the old man, “though I don’t like talking about the matter. +It may be about seven years ago that I happened to be far down yonder to +the west, on the other side of England, nearly two hundred miles from +here, following my business. It was a very sultry day, I remember, and I +had been out several hours catching creatures. It might be about three +o’clock in the afternoon, when I found myself on some heathy land near +the sea, on the ridge of a hill, the side of which, nearly as far down as +the sea, was heath; but on the top there was arable ground, which had +been planted, and from which the harvest had been gathered—oats or +barley, I know not which—but I remember that the ground was covered with +stubble. Well, about three o’clock, as I told you before, what with the +heat of the day and from having walked about for hours in a lazy way, I +felt very tired; so I determined to have a sleep, and I laid myself down, +my head just on the ridge of the hill, towards the field, and my body +over the side down amongst the heath; my bag, which was nearly filled +with creatures, lay at a little distance from my face; the creatures were +struggling in it, I remember, and I thought to myself, how much more +comfortably off I was than they; I was taking my ease on the nice open +hill, cooled with the breezes, whilst they were in the nasty close bag, +coiling about one another, and breaking their very hearts all to no +purpose: and I felt quite comfortable and happy in the thought, and +little by little closed my eyes, and fell into the sweetest snooze that +ever I was in in all my life; and there I lay over the hill’s side, with +my head half in the field, I don’t know how long, all dead asleep. At +last it seemed to me that I heard a noise in my sleep, something like a +thing moving, very faint, however, far away; then it died, and then it +came again upon my ear as I slept, and now it appeared almost as if I +heard crackle, crackle; then it died again, or I became yet more dead +asleep than before, I know not which, but I certainly lay some time +without hearing it. All of a sudden I became awake, and there was I, on +the ridge of the hill, with my cheek on the ground towards the stubble, +with a noise in my ear like that of something moving towards me, among +the stubble of the field; well, I lay a moment or two listening to the +noise, and then I became frightened, for I did not like the noise at all, +it sounded so odd; so I rolled myself on my belly, and looked towards the +stubble. Mercy upon us! there was a huge snake, or rather a dreadful +viper, for it was all yellow and gold, moving towards me, bearing its +head about a foot and a half above the ground, the dry stubble crackling +beneath its outrageous belly. It might be about five yards off when I +first saw it, making straight towards me, child, as if it would devour +me. I lay quite still, for I was stupified with horror, whilst the +creature came still nearer; and now it was nearly upon me, when it +suddenly drew back a little, and then—what do you think?—it lifted its +head and chest high in the air, and high over my face as I looked up, +flickering at me with its tongue as if it would fly at my face. Child, +what I felt at that moment I can scarcely say, but it was a sufficient +punishment for all the sins I ever committed; and there we two were, I +looking up at the viper, and the viper looking down upon me, flickering +at me with its tongue. It was only the kindness of God that saved me: +all at once there was a loud noise, the report of a gun, for a fowler was +shooting at a covey of birds, a little way off in the stubble. Whereupon +the viper sunk its head and immediately made off over the ridge of the +hill, down in the direction of the sea. As it passed by me, however—and +it passed close by me—it hesitated a moment, as if it was doubtful +whether it should not seize me; it did not, however, but made off down +the hill. It has often struck me that he was angry with me, and came +upon me unawares for presuming to meddle with his people, as I have +always been in the habit of doing.” + +“But,” said I, “how do you know that it was the king of the vipers?” + +“How do I know?” said the old man, “who else should it be? There was as +much difference between it and other reptiles as between King George and +other people.” + +“Is King George, then, different from other people?” I demanded. + +“Of course,” said the old man; “I have never seen him myself, but I have +heard people say that he is a ten times greater man than other folks; +indeed, it stands to reason that he must be different from the rest, else +people would not be so eager to see him. Do you think, child, that +people would be fools enough to run a matter of twenty or thirty miles to +see the king, provided King George—” + +“Haven’t the French a king?” I demanded. + +“Yes,” said the old man, “or something much the same, and a queer one he +is; not quite so big as King George, they say, but quite as terrible a +fellow. What of him?” + +“Suppose he should come to Norman Cross!” + +“What should he do at Norman Cross, child?” + +“Why, you were talking about the vipers in your bag breaking their +hearts, and so on, and their king coming to help them. Now, suppose the +French king should hear of his people being in trouble at Norman Cross, +and—” + +“He can’t come, child,” said the old man, rubbing his hands, “the water +lies between. The French don’t like the water; neither vipers nor +Frenchmen take kindly to the water, child.” + +When the old man left the country, which he did a few days after the +conversation which I have just related, he left me the reptile which he +had tamed and rendered quite harmless by removing the fangs. I was in +the habit of feeding it with milk, and frequently carried it abroad with +me in my walks. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +The Tent—Man and Woman—Dark and Swarthy—Manner of Speaking—Bad +Money—Transfixed—Faltering Tone—Little Basket—High Opinion—Plenty of +Good—Keeping Guard—Tilted Cart—Rubricals—Jasper—The Right Sort—The +Horseman of the Lane—John Newton—The Alarm—Gentle Brothers. + +One day it happened that, being on my rambles, I entered a green lane +which I had never seen before; at first it was rather narrow, but as I +advanced it became considerably wider; in the middle was a driftway with +deep ruts, but right and left was a space carpeted with a sward of +trefoil and clover; there was no lack of trees, chiefly ancient oaks, +which, flinging out their arms from either side, nearly formed a canopy, +and afforded a pleasing shelter from the rays of the sun, which was +burning fiercely above. Suddenly a group of objects attracted my +attention. Beneath one of the largest of the trees upon the grass, was a +kind of low tent or booth, from the top of which a thin smoke was +curling; beside it stood a couple of light carts, whilst two or three +lean horses or ponies were cropping the herbage which was growing nigh. +Wondering to whom this odd tent could belong, I advanced till I was close +before it, when I found that it consisted of two tilts, like those of +waggons, placed upon the ground and fronting each other, connected behind +by a sail or large piece of canvas which was but partially drawn across +the top; upon the ground, in the intervening space, was a fire, over +which, supported by a kind of iron crowbar, hung a caldron; my advance +had been so noiseless as not to alarm the inmates, who consisted of a man +and woman, who sat apart, one on each side of the fire; they were both +busily employed—the man was carding plaited straw, whilst the woman +seemed to be rubbing something with a white powder, some of which lay on +a plate beside her; suddenly the man looked up, and, perceiving me, +uttered a strange kind of cry, and the next moment both the woman and +himself were on their feet and rushing out upon me. + +I retreated a few steps, yet without turning to flee. I was not, +however, without apprehension, which, indeed, the appearance of these two +people was well calculated to inspire; the woman was a stout figure, +seemingly between thirty and forty; she wore no cap, and her long hair +fell on either side of her head like horse-tails half way down her waist; +her skin was dark and swarthy, like that of a toad, and the expression of +her countenance was particularly evil; her arms were bare, and her bosom +was but half concealed by a slight boddice, below which she wore a coarse +petticoat, her only other article of dress. The man was somewhat +younger, but of a figure equally wild; his frame was long and lathy, but +his arms were remarkably short, his neck was rather bent, he squinted +slightly, and his mouth was much awry; his complexion was dark, but, +unlike that of the woman, it was more ruddy than livid; there was a deep +scar on his cheek, something like the impression of a halfpenny. The +dress was quite in keeping with the figure: in his hat, which was +slightly peaked, was stuck a peacock’s feather; over a waistcoat of hide, +untanned and with the hair upon it, he wore a rough jerkin of russet hue; +smallclothes of leather, which had probably once belonged to a soldier, +but with which pipeclay did not seem to have come in contact for many a +year, protected his lower man as far as the knee; his legs were cased in +long stockings of blue worsted, and on his shoes he wore immense +old-fashioned buckles. + +Such were the two beings who now came rushing upon me; the man was rather +in advance, brandishing a ladle in his hand. + +“So I have caught you at last,” said he; “I’ll teach ye, you young +highwayman, to come skulking about my properties!” + +Young as I was, I remarked that his manner of speaking was different from +that of any people with whom I had been in the habit of associating. It +was quite as strange as his appearance, and yet it nothing resembled the +foreign English which I had been in the habit of hearing through the +palisades of the prison; he could scarcely be a foreigner. + +“Your properties!” said I; “I am in the King’s Lane. Why did you put +them there, if you did not wish them to be seen?” + +“On the spy,” said the woman, “hey? I’ll drown him in the sludge in the +toad-pond over the hedge.” + +“So we will,” said the man, “drown him anon in the mud!” + +“Drown me, will you?” said I; “I should like to see you! What’s all this +about? Was it because I saw you with your hands full of straw plait, and +my mother there—” + +“Yes,” said the woman; “what was I about?” + +_Myself_. How should I know? Making bad money, perhaps! + +And it will be as well here to observe, that at this time there was much +bad money in circulation in the neighbourhood, generally supposed to be +fabricated by the prisoners, so that this false coin and straw plait +formed the standard subjects of conversation at Norman Cross. + +“I’ll strangle thee,” said the beldame, dashing at me. “Bad money, is +it?” + +“Leave him to me, wifelkin,” said the man, interposing; “you shall now +see how I’ll baste him down the lane.” + +_Myself_. I tell you what, my chap, you had better put down that thing +of yours; my father lies concealed within my tepid breast, and if to me +you offer any harm or wrong, I’ll call him forth to help me with his +forked tongue. + +_Man_. What do you mean, ye Bengui’s bantling? I never heard such +discourse in all my life: playman’s speech or Frenchman’s talk—which, I +wonder? Your father! tell the mumping villain that if he comes near my +fire I’ll serve him out as I will you. Take that—Tiny Jesus! what have +we got here! Oh, delicate Jesus! what is the matter with the child? + +I had made a motion which the viper understood; and now, partly +disengaging itself from my bosom, where it had lain perdu, it raised its +head to a level with my face, and stared upon my enemy with its +glittering eyes. + +The man stood like one transfixed, and the ladle with which he had aimed +a blow at me, now hung in the air like the hand which held it: his mouth +was extended, and his cheeks became of a pale yellow, save alone that +place which bore the mark which I have already described, and this shone +now portentously, like fire. He stood in this manner for some time; at +last the ladle fell from his hand, and its falling appeared to rouse him +from his stupor. + +“I say, wifelkin,” said he in a faltering tone, “did you ever see the +like of this here?” + +But the woman had retreated to the tent, from the entrance of which her +loathly face was now thrust, with an expression partly of terror and +partly of curiosity. After gazing some time longer at the viper and +myself, the man stooped down and took up the ladle; then, as if somewhat +more assured, he moved to the tent, where he entered into conversation +with the beldame in a low voice. Of their discourse, though I could hear +the greater part of it, I understood not a single word; and I wondered +what it could be, for I knew by the sound that it was not French. At +last the man, in a somewhat louder tone, appeared to put a question to +the woman, who nodded her head affirmatively, and in a moment or two +produced a small stool, which she delivered to him. He placed it on the +ground, close by the door of the tent, first rubbing it with his sleeve, +as if for the purpose of polishing its surface. + +_Man_. Now, my precious little gentleman, do sit down here by the poor +people’s tent; we wish to be civil in our slight way. Don’t be angry, +and say no; but look kindly upon us, and satisfied, my precious little +God Almighty. + +_Woman_. Yes, my georgeous angel, sit down by the poor bodies’ fire, and +eat a sweatmeat. We want to ask you a question or two; only first put +that serpent away. + +_Myself_. I can sit down, and bid the serpent go to sleep, that’s easy +enough; but as for eating a sweetmeat, how can I do that? I have not got +one, and where am I to get it? + +_Woman_. Never fear, my tiny tawny, we can give you one, such as you +never ate, I dare say, however far you may have come from. + +The serpent sunk into his usual resting-place, and I sat down on the +stool. The woman opened a box, and took out a strange little basket or +hamper, not much larger than a man’s fist, and formed of a delicate kind +of matting. It was sewed at the top; but ripping it open with a knife, +she held it to me, and I saw, to my surprise, that it contained candied +fruits of a dark green hue, tempting enough to one of my age. “There, my +tiny,” said she; “taste, and tell me how you like them.” + +“Very much,” said I; “where did you get them?” + +The beldame leered upon me for a moment, then, nodding her head thrice, +with a knowing look, said, “Who knows better than yourself, my tawny?” + +Now, I knew nothing about the matter; but I saw that these strange people +had conceived a very high opinion of the abilities of their visitor, +which I was nothing loath to encourage. I therefore answered boldly, +“Ah! who indeed!” + +“Certainly,” said the man; “who should know better than yourself, or so +well? And now, my tiny one, let me ask you one thing—you didn’t come to +do us any harm?” + +“No,” said I, “I had no dislike to you; though, if you were to meddle +with me—” + +_Man_. Of course, my gorgeous, of course you would; and quite right too. +Meddle with you!—what right have we? I should say, it would not be quite +safe. I see how it is; you are one of them there;—and he bent his head +towards his left shoulder. + +_Myself_. Yes, I am one of them—for I thought he was alluding to the +soldiers,—you had best mind what you are about, I can tell you. + +_Man_. Don’t doubt we will for our own sake; Lord bless you, wifelkin, +only think that we should see one of them there when we least thought +about it. Well, I have heard of such things, though I have never thought +to see one; however, seeing is believing. Well! now you are come, and +are not going to do us any mischief, I hope you will stay; you can do us +plenty of good if you will. + +_Myself_. What good can I do you? + +_Man_. What good? plenty! Would you not bring us luck? I have heard +say, that one of them there always does, if it will but settle down. +Stay with us, you shall have a tilted cart all to yourself if you like. +We’ll make you our little God Almighty, and say our prayers to you every +morning! + +_Myself_. That would be nice; and if you were to give me plenty of these +things, I should have no objection. But what would my father say? I +think he would hardly let me. + +_Man_. Why not? he would be with you; and kindly would we treat him. +Indeed, without your father you would be nothing at all. + +_Myself_. That’s true; but I do not think he could be spared from his +regiment. I have heard him say that they could do nothing without him. + +_Man_. His regiment! What are you talking about?—what does the child +mean? + +_Myself_. What do I mean!—why, that my father is an officer-man at the +barracks yonder, keeping guard over the French prisoners. + +_Man_. Oh! then that sap is not your father? + +_Myself_. What, the snake? Why, no! Did you think he was? + +_Man_. To be sure we did. Didn’t you tell me so? + +_Myself_. Why, yes; but who would have thought you would have believed +it? It is a tame one. I hunt vipers, and tame them. + +_Man_. O-h! + +“O-h!” grunted the woman, “that’s it, is it?” + +The man and woman, who during this conversation had resumed their former +positions within the tent, looked at each other with a queer look of +surprise, as if somewhat disconcerted at what they now heard. They then +entered into discourse with each other in the same strange tongue which +had already puzzled me. At length the man looked me in the face, and +said, somewhat hesitatingly, “So you are not one of them there, after +all?” + +_Myself_. One of them there? I don’t know what you mean. + +_Man_. Why, we have been thinking you were a goblin—a devilkin! +However, I see how it is; you are a sapengro, a chap who catches snakes, +and plays tricks with them! Well, it comes very nearly to the same +thing; and if you please to list with us, and bear us pleasant company, +we shall be glad of you. I’d take my oath upon it that we might make a +mort of money by you and that sap, and the tricks it could do; and, as +you seem fly to everything, I shouldn’t wonder if you would make a prime +hand at telling fortunes. + +“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I. + +_Man_. Of course. And you might still be our God Almighty, or at any +rate our clergyman, so you should live in a tilted cart by yourself, and +say prayers to us night and morning—to wifelkin here, and all our family; +there’s plenty of us when we are all together; as I said before, you seem +fly, I shouldn’t wonder if you could read? + +“Oh, yes!” said I, “I can read;” and, eager to display my +accomplishments, I took my book out of my pocket, and, opening it at +random, proceeded to read how a certain man, whilst wandering about a +certain solitary island, entered a cave, the mouth of which was overgrown +with brushwood, and how he was nearly frightened to death in that cave by +something which he saw. + +“That will do,” said the man; “that’s the kind of prayers for me and my +family, ar’n’t they, wifelkin? I never heard more delicate prayers in +all my life! Why, they beat the rubricals hollow!—and here comes my son +Jasper. I say, Jasper, here’s a young sap-engro that can read, and is +more fly than yourself. Shake hands with him; I wish ye to be two +brothers.” + +With a swift but stealthy pace Jasper came towards us from the farther +part of the lane; on reaching the tent he stood still, and looked fixedly +upon me as I sat upon the stool; I looked fixedly upon him. A queer look +had Jasper; he was a lad of some twelve or thirteen years, with long +arms, unlike the singular being who called himself his father; his +complexion was ruddy, but his face was seamed, though it did not bear the +peculiar scar which disfigured the countenance of the other; nor, though +roguish enough, a certain evil expression which that of the other bore, +and which the face of the woman possessed in a yet more remarkable +degree. For the rest, he wore drab breeches, with certain strings at the +knee, a rather gay waistcoat, and tolerably white shirt; under his arm he +bore a mighty whip of whalebone with a brass knob, and upon his head was +a hat without either top or brim. + +“There, Jasper! shake hands with the sap-engro.” + +“Can he box, father?” said Jasper, surveying me rather contemptuously. +“I should think not, he looks so puny and small.” + +“Hold your peace, fool!” said the man; “he can do more than that—I tell +you he’s fly: he carries a sap about, which would sting a ninny like you +to dead.” + +“What, a sap-engro!” said the boy, with a singular whine, and stooping +down, he leered curiously in my face, kindly, however and then patted me +on the head. “A sap-engro,” he ejaculated; “lor!” + +“Yes, and one of the right sort,” said the man; “I am glad we have met +with him, he is going to list with us, and be our clergyman and God +Almighty, a’n’t you, my tawny?” + +“I don’t know,” said I; “I must see what my father will say.” + +“Your father; bah!”—but here he stopped, for a sound was heard like the +rapid galloping of a horse, not loud and distinct as on a road, but dull +and heavy as if upon a grass sward; nearer and nearer it came, and the +man, starting up, rushed out of the tent, and looked around anxiously. I +arose from the stool upon which I had been seated, and just at that +moment, amidst a crashing of boughs and sticks, a man on horseback +bounded over the hedge into the lane at a few yards’ distance from where +we were: from the impetus of the leap the horse was nearly down on his +knees; the rider, however, by dint of vigorous handling of the reins, +prevented him from falling, and then rode up to the tent. “’Tis Nat,” +said the man; “what brings him here?” The new comer was a stout burly +fellow, about the middle age; he had a savage determined look, and his +face was nearly covered over with carbuncles; he wore a broad slouching +hat, and was dressed in a grey coat cut in a fashion which I afterwards +learnt to be the genuine Newmarket cut, the skirts being exceedingly +short; his waistcoat was of red plush, and he wore broad corduroy +breeches and white top-boots. The steed which carried him was of iron +grey, spirited and powerful, but covered with sweat and foam. The fellow +glanced fiercely and suspiciously around, and said something to the man +of the tent in a harsh and rapid voice. A short and hurried conversation +ensued in the strange tongue. I could not take my eyes off this new +comer. Oh, that half jockey half bruiser countenance, I never forgot it! +More than fifteen years afterwards I found myself amidst a crowd before +Newgate; a gallows was erected, and beneath it stood a criminal, a +notorious malefactor. I recognised him at once; the horseman of the lane +is now beneath the fatal tree, but nothing altered; still the same man; +jerking his head to the right and left with the same fierce and under +glance, just as if the affairs of this world had the same kind of +interest to the last; grey coat of Newmarket cut, plush waistcoat, +corduroys, and boots, nothing altered; but the head, alas! is bare, and +so is the neck. Oh, crime and virtue, virtue and crime!—it was old John +Newton, I think, who, when he saw a man going to be hanged, said, “There +goes John Newton, but for the grace of God!” + +But the lane, the lane, all was now in confusion in the lane; the man and +woman were employed in striking the tents and in making hurried +preparations for departure; the boy Jasper was putting the harness upon +the ponies and attaching them to the carts; and, to increase the +singularity of the scene, two or three wild-looking women and girls, in +red cloaks and immense black beaver bonnets, came from I know not what +direction, and, after exchanging a few words with the others, commenced +with fierce and agitated gestures to assist them in their occupation. +The rider meanwhile sat upon his horse, but evidently in a state of great +impatience; he muttered curses between his teeth, spurred the animal +furiously, and then reined it in, causing it to rear itself up nearly +perpendicular. At last he said, “Curse ye, for Romans, how slow ye are! +well, it is no business of mine, stay here all day if you like; I have +given ye warning, I am off to the big north road. However, before I go, +you had better give me all you have of that.” + +“Truly spoken, Nat, my pal,” said the man; “give it him, mother. There +it is; now be off as soon as you please, and rid us of evil company.” + +The woman had handed him two bags formed of stocking, half full of +something heavy, which looked through them for all the world like money +of some kind. The fellow, on receiving them, thrust them without +ceremony into the pockets of his coat, and then, without a word of +farewell salutation, departed at a tremendous rate, the hoofs of his +horse thundering for a long time on the hard soil of the neighbouring +road, till the sound finally died away in the distance. The strange +people were not slow in completing their preparations, and then, flogging +their animals terrifically, hurried away seemingly in the same direction. + +The boy Jasper was last of the band. As he was following the rest, he +stopped suddenly, and looked on the ground appearing to muse; then, +turning round, he came up to me where I was standing, leered in my face, +and then, thrusting out his hand, he said, “Good-bye, Sap, I dare say we +shall meet again, remember we are brothers; two gentle brothers.” + +Then whining forth, “What a sap-engro, lor!” he gave me a parting leer, +and hastened away. + +I remained standing in the lane gazing after the retreating company. “A +strange set of people,” said I at last; “I wonder who they can be.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Three Years—Lilly’s Grammar—Proficiency—Ignorant of Figures—The School +Bell—Order of Succession—Persecution—What are we to do?—Northward—A +Goodly Scene—Haunted Ground—Feats of Chivalry—Rivers—Over the Brig. + +Years passed on, even three years; during this period I had increased +considerably in stature and in strength, and, let us hope, improved in +mind; for I had entered on the study of the Latin language. The very +first person to whose care I was intrusted for the acquisition of Latin +was an old friend of my father’s, a clergyman who kept a seminary at a +town the very next we visited after our departure from “the Cross.” +Under his instruction, however, I continued only a few weeks, as we +speedily left the place. “Captain,” said this divine, when my father +came to take leave of him on the eve of our departure, “I have a +friendship for you, and therefore wish to give you a piece of advice +concerning this son of yours. You are now removing him from my care; you +do wrong, but we will let that pass. Listen to me: there is but one good +school book in the world—the one I use in my seminary—Lilly’s Latin +Grammar, in which your son has already made some progress. If you are +anxious for the success of your son in life, for the correctness of his +conduct and the soundness of his principles, keep him to Lilly’s Grammar. +If you can by any means, either fair or foul, induce him to get by heart +Lilly’s Latin Grammar, you may set your heart at rest with respect to +him; I, myself, will be his warrant. I never yet knew a boy that was +induced, either by fair means or foul, to learn Lilly’s Latin Grammar by +heart, who did not turn out a man, provided he lived long enough.” + +My father, who did not understand the classical languages, received with +respect the advice of his old friend, and from that moment conceived the +highest opinion of Lilly’s Latin Grammar. During three years I studied +Lilly’s Latin Grammar under the tuition of various schoolmasters, for I +travelled with the regiment, and in every town in which we were stationed +I was invariably (God bless my father!) sent to the classical academy of +the place. It chanced, by good fortune, that in the generality of these +schools the grammar of Lilly was in use; when, however, that was not the +case, it made no difference in my educational course, my father always +stipulating with the masters that I should be daily examined in Lilly. +At the end of the three years I had the whole by heart; you had only to +repeat the first two or three words of any sentence in any part of the +book, and forthwith I would open cry, commencing without blundering and +hesitation, and continue till you were glad to beg me to leave off, with +many expressions of admiration at my proficiency in the Latin language. +Sometimes, however, to convince you how well I merited these encomiums, I +would follow you to the bottom of the stair, and even into the street, +repeating in a kind of sing-song measure the sonorous lines of the golden +schoolmaster. If I am here asked whether I understood anything of what I +had got by heart, I reply—“Never mind, I understand it all now, and +believe that no one ever yet got Lilly’s Latin Grammar by heart when +young, who repented of the feat at a mature age.” + +And, when my father saw that I had accomplished my task, he opened his +mouth, and said, “Truly, this is more than I expected. I did not think +that there had been so much in you, either of application or capacity; +you have now learnt all that is necessary, if my friend Dr. B---’s +opinion was sterling, as I have no doubt it was. You are still a child, +however, and must yet go to school, in order that you may be kept out of +evil company. Perhaps you may still contrive, now you have exhausted the +barn, to pick up a grain or two in the barnyard. You are still ignorant +of figures, I believe, not that I would mention figures in the same day +with Lilly’s Grammar.” + +These words were uttered in a place called ---, in the north, or in the +road to the north, to which, for some time past, our corps had been +slowly advancing. I was sent to the school of the place, which chanced +to be a day school. It was a somewhat extraordinary one, and a somewhat +extraordinary event occurred to me within its walls. + +It occupied part of the farther end of a small plain, or square, at the +outskirts of the town, close to some extensive bleaching fields. It was +a long low building of one room, with no upper story; on the top was a +kind of wooden box, or sconce, which I at first mistook for a +pigeon-house, but which in reality contained a bell, to which was +attached a rope, which, passing through the ceiling, hung dangling in the +middle of the school-room. I am the more particular in mentioning this +appurtenance, as I had soon occasion to scrape acquaintance with it in a +manner not very agreeable to my feelings. The master was very proud of +his bell, if I might judge from the fact of his eyes being frequently +turned to that part of the ceiling from which the rope depended. Twice +every day, namely, after the morning and evening tasks had been gone +through, were the boys rung out of school by the monotonous jingle of +this bell. This ringing out was rather a lengthy affair, for, as the +master was a man of order and method, the boys were only permitted to go +out of the room one by one; and as they were rather numerous, amounting, +at least, to one hundred, and were taught to move at a pace of suitable +decorum, at least a quarter of an hour elapsed from the commencement of +the march before the last boy could make his exit. The office of +bell-ringer was performed by every boy successively; and it so happened +that, the very first day of my attendance at the school, the turn to ring +the bell had, by order of succession, arrived at the place which had been +allotted to me; for the master, as I have already observed, was a man of +method and order, and every boy had a particular seat, to which he became +a fixture as long as he continued at the school. + +So, upon this day, when the tasks were done and completed, and the boys +sat with their hats and caps in their hands, anxiously expecting the +moment of dismissal, it was suddenly notified to me, by the urchins who +sat nearest to me, that I must get up and ring the bell. Now, as this +was the first time that I had been at the school, I was totally +unacquainted with the process, which I had never seen, and, indeed, had +never heard of till that moment. I therefore sat still, not imagining it +possible that any such duty could be required of me. But now, with not a +little confusion, I perceived that the eyes of all the boys in the school +were fixed upon me. Presently there were nods and winks in the direction +of the bell-rope; and, as these produced no effect, uncouth visages were +made, like those of monkeys when enraged; teeth were gnashed, tongues +thrust out, and even fists were bent at me. The master, who stood at the +end of the room, with a huge ferule under his arm, bent full upon me a +look of stern appeal; and the ushers, of whom there were four, glared +upon me, each from his own particular corner, as I vainly turned, in one +direction and another, in search of one reassuring look. + +But now, probably in obedience to a sign from the master, the boys in my +immediate neighbourhood began to maltreat me. Some pinched me with their +fingers, some buffeted me, whilst others pricked me with pins, or the +points of compasses. These arguments were not without effect. I sprang +from my seat, and endeavoured to escape along a double line of benches, +thronged with boys of all ages, from the urchin of six or seven, to the +nondescript of sixteen or seventeen. It was like running the gauntlet; +every one, great or small, pinching, kicking, or otherwise maltreating me +as I passed by. + +Goaded on in this manner, I at length reached the middle of the room, +where dangled the bell-rope, the cause of all my sufferings. I should +have passed it—for my confusion was so great, that I was quite at a loss +to comprehend what all this could mean, and almost believed myself under +the influence of an ugly dream—but now the boys, who were seated in +advance in the row, arose with one accord, and barred my farther +progress; and one, doubtless more sensible than the rest, seizing the +rope, thrust it into my hand. I now began to perceive that the dismissal +of the school, and my own release from torment, depended upon this self +same rope. I therefore, in a fit of desperation, pulled it once or +twice, and then left off, naturally supposing that I had done quite +enough. The boys who sat next the door, no sooner heard the bell, than +rising from their seats, they moved out at the door. The bell, however, +had no sooner ceased to jingle, than they stopped short, and, turning +round, stared at the master, as much as to say, “What are we to do now?” +This was too much for the patience of the man of method, which my +previous stupidity had already nearly exhausted. Dashing forward into +the middle of the room, he struck me violently on the shoulders with his +ferule, and snatching the rope out of my hand, exclaimed, with a +stentorian voice, and genuine Yorkshire accent. “Prodigy of ignorance! +dost not even know how to ring a bell? Must I myself instruct thee?” He +then commenced pulling at the bell with such violence, that long before +half the school was dismissed the rope broke, and the rest of the boys +had to depart without their accustomed music. + +But I must not linger here, though I could say much about the school and +the pedagogue highly amusing and diverting, which, however, I suppress, +in order to make way for matters of yet greater interest. On we went, +northward, northward! and, as we advanced, I saw that the country was +becoming widely different from those parts of merry England in which we +had previously travelled. It was wilder, and less cultivated, and more +broken with hills and hillocks. The people, too, of those regions +appeared to partake of something of the character of their country. They +were coarsely dressed; tall and sturdy of frame; their voices were deep +and guttural; and the half of the dialect which they spoke was +unintelligible to my ears. + +I often wondered where we could be going, for I was at this time about as +ignorant of geography as I was of most other things. However, I held my +peace, asked no questions, and patiently awaited the issue. + +Northward, northward, still! And it came to pass that, one morning, I +found myself extended on the bank of a river. It was a beautiful morning +of early spring; small white clouds were floating in the heaven, +occasionally veiling the countenance of the sun, whose light, as they +retired, would again burst forth, coursing like a racehorse over the +scene—and a goodly scene it was! Before me, across the water, on an +eminence, stood a white old city, surrounded with lofty walls, above +which rose the tops of tall houses, with here and there a church or +steeple. To my right hand was a long and massive bridge, with many +arches and of antique architecture, which traversed the river. The river +was a noble one; the broadest that I had hitherto seen. Its waters, of a +greenish tinge, poured with impetuosity beneath the narrow arches to meet +the sea, close at hand, as the boom of the billows breaking distinctly +upon a beach declared. There were songs upon the river from the +fisher-barks; and occasionally a chorus, plaintive and wild, such as I +had never heard before, the words of which I did not understand, but +which at the present time, down the long avenue of years, seem in +memory’s ear to sound like “Horam, coram, dago.” Several robust fellows +were near me, some knee-deep in water, employed in hauling the seine upon +the strand. Huge fish were struggling amidst the meshes—princely +salmon—their brilliant mail of blue and silver flashing in the morning +beam; so goodly and gay a scene, in truth, had never greeted my boyish +eye. + +And, as I gazed upon the prospect, my bosom began to heave, and my tears +to trickle. Was it the beauty of the scene which gave rise to these +emotions? Possibly; for though a poor ignorant child—a half-wild +creature—I was not insensible to the loveliness of nature, and took +pleasure in the happiness and handiworks of my fellow-creatures. Yet, +perhaps, in something more deep and mysterious the feelings which then +pervaded me might originate. Who can lie down on Elvir Hill without +experiencing something of the sorcery of the place? Flee from Elvir +Hill, young swain, or the maids of Elle will have power over you, and you +will go elf-wild!—so say the Danes. I had unconsciously laid myself down +on haunted ground; and I am willing to imagine that what I then +experienced was rather connected with the world of spirits and dreams +than with what I actually saw and heard around me. Surely the elves and +genii of the place were conversing, by some inscrutable means, with the +principle of intelligence lurking within the poor uncultivated clod! +Perhaps to that ethereal principle the wonders of the past, as connected +with that stream, the glories of the present, and even the history of the +future, were at that moment being revealed! Of how many feats of +chivalry had those old walls been witness, when hostile kings contended +for their possession?—how many an army from the south and from the north +had trod that old bridge?—what red and noble blood had crimsoned those +rushing waters?—what strains had been sung, ay, were yet being sung on +its banks?—some soft as Doric reed; some fierce and sharp as those of +Norwegian Skaldaglam; some as replete with wild and wizard force as +Finland’s runes, singing of Kalevale’s moors, and the deeds of +Woinomoinen! Honour to thee, thou island stream! Onward may thou ever +roll, fresh and green, rejoicing in thy bright past, thy glorious +present, and in vivid hope of a triumphant future! Flow on, beautiful +one!—which of the world’s streams canst thou envy, with thy beauty and +renown? Stately is the Danube, rolling in its might through lands +romantic with the wild exploits of Turk, Polak, and Magyar! Lovely is +the Rhine! on its shelvy banks grows the racy grape; and strange old +keeps of robber-knights of yore are reflected in its waters, from +picturesque crags and airy headlands!—yet neither the stately Danube, nor +the beauteous Rhine, with all their fame, though abundant, needst thou +envy, thou pure island stream!—and far less yon turbid river of old, not +modern renown, gurgling beneath the walls of what was once proud Rome, +towering Rome, Jupiter’s town, but now vile Rome, crumbling Rome, +Batuscha’s town, far less needst thou envy the turbid Tiber of bygone +fame, creeping sadly to the sea, surcharged with the abominations of +modern Rome—how unlike to thee, thou pure island stream! + +And as I lay on the bank and wept, there drew nigh to me a man in the +habiliments of a fisher. He was bare-legged, of a weather-beaten +countenance, and of stature approaching to the gigantic. “What is the +callant greeting for?” said he, as he stopped and surveyed me. “Has ony +body wrought ye ony harm?” + +“Not that I know of,” I replied, rather guessing at than understanding +his question; “I was crying because I could not help it! I say, old one, +what is the name of this river?” + +“Hout! I now see what you was greeting at—at your ain ignorance, nae +doubt—’tis very great! Weel, I will na fash you with reproaches, but +even enlighten ye, since you seem a decent man’s bairn, and you speir a +civil question. Yon river is called the Tweed; and yonder, over the +brig, is Scotland. Did ye never hear of the Tweed, my bonny man?” + +“No,” said I, as I rose from the grass, and proceeded to cross the bridge +to the town at which we had arrived the preceding night; “I never heard +of it; but now I have seen it, I shall not soon forget it!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +The Castle—A Father’s Inquiries—Scotch Language—A Determination—Bui Hin +Digri—Good Scotchman—Difference of Races—Ne’er a Haggis—Pugnacious +People—Wha are Ye, Mon—The Nor Loch—Gestures Wild—The Bicker—New Town +Champion—Wild-Looking Figure—Headlong. + +It was not long before we found ourselves at Edinburgh, or rather in the +Castle, into which the regiment marched with drums beating, colours +flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons behind. The Castle was, as I +suppose it is now, a garrison for soldiers. Two other regiments were +already there; the one an Irish, if I remember right, the other a small +Highland corps. + +It is hardly necessary to say much about this Castle, which everybody has +seen; on which account, doubtless, nobody has ever yet thought fit to +describe it—at least that I am aware. Be this as it may, I have no +intention of describing it, and shall content myself with observing, that +we took up our abode in that immense building, or caserne, of modern +erection, which occupies the entire eastern side of the bold rock on +which the Castle stands. A gallant caserne it was—the best and roomiest +that I had hitherto seen—rather cold and windy, it is true, especially in +the winter, but commanding a noble prospect of a range of distant hills, +which I was told were “the hieland hills,” and of a broad arm of the sea, +which I heard somebody say was the Firth of Forth. + +My brother, who, for some years past, had been receiving his education in +a certain celebrated school in England, was now with us; and it came to +pass, that one day my father, as he sat at table, looked steadfastly on +my brother and myself, and then addressed my mother:—“During my journey +down hither I have lost no opportunity of making inquiries about these +people, the Scotch, amongst whom we now are, and since I have been here I +have observed them attentively. From what I have heard and seen, I +should say that upon the whole they are a very decent set of people; they +seem acute and intelligent, and I am told that their system of education +is so excellent, that every person is learned—more or less acquainted +with Greek and Latin. There is one thing, however, connected with them, +which is a great drawback—the horrid jargon which they speak. However +learned they may be in Greek and Latin, their English is execrable; and +yet I’m told it is not so bad as it was. I was in company the other day +with an Englishman who has resided here many years. We were talking +about the country and the people. ‘I should like both very well,’ said +I, ‘were it not for the language. I wish sincerely our Parliament, which +is passing so many foolish acts every year, would pass one to force these +Scotch to speak English.’ ‘I wish so, too,’ said he. ‘The language is a +disgrace to the British Government; but, if you had heard it twenty years +ago, captain!—if you had heard it as it was spoken when I first came to +Edinburgh!’” + +“Only custom,” said my mother. “I dare say the language is now what it +was then.” + +“I don’t know,” said my father; “though I dare say you are right; it +could never have been worse than it is at present. But now to the point. +Were it not for the language, which, if the boys were to pick it up, +might ruin their prospects in life,—were it not for that, I should very +much like to send them to a school there is in this place, which +everybody talks about—the High School, I think they call it. ’Tis said +to be the best school in the whole island; but the idea of one’s children +speaking Scotch—broad Scotch! I must think the matter over.” + +And he did think the matter over; and the result of his deliberation was +a determination to send us to the school. Let me call thee up before my +mind’s eye, High School, to which, every morning, the two English +brothers took their way from the proud old Castle through the lofty +streets of the Old Town. High School!—called so, I scarcely know why; +neither lofty in thyself nor by position, being situated in a flat +bottom; oblong structure of tawny stone, with many windows fenced with +iron netting—with thy long hall below, and thy five chambers above, for +the reception of the five classes, into which the eight hundred urchins, +who styled thee instructress, were divided. Thy learned rector and his +four subordinate dominies; thy strange old porter of the tall form and +grizzled hair, hight Boee, and doubtless of Norse ancestry, as his name +declares; perhaps of the blood of Bui hin Digri, the hero of northern +song—the Jomsborg Viking who clove Thorsteinn Midlaagr asunder in the +dread sea battle of Horunga Vog, and who, when the fight was lost and his +own two hands smitten off, seized two chests of gold with his bloody +stumps, and, springing with them into the sea, cried to the scanty relics +of his crew, “Overboard now, all Bui’s lads!” Yes, I remember all about +thee, and how at eight of every morn we were all gathered together with +one accord in the long hall, from which, after the litanies had been read +(for so I will call them, being an Episcopalian), the five classes from +the five sets of benches trotted off in long files, one boy after the +other, up the five spiral staircases of stone, each class to its +destination; and well do I remember how we of the third sat hushed and +still, watched by the eye of the dux, until the door opened, and in +walked that model of a good Scotchman, the shrewd, intelligent, but +warm-hearted and kind dominie, the respectable Carson. + +And in this school I began to construe the Latin language, which I had +never done before, notwithstanding my long and diligent study of Lilly, +which illustrious grammar was not used at Edinburgh, nor indeed known. +Greek was only taught in the fifth or highest class, in which my brother +was; as for myself, I never got beyond the third during the two years +that I remained at this seminary. I certainly acquired here a +considerable insight in the Latin tongue; and, to the scandal of my +father and horror of my mother, a thorough proficiency in the Scotch, +which, in less than two months, usurped the place of the English, and so +obstinately maintained its ground, that I still can occasionally detect +its lingering remains. I did not spend my time unpleasantly at this +school, though, first of all, I had to pass through an ordeal. + +“Scotland is a better country than England,” said an ugly, blear-eyed +lad, about a head and shoulders taller than myself, the leader of a gang +of varlets who surrounded me in the play-ground, on the first day, as +soon as the morning lesson was over. “Scotland is a far better country +than England, in every respect.” + +“Is it?” said I. “Then you ought to be very thankful for not having been +born in England.” + +“That’s just what I am, ye loon; and every morning when I say my prayers, +I thank God for not being an Englishman. The Scotch are a much better +and braver people than the English.” + +“It may be so,” said I, “for what I know—indeed, till I came here, I +never heard a word either about the Scotch or their country.” + +“Are ye making fun of us, ye English puppy?” said the blear-eyed lad; +“take that!” and I was presently beaten black and blue. And thus did I +first become aware of the difference of races and their antipathy to each +other. + +“Bow to the storm, and it shall pass over you.” I held my peace, and +silently submitted to the superiority of the Scotch—_in numbers_. This +was enough; from an object of persecution I soon became one of patronage, +especially amongst the champions of the class. “The English,” said the +blear-eyed lad, “though a wee bit behind the Scotch in strength and +fortitude, are nae to be sneezed at, being far ahead of the Irish, to say +nothing of the French, a pack of cowardly scoundrels. And with regard to +the English country, it is na Scotland, it is true, but it has its gude +properties; and, though there is ne’er a haggis in a’ the land, there’s +an unco deal o’ gowd and siller. I respect England, for I have an auntie +married there.” + +The Scotch are certainly a most pugnacious people; their whole history +proves it. Witness their incessant wars with the English in the olden +time, and their internal feuds, highland with lowland, clan with clan, +family with family, Saxon with Gael. In my time, the schoolboys, for +want, perhaps, of English urchins to contend with, were continually +fighting with each other; every noon there was at least one pugilistic +encounter, and sometimes three. In one month I witnessed more of these +encounters than I had ever previously seen under similar circumstances in +England. After all, there was not much harm done. Harm! what harm could +result from short chopping blows, a hug, and a tumble? I was witness to +many a sounding whack, some blood shed, “a blue ee” now and then, but +nothing more. In England, on the contrary, where the lads were +comparatively mild, gentle, and pacific, I had been present at more than +one death caused by blows in boyish combats, in which the oldest of the +victors had scarcely reached thirteen years; but these blows were in the +jugular, given with the full force of the arm shot out horizontally from +the shoulder. + +But, the Scotch—though by no means proficients in boxing (and how should +they box, seeing that they have never had a teacher?)—are, I repeat, a +most pugnacious people; at least they were in my time. Anything served +them, that is, the urchins, as a pretence for a fray, or, Dorically +speaking, a _bicker_; every street and close was at feud with its +neighbour; the lads of the school were at feud with the young men of the +college, whom they pelted in winter with snow, and in summer with stones; +and then the feud between the Old and New Town! + +One day I was standing on the ramparts of the castle on the southwestern +side which overhangs the green brae, where it slopes down into what was +in those days the green swamp or morass, called by the natives of Auld +Reekie the Nor Loch; it was a dark gloomy day, and a thin veil of mist +was beginning to settle down upon the brae and the morass. I could +perceive, however, that there was a skirmish taking place in the latter +spot. I had an indistinct view of two parties—apparently of urchins—and +I heard whoops and shrill cries: eager to know the cause of this +disturbance, I left the castle, and descending the brae reached the +borders of the morass, where was a runnel of water and the remains of an +old wall, on the other side of which a narrow path led across the swamp: +upon this path at a little distance before me there was “a bicker.” I +pushed forward, but had scarcely crossed the ruined wall and runnel, when +the party nearest to me gave way, and in great confusion came running in +my direction. As they drew nigh, one of them shouted to me, “Wha are ye, +mon? are ye o’ the Auld Toon?” I made no answer. “Ha! ye are of the New +Toon; De’il tak ye, we’ll murder ye;” and the next moment a huge stone +sung past my head. “Let me be, ye fule bodies,” said I, “I’m no of +either of ye, I live yonder aboon in the castle.” “Ah! ye live in the +castle; then ye’re an auld tooner; come gie us your help, man, and dinna +stand there staring like a dunnot, we want help sair eneugh. Here are +stanes.” + +For my own part I wished for nothing better, and, rushing forward, I +placed myself at the head of my new associates, and commenced flinging +stones fast and desperately. The other party now gave way in their turn, +closely followed by ourselves; I was in the van, and about to stretch out +my hand to seize the hindermost boy of the enemy, when, not being +acquainted with the miry and difficult paths of the Nor Loch, and in my +eagerness taking no heed of my footing, I plunged into a quagmire, into +which I sank as far as my shoulders. Our adversaries no sooner perceived +this disaster, than, setting up a shout, they wheeled round and attacked +us most vehemently. Had my comrades now deserted me, my life had not +been worth a straw’s purchase, I should either have been smothered in the +quag, or, what is more probable, had my brains beaten out with stones; +but they behaved like true Scots, and fought stoutly around their +comrade, until I was extricated, whereupon both parties retired, the +night being near at hand. + +“Ye are na a bad hand at flinging stanes,” said the lad who first +addressed me, as we now returned up the brae; “your aim is right +dangerous, mon, I saw how ye skelpit them, ye maun help us agin thae New +Toon blackguards at our next bicker.” + +So to the next bicker I went, and to many more, which speedily followed +as the summer advanced; the party to which I had given my help on the +first occasion consisted merely of outlyers, posted about half way up the +hill, for the purpose of overlooking the movements of the enemy. + +Did the latter draw nigh in any considerable force, messengers were +forthwith despatched to the “auld toon,” especially to the filthy alleys +and closes of the High Street, which forthwith would disgorge swarms of +bare-headed and bare-footed “callants,” who, with gestures wild and +“eldrich screech and hollo,” might frequently be seen pouring down the +sides of the hill. I have seen upwards of a thousand engaged on either +side in these frays, which I have no doubt were full as desperate as the +fights described in the Iliad, and which were certainly much more bloody +than the combats of modern Greece in the war of independence: the +callants not only employed their hands in hurling stones, but not +unfrequently slings; at the use of which they were very expert, and which +occasionally dislodged teeth, shattered jaws, or knocked out an eye. Our +opponents certainly laboured under considerable disadvantage, being +compelled not only to wade across a deceitful bog, but likewise to +clamber up part of a steep hill before they could attack us; +nevertheless, their determination was such, and such their impetuosity, +that we had sometimes difficulty enough to maintain our own. I shall +never forget one bicker, the last indeed which occurred at that time, as +the authorities of the town, alarmed by the desperation of its character, +stationed forthwith a body of police on the hill side, to prevent, in +future, any such breaches of the peace. + +It was a beautiful Sunday evening, the rays of the descending _sun_ were +reflected redly from the grey walls of the castle, and from the black +rocks on which it was founded. The bicker had long since commenced, +stones from sling and hand were flying; but the callants of the New Town +were now carrying everything before them. + +A full-grown baker’s apprentice was at their head; he was foaming with +rage, and had taken the field, as I was told, in order to avenge his +brother, whose eye had been knocked out in one of the late bickers. He +was no slinger, or flinger, but brandished in his right hand the spoke of +a cart-wheel, like my countryman Tom Hickathrift of old in his encounter +with the giant of the Lincolnshire fen. Protected by a piece of +wicker-work attached to his left arm, he rushed on to the fray, +disregarding the stones which were showered against him, and was ably +seconded by his followers. Our own party was chased half way up the +hill, where I was struck to the ground by the baker, after having been +foiled in an attempt which I had made to fling a handful of earth into +his eyes. All now appeared lost, the Auld Toon was in full retreat. I +myself lay at the baker’s feet, who had just raised his spoke, probably +to give me the _coup de grâce_,—it was an awful moment. Just then I +heard a shout and a rushing sound; a wild-looking figure is descending +the hill with terrible bounds; it is a lad of some fifteen years; he is +bare-headed, and his red uncombed hair stands on end like hedgehogs’ +bristles; his frame is lithy, like that of an antelope, but he has +prodigious breadth of chest; he wears a military undress, that of the +regiment, even of a drummer, for it is wild Davy, whom a month before I +had seen enlisted on Leith Links to serve King George with drum and +drumstick as long as his services might be required, and who, ere a week +had elapsed, had smitten with his fist Drum-Major Elzigood, who, incensed +at his inaptitude, had threatened him with his cane; he has been in +confinement for weeks, this is the first day of his liberation, and he is +now descending the hill with horrid bounds and shoutings; he is now about +five yards distant, and the baker, who apprehends that something +dangerous is at hand, prepares himself for the encounter; but what avails +the strength of a baker, even full grown?—what avails the defence of a +wicker shield? what avails the wheel-spoke, should there be an +opportunity of using it, against the impetus of an avalanche or a cannon +ball?—for to either of these might that wild figure be compared, which, +at the distance of five yards, sprang at once with head, hands, feet and +body, all together, upon the champion of the New Town, tumbling him to +the earth amain. And now it was the turn of the Old Town to triumph. +Our late discomfited host, returning on its steps, overwhelmed the fallen +champion with blows of every kind, and then, led on by his vanquisher who +had assumed his arms, namely, the wheelspoke and wicker shield, fairly +cleared the brae of their adversaries, whom they drove down headlong into +the morass. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Expert Climbers—The Crags—Something Red—The Horrible Edge—David +Haggart—Fine Materials—The Greatest Victory—Extraordinary Robber—The +Ruling Passion. + +Meanwhile I had become a daring cragsman, a character to which an English +lad has seldom opportunities of aspiring; for in England there are +neither crags nor mountains. Of these, however, as is well known, there +is no lack in Scotland, and the habits of individuals are invariably in +harmony with the country in which they dwell. The Scotch are expert +climbers, and I was now a Scot in most things, particularly in language. +The castle on which I dwelt stood upon a rock, a bold and craggy one, +which, at first sight, would seem to bid defiance to any feet save those +of goats and chamois; but patience and perseverance generally enable +mankind to overcome things which, at first sight, appear impossible. +Indeed, what is there above man’s exertions? Unwearied determination +will enable him to run with the horse, to swim with the fish, and +assuredly to compete with the chamois and the goat in agility and +sureness of foot. To scale the rock was merely child’s play for the +Edinbro’ callants. It was my own favourite diversion. I soon found that +the rock contained all manner of strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, +where owls nestled, and the weasel brought forth her young; here and +there were small natural platforms overgrown with long grass and various +kinds of plants, where the climber, if so disposed, could stretch +himself, and either give his eyes to sleep or his mind to thought; for +capital places were these same platforms, either for repose or +meditation. The boldest features of the rock are descried on the +southern side, where, after shelving down gently from the wall for some +distance, it terminates abruptly in a precipice, black and horrible, of +some three hundred feet at least, as if the axe of nature had been here +employed cutting sheer down, and leaving behind neither excrescence nor +spur—a dizzy precipice it is, assimilating much to those so frequent in +the flinty hills of Northern Africa, and exhibiting some distant +resemblance to that of Gibraltar, towering in its horridness above the +neutral ground. + +It was now holiday time, and having nothing particular wherewith to +occupy myself, I not unfrequently passed the greater part of the day upon +the rocks. Once, after scaling the western crags, and creeping round a +sharp angle of the wall, overhung by a kind of watch tower, I found +myself on the southern side. Still keeping close to the wall, I was +proceeding onward, for I was bent upon a long excursion which should +embrace half the circuit of the castle, when suddenly my eye was +attracted by the appearance of something red, far below me; I stopped +short, and, looking fixedly upon it, perceived that it was a human being +in a kind of red jacket, seated on the extreme verge of the precipice, +which I have already made a faint attempt to describe. Wondering who it +could be, I shouted; but it took not the slightest notice, remaining as +immovable as the rock on which it sat. “I should never have thought of +going near that edge,” said I to myself; “however, as you have done it, +why should not I? And I should like to know who you are.” So I +commenced the descent of the rock, but with great care, for I had as yet +never been in a situation so dangerous; a slight moisture exuded from the +palms of my hands, my nerves were tingling, and my brain was somewhat +dizzy—and now I had arrived within a few yards of the figure, and had +recognised it: it was the wild drummer who had turned the tide of battle +in the bicker on the Castle Brae. A small stone which I dislodged now +rolled down the rock, and tumbled into the abyss close beside him. He +turned his head, and after looking at me for a moment somewhat vacantly, +he resumed his former attitude. I drew yet nearer to the horrible edge; +not close, however, for fear was on me. + +“What are you thinking of, David?” said I, as I sat behind him and +trembled, for I repeat that I was afraid. + +_David Haggart_. I was thinking of Willie Wallace. + +_Myself_. You had better be thinking of yourself, man. A strange place +this to come to and think of William Wallace. + +_David Haggart_. Why so? Is not his tower just beneath our feet? + +_Myself_. You mean the auld ruin by the side of Nor Loch—the ugly stane +bulk, from the foot of which flows the spring into the dyke, where the +watercresses grow? + +_David Haggart_. Just sae, Geordie. + +_Myself_. And why were ye thinking of him? The English hanged him long +since, as I have heard say. + +_David Haggart_. I was thinking that I should wish to be like him. + +_Myself_. Do ye mean that ye would wish to be hanged? + +_David Haggart_. I wad na flinch from that, Geordie, if I might be a +great man first. + +_Myself_. And wha kens, Davie, how great you may be, even without +hanging? Are ye not in the high road of preferment? Are ye not a bauld +drummer already? Wha kens how high ye may rise? perhaps to be general, +or drum-major. + +_David Haggart_. I hae na wish to be drum-major; it were na great things +to be like the doited carle, Elsethan-gude, as they call him; and, troth, +he has nae his name for naething. But I should have nae objection to be +a general, and to fight the French and Americans, and win myself a name +and a fame like Willie Wallace, and do brave deeds, such as I have been +reading about in his story book. + +_Myself_. Ye are a fule, Davie; the story book is full of lies. +Wallace, indeed! the wuddie rebel! I have heard my father say that the +Duke of Cumberland was worth twenty of Willie Wallace. + +_David Haggart_. Ye had better sae naething agin Willie Wallace, +Geordie, for, if ye do, de’il hae me, if I dinna tumble ye doon the +craig. + + * * * * * + +Fine materials in that lad for a hero, you will say. Yes, indeed, for a +hero, or for what he afterwards became. In other times, and under other +circumstances, he might have made what is generally termed a great man, a +patriot, or a conqueror. As it was, the very qualities which might then +have pushed him on to fortune and renown were the cause of his ruin. The +war over, he fell into evil courses; for his wild heart and ambitious +spirit could not brook the sober and quiet pursuits of honest industry. + +“Can an Arabian steed submit to be a vile drudge?” cries the fatalist. +Nonsense! A man is not an irrational creature, but a reasoning being, +and has something within him beyond mere brutal instinct. The greatest +victory which a man can achieve is over himself, by which is meant those +unruly passions which are not convenient to the time and place. David +did not do this; he gave the reins to his wild heart, instead of curbing +it, and became a robber, and, alas! alas! he shed blood—under peculiar +circumstances, it is true, and without _malice prépense_—and for that +blood he eventually died, and justly; for it was that of the warden of a +prison from which he was escaping, and whom he slew with one blow of his +stalwart arm. + +Tamerlane and Haggart! Haggart and Tamerlane! Both these men were +robbers, and of low birth, yet one perished on an ignoble scaffold, and +the other died emperor of the world. Is this justice? The ends of the +two men were widely dissimilar—yet what is the intrinsic difference +between them? Very great indeed; the one acted according to his lights +and his country, not so the other. Tamerlane was a heathen, and acted +according to his lights; he was a robber where all around were robbers, +but he became the avenger of God—God’s scourge on unjust kings, on the +cruel Bajazet, who had plucked out his own brothers’ eyes; he became to a +certain extent the purifier of the East, its regenerator; his equal never +was before, nor has it since been seen. Here the wild heart was +profitably employed the wild strength, the teeming brain. Onward, Lame +one! Onward, Tamurlank! Haggart. . . . + +But peace to thee, poor David! why should a mortal worm be sitting in +judgment over thee? The Mighty and Just One has already judged thee, and +perhaps above thou hast received pardon for thy crimes, which could not +be pardoned here below; and now that thy feverish existence has closed, +and thy once active form become inanimate dust, thy very memory all but +forgotten, I will say a few words about thee, a few words soon also to be +forgotten. Thou wast the most extraordinary robber that ever lived +within the belt of Britain; Scotland rang with thy exploits, and England, +too, north of the Humber; strange deeds also didst thou achieve when, +fleeing from justice, thou didst find thyself in the Sister Isle; busy +wast thou there in town and on curragh, at fair and race-course, and also +in the solitary place. Ireland thought thee her child, for who spoke her +brogue better than thyself?—she felt proud of thee, and said, “Sure, +O’Hanlon is come again.” What might not have been thy fate in the far +west in America, whither thou hadst turned thine eye, saying, “I will go +there, and become an honest man!” But thou wast not to go there, +David—the blood which thou hadst shed in Scotland was to be required of +thee; the avenger was at hand, the avenger of blood. Seized, manacled, +brought back to thy native land, condemned to die, thou wast left in thy +narrow cell, and told to make the most of thy time, for it was short; and +there, in thy narrow cell, and thy time so short, thou didst put the +crowning stone to thy strange deeds, by that strange history of thyself, +penned by thine own hand in the robber tongue. Thou mightest have been +better employed, David!—but the ruling passion was strong with thee, even +in the jaws of death. Thou mightest have been better employed!—but peace +be with thee, I repeat, and the Almighty’s grace and pardon. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Napoleon—The Storm—The Cove—Up the Country—The Trembling Hand—Irish—Tough +Battle—Tipperary Hills—Elegant Lodgings—A Speech—Fair Specimen—Orangemen. + +Onward, onward! and after we had sojourned in Scotland nearly two years, +the long continental war had been brought to an end, Napoleon was humbled +for a time, and the Bourbons restored to a land which could well have +dispensed with them; we returned to England, where the corps was +disbanded, and my parents with their family retired to private life. I +shall pass over in silence the events of a year, which offer little of +interest as far as connected with me and mine. Suddenly, however, the +sound of war was heard again, Napoleon had broken forth from Elba, and +everything was in confusion. Vast military preparations were again made, +our own corps was levied anew, and my brother became an officer in it; +but the danger was soon over, Napoleon was once more quelled, and chained +for ever, like Prometheus, to his rock. As the corps, however, though so +recently levied, had already become a very fine one, thanks to my +father’s energetic drilling, the Government very properly determined to +turn it to some account, and, as disturbances were apprehended in Ireland +about this period, it occurred to them that they could do no better than +despatch it to that country. + +In the autumn of the year 1815 we set sail from a port in Essex; we were +some eight hundred strong, and were embarked in two ships, very large, +but old and crazy; a storm overtook us when off Beachy Head, in which we +had nearly foundered. I was awakened early in the morning by the howling +of the wind, and the uproar on deck. I kept myself close, however, as is +still my constant practice on similar occasions, and waited the result +with that apathy and indifference which violent sea-sickness is sure to +produce. We shipped several seas, and once the vessel missing +stays—which, to do it justice, it generally did at every third or fourth +tack—we escaped almost by a miracle from being dashed upon the foreland. +On the eighth day of our voyage we were in sight of Ireland. The weather +was now calm and serene, the sun shone brightly on the sea and on certain +green hills in the distance, on which I descried what at first sight I +believed to be two ladies gathering flowers, which, however, on our +nearer approach, proved to be two tall white towers, doubtless built for +some purpose or other, though I did not learn for what. + +We entered a kind of bay, or cove, by a narrow inlet; it was a beautiful +and romantic place this cove, very spacious, and being nearly +land-locked, was sheltered from every wind. A small island, every inch +of which was covered with fortifications, appeared to swim upon the +waters, whose dark blue denoted their immense depth; tall green hills, +which ascended gradually from the shore, formed the background to the +west; they were carpeted to the top with turf of the most vivid green, +and studded here and there with woods, seemingly of oak; there was a +strange old castle half way up the ascent, a village on a crag—but the +mists of the morning were half veiling the scene when I surveyed it, and +the mists of time are now hanging densely between it and my no longer +youthful eye; I may not describe it;—nor will I try. + +Leaving the ship in the cove, we passed up a wide river in boats till we +came to a city, where we disembarked. It was a large city, as large as +Edinburgh to my eyes; there were plenty of fine houses, but little +neatness; the streets were full of impurities; handsome equipages rolled +along, but the greater part of the population were in rags; beggars +abounded; there was no lack of merriment, however; boisterous shouts of +laughter were heard on every side. It appeared a city of contradictions. +After a few days’ rest we marched from this place in two divisions. My +father commanded the second, I walked by his side. + +Our route lay up the country; the country at first offered no very +remarkable feature; it was pretty, but tame. On the second day, however, +its appearance had altered, it had become more wild; a range of distant +mountains bound the horizon. We passed through several villages, as I +suppose I may term them, of low huts, the walls formed of rough stones +without mortar, the roof of flags laid over wattles and wicker-work; they +seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children; the latter were +naked, the former, in general, blear-eyed beldames, who sat beside the +doors on low stools, spinning. We saw, however, both men and women +working at a distance in the fields. + +I was thirsty; and going up to an ancient crone, employed in the manner +which I have described, I asked her for water; she looked me in the face, +appeared to consider a moment, then tottering into her hut, presently +reappeared with a small pipkin of milk, which she offered to me with a +trembling hand. I drank the milk; it was sour, but I found it highly +refreshing. I then took out a penny and offered it to her, whereupon she +shook her head, smiled, and, patting my face with her skinny hand, +murmured some words in a tongue which I had never heard before. + +I walked on by my father’s side, holding the stirrup-leather of his +horse; presently several low uncouth cars passed by, drawn by starved +cattle: the drivers were tall fellows, with dark features and athletic +frames—they wore long loose blue cloaks with sleeves, which last, +however, dangled unoccupied: these cloaks appeared in tolerably good +condition, not so their under garments. On their heads were broad +slouching hats: the generality of them were bare-footed. As they passed, +the soldiers jested with them in the patois of East Anglia, whereupon the +fellows laughed, and appeared to jest with the soldiers; but what they +said who knows, it being in a rough guttural language, strange and wild. +The soldiers stared at each other, and were silent. + +“A strange language that!” said a young officer to my father, “I don’t +understand a word of it; what can it be?” + +“Irish,” said my father, with a loud voice, “and a bad language it is; I +have known it of old, that is, I have often heard it spoken when I was a +guardsman in London. There’s one part of London where all the Irish +live—at least all the worst of them—and there they hatch their villanies +to speak this tongue; it is that which keeps them together and makes them +dangerous: I was once sent there to seize a couple of deserters—Irish—who +had taken refuge amongst their companions; we found them in what was in +my time called a ken, that is, a house where only thieves and desperadoes +are to be found. Knowing on what kind of business I was bound, I had +taken with me a sergeant’s party; it was well I did so. We found the +deserters in a large room, with at least thirty ruffians, horrid-looking +fellows, seated about a long table, drinking, swearing, and talking +Irish. Ah! we had a tough battle, I remember; the two fellows did +nothing, but sat still, thinking it best to be quiet; but the rest, with +an ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a powder-magazine, sprang up, +brandishing their sticks; for these fellows always carry sticks with them +even to bed, and not unfrequently spring up in their sleep, striking left +and right.” + +“Did you take the deserters?” said the officer. + +“Yes,” said my father; “for we formed at the end of the room, and charged +with fixed bayonets, which compelled the others to yield notwithstanding +their numbers; but the worst was when we got out into the street; the +whole district had become alarmed and hundreds came pouring down upon +us—men, women, and children. Women, did I say!—they looked fiends, +half-naked, with their hair hanging down over their bosoms; they tore up +the very pavement to hurl at us sticks rang about our ears, stones, and +Irish—I liked the Irish worst of all, it sounded so horrid, especially as +I did not understand it. It’s a bad language.” + +“A queer tongue,” said I, “I wonder if I could learn it?” + +“Learn it!” said my father; “what should you learn it for?—however, I am +not afraid of that. It is not like Scotch, no person can learn it, save +those who are born to it, and even in Ireland the respectable people do +not speak it, only the wilder sort, like those we have passed.” + +Within a day or two we had reached a tall range of mountains running +north and south, which I was told were those of Tipperary; along the +skirts of these we proceeded till we came to a town, the principal one of +these regions. It was on the bank of a beautiful river, which separated +it from the mountains. It was rather an ancient place, and might contain +some ten thousand inhabitants—I found that it was our destination; there +were extensive barracks at the farther end, in which the corps took up +its quarters; with respect to ourselves, we took lodgings in a house +which stood in the principal street. + +“You never saw more elegant lodgings than these, captain,” said the +master of the house, a tall, handsome, and athletic man, who came up +whilst our little family were seated at dinner late in the afternoon of +the day of our arrival; “they beat anything in this town of Clonmel. I +do not let them for the sake of interest, and to none but gentlemen in +the army, in order that myself and my wife, who is from Londonderry, may +have the advantage of pleasant company, a genteel company; ay, and +Protestant company, captain. It did my heart good when I saw your honour +ride in at the head of all those fine fellows, real Protestants, I’ll +engage, not a Papist among them, they are too good-looking and +honest-looking for that. So I no sooner saw your honour at the head of +your army, with that handsome young gentleman holding by your stirrup, +than I said to my wife, Mistress Hyne, who is from Londonderry, ‘God +bless me,’ said I, ‘what a truly Protestant countenance, what a noble +bearing, and what a sweet young gentleman. By the silver hairs of his +honour—and sure enough I never saw hairs more regally silver than those +of your honour—by his honour’s gray silver hairs, and by my own soul, +which is not worthy to be mentioned in the same day with one of them—it +would be no more than decent and civil to run out and welcome such a +father and son coming in at the head of such a Protestant military.’ And +then my wife, who is from Londonderry, Mistress Hyne, looking me in the +face like a fairy as she is, ‘You may say that,’ says she. ‘It would be +but decent and civil, honey.’ And your honour knows how I ran out of my +own door and welcomed your honour riding in company with your son, who +was walking; how I welcomed ye both at the head of your royal regiment, +and how I shook your honour by the hand, saying, I am glad to see your +honour, and your honour’s son, and your honour’s royal military +Protestant regiment. And now I have you in the house, and right proud I +am to have ye one and all; one, two, three, four, true Protestants every +one, no Papists here; and I have made bold to bring up a bottle of claret +which is now waiting behind the door; and, when your honour and your +family have dined, I will make bold too to bring up Mistress Hyne, from +Londonderry, to introduce to your honour’s lady, and then we’ll drink to +the health of King George, God bless him; to the ‘glorious and +immortal’—to Boyne water—to your honour’s speedy promotion to be Lord +Lieutenant, and to the speedy downfall of the Pope and Saint Anthony of +Padua.” + +Such was the speech of the Irish Protestant addressed to my father in the +long lofty dining-room with three windows, looking upon the high street +of the good town of Clonmel, as he sat at meat with his family, after +saying grace like a true-hearted respectable soldier as he was. + +“A bigot and an Orangeman!” Oh, yes! It is easier to apply epithets of +opprobrium to people than to make yourself acquainted with their history +and position. He was a specimen, and a fair specimen, of a most +remarkable body of men, who during two centuries have fought a good fight +in Ireland in the cause of civilization and religious truth; they were +sent as colonists, few in number, into a barbarous and unhappy country, +where ever since, though surrounded with difficulties of every kind, they +have maintained their ground; theirs has been no easy life, nor have +their lines fallen upon very pleasant places; amidst darkness they have +held up a lamp, and it would be well for Ireland were all her children +like these her adopted ones. “But they are fierce and sanguinary,” it is +said. Ay, ay! they have not unfrequently opposed the keen sword to the +savage pike. “But they are bigoted and narrow-minded.” Ay, ay! they do +not like idolatry, and will not bow the knee before a stone! “But their +language is frequently indecorous.” Go to, my dainty one, did ye ever +listen to the voice of Papist cursing? + +The Irish Protestants have faults, numerous ones; but the greater number +of these may be traced to the peculiar circumstances of their position: +but they have virtues, numerous ones; and their virtues are their own, +their industry, their energy, and their undaunted resolution are their +own. They have been vilified and traduced—but what would Ireland be +without them? I repeat, that it would be well for her were all her sons +no worse than these much calumniated children of her adoption. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +Protestant Young Gentlemen—The Greek Letters—Open Chimney—Murtagh—Paris +and Salamanca—Nothing to do—To Whit, to Whoo!—The Pack of Cards—Before +Christmas. + +We continued at this place for some months, during which time the +soldiers performed their duties, whatever they were; and I, having no +duties to perform, was sent to school. I had been to English schools, +and to the celebrated one of Edinburgh; but my education, at the present +day, would not be what it is—perfect, had I never had the honour of being +_alumnus_ in an Irish seminary. + +“Captain,” said our kind host, “you would, no doubt, wish that the young +gentleman should enjoy every advantage which the town may afford towards +helping him on in the path of genteel learning. It’s a great pity that +he should waste his time in idleness—doing nothing else than what he says +he has been doing for the last fortnight—fishing in the river for trouts +which he never catches; and wandering up the glen in the mountain, in +search of the hips that grow there. Now, we have a school here, where he +can learn the most elegant Latin, and get an insight into the Greek +letters, which is desirable; and where, moreover, he will have an +opportunity of making acquaintance with all the Protestant young +gentlemen of the place, the handsome well-dressed young persons whom your +honour sees in the church on the Sundays, when your honour goes there in +the morning, with the rest of the Protestant military; for it is no +Papist school, though there may be a Papist or two there—a few poor +farmers’ sons from the country, with whom there is no necessity for your +honour’s child to form any acquaintance at all, at all!” + +And to the school I went, where I read the Latin tongue and the Greek +letters, with a nice old clergyman, who sat behind a black oaken desk, +with a huge Elzevir Flaccus before him, in a long gloomy kind of hall, +with a broken stone floor, the roof festooned with cobwebs, the walls +considerably dilapidated, and covered over with strange figures and +hieroglyphics, evidently produced by the application of burnt stick; and +there I made acquaintance with the Protestant young gentlemen of the +place, who, with whatever _éclat_ they might appear at church on a +Sunday, did assuredly not exhibit to much advantage in the school-room on +the week days, either with respect to clothes or looks. And there I was +in the habit of sitting on a large stone, before the roaring fire in the +huge open chimney, and entertaining certain of the Protestant young +gentlemen of my own age, seated on similar stones, with extraordinary +accounts of my own adventures, and those of the corps, with an occasional +anecdote extracted from the story-books of Hickathrift and Wight Wallace, +pretending to be conning the lesson all the while. + +And there I made acquaintance, notwithstanding the hint of the land lord, +with the Papist “gasoons,” as they were called, the farmers’ sons from +the country; and of these gasoons, of which there were three two might be +reckoned as nothing at all; in the third, however, I soon discovered that +there was something extraordinary. + +He was about sixteen years old, and above six feet high, dressed in a +gray suit; the coat, from its size, appeared to have been made for him +some ten years before. He was remarkably narrow-chested and +round-shouldered, owing, perhaps, as much to the tightness of his garment +as to the hand of nature. His face was long, and his complexion swarthy, +relieved, however, by certain freckles, with which the skin was +plentifully studded. He had strange wandering eyes, gray, and somewhat +unequal in size; they seldom rested on the book, but were generally +wandering about the room, from one object to another. Sometimes he would +fix them intently on the wall; and then suddenly starting, as if from a +reverie, he would commence making certain mysterious movements with his +thumbs and fore-fingers, as if he were shuffling something from him. + +One morning, as he sat by himself on a bench, engaged in this manner, I +went up to him, and said, “Good day, Murtagh; you do not seem to have +much to do?” + +“Faith, you may say that, Shorsha dear!—it is seldom much to do that I +have.” + +“And what are you doing with your hands?” + +“Faith, then, if I must tell you, I was e’en dealing with the cards.” + +“Do you play much at cards?” + +“Sorra a game, Shorsha, have I played with the cards since my uncle +Phelim, the thief, stole away the ould pack, when he went to settle in +the county Waterford!” + +“But you have other things to do?” + +“Sorra anything else has Murtagh to do that he cares about; and that +makes me dread so going home at nights.” + +“I should like to know all about you; where do you live, joy?” + +“Faith, then, ye shall know all about me, and where I live. It is at a +place called the Wilderness that I live, and they call it so, because it +is a fearful wild place, without any house near it but my father’s own; +and that’s where I live when at home.” + +“And your father is a farmer, I suppose?” + +“You may say that; and it is a farmer I should have been, like my brother +Denis, had not my uncle Phelim, the thief! tould my father to send me to +school, to learn Greek letters, that I might be made a saggart of, and +sent to Paris and Salamanca.” + +“And you would rather be a farmer than a priest?” + +“You may say that!—for, were I a farmer, like the rest, I should have +something to do, like the rest—something that I cared for—and I should +come home tired at night, and fall asleep, as the rest do, before the +fire; but when I comes home at night I am not tired, for I have been +doing nothing all day that I care for; and then I sits down and stares +about me, and at the fire, till I become frighted; and then I shouts to +my brother Denis, or to the gasoons, ‘Get up, I say, and let’s be doing +something; tell us a tale of Finn-ma-Coul, and how he lay down in the +Shannon’s bed, and let the river flow down his jaws!’ Arrah, Shorsha, I +wish you would come and stay with us, and tell us some o’ your sweet +stories of your ownself and the snake ye carried about wid ye. Faith, +Shorsha dear! that snake bates anything about Finn-ma-Coul or Brian +Boroo, the thieves two, bad luck to them!” + +“And do they get up and tell you stories?” + +“Sometimes they does, but oftenmost they curses me, and bids me be quiet! +But I can’t be quiet, either before the fire or abed; so I runs out of +the house, and stares at the rocks, at the trees, and sometimes at the +clouds, as they run a race across the bright moon; and, the more I +stares, the more frighted I grows, till I screeches and holloas. And +last night I went into the barn, and hid my face in the straw; and there, +as I lay and shivered in the straw, I heard a voice above my head singing +out ‘To whit, to whoo!’ and then up I starts, and runs into the house, +and falls over my brother Denis, as he lies at the fire. ‘What’s that +for?’ says he. ‘Get up, you thief!’ says I, ‘and be helping me. I have +been out in the barn, and an owl has crow’d at me!’” + +“And what has this to do with playing cards?” + +“Little enough, Shorsha dear!—If there were card-playing, I should not be +frighted.” + +“And why do you not play at cards?” + +“Did I not tell you that the thief, my uncle Phelim, stole away the pack? +If we had the pack, my brother Denis and the gasoons would be ready +enough to get up from their sleep before the fire, and play cards with me +for ha’pence, or eggs, or nothing at all; but the pack is gone—bad luck +to the thief who took it!” + +“And why don’t you buy another?” + +“Is it of buying you are speaking? And where am I to get the money?” + +“Ah! that’s another thing!” + +“Faith it is, honey!—And now the Christmas holidays is coming, when I +shall be at home by day as well as night, and then what am I to do? +Since I have been a saggarting, I have been good for nothing at +all—neither for work nor Greek—only to play cards! Faith, it’s going mad +I will be!” + +“I say, Murtagh!” + +“Yes, Shorsha dear!” + +“I have a pack of cards.” + +“You don’t say so, Shorsha ma vourneen?—you don’t say that you have cards +fifty-two?” + +“I do, though; and they are quite new—never been once used.” + +“And you’ll be lending them to me, I’ll warrant?” + +“Don’t think it!—But I’ll sell them to you, joy, if you like.” + +“Hanam mon Dioul! am I not after telling you that I have no money at +all?” + +“But you have as good as money, to me, at least; and I’ll take it in +exchange.” + +“What’s that, Shorsha dear?” + +“Irish!” + +“Irish?” + +“Yes, you speak Irish; I heard you talking it the other day to the +cripple. You shall teach me Irish.” + +“And is it a language-master you’d be making of me?” + +“To be sure!—what better can you do?—it would help you to pass your time +at school. You can’t learn Greek, so you must teach Irish!” + +Before Christmas, Murtagh was playing at cards with his brother Denis, +and I could speak a considerable quantity of broken Irish. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Templemore—Devil’s Mountain—No Companion—Force of Circumstance—Way of the +World—Ruined Castle—Grim and Desolate—The Donjon—Old Woman—My Own House. + +When Christmas was over, and the new year commenced, we broke up our +quarters, and marched away to Templemore. This was a large military +station, situated in a wild and thinly inhabited country. Extensive bogs +were in the neighbourhood, connected with the huge bog of Allan, the +Palus Mæotis of Ireland. Here and there was seen a ruined castle looming +through the mists of winter; whilst, at the distance of seven miles, rose +a singular mountain, exhibiting in its brow a chasm, or vacuum, just, for +all the world, as if a piece had been bitten out; a feat which, according +to the tradition of the country, had actually been performed by his +Satanic majesty, who, after flying for some leagues with the morsel in +his mouth, becoming weary, dropped it in the vicinity of Cashel, where it +may now be seen in the shape of a bold bluff hill, crowned with the ruins +of a stately edifice, probably built by some ancient Irish king. + +We had been here only a few days, when my brother, who, as I have before +observed, had become one of his Majesty’s officers, was sent on a +detachment to a village at about ten miles’ distance. He was not +sixteen, and, though three years older than myself, scarcely my equal in +stature, for I had become tall and large-limbed for my age; but there was +a spirit in him that would not have disgraced a general; and, nothing +daunted at the considerable responsibility which he was about to incur, +he marched sturdily out of the barrack-yard at the head of his party, +consisting of twenty light-infantry men, and a tall grenadier sergeant, +selected expressly by my father, for the soldier-like qualities which he +possessed, to accompany his son on this his first expedition. So out of +the barrack-yard, with something of an air, marched my dear brother, his +single drum and fife playing the inspiring old melody, + + “Marlbrouk is gone to the wars, + He’ll never return no more!” + +I soon missed my brother, for I was now alone, with no being, at all +assimilating in age, with whom I could exchange a word. Of late years, +from being almost constantly at school, I had cast aside, in a great +degree, my unsocial habits and natural reserve, but in the desolate +region in which we now were there was no school: and I felt doubly the +loss of my brother, whom, moreover, I tenderly loved for his own sake. +Books I had none, at least such “as I cared about;” and with respect to +the old volume, the wonders of which had first beguiled me into common +reading, I had so frequently pored over its pages, that I had almost got +its contents by heart. I was therefore in danger of falling into the +same predicament as Murtagh, becoming “frighted” from having nothing to +do! Nay, I had not even his resources; I cared not for cards, even if I +possessed them, and could find people disposed to play with them. +However, I made the most of circumstances, and roamed about the desolate +fields and bogs in the neighbourhood, sometimes entering the cabins of +the peasantry, with a “God’s blessing upon you, good people!” where I +would take my seat on the “stranger’s stone” at the corner of the hearth, +and, looking them full in the face, would listen to the carles and +carlines talking Irish. + +Ah, that Irish! How frequently do circumstances, at first sight the most +trivial and unimportant, exercise a mighty and permanent influence on our +habits and pursuits!—how frequently is a stream turned aside from its +natural course by some little rock or knoll, causing it to make an abrupt +turn! On a wild road in Ireland I had heard Irish spoken for the first +time; and I was seized with a desire to learn Irish, the acquisition of +which, in my case, became the stepping-stone to other languages. I had +previously learnt Latin, or rather Lilly; but neither Latin nor Lilly +made me a philologist. I had frequently heard French and other +languages, but had felt little desire to become acquainted with them; and +what, it may be asked, was there connected with the Irish calculated to +recommend it to my attention? + +First of all, and principally, I believe, the strangeness and singularity +of its tones; then there was something mysterious and uncommon associated +with its use. It was not a school language, to acquire which was +considered an imperative duty; no, no; nor was it a drawing-room +language, drawled out occasionally, in shreds and patches, by the ladies +of generals and other great dignitaries, to the ineffable dismay of poor +officers’ wives. Nothing of the kind; but a speech spoken in +out-of-the-way desolate places, and in cut-throat kens, where thirty +ruffians, at the sight of the king’s minions, would spring up with +brandished sticks and an “ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a +powder-magazine.” Such were the points connected with the Irish, which +first awakened in my mind the desire of acquiring it; and by acquiring it +I became, as I have already said, enamoured of languages. Having learnt +one by chance, I speedily, as the reader will perceive, learnt others, +some of which were widely different from Irish. + +Ah, that Irish! I am much indebted to it in more ways than one. But I +am afraid I have followed the way of the world, which is very much wont +to neglect original friends and benefactors. I frequently find myself, +at present, turning up my nose at Irish, when I hear it in the street; +yet I have still a kind of regard for it, the fine old language: + + “A labhair Padruic n’insefail nan riogh.” + +One of the most peculiar features of this part of Ireland is the ruined +castles, which are so thick and numerous that the face of the country +appears studded with them, it being difficult to choose any situation +from which one, at least, may not be descried. They are of various ages +and styles of architecture, some of great antiquity, like the stately +remains which crown the Crag of Cashel; others built by the early English +conquerors; others, and probably the greater part, erections of the times +of Elizabeth and Cromwell. The whole speaking monuments of the troubled +and insecure state of the country, from the most remote periods to a +comparatively modern time. + +From the windows of the room where I slept I had a view of one of these +old places—an indistinct one, it is true, the distance being too great to +permit me to distinguish more than the general outline. I had an anxious +desire to explore it. It stood to the south-east; in which direction, +however, a black bog intervened, which had more than once baffled all my +attempts to cross it. One morning, however, when the sun shone brightly +upon the old building, it appeared so near, that I felt ashamed at not +being able to accomplish a feat seemingly so easy; I determined, +therefore, upon another trial. I reached the bog, and was about to +venture upon its black surface, and to pick my way amongst its +innumerable holes, yawning horribly, and half filled with water black as +soot, when it suddenly occurred to me that there was a road to the south, +by following which I might find a more convenient route to the object of +my wishes. The event justified my expectations, for, after following the +road for some three miles, seemingly in the direction of the Devil’s +Mountain, I suddenly beheld the castle on my left. + +I diverged from the road, and, crossing two or three fields, came to a +small grassy plain, in the midst of which stood the castle. About a +gun-shot to the south was a small village, which had, probably, in +ancient days, sprung up beneath its protection. A kind of awe came over +me as I approached the old building. The sun no longer shone upon it, +and it looked so grim, so desolate and solitary; and here was I, in that +wild country, alone with that grim building before me. The village was +within sight, it is true; but it might be a village of the dead for what +I knew; no sound issued from it, no smoke was rising from its roofs, +neither man nor beast was visible, no life, no motion—it looked as +desolate as the castle itself. Yet I was bent on the adventure, and +moved on towards the castle across the green plain, occasionally casting +a startled glance around me; and now I was close to it. + +It was surrounded by a quadrangular wall, about ten feet in height, with +a square tower at each corner. At first I could discover no entrance; +walking round, however, to the northern side, I found a wide and lofty +gateway with a tower above it, similar to those at the angles of the +wall; on this side the ground sloped gently down towards the bog, which +was here skirted by an abundant growth of copsewood, and a few evergreen +oaks. I passed through the gateway, and found myself within a square +enclosure of about two acres. On one side rose a round and lofty keep, +or donjon, with a conical roof, part of which had fallen down, strewing +the square with its ruins. Close to the keep, on the other side, stood +the remains of an oblong house, built something in the modern style, with +various window-holes; nothing remained but the bare walls and a few +projecting stumps of beams, which seemed to have been half burnt. The +interior of the walls was blackened, as if by fire; fire also appeared at +one time to have raged out of the window-holes, for the outside about +them was black, portentously so. “I wonder what has been going on here!” +I exclaimed. + +There were echoes along the walls as I walked about the court. I entered +the keep by a low and frowning doorway: the lower floor consisted of a +large dungeon-like room, with a vaulted roof; on the left hand was a +winding staircase in the thickness of the wall; it looked anything but +inviting; yet I stole softly up, my heart beating. On the top of the +first flight of stairs was an arched doorway, to the left was a dark +passage, to the right, stairs leading still higher. I stepped under the +arch and found myself in an apartment somewhat similar to the one below, +but higher. There was an object at the farther end. + +An old woman, at least eighty, was seated on a stone, cowering over a few +sticks burning feebly on what had once been a right noble and cheerful +hearth; her side-glance was towards the doorway as I entered, for she had +heard my footsteps. I stood suddenly still, and her haggard glance +rested on my face. + +“Is this your house, mother?” I at length demanded, in the language which +I thought she would best understand. + +“Yes, my house, my own house; the house of the broken-hearted.” + +“Any other person’s house?” I demanded. + +“My own house, the beggar’s house—the accursed house of Cromwell!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +A Visit—Figure of a Man—The Dog of Peace—The Raw Wound—The Guard-room—Boy +Soldier—Person in Authority—Never Solitary—Clergyman and +Family—Still-Hunting—Fairy Man—Near Sunset—Bagg—Left-Handed Hitter—Irish +and Supernatural—At Swanton Morley. + +One morning I set out, designing to pay a visit to my brother, at the +place where he was detached; the distance was rather considerable, yet I +hoped to be back by evening fall, for I was now a shrewd walker, thanks +to constant practice. I set out early, and, directing my course towards +the north, I had in less than two hours accomplished considerably more +than half of the journey. The weather had been propitious; a slight +frost had rendered the ground firm to the tread, and the skies were +clear; but now a change came over the scene, the skies darkened and a +heavy snow-storm came on; the road then lay straight through a bog, and +was bounded by a deep trench on both sides; I was making the best of my +way, keeping as nearly as I could in the middle of the road, lest, +blinded by the snow which was frequently borne into my eyes by the wind, +I might fall into the dyke, when all at once I heard a shout to windward, +and turning my eyes I saw the figure of a man, and what appeared to be an +animal of some kind, coming across the bog with great speed, in the +direction of myself; the nature of the ground seemed to offer but little +impediment to these beings, both clearing the holes and abysses which lay +in their way with surprising agility; the animal was, however, some +slight way in advance, and, bounding over the dyke, appeared on the road +just before me. It was a dog, of what species I cannot tell, never +having seen the like before or since; the head was large and round; the +ears so tiny as scarcely to be discernible; the eyes of a fiery red: in +size it was rather small than large; and the coat, which was remarkably +smooth, as white as the falling flakes. It placed itself directly in my +path, and showing its teeth, and bristling its coat, appeared determined +to prevent my progress. I had an ashen stick in my hand, with which I +threatened it; this, however, only served to increase its fury; it rushed +upon me, and I had the utmost difficulty to preserve myself from its +fangs. + +“What are you doing with the dog, the fairy dog?” said a man, who at this +time likewise cleared the dyke at a bound. + +He was a very tall man, rather well dressed as it should seem; his +garments, however, were like my own, so covered with snow that I could +scarcely discern their quality. + +“What are ye doing with the dog of peace?” + +“I wish he would show himself one,” said I; “I said nothing to him, but +he placed himself in my road, and would not let me pass.” + +“Of course he would not be letting you till he knew where ye were going.” + +“He’s not much of a fairy,” said I, “or he would know that without +asking; tell him that I am going to see my brother.” + +“And who is your brother, little Sas?” + +“What my father is, a royal soldier.” + +“Oh, ye are going then to the detachment at ---; by my shoul, I have a +good mind to be spoiling your journey.” + +“You are doing that already,” said I, “keeping me here talking about dogs +and fairies; you had better go home and get some salve to cure that place +over your eye; it’s catching cold you’ll be, in so much snow.” + +On one side of the man’s forehead there was a raw and staring wound, as +if from a recent and terrible blow. + +“Faith, then I’ll be going, but it’s taking you wid me I will be.” + +“And where will you take me?” + +“Why, then, to Ryan’s Castle, little Sas.” + +“You do not speak the language very correctly,” said I; “it is not Sas +you should call me—’tis Sassanach,” and forthwith I accompanied the word +with a speech full of flowers of Irish rhetoric. + +The man looked upon me for a moment, fixedly, then, bending his head +towards his breast, he appeared to be undergoing a kind of convulsion, +which was accompanied by a sound something resembling laughter; presently +he looked at me, and there was a broad grin on his features. + +“By my shoul, it’s a thing of peace I’m thinking ye.” + +But now with a whisking sound came running down the road a hare; it was +nearly upon us before it perceived us; suddenly stopping short, however, +it sprang into the bog on the right-hand side; after it amain bounded the +dog of peace, followed by the man, but not until he had nodded to me a +farewell salutation. In a few moments I lost sight of him amidst the +snow-flakes. + +The weather was again clear and fine before I reached the place of +detachment. It was a little wooden barrack, surrounded by a wall of the +same material; a sentinel stood at the gate, I passed by him, and, +entering the building, found myself in a rude kind of guard-room; several +soldiers were lying asleep on a wooden couch at one end, others lounged +on benches by the side of a turf fire. The tall sergeant stood before +the fire, holding a cooking utensil in his left hand; on seeing me, he +made the military salutation. + +“Is my brother here?” said I, rather timidly, dreading to hear that he +was out, perhaps for the day. + +“The ensign is in his room, sir,” said Bagg, “I am now preparing his +meal, which will presently be ready; you will find the ensign above +stairs,” and he pointed to a broken ladder which led to some place above. + +And there I found him—the boy soldier—in a kind of upper loft, so low +that I could touch with my hands the sooty rafters; the floor was of +rough boards, through the joints of which you could see the gleam of the +soldiers’ fire, and occasionally discern their figures as they moved +about; in one corner was a camp bedstead, by the side of which hung the +child’s sword, gorget, and sash; a deal table stood in the proximity of +the rusty grate, where smoked and smouldered a pile of black turf from +the bog,—a deal table without a piece of baize to cover it, yet fraught +with things not devoid of interest: a Bible, given by a mother; the +Odyssey, the Greek Odyssey; a flute, with broad silver keys; crayons, +moreover, and water colours; and a sketch of a wild prospect near, which, +though but half finished, afforded ample proof of the excellence and +skill of the boyish hand now occupied upon it. + +Ah! he was a sweet being, that boy soldier, a plant of early promise, +bidding fair to become in after time all that is great, good, and +admirable. I have read of a remarkable Welshman, of whom it was said, +when the grave closed over him, that he could frame a harp, and play it; +build a ship, and sail it; compose an ode, and set it to music. A brave +fellow that son of Wales—but I had once a brother who could do more and +better than this, but the grave has closed over him, as over the gallant +Welshman of yore; there are now but two that remember him—the one who +bore him, and the being who was nurtured at the same breast. He was +taken, and I was left!—Truly the ways of Providence are inscrutable. + +“You seem to be very comfortable, John,” said I, looking around the room +and at the various objects which I have described above: “you have a good +roof over your head, and have all your things about you.” + +“Yes, I am very comfortable, George, in many respects; I am, moreover, +independent, and feel myself a man for the first time in my +life—independent, did I say?—that’s not the word, I am something much +higher than that; here am I, not sixteen yet, a person in authority, like +the centurion in the book there, with twenty Englishmen under me, worth a +whole legion of his men, and that fine fellow Bagg to wait upon me, and +take my orders. Oh! these last six weeks have passed like hours of +heaven.” + +“But your time must frequently hang heavy on your hands; this is a +strange wild place, and you must be very solitary?” + +“I am never solitary; I have, as you see, all my things about me, and +there is plenty of company below stairs. Not that I mix with the +soldiers; if I did, good-bye to my authority; but when I am alone I can +hear all their discourse through the planks, and I often laugh to myself +at the funny things they say.” + +“And have you any acquaintance here?” + +“The very best; much better than the Colonel and the rest, at their grand +Templemore; I had never so many in my whole life before. One has just +left me, a gentleman who lives at a distance across the bog; he comes to +talk with me about Greek, and the Odyssey, for he is a very learned man, +and understands the old Irish, and various other strange languages. He +has had a dispute with Bagg. On hearing his name, he called him to him, +and, after looking at him for some time with great curiosity, said that +he was sure he was a Dane. Bagg, however, took the compliment in +dudgeon, and said that he was no more a Dane than himself, but a +true-born Englishman, and a sergeant of six years’ standing.” + +“And what other acquaintance have you?” + +“All kinds; the whole neighbourhood can’t make enough of me. Amongst +others there’s the clergyman of the parish and his family; such a +venerable old man, such fine sons and daughters! I am treated by them +like a son and brother—I might be always with them if I pleased; there’s +one drawback, however, in going to see them; there’s a horrible creature +in the house, a kind of tutor, whom they keep more from charity than +anything else; he is a Papist and, they say, a priest; you should see him +scowl sometimes at my red coat, for he hates the king, and not +unfrequently, when the king’s health is drunk, curses him between his +teeth. I once got up to strike him; but the youngest of the sisters, who +is the handsomest, caught my arm and pointed to her forehead.” + +“And what does your duty consist of? Have you nothing else to do than +pay visits and receive them?” + +“We do what is required of us, we guard this edifice, perform our +evolutions, and help the excise; I am frequently called up in the dead of +night to go to some wild place or other in quest of an illicit still; +this last part of our duty is poor mean work, I don’t like it, nor more +does Bagg; though without it, we should not see much active service, for +the neighbourhood is quiet; save the poor creatures with their stills, +not a soul is stirring. ’Tis true there’s Jerry Grant.” + +“And who is Jerry Grant?” + +“Did you never hear of him? that’s strange, the whole country is talking +about him; he is a kind of outlaw rebel, or robber, all three, I daresay; +there’s a hundred pounds offered for his head.” + +“And where does he live?” + +“His proper home, they say, is in the Queen’s County, where he has a +band, but he is a strange fellow, fond of wandering about by himself +amidst the bogs and mountains, and living in the old castles; +occasionally he quarters himself in the peasants’ houses, who let him do +just what he pleases; he is free of his money, and often does them good +turns, and can be good-humoured enough, so they don’t dislike him. Then +he is what they call a fairy man, a person in league with fairies and +spirits, and able to work much harm by supernatural means on which +account they hold him in great awe; he is, moreover, a mighty strong and +tall fellow. Bagg has seen him.” + +“Has he?” + +“Yes! and felt him; he too is a strange one. A few days ago he was told +that Grant had been seen hovering about an old castle some two miles off +in the bog; so one afternoon what does he do but, without saying a word +to me—for which, by the bye, I ought to put him under arrest, though what +I should do without Bagg I have no idea whatever—what does he do but walk +off to the castle, intending, as I suppose, to pay a visit to Jerry. He +had some difficulty in getting there on account of the turf-holes in the +bog, which he was not accustomed to; however, thither at last he got and +went in. It was a strange lonesome place, he says, and he did not much +like the look of it; however, in he went, and searched about from the +bottom to the top and down again, but could find no one; he shouted and +hallooed, but nobody answered, save the rooks and choughs, which started +up in great numbers. ‘I have lost my trouble,’ said Bagg, and left the +castle. It was now late in the afternoon, near sunset, when about half +way over the bog he met a man—” + +“And that man was—” + +“Jerry Grant! there’s no doubt of it. Bagg says it was the most sudden +thing in the world. He was moving along, making the best of his way, +thinking of nothing at all save a public-house at Swanton Morley, which +he intends to take when he gets home and the regiment is disbanded—though +I hope that will not be for some time yet: he had just leaped a +turf-hole, and was moving on, when, at the distance of about six yards +before him, he saw a fellow coming straight towards him. Bagg says that +he stopped short, as suddenly as if he had heard the word halt, when +marching at double quick time. It was quite a surprise, he says, and he +can’t imagine how the fellow was so close upon him before he was aware. +He was an immense tall fellow—Bagg thinks at least two inches taller than +himself—very well dressed in a blue coat and buff breeches for all the +world like a squire when going out hunting. Bagg, however, saw at once +that he had a roguish air, and he was on his guard in a moment. ‘Good +evening to ye, sodger,’ says the fellow, stepping close up to Bagg, and +staring him in the face. ‘Good evening to you, sir! I hope you are +well,’ says Bagg. ‘You are looking after some one?’ says the fellow. +‘Just so, sir,’ says Bagg, and forthwith seized him by the collar; the +man laughed, Bagg says it was such a strange awkward laugh. ‘Do you know +whom you have got hold of, sodger?’ says he. ‘I believe I do, sir,’ said +Bagg, ‘and in that belief will hold you fast in the name of King George, +and the quarter sessions;’ the next moment he was sprawling with his +heels in the air. Bagg says there was nothing remarkable in that; he was +only flung by a kind of wrestling trick, which he could easily have +baffled, had he been aware of it. ‘You will not do that again, sir,’ +said he, as he got up and put himself on his guard. The fellow laughed +again more strangely and awkwardly than before; then, bending his body +and moving his head from one side to the other as a cat does before she +springs, and crying out, ‘Here’s for ye, sodger!’ he made a dart at Bagg, +rushing in with his head foremost. ‘That will do, sir,’ says Bagg, and, +drawing himself back, he put in a left-handed blow with all the force of +his body and arm, just over the fellow’s right eye—Bagg is a left-handed +hitter, you must know—and it was a blow of that kind which won him his +famous battle at Edinburgh with the big Highland sergeant. Bagg says +that he was quite satisfied with the blow, more especially when he saw +the fellow reel, fling out his arms, and fall to the ground. ‘And now, +sir,’ said he, ‘I’ll make bold to hand you over to the quarter sessions, +and, if there is a hundred pounds for taking you, who has more right to +it than myself?’ So he went forward, but ere he could lay hold of his +man the other was again on his legs, and was prepared to renew the +combat. They grappled each other—Bagg says he had not much fear of the +result, as he now felt himself the best man, the other seeming half +stunned with the blow—but just then there came on a blast, a horrible +roaring wind bearing night upon its wings, snow, and sleet, and hail. +Bagg says he had the fellow by the throat quite fast, as he thought, but +suddenly he became bewildered, and knew not where he was; and the man +seemed to melt away from his grasp, and the wind howled more and more, +and the night poured down darker and darker; the snow and the sleet +thicker and more blinding. ‘Lord, have mercy upon us!’ said Bagg.” + +_Myself_. A strange adventure that; it is well that Bagg got home alive. + +_John_. He says that the fight was a fair fight, and that the fling he +got was a fair fling, the result of a common enough wrestling trick. But +with respect to the storm, which rose up just in time to save the fellow, +he is of opinion that it was not fair, but something Irish and +supernatural. + +_Myself_. I dare say he’s right. I have read of witchcraft in the +Bible. + +_John_. He wishes much to have one more encounter with the fellow; he +says that on fair ground, and in fine weather, he has no doubt that he +could master him, and hand him over to the quarter sessions. He says +that a hundred pounds would be no bad thing to be disbanded upon; for he +wishes to take an inn at Swanton Morley, keep a cock-pit, and live +respectably. + +_Myself_. He is quite right; and now kiss me, my darling brother, for I +must go back through the bog to Templemore. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +Groom and Cob—Strength and Symmetry—Where’s the Saddle—The First Ride—No +more Fatigue—Love for Horses—Pursuit of Words—Philologist and Pegasus—The +Smith—What more, Agrah?—Sassanach Ten Pence. + +And it came to pass that, as I was standing by the door of the barrack +stable, one of the grooms came out to me, saying, “I say, young +gentleman, I wish you would give the cob a breathing this fine morning.” + +“Why do you wish me to mount him?” said I; “you know; he is dangerous. I +saw him fling you off his back only a few days ago.” + +“Why, that’s the very thing, master. I’d rather see anybody on his back +than myself; he does not like me; but, to them he does, he can be as +gentle as a lamb.” + +“But suppose,” said I, “that he should not like me?” + +“We shall soon see that, master,” said the groom; “and if so be he shows +temper, I will be the first to tell you to get down. But there’s no fear +of that; you have never angered or insulted him, and to such as you, I +say again, he’ll be as gentle as a lamb.” + +“And how came you to insult him,” said I, “knowing his temper as you do?” + +“Merely through forgetfulness, master: I was riding him about a month +ago, and having a stick in my hand, I struck him, thinking I was on +another horse, or rather thinking of nothing at all. He has never +forgiven me, though before that time he was the only friend I had in the +world; I should like to see you on him, master.” + +“I should soon be off him: I can’t ride.” + +“Then you are all right, master; there’s no fear. Trust him for not +hurting a young gentleman, an officer’s son, who can’t ride. If you were +a blackguard dragoon, indeed, with long spurs, ’twere another thing; as +it is, he’ll treat you as if he were the elder brother that loves you. +Ride! he’ll soon teach you to ride, if you leave the matter with him. +He’s the best riding master in all Ireland, and the gentlest.” + +The cob was led forth; what a tremendous creature! I had frequently seen +him before, and wondered at him; he was barely fifteen hands, but he had +the girth of a metropolitan dray-horse; his head was small in comparison +with his immense neck, which curved down nobly to his wide back: his +chest was broad and fine, and his shoulders models of symmetry and +strength; he stood well and powerfully upon his legs, which were somewhat +short. In a word, he was a gallant specimen of the genuine Irish cob, a +species at one time not uncommon, but at the present day nearly extinct. + +“There!” said the groom, as he looked at him, half-admiringly, half +sorrowfully, “with sixteen stone on his back, he’ll trot fourteen miles +in one hour, with your nine stone, some two and a half more, ay, and +clear a six-foot wall at the end of it.” + +“I’m half afraid,” said I; “I had rather you would ride him.” + +“I’d rather so, too, if he would let me; but he remembers the blow. Now, +don’t be afraid, young master, he’s longing to go out himself. He’s been +trampling with his feet these three days, and I know what that means; +he’ll let anybody ride him but myself, and thank them; but to me he says, +‘No! you struck me.’” + +“But,” said I, “where’s the saddle?” + +“Never mind the saddle; if you are ever to be a frank rider, you must +begin without a saddle; besides, if he felt a saddle, he would think you +don’t trust him, and leave you to yourself. Now, before you mount, make +his acquaintance—see there, how he kisses you and licks your face, and +see how he lifts his foot, that’s to shake hands. You may trust him—now +you are on his back at last; mind how you hold the bridle—gently, gently! +It’s not four pair of hands like yours can hold him if he wishes to be +off. Mind what I tell you—leave it all to him.” + +Off went the cob at a slow and gentle trot, too fast, however, for so +inexperienced a rider. I soon felt myself sliding off, the animal +perceived it too, and instantly stood stone still till I had righted +myself; and now the groom came up: “When you feel yourself going,” said +he, “don’t lay hold of the mane, that’s no use; mane never yet saved man +from falling, no more than straw from drowning; it’s his sides you must +cling to with your calves and feet, till you learn to balance yourself. +That’s it, now abroad with you; I’ll bet my comrade a pot of beer that +you’ll be a regular rough rider by the time you come back.” + +And so it proved; I followed the directions of the groom, and the cob +gave me every assistance. How easy is riding, after the first timidity +is got over, to supple and youthful limbs; and there is no second fear. +The creature soon found that the nerves of his rider were in proper tone. +Turning his head half round he made a kind of whining noise, flung out a +little foam, and set off. + +In less than two hours I had made the circuit of the Devil’s Mountain, +and was returning along the road, bathed with perspiration, but screaming +with delight; the cob laughing in his equine way, scattering foam and +pebbles to the left and right, and trotting at the rate of sixteen miles +an hour. + +Oh, that ride! that first ride!—most truly it was an epoch in my +existence; and I still look back to it with feelings of longing and +regret. People may talk of first love—it is a very agreeable event, I +dare say—but give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious sweat of a +first ride, like mine on the mighty cob! My whole frame was shaken, it +is true; and during one long week I could hardly move foot or hand; but +what of that? By that one trial I had become free, as I may say, of the +whole equine species. No more fatigue, no more stiffness of joints, +after that first ride round the Devil’s Hill on the cob. + +Oh, that cob; that Irish cob!—may the sod lie lightly over the bones of +the strongest, speediest, and most gallant of its kind! Oh! the days +when, issuing from the barrack-gate of Templemore, we commenced our +hurry-skurry just as inclination led—now across the fields—direct over +stone walls and running brooks—mere pastime for the cob!—sometimes along +the road to Thurles and Holy Cross, even to distant Cahir!—what was +distance to the cob? + +It was thus that the passion for the equine race was first awakened +within me—a passion which, up to the present time, has been rather on the +increase than diminishing. It is no blind passion; the horse being a +noble and generous creature, intended by the All-Wise to be the helper +and friend of man, to whom he stands next in the order of creation. On +many occasions of my life I have been much indebted to the horse, and +have found in him a friend and coadjutor, when human help and sympathy +were not to be obtained. It is therefore natural enough that I should +love the horse; but the love which I entertain for him has always been +blended with respect; for I soon perceived that, though disposed to be +the friend and helper of man, he is by no means inclined to be his slave; +in which respect he differs from the dog, who will crouch when beaten; +whereas the horse spurns, for he is aware of his own worth, and that he +carries death within the horn of his heel. If, therefore, I found it +easy to love the horse, I found it equally natural to respect him. + +I much question whether philology, or the passion for languages, requires +so little of an apology as the love for horses. It has been said, I +believe, that the more languages a man speaks, the more a man is he; +which is very true, provided he acquires languages as a medium for +becoming acquainted with the thoughts and feelings of the various +sections into which the human race is divided; but, in that case, he +should rather be termed a philosopher than a philologist—between which +two the difference is wide indeed! An individual may speak and read a +dozen languages, and yet be an exceedingly poor creature, scarcely half a +man; and the pursuit of tongues for their own sake, and the mere +satisfaction of acquiring them, surely argues an intellect of a very low +order; a mind disposed to be satisfied with mean and grovelling things; +taking more pleasure in the trumpery casket than in the precious treasure +which it contains, in the pursuit of words, than in the acquisition of +ideas. + +I cannot help thinking that it was fortunate for myself, who am, to a +certain extent, a philologist, that with me the pursuit of languages has +been always modified by the love of horses; for scarcely had I turned my +mind to the former, when I also mounted the wild cob, and hurried forth +in the direction of the Devil’s Hill, scattering dust and flint-stones on +every side; that ride, amongst other things, taught me that a lad with +thews and sinews was intended by nature for something better than mere +word-culling; and if I have accomplished anything in after life worthy of +mentioning, I believe it may partly be attributed to the ideas which that +ride, by setting my blood in a glow, infused into my brain. I might, +otherwise, have become a mere philologist; one of those beings who toil +night and day in culling useless words for some _opus magnum_ which +Murray will never publish, and nobody ever read; beings without +enthusiasm, who, having never mounted a generous steed, cannot detect a +good point in Pegasus himself; like a certain philologist, who, though +acquainted with the exact value of every word in the Greek and Latin +languages, could observe no particular beauty in one of the most glorious +of Homer’s rhapsodies. What knew he of Pegasus? he had never mounted a +generous steed; the merest jockey, had the strain been interpreted to +him, would have called it a brave song!—I return to the brave cob. + +On a certain day I had been out on an excursion. In a cross-road, at +some distance from the Satanic hill, the animal which I rode cast a shoe. +By good luck a small village was at hand, at the entrance of which was a +large shed, from which proceeded a most furious noise of hammering. +Leading the cob by the bridle, I entered boldly. “Shoe this horse, and +do it quickly, a gough,” said I to a wild grimy figure of a man, whom I +found alone, fashioning a piece of iron. + +“Arrigod yuit?” said the fellow, desisting from his work, and staring at +me. + +“O yes, I have money,” said I, “and of the best;” and I pulled out an +English shilling. + +“Tabhair chugam?” said the smith, stretching out his grimy hand. + +“No, I sha’n’t,” said I; “some people are glad to get their money when +their work is done.” + +The fellow hammered a little longer, and then proceeded to shoe the cob, +after having first surveyed it with attention. He performed his job +rather roughly, and more than once appeared to give the animal +unnecessary pain, frequently making use of loud and boisterous words. By +the time the work was done, the creature was in a state of high +excitement, and plunged and tore. The smith stood at a short distance, +seeming to enjoy the irritation of the animal, and showing, in a +remarkable manner, a huge fang, which projected from the under jaw of a +very wry mouth. + +“You deserve better handling,” said I, as I went up to the cob and +fondled it; whereupon it whinnied, and attempted to touch my face with +its nose. + +“Are ye not afraid of that beast?” said the smith, showing his fang. +“Arrah, it’s vicious that he looks!” + +“It’s at you, then!—I don’t fear him;” and thereupon I passed under the +horse, between his hind legs. + +“And is that all you can do, agrah?” said the smith. + +“No,” said I, “I can ride him.” + +“Ye can ride him, and what else, agrah?” + +“I can leap him over a six-foot wall,” said I. + +“Over a wall, and what more, agrah?” + +“Nothing more,” said I; “what more would you have?” + +“Can you do this, agrah?” said the smith; and he uttered a word which I +had never heard before, in a sharp pungent tone. The effect upon myself +was somewhat extraordinary, a strange thrill ran through me; but with +regard to the cob it was terrible; the animal forthwith became like one +mad, and reared and kicked with the utmost desperation. + +“Can you do that, agrah?” said the smith. + +“What is it?” said I, retreating, “I never saw the horse so before.” + +“Go between his legs, agrah,” said the smith, “his hinder legs;” and he +again showed his fang. + +“I dare not,” said I, “he would kill me.” + +“He would kill ye! and how do ye know that, agrah?” + +“I feel he would,” said I, “something tells me so.” + +“And it tells ye truth, agrah; but it’s a fine beast, and it’s a pity to +see him in such a state: Is agam an’t leigeas”—and here he uttered +another word in a voice singularly modified, but sweet and almost +plaintive; the effect of it was as instantaneous as that of the other, +but how different!—the animal lost all its fury, and became at once calm +and gentle. The smith went up to it, coaxed and patted it, making use of +various sounds of equal endearment, then turning to me, and holding out +once more the grimy hand, he said, “And now ye will be giving me the +Sassanach ten pence, agrah?” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +A Fine Old City—Norman Master-Work—Lollards’ Hole—Good Blood—The +Spaniard’s Sword—Old Retired Officer—Writing to a Duke—God help the +Child—Nothing like Jacob—Irish Brigades—Old Sergeant Meredith—I Have Been +Young—Idleness—Only Course Open—The Bookstall—A Portrait—A Banished +Priest. + +From the wild scenes which I have attempted to describe in the latter +pages I must now transport the reader to others of a widely different +character. He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in the +eastern corner of merry England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have +disappeared amidst the vapours of the west: I have nothing more to say of +them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that +kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and better +things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old city before +us, and first of that let me speak. + +A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will; but +it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated, +overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from +those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken, even +in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At +the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique +bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either +side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the +city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present +extant of the genuine old English town. Yes, there it spreads from north +to south, with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice +twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks true, was +raised by human hands to serve as the grave heap of an old heathen king, +who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand, and his gold and +silver treasures about him. There is a grey old castle upon the top of +that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three hundred feet above the soil, +from among those noble forest trees, behold that old Norman master-work, +that cloud-encircled cathedral spire, around which a garrulous army of +rooks and choughs continually wheel their flight. Now, who can wonder +that the children of that fine old city are proud of her, and offer up +prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, who was not born within her +walls, offer up prayers for her prosperity, that want may never visit her +cottages, vice her palaces, and that the abomination of idolatry may +never pollute her temples. Ha, idolatry! the reign of idolatry has been +over there for many a long year, never more, let us hope, to return; +brave hearts in that old town have borne witness against it, and sealed +their testimony with their hearts’ blood—most precious to the Lord is the +blood of His saints! we are not far from hallowed ground. Observe ye not +yon chalky precipice, to the right of the Norman bridge? On this side of +the stream, upon its brow, is a piece of ruined wall, the last relic of +what was of old a stately pile, whilst at its foot is a place called the +Lollards’ Hole; and with good reason, for many a saint of God has +breathed his last beneath that white precipice, bearing witness against +popish idolatry, midst flame and pitch; many a grisly procession has +advanced along that suburb, across the old bridge, towards the Lollards’ +Hole: furious priests in front, a calm pale martyr in the midst, a +pitying multitude behind. It has had its martyrs, the venerable old +town! + +Ah! there is good blood in that old city, and in the whole circumjacent +region of which it is the capital. The Angles possessed the land at an +early period, which, however, they were eventually compelled to share +with hordes of Danes and Northmen, who flocked thither across the sea to +found hearthsteads on its fertile soil. The present race, a mixture of +Angles and Danes, still preserve much which speaks strongly of their +northern ancestry; amongst them ye will find the light-brown hair of the +north, the strong and burly forms of the north, many a wild superstition, +ay, and many a wild name connected with the ancient history of the north +and its sublime mythology; the warm heart, and the strong heart of the +old Danes and Saxons still beat in those regions, and there ye will find, +if anywhere, old northern hospitality and kindness of manner, united with +energy, perseverance, and dauntless intrepidity; better soldiers or +mariners never bled in their country’s battles than those nurtured in +those regions, and within those old walls. It was yonder, to the west, +that the great naval hero of Britain first saw the light; he who +annihilated the sea pride of Spain, and dragged the humbled banner of +France in triumph at his stern. He was born yonder, towards the west, +and of him there is a glorious relic in that old town; in its dark flint +guildhouse, the roof of which you can just descry rising above that maze +of buildings, in the upper hall of justice, is a species of glass shrine, +in which the relic is to be seen; a sword of curious workmanship, the +blade is of keen Toledan steel, the heft of ivory and mother-of-pearl. +’Tis the sword of Cordova, won in bloodiest fray off Saint Vincent’s +promontory, and presented by Nelson to the old capital of the much-loved +land of his birth. Yes, the proud Spaniard’s sword is to be seen in +yonder guildhouse, in the glass case affixed to the wall: many other +relics has the good old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard’s sword. + +Such was the place to which, when the war was over, my father retired: it +was here that the old tired soldier set himself down with his little +family. He had passed the greater part of his life in meritorious +exertion, in the service of his country, and his chief wish now was to +spend the remainder of his days in quiet and respectability; his means, +it is true, were not very ample; fortunate it was that his desires +corresponded with them: with a small fortune of his own, and with his +half-pay as a royal soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his +faithful partner and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to +provide for them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world? This +was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, and I believe +that many an old retired officer at that time, and under similar +circumstances, experienced similar anxiety; had the war continued, their +children would have been, of course, provided for in the army, but peace +now reigned, and the military career was closed to all save the scions of +the aristocracy, or those who were in some degree connected with that +privileged order, an advantage which few of these old officers could +boast of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves +very little trouble either about them or their families. + +“I have been writing to the Duke,” said my father one day to my excellent +mother, after we had been at home somewhat better than a year, “I have +been writing to the Duke of York about a commission for that eldest boy +of ours. He, however, affords me no hopes; he says that his list is +crammed with names, and that the greater number of the candidates have +better claims than my son.” + +“I do not see how that can be,” said my mother. + +“Nor do I,” replied my father. “I see the sons of bankers and merchants +gazetted every month, and I do not see what claims they have to urge, +unless they be golden ones. However, I have not served my king fifty +years to turn grumbler at this time of life. I suppose that the people +at the head of affairs know what is most proper and convenient; perhaps +when the lad sees how difficult, nay, how impossible it is that he should +enter the army, he will turn his mind to some other profession; I wish he +may!” + +“I think he has already,” said my mother; “you see how fond he is of the +arts, of drawing and painting, and, as far as I can judge, what he has +already done is very respectable; his mind seems quite turned that way, +and I heard him say the other day that he would sooner be a Michael +Angelo than a general officer. But you are always talking of him; what +do you think of doing with the other child?” + +“What, indeed!” said my father; “that is a consideration which gives me +no little uneasiness. I am afraid it will be much more difficult to +settle him in life than his brother. What is he fitted for, even were it +in my power to provide for him? God help the child! I bear him no +ill-will, on the contrary, all love and affection; but I cannot shut my +eyes; there is something so strange about him! How he behaved in +Ireland! I sent him to school to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!” + +“And Greek as well,” said my mother. “I heard him say the other day that +he could read St. John in the original tongue.” + +“You will find excuses for him, I know,” said my father. “You tell me I +am always thinking of my first-born; I might retort by saying you are +always thinking of the other; but it is the way of women always to side +with the second-born. There’s what’s her name in the Bible, by whose +wiles the old blind man was induced to give to his second son the +blessing which was the birthright of the other. I wish I had been in his +place! I should not have been so easily deceived! no disguise would ever +have caused me to mistake an impostor for my first-born. Though I must +say for this boy that he is nothing like Jacob; he is neither smooth nor +sleek, and, though my second-born, he is already taller and larger than +his brother.” + +“Just so,” said my mother, “his brother would make a far better Jacob +than he.” + +“I will hear nothing against my first-born,” said my father, “even in the +way of insinuation: he is my joy and pride; the very image of myself in +my youthful days, long before I fought Big Ben; though perhaps not quite +so tall or strong built. As for the other, God bless the child! I love +him, I’m sure; but I must be blind not to see the difference between him +and his brother. Why, he has neither my hair nor my eyes; and then his +countenance! why, ’tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost +said like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the +boy is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair and +eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!—I confess I do not like them, and +that they give me no little uneasiness—I know that he kept very strange +company when he was in Ireland; people of evil report, of whom terrible +things were said—horse-witches and the like. I questioned him once or +twice upon the matter, and even threatened him, but it was of no use; he +put on a look as if he did not understand me, a regular Irish look, just +such a one as those rascals assume when they wish to appear all innocence +and simplicity, and they full of malice and deceit all the time. I don’t +like them; they are no friends to old England, or its old king, God bless +him! They are not good subjects, and never were; always in league with +foreign enemies. When I was in the Coldstream, long before the +Revolution, I used to hear enough about the Irish brigades kept by the +French kings, to be a thorn in the side of the English whenever +opportunity served. Old Sergeant Meredith once told me, that in the time +of the Pretender there were always, in London alone, a dozen of fellows +connected with these brigades, with the view of seducing the king’s +soldiers from their allegiance, and persuading them to desert to France +to join the honest Irish, as they were called. One of these traitors +once accosted him and proposed the matter to him, offering handfuls of +gold if he could induce any of his comrades to go over. Meredith +appeared to consent, but secretly gave information to his colonel; the +fellow was seized, and certain traitorous papers found upon him; he was +hanged before Newgate, and died exulting in his treason. His name was +Michael Nowlan. That ever son of mine should have been intimate with the +Papist Irish, and have learnt their language!” + +“But he thinks of other things now,” said my mother. + +“Other languages, you mean,” said my father. “It is strange that he has +conceived such a zest for the study of languages; no sooner did he come +home than he persuaded me to send him to that old priest to learn French +and Italian, and, if I remember right, you abetted him; but, as I said +before, it is in the nature of women invariably to take the part of the +second-born. Well, there is no harm in learning French and Italian, +perhaps much good in his case, as they may drive the other tongue out of +his head. Irish! why, he might go to the university but for that; but +how would he look when, on being examined with respect to his +attainments, it was discovered that he understood Irish? How did you +learn it? they would ask him; how did you become acquainted with the +language of Papists and rebels? The boy would be sent away in disgrace.” + +“Be under no apprehension, I have no doubt that he has long since +forgotten it.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” said my father; “for, between ourselves, I love +the poor child; ay, quite as well as my first-born. I trust they will do +well, and that God will be their shield and guide; I have no doubt He +will, for I have read something in the Bible to that effect. What is +that text about the young ravens being fed?” + +“I know a better than that,” said my mother; “one of David’s own words, +‘I have been young and now am grown old, yet never have I seen the +righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread.’” + +I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own firm +belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it. Mere idleness is the +most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are +continually making efforts to escape from it. It has been said that +idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief +itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness. +There are many tasks and occupations which a man is unwilling to perform, +but let no one think that he is therefore in love with idleness; he turns +to something which is more agreeable to his inclination, and doubtless +more suited to his nature; but he is not in love with idleness. A boy +may play the truant from school because he dislikes books and study; but, +depend upon it, he intends doing something the while—to go fishing, or +perhaps to take a walk; and who knows but that from such excursions both +his mind and body may derive more benefit than from books and school? +Many people go to sleep to escape from idleness; the Spaniards do; and, +according to the French account, John Bull, the ’squire, hangs himself in +the month of November; but the French, who are a very sensible people, +attribute the action, “_à une grande envie de se désennuyer_;” he wishes +to be doing something, say they, and having nothing better to do, he has +recourse to the cord. + +It was for want of something better to do that, shortly after my return +home, I applied myself to the study of languages. By the acquisition of +Irish, with the first elements of which I had become acquainted under the +tuition of Murtagh, I had contracted a certain zest and inclination for +the pursuit. Yet it is probable, that had I been launched about this +time into some agreeable career, that of arms, for example, for which, +being the son of a soldier, I had, as was natural, a sort of penchant, I +might have thought nothing more of the acquisition of tongues of any +kind; but, having nothing to do, I followed the only course suited to my +genius which appeared open to me. + +So it came to pass that one day, whilst wandering listlessly about the +streets of the old town, I came to a small book-stall, and stopping, +commenced turning over the books; I took up at least a dozen, and almost +instantly flung them down. What were they to me? At last, coming to a +thick volume, I opened it, and after inspecting its contents for a few +minutes, I paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried it home. + +It was a tessara-glot grammar; a strange old book, printed somewhere in +Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of the +French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English tongues, by means of which any +one conversant in any one of these languages could make himself master of +the other three. I turned my attention to the French and Italian. The +old book was not of much value; I derived some benefit from it, however, +and, conning it intensely, at the end of a few weeks obtained some +insight into the structure of these two languages. At length I had +learnt all that the book was capable of informing me, yet was still far +from the goal to which it had promised to conduct me. “I wish I had a +master!” I exclaimed; and the master was at hand. In an old court of the +old town lived a certain elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or +thereabouts; he was rather tall, and something of a robust make, with a +countenance in which bluffness was singularly blended with vivacity and +grimace; and with a complexion which would have been ruddy, but for a +yellow hue which rather predominated. His dress consisted of a +snuff-coloured coat and drab pantaloons, the former evidently seldom +subjected to the annoyance of a brush, and the latter exhibiting here and +there spots of something which, if not grease, bore a strong resemblance +to it; add to these articles an immense frill, seldom of the purest +white, but invariably of the finest French cambric, and you have some +idea of his dress. He had rather a remarkable stoop, but his step was +rapid and vigorous, and as he hurried along the streets, he would glance +to the right and left with a pair of big eyes like plums, and on +recognizing any one would exalt a pair of grizzled eyebrows, and slightly +kiss a tawny and ungloved hand. At certain hours of the day he might be +seen entering the doors of female boarding-schools, generally with a book +in his hand, and perhaps another just peering from the orifice of a +capacious back pocket; and at a certain season of the year he might be +seen, dressed in white, before the altar of a certain small popish +chapel, chanting from the breviary in very intelligible Latin, or perhaps +reading from the desk in utterly unintelligible English. Such was my +preceptor in the French and Italian tongues. “Exul sacerdos; vone +banished priest. I came into England twenty-five years ago, ‘my dear.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +Monsieur Dante—Condemned Musket—Sporting—Sweet Rivulet—The Earl’s +Home—The Pool—The Sonorous Voice—What dost Thou Read?—Man of Peace—Zohar +and Mishna—Money Changers. + +So I studied French and Italian under the tuition of the banished priest, +to whose house I went regularly every evening to receive instruction. I +made considerable progress in the acquisition of the two languages. I +found the French by far the most difficult, chiefly on account of the +accent, which my master himself possessed in no great purity, being a +Norman by birth. The Italian was my favourite. + +“_Vous serez un jour un grand philologue_, _mon cher_,” said the old man, +on our arriving at the conclusion of Dante’s Hell. + +“I hope I shall be something better,” said I, “before I die, or I shall +have lived to little purpose.” + +“That’s true, my dear! philologist—one small poor dog. What would you +wish to be?” + +“Many things sooner than that; for example, I would rather be like him +who wrote this book.” + +“_Quoi_, _Monsieur Dante_? He was a vagabond, my dear, forced to fly +from his country. No, my dear, if you would be like one poet, be like +Monsieur Boileau; he is the poet.” + +“I don’t think so.” + +“How, not think so? He wrote very respectable verses; lived and died +much respected by everybody. T’other, one bad dog, forced to fly from +his country—died with not enough to pay his undertaker.” + +“Were you not forced to flee from your country?” + +“That very true; but there is much difference between me and this Dante. +He fled from country because he had one bad tongue which he shook at his +betters. I fly because benefice gone, and head going; not on account of +the badness of my tongue.” + +“Well,” said I, “you can return now; the Bourbons are restored.” + +“I find myself very well here; not bad country. _Il est vrai que la +France sera toujours la France_; but all are dead there who knew me. I +find myself very well here. Preach in popish chapel, teach schismatic, +that is Protestant, child tongues and literature. I find myself very +well; and why? Because I know how to govern my tongue; never call people +hard names. _Ma foi_, _il y a beaucoup de différence entre moi et ce +sacre de Dante_.” + +Under this old man, who was well versed in the southern languages, +besides studying French and Italian, I acquired some knowledge of +Spanish. But I did not devote my time entirely to philology; I had other +pursuits. I had not forgotten the roving life I had led in former days, +nor its delights; neither was I formed by Nature to be a pallid indoor +student. No, no! I was fond of other and, I say it boldly, better +things than study. I had an attachment to the angle, ay, and to the gun +likewise. In our house was a condemned musket, bearing somewhere on its +lock, in rather antique characters, “Tower, 1746;” with this weapon I had +already, in Ireland, performed some execution among the rooks and +choughs, and it was now again destined to be a source of solace and +amusement to me, in the winter season, especially on occasions of severe +frost when birds abounded. Sallying forth with it at these times, far +into the country, I seldom returned at night without a string of +bullfinches, blackbirds, and linnets hanging in triumph round my neck. +When I reflect on the immense quantity of powder and shot which I crammed +down the muzzle of my uncouth fowling-piece, I am less surprised at the +number of birds which I slaughtered, than that I never blew my hands, +face, and old honey-combed gun, at one and the same time, to pieces. + +But the winter, alas! (I speak as a fowler) seldom lasts in England more +than three or four months; so, during the rest of the year, when not +occupied with my philological studies, I had to seek for other +diversions. I have already given a hint that I was also addicted to the +angle. Of course there is no comparison between the two pursuits, the +rod and line seeming but very poor trumpery to one who has had the honour +of carrying a noble firelock. There is a time, however, for all things; +and we return to any favourite amusement with the greater zest, from +being compelled to relinquish it for a season. So, if I shot birds in +winter with my firelock, I caught fish in summer, or attempted so to do, +with my angle. I was not quite so successful, it is true, with the +latter as with the former; possibly because it afforded me less pleasure. +It was, indeed, too much of a listless pastime to inspire me with any +great interest. I not unfrequently fell into a doze whilst sitting on +the bank, and more than once let my rod drop from my hands into the +water. + +At some distance from the city, behind a range of hilly ground which +rises towards the south-west, is a small river, the waters of which, +after many meanderings, eventually enter the principal river of the +district, and assist to swell the tide which it rolls down to the ocean. +It is a sweet rivulet, and pleasant it is to trace its course from its +spring-head, high up in the remote regions of Eastern Anglia, till it +arrives in the valley behind yon rising ground; and pleasant is that +valley, truly a goodly spot, but most lovely where yonder bridge crosses +the little stream. Beneath its arch the waters rush garrulously into a +blue pool, and are there stilled for a time, for the pool is deep, and +they appear to have sunk to sleep. Farther on, however, you hear their +voice again, where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly shallow. On the +left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin of the stream. On the +right is a green level, a smiling meadow, grass of the richest decks the +side of the slope; mighty trees also adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of +which, when the sun is nigh its meridian, fling a broad shadow upon the +face of the pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient +brick of an old English hall. It has a stately look, that old building, +indistinctly seen, as it is, among those umbrageous trees; you might +almost suppose it an earl’s home; and such it was, or rather upon its +site stood an earl’s home, in days of old, for there some old Kemp, some +Sigurd, or Thorkild, roaming in quest of a hearthstead, settled down in +the gray old time, when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a +portentous name. Yon old hall is still called the Earl’s Home, though +the hearth of Sigurd is now no more, and the bones of the old Kemp, and +of Sigrith his dame, have been mouldering for a thousand years in some +neighbouring knoll; perhaps yonder, where those tall Norwegian pines +shoot up so boldly into the air. It is said that the old Earl’s galley +was once moored where is now that blue pool, for the waters of that +valley were not always sweet; yon valley was once an arm of the sea, a +salt lagoon, to which the war-barks of “Sigurd, in search of a home,” +found their way. + +I was in the habit of spending many an hour on the banks of that rivulet +with my rod in my hand, and, when tired with angling, would stretch +myself on the grass, and gaze upon the waters as they glided past, and +not unfrequently, divesting myself of my dress, I would plunge into the +deep pool which I have already mentioned, for I had long since learned to +swim. And it came to pass, that on one hot summer’s day, after bathing +in the pool, I passed along the meadow till I came to a shallow part, +and, wading over to the opposite side, I adjusted my dress, and commenced +fishing in another pool, beside which was a small clump of hazels. + +And there I sat upon the bank, at the bottom of the hill which slopes +down from “the Earl’s home;” my float was on the waters, and my back was +towards the old hall. I drew up many fish, small and great, which I took +from off the hook mechanically, and flung upon the bank, for I was almost +unconscious of what I was about, for my mind was not with my fish. I was +thinking of my earlier years—of the Scottish crags and the heaths of +Ireland—and sometimes my mind would dwell on my studies—on the sonorous +stanzas of Dante, rising and falling like the waves of the sea—or would +strive to remember a couplet or two of poor Monsieur Boileau. + +“Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all those fish out of +the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun?” said a voice, clear and +sonorous as a bell. + +I started, and looked round. Close behind me stood the tall figure of a +man, dressed in raiment of quaint and singular fashion, but of goodly +materials. He was in the prime and vigour of manhood; his features +handsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence; at least I +thought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver, +with broad drooping eaves. + +“Surely that is a very cruel diversion in which thou indulgest, my young +friend?” he continued. + +“I am sorry for it, if it be, sir,” said I, rising; “but I do not think +it cruel to fish.” + +“What are thy reasons for not thinking so?” + +“Fishing is mentioned frequently in Scripture. Simon Peter was a +fisherman.” + +“True; and Andrew and his brother. But thou forgettest: they did not +follow fishing as a diversion, as I fear thou doest.—Thou readest the +Scriptures?” + +“Sometimes.” + +“Sometimes?—not daily?—that is to be regretted. What profession dost +thou make?—I mean to what religious denomination dost thou belong, my +young friend?” + +“Church.” + +“It is a very good profession—there is much of Scripture contained in its +liturgy. Dost thou read aught beside the Scriptures?” + +“Sometimes.” + +“What dost thou read besides?” + +“Greek, and Dante.” + +“Indeed; then thou hast the advantage over myself; I can only read the +former. Well, I am rejoiced to find that thou hast other pursuits beside +thy fishing. Dost thou know Hebrew?” + +“No.” + +“Thou shouldest study it. Why dost thou not undertake the study?” + +“I have no books.” + +“I will lend thee books, if thou wish to undertake the study. I live +yonder at the hall, as perhaps thou knowest. I have a library there, in +which are many curious books, both in Greek and Hebrew, which I will show +to thee, whenever thou mayest find it convenient to come and see me. +Farewell! I am glad to find that thou hast pursuits more satisfactory +than thy cruel fishing.” + +And the man of peace departed, and left me on the bank of the stream. +Whether from the effect of his words, or from want of inclination to the +sport, I know not, but from that day I became less and less a +practitioner of that “cruel fishing.” I rarely flung line and angle into +the water, but I not unfrequently wandered by the banks of the pleasant +rivulet. It seems singular to me, on reflection, that I never availed +myself of his kind invitation. I say singular, for the extraordinary, +under whatever form, had long had no slight interest for me: and I had +discernment enough to perceive that yon was no common man. Yet I went +not near him, certainly not from bashfulness, or timidity, feelings to +which I had long been an entire stranger. Am I to regret this? perhaps, +for I might have learned both wisdom and righteousness from those calm, +quiet lips, and my after-course might have been widely different. As it +was, I fell in with other guess companions, from whom I received widely +different impressions than those I might have derived from him. When +many years had rolled on, long after I had attained manhood, and had seen +and suffered much, and when our first interview had long since been +effaced from the mind of the man of peace, I visited him in his venerable +hall, and partook of the hospitality of his hearth. And there I saw his +gentle partner and his fair children, and on the morrow he showed me the +books of which he had spoken years before, by the side of the stream. In +the low, quiet chamber, whose one window, shaded by a gigantic elm, looks +down the slope towards the pleasant stream, he took from the shelf his +learned books, Zohar and Mishna, Toldoth Jesu and Abarbenel. + +“I am fond of these studies,” said he, “which, perhaps, is not to be +wondered at, seeing that our people have been compared to the Jews. In +one respect I confess we are similar to them: we are fond of getting +money. I do not like this last author, this Abarbenel, the worse for +having been a money-changer. I am a banker myself, as thou knowest.” + +And would there were many like him, amidst the money-changers of princes! +The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty, the palace of many a prelate +the piety and learning, which adorn the quiet Quaker’s home! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +Fair of Horses—Looks of Respect—The Fast Trotter—Pair of Eyes—Strange +Men—Jasper, Your Pal—Force of Blood—Young Lady with Diamonds—Not Quite so +Beautiful. + +I was standing on the castle hill in the midst of a fair of horses. + +I have already had occasion to mention this castle. It is the remains of +what was once a Norman stronghold, and is perched upon a round mound or +monticle, in the midst of the old city. Steep is this mound and scarped, +evidently by the hand of man; a deep gorge, over which is flung a bridge, +separates it, on the south, from a broad swell of open ground called “the +hill;” of old the scene of many a tournament and feat of Norman chivalry, +but now much used as a show-place for cattle, where those who buy and +sell beeves and other beasts resort at stated periods. + +So it came to pass that I stood upon this hill, observing a fair of +horses. + +The reader is already aware that I had long since conceived a passion for +the equine race, a passion in which circumstances had of late not +permitted me to indulge. I had no horses to ride, but I took pleasure in +looking at them; and I had already attended more than one of these fairs: +the present was lively enough, indeed horse fairs are seldom dull. There +was shouting and whooping, neighing and braying; there was galloping and +trotting; fellows with highlows and white stockings, and with many a +string dangling from the knees of their tight breeches, were running +desperately, holding horses by the halter, and in some cases dragging +them along; there were long-tailed steeds, and dock-tailed steeds of +every degree and breed; there were droves of wild ponies, and long rows +of sober cart horses; there were donkeys, and even mules: the last rare +things to be seen in damp, misty England, for the mule pines in mud and +rain, and thrives best with a hot sun above and a burning sand below. +There were—oh, the gallant creatures! I hear their neigh upon the wind; +there were—goodliest sight of all—certain enormous quadrupeds only seen +to perfection in our native isle, led about by dapper grooms, their manes +ribanded and their tails curiously clubbed and balled. Ha! ha!—how +distinctly do they say, ha! ha! + +An old man draws nigh, he is mounted on a lean pony, and he leads by the +bridle one of these animals; nothing very remarkable about that creature, +unless in being smaller than the rest and gentle, which they are not; he +is not of the sightliest look; he is almost dun, and over one eye a thick +film has gathered. But stay! there _is_ something remarkable about that +horse, there is something in his action in which he differs from all the +rest: as he advances, the clamour is hushed! all eyes are turned upon +him—what looks of interest—of respect—and, what is this? people are +taking off their hats—surely not to that steed! Yes, verily! men, +especially old men, are taking off their hats to that one-eyed steed, and +I hear more than one deep-drawn ah! + +“What horse is that?” said I to a very old fellow, the counterpart of the +old man on the pony, save that the last wore a faded suit of velveteen, +and this one was dressed in a white frock. + +“The best in mother England,” said the very old man, taking a knobbed +stick from his mouth, and looking me in the face, at first carelessly, +but presently with something like interest; “he is old like myself, but +can still trot his twenty miles an hour. You won’t live long, my swain; +tall and overgrown ones like thee never does; yet, if you should chance +to reach my years, you may boast to thy great grand boys, thou hast seen +Marshland Shales.” + +Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl or baron, +doffed my hat; yes! I doffed my hat to the wondrous horse, the fast +trotter, the best in mother England; and I, too, drew a deep ah! and +repeated the words of the old fellows around. “Such a horse as this we +shall never see again; a pity that he is so old.” + +Now during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I had been +the object of some person’s observation; that eyes were fastened upon me +from somewhere in the crowd. Sometimes I thought myself watched from +before, sometimes from behind; and occasionally methought that, if I just +turned my head to the right or left, I should meet a peering and +inquiring glance; and indeed once or twice I did turn, expecting to see +somebody whom I knew, yet always without success; though it appeared to +me that I was but a moment too late, and that some one had just slipped +away from the direction to which I turned, like the figure in a magic +lanthorn. Once I was quite sure that there were a pair of eyes glaring +over my right shoulder; my attention, however, was so fully occupied with +the objects which I have attempted to describe, that I thought very +little of this coming and going, this flitting and dodging of I knew not +whom or what. It was, after all, a matter of sheer indifference to me +who was looking at me. I could only wish, whomsoever it might be, to be +more profitably employed; so I continued enjoying what I saw; and now +there was a change in the scene, the wondrous old horse departed with his +aged guardian; other objects of interest are at hand; two or three men on +horseback are hurrying through the crowd, they are widely different in +their appearance from the other people of the fair; not so much in dress, +for they are clad something after the fashion of rustic jockeys, but in +their look—no light brown hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet +glances belong to them; their features are dark, their locks long, black, +and shining, and their eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, but +they do not sit the saddle in the manner of common jockeys, they seem to +float or hover upon it, like gulls upon the waves; two of them are mere +striplings, but the third is a very tall man with a countenance +heroically beautiful, but wild, wild, wild. As they rush along, the +crowd give way on all sides, and now a kind of ring or circus is formed, +within which the strange men exhibit their horsemanship, rushing past +each other, in and out, after the manner of a reel, the tall man +occasionally balancing himself upon the saddle, and standing erect on one +foot. He had just regained his seat after the latter feat, and was about +to push his horse to a gallop, when a figure started forward close from +beside me, and laying his hand on his neck, and pulling him gently +downward, appeared to whisper something into his ear; presently the tall +man raised his head, and, scanning the crowd for a moment in the +direction in which I was standing, fixed his eyes full upon me, and anon +the countenance of the whisperer was turned, but only in part, and the +side-glance of another pair of wild eyes was directed towards my face, +but the entire visage of the big black man, half stooping as he was, was +turned full upon mine. + +But now, with a nod to the figure who had stopped him, and with another +inquiring glance at myself, the big man once more put his steed into +motion, and, after riding round the ring a few more times, darted through +a lane in the crowd, and followed by his two companions disappeared, +whereupon the figure who had whispered to him, and had subsequently +remained in the middle of the space, came towards me, and, cracking a +whip which he held in his hand so loudly that the report was nearly equal +to that of a pocket pistol, he cried in a strange tone: + +“What! the sap-engro? Lor! the sap-engro upon the hill!” + +“I remember that word,” said I, “and I almost think I remember you. You +can’t be—” + +“Jasper, your pal! Truth, and no lie, brother.” + +“It is strange that you should have known me,” said I. “I am certain, +but for the word you used, I should never have recognized you.” + +“Not so strange as you may think, brother; there is something in your +face which would prevent people from forgetting you, even though they +might wish it; and your face is not much altered since the time you wot +of, though you are so much grown. I thought it was you, but to make sure +I dodged about, inspecting you. I believe you felt me, though I never +touched you; a sign, brother, that we are akin, that we are dui palor—two +relations. Your blood beat when mine was near, as mine always does at +the coming of a brother; and we became brothers in that lane.” + +“And where are you staying?” said I; “in this town?” + +“Not in the town; the like of us don’t find it exactly wholesome to stay +in towns, we keep abroad. But I have little to do here—come with me, and +I’ll show you where we stay.” + +We descended the hill in the direction of the north, and passing along +the suburb reached the old Norman bridge, which we crossed; the chalk +precipice, with the ruin on its top, was now before us; but turning to +the left we walked swiftly along, and presently came to some rising +ground, which ascending, we found ourselves upon a wild moor or heath. + +“You are one of them,” said I, “whom people call—” + +“Just so,” said Jasper; “but never mind what people call us.” + +“And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you whispered? I suppose +he’s one of ye. What is his name?” + +“Tawno Chikno,” said Jasper, “which means the small one; we call him such +because he is the biggest man of all our nation. You say he is handsome, +that is not the word, brother; he’s the beauty of the world. Women run +wild at the sight of Tawno. An earl’s daughter, near London—a fine young +lady with diamonds round her neck—fell in love with Tawno. I have seen +that lass on a heath, as this may be, kneel down to Tawno, clasp his +feet, begging to be his wife—or anything else—if she might go with him. +But Tawno would have nothing to do with her: ‘I have a wife of my own,’ +said he, ‘a lawful rommany wife, whom I love better than the whole world, +jealous though she sometimes be.’” + +“And is she very beautiful?” said I. + +“Why, you know, brother, beauty is frequently a matter of taste; however, +as you ask my opinion, I should say not quite so beautiful as himself.” + +We had now arrived at a small valley between two hills, or downs, the +sides of which were covered with furze; in the midst of this valley were +various carts and low tents forming a rude kind of encampment; several +dark children were playing about, who took no manner of notice of us. As +we passed one of the tents, however, a canvas screen was lifted up, and a +woman supported on a crutch hobbled out. She was about the middle age, +and, besides being lame, was bitterly ugly; she was very slovenly +dressed, and on her swarthy features ill nature was most visibly stamped. +She did not deign me a look, but, addressing Jasper in a tongue which I +did not understand, appeared to put some eager questions to him. + +“He’s coming,” said Jasper, and passed on. “Poor fellow,” said he to me, +“he has scarcely been gone an hour, and she’s jealous already. Well,” he +continued, “what do you think of her? you have seen her now, and can +judge for yourself—that ’ere woman is Tawno Chikno’s wife!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +The Tents—Pleasant Discourse—I am Pharaoh—Shifting for One’s Self—Horse +Shoes—This is Wonderful—Bless Your Wisdom—A Pretty Manœuvre—Ill Day to +the Romans—My Name is Herne—Singular People—An Original Speech—Word +Master—Speaking Romanly. + +We went to the farthest of the tents, which stood at a slight distance +from the rest, and which exactly resembled the one which I have described +on a former occasion; we went in and sat down one on each side of a small +fire, which was smouldering on the ground, there was no one else in the +tent but a tall tawny woman of middle age, who was busily knitting. +“Brother,” said Jasper, “I wish to hold some pleasant discourse with +you.” + +“As much as you please,” said I, “provided you can find anything pleasant +to talk about.” + +“Never fear,” said Jasper; “and first of all we will talk of yourself. +Where have you been all this long time?” + +“Here and there,” said I, “and far and near, going about with the +soldiers; but there is no soldiering now, so we have sat down, father and +family, in the town there.” + +“And do you still hunt snakes?” said Jasper. + +“No,” said I, “I have given up that long ago; I do better now: read books +and learn languages.” + +“Well, I am sorry you have given up your snake-hunting; many’s the +strange talk I have had with our people about your snake and yourself, +and how you frightened my father and mother in the lane.” + +“And where are your father and mother?” + +“Where I shall never see them, brother; at least, I hope so.” + +“Not dead?” + +“No, not dead; they are bitchadey pawdel.” + +“What’s that?” + +“Sent across—banished.” + +“Ah! I understand; I am sorry for them. And so you are here alone?” + +“Not quite alone, brother.” + +“No, not alone; but with the rest—Tawno Chikno takes care of you.” + +“Takes care of me, brother!” + +“Yes, stands to you in the place of a father—keeps you out of harm’s +way.” + +“What do you take me for, brother?” + +“For about three years older than myself.” + +“Perhaps; but you are of the Gorgios, and I am a Rommany Chal. Tawno +Chikno take care of Jasper Petulengro!” + +“Is that your name?” + +“Don’t you like it?” + +“Very much, I never heard a sweeter; it is something like what you call +me.” + +“The horse-shoe master and the snake-fellow, I am the first.” + +“Who gave you that name?” + +“Ask Pharaoh.” + +“I would, if he were here, but I do not see him.” + +“I am Pharaoh.” + +“Then you are a king.” + +“Chachipen Pal.” + +“I do not understand you.” + +“Where are your languages? You want two things, brother: mother sense, +and gentle Rommany.” + +“What makes you think that I want sense?” + +“That, being so old, you can’t yet guide yourself!” + +“I can read Dante, Jasper.” + +“Anan, brother.” + +“I can charm snakes, Jasper.” + +“I know you can, brother.” + +“Yes, and horses too; bring me the most vicious in the land, if I whisper +he’ll be tame.” + +“Then the more shame for you—a snake-fellow—a horse-witch—and a +lil-reader—yet you can’t shift for yourself. I laugh at you, brother!” + +“Then you can shift for yourself?” + +“For myself and for others, brother.” + +“And what does Chikno?” + +“Sells me horses, when I bid him. Those horses on the chong were mine.” + +“And has he none of his own?” + +“Sometimes he has; but he is not so well off as myself. When my father +and mother were bitchadey pawdel, which, to tell you the truth, they +were, for chiving wafodo dloovu, they left me all they had, which was not +a little, and I became the head of our family, which was not a small one. +I was not older than you when that happened; yet our people said they had +never a better krallis to contrive and plan for them, and to keep them in +order. And this is so well known, that many Rommany Chals, not of our +family, come and join themselves to us, living with us for a time, in +order to better themselves, more especially those of the poorer sort, who +have little of their own. Tawno is one of these.” + +“Is that fine fellow poor?” + +“One of the poorest, brother. Handsome as he is, he has not a horse of +his own to ride on. Perhaps we may put it down to his wife, who cannot +move about, being a cripple, as you saw.” + +“And you are what is called a Gypsy King?” + +“Ay, ay; a Rommany Kral.” + +“Are there other kings?” + +“Those who call themselves so; but the true Pharaoh is Petulengro.” + +“Did Pharaoh make horse-shoes?” + +“The first who ever did, brother.” + +“Pharaoh lived in Egypt.” + +“So did we once, brother.” + +“And you left it?” + +“My fathers did, brother.” + +“And why did they come here?” + +“They had their reasons, brother.” + +“And you are not English?” + +“We are not gorgios.” + +“And you have a language of your own?” + +“Avali.” + +“This is wonderful.” + +“Ha, ha!” cried the woman, who had hitherto sat knitting, at the farther +end of the tent, without saying a word, though not inattentive to our +conversation, as I could perceive, by certain glances, which she +occasionally cast upon us both. “Ha, ha!” she screamed, fixing upon me +two eyes, which shone like burning coals, and which were filled with an +expression both of scorn and malignity; “It is wonderful, is it, that we +should have a language of our own? What, you grudge the poor people the +speech they talk among themselves? That’s just like you gorgios, you +would have everybody stupid, single-tongued idiots, like yourselves. We +are taken before the Poknees of the gav, myself and sister, to give an +account of ourselves. So I says to my sister’s little boy, speaking +Rommany, I says to the little boy who is with us, run to my son Jasper, +and the rest, and tell them to be off, there are hawks abroad. So the +Poknees questions us, and lets us go, not being able to make anything of +us; but, as we are going, he calls us back. ‘Good woman,’ says the +Poknees, ‘what was that I heard you say just now to the little boy?’ ‘I +was telling him, your worship, to go and see the time of day, and, to +save trouble, I said it in our own language.’ ‘Where did you get that +language?’ says the Poknees, ‘’Tis our own language, sir,’ I tells him, +‘we did not steal it.’ ‘Shall I tell you what it is, my good woman?’ +says the Poknees. ‘I would thank you, sir,’ says I, ‘for ’tis often we +are asked about it.’ ‘Well, then,’ says the Poknees, ‘it is no language +at all, merely a made-up gibberish.’ ‘Oh, bless your wisdom,’ says I, +with a curtsey, ‘you can tell us what our language is, without +understanding it!’ Another time we met a parson. ‘Good woman,’ he says, +‘what’s that you are talking? Is it broken language?’ ‘Of course, your +reverence,’ says I, ‘we are broken people; give a shilling, your +reverence, to the poor broken woman.’ Oh, these gorgios! they grudge us +our very language!” + +“She called you her son, Jasper?” + +“I am her son, brother.” + +“I thought you said your parents were—” + +“Bitchadey pawdel; you thought right, brother. This is my wife’s +mother.” + +“Then you are married, Jasper?” + +“Ay, truly; I am husband and father. You will see wife and chabo anon.” + +“Where are they now?” + +“In the gav, penning dukkerin.” + +“We were talking of language, Jasper?” + +“True, brother.” + +“Yours must be a rum one?” + +“’Tis called Rommany.” + +“I would gladly know it.” + +“You need it sorely.” + +“Would you teach it me?” + +“None sooner.” + +“Suppose we begin now?” + +“Suppose we do, brother.” + +“Not whilst I am here,” said the woman, flinging her knitting down, and +starting upon her feet; “not whilst I am here shall this gorgio learn +Rommany. A pretty manœuvre, truly; and what would be the end of it? I +goes to the farming ker with my sister, to tell a fortune, and earn a few +sixpences for the chabes. I sees a jolly pig in the yard, and I says to +my sister, speaking Rommany, ‘Do so and so,’ says I; which the farming +man hearing, asks what we are talking about. ‘Nothing at all, master,’ +says I; ‘something about the weather;’ when who should start up from +behind a pale, where he has been listening, but this ugly gorgio, crying +out, ‘They are after poisoning your pigs, neighbour!’ so that we are glad +to run, I and my sister, with perhaps the farm-engro shouting after us. +Says my sister to me, when we have got fairly off, ‘How came that ugly +one to know what you said to me?’ Whereupon I answers, ‘It all comes of +my son Jasper, who brings the gorgio to our fire, and must needs be +teaching him.’ ‘Who was fool there?’ says my sister. ‘Who, indeed, but +my son Jasper,’ I answers. And here should I be a greater fool to sit +still and suffer it; which I will not do. I do not like the look of him; +he looks over-gorgeous. An ill day to the Romans when he masters +Rommany; and when I says that, I pens a true dukkerin.” + +“What do you call God, Jasper?” + +“You had better be jawing,” said the woman, raising her voice to a +terrible scream; “you had better be moving off, my gorgio; hang you for a +keen one, sitting there by the fire, and stealing my language before my +face. Do you know whom you have to deal with? Do you know that I am +dangerous? My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!” + +And a hairy one she looked! She wore her hair clubbed upon her head, +fastened with many strings and ligatures; but now, tearing these off, her +locks, originally jet black, but now partially grizzled with age, fell +down on every side of her, covering her face and back as far down as her +knees. No she-bear from Lapland ever looked more fierce and hairy than +did that woman, as, standing in the open part of the tent, with her head +bent down, and her shoulders drawn up, seemingly about to precipitate +herself upon me, she repeated, again and again,— + +“My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!—” + +“I call God Duvel, brother.” + +“It sounds very like Devil.” + +“It doth, brother, it doth.” + +“And what do you call divine, I mean godly?” + +“Oh! I call that duvelskoe.” + +“I am thinking of something, Jasper.” + +“What are you thinking of, brother?” + +“Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were originally one +and the same word?” + +“It would, brother, it would—” + + * * * * * + +From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper, sometimes in his +tent, sometimes on the heath, about which we would roam for hours, +discoursing on various matters. Sometimes mounted on one of his horses, +of which he had several, I would accompany him to various fairs and +markets in the neighbourhood, to which he went on his own affairs, or +those of his tribe. I soon found that I had become acquainted with a +most singular people, whose habits and pursuits awakened within me the +highest interest. Of all connected with them, however, their language +was doubtless that which exercised the greatest influence over my +imagination. I had at first some suspicion that it would prove a mere +made-up gibberish. But I was soon undeceived. Broken, corrupted, and +half in ruins as it was, it was not long before I found that it was an +original speech, far more so, indeed, than one or two others of high name +and celebrity, which, up to that time, I had been in the habit of +regarding with respect and veneration. Indeed, many obscure points +connected with the vocabulary of these languages, and to which neither +classic nor modern lore afforded any clue, I thought I could now clear up +by means of this strange broken tongue, spoken by people who dwelt among +thickets and furze bushes, in tents as tawny as their faces, and whom the +generality of mankind designated, and with much semblance of justice, as +thieves and vagabonds. But where did this speech come from, and who were +they who spoke it? These were questions which I could not solve, and +which Jasper himself, when pressed, confessed his inability to answer. +“But, whoever we be, brother,” said he, “we are an old people, and not +what folks in general imagine, broken gorgios; and, if we are not +Egyptians, we are at any rate Rommany Chals!” + +“Rommany Chals! I should not wonder after all,” said I, “that these +people had something to do with the founding of Rome. Rome, it is said, +was built by vagabonds, who knows but that some tribe of the kind settled +down thereabouts, and called the town which they built after their name; +but whence did they come originally? ah! there is the difficulty.” + +But abandoning these questions, which at that time were far too profound +for me, I went on studying the language, and at the same time the +characters and manners of these strange people. My rapid progress in the +former astonished, while it delighted, Jasper. “We’ll no longer call you +Sap-engro, brother,” said he; “but rather Lav-engro, which in the +language of the gorgios meaneth Word Master.” “Nay, brother,” said Tawno +Chikno, with whom I had become very intimate, “you had better call him +Cooro-mengro, I have put on _the gloves_ with him, and find him a pure +fist master; I like him for that, for I am a Cooro-mengro myself, and was +born at Brummagem.” + +“I likes him for his modesty,” said Mrs. Chikno; “I never hears any ill +words come from his mouth, but, on the contrary, much sweet language. +His talk is golden, and he has taught my eldest to say his prayers in +Rommany, which my rover had never the grace to do.” “He is the pal of my +rom,” said Mrs. Petulengro, who was a very handsome woman, “and therefore +I likes him, and not less for his being a rye; folks calls me +high-minded, and perhaps I have reason to be so; before I married Pharaoh +I had an offer from a lord—I likes the young rye, and, if he chooses to +follow us, he shall have my sister. What say you, mother? should not the +young rye have my sister Ursula?” + +“I am going to my people,” said Mrs. Herne, placing a bundle upon a +donkey, which was her own peculiar property; “I am going to Yorkshire, +for I can stand this no longer. You say you like him: in that we +differs: I hates the gorgio, and would like, speaking Romanly, to mix a +little poison with his waters. And now go to Lundra, my children, I goes +to Yorkshire. Take my blessing with ye, and a little bit of a gillie to +cheer your hearts with when ye are weary. In all kinds of weather have +we lived together; but now we are parted. I goes broken-hearted—I can’t +keep you company; ye are no longer Rommany. To gain a bad brother, ye +have lost a good mother.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +What Profession—Not Fitted for a Churchman—Erratic Course—The Bitter +Draught—Principle of Woe—Thou Wouldst be Joyous—What Ails You?—Poor Child +of Clay. + +So the gypsies departed: Mrs. Herne to Yorkshire, and the rest to London: +as for myself, I continued in the house of my parents, passing my time in +much the same manner as I have already described, principally in +philological pursuits: but I was now sixteen, and it was highly necessary +that I should adopt some profession, unless I intended to fritter away my +existence, and to be a useless burden to those who had given me birth: +but what profession was I to choose? there being none in the wide world +perhaps for which I was suited; nor was there any one for which I felt +any decided inclination, though perhaps there existed within me a lurking +penchant for the profession of arms, which was natural enough, as, from +my earliest infancy, I had been accustomed to military sights and sounds; +but this profession was then closed, as I have already hinted, and, as I +believe, it has since continued, to those who, like myself, had no better +claims to urge than the services of a father. + +My father, who, for certain reasons of his own, had no very high opinion +of the advantages resulting from this career, would have gladly seen me +enter the Church. His desire was, however, considerably abated by one or +two passages of my life, which occurred to his recollection. He +particularly dwelt on the unheard-of manner in which I had picked up the +Irish language, and drew from thence the conclusion that I was not fitted +by nature to cut a respectable figure at an English university. “He will +fly off in a tangent,” said he, “and, when called upon to exhibit his +skill in Greek, will be found proficient in Irish; I have observed the +poor lad attentively, and really do not know what to make of him; but I +am afraid he will never make a churchman!” And I have no doubt that my +excellent father was right, both in his premises and the conclusion at +which he arrived. I had undoubtedly, at one period of my life, forsaken +Greek for Irish, and the instructions of a learned Protestant divine for +those of a Papist gassoon, the card-fancying Murtagh; and of late, though +I kept it a strict secret, I had abandoned in a great measure the study +of the beautiful Italian, and the recitation of the sonorous terzets of +the Divine Comedy, in which at one time I took the greatest delight, in +order to become acquainted with the broken speech, and yet more broken +songs, of certain houseless wanderers whom I had met at a horse fair. +Such an erratic course was certainly by no means in consonance with the +sober and unvarying routine of college study. And my father, who was a +man of excellent common sense, displayed it, in not pressing me to adopt +a profession which required qualities of mind which he saw I did not +possess. + +Other professions were talked of, amongst which the law; but now an event +occurred which had nearly stopped my career, and merged all minor points +of solicitude in anxiety of my life. My strength and appetite suddenly +deserted me, and I began to pine and droop. Some said that I had +overgrown myself, and that these were the symptoms of a rapid decline; I +grew worse and worse, and was soon stretched upon my bed, from which it +seemed scarcely probable that I should ever more rise, the physicians +themselves giving but slight hopes of my recovery: as for myself, I made +up my mind to die, and felt quite resigned. I was sadly ignorant at that +time, and, when I thought of death, it appeared to me little else than a +pleasant sleep, and I wished for sleep, of which I got but little. It +was well that I did not die that time, for I repeat that I was sadly +ignorant of many important things. I did not die, for somebody coming, +gave me a strange, bitter draught; a decoction, I believe, of a bitter +root which grows on commons and desolate places: and the person who gave +it me was an ancient female, a kind of doctress, who had been my nurse in +my infancy, and who, hearing of my state, had come to see me; so I drank +the draught, and became a little better, and I continued taking draughts +made from the bitter root till I manifested symptoms of convalescence. + +But how much more quickly does strength desert the human frame than +return to it! I had become convalescent, it is true, but my state of +feebleness was truly pitiable. I believe it is in that state that the +most remarkable feature of human physiology frequently exhibits itself. +Oh, how dare I mention the dark feeling of mysterious dread which comes +over the mind, and which the lamp of reason, though burning bright the +while, is unable to dispel! Art thou, as leeches say, the concomitant of +disease—the result of shattered nerves? Nay, rather the principle of woe +itself, the fountain head of all sorrow coexistent with man, whose +influence he feels when yet unborn, and whose workings he testifies with +his earliest cries, when, “drowned in tears,” he first beholds the light; +for, as the sparks fly upward, so is man born to trouble, and woe doth he +bring with him into the world, even thyself, dark one, terrible one, +causeless, unbegotten, without a father. Oh, how unfrequently dost thou +break down the barriers which divide thee from the poor soul of man, and +overcast its sunshine with thy gloomy shadow. In the brightest days of +prosperity—in the midst of health and wealth—how sentient is the poor +human creature of thy neighbourhood! how instinctively aware that the +floodgates of horror may be cast open, and the dark stream engulf him for +ever and ever! Then is it not lawful for man to exclaim, “Better that I +had never been born!” Fool, for thyself thou wast not born, but to +fulfil the inscrutable decrees of thy Creator; and how dost thou know +that this dark principle is not, after all, thy best friend; that it is +not that which tempers the whole mass of thy corruption? It may be, for +what thou knowest, the mother of wisdom, and of great works: it is the +dread of the horror of the night that makes the pilgrim hasten on his +way. When thou feelest it nigh, let thy safety word be “Onward;” if thou +tarry, thou art overwhelmed. Courage! build great works—’tis urging +thee—it is ever nearest the favourites of God—the fool knows little of +it. Thou wouldst be joyous, wouldst thou? then be a fool. What great +work was ever the result of joy, the puny one? Who have been the wise +ones, the mighty ones, the conquering ones of this earth? the joyous? I +believe not. The fool is happy, or comparatively so—certainly the least +sorrowful, but he is still a fool; and whose notes are sweetest, those of +the nightingale, or of the silly lark? + + * * * * * + +“What ails you, my child?” said a mother to her son, as he lay on a couch +under the influence of the dreadful one; “what ails you? you seem +afraid!” + +_Boy_. And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me. + +_Mother_. But of what? there is no one can harm you; of what are you +apprehensive? + +_Boy_. Of nothing that I can express; I know not what I am afraid of, +but afraid I am. + +_Mother_. Perhaps you see sights and visions; I knew a lady once who was +continually thinking that she saw an armed man threaten her, but it was +only an imagination, a phantom of the brain. + +_Boy_. No armed man threatens me; and ’tis not a thing that would cause +me any fear. Did an armed man threaten me, I would get up and fight him; +weak as I am, I would wish for nothing better, for then, perhaps, I +should lose this fear; mine is a dread of I know not what, and there the +horror lies. + +_Mother_. Your forehead is cool, and your speech collected. Do you know +where you are? + +_Boy_. I know where I am, and I see things just as they are; you are +beside me, and upon the table there is a book which was written by a +Florentine; all this I see, and that there is no ground for being afraid. +I am, moreover, quite cool, and feel no pain—but, but— + +And then there was a burst of “gemiti, sospiri ed alti guai.” Alas, +alas, poor child of clay! as the sparks fly upward, so wast thou born to +sorrow—Onward! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Agreeable Delusions—Youth—A Profession—Ab Gwilym—Glorious English +Law—There They Pass—My Dear Old Master—The Deal Desk—Language of the +Tents—Where is Morfydd—Go to—Only Once. + +It has been said by this or that writer, I scarcely know by whom, that in +proportion as we grow old, and our time becomes short, the swifter does +it pass, until at last, as we approach the borders of the grave, it +assumes all the speed and impetuosity of a river about to precipitate +itself into an abyss; this is doubtless the case, provided we can carry +to the grave those pleasant thoughts and delusions which alone render +life agreeable, and to which even to the very last we would gladly cling; +but what becomes of the swiftness of time, when the mind sees the vanity +of human pursuits? which is sure to be the case when its fondest, dearest +hopes have been blighted at the very moment when the harvest was deemed +secure. What becomes from that moment, I repeat, of the shortness of +time? I put not the question to those who have never known that trial, +they are satisfied with themselves and all around them, with what they +have done, and yet hope to do; some carry their delusions with them to +the borders of the grave, ay, to the very moment when they fall into it; +a beautiful golden cloud surrounds them to the last, and such talk of the +shortness of time: through the medium of that cloud the world has ever +been a pleasant world to them; their only regret is that they are so soon +to quit it; but oh, ye dear deluded hearts, it is not every one who is so +fortunate! + +To the generality of mankind there is no period like youth. The +generality are far from fortunate; but the period of youth, even to the +least so, offers moments of considerable happiness, for they are not only +disposed, but able to enjoy most things within their reach. With what +trifles at that period are we content; the things from which in +after-life we should turn away in disdain please us then, for we are in +the midst of a golden cloud, and everything seems decked with a golden +hue. Never during any portion of my life did time flow on more speedily +than during the two or three years immediately succeeding the period to +which we arrived in the preceding chapter: since then it has flagged +often enough; sometimes it has seemed to stand entirely still; and the +reader may easily judge how it fares at the present, from the +circumstance of my taking pen in hand, and endeavouring to write down the +passages of my life—a last resource with most people. But at the period +to which I allude I was just, as I may say, entering upon life; I had +adopted a profession, and—to keep up my character, simultaneously with +that profession—the study of a new language—I speedily became a +proficient in the one, but ever remained a novice in the other: a novice +in the law, but a perfect master in the Welsh tongue. + +Yes! very pleasant times were those, when within the womb of a lofty deal +desk, behind which I sat for some eight hours every day, transcribing +(when I imagined eyes were upon me) documents of every description in +every possible hand, Blackstone kept company with Ab Gwilym—the polished +English lawyer of the last century, who wrote long and prosy chapters on +the rights of things—with a certain wild Welshman, who some four hundred +years before that time indited immortal cowydds and odes to the wives of +Cambrian chieftains—more particularly to one Morfydd, the wife of a +certain hunchbacked dignitary called by the poet facetiously Bwa +Bach—generally terminating with the modest request of a little private +parlance beneath the green wood bough, with no other witness than the +eos, or nightingale, a request which, if the poet himself may be +believed, rather a doubtful point, was seldom, very seldom, denied. And +by what strange chance had Ab Gwilym and Blackstone, two personages so +exceedingly different, been thus brought together? From what the reader +already knows of me, he may be quite prepared to find me reading the +former; but what could have induced me to take up Blackstone, or rather +the law? + +I have ever loved to be as explicit as possible; on which account, +perhaps, I never attained to any proficiency in the law, the essence of +which is said to be ambiguity; most questions may be answered in a few +words, and this among the rest, though connected with the law. My +parents deemed it necessary that I should adopt some profession, they +named the law; the law was as agreeable to me as any other profession +within my reach, so I adopted the law, and the consequence was, that +Blackstone, probably for the first time, found himself in company with Ab +Gwilym. By adopting the law I had not ceased to be Lav-engro. + +So I sat behind a desk many hours in a day, ostensibly engaged in +transcribing documents of various kinds; the scene of my labours was a +strange old house, occupying one side of a long and narrow court, into +which, however, the greater number of the windows looked not, but into an +extensive garden, filled with fruit trees, in the rear of a large, +handsome house, belonging to a highly respectable gentleman, who, +_moyennant une douceur considerable_, had consented to instruct my +father’s youngest son in the mysteries of glorious English law. Ah! +would that I could describe the good gentleman in the manner which he +deserves; he has long since sunk to his place in a respectable vault, in +the aisle of a very respectable church, whilst an exceedingly respectable +marble slab against the neighbouring wall tells on a Sunday some eye +wandering from its prayer-book that his dust lies below; to secure such +respectabilities in death, he passed a most respectable life. Let no one +sneer, he accomplished much; his life was peaceful, so was his death. +Are these trifles? I wish I could describe him, for I loved the man, and +with reason, for he was ever kind to me, to whom kindness has not always +been shown; and he was, moreover, a choice specimen of a class which no +longer exists—a gentleman lawyer of the old school. I would fain +describe him, but figures with which he has nought to do press forward +and keep him from my mind’s eye; there they pass, Spaniard and Moor, +Gypsy, Turk, and livid Jew. But who is that? what that thick pursy man +in the loose, snuff-coloured great-coat, with the white stockings, drab +breeches, and silver buckles on his shoes; that man with the bull neck, +and singular head, immense in the lower part, especially about the jaws, +but tapering upward like a pear; the man with the bushy brows, small grey +eyes, replete with cat-like expression, whose grizzled hair is cut close, +and whose ear-lobes are pierced with small golden rings? Oh! that is not +my dear old master, but a widely different personage. _Bon jour_, +_Monsieur Vidocq_! _expressions de ma part à Monsieur Le Baron Taylor_. +But here comes at last my veritable old master! + +A more respectable-looking individual was never seen; he really looked +what he was, a gentleman of the law—there was nothing of the pettifogger +about him: somewhat under the middle size, and somewhat rotund in person, +he was always dressed in a full suit of black, never worn long enough to +become threadbare. His face was rubicund, and not without keenness; but +the most remarkable thing about him was the crown of his head, which was +bald, and shone like polished ivory, nothing more white, smooth, and +lustrous. Some people have said that he wore false calves, probably +because his black silk stockings never exhibited a wrinkle; they might +just as well have said that he waddled, because his shoes creaked; for +these last, which were always without a speck, and polished as his crown, +though of a different hue, did creak, as he walked rather slowly. I +cannot say that I ever saw him walk fast. + +He had a handsome practice, and might have died a very rich man, much +richer than he did, had he not been in the habit of giving rather +expensive dinners to certain great people, who gave him nothing in +return, except their company; I could never discover his reasons for +doing so, as he always appeared to me a remarkably quiet man, by nature +averse to noise and bustle; but in all dispositions there are anomalies: +I have already said that he lived in a handsome house, and I may as well +here add that he had a very handsome wife, who both dressed and talked +exceedingly well. + +So I sat behind the deal desk, engaged in copying documents of various +kinds; and in the apartment in which I sat, and in the adjoining ones, +there were others, some of them likewise copied documents, while some +were engaged in the yet more difficult task of drawing them up; and some +of these, sons of nobody, were paid for the work they did, whilst others, +like myself, sons of somebody, paid for being permitted to work, which, +as our principal observed, was but reasonable, forasmuch as we not +unfrequently utterly spoiled the greater part of the work intrusted to +our hands. + +There was one part of the day when I generally found myself quite alone, +I mean at the hour when the rest went home to their principal meal; I, +being the youngest, was left to take care of the premises, to answer the +bell, and so forth, till relieved, which was seldom before the expiration +of an hour and a half, when I myself went home; this period, however, was +anything but disagreeable to me, for it was then that I did what best +pleased me, and, leaving off copying the documents, I sometimes indulged +in a fit of musing, my chin resting on both my hands, and my elbows +planted on the desk; or, opening the desk aforesaid, I would take out one +of the books contained within it, and the book which I took out was +almost invariably, not Blackstone, but Ab Gwilym. + +Ah, that Ab Gwilym! I am much indebted to him, and it were ungrateful on +my part not to devote a few lines to him and his songs in this my +history. Start not, reader, I am not going to trouble you with a +poetical dissertation; no, no! I know my duty too well to introduce +anything of the kind; but I, who imagine I know several things, and +amongst others the workings of your mind at this moment, have an idea +that you are anxious to learn a little, a very little, more about Ab +Gwilym than I have hitherto told you, the two or three words that I have +dropped having awakened within you a languid kind of curiosity. I have +no hesitation in saying that he makes one of the some half-dozen really +great poets whose verses, in whatever language they wrote, exist at the +present day, and are more or less known. It matters little how I first +became acquainted with the writings of this man, and how the short thick +volume, stuffed full with his immortal imaginings, first came into my +hands. I was studying Welsh, and I fell in with Ab Gwilym by no very +strange chance. But before I say more about Ab Gwilym, I must be +permitted—I really must—to say a word or two about the language in which +he wrote, that same “Sweet Welsh.” If I remember right, I found the +language a difficult one; in mastering it, however, I derived unexpected +assistance from what of Irish remained in my head, and I soon found that +they were cognate dialects, springing from some old tongue which itself, +perhaps, had sprung from one much older. And here I cannot help +observing cursorily that I every now and then, whilst studying this +Welsh, generally supposed to be the original tongue of Britain, +encountered words which, according to the lexicographers, were venerable +words, highly expressive, showing the wonderful power and originality of +the Welsh, in which, however, they were no longer used in common +discourse, but were relics, precious relics, of the first speech of +Britain, perhaps of the world; with which words, however, I was already +well acquainted, and which I had picked up, not in learned books, classic +books, and in tongues of old renown, but whilst listening to Mr. +Petulengro and Tawno Chikno talking over their everyday affairs in the +language of the tents; which circumstance did not fail to give rise to +deep reflection in those moments when, planting my elbows on the deal +desk, I rested my chin upon my hands. But it is probable that I should +have abandoned the pursuit of the Welsh language, after obtaining a very +superficial acquaintance with it, had it not been for Ab Gwilym. + +A strange songster was that who, pretending to be captivated by every +woman he saw, was, in reality, in love with nature alone—wild, beautiful, +solitary nature—her mountains and cascades, her forests and streams, her +birds, fishes, and wild animals. Go to, Ab Gwilym, with thy +pseudo-amatory odes, to Morfydd, or this or that other lady, fair or +ugly; little didst thou care for any of them, Dame Nature was thy love, +however thou mayest seek to disguise the truth. Yes, yes, send thy +love-message to Morfydd, the fair wanton. By whom dost thou send it, I +would know? by the salmon, forsooth, which haunts the rushing stream! the +glorious salmon which bounds and gambols in the flashing water, and whose +ways and circumstances thou so well describest—see, there he hurries +upwards through the flashing water. Halloo! what a glimpse of glory—but +where is Morfydd the while? What, another message to the wife of Bwa +Bach? Ay, truly; and by whom?—the wind! the swift wind, the rider of the +world, whose course is not to be stayed; who gallops o’er the mountain, +and, when he comes to broadest river, asks neither for boat nor ferry; +who has described the wind so well—his speed and power? But where is +Morfydd? And now thou art awaiting Morfydd, the wanton, the wife of the +Bwa Bach; thou art awaiting her beneath the tall trees, amidst the +underwood; but she comes not; no Morfydd is there. Quite right, Ab +Gwilym; what wantest thou with Morfydd? But another form is nigh at +hand, that of red Reynard, who, seated upon his chine at the mouth of his +cave, looks very composedly at thee; thou startest, bendest thy bow, thy +cross-bow, intending to hit Reynard with the bolt just above the jaw; but +the bow breaks, Reynard barks and disappears into his cave, which by +thine own account reaches hell—and then thou ravest at the misfortune of +thy bow, and the non-appearance of Morfydd, and abusest Reynard. Go to, +thou carest neither for thy bow nor for Morfydd, thou merely seekest an +opportunity to speak of Reynard; and who has described him like thee? the +brute with the sharp shrill cry, the black reverse of melody, whose face +sometimes wears a smile like the devil’s in the Evangile. But now thou +art actually with Morfydd; yes, she has stolen from the dwelling of the +Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath those rocks—she is actually with thee, +Ab Gwilym; but she is not long with thee, for a storm comes on, and +thunder shatters the rocks—Morfydd flees! Quite right, Ab Gwilym; thou +hadst no need of her, a better theme for song is the voice of the +Lord—the rock shatterer—than the frail wife of the Bwa Bach. Go to, Ab +Gwilym, thou wast a wiser and a better man than thou wouldst fain have +had people believe. + +But enough of thee and thy songs! Those times passed rapidly; with Ab +Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of enchanted ground, in which I +experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore whilst spelling +my way through the wonderful book—the delight of my childhood. I say +akin, for perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed wonder +and delight; and these I had already known. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +Silver Gray—Good Word for Everybody—A Remarkable Youth—Clients—Grades in +Society—The Archdeacon—Reading the Bible. + +“I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this boy of +ours to the law,” said my father to my mother, as they sat together one +summer evening in their little garden, beneath the shade of some tall +poplars. + +Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned against the +wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had sought rest, and, +praise be to God, found it, after many a year of poorly requited toil; +there he sat, with locks of silver gray which set off so nobly his fine +bold but benevolent face, his faithful consort at his side, and his +trusty dog at his feet—an eccentric animal of the genuine regimental +breed, who, born amongst red-coats, had not yet become reconciled to +those of any other hue, barking and tearing at them when they drew near +the door, but testifying his fond reminiscence of the former by +hospitable waggings of the tail whenever a uniform made its appearance—at +present a very unfrequent occurrence. + +“I am afraid I have not done right in putting him to the law,” said my +father, resting his chin upon his gold-headed bamboo cane. + +“Why, what makes you think so?” said my mother. + +“I have been taking my usual evening walk up the road, with the animal +here,” said my father; “and, as I walked along, I overtook the boy’s +master, Mr. S---. We shook hands, and, after walking a little way +farther, we turned back together, talking about this and that; the state +of the country, the weather, and the dog, which he greatly admired; for +he is a good-natured man, and has a good word for everybody, though the +dog all but bit him when he attempted to coax his head; after the dog, we +began talking about the boy; it was myself who introduced that subject: I +thought it was a good opportunity to learn how he was getting on, so I +asked what he thought of my son; he hesitated at first, seeming scarcely +to know what to say; at length he came out with ‘Oh, a very extraordinary +youth, a most remarkable youth indeed, captain!’ ‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘I am +glad to hear it, but I hope you find him steady?’ ‘Steady, steady,’ said +he, ‘why, yes, he’s steady, I cannot say that he is not steady.’ ‘Come, +come,’ said I, beginning to be rather uneasy, ‘I see plainly that you are +not altogether satisfied with him; I was afraid you would not be, for, +though he is my own son, I am anything but blind to his imperfections: +but do tell me what particular fault you have to find with him; and I +will do my best to make him alter his conduct.’ ‘No fault to find with +him, captain, I assure you, no fault whatever; the youth is a remarkable +youth, an extraordinary youth, only’—As I told you before, Mr. S--- is +the best-natured man in the world, and it was only with the greatest +difficulty that I could get him to say a single word to the disadvantage +of the boy, for whom he seems to entertain a very great regard. At last +I forced the truth from him, and grieved I was to hear it; though I must +confess that I was somewhat prepared for it. It appears that the lad has +a total want of discrimination.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said my mother. + +“You can understand nothing that would seem for a moment to impugn the +conduct of that child. I am not, however, so blind; want of +discrimination was the word, and it both sounds well, and is expressive. +It appears that, since he has been placed where he is, he has been guilty +of the grossest blunders; only the other day, Mr. S--- told me, as he was +engaged in close conversation with one of his principal clients, the boy +came to tell him that a person wanted particularly to speak with him; +and, on going out, he found a lamentable figure with one eye, who came to +ask for charity; whom, nevertheless, the lad had ushered into a private +room, and installed in an arm chair, like a justice of the peace, instead +of telling him to go about his business—now what did that show, but a +total want of discrimination?” + +“I wish we may never have anything worse to reproach him with,” said my +mother. + +“I don’t know what worse we could reproach him with,” said my father: “I +mean of course as far as his profession is concerned: discrimination is +the very key-stone; if he treated all people alike, he would soon become +a beggar himself; there are grades in society as well as in the army; and +according to those grades we should fashion our behaviour, else there +would instantly be an end of all order and discipline. I am afraid that +the child is too condescending to his inferiors, whilst to his superiors +he is apt to be unbending enough; I don’t believe that would do in the +world; I am sure it would not in the army. He told me another anecdote +with respect to his behaviour, which shocked me more than the other had +done. It appears that his wife, who, by the by, is a very fine woman, +and highly fashionable, gave him permission to ask the boy to tea one +evening, for she is herself rather partial to the lad; there had been a +great dinner party there that day, and there were a great many +fashionable people, so the boy went and behaved very well and modestly +for some time, and was rather noticed, till, unluckily, a very great +gentleman, an archdeacon I think, put some questions to him, and, finding +that he understood the languages, began talking to him about the +classics. What do you think? the boy had the impertinence to say that +the classics were much overvalued, and amongst other things that some +horrid fellow or other, some Welshman I think (thank God it was not an +Irishman), was a better poet than Ovid; the company were of course +horrified; the archdeacon, who is seventy years of age, and has seven +thousand a year, took snuff and turned away. Mrs. S--- turned up her +eyes, Mr. S---, however, told me with his usual good-nature (I suppose to +spare my feelings) that he rather enjoyed the thing, and thought it a +capital joke.” + +“I think so too,” said my mother. + +“I do not,” said my father; “that a boy of his years should entertain an +opinion of his own—I mean one which militates against all established +authority—is astounding; as well might a raw recruit pretend to offer an +unfavourable opinion on the manual and platoon exercise; the idea is +preposterous; the lad is too independent by half. I never yet knew one +of an independent spirit get on in the army; the secret of success in the +army is the spirit of subordination.” + +“Which is a poor spirit after all,” said my mother; “but the child is not +in the army.” + +“And it is well for him that he is not,” said my father; “but you do not +talk wisely, the world is a field of battle, and he who leaves the ranks, +what can he expect but to be cut down? I call his present behaviour +leaving the ranks, and going vapouring about without orders; his only +chance lies in falling in again as quick as possible; does he think he +can carry the day by himself? an opinion of his own at these years—I +confess I am exceedingly uneasy about the lad.” + +“You make me uneasy too,” said my mother; “but I really think you are too +hard upon the child; after all, though not, perhaps, all you could wish +him; he is always ready to read the Bible. Let us go in; he is in the +room above us; at least he was two hours ago, I left him there bending +over his books; I wonder what he has been doing all this time, it is now +getting late; let us go in, and he shall read to us.” + +“I am getting old,” said my father; “and I love to hear the Bible read to +me, for my own sight is something dim; yet I do not wish the child to +read to me this night, I cannot so soon forget what I have heard; but I +hear my eldest son’s voice, he is now entering the gate; he shall read +the Bible to us this night. What say you?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +The Eldest Son—Saying of Wild Finland—The Critical Time—Vaunting +Polls—One Thing Wanted—A Father’s Blessing—Miracle of Art—The Pope’s +House—Young Enthusiast—Pictures of England—Persist and Wrestle—The Little +Dark Man. + +The eldest son! The regard and affection which my father entertained for +his first-born were natural enough, and appeared to none more so than +myself, who cherished the same feelings towards him. What he was as a +boy the reader already knows, for the reader has seen him as a boy; fain +would I describe him at the time of which I am now speaking, when he had +attained the verge of manhood, but the pen fails me, and I attempt not +the task; and yet it ought to be an easy one, for how frequently does his +form visit my mind’s eye in slumber and in wakefulness, in the light of +day, and in the night watches; but last night I saw him in his beauty and +his strength; he was about to speak, and my ear was on the stretch, when +at once I awoke, and there was I alone, and the night storm was howling +amidst the branches of the pines which surround my lonely dwelling: +“Listen to the moaning of the pine, at whose root thy hut is fastened,”—a +saying that, of wild Finland, in which there is wisdom; I listened, and +thought of life and death. . . . Of all human beings that I had ever +known, that elder brother was the most frank and generous, ay, and the +quickest and readiest, and the best adapted to do a great thing needful +at the critical time, when the delay of a moment would be fatal. I have +known him dash from a steep bank into a stream in his full dress, and +pull out a man who was drowning; yet there were twenty others bathing in +the water, who might have saved him by putting out a hand, without +inconvenience to themselves, which, however, they did not do, but stared +with stupid surprise at the drowning one’s struggles. Yes, whilst some +shouted from the bank to those in the water to save the drowning one, and +those in the water did nothing, my brother neither shouted nor stood +still, but dashed from the bank and did the one thing needful, which, +under such circumstances, not one man in a million would have done. Now, +who can wonder that a brave old man should love a son like this, and +prefer him to any other? + +“My boy, my own boy, you are the very image of myself, the day I took off +my coat in the park to fight Big Ben,” said my father, on meeting his son +wet and dripping, immediately after his bold feat. And who cannot excuse +the honest pride of the old man—the stout old man? + +Ay, old man, that son was worthy of thee, and thou wast worthy of such a +son; a noble specimen wast thou of those strong single-minded Englishmen +who, without making a parade either of religion or loyalty, feared God +and honoured their king, and were not particularly friendly to the +French, whose vaunting polls they occasionally broke, as at Minden and +Malplaquet, to the confusion vast of the eternal foes of the English +land. I, who was so little like thee that thou understoodest me not, and +in whom with justice thou didst feel so little pride, had yet perception +enough to see all thy worth, and to feel it an honour to be able to call +myself thy son; and if at some no distant time, when the foreign enemy +ventures to insult our shore, I be permitted to break some vaunting poll, +it will be a triumph to me to think that, if thou hadst lived, thou +wouldst have hailed the deed, and mightest yet discover some distant +resemblance to thyself, the day when thou didst all but vanquish the +mighty Brain. + +I have already spoken of my brother’s taste for painting, and the +progress he had made in that beautiful art. It is probable that, if +circumstances had not eventually diverted his mind from the pursuit, he +would have attained excellence, and left behind him some enduring +monument of his powers, for he had an imagination to conceive, and that +yet rarer endowment, a hand capable of giving life, body, and reality to +the conceptions of his mind; perhaps he wanted one thing, the want of +which is but too often fatal to the sons of genius, and without which +genius is little more than a splendid toy in the hands of the +possessor—perseverance, dogged perseverance, in his proper calling; +otherwise, though the grave had closed over him, he might still be living +in the admiration of his fellow-creatures. O ye gifted ones, follow your +calling, for, however various your talents may be, ye can have but one +calling capable of leading ye to eminence and renown; follow resolutely +the one straight path before you, it is that of your good angel, let +neither obstacles nor temptations induce ye to leave it; bound along if +you can; if not, on hands and knees follow it, perish in it, if needful; +but ye need not fear that; no one ever yet died in the true path of his +calling before he had attained the pinnacle. Turn into other paths, and +for a momentary advantage or gratification ye have sold your inheritance, +your immortality. Ye will never be heard of after death. + +“My father has given me a hundred and fifty pounds,” said my brother to +me one morning, “and something which is better—his blessing. I am going +to leave you.” + +“And where are you going?” + +“Where? to the great city; to London, to be sure.” + +“I should like to go with you.” + +“Pooh,” said my brother, “what should you do there? But don’t be +discouraged, I dare say a time will come when you too will go to London.” + +And, sure enough, so it did, and all but too soon. + +“And what do you purpose doing there?” I demanded. + +“Oh, I go to improve myself in art, to place myself under some master of +high name, at least I hope to do so eventually. I have, however, a plan +in my head, which I should wish first to execute; indeed, I do not think +I can rest till I have done so; every one talks so much about Italy, and +the wondrous artists which it has produced, and the wondrous pictures +which are to be found there; now I wish to see Italy, or rather Rome, the +great city, for I am told that in a certain room there is contained the +grand miracle of art.” + +“And what do you call it?” + +“The Transfiguration, painted by one Rafael, and it is said to be the +greatest work of the greatest painter which the world has ever known. I +suppose it is because everybody says so, that I have such a strange +desire to see it. I have already made myself well acquainted with its +locality, and think that I could almost find my way to it blindfold. +When I have crossed the Tiber, which, as you are aware, runs through +Rome, I must presently turn to the right, up a rather shabby street, +which communicates with a large square, the farther end of which is +entirely occupied by the front of an immense church, with a dome, which +ascends almost to the clouds, and this church they call St. Peter’s.” + +“Ay, ay,” said I, “I have read about that in Keysler’s Travels.” + +“Before the church, in the square, are two fountains, one on either side, +casting up water in showers; between them, in the midst, is an obelisk, +brought from Egypt, and covered with mysterious writing; on your right +rises an edifice, not beautiful nor grand, but huge and bulky, where +lives a strange kind of priest whom men call the Pope, a very horrible +old individual, who would fain keep Christ in leading-strings, calls the +Virgin Mary the Queen of Heaven, and himself God’s Lieutenant-General +upon earth.” + +“Ay, ay,” said I, “I have read of him in Fox’s Book of Martyrs.” + +“Well, I do not go straight forward up the flight of steps conducting +into the church, but I turn to the right, and, passing under the piazza, +find myself in a court of the huge bulky house; and then ascend various +staircases, and pass along various corridors and galleries, all of which +I could describe to you, though I have never seen them; at last a door is +unlocked, and we enter a room rather high, but not particularly large, +communicating with another room, into which, however, I do not go, though +there are noble things in that second room—immortal things, by immortal +artists; amongst others, a grand piece of Corregio; I do not enter it, +for the grand picture of the world is not there: but I stand still +immediately on entering the first room, and I look straight before me, +neither to the right nor left, though there are noble things both on the +right and left, for immediately before me at the farther end, hanging +against the wall, is a picture which arrests me, and I can see nothing +else, for that picture at the farther end hanging against the wall is the +picture of the world . . .” + +Yes, go thy way, young enthusiast, and, whether to London town or to old +Rome, may success attend thee; yet strange fears assail me and misgivings +on thy account. Thou canst not rest, thou say’st, till thou hast seen +the picture in the chamber at old Rome hanging over against the wall; ay, +and thus thou dost exemplify thy weakness—thy strength too, it may be—for +the one idea, fantastic yet lovely, which now possesses thee, could only +have originated in a genial and fervent brain. Well, go, if thou must +go; yet it perhaps were better for thee to bide in thy native land, and +there, with fear and trembling, with groanings, with straining eyeballs, +toil, drudge, slave, till thou hast made excellence thine own; thou wilt +scarcely acquire it by staring at the picture over against the door in +the high chamber of old Rome. Seekest thou inspiration? thou needest it +not, thou hast it already; and it was never yet found by crossing the +sea. What hast thou to do with old Rome, and thou an Englishman? “Did +thy blood never glow at the mention of thy native land?” as an artist +merely? Yes, I trow, and with reason, for thy native land need not +grudge old Rome her “pictures of the world;” she has pictures of her own, +“pictures of England;” and is it a new thing to toss up caps and +shout—England against the world? Yes, against the world in all, in all; +in science and in arms, in minstrel strain, and not less in the art +“which enables the hand to deceive the intoxicated soul by means of +pictures.” {95} Seek’st models? to Gainsborough and Hogarth turn, not +names of the world, may be, but English names—and England against the +world? A living master? why, there he comes! thou hast had him long, he +has long guided thy young hand towards the excellence which is yet far +from thee, but which thou canst attain if thou shouldst persist and +wrestle, even as he has done, midst gloom and despondency—ay, and even +contempt; he who now comes up the creaking stair to thy little studio in +the second floor to inspect thy last effort before thou departest, the +little stout man whose face is very dark, and whose eye is vivacious; +that man has attained excellence, destined some day to be acknowledged, +though not till he is cold, and his mortal part returned to its kindred +clay. He has painted, not pictures of the world, but English pictures, +such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful rural pieces, +with trees which might well tempt the little birds to perch upon them: +thou needest not run to Rome, brother, where lives the old Mariolater, +after pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of +England; nor needest thou even go to London, the big city, in search of a +master, for thou hast one at home in the old East Anglian town who can +instruct thee whilst thou needest instruction: better stay at home, +brother, at least for a season, and toil and strive ’midst groanings and +despondency till thou hast attained excellence even as he has done—the +little dark man with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name will +one day be considered the chief ornament of the old town, and whose works +will at no distant period rank amongst the proudest pictures of +England—and England against the world!—thy master, my brother, thy, at +present, all too little considered master—Crome. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +Desire for Novelty—Lives of the Lawless—Countenances—Old Yeoman and +Dame—We Live near the Sea—Uncouth-looking Volume—The Other +Condition—Draoitheac—A Dilemma—The Antinomian—Lodowick Muggleton—Almost +Blind—Anders Vedel. + +But to proceed with my own story; I now ceased all at once to take much +pleasure in the pursuits which formerly interested me, I yawned over Ab +Gwilym; even as I now in my mind’s eye perceive the reader yawning over +the present pages. What was the cause of this? Constitutional +lassitude, or a desire for novelty? Both it is probable had some +influence in the matter, but I rather think that the latter feeling was +predominant. The parting words of my brother had sunk into my mind. He +had talked of travelling in strange regions and seeing strange and +wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to work and drew pictures of +adventures wild and fantastic, and I thought what a fine thing it must be +to travel, and I wished that my father would give me his blessing, and +the same sum that he had given my brother, and bid me go forth into the +world; always forgetting that I had neither talents nor energies at this +period which would enable me to make any successful figure on its stage. + +And then I again sought up the book which had so captivated me in my +infancy, and I read it through; and I sought up others of a similar +character, and in seeking for them I met books also of adventure, but by +no means of a harmless description, lives of wicked and lawless men, +Murray and Latroon—books of singular power, but of coarse and prurient +imagination—books at one time highly in vogue; now deservedly forgotten, +and most difficult to be found. + +And when I had gone through these books, what was my state of mind? I +had derived entertainment from their perusal, but they left me more +listless and unsettled than before, and I really knew not what to do to +pass my time. My philological studies had become distasteful, and I had +never taken any pleasure in the duties of my profession. I sat behind my +desk in a state of torpor, my mind almost as blank as the paper before +me, on which I rarely traced a line. It was always a relief to hear the +bell ring, as it afforded me an opportunity of doing something which I +was yet capable of doing, to rise and open the door and stare in the +countenances of the visitors. All of a sudden I fell to studying +countenances, and soon flattered myself that I had made considerable +progress in the science. + +“There is no faith in countenances,” said some Roman of old; “trust +anything but a person’s countenance.” “Not trust a man’s countenance?” +say some moderns, “why, it is the only thing in many people that we can +trust; on which account they keep it most assiduously out of the way. +Trust not a man’s words if you please, or you may come to very erroneous +conclusions; but at all times place implicit confidence in a man’s +countenance, in which there is no deceit; and of necessity there can be +none. If people would but look each other more in the face, we should +have less cause to complain of the deception of the world; nothing so +easy as physiognomy nor so useful.” Somewhat in this latter strain I +thought, at the time of which I am speaking. I am now older, and, let us +hope, less presumptuous. It is true that in the course of my life I have +scarcely ever had occasion to repent placing confidence in individuals +whose countenances have prepossessed me in their favour; though to how +many I may have been unjust, from whose countenances I may have drawn +unfavourable conclusions, is another matter. + +But it had been decreed by that Fate which governs our every action, that +I was soon to return to my old pursuits. It was written that I should +not yet cease to be Lav-engro, though I had become, in my own opinion, a +kind of Lavater. It is singular enough that my renewed ardour for +philology seems to have been brought about indirectly by my +physiognomical researches, in which had I not indulged, the event which I +am about to relate, as far as connected with myself, might never have +occurred. Amongst the various countenances which I admitted during the +period of my answering the bell, there were two which particularly +pleased me, and which belonged to an elderly yeoman and his wife, whom +some little business had brought to our law sanctuary. I believe they +experienced from me some kindness and attention, which won the old +people’s hearts. So, one day, when their little business had been +brought to a conclusion, and they chanced to be alone with me, who was +seated as usual behind the deal desk in the outer room, the old man with +some confusion began to tell me how grateful himself and dame felt for +the many attentions I had shown them, and how desirous they were to make +me some remuneration. “Of course,” said the old man, “we must be +cautious what we offer to so fine a young gentleman as yourself; we have, +however, something we think will just suit the occasion, a strange kind +of thing which people say is a book, though no one that my dame or myself +have shown it to can make anything out of it; so as we are told that you +are a fine young gentleman, who can read all the tongues of the earth and +stars, as the Bible says, we thought, I and my dame, that it would be +just the thing you would like; and my dame has it now at the bottom of +her basket.” + +“A book,” said I, “how did you come by it?” + +“We live near the sea,” said the old man; “so near that sometimes our +thatch is wet with the spray; and it may now be a year ago that there was +a fearful storm, and a ship was driven ashore during the night, and ere +the morn was a complete wreck. When we got up at daylight, there were +the poor shivering crew at our door; they were foreigners, red-haired +men, whose speech we did not understand; but we took them in, and warmed +them, and they remained with us three days; and when they went away they +left behind them this thing, here it is, part of the contents of a box +which was washed ashore.” + +“And did you learn who they were?” + +“Why, yes; they made us understand that they were Danes.” + +Danes! thought I, Danes! and instantaneously, huge and grizzly, appeared +to rise up before my vision the skull of the old pirate Dane, even as I +had seen it of yore in the pent-house of the ancient church to which, +with my mother and my brother, I had wandered on the memorable summer +eve. + +And now the old man handed me the book; a strange and uncouth-looking +volume enough. It was not very large, but instead of the usual covering +was bound in wood, and was compressed with strong iron clasps. It was a +printed book, but the pages were not of paper, but vellum, and the +characters were black, and resembled those generally termed Gothic. + +“It is certainly a curious book,” said I; “and I should like to have it, +but I can’t think of taking it as a gift, I must give you an equivalent, +I never take presents from anybody.” + +The old man whispered with his dame and chuckled, and then turned his +face to me, and said, with another chuckle, “Well, we have agreed about +the price; but, may be, you will not consent.” + +“I don’t know,” said I; “what do you demand?” + +“Why, that you shake me by the hand, and hold out your cheek to my old +dame, she has taken an affection to you.” + +“I shall be very glad to shake you by the hand,” said I, “but as for the +other condition it requires consideration.” + +“No consideration at all,” said the old man, with something like a sigh; +“she thinks you like her son, our only child, that was lost twenty years +ago in the waves of the North Sea.” + +“Oh, that alters the case altogether,” said I, “and of course I can have +no objection.” + +And now, at once, I shook off my listlessness, to enable me to do which +nothing could have happened more opportune than the above event. The +Danes, the Danes! And I was at last to become acquainted, and in so +singular a manner, with the speech of a people which had as far back as I +could remember exercised the strongest influence over my imagination, as +how should they not!—in infancy there was the summer-eve adventure, to +which I often looked back, and always with a kind of strange interest, +with respect to those to whom such gigantic and wondrous bones could +belong as I had seen on that occasion; and, more than this, I had been in +Ireland, and there, under peculiar circumstances, this same interest was +increased tenfold. I had mingled much whilst there, with the genuine +Irish—a wild, but kind-hearted race, whose conversation was deeply imbued +with traditionary lore, connected with the early history of their own +romantic land, and from them I heard enough of the Danes, but nothing +commonplace, for they never mentioned them but in terms which tallied +well with my own preconceived ideas. For at an early period the Danes +had invaded Ireland, and had subdued it, and, though eventually driven +out, had left behind them an enduring remembrance in the minds of the +people, who loved to speak of their strength and their stature, in +evidence of which they would point to the ancient raths or mounds, where +the old Danes were buried, and where bones of extraordinary size were +occasionally exhumed. And as the Danes surpassed other people in +strength, so, according to my narrators, they also excelled all others in +wisdom, or rather in Draoitheac, or Magic, for they were powerful +sorcerers, they said, compared with whom the fairy men of the present day +knew nothing at all, at all; and, amongst other wonderful things, they +knew how to make strong beer from the heather that grows upon the bogs. +Little wonder if the interest, the mysterious interest, which I had early +felt about the Danes, was increased tenfold by my sojourn in Ireland. + +And now I had in my possession a Danish book, which, from its appearance, +might be supposed to have belonged to the very old Danes indeed; but how +was I to turn it to any account? I had the book, it is true, but I did +not understand the language, and how was I to overcome that difficulty? +hardly by poring over the book; yet I did pore over the book, daily and +nightly, till my eyes were dim, and it appeared to me every now and then +I encountered words which I understood—English words, though strangely +disguised; and I said to myself, courage! English and Danish are cognate +dialects, a time will come when I shall understand this Danish; and then +I pored over the book again, but with all my poring I could not +understand it; and then I became angry, and I bit my lips till the blood +came; and I occasionally tore a handful from my hair, and flung it upon +the floor, but that did not mend the matter, for still I did not +understand the book, which, however, I began to see was written in +rhyme—a circumstance rather difficult to discover at first, the +arrangement of the lines not differing from that which is employed in +prose; and its being written in rhyme made me only the more eager to +understand it. + +But I toiled in vain, for I had neither grammar nor dictionary of the +language; and when I sought for them could procure neither; and I was +much dispirited, till suddenly a bright thought came into my head, and I +said, although I cannot obtain a dictionary or grammar, I can perhaps +obtain a Bible in this language, and if I can procure a Bible, I can +learn the language, for the Bible in every tongue contains the same +thing, and I have only to compare the words of the Danish Bible with +those of the English, and, if I persevere, I shall in time acquire the +language of the Danes; and I was pleased with the thought, which I +considered to be a bright one, and I no longer bit my lips, or tore my +hair, but took my hat, and, going forth, I flung my hat into the air. + +And when my hat came down, I put it on my head and commenced running, +directing my course to the house of the Antinomian preacher, who sold +books, and whom I knew to have Bibles in various tongues amongst the +number, and I arrived out of breath, and I found the Antinomian in his +little library, dusting his books; and the Antinomian clergyman was a +tall man of about seventy, who wore a hat with a broad brim and a shallow +crown, and whose manner of speaking was exceedingly nasal; and when I saw +him, I cried, out of breath, “Have you a Danish Bible?” and he replied, +“What do you want it for, friend?” and I answered, “to learn Danish by;” +“and may be to learn thy duty,” replied the Antinomian preacher. “Truly, +I have it not; but, as you are a customer of mine, I will endeavour to +procure you one, and I will write to that laudable society which men call +the Bible Society, an unworthy member of which I am, and I hope by next +week to procure what you desire.” + +And when I heard these words of the old man, I was very glad, and my +heart yearned towards him, and I would fain enter into conversation with +him; and I said, “Why are you an Antinomian? For my part, I would rather +be a dog than belong to such a religion.” “Nay, friend,” said the +Antinomian, “thou forejudgest us; know that those who call us Antinomians +call us so despitefully, we do not acknowledge the designation.” “Then +you do not set all law at nought?” said I. “Far be it from us,” said the +old man, “we only hope that, being sanctified by the Spirit from above, +we have no need of the law to keep us in order. Did you ever hear tell +of Lodowick Muggleton?” “Not I.” “That is strange; know then that he +was the founder of our poor society, and after him we are frequently, +though opprobriously, termed Muggletonians, for we are Christians. Here +is his book, which, perhaps, you can do no better than purchase, you are +fond of rare books, and this is both curious and rare; I will sell it +cheap. Thank you, and now be gone, I will do all I can to procure the +Bible.” + +And in this manner I procured the Danish Bible, and I commenced my task; +first of all, however, I locked up in a closet the volume which had +excited my curiosity, saying, “Out of this closet thou comest not till I +deem myself competent to read thee,” and then I sat down in right +earnest, comparing every line in the one version with the corresponding +one in the other; and I passed entire nights in this manner, till I was +almost blind, and the task was tedious enough at first, but I quailed +not, and soon began to make progress: and at first I had a misgiving that +the old book might not prove a Danish book, but was soon reassured by +reading many words in the Bible which I remembered to have seen in the +book; and then I went on right merrily, and I found that the language +which I was studying was by no means a difficult one, and in less than a +month I deemed myself able to read the book. + +Anon, I took the book from the closet, and proceeded to make myself +master of its contents; I had some difficulty, for the language of the +book, though in the main the same as the language of the Bible, differed +from it in some points, being apparently a more ancient dialect; by +degrees, however, I overcame this difficulty, and I understood the +contents of the book, and well did they correspond with all those ideas +in which I had indulged connected with the Danes. For the book was a +book of ballads, about the deeds of knights and champions, and men of +huge stature; ballads which from time immemorial had been sung in the +North, and which some two centuries before the time of which I am +speaking had been collected by one Anders Vedel, who lived with a certain +Tycho Brahe, and assisted him in making observations upon the heavenly +bodies, at a place called Uranias Castle, on the little island of Hveen, +in the Cattegat. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +The Two Individuals—The Long Pipe—The Germans—Werther—The Female +Quaker—Suicide—Gibbon—Jesus of Bethlehem—Fill Your +Glass—Shakespeare—English at Minden—Melancholy Swayne Vonved—The Fifth +Dinner—Strange Doctrines—Are You Happy?—Improve Yourself in German. + +It might be some six months after the events last recorded, that two +individuals were seated together in a certain room, in a certain street +of the old town which I have so frequently had occasion to mention in the +preceding pages; one of them was an elderly, and the other a very young +man, and they sat on either side of the fire-place, beside a table, on +which were fruit and wine; the room was a small one, and in its furniture +exhibited nothing remarkable. Over the mantel-piece, however, hung a +small picture with naked figures in the foreground, and with much foliage +behind. It might not have struck every beholder, for it looked old and +smoke-dried; but a connoisseur, on inspecting it closely, would have +pronounced it to be a Judgment of Paris, and a masterpiece of the Flemish +school. + +The forehead of the elder individual was high, and perhaps appeared more +so than it really was, from the hair being carefully brushed back, as if +for the purpose of displaying to the best advantage that part of the +cranium; his eyes were large and full, and of a light brown, and might +have been called heavy and dull, had they not been occasionally lighted +up by a sudden gleam—not so brilliant however as that which at every +inhalation shone from the bowl of the long clay pipe which he was +smoking, but which, from a certain sucking sound which, about this time, +began to be heard from the bottom, appeared to be giving notice that it +would soon require replenishment from a certain canister, which, together +with a lighted taper, stood upon the table beside him. + +“You do not smoke?” said he, at length, laying down his pipe, and +directing his glance to his companion. + +Now there was at least one thing singular connected with this last, the +colour of his hair, which, notwithstanding his extreme youth, appeared to +be rapidly becoming grey. He had very long limbs, and was apparently +tall of stature, in which he differed from his elderly companion, who +must have been somewhat below the usual height. + +“No, I can’t smoke,” said the youth in reply to the observation of the +other. “I have often tried, but could never succeed to my satisfaction.” + +“Is it possible to become a good German without smoking?” said the +senior, half speaking to himself. + +“I daresay not,” said the youth; “but I shan’t break my heart on that +account.” + +“As for breaking your heart, of course you would never think of such a +thing; he is a fool who breaks his heart on any account; but it is good +to be a German, the Germans are the most philosophic people in the world, +and the greatest smokers: now I trace their philosophy to their smoking.” + +“I have heard say their philosophy is all smoke—is that your opinion?” + +“Why, no; but smoking has a sedative effect upon the nerves, and enables +a man to bear the sorrows of this life (of which every one has his share) +not only decently, but dignifiedly. Suicide is not a national habit in +Germany, as it is in England.” + +“But that poor creature, Werther, who committed suicide, was a German.” + +“Werther is a fictitious character, and by no means a felicitous one; I +am no admirer either of Werther or his author. But I should say that, if +there ever was a Werther in Germany, he did not smoke. Werther, as you +very justly observe, was a poor creature.” + +“And a very sinful one; I have heard my parents say that suicide is a +great crime.” + +“Broadly, and without qualification, to say that suicide is a crime, is +speaking somewhat unphilosophically. No doubt suicide, under many +circumstances, is a crime, a very heinous one. When the father of a +family, for example, to escape from certain difficulties, commits +suicide, he commits a crime; there are those around him who look to him +for support, by the law of nature, and he has no right to withdraw +himself from those who have a claim upon his exertions; he is a person +who decamps with other people’s goods as well as his own. Indeed, there +can be no crime which is not founded upon the depriving others of +something which belongs to them. A man is hanged for setting fire to his +house in a crowded city, for he burns at the same time or damages those +of other people; but if a man who has a house on a heath sets fire to it, +he is not hanged, for he has not damaged or endangered any other +individual’s property, and the principle of revenge, upon which all +punishment is founded, has not been aroused. Similar to such a case is +that of the man who, without any family ties, commits suicide; for +example, were I to do the thing this evening, who would have a right to +call me to account? I am alone in the world, have no family to support, +and, so far from damaging any one, should even benefit my heir by my +accelerated death. However, I am no advocate for suicide under any +circumstances; there is something undignified in it, unheroic, +un-Germanic. But if you must commit suicide—and there is no knowing to +what people may be brought—always contrive to do it as decorously as +possible; the decencies, whether of life or of death, should never be +lost sight of. I remember a female Quaker who committed suicide by +cutting her throat, but she did it decorously and decently: kneeling down +over a pail, so that not one drop fell upon the floor; thus exhibiting in +her last act that nice sense of sweetness for which Quakers are +distinguished. I have always had a respect for that woman’s memory.” + +And here, filling his pipe from the canister, and lighting it at the +taper, he recommenced smoking calmly and sedately. + +“But is not suicide forbidden in the Bible?” the youth demanded. + +“Why, no; but what though it were!—the Bible is a respectable book, but I +should hardly call it one whose philosophy is of the soundest. I have +said that it is a respectable book; I mean respectable from its +antiquity, and from containing, as Herder says, ‘the earliest records of +the human race,’ though those records are far from being dispassionately +written, on which account they are of less value than they otherwise +might have been. There is too much passion in the Bible, too much +violence; now, to come to all truth, especially historic truth, requires +cool dispassionate investigation, for which the Jews do not appear to +have ever been famous. We are ourselves not famous for it, for we are a +passionate people; the Germans are not—they are not a passionate people—a +people celebrated for their oaths: we are. The Germans have many +excellent historic writers, we—’tis true we have Gibbon. You have been +reading Gibbon—what do you think of him?” + +“I think him a very wonderful writer.” + +“He is a wonderful writer—one _sui generis_—uniting the perspicuity of +the English—for we are perspicuous—with the cool dispassionate reasoning +of the Germans. Gibbon sought after the truth, found it, and made it +clear.” + +“Then you think Gibbon a truthful writer?” + +“Why, yes; who shall convict Gibbon of falsehood? Many people have +endeavoured to convict Gibbon of falsehood; they have followed him in his +researches, and have never found him once tripping. Oh, he’s a wonderful +writer! his power of condensation is admirable; the lore of the whole +world is to be found in his pages. Sometimes in a single note he has +given us the result of the study of years; or, to speak metaphorically, +‘he has ransacked a thousand Gulistans, and has condensed all his +fragrant booty into a single drop of otto.’” + +“But was not Gibbon an enemy to the Christian faith?” + +“Why, no; he was rather an enemy to priestcraft, so am I; and when I say +the philosophy of the Bible is in many respects unsound, I always wish to +make an exception in favour of that part of it which contains the life +and sayings of Jesus of Bethlehem, to which I must always concede my +unqualified admiration—of Jesus, mind you; for with his followers and +their dogmas I have nothing to do. Of all historic characters, Jesus is +the most beautiful and the most heroic. I have always been a friend to +hero-worship, it is the only rational one, and has always been in use +amongst civilized people—the worship of spirits is synonymous with +barbarism—it is mere fetish; the savages of West Africa are all spirit +worshippers. But there is something philosophic in the worship of the +heroes of the human race, and the true hero is the benefactor. Brahma, +Jupiter, Bacchus, were all benefactors, and, therefore, entitled to the +worship of their respective peoples. The Celts worshipped Hesus, who +taught them to plough, a highly useful art. We, who have attained a much +higher state of civilization than the Celts ever did, worship Jesus, the +first who endeavoured to teach men to behave decently and decorously +under all circumstances; who was the foe of vengeance, in which there is +something highly indecorous; who had first the courage to lift his voice +against that violent dogma, ‘an eye for an eye;’ who shouted conquer, but +conquer with kindness; who said put up the sword, a violent unphilosophic +weapon; and who finally died calmly and decorously in defence of his +philosophy. He must be a savage who denies worship to the hero of +Golgotha.” + +“But he was something more than a hero; he was the son of God, wasn’t +he?” + +The elderly individual made no immediate answer; but, after a few more +whiffs from his pipe, exclaimed, “Come, fill your glass! How do you +advance with your translation of Tell?” + +“It is nearly finished; but I do not think I shall proceed with it; I +begin to think the original somewhat dull.” + +“There you are wrong; it is the masterpiece of Schiller, the first of +German poets.” + +“It may be so,” said the youth. “But, pray excuse me, I do not think +very highly of German poetry. I have lately been reading Shakespeare, +and, when I turn from him to the Germans—even the best of them—they +appear mere pigmies. You will pardon the liberty I perhaps take in +saying so.” + +“I like that every one should have an opinion of his own,” said the +elderly individual; “and, what is more, declare it. Nothing displeases +me more than to see people assenting to everything that they hear said; I +at once come to the conclusion that they are either hypocrites, or there +is nothing in them. But, with respect to Shakespeare, whom I have not +read for thirty years, is he not rather given to bombast, ‘crackling +bombast,’ as I think I have said in one of my essays?” + +“I daresay he is,” said the youth; “but I can’t help thinking him the +greatest of all poets, not even excepting Homer. I would sooner have +written that series of plays, founded on the fortunes of the House of +Lancaster, than the Iliad itself. The events described are as lofty as +those sung by Homer in his great work, and the characters brought upon +the stage still more interesting. I think Hotspur as much of a hero as +Hector, and young Henry more of a man than Achilles; and then there is +the fat knight, the quintessence of fun, wit, and rascality. Falstaff is +a creation beyond the genius even of Homer.” + +“You almost tempt me to read Shakespeare again—but the Germans?” + +“I don’t admire the Germans,” said the youth, somewhat excited. “I don’t +admire them in any point of view. I have heard my father say that, +though good sharpshooters, they can’t much be depended upon as soldiers; +and that old Sergeant Meredith told him that Minden would never have been +won but for the two English regiments, who charged the French with fixed +bayonets, and sent them to the right-about in double-quick time. With +respect to poetry, setting Shakespeare and the English altogether aside, +I think there is another Gothic nation, at least, entitled to dispute +with them the palm. Indeed, to my mind, there is more genuine poetry +contained in the old Danish book which I came so strangely by, than has +been produced in Germany from the period of the Niebelungen lay to the +present.” + +“Ah, the Kœmpe Viser?” said the elderly individual, breathing forth an +immense volume of smoke, which he had been collecting during the +declamation of his young companion. “There are singular things in that +book, I must confess; and I thank you for showing it to me, or rather +your attempt at translation. I was struck with that ballad of Orm +Ungarswayne, who goes by night to the grave-hill of his father to seek +for counsel. And then, again, that strange melancholy Swayne Vonved, who +roams about the world propounding people riddles; slaying those who +cannot answer, and rewarding those who can with golden bracelets. Were +it not for the violence, I should say that ballad has a philosophic +tendency. I thank you for making me acquainted with the book, and I +thank the Jew Mousha for making me acquainted with you.” + +“That Mousha was a strange customer,” said the youth, collecting himself. + +“He _was_ a strange customer,” said the elder individual, breathing forth +a gentle cloud. “I love to exercise hospitality to wandering strangers, +especially foreigners; and when he came to this place, pretending to +teach German and Hebrew, I asked him to dinner. After the first dinner, +he asked me to lend him five pounds; I _did_ lend him five pounds. After +the fifth dinner, he asked me to lend him fifty pounds; I did _not_ lend +him the fifty pounds.” + +“He was as ignorant of German as of Hebrew,” said the youth; “on which +account he was soon glad, I suppose, to transfer his pupil to some one +else.” + +“He told me,” said the elder individual, “that he intended to leave a +town where he did not find sufficient encouragement; and, at the same +time, expressed regret at being obliged to abandon a certain +extraordinary pupil, for whom he had a particular regard. Now I, who +have taught many people German from the love which I bear to it, and the +desire which I feel that it should be generally diffused, instantly said, +that I should be happy to take his pupil off his hands, and afford him +what instruction I could in German, for, as to Hebrew, I have never taken +much interest in it. Such was the origin of our acquaintance. You have +been an apt scholar. Of late, however, I have seen little of you—what is +the reason?” + +The youth made no answer. + +“You think, probably, that you have learned all I can teach you? Well, +perhaps you are right.” + +“Not so, not so,” said the young man eagerly; “before I knew you I knew +nothing, and am still very ignorant; but of late my father’s health has +been very much broken, and he requires attention; his spirits also have +become low, which, to tell you the truth, he attributes to my misconduct. +He says that I have imbibed all kinds of strange notions and doctrines, +which will, in all probability, prove my ruin, both here and hereafter; +which—which—” + +“Ah, I understand,” said the elder, with another calm whiff. “I have +always had a kind of respect for your father, for there is something +remarkable in his appearance, something heroic, and I would fain have +cultivated his acquaintance; the feeling, however, has not been +reciprocated. I met him, the other day, up the road, with his cane and +dog, and saluted him; he did not return my salutation.” + +“He has certain opinions of his own,” said the youth, “which are widely +different from those which he has heard that you profess.” + +“I respect a man for entertaining an opinion of his own,” said the +elderly individual. “I hold certain opinions; but I should not respect +an individual the more for adopting them. All I wish for is tolerance, +which I myself endeavour to practise. I have always loved the truth, and +sought it; if I have not found it, the greater my misfortune.” + +“Are you happy?” said the young man. + +“Why, no. And, between ourselves, it is that which induces me to doubt +sometimes the truth of my opinions. My life, upon the whole, I consider +a failure; on which account, I would not counsel you, or any one, to +follow my example too closely. It is getting late, and you had better be +going, especially as your father, you say, is anxious about you. But, as +we may never meet again, I think there are three things which I may +safely venture to press upon you. The first is, that the decencies and +gentlenesses should never be lost sight of, as the practice of the +decencies and gentlenesses is at all times compatible with independence +of thought and action. The second thing which I would wish to impress +upon you is, that there is always some eye upon us; and that it is +impossible to keep anything we do from the world, as it will assuredly be +divulged by somebody as soon as it is his interest to do so. The third +thing which I would wish to press upon you—” + +“Yes,” said the youth, eagerly bending forward. + +“Is”—and here the elderly individual laid down his pipe upon the +table—“that it will be as well to go on improving yourself in German!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +The Alehouse Keeper—Compassion for the Rich—Old English Gentleman—How is +this?—Madeira—The Greek Parr—Twenty Languages—Whiter’s Health—About the +Fight—A Sporting Gentleman—The Flattened Nose—Lend us that Pightle—The +Surly Nod. + +“Holloa, master! can you tell us where the fight is likely to be?” + +Such were the words shouted out to me by a short thick fellow, in brown +top-boots, and bare-headed, who stood, with his hands in his pockets, at +the door of a country alehouse as I was passing by. + +Now, as I knew nothing about the fight, and as the appearance of the man +did not tempt me greatly to enter into conversation with him, I merely +answered in the negative, and continued my way. + +It was a fine, lovely morning in May, the sun shine bright above, and the +birds were carolling in the hedgerows. I was wont to be cheerful at such +seasons, for, from my earliest recollection, sunshine and the song of +birds have been dear to me; yet, about that period, I was not cheerful, +my mind was not at rest; I was debating within myself, and the debate was +dreary and unsatisfactory enough. I sighed, and, turning my eyes upward, +I ejaculated, “What is truth?” But suddenly, by a violent effort, +breaking away from my meditations, I hastened forward; one mile, two +miles, three miles were speedily left behind; and now I came to a grove +of birch and other trees, and opening a gate I passed up a kind of +avenue, and soon arriving before a large brick house, of rather antique +appearance, knocked at the door. In this house there lived a gentleman +with whom I had business. He was said to be a genuine old English +gentleman, and a man of considerable property; at this time, however, he +wanted a thousand pounds, as gentlemen of considerable property every now +and then do. I had brought him a thousand pounds in my pocket, for it is +astonishing how many eager helpers the rich find, and with what +compassion people look upon their distresses. He was said to have good +wine in his cellar. + +“Is your master at home?” said I, to a servant who appeared at the door. + +“His worship is at home, young man,” said the servant, as he looked at my +shoes, which bore evidence that I had come walking. “I beg your pardon, +sir,” he added, as he looked me in the face. + +“Ay, ay, servants,” thought I, as I followed the man into the house, +“always look people in the face when you open the door, and do so before +you look at their shoes, or you may mistake the heir of a Prime Minister +for a shopkeeper’s son.” + +I found his worship a jolly red-faced gentleman, of about fifty-five; he +was dressed in a green coat, white corduroy breeches, and drab gaiters, +and sat on an old-fashioned leather sofa, with two small, thorough-bred +English terriers, one on each side of him. He had all the appearance of +a genuine old English gentleman who kept good wine in his cellar. + +“Sir,” said I, “I have brought you a thousand pounds”; and I said this +after the servant had retired, and the two terriers had ceased their +barking, which is natural to all such dogs at the sight of a stranger. + +And when the magistrate had received the money, and signed and returned a +certain paper which I handed to him, he rubbed his hands, and looking +very benignantly at me, exclaimed,— + +“And now, young gentleman, that our business is over, perhaps you can +tell me where the fight is to take place?” + +“I am sorry, sir,” said I, “that I can’t inform you; but everybody seems +to be anxious about it”; and then I told him what had occurred to me on +the road with the alehouse keeper. + +“I know him,” said his worship; “he’s a tenant of mine, and a good +fellow, somewhat too much in my debt, though. But how is this, young +gentleman, you look as if you had been walking; you did not come on +foot?” + +“Yes, sir, I came on foot.” + +“On foot! why, it is sixteen miles.” + +“I sha’n’t be tired when I have walked back.” + +“You can’t ride, I suppose?” + +“Better than I can walk.” + +“Then why do you walk?” + +“I have frequently to make journeys connected with my profession; +sometimes I walk, sometimes I ride, just as the whim takes me.” + +“Will you take a glass of wine?” + +“Yes.” + +“That’s right; what shall it be?” + +“Madeira!” + +The magistrate gave a violent slap on his knee; “I like your taste,” said +he; “I am fond of a glass of Madeira myself, and can give you such a one +as you will not drink every day. Sit down, young gentleman, you shall +have a glass of Madeira, and the best I have.” + +Thereupon he got up, and, followed by his two terriers, walked slowly out +of the room. + +I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me much +amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train of thought. + +“What is truth?” said I. + +“Here it is,” said the magistrate, returning at the end of a quarter of +an hour, followed by the servant, with a tray; “here’s the true thing, or +I am no judge, far less a justice. It has been thirty years in my cellar +last Christmas. There,” said he to the servant, “put it down, and leave +my young friend and me to ourselves. Now, what do you think of it?” + +“It is very good,” said I. + +“Did you ever taste better Madeira?” + +“I never before tasted Madeira.” + +“Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it is?” + +“I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it is.” + +“Well, there is logic in that, as Parr would say; you have heard of +Parr?” + +“Old Parr?” + +“Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, I the Greek +Parr, as people call him.” + +“I don’t know him.” + +“Perhaps not—rather too young for that; but were you of my age, you might +have cause to know him, coming from where you do. He kept school there, +I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved him—and he +loved me; he came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; I honour +Parr—he knows much, and is a sound man.” + +“Does he know the truth?” + +“Know the truth! he knows what’s good, from an oyster to an ostrich—he’s +not only sound but round.” + +“Suppose we drink his health?” + +“Thank you, boy: here’s Parr’s health, and Whiter’s.” + +“Who is Whiter?” + +“Don’t you know Whiter? I thought everybody knew Reverend Whiter the +philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know what that means. A man +fond of tongues and languages, quite out of your way—he understands some +twenty; what do you say to that?” + +“Is he a sound man?” + +“Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say: he has got queer notions +in his head—wrote a book to prove that all words came originally from the +earth—who knows? Words have roots, and roots, live in the earth; but, +upon the whole, I should not call him altogether a sound man, though he +can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr.” + +“Is he a round man?” + +“Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I’ll sing you a song, if you like, which +will let you into his character:— + + “‘Give me the haunch of a buck to eat, and to drink Madeira old, + And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold, + An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride, + And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river side; + With such good things around me, and blessed with good health withal, + Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not + call.’ + +Here’s to Whiter’s health—so you know nothing about the fight?” + +“No, sir; the truth is, that of late I have been very much occupied with +various matters, otherwise I should, perhaps, have been able to afford +you some information—boxing is a noble art.” + +“Can you box?” + +“A little.” + +“I tell you what, my boy; I honour you, and, provided your education had +been a little less limited, I should have been glad to see you here in +company with Parr and Whiter; both can box. Boxing is, as you say, a +noble art—a truly English art; may I never see the day when Englishmen +shall feel ashamed of it, or blacklegs and blackguards bring it into +disgrace! I am a magistrate, and, of course, cannot patronise the thing +very openly, yet I sometimes see a prize-fight: I saw the Game Chicken +beat Gulley.” + +“Did you ever see Big Ben?” + +“No, why do you ask?” But here we heard a noise, like that of a gig +driving up to the door, which was immediately succeeded by a violent +knocking and ringing, and after a little time, the servant who had +admitted me made his appearance in the room. + +“Sir,” said he, with a certain eagerness of manner, “here are two +gentlemen waiting to speak to you.” + +“Gentlemen waiting to speak to me! who are they?” + +“I don’t know, sir,” said the servant; “but they look like sporting +gentlemen, and—and”—here he hesitated; “from a word or two they dropped, +I almost think that they come about the fight.” + +“About the fight,” said the magistrate. “No! that can hardly be; +however, you had better show them in.” + +Heavy steps were now heard ascending the stairs, and the servant ushered +two men into the apartment. Again there was a barking, but louder than +that which had been directed against myself, for here were two intruders; +both of them were remarkable looking men, but to the foremost of them the +most particular notice may well be accorded: he was a man somewhat under +thirty, and nearly six feet in height. He was dressed in a blue coat, +white corduroy breeches, fastened below the knee with small golden +buttons; on his legs he wore white lamb’s-wool stockings, and on his feet +shoes reaching to the ankles; round his neck was a handkerchief of the +blue and bird’s eye pattern; he wore neither whiskers nor moustaches, and +appeared not to delight in hair, that of his head, which was of a light +brown, being closely cropped; the forehead was rather high, but somewhat +narrow; the face neither broad nor sharp, perhaps rather sharp than +broad; the nose was almost delicate; the eyes were grey, with an +expression in which there was sternness blended with something +approaching to feline; his complexion was exceedingly pale, relieved, +however, by certain pock-marks, which here and there studded his +countenance; his form was athletic, but lean; his arms long. In the +whole appearance of the man there was a blending of the bluff and the +sharp. You might have supposed him a bruiser; his dress was that of one +in all its minutiæ; something was wanting, however, in his manner—the +quietness of the professional man; he rather looked like one performing +the part—well—very well—but still performing a part. His +companion!—there, indeed, was the bruiser—no mistake about him: a tall +massive man, with a broad countenance and a flattened nose; dressed like +a bruiser, but not like a bruiser going into the ring; he wore white +topped boots, and a loose brown jockey coat. As the first advanced +towards the table, behind which the magistrate sat, he doffed a white +castor from his head, and made rather a genteel bow; looking at me, who +sat somewhat on one side, he gave a kind of nod of recognition. + +“May I request to know who you are, gentlemen?” said the magistrate. + +“Sir,” said the man in a deep, but not unpleasant voice, “allow me to +introduce to you my friend, Mr. ---, the celebrated pugilist;” and he +motioned with his hand towards the massive man with the flattened nose. + +“And your own name, sir?” said the magistrate. + +“My name is no matter,” said the man; “were I to mention it to you, it +would awaken within you no feeling of interest. It is neither Kean nor +Belcher, and I have as yet done nothing to distinguish myself like either +of those individuals, or even like my friend here. However, a time may +come—we are not yet buried; and whensoever my hour arrives, I hope I +shall prove myself equal to my destiny, however high— + + ‘Like a bird that’s bred amongst the Helicons.’” + +And here a smile half theatrical passed over his features. + +“In what can I oblige you, sir?” said the magistrate. + +“Well, sir; the soul of wit is brevity; we want a place for an +approaching combat between my friend here and a brave from town. Passing +by your broad acres this fine morning we saw a pightle, which we deemed +would suit. Lend us that pightle, and receive our thanks; ’twould be a +favour, though not much to grant: we neither ask for Stonehenge nor for +Tempe.” + +My friend looked somewhat perplexed; after a moment, however, he said, +with a firm but gentlemanly air, “Sir, I am sorry that I cannot comply +with your request.” + +“Not comply!” said the man, his brow becoming dark as midnight; and with +a hoarse and savage tone, “Not comply! why not?” + +“It is impossible, sir; utterly impossible!” + +“Why so?” + +“I am not compelled to give my reason to you, sir, nor to any man.” + +“Let me beg of you to alter your decision,” said the man, in a tone of +profound respect. + +“Utterly impossible, sir; I am a magistrate.” + +“Magistrate! then fare ye well, for a green-coated buffer and a +Harmanbeck.” + +“Sir!” said the magistrate, springing up with a face fiery with wrath. + +But, with a surly nod to me, the man left the apartment; and in a moment +more the heavy footsteps of himself and his companion were heard +descending the staircase. + +“Who is that man?” said my friend, turning towards me. + +“A sporting gentleman, well known in the place from which I come.” + +“He appeared to know you.” + +“I have occasionally put on the gloves with him.” + +“What is his name?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +Doubts—Wise King of Jerusalem—Let Me See—A Thousand Years—Nothing New—The +Crowd—The Hymn—Faith—Charles Wesley—There He Stood—Farewell, +Brother—Death—Sun, Moon, and Stars—Wind on the Heath. + +There was one question which I was continually asking myself at this +period, and which has more than once met the eyes of the reader who has +followed me through the last chapter. “What is truth?” I had involved +myself imperceptibly in a dreary labyrinth of doubt, and, whichever way I +turned, no reasonable prospect of extricating myself appeared. The means +by which I had brought myself into this situation may be very briefly +told; I had inquired into many matters, in order that I might become +wise, and I had read and pondered over the words of the wise, so called, +till I had made myself master of the sum of human wisdom; namely, that +everything is enigmatical and that man is an enigma to himself; thence +the cry of “What is truth?” I had ceased to believe in the truth of that +in which I had hitherto trusted, and yet could find nothing in which I +could put any fixed or deliberate belief. I was, indeed, in a labyrinth! +In what did I not doubt? With respect to crime and virtue I was in +doubt; I doubted that the one was blameable and the other praiseworthy. +Are not all things subjected to the law of necessity? Assuredly; time +and chance govern all things: yet how can this be? alas! + +Then there was myself; for what was I born? Are not all things born to +be forgotten? That’s incomprehensible: yet is it not so? Those +butterflies fall and are forgotten. In what is man better than a +butterfly? All then is born to be forgotten. Ah! that was a pang +indeed; ’tis at such a moment that a man wishes to die. The wise king of +Jerusalem, who sat in his shady arbours beside his sunny fishpools, +saying so many fine things, wished to die, when he saw that not only all +was vanity, but that he himself was vanity. Will a time come when all +will be forgotten that now is beneath the sun? If so, of what profit is +life? + +In truth, it was a sore vexation of spirit to me when I saw, as the wise +man saw of old, that whatever I could hope to perform must necessarily be +of very temporary duration; and if so, why do it? I said to myself, +whatever name I can acquire, will it endure for eternity? scarcely so. A +thousand years? Let me see! What have I done already? I have learnt +Welsh, and have translated the songs of Ab Gwilym, some ten thousand +lines, into English rhyme; I have also learnt Danish, and have rendered +the old book of ballads cast by the tempest upon the beach into +corresponding English metre. Good! have I done enough already to secure +myself a reputation of a thousand years? No, no! certainly not; I have +not the slightest ground for hoping that my translations from the Welsh +and Danish will be read at the end of a thousand years. Well, but I am +only eighteen, and I have not stated all that I have done; I have learnt +many other tongues, and have acquired some knowledge even of Hebrew and +Arabic. Should I go on in this way till I am forty, I must then be very +learned; and perhaps, among other things, may have translated the Talmud, +and some of the great works of the Arabians. Pooh! all this is mere +learning and translation, and such will never secure immortality. +Translation is at best an echo, and it must be a wonderful echo to be +heard after the lapse of a thousand years. No! all I have already done, +and all I may yet do in the same way, I may reckon as nothing—mere +pastime; something else must be done. I must either write some grand +original work, or conquer an empire; the one just as easy as the other. +But am I competent to do either? Yes, I think I am, under favourable +circumstances. Yes, I think I may promise myself a reputation of a +thousand years, if I do but give myself the necessary trouble. Well! but +what’s a thousand years after all, or twice a thousand years? Woe is me! +I may just as well sit still. + +“Would I had never been born!” I said to myself; and a thought would +occasionally intrude. But was I ever born? Is not all that I see a +lie—a deceitful phantom? Is there a world, and earth, and sky? +Berkeley’s doctrine—Spinosa’s doctrine! Dear reader, I had at that time +never read either Berkeley or Spinosa. I have still never read them; who +are they, men of yesterday? “All is a lie—all a deceitful phantom,” are +old cries; they come naturally from the mouths of those who, casting +aside that choicest shield against madness, simplicity, would fain be +wise as God, and can only know that they are naked. This doubting in the +“universal all” is most coeval with the human race: wisdom, so called, +was early sought after. All is a lie—a deceitful phantom—was said when +the world was yet young; its surface, save a scanty portion, yet +untrodden by human foot, and when the great tortoise yet crawled about. +All is a lie, was the doctrine of Buddh; and Buddh lived thirty centuries +before the wise king of Jerusalem, who sat in his arbours, beside his +sunny fishpools, saying many fine things, and, amongst others, “There is +nothing new under the sun!” + + * * * * * + +One day, whilst I bent my way to the heath of which I have spoken on a +former occasion, at the foot of the hills which formed it I came to a +place where a wagon was standing, but without horses, the shafts resting +on the ground; there was a crowd about it, which extended halfway up the +side of the neighbouring hill. The wagon was occupied by some +half-a-dozen men; some sitting, others standing—they were dressed in +sober-coloured habiliments of black or brown, cut in a plain and rather +uncouth fashion, and partially white with dust; their hair was short, and +seemed to have been smoothed down by the application of the hand; all +were bare-headed—sitting or standing, all were bare-headed. One of them, +a tall man, was speaking as I arrived; ere, however, I could distinguish +what he was saying, he left off, and then there was a cry for a hymn “to +the glory of God”—that was the word. It was a strange sounding hymn, as +well it might be, for everybody joined in it: there were voices of all +kinds, of men, of women, and of children—of those who could sing, and of +those who could not—a thousand voices all joined, and all joined +heartily; no voice of all the multitude was silent save mine. The crowd +consisted entirely of the lower classes, labourers and mechanics, and +their wives and children—dusty people, unwashed people, people of no +account whatever, and yet they did not look a mob. And when that hymn +was over—and here let me observe that, strange as it sounded, I have +recalled that hymn to mind, and it has seemed to tingle in my ears on +occasions when all that pomp and art could do to enhance religious +solemnity was being done—in the Sistine Chapel, what time the papal band +was in full play, and the choicest choristers of Italy poured forth their +melodious tones in presence of Batuschca and his cardinals—on the ice of +the Neva, what time the long train of stately priests, with their noble +beards and their flowing robes of crimson and gold, with their ebony and +ivory staves, stalked along, chanting their Sclavonian litanies in +advance of the mighty Emperor of the North and his Priberjensky guard of +giants, towards the orifice through which the river, running below in its +swiftness, is to receive the baptismal lymph:—when the hymn was over, +another man in the wagon proceeded to address the people; he was a much +younger man than the last speaker; somewhat square built and about the +middle height; his face was rather broad, but expressive of much +intelligence, and with a peculiar calm and serious look; the accent in +which he spoke indicated that he was not of these parts, but from some +distant district. The subject of his address was faith, and how it could +remove mountains. It was a plain address, without any attempt at +ornament, and delivered in a tone which was neither loud nor vehement. +The speaker was evidently not a practised one—once or twice he hesitated +as if for words to express his meaning, but still he held on, talking of +faith, and how it could remove mountains: “It is the only thing we want, +brethren, in this world; if we have that, we are indeed rich, as it will +enable us to do our duty under all circumstances, and to bear our lot, +however hard it may be—and the lot of all mankind is hard—the lot of the +poor is hard, brethren—and who knows more of the poor than I?—a poor man +myself, and the son of a poor man: but are the rich better off? not so, +brethren, for God is just. The rich have their trials too: I am not rich +myself, but I have seen the rich with careworn countenances; I have also +seen them in mad-houses; from which you may learn, brethren, that the lot +of all mankind is hard; that is, till we lay hold of faith, which makes +us comfortable under all circumstances; whether we ride in gilded +chariots or walk bare-footed in quest of bread; whether we be ignorant, +whether we be wise—for riches and poverty, ignorance and wisdom, +brethren, each brings with it its peculiar temptations. Well, under all +these troubles, the thing which I would recommend you to seek is one and +the same—faith; faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, who made us, and allotted +to each his station. Each has something to do, brethren. Do it, +therefore, but always in faith; without faith we shall find ourselves +sometimes at fault; but with faith never—for faith can remove the +difficulty. It will teach us to love life, brethren, when life is +becoming bitter, and to prize the blessings around us; for as every man +has his cares, brethren, so has each man his blessings. It will likewise +teach us not to love life over much, seeing that we must one day part +with it. It will teach us to face death with resignation, and will +preserve us from sinking amidst the swelling of the river Jordan.” + +And when he had concluded his address, he said, “Let us sing a hymn, one +composed by Master Charles Wesley—he was my countryman, brethren. + + ‘Jesus, I cast my soul on thee, + Mighty and merciful to save; + Thou shalt to death go down with me, + And lay me gently in the grave. + + This body then shall rest in hope, + This body which the worms destroy; + For thou shalt surely raise me up, + To glorious life and endless joy.’” + +Farewell, preacher with the plain coat, and the calm serious look! I saw +thee once again, and that was lately—only the other day. It was near a +fishing hamlet, by the seaside, that I saw the preacher again. He stood +on the top of a steep monticle, used by pilots as a look-out for vessels +approaching that coast, a dangerous one, abounding in rocks and +quicksands. There he stood on the monticle, preaching to weather-worn +fishermen and mariners gathered below upon the sand. “Who is he?” said I +to an old fisherman who stood beside me with a book of hymns in his hand; +but the old man put his hand to his lips, and that was the only answer I +received. Not a sound was heard but the voice of the preacher and the +roaring of the waves; but the voice was heard loud above the roaring of +the sea, for the preacher now spoke with power, and his voice was not +that of one who hesitates. There he stood—no longer a young man, for his +black locks were become gray, even like my own; but there was the +intelligent face, and the calm serious look which had struck me of yore. +There stood the preacher, one of those men—and, thank God, their number +is not few—who, animated by the spirit of Christ, amidst much poverty, +and, alas! much contempt, persist in carrying the light of the Gospel +amidst the dark parishes of what, but for their instrumentality, would +scarcely be Christian England. I should have waited till he had +concluded, in order that I might speak to him and endeavour to bring back +the ancient scene to his recollection, but suddenly a man came hurrying +towards the monticle, mounted on a speedy horse, and holding by the +bridle one yet more speedy, and he whispered to me, “Why loiterest thou +here?—knowest thou not all that is to be done before midnight?” and he +flung me the bridle; and I mounted on the horse of great speed, and I +followed the other, who had already galloped off. And as I departed, I +waved my hand to him on the monticle, and I shouted, “Farewell, brother! +the seed came up at last, after a long period!” and then I gave the +speedy horse his way, and leaning over the shoulder of the galloping +horse, I said, “Would that my life had been like his—even like that +man’s.” + +I now wandered along the heath, until I came to a place where, beside a +thick furze, sat a man, his eyes fixed intently on the red ball of the +setting sun. + +“That’s not you, Jasper?” + +“Indeed, brother!” + +“I’ve not seen you for years.” + +“How should you, brother?” + +“What brings you here?” + +“The fight, brother.” + +“Where are the tents?” + +“On the old spot, brother.” + +“Any news since we parted?” + +“Two deaths, brother.” + +“Who are dead, Jasper?” + +“Father and mother, brother.” + +“Where did they die?” + +“Where they were sent, brother.” + +“And Mrs. Herne?” + +“She’s alive, brother.” + +“Where is she now?” + +“In Yorkshire, brother.” + +“What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?” said I, as I sat down +beside him. + +“My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in the old song +of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing— + + Canna marel o manus chivios andé puv, + Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi. + +When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child sorrow +over him. If he has neither wife nor child, then his father and mother, +I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then, he is cast +into the earth, and there is an end of the matter.” + +“And do you think that is the end of man?” + +“There’s an end of him, brother, more’s the pity.” + +“Why do you say so?” + +“Life is sweet, brother.” + +“Do you think so?” + +“Think so!—There’s night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, +and stars, brother, all sweet things; there’s likewise a wind on the +heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?” + +“I would wish to die—” + +“You talk like a gorgio—which is the same as talking like a fool—were you +a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed!—A Rommany Chal +would wish to live for ever!” + +“In sickness, Jasper?” + +“There’s the sun and stars, brother.” + +“In blindness, Jasper?” + +“There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I +would gladly live for ever. Dosta, we’ll now go to the tents and put on +the gloves; and I’ll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be +alive, brother!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +The Flower of the Grass—Days of Pugilism—The Rendezvous—Jews—Bruisers of +England—Winter Spring—Well-earned Bays—The Fight—Huge Black Cloud—Frame +of Adamant—The Storm—Dukkeripens—The Barouche—The Rain Gushes. + +How for everything there is a time and a season, and then how does the +glory of a thing pass from it, even like the flower of the grass. This +is a truism, but it is one of those which are continually forcing +themselves upon the mind. Many years have not passed over my head, yet, +during those which I can call to remembrance, how many things have I seen +flourish, pass away, and become forgotten, except by myself, who, in +spite of all my endeavours, never can forget anything. I have known the +time when a pugilistic encounter between two noted champions was almost +considered in the light of a national affair; when tens of thousands of +individuals, high and low, meditated and brooded upon it, the first thing +in the morning and the last at night, until the great event was decided. +But the time is past, and many people will say, thank God that it is; all +I have to say is, that the French still live on the other side of the +water, and are still casting their eyes hitherward—and that in the days +of pugilism it was no vain boast to say, that one Englishman was a match +for two of t’other race; at present it would be a vain boast to say so, +for these are not the days of pugilism. + +But those to which the course of my narrative has carried me were the +days of pugilism; it was then at its height, and consequently near its +decline, for corruption had crept into the ring; and how many things, +states and sects among the rest, owe their decline to this cause! But +what a bold and vigorous aspect pugilism wore at that time! and the great +battle was just then coming off: the day had been decided upon, and the +spot—a convenient distance from the old town; and to the old town were +now flocking the bruisers of England, men of tremendous renown. Let no +one sneer at the bruisers of England—what were the gladiators of Rome, or +the bull-fighters of Spain, in its palmiest days, compared to England’s +bruisers? Pity that ever corruption should have crept in amongst +them—but of that I wish not to talk; let us still hope that a spark of +the old religion, of which they were the priests, still lingers in the +breasts of Englishmen. There they come, the bruisers, from far London, +or from wherever else they might chance to be at the time, to the great +rendezvous in the old city; some came one way, some another; some of +tip-top reputation came with peers in their chariots, for glory and fame +are such fair things, that even peers are proud to have those invested +therewith by their sides; others came in their own gigs, driving their +own bits of blood, and I heard one say: “I have driven through at a heat +the whole hundred and eleven miles, and only stopped to bait twice.” Oh, +the blood-horses of old England! but they too have had their day—for +everything beneath the sun there is a season and a time. But the greater +number come just as they can contrive; on the tops of coaches, for +example; and amongst these there are fellows with dark sallow faces, and +sharp shining eyes; and it is these that have planted rottenness in the +core of pugilism, for they are Jews, and, true to their kind, have only +base lucre in view. + +It was fierce old Cobbett, I think, who first said that the Jews first +introduced bad faith amongst pugilists. He did not always speak the +truth, but at any rate he spoke it when he made that observation. +Strange people the Jews—endowed with every gift but one, and that the +highest, genius divine,—genius which can alone make of men demigods, and +elevate them above earth and what is earthy and grovelling; without which +a clever nation—and who more clever than the Jews?—may have Rambams in +plenty, but never a Fielding nor a Shakespeare. A Rothschild and a +Mendoza, yes—but never a Kean nor a Belcher. + +So the bruisers of England are come to be present at the grand fight +speedily coming off; there they are met in the precincts of the old town, +near the field of the chapel, planted with tender saplings at the +restoration of sporting Charles, which are now become venerable elms, as +high as many a steeple; there they are met at a fitting rendezvous, where +a retired coachman, with one leg, keeps an hotel and a bowling-green. I +think I now see them upon the bowling-green, the men of renown, amidst +hundreds of people with no renown at all, who gaze upon them with timid +wonder. Fame, after all, is a glorious thing, though it lasts only for a +day. There’s Cribb, the champion of England, and perhaps the best man in +England; there he is, with his huge massive figure, and face wonderfully +like that of a lion. There is Belcher, the younger, not the mighty one, +who is gone to his place, but the Teucer Belcher, the most scientific +pugilist that ever entered a ring, only wanting strength to be, I won’t +say what. He appears to walk before me now, as he did that evening, with +his white hat, white great coat, thin genteel figure, springy step, and +keen, determined eye. Crosses him, what a contrast! grim, savage +Shelton, who has a civil word for nobody, and a hard blow for +anybody—hard! one blow, given with the proper play of his athletic arm, +will unsense a giant. Yonder individual, who strolls about with his +hands behind him, supporting his brown coat lappets, under-sized, and who +looks anything but what he is, is the king of the light weights, so +called—Randall! the terrible Randall, who has Irish blood in his veins; +not the better for that, nor the worse; and not far from him is his last +antagonist, Ned Turner, who, though beaten by him, still thinks himself +as good a man, in which he is, perhaps, right, for it was a near thing; +and “a better shentleman,” in which he is quite right, for he is a +Welshman. But how shall I name them all? they were there by dozens, and +all tremendous in their way. There was Bulldog Hudson, and fearless +Scroggins, who beat the conqueror of Sam the Jew. There was Black +Richmond—no, he was not there, but I knew him well; he was the most +dangerous of blacks, even with a broken thigh. There was Purcell, who +could never conquer till all seemed over with him. There was—what! shall +I name thee last? ay, why not? I believe that thou art the last of all +that strong family still above the sod, where mayst thou long +continue—true piece of English stuff, Tom of Bedford—sharp as Winter, +kind as Spring. + +Hail to thee, Tom of Bedford, or by whatever name it may please thee to +be called, Spring or Winter. Hail to thee, six-foot Englishman of the +brown eye, worthy to have carried a six-foot bow at Flodden, where +England’s yeomen triumphed over Scotland’s king, his clans and chivalry. +Hail to thee, last of England’s bruisers, after all the many victories +which thou hast achieved—true English victories, unbought by yellow gold; +need I recount them? nay, nay! they are already well known to +fame—sufficient to say that Bristol’s Bull and Ireland’s Champion were +vanquished by thee, and one mightier still, gold itself, thou didst +overcome; for gold itself strove in vain to deaden the power of thy arm; +and thus thou didst proceed till men left off challenging thee, the +unvanquishable, the incorruptible. ’Tis a treat to see thee, Tom of +Bedford, in thy “public” in Holborn way, whither thou hast retired with +thy well-earned bays. ’Tis Friday night, and nine by Holborn clock. +There sits the yeoman at the end of his long room, surrounded by his +friends: glasses are filled, and a song is the cry, and a song is sung +well suited to the place; it finds an echo in every heart—fists are +clenched, arms are waved, and the portraits of the mighty fighting men of +yore, Broughton, and Slack, and Ben, which adorn the walls, appear to +smile grim approbation, whilst many a manly voice joins in the bold +chorus: + + “Here’s a health to old honest John Bull, + When he’s gone we shan’t find such another, + And with hearts and with glasses brim full, + We will drink to old England, his mother.” + +But the fight! with respect to the fight, what shall I say? Little can +be said about it—it was soon over; some said that the brave from town, +who was reputed the best man of the two, and whose form was a perfect +model of athletic beauty, allowed himself, for lucre vile, to be +vanquished by the massive champion with the flattened nose. One thing is +certain, that the former was suddenly seen to sink to the earth before a +blow of by no means extraordinary power. Time, time! was called; but +there he lay upon the ground apparently senseless, and from thence he did +not lift his head till several seconds after the umpires had declared his +adversary victor. + +There were shouts; indeed, there’s never a lack of shouts to celebrate a +victory, however acquired; but there was also much grinding of teeth, +especially amongst the fighting men from town. “Tom has sold us,” said +they, “sold us to the yokels; who would have thought it?” Then there was +fresh grinding of teeth, and scowling brows were turned to the heaven; +but what is this? is it possible, does the heaven scowl too? why, only a +quarter of an hour ago—but what may not happen in a quarter of an hour? +For many weeks the weather had been of the most glorious description, the +eventful day, too, had dawned gloriously, and so it had continued till +some two hours after noon; the fight was then over; and about that time I +looked up—what a glorious sky of deep blue, and what a big fierce sun +swimming high above in the midst of that blue; not a cloud—there had not +been one for weeks—not a cloud to be seen, only in the far west, just on +the horizon, something like the extremity of a black wing; that was only +a quarter of an hour ago, and now the whole northern side of the heaven +is occupied by a huge black cloud, and the sun is only occasionally seen +amidst masses of driving vapour; what a change! but another fight is at +hand, and the pugilists are clearing the outer ring;—how their huge whips +come crashing upon the heads of the yokels; blood flows, more blood than +in the fight: those blows are given with right good-will, those are not +sham blows, whether of whip or fist; it is with fist that grim Shelton +strikes down the big yokel; he is always dangerous, grim Shelton, but now +particularly so, for he has lost ten pounds betted on the brave who sold +himself to the yokels; but the outer ring is cleared: and now the second +fight commences; it is between two champions of less renown than the +others, but is perhaps not the worse on that account. A tall thin boy is +fighting in the ring with a man somewhat under the middle size, with a +frame of adamant; that’s a gallant boy! he’s a yokel, but he comes from +Brummagem, he does credit to his extraction; but his adversary has a +frame of adamant: in what a strange light they fight, but who can wonder, +on looking at that frightful cloud usurping now one-half of heaven, and +at the sun struggling with sulphurous vapour; the face of the boy, which +is turned towards me, looks horrible in that light, but he is a brave +boy, he strikes his foe on the forehead, and the report of the blow is +like the sound of a hammer against a rock; but there is a rush and a roar +over head, a wild commotion, the tempest is beginning to break loose; +there’s wind and dust, a crash, rain and hail; is it possible to fight +amidst such a commotion? yes! the fight goes on; again the boy strikes +the man full on the brow, but it is of no use striking that man, his +frame is of adamant. “Boy, thy strength is beginning to give way, thou +art becoming confused”; the man now goes to work, amidst rain and hail. +“Boy, thou wilt not hold out ten minutes longer against rain, hail, and +the blows of such an antagonist.” + +And now the storm was at its height; the black thunder-cloud had broken +into many, which assumed the wildest shapes and the strangest colours, +some of them unspeakably glorious; the rain poured in a deluge, and more +than one water-spout was seen at no great distance: an immense rabble is +hurrying in one direction; a multitude of men of all ranks, peers and +yokels, prize-fighters and Jews, and the last came to plunder, and are +now plundering amidst that wild confusion of hail and rain, men and +horses, carts and carriages. But all hurry in one direction, through mud +and mire; there’s a town only three miles distant, which is soon reached, +and soon filled, it will not contain one-third of that mighty rabble; but +there’s another town farther on—the good old city is farther on, only +twelve miles; what’s that! who’ll stay here? onward to the old town. + +Hurry skurry, a mixed multitude of men and horses, carts and carriages, +all in the direction of the old town; and, in the midst of all that mad +throng, at a moment when the rain gushes were coming down with particular +fury, and the artillery of the sky was pealing as I had never heard it +peal before, I felt some one seize me by the arm—I turned round and +beheld Mr. Petulengro. + +“I can’t hear you, Mr. Petulengro,” said I; for the thunder drowned the +words which he appeared to be uttering. + +“Dearginni,” I heard Mr. Petulengro say, “it thundereth. I was asking, +brother, whether you believe in dukkeripens?” + +“I do not, Mr. Petulengro; but this is strange weather to be asking me +whether I believe in fortunes.” + +“Grondinni,” said Mr. Petulengro, “it haileth. I believe in dukkeripens, +brother.” + +“And who has more right,” said I, “seeing that you live by them? But +this tempest is truly horrible.” + +“Dearginni, grondinni ta villaminni! It thundereth, it haileth, and also +flameth,” said Mr. Petulengro. “Look up there, brother!” + +I looked up. Connected with this tempest there was one feature to which +I have already alluded—the wonderful colours of the clouds. Some were of +vivid green; others of the brightest orange; others as black as pitch. +The gipsy’s finger was pointed to a particular part of the sky. + +“What do you see there, brother?” + +“A strange kind of cloud.” + +“What does it look like, brother?” + +“Something like a stream of blood.” + +“That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen.” + +“A bloody fortune!” said I. “And whom may it betide?” + +“Who knows!” said the gypsy. + +Down the way, dashing and splashing, and scattering man, horse, and cart +to the left and right, came an open barouche, drawn by four smoking +steeds, with postillions in scarlet jackets, and leather skull-caps. Two +forms were conspicuous in it; that of the successful bruiser, and of his +friend and backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance. + +“His!” said the gypsy, pointing to the latter, whose stern features wore +a smile of triumph, as, probably recognising me in the crowd, he nodded +in the direction of where I stood, as the barouche hurried by. + +There went the barouche, dashing through the rain gushes, and in it one +whose boast it was that he was equal to “either fortune.” Many have +heard of that man—many may be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I +have nothing to do with that man’s after life—he fulfilled his +dukkeripen. “A bad, violent man!” Softly, friend; when thou wouldst +speak harshly of the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy +own dukkeripen! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +My Father—Premature Decay—The Easy Chair—A Few Questions—So You Told Me—A +Difficult Language—They Call it Haik—Misused Opportunities—Saul—Want of +Candour—Don’t Weep—Heaven Forgive Me—Dated from Paris—I Wish He were +Here—A Father’s Reminiscences—Farewell to Vanities. + +My father, as I have already informed the reader, had been endowed by +nature with great corporeal strength; indeed, I have been assured that, +at the period of his prime, his figure had denoted the possession of +almost Herculean powers. The strongest forms, however, do not always +endure the longest, the very excess of the noble and generous juices +which they contain being the cause of their premature decay. But, be +that as it may, the health of my father, some few years after his +retirement from the service to the quiet of domestic life, underwent a +considerable change; his constitution appeared to be breaking up; and he +was subject to severe attacks from various disorders, with which, till +then, he had been utterly unacquainted. He was, however, wont to rally, +more or less, after his illnesses, and might still occasionally be seen +taking his walk, with his cane in his hand, and accompanied by his dog, +who sympathized entirely with him, pining as he pined, improving as he +improved, and never leaving the house save in his company; and in this +manner matters went on for a considerable time, no very great +apprehension with respect to my father’s state being raised either in my +mother’s breast or my own. But, about six months after the period at +which I have arrived in my last chapter, it came to pass that my father +experienced a severer attack than on any previous occasion. + +He had the best medical advice; but it was easy to see, from the looks of +his doctors, that they entertained but slight hopes of his recovery. His +sufferings were great, yet he invariably bore them with unshaken +fortitude. There was one thing remarkable connected with his illness; +notwithstanding its severity, it never confined him to his bed. He was +wont to sit in his little parlour, in his easy chair, dressed in a faded +regimental coat, his dog at his feet, who would occasionally lift his +head from the hearth-rug on which he lay, and look his master wistfully +in the face. And thus my father spent the greater part of his time, +sometimes in prayer, sometimes in meditation, and sometimes in reading +the Scriptures. I frequently sat with him, though, as I entertained a +great awe for my father, I used to feel rather ill at ease, when, as +sometimes happened, I found myself alone with him. + +“I wish to ask you a few questions,” said he to me, one day, after my +mother had left the room. + +“I will answer anything you may please to ask me, my dear father.” + +“What have you been about lately?” + +“I have been occupied as usual, attending at the office at the appointed +hours.” + +“And what do you there?” + +“Whatever I am ordered.” + +“And nothing else?” + +“Oh, yes! sometimes I read a book.” + +“Connected with your profession?” + +“Not always; I have been lately reading Armenian . . .” + +“What’s that?” + +“The language of a people whose country is a region on the other side of +Asia Minor.” + +“Well!” + +“A region abounding with mountains.” + +“Well!” + +“Amongst which is Mount Ararat.” + +“Well!” + +“Upon which, as the Bible informs us, the ark rested.” + +“Well!” + +“It is the language of the people of those regions.” + +“So you told me.” + +“And I have been reading the Bible in their language.” + +“Well!” + +“Or rather, I should say, in the ancient language of these people; from +which I am told the modern Armenian differs considerably.” + +“Well!” + +“As much as the Italian from the Latin.” + +“Well!” + +“So I have been reading the Bible in ancient Armenian.” + +“You told me so before.” + +“I found it a highly difficult language.” + +“Yes.” + +“Differing widely from the languages in general with which I am +acquainted.” + +“Yes.” + +“Exhibiting, however, some features in common with them.” + +“Yes.” + +“And sometimes agreeing remarkably in words with a certain strange wild +speech with which I became acquainted—” + +“Irish?” + +“No, father, not Irish—with which I became acquainted by the greatest +chance in the world.” + +“Yes.” + +“But of which I need say nothing further at present, and which I should +not have mentioned but for that fact.” + +“Well!” + +“Which I consider remarkable.” + +“Yes.” + +“The Armenian is copious.” + +“Is it?” + +“With an alphabet of thirty-nine letters, but it is harsh and guttural.” + +“Yes.” + +“Like the language of most mountainous people—the Armenians call it +Haik.” + +“Do they?” + +“And themselves, Haik, also; they are a remarkable people, and, though +their original habitation is the Mountain of Ararat, they are to be +found, like the Jews, all over the world.” + +“Well!” + +“Well, father, that’s all I can tell you about Haiks, or Armenians.” + +“And what does it all amount to?” + +“Very little, father; indeed, there is very little known about the +Armenians; their early history, in particular, is involved in +considerable mystery.” + +“And, if you knew all that it was possible to know about them, to what +would it amount? to what earthly purpose could you turn it? have you +acquired any knowledge of your profession?” + +“Very little, father.” + +“Very little! Have you acquired all in your power?” + +“I can’t say that I have, father.” + +“And yet it was your duty to have done so. But I see how it is, you have +shamefully misused your opportunities; you are like one, who, sent into +the field to labour, passes his time in flinging stones at the birds of +heaven.” + +“I would scorn to fling a stone at a bird, father.” + +“You know what I mean, and all too well, and this attempt to evade +deserved reproof by feigned simplicity is quite in character with your +general behaviour. I have ever observed about you a want of frankness, +which has distressed me; you never speak of what you are about, your +hopes, or your projects, but cover yourself with mystery. I never knew +till the present moment that you were acquainted with Armenian.” + +“Because you never asked me, father; there’s nothing to conceal in the +matter—I will tell you in a moment how I came to learn Armenian. A lady +whom I met at one of Mrs. ---’s parties took a fancy to me, and has done +me the honour to allow me to go and see her sometimes. She is the widow +of a rich clergyman, and on her husband’s death came to this place to +live, bringing her husband’s library with her: I soon found my way to it, +and examined every book. Her husband must have been a learned man, for +amongst much Greek and Hebrew I found several volumes in Armenian, or +relating to the language.” + +“And why did you not tell me of this before?” + +“Because you never questioned me; but I repeat there is nothing to +conceal in the matter. The lady took a fancy to me, and, being fond of +the arts, drew my portrait; she said the expression of my countenance put +her in mind of Alfieri’s Saul.” + +“And do you still visit her?” + +“No, she soon grew tired of me, and told people that she found me very +stupid; she gave me the Armenian books, however.” + +“Saul,” said my father, musingly, “Saul, I am afraid she was only too +right there; he disobeyed the commands of his master, and brought down on +his head the vengeance of Heaven—he became a maniac, prophesied, and +flung weapons about him.” + +“He was, indeed, an awful character—I hope I shan’t turn out like him.” + +“God forbid!” said my father solemnly; “but in many respects you are +headstrong and disobedient like him. I placed you in a profession, and +besought you to make yourself master of it, by giving it your undivided +attention. This, however, you did not do, you know nothing of it, but +tell me that you are acquainted with Armenian; but what I dislike most is +your want of candour—you are my son, but I know little of your real +history, you may know fifty things for what I am aware; you may know how +to shoe a horse, for what I am aware.” + +“Not only to shoe a horse, father, but to make horse-shoes.” + +“Perhaps so,” said my father; “and it only serves to prove what I am just +saying, that I know little about you.” + +“But you easily may, my dear father; I will tell you anything that you +may wish to know—shall I inform you how I learnt to make horse-shoes?” + +“No,” said my father; “as you kept it a secret so long, it may as well +continue so still. Had you been a frank, open-hearted boy, like one I +could name, you would have told me all about it of your own accord. But +I now wish to ask you a serious question—what do you propose to do?” + +“To do, father?” + +“Yes! the time for which you were articled to your profession will soon +be expired, and I shall be no more.” + +“Do not talk so, my dear father; I have no doubt that you will soon be +better.” + +“Do not flatter yourself; I feel that my days are numbered, I am soon +going to my rest, and I have need of rest, for I am weary. There, there, +don’t weep! Tears will help me as little as they will you, you have not +yet answered my question. Tell me what you intend to do?” + +“I really do not know what I shall do.” + +“The military pension which I enjoy will cease with my life. The +property which I shall leave behind me will be barely sufficient for the +maintenance of your mother respectably. I again ask you what you intend +to do. Do you think you can support yourself by your Armenian or your +other acquirements?” + +“Alas! I think little at all about it; but I suppose I must push into +the world, and make a good fight, as becomes the son of him who fought +Big Ben: if I can’t succeed, and am driven to the worst, it is but +dying—” + +“What do you mean by dying?” + +“Leaving the world; my loss would scarcely be felt. I have never held +life in much value, and every one has a right to dispose as he thinks +best of that which is his own.” + +“Ah! now I understand you; and well I know how and where you imbibed that +horrible doctrine, and many similar ones which I have heard from your +mouth; but I wish not to reproach you—I view in your conduct a punishment +for my own sins, and I bow to the will of God. Few and evil have been my +days upon the earth; little have I done to which I can look back with +satisfaction. It is true I have served my king fifty years, and I have +fought with—Heaven forgive me, what was I about to say!—but you mentioned +the man’s name, and our minds willingly recall our ancient follies. Few +and evil have been my days upon earth, I may say with Jacob of old, +though I do not mean to say that my case is so hard as his; he had many +undutiful children, whilst I have only—; but I will not reproach you. I +have also like him a son to whom I can look with hope, who may yet +preserve my name when I am gone, so let me be thankful; perhaps, after +all, I have not lived in vain. Boy, when I am gone, look up to your +brother, and may God bless you both. There, don’t weep; but take the +Bible, and read me something about the old man and his children.” + +My brother had now been absent for the space of three years. At first +his letters had been frequent, and from them it appeared that he was +following his profession in London with industry; they then became rather +rare, and my father did not always communicate their contents. His last +letter, however, had filled him and our whole little family with joy; it +was dated from Paris, and the writer was evidently in high spirits. +After describing in eloquent terms the beauties and gaieties of the +French capital, he informed us how he had plenty of money, having copied +a celebrated picture of one of the Italian masters for a Hungarian +nobleman, for which he had received a large sum. “He wishes me to go +with him to Italy,” added he; “but I am fond of independence, and, if +ever I visit old Rome, I will have no patrons near me to distract my +attention.” But six months had now elapsed from the date of this letter, +and we had heard no farther intelligence of my brother. My father’s +complaint increased; the gout, his principal enemy, occasionally mounted +high up in his system, and we had considerable difficulty in keeping it +from the stomach, where it generally proves fatal. I now devoted almost +the whole of my time to my father, on whom his faithful partner also +lavished every attention and care. I read the Bible to him, which was +his chief delight; and also occasionally such other books as I thought +might prove entertaining to him. His spirits were generally rather +depressed. The absence of my brother appeared to prey upon his mind. “I +wish he were here,” he would frequently exclaim; “I can’t imagine what +can have become of him; I trust, however, he will arrive in time.” He +still sometimes rallied; and I took advantage of those moments of +comparative ease, to question him upon the events of his early life. My +attentions to him had not passed unnoticed, and he was kind, fatherly, +and unreserved. I had never known my father so entertaining as at these +moments, when his life was but too evidently drawing to a close. I had +no idea that he knew and had seen so much; my respect for him increased, +and I looked upon him almost with admiration. His anecdotes were in +general highly curious; some of them related to people in the highest +stations, and to men whose names were closely connected with some of the +brightest glories of our native land. He had frequently conversed—almost +on terms of familiarity—with good old George. He had known the conqueror +of Tippoo Saib; and was the friend of Townshend, who, when Wolfe fell, +led the British grenadiers against the shrinking regiments of Montcalm. +“Pity,” he added, “that when old—old as I am now—he should have driven +his own son mad by robbing him of his plighted bride; but so it was; he +married his son’s bride. I saw him lead her to the altar; if ever there +was an angelic countenance, it was that girl’s; she was almost too fair +to be one of the daughters of women. Is there anything, boy, that you +would wish to ask me? now is the time.” + +“Yes, father; there is one about whom I would fain question you.” + +“Who is it; shall I tell you about Elliot?” + +“No, father, not about Elliot; but pray don’t be angry; I should like to +know something about Big Ben.” + +“You are a strange lad,” said my father; “and, though of late I have +begun to entertain a more favourable opinion than heretofore, there is +still much about you that I do not understand. Why do you bring up that +name? Don’t you know that it is one of my temptations; you wish to know +something about him. Well, I will oblige you this once, and then +farewell to such vanities—something about him. I will tell you—his skin +when he flung off his clothes—and he had a particular knack in doing +so—his skin, when he bared his mighty chest and back for combat, and when +he fought he stood, so—if I remember right—his skin, I say, was brown and +dusky as that of a toad. Oh me! I wish my elder son was here.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +My Brother’s Arrival—The Interview—Night—A Dying Father—Christ. + +At last my brother arrived; he looked pale and unwell; I met him at the +door. “You have been long absent!” said I. + +“Yes,” said he, “perhaps too long; but how is my father?” + +“Very poorly,” said I, “he has had a fresh attack; but where have you +been of late?” + +“Far and wide,” said my brother; “but I can’t tell you anything now, I +must go to my father. It was only by chance that I heard of his +illness.” + +“Stay a moment,” said I. “Is the world such a fine place as you supposed +it to be before you went away?” + +“Not quite,” said my brother, “not quite; indeed I wish—but ask me no +questions now, I must hasten to my father.” + +There was another question on my tongue, but I forbore; for the eyes of +the young man were full of tears. I pointed with my finger, and the +young man hastened past me to the arms of his father. + +I forbore to ask my brother whether he had been to old Rome. + +What passed between my father and brother I do not know; the interview, +no doubt, was tender enough, for they tenderly loved each other; but my +brother’s arrival did not produce the beneficial effect upon my father +which I at first hoped it would; it did not even appear to have raised +his spirits. He was composed enough, however: “I ought to be grateful,” +said he; “I wished to see my son, and God has granted me my wish; what +more have I to do now than to bless my little family and go?” + +My father’s end was evidently at hand. + +And did I shed no tears? did I breathe no sighs? did I never wring my +hands at this period? the reader will perhaps be asking. Whatever I did +and thought is best known to God and myself; but it will be as well to +observe, that it is possible to feel deeply, and yet make no outward +sign. + +And now for the closing scene. + +At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was awakened from +sleep by a cry which sounded from the room immediately below that in +which I slept. I knew the cry, it was the cry of my mother; and I also +knew its import, yet I made no effort to rise, for I was for the moment +paralyzed. Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay motionless—the +stupidity of horror was upon me. A third time, and it was then that, by +a violent effort, bursting the spell which appeared to bind me, I sprang +from the bed and rushed down stairs. My mother was running wildly about +the room; she had woke and found my father senseless in the bed by her +side. I essayed to raise him, and after a few efforts supported him in +the bed in a sitting posture. My brother now rushed in, and, snatching +up a light that was burning, he held it to my father’s face. “The +surgeon, the surgeon!” he cried; then dropping the light, he ran out of +the room followed by my mother; I remained alone, supporting the +senseless form of my father; the light had been extinguished by the fall, +and an almost total darkness reigned in the room. The form pressed +heavily against my bosom—at last methought it moved. Yes, I was right, +there was a heaving of the breast, and then a gasping. Were those words +which I heard? Yes, they were words, low and indistinct at first, and +then audible. The mind of the dying man was reverting to former scenes. +I heard him mention names which I had often heard him mention before. It +was an awful moment; I felt stupified, but I still contrived to support +my dying father. There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard him +speak of Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he +uttered another name, which at one period of his life was much in his +lips, the name of—but this is a solemn moment! There was a deep gasp: I +shook, and thought all was over; but I was mistaken—my father moved, and +revived for a moment; he supported himself in bed without my assistance. +I make no doubt that for a moment he was perfectly sensible, and it was +then that, clasping his hands, he uttered another name clearly, +distinctly—it was the name of Christ. With that name upon his lips, the +brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands still +clasped, yielded up his soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +The Greeting—Queer Figure—Cheer Up—The Cheerful Fire—It Will Do—The Sally +Forth—Trepidation—Let Him Come In. + +“One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have brought with you +will be taken away from you!” + +Such were the first words which greeted my ears, one damp misty morning +in March, as I dismounted from the top of a coach in the yard of a London +inn. + +I turned round, for I felt that the words were addressed to myself. +Plenty of people were in the yard—porters, passengers, coachmen, ostlers, +and others, who appeared to be intent on anything but myself, with the +exception of one individual, whose business appeared to lie with me, and +who now confronted me at the distance of about two yards. + +I looked hard at the man—and a queer kind of individual he was to look +at—a rakish figure, about thirty, and of the middle size, dressed in a +coat smartly cut, but threadbare, very tight pantaloons of blue stuff, +tied at the ankles, dirty white stockings, and thin shoes, like those of +a dancing-master; his features were not ugly, but rather haggard, and he +appeared to owe his complexion less to nature than carmine; in fact, in +every respect, a very queer figure. + +“One-and-ninepence, sir, or your things will be taken away from you!” he +said, in a kind of lisping tone, coming yet nearer to me. + +I still remained staring fixedly at him, but never a word answered. Our +eyes met; whereupon he suddenly lost the easy impudent air which he +before wore. He glanced, for a moment, at my fist, which I had by this +time clenched, and his features became yet more haggard; he faltered; a +fresh “one-and-ninepence,” which he was about to utter, died on his lips; +he shrank back, disappeared behind a coach, and I saw no more of him. + +“One-and-ninepence, or my things will be taken away from me!” said I to +myself, musingly, as I followed the porter to whom I had delivered my +scanty baggage; “am I to expect many of these greetings in the big world? +Well, never mind! I think I know the counter-sign!” And I clenched my +fist yet harder than before. + +So I followed the porter, through the streets of London, to a lodging +which had been prepared for me by an acquaintance. The morning, as I +have before said, was gloomy, and the streets through which I passed were +dank and filthy; the people, also, looked dank and filthy; and so, +probably, did I, for the night had been rainy, and I had come upwards of +a hundred miles on the top of a coach; my heart had sunk within me, by +the time we reached a dark narrow street, in which was the lodging. + +“Cheer up, young man,” said the porter, “we shall have a fine afternoon!” + +And presently I found myself in the lodging which had been prepared for +me. It consisted of a small room, up two pair of stairs, in which I was +to sit, and another still smaller above it, in which I was to sleep. I +remember that I sat down, and looked disconsolate about me—everything +seemed so cold and dingy. Yet how little is required to make a +situation—however cheerless at first sight—cheerful and comfortable. The +people of the house, who looked kindly upon me, lighted a fire in the +dingy grate; and, then, what a change!—the dingy room seemed dingy no +more! Oh, the luxury of a cheerful fire after a chill night’s journey! +I drew near to the blazing grate, rubbed my hands, and felt glad. + +And, when I had warmed myself, I turned to the table, on which, by this +time, the people of the house had placed my breakfast; and I ate and I +drank; and, as I ate and drank, I mused within myself, and my eyes were +frequently directed to a small green box, which constituted part of my +luggage, and which, with the rest of my things, stood in one corner of +the room, till at last, leaving my breakfast unfinished, I rose, and, +going to the box, unlocked it, and took out two or three bundles of +papers tied with red tape, and, placing them on the table, I resumed my +seat and my breakfast, my eyes intently fixed upon the bundles of papers +all the time. + +And when I had drained the last cup of tea out of a dingy teapot, and ate +the last slice of the dingy loaf, I untied one of the bundles, and +proceeded to look over the papers, which were closely written over in a +singular hand, and I read for some time, till at last I said to myself, +“It will do.” And then I looked at the other bundle for some time, +without untying it; and at last I said, “It will do also.” And then I +turned to the fire, and, putting my feet against the sides of the grate, +I leaned back on my chair, and, with my eyes upon the fire, fell into +deep thought. + +And there I continued in thought before the fire, until my eyes closed, +and I fell asleep; which was not to be wondered at, after the fatigue and +cold which I had lately undergone on the coach-top; and, in my sleep, I +imagined myself still there, amidst darkness and rain, hurrying now over +wild heaths, and now along roads overhung with thick and umbrageous +trees, and sometimes methought I heard the horn of the guard, and +sometimes the voice of the coachman, now chiding, now encouraging his +horses, as they toiled through the deep and miry ways. At length a +tremendous crack of a whip saluted the tympanum of my ear, and I started +up broad awake, nearly oversetting the chair on which I reclined—and, lo! +I was in the dingy room before the fire, which was by this time half +extinguished. In my dream I had confounded the noise of the street with +those of my night-journey; the crack which had aroused me I soon found +proceeded from the whip of a carter, who, with many oaths, was flogging +his team below the window. + +Looking at a clock which stood upon the mantel-piece, I perceived that it +was past eleven; whereupon I said to myself, “I am wasting my time +foolishly and unprofitably, forgetting that I am now in the big world, +without anything to depend upon save my own exertions;” and then I +adjusted my dress, and, locking up the bundle of papers which I had not +read, I tied up the other, and, taking it under my arm, I went down +stairs; and, after asking a question or two of the people of the house, I +sallied forth into the street with a determined look, though at heart I +felt somewhat timorous at the idea of venturing out alone into the mazes +of the mighty city, of which I had heard much, but of which, of my own +knowledge, I knew nothing. + +I had, however, no great cause for anxiety in the present instance; I +easily found my way to the place which I was in quest of—one of the many +new squares on the northern side of the metropolis, and which was +scarcely ten minutes’ walk from the street in which I had taken up my +abode. Arriving before the door of a tolerably large house which bore a +certain number, I stood still for a moment in a kind of trepidation, +looking anxiously at the door; I then slowly passed on till I came to the +end of the square, where I stood still, and pondered for awhile. +Suddenly, however, like one who has formed a resolution, I clenched my +right hand, flinging my hat somewhat on one side, and, turning back with +haste to the door before which I had stopped, I sprang up the steps, and +gave a loud rap, ringing at the same time the bell of the area. After +the lapse of a minute the door was opened by a maid-servant of no very +cleanly or prepossessing appearance, of whom I demanded, in a tone of +some hauteur, whether the master of the house was at home. Glancing for +a moment at the white paper bundle beneath my arm, the handmaid made no +reply in words, but, with a kind of toss of her head, flung the door +open, standing on one side as if to let me enter. I did enter; and the +handmaid, having opened another door on the right hand, went in, and said +something which I could not hear: after a considerable pause, however, I +heard the voice of a man say, “Let him come in;” whereupon the handmaid, +coming out, motioned me to enter, and, on my obeying, instantly closed +the door behind me. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +The Sinister Glance—Excellent Correspondent—Quite Original—My System—A +Losing Trade—Merit—Starting a Review—What Have You Got?—Stop!—Dairyman’s +Daughter—Oxford Principles—More Conversation—How is This? + +There were two individuals in the room in which I now found myself; it +was a small study, surrounded with bookcases, the window looking out upon +the square. Of these individuals he who appeared to be the principal +stood with his back to the fireplace. He was a tall stout man, about +sixty, dressed in a loose morning gown. The expression of his +countenance would have been bluff but for a certain sinister glance, and +his complexion might have been called rubicund but for a considerable +tinge of bilious yellow. He eyed me askance as I entered. The other, a +pale, shrivelled-looking person, sat at a table apparently engaged with +an account-book; he took no manner of notice of me, never once lifting +his eyes from the page before him. + +“Well, sir, what is your pleasure?” said the big man, in a rough tone, as +I stood there, looking at him wistfully—as well I might—for upon that +man, at the time of which I am speaking, my principal, I may say my only +hopes, rested. + +“Sir,” said I, “my name is so-and-so, and I am the bearer of a letter to +you from Mr. so-and-so, an old friend and correspondent of yours.” + +The countenance of the big man instantly lost the suspicious and lowering +expression which it had hitherto exhibited; he strode forward and, +seizing me by the hand, gave me a violent squeeze. + +“My dear sir,” said he, “I am rejoiced to see you in London. I have been +long anxious for the pleasure—we are old friends, though we have never +before met. Taggart,” said he to the man who sat at the desk, “this is +our excellent correspondent, the friend and pupil of our other excellent +correspondent.” + +The pale, shrivelled-looking man slowly and deliberately raised his head +from the account-book, and surveyed me for a moment or two; not the +slightest emotion was observable in his countenance. It appeared to me, +however, that I could detect a droll twinkle in his eye; his curiosity, +if he had any, was soon gratified; he made me a kind of bow, pulled out a +snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and again bent his head over the page. + +“And now, my dear sir,” said the big man, “pray sit down, and tell me the +cause of your visit. I hope you intend to remain here a day or two.” + +“More than that,” said I, “I am come to take up my abode in London.” + +“Glad to hear it; and what have you been about of late? got anything +which will suit me? Sir, I admire your style of writing, and your manner +of thinking; and I am much obliged to my good friend and correspondent +for sending me some of your productions. I inserted them all, and wished +there had been more of them—quite original, sir, quite: took with the +public, especially the essay about the non-existence of anything. I +don’t exactly agree with you, though; I have my own peculiar ideas about +matter—as you know, of course, from the book I have published. +Nevertheless, a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy—no such thing +as matter—impossible that there should be—_ex nihilo_—what is the Greek? +I have forgot—very pretty indeed; very original.” + +“I am afraid, sir, it was very wrong to write such trash, and yet more to +allow it to be published.” + +“Trash! not at all; a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy; of +course you were wrong in saying there is no world. The world must exist, +to have the shape of a pear; and that the world is shaped like a pear, +and not like an apple, as the fools of Oxford say, I have satisfactorily +proved in my book. Now, if there were no world, what would become of my +system? But what do you propose to do in London?” + +“Here is the letter, sir,” said I, “of our good friend, which I have not +yet given to you; I believe it will explain to you the circumstances +under which I come.” + +He took the letter, and perused it with attention. “Hem!” said he, with +a somewhat altered manner, “my friend tells me that you are come up to +London with the view of turning your literary talents to account, and +desires me to assist you in my capacity of publisher in bringing forth +two or three works which you have prepared. My good friend is perhaps +not aware that for some time past I have given up publishing—was obliged +to do so—had many severe losses—do nothing at present in that line, save +sending out the Magazine once a month; and, between ourselves, am +thinking of disposing of that—wish to retire—high time at my age—so you +see—” + +“I am very sorry, sir, to hear that you cannot assist me” (and I remember +that I felt very nervous); “I had hoped—” + +“A losing trade, I assure you, sir; literature is a drug. Taggart, what +o’clock is it?” + +“Well, sir!” said I, rising, “as you cannot assist me, I will now take my +leave; I thank you sincerely for your kind reception, and will trouble +you no longer.” + +“Oh, don’t go. I wish to have some further conversation with you; and +perhaps I may hit upon some plan to benefit you. I honour merit, and +always make a point to encourage it when I can; but,—Taggart, go to the +bank, and tell them to dishonour the bill twelve months after date for +thirty pounds which becomes due to-morrow. I am dissatisfied with that +fellow who wrote the fairy tales, and intend to give him all the trouble +in my power. Make haste.” + +Taggart did not appear to be in any particular haste. First of all, he +took a pinch of snuff, then, rising from his chair, slowly and +deliberately drew his wig, for he wore a wig of a brown colour, rather +more over his forehead than it had previously been, buttoned his coat, +and, taking his hat, and an umbrella which stood in a corner, made me a +low bow, and quitted the room. + +“Well, sir, where were we? Oh, I remember, we were talking about merit. +Sir, I always wish to encourage merit, especially when it comes so highly +recommended as in the present instance. Sir, my good friend and +correspondent speaks of you in the highest terms. Sir, I honour my good +friend, and have the highest respect for his opinion in all matters +connected with literature—rather eccentric though. Sir, my good friend +has done my periodical more good and more harm than all the rest of my +correspondents. Sir, I shall never forget the sensation caused by the +appearance of his article about a certain personage whom he proved—and I +think satisfactorily—to have been a legionary soldier—rather startling, +was it not? The S--- of the world a common soldier, in a marching +regiment—original, but startling; sir, I honour my good friend.” + +“So you have renounced publishing, sir,” said I, “with the exception of +the Magazine?” + +“Why, yes; except now and then, under the rose; the old coachman, you +know, likes to hear the whip. Indeed, at the present moment, I am +thinking of starting a Review on an entirely new and original principle; +and it just struck me that you might be of high utility in the +undertaking—what do you think of the matter?” + +“I should be happy, sir, to render you any assistance, but I am afraid +the employment you propose requires other qualifications than I possess; +however, I can make the essay. My chief intention in coming to London +was to lay before the world what I had prepared; and I had hoped by your +assistance—” + +“Ah! I see, ambition! Ambition is a very pretty thing; but, sir, we +must walk before we run, according to the old saying—what is that you +have got under your arm?” + +“One of the works to which I was alluding; the one, indeed, which I am +most anxious to lay before the world, as I hope to derive from it both +profit and reputation.” + +“Indeed! what do you call it?” + +“Ancient songs of Denmark, heroic and romantic, translated by myself; +with notes philological, critical, and historical.” + +“Then, sir, I assure you that your time and labour have been entirely +flung away; nobody would read your ballads, if you were to give them to +the world to-morrow.” + +“I am sure, sir, that you would say otherwise, if you would permit me to +read one to you;” and, without waiting for the answer of the big man, nor +indeed so much as looking at him, to see whether he was inclined or not +to hear me, I undid my manuscript, and with a voice trembling with +eagerness, I read to the following effect:— + + Buckshank bold and Elfinstone, + And more than I can mention here, + They caused to be built so stout a ship, + And unto Iceland they would steer. + + They launched the ship upon the main, + Which bellowed like a wrathful bear; + Down to the bottom the vessel sank, + A laidly Trold has dragged it there. + + Down to the bottom sank young Roland, + And round about he groped awhile; + Until he found the path which led + Unto the bower of Ellenlyle. + +“Stop!” said the publisher; “very pretty indeed, and very original; beats +Scott hollow, and Percy too: but, sir, the day for these things is gone +by; nobody at present cares for Percy, nor for Scott, either, save as a +novelist; sorry to discourage merit, sir, but what can I do! What else +have you got?” + +“The songs of Ab Gwilym, the Welsh bard, also translated by myself, with +notes critical, philological, and historical.” + +“Pass on—what else?” + +“Nothing else,” said I, folding up my manuscript with a sigh, “unless it +be a romance in the German style; on which, I confess, I set very little +value.” + +“Wild?” + +“Yes, sir, very wild.” + +“Like the Miller of the Black Valley?” + +“Yes, sir, very much like the Miller of the Black Valley.” + +“Well, that’s better,” said the publisher; “and yet, I don’t know, I +question whether any one at present cares for the miller himself. No, +sir, the time for those things is also gone by; German, at present, is a +drug; and, between ourselves, nobody has contributed to make it so more +than my good friend and correspondent;—but, sir, I see you are a young +gentleman of infinite merit, and I always wish to encourage merit. Don’t +you think you could write a series of evangelical tales?” + +“Evangelical tales, sir?” + +“Yes, sir, evangelical novels.” + +“Something in the style of Herder?” + +“Herder is a drug, sir; nobody cares for Herder—thanks to my good friend. +Sir, I have in yon drawer a hundred pages about Herder, which I dare not +insert in my periodical; it would sink it, sir. No, sir, something in +the style of the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter.’” + +“I never heard of the work till the present moment.” + +“Then, sir, procure it by all means. Sir, I could afford as much as ten +pounds for a well-written tale in the style of the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter;’ +that is the kind of literature, sir, that sells at the present day! It +is not the Miller of the Black Valley—no, sir, nor Herder either, that +will suit the present taste; the evangelical body is becoming very +strong, sir; the canting scoundrels—” + +“But, sir, surely you would not pander to a scoundrelly taste?” + +“Then, sir, I must give up business altogether. Sir, I have a great +respect for the goddess Reason—an infinite respect, sir; indeed, in my +time, I have made a great many sacrifices for her; but, sir, I cannot +altogether ruin myself for the goddess Reason. Sir, I am a friend to +Liberty, as is well known; but I must also be a friend to my own family. +It is with the view of providing for a son of mine that I am about to +start the review of which I am speaking. He has taken into his head to +marry, sir, and I must do something for him, for he can do but little for +himself. Well, sir, I am a friend to Liberty, as I said before, and +likewise a friend to Reason; but I tell you frankly that the Review which +I intend to get up under the rose, and present him with when it is +established, will be conducted on Oxford principles.” + +“Orthodox principles, I suppose you mean, sir?” + +“I do, sir; I am no linguist, but I believe the words are synonymous.” + +Much more conversation passed between us, and it was agreed that I should +become a contributor to the Oxford Review. I stipulated, however, that, +as I knew little of politics, and cared less, no other articles should be +required from me than such as were connected with belles-lettres and +philology; to this the big man readily assented. “Nothing will be +required from you,” said he, “but what you mention; and now and then, +perhaps, a paper on metaphysics. You understand German, and perhaps it +would be desirable that you should review Kant; and in a review of Kant, +sir, you could introduce to advantage your peculiar notions about _ex +nihilo_.” He then reverted to the subject of the “Dairyman’s Daughter,” +which I promised to take into consideration. As I was going away, he +invited me to dine with him on the ensuing Sunday. + +“That’s a strange man!” said I to myself, after I had left the house, “he +is evidently very clever; but I cannot say that I like him much, with his +Oxford Reviews and Dairyman’s Daughters. But what can I do? I am almost +without a friend in the world. I wish I could find some one who would +publish my ballads, or my songs of Ab Gwilym. In spite of what the big +man says, I am convinced that, once published, they would bring me much +fame and profit. But how is this?—what a beautiful sun!—the porter was +right in saying that the day would clear up—I will now go to my dingy +lodging, lock up my manuscripts, and then take a stroll about the big +city.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +The Walk—London’s Cheape—Street of the Lombards—Strange Bridge—Main +Arch—The Roaring Gulf—The Boat—Cly-Faking—A Comfort—The Book—The Blessed +Woman—No Trap. + +So I set out on my walk to see the wonders of the big city, and, as +chance would have it, I directed my course to the east. The day, as I +have already said, had become very fine, so that I saw the great city to +advantage, and the wonders thereof: and much I admired all I saw; and, +amongst other things, the huge cathedral, standing so proudly on the most +commanding ground in the big city; and I looked up to the mighty dome, +surmounted by a golden cross, and I said within myself, “That dome must +needs be the finest in the world;” and I gazed upon it till my eyes +reeled, and my brain became dizzy, and I thought that the dome would fall +and crush me; and I shrank within myself, and struck yet deeper into the +heart of the big city. + +“O Cheapside! Cheapside!” said I, as I advanced up that mighty +thoroughfare, “truly thou art a wonderful place for hurry, noise, and +riches! Men talk of the bazaars of the East—I have never seen them—but I +dare say that, compared with thee, they are poor places, silent places, +abounding with empty boxes, O thou pride of London’s east!—mighty mart of +old renown!—for thou art not a place of yesterday:—long before the Roses +red and white battled in fair England, thou didst exist—a place of throng +and bustle—a place of gold and silver, perfumes and fine linen. +Centuries ago thou couldst extort the praises even of the fiercest foes +of England. Fierce bards of Wales, sworn foes of England, sang thy +praises centuries ago; and even the fiercest of them all, Red Julius +himself, wild Glendower’s bard, had a word of praise for London’s +“Cheape,” for so the bards of Wales styled thee in their flowing odes. +Then, if those who were not English, and hated England, and all connected +therewith, had yet much to say in thy praise, when thou wast far inferior +to what thou art now, why should true-born Englishmen, or those who call +themselves so, turn up their noses at thee, and scoff thee at the present +day, as I believe they do? But, let others do as they will, I, at least, +who am not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman, will not turn up +my nose at thee, but will praise and extol thee, calling thee mart of the +world—a place of wonder and astonishment!—and, were it right and fitting +to wish that anything should endure for ever, I would say prosperity to +Cheapside, throughout all ages—may it be the world’s resort for +merchandise, world without end.” + +And when I had passed through the Cheape I entered another street, which +led up a kind of ascent, and which proved to be the street of the +Lombards, called so from the name of its founders; and I walked rapidly +up the street of the Lombards, neither looking to the right nor left, for +it had no interest for me, though I had a kind of consciousness that +mighty things were being transacted behind its walls; but it wanted the +throng, bustle, and outward magnificence of the Cheape, and it had never +been spoken of by “ruddy bards!” And, when I had got to the end of the +street of the Lombards, I stood still for some time, deliberating within +myself whether I should turn to the right or the left, or go straight +forward, and at last I turned to the right, down a street of rapid +descent, and presently found myself upon a bridge which traversed the +river which runs by the big city. + +A strange kind of bridge it was; huge and massive, and seemingly of great +antiquity. It had an arched back, like that of a hog, a high balustrade, +and at either side, at intervals, were stone bowers bulking over the +river, but open on the other side, and furnished with a semicircular +bench. Though the bridge was wide—very wide—it was all too narrow for +the concourse upon it. Thousands of human beings were pouring over the +bridge. But what chiefly struck my attention was a double row of carts +and waggons, the generality drawn by horses as large as elephants, each +row striving hard in a different direction, and not unfrequently brought +to a standstill. Oh the cracking of whips, the shouts and oaths of the +carters, and the grating of wheels upon the enormous stones that formed +the pavement! In fact, there was a wild hurly-burly upon the bridge, +which nearly deafened me. But, if upon the bridge there was a confusion, +below it there was a confusion ten times confounded. The tide, which was +fast ebbing, obstructed by the immense piers of the old bridge, poured +beneath the arches with a fall of several feet, forming in the river +below as many whirlpools as there were arches. Truly tremendous was the +roar of the descending waters, and the bellow of the tremendous gulfs, +which swallowed them for a time, and then cast them forth, foaming and +frothing from their horrid wombs. Slowly advancing along the bridge, I +came to the highest point, and there I stood still, close beside one of +the stone bowers, in which, beside a fruitstall, sat an old woman, with a +pan of charcoal at her feet, and a book in her hand, in which she +appeared to be reading intently. There I stood, just above the principal +arch, looking through the balustrade at the scene that presented +itself—and such a scene! Towards the left bank of the river, a forest of +masts, thick and close, as far as the eye could reach; spacious wharfs, +surmounted with gigantic edifices; and, far away, Cæsar’s Castle, with +its White Tower. To the right, another forest of masts, and a maze of +buildings, from which, here and there, shot up to the sky chimneys taller +than Cleopatra’s Needle, vomiting forth huge wreaths of that black smoke +which forms the canopy—occasionally a gorgeous one—of the more than Babel +city. Stretching before me, the troubled breast of the mighty river, +and, immediately below, the main whirlpool of the Thames—the Maëlstrom of +the bulwarks of the middle arch—a grisly pool, which, with its +superabundance of horror, fascinated me. Who knows but I should have +leapt into its depths?—I have heard of such things—but for a rather +startling occurrence which broke the spell. As I stood upon the bridge, +gazing into the jaws of the pool, a small boat shot suddenly through the +arch beneath my feet. There were three persons in it; an oarsman in the +middle, whilst a man and woman sat at the stern. I shall never forget +the thrill of horror which went through me at this sudden apparition. +What!—a boat—a small boat—passing beneath that arch into yonder roaring +gulf! Yes, yes, down through that awful water-way, with more than the +swiftness of an arrow, shot the boat, or skiff, right into the jaws of +the pool. A monstrous breaker curls over the prow—there is no hope; the +boat is swamped, and all drowned in that strangling vortex. No! the +boat, which appeared to have the buoyancy of a feather, skipped over the +threatening horror, and the next moment was out of danger, the boatman—a +true boatman of Cockaigne, that—elevating one of his sculls in sign of +triumph, the man hallooing, and the woman, a true Englishwoman that—of a +certain class—waving her shawl. Whether any one observed them save +myself, or whether the feat was a common one, I know not; but nobody +appeared to take any notice of them. As for myself, I was so excited, +that I strove to clamber up the balustrade of the bridge, in order to +obtain a better view of the daring adventurers. Before I could +accomplish my design, however, I felt myself seized by the body, and, +turning my head, perceived the old fruit-woman, who was clinging to me. + +“Nay, dear! don’t—don’t!” said she. “Don’t fling yourself over—perhaps +you may have better luck next time!” + +“I was not going to fling myself over,” said I, dropping from the +balustrade; “how came you to think of such a thing?” + +“Why, seeing you clamber up so fiercely, I thought you might have had ill +luck, and that you wished to make away with yourself.” + +“Ill luck,” said I, going into the stone bower and sitting down. “What +do you mean? ill luck in what?” + +“Why, no great harm, dear! cly-faking, perhaps.” + +“Are you coming over me with dialects,” said I, “speaking unto me in +fashions I wot nothing of?” + +“Nay, dear! don’t look so strange with those eyes of your’n, nor talk so +strangely; I don’t understand you.” + +“Nor I you; what do you mean by cly-faking?” + +“Lor, dear! no harm; only taking a handkerchief now and then.” + +“Do you take me for a thief?” + +“Nay, dear! don’t make use of bad language; we never calls them thieves +here, but prigs and fakers: to tell you the truth, dear, seeing you +spring at that railing put me in mind of my own dear son, who is now at +Bot’ny: when he had bad luck, he always used to talk of flinging himself +over the bridge; and, sure enough, when the traps were after him, he did +fling himself into the river, but that was off the bank; nevertheless, +the traps pulled him out, and he is now suffering his sentence; so you +see you may speak out, if you have done anything in the harmless line, +for I am my son’s own mother, I assure you.” + +“So you think there’s no harm in stealing?” + +“No harm in the world, dear! Do you think my own child would have been +transported for it, if there had been any harm in it? and what’s more, +would the blessed woman in the book here have written her life as she has +done, and given it to the world, if there had been any harm in faking? +She, too, was what they call a thief and a cut-purse; ay, and was +transported for it, like my dear son; and do you think she would have +told the world so, if there had been any harm in the thing? Oh, it is a +comfort to me that the blessed woman was transported, and came back—for +come back she did, and rich too—for it is an assurance to me that my dear +son, who was transported too, will come back like her.” + +“What was her name?” + +“Her name, blessed Mary Flanders.” + +“Will you let me look at the book?” + +“Yes, dear, that I will, if you promise me not to run away with it.” + +I took the book from her hand; a short thick volume, at least a century +old, bound with greasy black leather. I turned the yellow and +dog’s-eared pages, reading here and there a sentence. Yes, and no +mistake! _His_ pen, his style, his spirit might be observed in every +line of the uncouth-looking old volume—the air, the style, the spirit of +the writer of the book which first taught me to read. I covered my face +with my hand, and thought of my childhood— + +“This is a singular book,” said I at last; “but it does not appear to +have been written to prove that thieving is no harm, but rather to show +the terrible consequences of crime: it contains a deep moral.” + +“A deep what, dear?” + +“A—but no matter, I will give you a crown for this volume.” + +“No, dear, I will not sell the volume for a crown.” + +“I am poor,” said I; “but I will give you two silver crowns for your +volume.” + +“No, dear, I will not sell my volume for two silver crowns; no, nor for +the golden one in the king’s tower down there; without my book I should +mope and pine, and perhaps fling myself into the river; but I am glad you +like it, which shows that I was right about you, after all; you are one +of our party, and you have a flash about that eye of yours which puts me +just in mind of my dear son. No, dear, I won’t sell you my book; but, if +you like, you may have a peep into it whenever you come this way. I +shall be glad to see you; you are one of the right sort, for if you had +been a common one, you would have run away with the thing; but you scorn +such behaviour, and, as you are so flash of your money, though you say +you are poor, you may give me a tanner to buy a little baccy with; I love +baccy, dear, more by token that it comes from the plantations to which +the blessed woman was sent.” + +“What’s a tanner?” said I. + +“Lor’! don’t you know, dear? Why, a tanner is sixpence; and, as you were +talking just now about crowns, it will be as well to tell you that those +of our trade never calls them crowns, but bulls; but I am talking +nonsense, just as if you did not know all that already, as well as +myself; you are only shamming—I’m no trap, dear, nor more was the blessed +woman in the book. Thank you, dear—thank you for the tanner; if I don’t +spend it, I’ll keep it in remembrance of your sweet face. What, you are +going?—well, first let me whisper a word to you. If you have any clies +to sell at any time, I’ll buy them of you; all safe with me; I never +’peach, and scorns a trap; so now, dear, God bless you! and give you good +luck. Thank you for your pleasant company, and thank you for the +tanner.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +The Tanner—The Hotel—Drinking Claret—London Journal—New +Field—Common-placeness—The Three Individuals—Botheration—Frank and +Ardent. + +“Tanner!” said I musingly, as I left the bridge; “Tanner! what can the +man who cures raw skins by means of a preparation of oak-bark and other +materials have to do with the name which these fakers, as they call +themselves, bestow on the smallest silver coin in these dominions? +Tanner! I can’t trace the connection between the man of bark and the +silver coin, unless journeymen tanners are in the habit of working for +sixpence a day. But I have it,” I continued, flourishing my hat over my +head, “tanner, in this instance, is not an English word.” Is it not +surprising that the language of Mr. Petulengro and of Tawno Chikno, is +continually coming to my assistance whenever I appear to be at a nonplus +with respect to the derivation of crabbed words? I have made out crabbed +words in Æschylus by means of the speech of Chikno and Petulengro; and +even in my Biblical researches I have derived no slight assistance from +it. It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, Tanner—Tawno! +the one is but a modification of the other; they were originally +identical, and have still much the same signification. Tanner, in the +language of the apple-woman, meaneth the smallest of English silver +coins; and Tawno, in the language of the Petulengros, though bestowed +upon the biggest of the Romans, according to strict interpretation, +signifieth a little child. + +So I left the bridge, retracing my steps for a considerable way, as I +thought I had seen enough in the direction in which I had hitherto been +wandering; I should say that I scarcely walked less than thirty miles +about the big city on the day of my first arrival. Night came on, but +still I was walking about, my eyes wide open, and admiring everything +that presented itself to them. Everything was new to me, for everything +is different in London from what it is elsewhere—the people, their +language, the horses, the _tout ensemble_—even the stones of London are +different from others—at least, it appeared to me that I had never walked +with the same ease and facility on the flagstones of a country town as on +those of London; so I continued roving about till night came on, and then +the splendour of some of the shops particularly struck me. “A regular +Arabian Nights’ entertainment!” said I, as I looked into one on Cornhill, +gorgeous with precious merchandise, and lighted up with lustres, the rays +of which were reflected from a hundred mirrors. + +But, notwithstanding the excellence of the London pavement, I began about +nine o’clock to feel myself thoroughly tired; painfully and slowly did I +drag my feet along. I also felt very much in want of some refreshment, +and I remembered that since breakfast I had taken nothing. I was now in +the Strand, and, glancing about, I perceived that I was close by an +hotel, which bore over the door the somewhat remarkable name of Holy +Lands. Without a moment’s hesitation I entered a well-lighted passage, +and, turning to the left, I found myself in a well-lighted coffee-room, +with a well-dressed and frizzled waiter before me. “Bring me some +claret,” said I, for I was rather faint than hungry, and I felt ashamed +to give a humbler order to so well-dressed an individual. The waiter +looked at me for a moment; then, making a low bow, he bustled off, and I +sat myself down in the box nearest to the window. Presently the waiter +returned, bearing beneath his left arm a long bottle, and between the +fingers of his right hand two large purple glasses; placing the latter on +the table, he produced a cork-screw, drew the cork in a twinkling, set +the bottle down before me with a bang, and then, standing still, appeared +to watch my movements. You think I don’t know how to drink a glass of +claret, thought I to myself. I’ll soon show you how we drink claret +where I come from; and, filling one of the glasses to the brim, I +flickered it for a moment between my eyes and the lustre, and then held +it to my nose; having given that organ full time to test the bouquet of +the wine, I applied the glass to my lips, taking a large mouthful of the +wine, which I swallowed slowly and by degrees, that the palate might +likewise have an opportunity of performing its functions. A second +mouthful I disposed of more summarily; then, placing the empty glass upon +the table, I fixed my eyes upon the bottle, and said—nothing; whereupon +the waiter, who had been observing the whole process with considerable +attention, made me a bow yet more low than before, and turning on his +heel, retired with a smart chuck of his head, as much as to say, It is +all right; the young man is used to claret. + +And when the waiter had retired I took a second glass of the wine, which +I found excellent; and, observing a newspaper lying near me, I took it up +and began perusing it. It has been observed somewhere that people who +are in the habit of reading newspapers every day are not unfrequently +struck with the excellence of style and general talent which they +display. Now, if that be the case, how must I have been surprised, who +was reading a newspaper for the first time, and that one of the best of +the London journals! Yes, strange as it may seem, it was nevertheless +true, that, up to the moment of which I am speaking, I had never read a +newspaper of any description. I of course had frequently seen journals, +and even handled them; but, as for reading them, what were they to me?—I +cared not for news. But here I was now, with my claret before me, +perusing, perhaps, the best of all the London journals—it was not the --- +and I was astonished: an entirely new field of literature appeared to be +opened to my view. It was a discovery, but I confess rather an +unpleasant one; for I said to myself, if literary talent is so very +common in London, that the journals, things which, as their very name +denotes, are ephemeral, are written in a style like the article I have +been perusing, how can I hope to distinguish myself in this big town, +when, for the life of me, I don’t think I could write anything half so +clever as what I have been reading. And then I laid down the paper, and +fell into deep musing; rousing myself from which, I took a glass of wine, +and pouring out another, began musing again. What I have been reading, +thought I, is certainly very clever and very talented; but talent and +cleverness I think I have heard some one say are very commonplace things, +only fitted for everyday occasions. I question whether the man who wrote +the book I saw this day on the bridge was a clever man; but, after all, +was he not something much better? I don’t think he could have written +this article, but then he wrote the book which I saw on the bridge. +Then, if he could not have written the article on which I now hold my +forefinger—and I do not believe he could—why should I feel discouraged at +the consciousness that I, too, could not write it? I certainly could no +more have written the article than he could; but then, like him, though I +would not compare myself to the man who wrote the book I saw upon the +bridge, I think I could—and here I emptied the glass of claret—write +something better. + +Thereupon I resumed the newspaper; and, as I was before struck with the +fluency of style and the general talent which it displayed, I was now +equally so with its common-placeness and want of originality on every +subject; and it was evident to me that, whatever advantage these +newspaper-writers might have over me in some points, they had never +studied the Welsh bards, translated Kæmpe Viser, or been under the +pupilage of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno. + +And as I sat conning the newspaper, three individuals entered the room, +and seated themselves in the box at the farther end of which I was. They +were all three very well dressed; two of them elderly gentlemen, the +third a young man about my own age, or perhaps a year or two older: they +called for coffee; and, after two or three observations, the two eldest +commenced a conversation in French, which, however, though they spoke it +fluently enough, I perceived at once was not their native language; the +young man, however, took no part in their conversation, and when they +addressed a portion to him, which indeed was but rarely, merely replied +by a monosyllable. I have never been a listener, and I paid but little +heed to their discourse, nor indeed to themselves; as I occasionally +looked up, however, I could perceive that the features of the young man, +who chanced to be seated exactly opposite to me, wore an air of +constraint and vexation. This circumstance caused me to observe him more +particularly than I otherwise should have done: his features were +handsome and prepossessing; he had dark brown hair, and a high-arched +forehead. After the lapse of half an hour, the two elder individuals, +having finished their coffee, called for the waiter, and then rose as if +to depart, the young man, however, still remaining seated in the box. +The others, having reached the door, turned round, and finding that the +youth did not follow them, one of them called to him with a tone of some +authority; whereupon the young man rose, and, pronouncing half audibly +the word “botheration,” rose and followed them. I now observed that he +was remarkably tall. All three left the house. In about ten minutes, +finding nothing more worth reading in the newspaper, I laid it down, and, +though the claret was not yet exhausted, I was thinking of betaking +myself to my lodgings, and was about to call the waiter, when I heard a +step in the passage, and in another moment, the tall young man entered +the room, advanced to the same box, and, sitting down nearly opposite to +me, again pronounced to himself, but more audibly than before, the same +word. + +“A troublesome world this, sir,” said I, looking at him. + +“Yes,” said the young man, looking fixedly at me; “but I am afraid we +bring most of our troubles on our own heads—at least I can say so of +myself,” he added, laughing. Then after a pause, “I beg pardon,” he +said, “but am I not addressing one of my own country?” + +“Of what country are you?” said I. + +“Ireland.” + +“I am not of your country, sir; but I have an infinite veneration for +your country, as Strap said to the French soldier. Will you take a glass +of wine?” + +“Ah, _de tout mon cœur_, as the parasite said to Gil Blas,” cried the +young man, laughing. “Here’s to our better acquaintance!” + +And better acquainted we soon became; and I found that, in making the +acquaintance of the young man, I had indeed made a valuable acquisition; +he was accomplished, highly connected, and bore the name of Francis +Ardry. Frank and ardent he was, and in a very little time had told me +much that related to himself, and in return I communicated a general +outline of my own history; he listened with profound attention, but +laughed heartily when I told him some particulars of my visit in the +morning to the publisher, whom he had frequently heard of. + +We left the house together. + +“We shall soon see each other again,” said he, as we separated at the +door of my lodging. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +Dine with the Publisher—Religions—No Animal Food—Unprofitable +Discussions—Principles of Criticism—The Book Market—Newgate Lives—Goethe +a Drug—German Acquirements—Moral Dignity. + +On the Sunday I was punctual to my appointment to dine with the +publisher. As I hurried along the square in which his house stood, my +thoughts were fixed so intently on the great man, that I passed by him +without seeing him. He had observed me, however, and joined me just as I +was about to knock at the door. “Let us take a turn in the square,” said +he; “we shall not dine for half an hour.” + +“Well,” said he, as we were walking in the square, “what have you been +doing since I last saw you?” + +“I have been looking about London,” said I, “and I have bought the +‘Dairyman’s Daughter’; here it is.” + +“Pray put it up,” said the publisher; “I don’t want to look at such +trash. Well, do you think you could write anything like it?” + +“I do not,” said I. + +“How is that?” said the publisher, looking at me. + +“Because,” said I, “the man who wrote it seems to be perfectly well +acquainted with his subject; and, moreover, to write from the heart.” + +“By the subject you mean—” + +“Religion.” + +“And a’n’t you acquainted with religion?” + +“Very little.” + +“I am sorry for that,” said the publisher seriously, “for he who sets up +for an author ought to be acquainted not only with religion, but +religions, and indeed with all subjects, like my good friend in the +country. It is well that I have changed my mind about the ‘Dairyman’s +Daughter,’ or I really don’t know whom I could apply to on the subject at +the present moment, unless to himself; and after all I question whether +his style is exactly suited for an evangelical novel.” + +“Then you do not wish for an imitation of the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter?’” + +“I do not, sir; I have changed my mind, as I told you before; I wish to +employ you in another line, but will communicate to you my intentions +after dinner.” + +At dinner, beside the publisher and myself, were present his wife and +son, with his newly-married bride; the wife appeared a quiet respectable +woman, and the young people looked very happy and good-natured; not so +the publisher, who occasionally eyed both with contempt and dislike. +Connected with this dinner there was one thing remarkable; the publisher +took no animal food, but contented himself with feeding voraciously on +rice and vegetables, prepared in various ways. + +“You eat no animal food, sir?” said I. + +“I do not, sir,” said he; “I have forsworn it upwards of twenty years. +In one respect, sir, I am a Brahmin. I abhor taking away life—the brutes +have as much right to live as ourselves.” + +“But,” said I, “if the brutes were not killed, there would be such a +superabundance of them, that the land would be overrun with them.” + +“I do not think so, sir; few are killed in India, and yet there is plenty +of room.” + +“But,” said I, “Nature intended that they should be destroyed, and the +brutes themselves prey upon one another, and it is well for themselves +and the world that they do so. What would be the state of things if +every insect, bird, and worm were left to perish of old age?” + +“We will change the subject,” said the publisher; “I have never been a +friend of unprofitable discussions.” + +I looked at the publisher with some surprise, I had not been accustomed +to be spoken to so magisterially; his countenance was dressed in a +portentous frown, and his eye looked more sinister than ever; at that +moment he put me in mind of some of those despots of whom I had read in +the history of Morocco, whose word was law. He merely wants power, +thought I to myself, to be a regular Muley Mehemet; and then I sighed, +for I remembered how very much I was in the power of that man. + +The dinner over, the publisher nodded to his wife, who departed, followed +by her daughter-in-law. The son looked as if he would willingly have +attended them; he, however, remained seated; and, a small decanter of +wine being placed on the table, the publisher filled two glasses, one of +which he handed to myself, and the other to his son; saying, “Suppose you +two drink to the success of the Review. I would join you,” said he, +addressing himself to me, “but I drink no wine; if I am a Brahmin with +respect to meat, I am a Mahometan with respect to wine.” + +So the son and I drank success to the Review, and then the young man +asked me various questions; for example—How I liked London?—Whether I did +not think it a very fine place?—Whether I was at the play the night +before?—and whether I was in the park that afternoon? He seemed +preparing to ask me some more questions; but, receiving a furious look +from his father, he became silent, filled himself a glass of wine, drank +it off, looked at the table for about a minute, then got up, pushed back +his chair, made me a bow, and left the room. + +“Is that young gentleman, sir,” said I, “well versed in the principles of +criticism?” + +“He is not, sir,” said the publisher; “and, if I place him at the head of +the Review ostensibly, I do it merely in the hope of procuring him a +maintenance; of the principle of a thing he knows nothing, except that +the principle of bread is wheat, and that the principle of that wine is +grape. Will you take another glass?” + +I looked at the decanter; but not feeling altogether so sure as the +publisher’s son with respect to the principle of what it contained, I +declined taking any more. + +“No, sir,” said the publisher, adjusting himself in his chair, “he knows +nothing about criticism, and will have nothing more to do with the +reviewals than carrying about the books to those who have to review them; +the real conductor of the Review will be a widely different person, to +whom I will, when convenient, introduce you. And now we will talk of the +matter which we touched upon before dinner: I told you then that I had +changed my mind with respect to you; I have been considering the state of +the market, sir, the book market, and I have come to the conclusion that, +though you might be profitably employed upon evangelical novels, you +could earn more money for me, sir, and consequently for yourself, by a +compilation of Newgate lives and trials.” + +“Newgate lives and trials!” + +“Yes, sir,” said the publisher, “Newgate lives and trials; and now, sir, +I will briefly state to you the services which I expect you to perform, +and the terms I am willing to grant. I expect you, sir, to compile six +volumes of Newgate lives and trials, each volume to contain by no manner +of means less than one thousand pages; the remuneration which you will +receive when the work is completed will be fifty pounds, which is +likewise intended to cover any expenses you may incur in procuring books, +papers, and manuscripts necessary for the compilation. Such will be one +of your employments, sir,—such the terms. In the second place, you will +be expected to make yourself useful in the Review—generally useful, +sir—doing whatever is required of you; for it is not customary, at least +with me, to permit writers, especially young writers, to choose their +subjects. In these two departments, sir, namely, compilation and +reviewing, I had yesterday, after due consideration, determined upon +employing you. I had intended to employ you no further, sir—at least for +the present; but, sir, this morning I received a letter from my valued +friend in the country, in which he speaks in terms of strong admiration +(I don’t overstate) of your German acquirements. Sir, he says that it +would be a thousand pities if your knowledge of the German language +should be lost to the world, or even permitted to sleep, and he entreats +me to think of some plan by which it may be turned to account. Sir, I am +at all times willing, if possible, to oblige my worthy friend, and +likewise to encourage merit and talent; I have, therefore, determined to +employ you in German.” + +“Sir,” said I, rubbing my hands, “you are very kind, and so is our mutual +friend; I shall be happy to make myself useful in German; and if you +think a good translation from Goethe—his ‘Sorrows’ for example, or more +particularly his ‘Faust’—” + +“Sir,” said the publisher, “Goethe is a drug; his ‘Sorrows,’ are a drug, +so is his ‘Faustus,’ more especially the last, since that fool --- +rendered him into English. No, sir, I do not want you to translate +Goethe or anything belonging to him; nor do I want you to translate +anything from the German; what I want you to do, is to translate into +German. I am willing to encourage merit, sir, and, as my good friend in +his last letter has spoken very highly of your German acquirements, I +have determined that you shall translate my book of philosophy into +German.” + +“Your book of philosophy into German, sir?” + +“Yes, sir; my book of philosophy into German. I am not a drug, sir, in +Germany, as Goethe is here, no more is my book. I intend to print the +translation at Leipzig, sir; and if it turns out a profitable +speculation, as I make no doubt it will, provided the translation be well +executed, I will make you some remuneration. Sir, your remuneration will +be determined by the success of your translation.” + +“But, sir—” + +“Sir,” said the publisher, interrupting me, “you have heard my +intentions. I consider that you ought to feel yourself highly gratified +by my intentions towards you; it is not frequently that I deal with a +writer, especially a young writer, as I have done with you. And now, +sir, permit me to inform you that I wish to be alone. This is Sunday +afternoon, sir; I never go to church, but I am in the habit of spending +part of every Sunday afternoon alone—profitably, I hope, sir—in musing on +the magnificence of nature, and the moral dignity of man.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +The Two Volumes—A Young Author—Intended Editor—Quintilian—Loose Money. + +“What can’t be cured must be endured,” and “it is hard to kick against +the pricks.” + +At the period to which I have brought my history, I bethought me of the +proverbs with which I have headed this chapter, and determined to act up +to their spirit. I determined not to fly in the face of the publisher, +and to bear—what I could not cure—his arrogance and vanity. At present, +at the conclusion of nearly a quarter of a century, I am glad that I came +to that determination, which I did my best to carry into effect. + +Two or three days after our last interview, the publisher made his +appearance in my apartment; he bore two tattered volumes under his arm, +which he placed on the table. “I have brought you two volumes of lives, +sir,” said he, “which I yesterday found in my garret; you will find them +of service for your compilation. As I always wish to behave liberally +and encourage talent, especially youthful talent, I shall make no charge +for them, though I should be justified in so doing, as you are aware +that, by our agreement, you are to provide any books and materials which +may be necessary. Have you been in quest of any?” + +“No,” said I, “not yet.” + +“Then, sir, I would advise you to lose no time in doing so; you must +visit all the bookstalls, sir, especially those in the by-streets and +blind alleys. It is in such places that you will find the description of +literature you are in want of. You must be up and doing, sir; it will +not do for an author, especially a young author, to be idle in this town. +To-night you will receive my book of philosophy, and likewise books for +the Review. And, by-the-bye, sir, it will be as well for you to review +my book of philosophy for the Review; the other reviews not having +noticed it. Sir, before translating it, I wish you to review my book of +philosophy for the Review.” + +“I shall be happy to do my best, sir.” + +“Very good, sir; I should be unreasonable to expect anything beyond a +person’s best. And now, sir, if you please, I will conduct you to the +future editor of the Review. As you are to co-operate, sir, I deem it +right to make you acquainted.” + +The intended editor was a little old man, who sat in a kind of wooden +pavilion in a small garden behind a house in one of the purlieus of the +city, composing tunes upon a piano. The walls of the pavilion were +covered with fiddles of various sizes and appearances, and a considerable +portion of the floor occupied by a pile of books all of one size. The +publisher introduced him to me as a gentleman scarcely less eminent in +literature than in music, and me to him as an aspirant critic—a young +gentleman scarcely less eminent in philosophy than in philology. The +conversation consisted entirely of compliments till just before we +separated, when the future editor inquired of me whether I had ever read +Quintilian; and, on my replying in the negative, expressed his surprise +that any gentleman should aspire to become a critic who had never read +Quintilian, with the comfortable information, however, that he could +supply me with a Quintilian at half-price, that is, a translation made by +himself some years previously, of which he had, pointing to the heap on +the floor, still a few copies remaining unsold. For some reason or +other, perhaps a poor one, I did not purchase the editor’s translation of +Quintilian. + +“Sir,” said the publisher, as we were returning from our visit to the +editor, “you did right in not purchasing a drug. I am not prepared, sir, +to say that Quintilian is a drug, never having seen him; but I am +prepared to say that man’s translation is a drug, judging from the heap +of rubbish on the floor; besides, sir, you will want any loose money you +may have to purchase the description of literature which is required for +your compilation.” + +The publisher presently paused before the entrance of a very +forlorn-looking street. “Sir,” said he, after looking down it with +attention, “I should not wonder if in that street you find works +connected with the description of literature which is required for your +compilation. It is in streets of this description, sir, and blind +alleys, where such works are to be found. You had better search that +street, sir, whilst I continue my way.” + +I searched the street to which the publisher had pointed, and, in the +course of the three succeeding days, many others of a similar kind. I +did not find the description of literature alluded to by the publisher to +be a drug, but, on the contrary, both scarce and dear. I had expended +much more than my loose money long before I could procure materials even +for the first volume of my compilation. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +Francis Ardry—Certain Sharpers—Brave and Eloquent—Opposites—Flinging the +Bones—Strange Places—Dog Fighting—Learning and Letters—Batch of +Dogs—Redoubled Application. + +One evening I was visited by the tall young gentleman, Francis Ardry, +whose acquaintance I had formed at the coffee-house. As it is necessary +that the reader should know something more about this young man, who will +frequently appear in the course of these pages, I will state in a few +words who and what he was. He was born of an ancient Roman Catholic +family in Ireland; his parents, whose only child he was, had long been +dead. His father, who had survived his mother several years, had been a +spendthrift, and at his death had left the family property considerably +embarrassed. Happily, however, the son and the estate fell into the +hands of careful guardians, near relations of the family, by whom the +property was managed to the best advantage, and every means taken to +educate the young man in a manner suitable to his expectations. At the +age of sixteen he was taken from a celebrated school in England at which +he had been placed, and sent to a small French University, in order that +he might form an intimate and accurate acquaintance with the grand +language of the continent. There he continued three years, at the end of +which he went, under the care of a French abbé, to Germany and Italy. It +was in this latter country that he first began to cause his guardians +serious uneasiness. He was in the hey-day of youth when he visited +Italy, and he entered wildly into the various delights of that +fascinating region, and, what was worse, falling into the hands of +certain sharpers, not Italian, but English, he was fleeced of +considerable sums of money. The abbé, who, it seems, was an excellent +individual of the old French school, remonstrated with his pupil on his +dissipation and extravagance; but, finding his remonstrances vain, very +properly informed the guardians of the manner of life of his charge. +They were not slow in commanding Francis Ardry home; and, as he was +entirely in their power, he was forced to comply. He had been about +three months in London when I met him in the coffee-room, and the two +elderly gentlemen in his company were his guardians. At this time they +were very solicitous that he should choose for himself a profession, +offering to his choice either the army or law—he was calculated to shine +in either of these professions—for, like many others of his countrymen, +he was brave and eloquent; but he did not wish to shackle himself with a +profession. As, however, his minority did not terminate till he was +three-and-twenty, of which age he wanted nearly two years, during which +he would be entirely dependent on his guardians, he deemed it expedient +to conceal, to a certain degree, his sentiments, temporising with the old +gentlemen, with whom, notwithstanding his many irregularities, he was a +great favourite, and at whose death he expected to come into a yet +greater property than that which he inherited from his parents. + +Such is a brief account of Francis Ardry—of my friend Francis Ardry; for +the acquaintance, commenced in the singular manner with which the reader +is acquainted, speedily ripened into a friendship which endured through +many long years of separation, and which still endures certainly on my +part, and on his—if he lives; but it is many years since I have heard +from Francis Ardry. + +And yet many people would have thought it impossible for our friendship +to have lasted a week—for in many respects no two people could be more +dissimilar. He was an Irishman—I, an Englishman;—he, fiery, +enthusiastic, and open-hearted;—I, neither fiery, enthusiastic, nor +open-hearted;—he, fond of pleasure and dissipation;—I, of study and +reflection. Yet it is of such dissimilar elements that the most lasting +friendships are formed: we do not like counterparts of ourselves. “Two +great talkers will not travel far together,” is a Spanish saying; I will +add, “Nor two silent people;” we naturally love our opposites. + +So Francis Ardry came to see me, and right glad I was to see him, for I +had just flung my books and papers aside, and was wishing for a little +social converse; and when we had conversed for some little time together, +Francis Ardry proposed that we should go to the play to see Kean; so we +went to the play, and saw—not Kean, who at that time was ashamed to show +himself, but—a man who was not ashamed to show himself, and who people +said was a much better man than Kean—as I have no doubt he was—though +whether he was a better actor I cannot say, for I never saw Kean. + +Two or three evenings after, Francis Ardry came to see me again, and +again we went out together, and Francis Ardry took me to—shall I say?—why +not?—a gaming house, where I saw people playing, and where I saw Francis +Ardry play and lose five guineas, and where I lost nothing, because I did +not play, though I felt somewhat inclined; for a man with a white hat and +a sparkling eye held up a box which contained something which rattled, +and asked me to fling the bones. “There is nothing like flinging the +bones!” said he, and then I thought I should like to know what kind of +thing flinging the bones was; I however, restrained myself. “There is +nothing like flinging the bones!” shouted the man, as my friend and +myself left the room. + +Long life and prosperity to Francis Ardry! but for him I should not have +obtained knowledge which I did of the strange and eccentric places of +London. Some of the places to which he took me were very strange places +indeed; but, however strange the places were, I observed that the +inhabitants thought there were no places like their several places, and +no occupations like their several occupations; and, among other strange +places to which Francis Ardry conducted me, was a place not far from the +abbey church of Westminster. + +Before we entered this place our ears were greeted by a confused hubbub +of human voices, squealing of rats, barking of dogs, and the cries of +various other animals. Here we beheld a kind of cock-pit, around which a +great many people, seeming of all ranks, but chiefly of the lower, were +gathered, and in it we saw a dog destroy a great many rats in a very +small period; and when the dog had destroyed the rats, we saw a fight +between a dog and a bear, then a fight between two dogs, then— + +After the diversions of the day were over, my friend introduced me to the +genius of the place, a small man of about five feet high, with a very +sharp countenance, and dressed in a brown jockey coat, and top boots. +“Joey,” said he, “this is a friend of mine.” Joey nodded to me with a +patronizing air. “Glad to see you, sir!—want a dog?” + +“No,” said I. + +“You have got one, then—want to match him?” + +“We have a dog at home,” said I, “in the country; but I can’t say I +should like to match him. Indeed, I do not like dog-fighting.” + +“Not like dog-fighting!” said the man, staring. + +“The truth is, Joe, that he is just come to town.” + +“So I should think; he looks rather green—not like dog-fighting!” + +“Nothing like it, is there, Joey?” + +“I should think not; what is like it? A time will come, and that +speedily, when folks will give up everything else, and follow +dog-fighting.” + +“Do you think so?” said I. + +“Think so? Let me ask what there is that a man wouldn’t give up for it?” + +“Why,” said I, modestly, “there’s religion.” + +“Religion! How you talk. Why, there’s myself, bred and born an +Independent, and intended to be a preacher, didn’t I give up religion for +dog-fighting? Religion, indeed! If it were not for the rascally law, my +pit would fill better on Sundays than any other time. Who would go to +church when they could come to my pit? Religion! why, the parsons +themselves come to my pit; and I have now a letter in my pocket from one +of them, asking me to send him a dog.” + +“Well, then, politics,” said I. + +“Politics! Why, the gemmen in the House would leave Pitt himself, if he +were alive, to come to my pit. There were three of the best of them here +to-night, all great horators.—Get on with you, what comes next?” + +“Why, there’s learning and letters.” + +“Pretty things, truly, to keep people from dog-fighting. Why, there’s +the young gentlemen from the Abbey School comes here in shoals, leaving +books, and letters, and masters too. To tell you the truth, I rather +wish they would mind their letters, for a more precious set of young +blackguards I never seed. It was only the other day I was thinking of +calling in a constable for my own protection, for I thought my pit would +have been torn down by them.” + +Scarcely knowing what to say, I made an observation at random. “You show +by your own conduct,” said I, “that there are other things worth +following besides dog-fighting. You practise rat-catching and +badger-baiting as well.” + +The dog-fancier eyed me with supreme contempt. + +“Your friend here,” said he, “might well call you a new one. When I +talks of dog-fighting, I of course means rat-catching and badger-baiting, +ay, and bull-baiting too, just as when I speaks religiously, when I says +one I means not one but three. And talking of religion puts me in mind +that I have something else to do besides chaffing here, having a batch of +dogs to send off by this night’s packet to the Pope of Rome.” + +But at last I had seen enough of what London had to show, whether strange +or commonplace, so at least I thought, and I ceased to accompany my +friend in his rambles about town, and to partake of his adventures. Our +friendship, however, still continued unabated, though I saw, in +consequence, less of him. I reflected that time was passing on—that the +little money I had brought to town was fast consuming, and that I had +nothing to depend upon but my own exertions for a fresh supply; and I +returned with redoubled application to my pursuits. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +Occupations—Traduttore Traditore—Ode to the Mist—Apple and +Pear—Reviewing—Current Literature—Oxford-like Manner—A Plain +Story—Ill-regulated Mind—Unsnuffed Candle—Strange Dreams. + +I compiled the Chronicles of Newgate; I reviewed books for the Review +established on an entirely new principle; and I occasionally tried my +best to translate into German portions of the publisher’s philosophy. In +this last task I experienced more than one difficulty. I was a tolerable +German scholar, it is true, and I had long been able to translate German +into English with considerable facility; but to translate from a foreign +language into your own, is a widely different thing from translating from +your own into a foreign language; and, in my first attempt to render the +publisher into German, I was conscious of making miserable failures, from +pure ignorance of German grammar; however, by the assistance of grammars +and dictionaries, and by extreme perseverance, I at length overcame all +the difficulties connected with the German language. But, alas! another +difficulty remained, far greater than any connected with German—a +difficulty connected with the language of the publisher—the language +which the great man employed in his writings was very hard to understand; +I say in his writings—for his colloquial English was plain enough. +Though not professing to be a scholar, he was much addicted, when +writing, to the use of Greek and Latin terms, not as other people used +them, but in a manner of his own, which set the authority of dictionaries +at defiance; the consequence was, that I was sometimes utterly at a loss +to understand the meaning of the publisher. Many a quarter of an hour +did I pass at this period, staring at periods of the publisher, and +wondering what he could mean, but in vain, till at last, with a shake of +the head, I would snatch up the pen, and render the publisher literally +into German. Sometimes I was almost tempted to substitute something of +my own for what the publisher had written, but my conscience interposed; +the awful words, Traduttore traditore, commenced ringing in my ears, and +I asked myself whether I should be acting honourably towards the +publisher, who had committed to me the delicate task of translating him +into German; should I be acting honourably towards him, in making him +speak in German in a manner different from that in which he expressed +himself in English? No, I could not reconcile such conduct with any +principle of honour; by substituting something of my own in lieu of these +mysterious passages of the publisher, I might be giving a fatal blow to +his whole system of philosophy. Besides, when translating into English, +had I treated foreign authors in this manner? Had I treated the +minstrels of the Kæmpe Viser in this manner?—No. Had I treated Ab Gwilym +in this manner? Even when translating his Ode to the Mist, in which he +is misty enough, had I attempted to make Ab Gwilym less misty? No; on +referring to my translation, I found that Ab Gwilym in my hands was quite +as misty as in his own. Then, seeing that I had not ventured to take +liberties with people who had never put themselves into my hands for the +purpose of being rendered, how could I venture to substitute my own +thoughts and ideas for the publisher’s, who had put himself into my hands +for that purpose? Forbid it every proper feeling!—so I told the Germans +in the publisher’s own way, the publisher’s tale of an apple and a pear. + +I at first felt much inclined to be of the publisher’s opinion with +respect to the theory of the pear. After all, why should the earth be +shaped like an apple, and not like a pear?—it would certainly gain in +appearance by being shaped like a pear. A pear being a handsomer fruit +than an apple, the publisher is probably right, thought I, and I will say +that he is right on this point in the notice which I am about to write of +his publication for the Review. And yet I don’t know—said I, after a +long fit of musing—I don’t know but what there is more to be said for the +Oxford theory. The world may be shaped like a pear, but I don’t know +that it is; but one thing I know, which is, that it does not taste like a +pear; I have always liked pears, but I don’t like the world. The world +to me tastes much more like an apple, and I have never liked apples. I +will uphold the Oxford theory—besides, I am writing in an Oxford Review, +and am in duty bound to uphold the Oxford theory. So in my notice I +asserted that the world was round; I quoted Scripture, and endeavoured to +prove that the world was typified by the apple in Scripture, both as to +shape and properties. “An apple is round,” said I, “and the world is +round—the apple is a sour, disagreeable fruit; and who has tasted much of +the world without having his teeth set on edge?” I, however, treated the +publisher, upon the whole, in the most urbane and Oxford-like manner; +complimenting him upon his style, acknowledging the general soundness of +his views, and only differing with him in the affair of the apple and +pear. + +I did not like reviewing at all—it was not to my taste; it was not in my +way; I liked it far less than translating the publisher’s philosophy for +that was something in the line of one whom a competent judge had surnamed +Lavengro. I never could understand why reviews were instituted; works of +merit do not require to be reviewed, they can speak for themselves, and +require no praising; works of no merit at all will die of themselves, +they require no killing. The review to which I was attached was, as has +been already intimated, established on an entirely new plan; it professed +to review all new publications, which certainly no review had ever +professed to do before, other reviews never pretending to review more +than one-tenth of the current literature of the day. When I say it +professed to review all new publications, I should add, which should be +sent to it; for, of course, the review would not acknowledge the +existence of publications, the authors of which did not acknowledge the +existence of the review. I don’t think, however, that the review had +much cause to complain of being neglected; I have reason to believe that +at least nine-tenths of the publications of the day were sent to the +review, and in due time reviewed. I had good opportunity of judging—I +was connected with several departments of the review, though more +particularly with the poetical and philosophic ones. An English +translation of Kant’s philosophy made its appearance on my table the day +before its publication. In my notice of this work, I said that the +English shortly hoped to give the Germans a _quid pro quo_. I believe at +that time authors were much in the habit of publishing at their own +expense. All the poetry which I reviewed appeared to be published at the +expense of the authors. If I am asked how I comported myself, under all +circumstances, as a reviewer—I answer—I did not forget that I was +connected with a review established on Oxford principles, the editor of +which had translated Quintilian. All the publications which fell under +my notice I treated in a gentlemanly and Oxford-like manner, no +personalities—no vituperation—no shabby insinuations; decorum, decorum +was the order of the day. Occasionally a word of admonition, but gently +expressed, as an Oxford undergraduate might have expressed it, or master +of arts. How the authors whose publications were consigned to my +colleagues were treated by them I know not; I suppose they were treated +in an urbane and Oxford-like manner, but I cannot say; I did not read the +reviewals of my colleagues, I did not read my own after they were +printed. I did not like reviewing. + +Of all my occupations at this period I am free to confess I liked that of +compiling the “Newgate Lives and Trials” the best; that is, after I had +surmounted a kind of prejudice which I originally entertained. The +trials were entertaining enough; but the lives—how full were they of wild +and racy adventures, and in what racy, genuine language were they told. +What struck me most with respect to these lives was the art which the +writers, whoever they were, possessed of telling a plain story. It is no +easy thing to tell a story plainly and distinctly by mouth; but to tell +one on paper is difficult indeed, so many snares lie in the way. People +are afraid to put down what is common on paper, they seek to embellish +their narratives, as they think, by philosophic speculations and +reflections; they are anxious to shine, and people who are anxious to +shine, can never tell a plain story. “So I went with them to a music +booth, where they made me almost drunk with gin, and began to talk their +flash language, which I did not understand,” says, or is made to say, +Henry Simms, executed at Tyburn some seventy years before the time of +which I am speaking. I have always looked upon this sentence as a +masterpiece of the narrative style, it is so concise and yet so very +clear. As I gazed on passages like this, and there were many nearly as +good in the Newgate lives, I often sighed that it was not my fortune to +have to render these lives into German rather than the publisher’s +philosophy—his tale of an apple and pear. + +Mine was an ill-regulated mind at this period. As I read over the lives +of these robbers and pickpockets, strange doubts began to arise in my +mind about virtue and crime. Years before, when quite a boy, as in one +of the early chapters I have hinted, I had been a necessitarian; I had +even written an essay on crime (I have it now before me, penned in a +round boyish hand), in which I attempted to prove that there is no such +thing as crime or virtue, all our actions being the result of +circumstances or necessity. These doubts were now again reviving in my +mind; I could not, for the life of me, imagine how, taking all +circumstances into consideration, these highwaymen, these pickpockets, +should have been anything else than highwaymen and pickpockets; any more +than how, taking all circumstances into consideration, Bishop Latimer +(the reader is aware that I had read “Fox’s Book of Martyrs”) should have +been anything else than Bishop Latimer. I had a very ill-regulated mind +at that period. + +My own peculiar ideas with respect to everything being a lying dream +began also to revive. Sometimes at midnight, after having toiled for +hours at my occupations, I would fling myself back on my chair, look +about the poor apartment, dimly lighted by an unsnuffed candle, or upon +the heaps of books and papers before me, and exclaim,—“Do I exist? Do +these things, which I think I see about me, exist, or do they not? Is +not every thing a dream—a deceitful dream? Is not this apartment a +dream—the furniture a dream? The publisher a dream—his philosophy a +dream? Am I not myself a dream—dreaming about translating a dream? I +can’t see why all should not be a dream; what’s the use of the reality?” +And then I would pinch myself, and snuff the burdened smoky light. “I +can’t see, for the life of me, the use of all this; therefore why should +I think that it exists? If there was a chance, a probability of all this +tending to anything, I might believe; but—” and then I would stare and +think, and after some time shake my head and return again to my +occupations for an hour or two; and then I would perhaps shake, and +shiver, and yawn, and look wistfully in the direction of my sleeping +apartment; and then, but not wistfully, at the papers and books before +me; and sometimes I would return to my papers and books; but oftener I +would arise, and, after another yawn and shiver, take my light, and +proceed to my sleeping chamber. + +They say that light fare begets light dreams; my fare at that time was +light enough; but I had anything but light dreams, for at that period I +had all kind of strange and extravagant dreams, and amongst other things +I dreamt that the whole world had taken to dog-fighting; and that I, +myself, had taken to dog-fighting, and that in a vast circus I backed an +English bulldog against the bloodhound of the Pope of Rome. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +My Brother—Fits of Crying—Mayor Elect—The Committee—The Norman Arch—A +Word of Greek—Church and State—At My Own Expense—If You Please. + +One morning I arose somewhat later than usual, having been occupied +during the greater part of the night with my literary toil. On +descending from my chamber into the sitting room I found a person seated +by the fire, whose glance was directed sideways to the table, on which +were the usual preparations for my morning’s meal. Forthwith I gave a +cry, and sprang forward to embrace the person; for the person by the +fire, whose glance was directed to the table, was no one else than my +brother. + +“And how are things going on at home?” said I to my brother, after we had +kissed and embraced. “How is my mother, and how is the dog?” + +“My mother, thank God, is tolerably well,” said my brother, “but very +much given to fits of crying. As for the dog, he is not so well; but we +will talk more of these matters anon,” said my brother, again glancing at +the breakfast things: “I am very hungry, as you may suppose, after having +travelled all night.” + +Thereupon I exerted myself to the best of my ability to perform the +duties of hospitality, and I made my brother welcome—I may say more than +welcome; and, when the rage of my brother’s hunger was somewhat abated we +recommenced talking about the matters of our little family, and my +brother told me much about my mother; he spoke of her fits of crying, but +said that of late the said fits of crying had much diminished, and she +appeared to be taking comfort; and, if I am not much mistaken, my brother +told me that my mother had of late the prayer book frequently in her +hand, and yet oftener the Bible. + +We were silent for a time—at last I opened my mouth and mentioned the +dog. + +“The dog,” said my brother, “is, I am afraid, in a very poor way; ever +since the death he has done nothing but pine and take on. A few months +ago, you remember, he was as plump and fine as any dog in the town; but +at present he is little more than skin and bone. Once we lost him for +two days, and never expected to see him again, imagining that some +mischance had befallen him; at length I found him—where do you think? +Chancing to pass by the churchyard, I found him seated on the grave!” + +“Very strange,” said I; “but let us talk of something else. It was very +kind of you to come and see me.” + +“Oh, as for that matter, I did not come up to see you, though of course I +am very glad to see you, having been rather anxious about you, like my +mother, who has received only one letter from you since your departure. +No, I did not come up on purpose to see you; but on quite a different +account. You must know that the corporation of our town have lately +elected a new mayor, a person of many qualifications—big and portly, with +a voice like Boanerges; a religious man, the possessor of an immense pew; +loyal, so much so that I once heard him say that he would at any time go +three miles to hear any one sing ‘God save the King;’ moreover, a giver +of excellent dinners. Such is our present mayor; who, owing to his +loyalty, his religion, and a little, perhaps, to his dinners, is a mighty +favourite; so much so that the town is anxious to have his portrait +painted in a superior style, so that remote posterity may know what kind +of man he was, the colour of his hair, his air and gait. So a committee +was formed some time ago, which is still sitting; that is, they dine with +the mayor every day to talk over the subject. A few days since, to my +great surprise, they made their appearance in my poor studio, and desired +to be favoured with a sight of some of my paintings; well, I showed them +some, and, after looking at them with great attention, they went aside +and whispered. ‘He’ll do,’ I heard one say; ‘Yes, he’ll do,’ said +another; and then they came to me, and one of them, a little man with a +hump on his back, who is a watchmaker, assumed the office of spokesman, +and made a long speech—(the old town has been always celebrated for +orators)—in which he told me how much they had been pleased with my +productions—(the old town has been always celebrated for its artistic +taste) and, what do you think? offered me the painting of the mayor’s +portrait, and a hundred pounds for my trouble. Well, of course I was +much surprised, and for a minute or two could scarcely speak; recovering +myself, however, I made a speech, not so eloquent as that of the +watchmaker, of course, being not so accustomed to speaking; but not so +bad either, taking everything into consideration, telling them how +flattered I felt by the honour which they had conferred in proposing to +me such an undertaking; expressing, however, my fears that I was not +competent to the task, and concluding by saying what a pity it was that +Crome was dead. ‘Crome,’ said the little man, ‘Crome; yes, he was a +clever man, a very clever man in his way; he was good at painting +landscapes and farm-houses, but he would not do in the present instance, +were he alive. He had no conception of the heroic, sir. We want some +person capable of representing our mayor striding under the Norman arch +out of the cathedral.’ At the mention of the heroic, an idea came at +once into my head. ‘Oh,’ said I, ‘if you are in quest of the heroic, I +am glad that you came to me; don’t mistake me,’ I continued, ‘I do not +mean to say that I could do justice to your subject, though I am fond of +the heroic; but I can introduce you to a great master of the heroic, +fully competent to do justice to your mayor. Not to me, therefore, be +the painting of the picture given, but to a friend of mine, the great +master of the heroic, to the best, the strongest, τω κρατιστω,’ I added, +for, being amongst orators, I thought a word of Greek would tell.” + +“Well,” said I, “and what did the orators say?” + +“They gazed dubiously at me and at one another,” said my brother; “at +last the watchmaker asked me who this Mr. Christo was; adding, that he +had never heard of such a person; that, from my recommendation of him, he +had no doubt that he was a very clever man; but that they should like to +know something more about him before giving the commission to him. That +he had heard of Christie the great auctioneer, who was considered to be +an excellent judge of pictures; but he supposed that I +scarcely—Whereupon, interrupting the watchmaker, I told him that I +alluded neither to Christo nor to Christie; but to the painter of Lazarus +rising from the grave, a painter under whom I had myself studied during +some months that I had spent in London, and to whom I was indebted for +much connected with the heroic.” + +“I have heard of him,” said the watchmaker, “and his paintings too; but I +am afraid that he is not exactly the gentleman by whom our mayor would +wish to be painted. I have heard say that he is not a very good friend +to Church and State. Come, young man,” he added, “it appears to me that +you are too modest; I like your style of painting, so do we all, and—why +should I mince the matter?—the money is to be collected in the town, why +should it go into a stranger’s pocket, and be spent in London?” + +“Thereupon I made them a speech, in which I said that art had nothing to +do with Church and State, at least with English Church and State, which +had never encouraged it; and that, though Church and State were doubtless +very fine things, a man might be a very good artist who cared not a straw +for either. I then made use of more Greek words, and told them how +painting was one of the Nine Muses, and one of the most independent +creatures alive, inspiring whom she pleased, and asking leave of nobody; +that I should be quite unworthy of the favours of the Muse if, on the +present occasion, I did not recommend them a man whom I considered to be +a much greater master of the heroic than myself; and that, with regard to +the money being spent in the city, I had no doubt that they would not +weigh for a moment such a consideration against the chance of getting a +true heroic picture for the city. I never talked so well in my life, and +said so many flattering things to the hunchback and his friends, that at +last they said that I should have my own way; and that if I pleased to go +up to London, and bring down the painter of Lazarus to paint the mayor, I +might; so they then bade me farewell, and I have come up to London.” + +“To put a hundred pounds into the hands of—” + +“A better man than myself,” said my brother, “of course.” + +“And have you come up at your own expense?” + +“Yes,” said my brother, “I have come up at my own expense.” + +I made no answer, but looked in my brother’s face. We then returned to +the former subjects of conversation, talking of the dead, my mother, and +the dog. + +After some time my brother said, “I will now go to the painter, and +communicate to him the business which has brought me to town; and, if you +please, I will take you with me and introduce you to him.” Having +expressed my willingness, we descended into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +Painter of the Heroic—I’ll Go!—A Modest Peep—Who is this?—A Capital +Pharaoh—Disproportionably Short—Imaginary Picture—English Figures. + +The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the western end of +the town. We had some difficulty in obtaining admission to him; a +maid-servant, who opened the door, eyeing us somewhat suspiciously: it +was not until my brother had said that he was a friend of the painter +that we were permitted to pass the threshold. At length we were shown +into the studio, where we found the painter, with an easel and brush, +standing before a huge piece of canvas, on which he had lately commenced +painting a heroic picture. The painter might be about thirty-five years +old; he had a clever, intelligent countenance, with a sharp grey eye—his +hair was dark brown, and cut à-la-Rafael, as I was subsequently told, +that is, there was little before and much behind—he did not wear a +neckcloth; but, in its stead, a black riband, so that his neck, which was +rather fine, was somewhat exposed—he had a broad muscular breast, and I +make no doubt that he would have been a very fine figure, but +unfortunately his legs and thighs were somewhat short. He recognised my +brother, and appeared glad to see him. + +“What brings you to London?” said he. + +Whereupon my brother gave him a brief account of his commission. At the +mention of the hundred pounds, I observed the eyes of the painter +glisten. “Really,” said he, when my brother had concluded, “it was very +kind to think of me. I am not very fond of painting portraits; but a +mayor is a mayor, and there is something grand in that idea of the Norman +arch. I’ll go; moreover, I am just at this moment confoundedly in need +of money, and when you knocked at the door, I don’t mind telling you, I +thought it was some dun. I don’t know how it is, but in the capital they +have no taste for the heroic, they will scarce look at a heroic picture; +I am glad to hear that they have better taste in the provinces. I’ll go; +when shall we set off?” + +Thereupon it was arranged between the painter and my brother that they +should depart the next day but one; they then began to talk of art. +“I’ll stick to the heroic,” said the painter; “I now and then dabble in +the comic, but what I do gives me no pleasure, the comic is so low; there +is nothing like the heroic. I am engaged here on a heroic picture,” said +he, pointing to the canvas; “the subject is ‘Pharaoh dismissing Moses +from Egypt,’ after the last plague—the death of the first-born,—it is not +far advanced—that finished figure is Moses:” they both looked at the +canvas, and I, standing behind, took a modest peep. The picture, as the +painter said, was not far advanced, the Pharaoh was merely in outline; my +eye was, of course, attracted by the finished figure, or rather what the +painter had called the finished figure; but, as I gazed upon it, it +appeared to me that there was some thing defective—something +unsatisfactory in the figure. I concluded, however, that the painter, +notwithstanding what he had said, had omitted to give it the finishing +touch. “I intend this to be my best picture,” said the painter; “what I +want now is a face for Pharaoh; I have long been meditating on a face for +Pharaoh.” Here, chancing to cast his eye upon my countenance, of whom he +had scarcely taken any manner of notice, he remained with his mouth open +for some time. “Who is this?” said he at last. “Oh, this is my brother, +I forgot to introduce him—” + +We presently afterwards departed; my brother talked much about the +painter. “He is a noble fellow,” said my brother; “but, like many other +noble fellows, has a great many enemies; he is hated by his brethren of +the brush—all the land and waterscape painters hate him—but, above all, +the race of portrait painters, who are ten times more numerous than the +other two sorts, detest him for his heroic tendencies. It will be a kind +of triumph to the last, I fear, when they hear he has condescended to +paint a portrait; however, that Norman arch will enable him to escape +from their malice—that is a capital idea of the watchmaker, that Norman +arch.” + +I spent a happy day with my brother. On the morrow he went again to the +painter, with whom he dined; I did not go with him. On his return he +said, “The painter has been asking a great many questions about you, and +expressed a wish that you would sit to him as Pharaoh; he thinks you +would make a capital Pharaoh.” “I have no wish to appear on canvas,” +said I; “moreover, he can find much better Pharaohs than myself; and, if +he wants a real Pharaoh, there is a certain Mr. Petulengro.” +“Petulengro?” said my brother; “a strange kind of fellow came up to me +some time ago in our town, and asked me about you; when I inquired his +name, he told me Petulengro. No, he will not do, he is too short; +by-the-bye, do you not think that figure of Moses is somewhat short?” +And then it appeared to me that I had thought the figure of Moses +somewhat short, and I told my brother so. “Ah!” said my brother. + +On the morrow my brother departed with the painter for the old town, and +there the painter painted the mayor. I did not see the picture for a +great many years, when, chancing to be at the old town, I beheld it. + +The original mayor was a mighty, portly man, with a bull’s head, black +hair, body like that of a dray horse, and legs and thighs corresponding; +a man six foot high at the least. To his bull’s head, black hair, and +body the painter had done justice; there was one point, however, in which +the portrait did not correspond with the original—the legs were +disproportionably short, the painter having substituted his own legs for +those of the mayor, which when I perceived I rejoiced that I had not +consented to be painted as Pharaoh, for, if I had, the chances are that +he would have served me in exactly a similar way as he had served Moses +and the mayor. + +Short legs in a heroic picture will never do; and, upon the whole, I +think the painter’s attempt at the heroic in painting the mayor of the +old town a decided failure. If I am now asked whether the picture would +have been a heroic one provided the painter had not substituted his own +legs for those of the mayor—I must say, I am afraid not. I have no idea +of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, even with the assistance +of Norman arches; yet I am sure that capital pictures might be made out +of English mayors, not issuing from Norman arches, but rather from the +door of the “Checquers” or the “Brewers Three.” The painter in question +had great comic power, which he scarcely ever cultivated; he would fain +be a Rafael, which he never could be, when he might have been something +quite as good—another Hogarth; the only comic piece which he ever +presented to the world being something little inferior to the best of +that illustrious master. I have often thought what a capital picture +might have been made by my brother’s friend, if, instead of making the +mayor issue out of the Norman arch, he had painted him moving under the +sign of the “Checquers,” or the “Three Brewers,” with mace—yes, with +mace,—the mace appears in the picture issuing out of the Norman arch +behind the mayor,—but likewise with Snap, and with whiffler, quart pot, +and frying pan, Billy Blind, and Owlenglass, Mr. Petulengro and +Pakomovna;—then, had he clapped his own legs upon the mayor, or any one +else in the concourse, what matter? But I repeat that I have no hope of +making heroic pictures out of English mayors, or, indeed, out of English +figures in general. England may be a land of heroic hearts, but it is +not, properly, a land of heroic figures, or heroic +posture-making.—Italy—what was I going to say about Italy? + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +No Authority Whatever—Interference—Wondrous Farrago—Brandt and +Struensee—What a Life!—The Hearse—Mortal Relics—Great Poet—Fashion and +Fame—What a Difference!—Oh, Beautiful!—Good for Nothing. + +And now once more to my pursuits, to my Lives and Trials. However +partial at first I might be to these lives and trials, it was not long +before they became regular trials to me, owing to the whims and caprices +of the publisher. I had not been long connected with him before I +discovered that he was wonderfully fond of interfering with other +people’s business—at least with the business of those who were under his +control. What a life did his unfortunate authors lead! He had many in +his employ toiling at all kinds of subjects—I call them authors because +there is something respectable in the term author, though they had little +authorship in, and no authority whatever over, the works on which they +were engaged. It is true the publisher interfered with some colour of +reason, the plan of all and every of the works alluded to having +originated with himself; and, be it observed, many of his plans were +highly clever and promising, for, as I have already had occasion to say, +the publisher in many points was a highly clever and sagacious person; +but he ought to have been contented with planning the works originally, +and have left to other people the task of executing them, instead of +which he marred everything by his rage for interference. If a book of +fairy tales was being compiled, he was sure to introduce some of his +philosophy, explaining the fairy tale by some theory of his own. Was a +book of anecdotes on hand, it was sure to be half filled with sayings and +doings of himself during the time that he was common councilman of the +City of London. Now, however fond the public might be of fairy tales, it +by no means relished them in conjunction with the publisher’s philosophy; +and however fond of anecdotes in general, or even of the publisher in +particular—for indeed there were a great many anecdotes in circulation +about him which the public both read and listened to very readily—it took +no pleasure in such anecdotes as he was disposed to relate about himself. +In the compilation of my Lives and Trials, I was exposed to incredible +mortification, and ceaseless trouble, from this same rage for +interference. It is true he could not introduce his philosophy into the +work, nor was it possible for him to introduce anecdotes of himself, +having never had the good or evil fortune to be tried at the bar; but he +was continually introducing—what, under a less apathetic government than +the one then being, would have infallibly subjected him, and perhaps +myself, to a trial,—his politics; not his Oxford or pseudo politics, but +the politics which he really entertained, and which were of the most +republican and violent kind. But this was not all; when about a moiety +of the first volume had been printed, he materially altered the plan of +the work; it was no longer to be a collection of mere Newgate lives and +trials, but of lives and trials of criminals in general, foreign as well +as domestic. In a little time the work became a wondrous farrago, in +which Königsmark the robber figured by the side of Sam Lynn, and the +Marchioness de Brinvilliers was placed in contact with a Chinese outlaw. +What gave me the most trouble and annoyance was the publisher’s +remembering some life or trial, foreign or domestic, which he wished to +be inserted, and which I was forthwith to go in quest of and purchase at +my own expense: some of those lives and trials were by no means easy to +find. “Where is Brandt and Struensee?” cries the publisher; “I am sure I +don’t know,” I replied; whereupon the publisher falls to squealing like +one of Joey’s rats. “Find me up Brandt and Struensee by next morning, +or—” “Have you found Brandt and Struensee?” cried the publisher, on my +appearing before him next morning. “No,” I reply, “I can hear nothing +about them;” whereupon the publisher falls to bellowing like Joey’s bull. +By dint of incredible diligence, I at length discover the dingy volume +containing the lives and trials of the celebrated two who had brooded +treason dangerous to the state of Denmark. I purchase the dingy volume, +and bring it in triumph to the publisher, the perspiration running down +my brow. The publisher takes the dingy volume in his hand, he examines +it attentively, then puts it down; his countenance is calm for a moment, +almost benign. Another moment and there is a gleam in the publisher’s +sinister eye; he snatches up the paper containing the names of the +worthies which I have intended shall figure in the forthcoming volumes—he +glances rapidly over it, and his countenance once more assumes a terrific +expression. “How is this?” he exclaims; “I can scarcely believe my +eyes—the most important life and trial omitted to be found in the whole +criminal record—what gross, what utter negligence! Where’s the life of +Farmer Patch? where’s the trial of Yeoman Patch?” + +“What a life! what a dog’s life!” I would frequently exclaim, after +escaping from the presence of the publisher. + +One day, after a scene with the publisher similar to that which I have +described above, I found myself about noon at the bottom of Oxford +Street, where it forms a right angle with the road which leads or did +lead to Tottenham Court. Happening to cast my eyes around, it suddenly +occurred to me that something uncommon was expected; people were standing +in groups on the pavement—the upstair windows of the houses were thronged +with faces, especially those of women, and many of the shops were partly, +and not a few entirely closed. What could be the reason of all this? +All at once I bethought me that this street of Oxford was no other than +the far-famed Tyburn way. Oh, oh, thought I, an execution; some handsome +young robber is about to be executed at the farther end; just so, see how +earnestly the women are peering; perhaps another Harry Symms—Gentleman +Harry as they called him—is about to be carted along this street to +Tyburn tree; but then I remembered that Tyburn tree had long since been +cut down, and that criminals, whether young or old, good-looking or ugly, +were executed before the big stone gaol, which I had looked at with a +kind of shudder during my short rambles in the city. What could be the +matter? Just then I heard various voices cry “There it comes!” and all +heads were turned up Oxford Street, down which a hearse was slowly +coming: nearer and nearer it drew; presently it was just opposite the +place where I was standing, when, turning to the left, it proceeded +slowly along Tottenham Road; immediately behind the hearse were three or +four mourning coaches, full of people, some of which, from the partial +glimpse which I caught of them, appeared to be foreigners; behind these +came a very long train of splendid carriages, all of which, without one +exception, were empty. + +“Whose body is in that hearse?” said I to a dapper-looking individual, +seemingly a shopkeeper, who stood beside me on the pavement, looking at +the procession. + +“The mortal relics of Lord Byron,” said the dapper-looking individual +mouthing his words and smirking—“the illustrious poet, which have been +just brought from Greece, and are being conveyed to the family vault in +---shire.” + +“An illustrious poet, was he?” said I. + +“Beyond all criticism,” said the dapper man; “all we of the rising +generation are under incalculable obligation to Byron; I myself, in +particular, have reason to say so; in all my correspondence my style is +formed on the Byronic model.” + +I looked at the individual for a moment, who smiled and smirked to +himself applause, and then I turned my eyes upon the hearse proceeding +slowly up the almost endless street. This man, this Byron, had for many +years past been the demigod of England, and his verses the daily food of +those who read, from the peer to the draper’s assistant; all were +admirers, or rather worshippers, of Byron, and all doated on his verses; +and then I thought of those who, with genius as high as his, or higher, +had lived and died neglected. I thought of Milton abandoned to poverty +and blindness; of witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender +mercies of bailiffs; and starving Otway: they had lived, neglected and +despised, and, when they died, a few poor mourners only had followed them +to the grave; but this Byron had been made a half god of when living, and +now that he was dead he was followed by worshipping crowds, and the very +sun seemed to come out on purpose to grace his funeral. And, indeed, the +sun, which for many days past had hidden its face in clouds, shone out +that morning with wonderful brilliancy, flaming upon the black hearse and +its tall ostrich plumes, the mourning coaches, and the long train of +aristocratic carriages which followed behind. + +“Great poet, sir,” said the dapper-looking man, “great poet, but +unhappy.” + +Unhappy? yes, I had heard that he had been unhappy; that he had roamed +about a fevered, distempered man, taking pleasure in nothing—that I had +heard; but was it true? was he really unhappy? was not this unhappiness +assumed, with the view of increasing the interest which the world took in +him? and yet who could say? He might be unhappy, and with reason. Was +he a real poet, after all? might he not doubt himself? might he not have +a lurking consciousness that he was undeserving of the homage which he +was receiving? that it could not last? that he was rather at the top of +fashion than of fame? He was a lordling, a glittering, gorgeous +lordling: and he might have had a consciousness that he owed much of his +celebrity to being so; he might have felt that he was rather at the top +of fashion than of fame. Fashion soon changes, thought I, eagerly to +myself—a time will come, and that speedily, when he will be no longer in +the fashion; when this idiotic admirer of his, who is still grinning at +my side, shall have ceased to mould his style on Byron’s; and this +aristocracy, squirearchy, and what not, who now send their empty +carriages to pay respect to the fashionable corpse, shall have +transferred their empty worship to some other animate or inanimate thing. +Well, perhaps after all it was better to have been mighty Milton in his +poverty and blindness—witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender +mercies of bailiffs, and starving Otway; they might enjoy more real +pleasure than this lordling; they must have been aware that the world +would one day do them justice—fame after death is better than the top of +fashion in life. They have left a fame behind them which shall never +die, whilst this lordling—a time will come when he will be out of fashion +and forgotten. And yet I don’t know; didn’t he write Childe Harold and +that ode? Yes, he wrote Childe Harold and that ode. Then a time will +scarcely come when he will be forgotten. Lords, squires, and cockneys +may pass away, but a time will scarcely come when Childe Harold and that +ode will be forgotten. He was a poet, after all, and he must have known +it; a real poet, equal to—to—what a destiny! Rank, beauty, fashion, +immortality,—he could not be unhappy; what a difference in the fate of +men—I wish I could think he was unhappy— + +I turned away. + +“Great poet, sir,” said the dapper man, turning away too, “but +unhappy—fate of genius, sir; I, too, am frequently unhappy.” + +Hurrying down a street to the right, I encountered Francis Ardry. + +“What means the multitude yonder?” he demanded. + +“They are looking after the hearse which is carrying the remains of Byron +up Tottenham Road.” + +“I have seen the man,” said my friend, as he turned back the way he had +come, “so I can dispense with seeing the hearse—I saw the living man at +Venice—ah, a great poet.” + +“Yes,” said I, “a great poet, it must be so, everybody says so—what a +destiny! What a difference in the fate of men; but ’tis said he was +unhappy; you have seen him, how did he look?” + +“Oh, beautiful!” + +“But did he look happy?” + +“Why, I can’t say he looked very unhappy; I saw him with two—very fair +ladies; but what is it to you whether the man was unhappy or not? Come, +where shall we go—to Joey’s? His hugest bear—” + +“O, I have had enough of bears, I have just been worried by one.” + +“The publisher?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then come to Joey’s, three dogs are to be launched at his bear: as they +pin him, imagine him to be the publisher.” + +“No,” said I, “I am good for nothing; I think I shall stroll to London +Bridge.” + +“That’s too far for me—farewell!” + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +London Bridge—Why not?—Every Heart has its Bitters—Wicked Boys—Give me my +Book—Such a Fright—Honour Bright. + +So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the +booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was +empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall was to be seen. I looked +over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was now as before, rolling +beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I gazed upon the eddies +of the whirlpool, I thought within myself how soon human life would +become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive flounder, and all would be +over. When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse—a +fascination; I had resisted it—I did not plunge into it. At present I +felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of a different +kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life. I looked wistfully at the +eddies—what had I to live for?—what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and +Struensee, and Yeoman Patch—should I yield to the impulse—why not? My +eyes were fixed on the eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I +saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up +to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water, or—Where was the impulse +now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked no more upon it—I looked +forward, far down the stream in the far distance. “Ha! what is that? I +thought I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a +rustic home; but in the far distance—I stared—I stared—a Fata Morgana—it +was gone—” + +I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge, where +I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over to the +other side with the intention of returning home; just half way over the +bridge, in a booth immediately opposite to the one in which I had +formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up +behind her stall. + +“Well, mother,” said I, “how are you?” The old woman lifted her head +with a startled look. + +“Don’t you know me?” said I. + +“Yes, I think I do. Ah, yes,” said she, as her features beamed with +recollection, “I know you, dear; you are the young lad that gave me the +tanner. Well, child, got anything to sell?” + +“Nothing at all,” said I. + +“Bad luck?” + +“Yes,” said I, “bad enough, and ill usage.” + +“Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, better luck next +time; I am glad to see you.” + +“Thank you,” said I, sitting down on the stone bench; “I thought you had +left the bridge—why have you changed your side?” + +The old woman shook. + +“What is the matter with you,” said I, “are you ill?” + +“No, child, no; only—” + +“Only what? Any bad news of your son?” + +“No, child, no; nothing about my son. Only low, child—every heart has +its bitters.” + +“That’s true,” said I; “well, I don’t want to know your sorrows; come, +where’s the book?” + +The apple-woman shook more violently than before, bent herself down, and +drew her cloak more closely about her than before. “Book, child, what +book?” + +“Why, blessed Mary, to be sure.” + +“Oh, that; I ha’n’t got it, child—I have lost it, have left it at home.” + +“Lost it,” said I; “left it at home—what do you mean? Come, let me have +it.” + +“I ha’n’t got it, child.” + +“I believe you have got it under your cloak.” + +“Don’t tell any one, dear; don’t—don’t,” and the apple-woman burst into +tears. + +“What’s the matter with you?” said I, staring at her. + +“You want to take my book from me?” + +“Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, only tell me +what’s the matter?” + +“Why, all about that book.” + +“The book?” + +“Yes, they wanted to take it from me.” + +“Who did?” + +“Why, some wicked boys. I’ll tell you all about it. Eight or ten days +ago, I sat behind my stall, reading my book; all of a sudden I felt it +snatched from my hand; up I started, and see three rascals of boys +grinning at me; one of them held the book in his hand. ‘What book is +this?’ said he, grinning at it. ‘What do you want with my book?’ said I, +clutching at it over my stall, ‘give me my book.’ ‘What do you want a +book for?’ said he, holding it back; ‘I have a good mind to fling it into +the Thames.’ ‘Give me my book,’ I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell +over my stall, and all my fruit was scattered about. Off ran the +boys—off ran the rascal with my book. Oh dear, I thought I should have +died; up I got, however, and ran after them as well as I could; I thought +of my fruit, but I thought more of my book. I left my fruit and ran +after my book. ‘My book! my book!’ I shrieked, ‘murder! theft! robbery!’ +I was near being crushed under the wheels of a cart; but I didn’t care—I +followed the rascals. ‘Stop them! stop them!’ I ran nearly as fast as +they—they couldn’t run very fast on account of the crowd. At last some +one stopped the rascal, whereupon he turned round, and flinging the book +at me, it fell into the mud; well, I picked it up and kissed it, all +muddy as it was. ‘Has he robbed you?’ said the man. ‘Robbed me, indeed; +why, he had got my book.’ ‘Oh, your book,’ said the man, and laughed, +and let the rascal go. Ah, he might laugh, but—” + +“Well, go on.” + +“My heart beats so. Well, I went back to my booth and picked up my stall +and my fruits, what I could find of them. I couldn’t keep my stall for +two days I got such a fright, and when I got round I couldn’t bide the +booth where the thing had happened, so I came over to the other side. +Oh, the rascals, if I could but see them hanged.” + +“For what?” + +“Why, for stealing my book.” + +“I thought you didn’t dislike stealing,—that you were ready to buy +things—there was your son, you know—” + +“Yes, to be sure.” + +“He took things.” + +“To be sure he did.” + +“But you don’t like a thing of yours to be taken.” + +“No, that’s quite a different thing; what’s stealing handkerchiefs, and +that kind of thing, to do with taking my book; there’s a wide +difference—don’t you see?” + +“Yes, I see.” + +“Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I’m glad you do. Would you like +to look at the book?” + +“Well, I think I should.” + +“Honour bright?” said the apple-woman, looking me in the eyes. + +“Honour bright,” said I, looking the apple-woman in the eyes. + +“Well then, dear, here it is,” said she, taking it from under her cloak; +“read it as long as you like, only get a little farther into the +booth—Don’t sit so near the edge—you might—” + +I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her chair +round, almost confronted me. I commenced reading the book, and was soon +engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or twice I lifted up my eyes, +the apple-woman was still confronting me: at last my eyes began to ache, +whereupon I returned the book to the apple-woman, and giving her another +tanner, walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +Decease of the Review—Homer Himself—Bread and Cheese—Finger and +Thumb—Impossible to Find—Something Grand—Universal Mixture—Some Other +Publisher. + +Time passed away, and with it the review, which, contrary to the +publisher’s expectation, did not prove a successful speculation. About +four months after the period of its birth it expired, as all reviews must +for which there is no demand. Authors had ceased to send their +publications to it, and, consequently, to purchase it; for I have already +hinted that it was almost entirely supported by authors of a particular +class, who expected to see their publications foredoomed to immortality +in its pages. The behaviour of these authors towards this unfortunate +publication I can attribute to no other cause than to a report which was +industriously circulated, namely, that the review was low, and that to be +reviewed in it was an infallible sign that one was a low person, who +could be reviewed nowhere else. So authors took fright; and no wonder, +for it will never do for an author to be considered low. Homer himself +has never yet entirely recovered from the injury he received by Lord +Chesterfield’s remark, that the speeches of his heroes were frequently +exceedingly low. + +So the review ceased, and the reviewing corps no longer existed as such; +they forthwith returned to their proper avocations—the editor to compose +tunes on his piano, and to the task of disposing of the remaining copies +of his Quintilian—the inferior members to working for the publisher, +being to a man dependents of his; one, to composing fairy tales; another, +to collecting miracles of Popish saints; and a third, Newgate lives and +trials. Owing to the bad success of the review, the publisher became +more furious than ever. My money was growing short, and I one day asked +him to pay me for my labours in the deceased publication. + +“Sir,” said the publisher, “what do you want the money for?” + +“Merely to live on,” I replied; “it is very difficult to live in this +town without money.” + +“How much money did you bring with you to town?” demanded the publisher. + +“Some twenty or thirty pounds,” I replied. + +“And you have spent it already?” + +“No,” said I, “not entirely; but it is fast disappearing.” + +“Sir,” said the publisher, “I believe you to be extravagant; yes, sir, +extravagant!” + +“On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?” + +“Sir,” said the publisher; “you eat meat.” + +“Yes,” said I, “I eat meat sometimes: what should I eat?” + +“Bread, sir,” said the publisher; “bread and cheese.” + +“So I do, sir, when I am disposed to indulge; but I cannot often afford +it—it is very expensive to dine on bread and cheese, especially when one +is fond of cheese, as I am. My last bread and cheese dinner cost me +fourteen pence. There is drink, sir; with bread and cheese one must +drink porter, sir.” + +“Then, sir, eat bread—bread alone. As good men as yourself have eaten +bread alone; they have been glad to get it, sir. If with bread and +cheese you must drink porter, sir, with bread alone you can, perhaps, +drink water, sir.” + +However, I got paid at last for my writings in the review, not, it is +true, in the current coin of the realm, but in certain bills; there were +two of them, one payable at twelve, and the other at eighteen months +after date. It was a long time before I could turn these bills to any +account; at last I found a person who, at a discount of only thirty per +cent., consented to cash them; not, however, without sundry grimaces, +and, what was still more galling, holding, more than once, the +unfortunate papers high in air between his forefinger and thumb. So ill, +indeed, did I like this last action, that I felt much inclined to snatch +them away. I restrained myself, however, for I remembered that it was +very difficult to live without money, and that, if the present person did +not discount the bills, I should probably find no one else that would. + +But if the treatment which I had experienced from the publisher, previous +to making this demand upon him, was difficult to bear, that which I +subsequently underwent was far more so; his great delight seemed to +consist in causing me misery and mortification; if, on former occasions, +he was continually sending me in quest of lives and trials difficult to +find, he now was continually demanding lives and trials which it was +impossible to find; the personages whom he mentioned never having lived, +nor consequently been tried. Moreover, some of my best lives and trials +which I had corrected and edited with particular care, and on which I +prided myself no little, he caused to be cancelled after they had passed +through the press. Amongst these was the life of “Gentleman Harry.” +“They are drugs, sir,” said the publisher, “drugs; that life of Harry +Simms has long been the greatest drug in the calendar—has it not, +Taggart?” + +Taggart made no answer save by taking a pinch of snuff. The reader has, +I hope, not forgotten Taggart, whom I mentioned whilst giving an account +of my first morning’s visit to the publisher. I beg Taggart’s pardon for +having been so long silent about him; but he was a very silent man—yet +there was much in Taggart—and Taggart had always been civil and kind to +me in his peculiar way. + +“Well, young gentleman,” said Taggart to me one morning, when we chanced +to be alone a few days after the affair of the cancelling, “how do you +like authorship?” + +“I scarcely call authorship the drudgery I am engaged in,” said I. + +“What do you call authorship?” said Taggart. + +“I scarcely know,” said I; “that is, I can scarcely express what I think +it.” + +“Shall I help you out?” said Taggart, turning round his chair, and +looking at me. + +“If you like,” said I. + +“To write something grand,” said Taggart, taking snuff; “to be stared +at—lifted on people’s shoulders—” + +“Well,” said I, “that is something like it.” + +Taggart took snuff. “Well,” said he, “why don’t you write something +grand?” + +“I have,” said I. + +“What?” said Taggart. + +“Why,” said I, “there are those ballads.” + +Taggart took snuff. + +“And those wonderful versions from Ab Gwilym.” + +Taggart took snuff again. + +“You seem to be very fond of snuff,” said I; looking at him angrily. + +Taggart tapped his box. + +“Have you taken it long?” + +“Three-and-twenty years.” + +“What snuff do you take?” + +“Universal mixture.” + +“And you find it of use?” + +Taggart tapped his box. + +“In what respect?” said I. + +“In many—there is nothing like it to get a man through; but for snuff I +should scarcely be where I am now.” + +“Have you been long here?” + +“Three-and-twenty years.” + +“Dear me,” said I; “and snuff brought you through? Give me a pinch—pah, +I don’t like it,” and I sneezed. + +“Take another pinch,” said Taggart. + +“No,” said I, “I don’t like snuff.” + +“Then you will never do for authorship; at least for this kind.” + +“So I begin to think—what shall I do?” + +Taggart took snuff. + +“You were talking of a great work—what shall it be?” + +Taggart took snuff. + +“Do you think I could write one?” + +Taggart uplifted his two forefingers as if to tap, he did not, however. + +“It would require time,” said I, with half a sigh. + +Taggart tapped his box. + +“A great deal of time; I really think that my ballads—” + +Taggart took snuff. + +“If published, would do me credit. I’ll make an effort, and offer them +to some other publisher.” + +Taggart took a double quantity of snuff. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +Francis Ardry—That Won’t do, Sir—Observe My Gestures—I Think You +Improve—Better than Politics—Delightful Young Frenchwoman—A Burning +Shame—Magnificent Impudence—Paunch—Voltaire—Lump of Sugar. + +Occasionally I called on Francis Ardry. This young gentleman resided in +handsome apartments in the neighbourhood of a fashionable square, kept a +livery servant, and, upon the whole, lived in very good style. Going to +see him one day, between one and two, I was informed by the servant that +his master was engaged for the moment, but that, if I pleased to wait a +few minutes, I should find him at liberty. Having told the man that I +had no objection, he conducted me into a small apartment which served as +antechamber to a drawing-room; the door of this last being half open, I +could see Francis Ardry at the farther end, speechifying and +gesticulating in a very impressive manner. The servant, in some +confusion, was hastening to close the door; but, ere he could effect his +purpose, Francis Ardry, who had caught a glimpse of me, exclaimed, “Come +in—come in by all means;” and then proceeded, as before, speechifying and +gesticulating. Filled with some surprise, I obeyed his summons. + +On entering the room I perceived another individual, to whom Francis +Ardry appeared to be addressing himself; this other was a short spare man +of about sixty; his hair was of badger grey, and his face was covered +with wrinkles—without vouchsafing me a look, he kept his eye, which was +black and lustrous, fixed full on Francis Ardry, as if paying the deepest +attention to his discourse. All of a sudden, however, he cried with a +sharp, cracked voice, “That won’t do, sir; that won’t do—more +vehemence—your argument is at present particularly weak; therefore, more +vehemence—you must confuse them, stun them, stultify them, sir;” and, at +each of these injunctions, he struck the back of his right hand sharply +against the palm of the left. “Good, sir—good!” he occasionally uttered, +in the same sharp, cracked tone, as the voice of Francis Ardry became +more and more vehement. “Infinitely good!” he exclaimed, as Francis +Ardry raised his voice to the highest pitch; “and now, sir, abate; let +the tempest of vehemence decline—gradually, sir; not too fast. Good, +sir—very good!” as the voice of Francis Ardry declined gradually in +vehemence. “And now a little pathos, sir—try them with a little pathos. +That won’t do, sir—that won’t do,”—as Francis Ardry made an attempt to +become pathetic,—“that will never pass for pathos—with tones and gesture +of that description you will never redress the wrongs of your country. +Now, sir, observe my gestures, and pay attention to the tone of my voice, +sir.” + +Thereupon, making use of nearly the same terms which Francis Ardry had +employed, the individual in black uttered several sentences in tones and +with gestures which were intended to express a considerable degree of +pathos, though it is possible that some people would have thought both +the one and the other highly ludicrous. After a pause, Francis Ardry +recommenced imitating the tones and the gestures of his monitor in the +most admirable manner. Before he had proceeded far, however, he burst +into a fit of laughter, in which I should, perhaps, have joined, provided +it were ever my wont to laugh. “Ha, ha!” said the other, good +humouredly, “you are laughing at me. Well, well, I merely wished to give +you a hint; but you saw very well what I meant; upon the whole I think +you improve. But I must now go, having two other pupils to visit before +four.” + +Then taking from the table a kind of three-cornered hat, and a cane +headed with amber, he shook Francis Ardry by the hand; and, after +glancing at me for a moment, made me a half bow, attended with a strange +grimace, and departed. + +“Who is that gentleman?” said I to Francis Ardry, as soon as we were +alone. + +“Oh, that is ---,” said Frank smiling, “the gentleman who gives me +lessons in elocution.” + +“And what need have you of elocution?” + +“Oh, I merely obey the commands of my guardians,” said Francis, “who +insist that I should, with the assistance of ---, qualify myself for +Parliament; for which they do me the honour to suppose that I have some +natural talent. I dare not disobey them; for, at the present moment, I +have particular reasons for wishing to keep on good terms with them.” + +“But,” said I, “you are a Roman Catholic; and I thought that persons of +your religion were excluded from Parliament?” + +“Why, upon that very thing the whole matter hinges; people of our +religion are determined to be no longer excluded from Parliament, but to +have a share in the government of the nation. Not that I care anything +about the matter; I merely obey the will of my guardians; my thoughts are +fixed on something better than politics.” + +“I understand you,” said I; “dog-fighting—well, I can easily conceive +that to some minds dog-fighting—” + +“I was not thinking of dog-fighting,” said Francis Ardry, interrupting +me. + +“Not thinking of dog-fighting!” I ejaculated. + +“No,” said Francis Ardry, “something higher and much more rational than +dog-fighting at present occupies my thoughts.” + +“Dear me,” said I, “I thought I had heard you say, that there was nothing +like it!” + +“Like what?” said Francis Ardry. + +“Dog-fighting, to be sure,” said I. + +“Pooh,” said Francis Ardry; “who but the gross and unrefined care +anything for dog-fighting? That which at present engages my waking and +sleeping thoughts is love—divine love—there is nothing like _that_. +Listen to me, I have a secret to confide to you.” + +And then Francis Ardry proceeded to make me his confidant. It appeared +that he had had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of the most +delightful young Frenchwoman imaginable, Annette La Noire by name, who +had just arrived from her native country with the intention of obtaining +the situation of governess in some English family; a position which, on +account of her many accomplishments, she was eminently qualified to fill. +Francis Ardry had, however, persuaded her to relinquish her intention for +the present, on the ground that, until she had become acclimated in +England, her health would probably suffer from the confinement +inseparable from the occupation in which she was desirous of engaging; he +had, moreover—for it appeared that she was the most frank and confiding +creature in the world—succeeded in persuading her to permit him to hire +for her a very handsome first floor in his own neighbourhood, and to +accept a few inconsiderable presents in money and jewellery. “I am +looking out for a handsome gig and horse,” said Francis Ardry, at the +conclusion of his narration; “it were a burning shame that so divine a +creature should have to go about a place like London on foot, or in a +paltry hackney coach.” + +“But,” said I, “will not the pursuit of politics prevent your devoting +much time to this fair lady?” + +“It will prevent me devoting all my time,” said Francis Ardry, “as I +gladly would; but what can I do? My guardians wish me to qualify myself +for a political orator, and I dare not offend them by a refusal. If I +offend my guardians, I should find it impossible—unless I have recourse +to Jews and money-lenders—to support Annette; present her with articles +of dress and jewellery, and purchase a horse and cabriolet worthy of +conveying her angelic person through the streets of London.” + +After a pause, in which Francis Ardry appeared lost in thought, his mind +being probably occupied with the subject of Annette, I broke silence by +observing, “So your fellow-religionists are really going to make a +serious attempt to procure their emancipation?” + +“Yes,” said Francis Ardry, starting from his reverie; “everything has +been arranged; even a leader has been chosen, at least for us of Ireland, +upon the whole the most suitable man in the world for the occasion—a +barrister of considerable talent, mighty voice, and magnificent +impudence. With emancipation, liberty, and redress for the wrongs of +Ireland in his mouth, he is to force his way into the British House of +Commons, dragging myself and others behind him—he will succeed, and when +he is in he will cut a figure; I have heard --- himself, who has heard +him speak, say that he will cut a figure.” + +“And is --- competent to judge?” I demanded. + +“Who but he?” said Francis Ardry; “no one questions his judgment +concerning what relates to elocution. His fame on that point is so well +established, that the greatest orators do not disdain occasionally to +consult him; C--- himself, as I have been told, when anxious to produce +any particular effect in the House, is in the habit of calling in --- for +consultation.” + +“As to matter, or manner?” said I. + +“Chiefly the latter,” said Francis Ardry, “though he is competent to give +advice as to both, for he has been an orator in his day, and a leader of +the people; though he confessed to me that he was not exactly qualified +to play the latter part—‘I want paunch,’ said he.” + +“It is not always indispensable,” said I; “there is an orator in my town, +a hunchback and watchmaker, without it, who not only leads the people, +but the mayor too; perhaps he has a succedaneum in his hunch: but, tell +me, is the leader of your movement in possession of that which --- +wants?” + +“No more deficient in it than in brass,” said Francis Ardry. + +“Well,” said I, “whatever his qualifications may be, I wish him success +in the cause which he has taken up—I love religious liberty.” + +“We shall succeed,” said Francis Ardry; “John Bull upon the whole is +rather indifferent on the subject, and then we are sure to be backed by +the radical party, who, to gratify their political prejudices, would join +with Satan himself.” + +“There is one thing,” said I, “connected with this matter which surprises +me—your own lukewarmness. Yes, making every allowance for your natural +predilection for dog-fighting, and your present enamoured state of mind, +your apathy at the commencement of such a movement is to me +unaccountable.” + +“You would not have cause to complain of my indifference,” said Frank, +“provided I thought my country would be benefited by this movement; but I +happen to know the origin of it. The priests are the originators, ‘and +what country was ever benefited by a movement which owed its origin to +them?’ so says Voltaire, a page of whom I occasionally read. By the +present move they hope to increase their influence, and to further +certain designs which they entertain both with regard to this country and +Ireland. I do not speak rashly or unadvisedly. A strange fellow—a half +Italian, half English priest,—who was recommended to me by my guardians, +partly as a spiritual—partly as a temporal guide, has let me into a +secret or two; he is fond of a glass of gin and water—and over a glass of +gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it, he has been more +communicative, perhaps, than was altogether prudent. Were I my own +master, I would kick him, politics, and religious movements, to a +considerable distance. And now, if you are going away, do so quickly; I +have an appointment with Annette, and must make myself fit to appear +before her.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +Progress—Glorious John—Utterly Unintelligible—What a Difference! + +By the month of October I had, in spite of all difficulties and +obstacles, accomplished about two-thirds of the principal task which I +had undertaken, the compiling of the Newgate lives; I had also made some +progress in translating the publisher’s philosophy into German. But +about this time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that +our connection should prove of long duration; yet, in the event of my +leaving the big man, what other resource had I—another publisher? But +what had I to offer? There were my ballads, my Ab Gwilym, but then I +thought of Taggart and his snuff, his pinch of snuff. However, I +determined to see what could be done, so I took my ballads under my arm, +and went to various publishers; some took snuff, others did not, but none +took my ballads or Ab Gwilym, they would not even look at them. One +asked me if I had anything else—he was a snuff-taker—I said yes; and +going home returned with my translation of the German novel, to which I +have before alluded. After keeping it for a fortnight, he returned it to +me on my visiting him, and, taking a pinch of snuff, told me it would not +do. There were marks of snuff on the outside of the manuscript, which +was a roll of paper bound with red tape, but there were no marks of snuff +on the interior of the manuscript, from which I concluded that he had +never opened it. + +I had often heard of one Glorious John, who lived at the western end of +the town; on consulting Taggart, he told me that it was possible that +Glorious John would publish my ballads and Ab Gwilym, that is, said he, +taking a pinch of snuff, provided you can see him; so I went to the house +where Glorious John resided, and a glorious house it was, but I could not +see Glorious John—I called a dozen times, but I never could see Glorious +John. Twenty years after, by the greatest chance in the world, I saw +Glorious John, and sure enough Glorious John published my books, but they +were different books from the first; I never offered my ballads or Ab +Gwilym to Glorious John. Glorious John was no snuff-taker. He asked me +to dinner, and treated me with superb Rhenish wine. Glorious John is now +gone to his rest, but I—what was I going to say?—the world will never +forget Glorious John. + +So I returned to my last resource for the time then being—to the +publisher, persevering doggedly in my labour. One day, on visiting the +publisher, I found him stamping with fury upon certain fragments of +paper. + +“Sir,” said he, “you know nothing of German; I have shown your +translation of the first chapter of my Philosophy to several Germans: it +is utterly unintelligible to them.” “Did they see the Philosophy?” I +replied. “They did, sir, but they did not profess to understand +English.” “No more do I,” I replied, “if that Philosophy be English.” + +The publisher was furious—I was silent. For want of a pinch of snuff, I +had recourse to something which is no bad substitute for a pinch of snuff +to those who can’t take it, silent contempt; at first it made the +publisher more furious, as perhaps a pinch of snuff would; it, however, +eventually calmed him, and he ordered me back to my occupations, in other +words, the compilation. To be brief, the compilation was completed, I +got paid in the usual manner, and forthwith left him. + +He was a clever man, but what a difference in clever men! + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + +The Old Spot—A Long History—Thou Shalt Not Steal—No +Harm—Education—Necessity—Foam on Your Lip—Apples and Pears—What Will You +Read—Metaphor—The Fur Cap—I Don’t Know Him. + +It was past mid-winter, and I sat on London Bridge, in company with the +old apple-woman: she had just returned from the other side of the bridge, +to her place in the booth where I had originally found her. This she had +done after repeated conversations with me; “she liked the old place +best,” she said, which she would never have left but for the terror which +she experienced when the boys ran away with her book. So I sat with her +at the old spot, one afternoon past mid-winter, reading the book, of +which I had by this time come to the last pages. I had observed that the +old woman for some time past had shown much less anxiety about the book +than she had been in the habit of doing. I was, however, not quite +prepared for her offering to make me a present of it, which she did that +afternoon; when, having finished it, I returned it to her, with many +thanks for the pleasure and instruction I had derived from its perusal. +“You may keep it, dear,” said the old woman, with a sigh; “you may carry +it to your lodging, and keep it for your own.” + +Looking at the old woman with surprise, I exclaimed, “Is it possible that +you are willing to part with the book which has been your source of +comfort so long?” + +Whereupon the old woman entered into a long history, from which I +gathered that the book had become distasteful to her; she hardly ever +opened it of late, she said, or if she did, it was only to shut it again; +also, that other things which she had been fond of, though of a widely +different kind, were now distasteful to her. Porter and beef-steaks were +no longer grateful to her palate, her present diet chiefly consisting of +tea, and bread and butter. + +“Ah,” said I, “you have been ill, and when people are ill, they seldom +like the things which give them pleasure when they are in health.” I +learned, moreover, that she slept little at night, and had all kinds of +strange thoughts; that as she lay awake many things connected with her +youth, which she had quite forgotten, came into her mind. There were +certain words that came into her mind the night before the last, which +were continually humming in her ears: I found that the words were, “Thou +shalt not steal.” + +On inquiring where she had first heard these words, I learned that she +had read them at school, in a book called the primer; to this school she +had been sent by her mother, who was a poor widow, who followed the trade +of apple-selling in the very spot where her daughter followed it now. It +seems that the mother was a very good kind of woman, but quite ignorant +of letters, the benefit of which she was willing to procure for her +child; and at the school the daughter learned to read, and subsequently +experienced the pleasure and benefit of letters, in being able to read +the book which she found in an obscure closet of her mother’s house, and +which had been her principal companion and comfort for many years of her +life. + +But, as I have said before, she was now dissatisfied with the book, and +with most other things in which she had taken pleasure; she dwelt much on +the words, “Thou shalt not steal;” she had never stolen things herself, +but then she had bought things which other people had stolen, and which +she knew had been stolen; and her dear son had been a thief, which he +perhaps would not have been but for the example which she set him in +buying things from characters, as she called them, who associated with +her. + +On inquiring how she had become acquainted with these characters, I +learned that times had gone hard with her; that she had married, but her +husband had died after a long sickness, which had reduced them to great +distress; that her fruit trade was not a profitable one, and that she had +bought and sold things which had been stolen to support herself and her +son. That for a long time she supposed there was no harm in doing so, as +her book was full of entertaining tales of stealing; but she now thought +that the book was a bad book, and that learning to read was a bad thing; +her mother had never been able to read, but had died in peace, though +poor. + +So here was a woman who attributed the vices and follies of her life to +being able to read; her mother, she said, who could not read, lived +respectably, and died in peace; and what was the essential difference +between the mother and daughter, save that the latter could read? But +for her literature she might in all probability have lived respectably +and honestly, like her mother, and might eventually have died in peace, +which at present she could scarcely hope to do. Education had failed to +produce any good in this poor woman; on the contrary, there could be +little doubt that she had been injured by it. Then was education a bad +thing? Rousseau was of opinion that it was; but Rousseau was a +Frenchman, at least wrote in French, and I cared not the snap of my +fingers for Rousseau. But education has certainly been of benefit in +some instances; well, what did that prove, but that partiality existed in +the management of the affairs of the world—if education was a benefit to +some, why was it not a benefit to others? Could some avoid abusing it, +any more than others could avoid turning it to a profitable account? I +did not see how they could; this poor simple woman found a book in her +mother’s closet; a book, which was a capital book for those who could +turn it to the account for which it was intended; a book, from the +perusal of which I felt myself wiser and better, but which was by no +means suited to the intellect of this poor simple woman, who thought that +it was written in praise of thieving; yet she found it, she read it, +and—and I felt myself getting into a maze, what is right, thought I? what +is wrong? Do I exist? Does the world exist? if it does, every action is +bound up with necessity. + +“Necessity!” I exclaimed, and cracked my finger joints. + +“Ah, it is a bad thing,” said the old woman. + +“What is a bad thing?” said I. + +“Why, to be poor, dear.” + +“You talk like a fool,” said I, “riches and poverty are only different +forms of necessity.” + +“You should not call me a fool, dear; you should not call your own mother +a fool.” + +“You are not my mother,” said I. + +“Not your mother, dear?—no, no more I am; but your calling me fool put me +in mind of my dear son, who often used to call me fool—and you just now +looked as he sometimes did, with a blob of foam on your lip.” + +“After all, I don’t know that you are not my mother.” + +“Don’t you, dear? I’m glad of it; I wish you would make it out.” + +“How shall I make it out? who can speak from his own knowledge as to the +circumstances of his birth? Besides, before attempting to establish our +relationship, it would be necessary to prove that such people exist.” + +“What people, dear?” + +“You and I.” + +“Lord, child, you are mad; that book has made you so.” + +“Don’t abuse it,” said I; “the book is an excellent one, that is, +provided it exists.” + +“I wish it did not,” said the old woman; “but it sha’n’t long; I’ll burn +it, or fling it into the river—the voices at night tell me to do so.” + +“Tell the voices,” said I, “that they talk nonsense; the book, if it +exists, is a good book, it contains a deep moral; have you read it all?” + +“All the funny parts, dear; all about taking things, and the manner it +was done; as for the rest, I could not exactly make it out.” + +“Then the book is not to blame; I repeat that the book is a good book, +and contains deep morality, always supposing that there is such a thing +as morality, which is the same thing as supposing that there is anything +at all.” + +“Anything at all! Why, a’n’t we here on this bridge, in my booth, with +my stall and my—” + +“Apples and pears, baked hot, you would say—I don’t know; all is a +mystery, a deep question. It is a question, and probably always will be, +whether there is a world, and consequently apples and pears; and, +provided there be a world, whether that world be like an apple or a +pear.” + +“Don’t talk so, dear.” + +“I won’t; we will suppose that we all exist—world, ourselves, apples, and +pears: so you wish to get rid of the book?” + +“Yes, dear, I wish you would take it.” + +“I have read it, and have no farther use for it; I do not need books: in +a little time, perhaps, I shall not have a place wherein to deposit +myself, far less books.” + +“Then I will fling it into the river.” + +“Don’t do that; here, give it me. Now what shall I do with it? you were +so fond of it.” + +“I am so no longer.” + +“But how will you pass your time; what will you read?” + +“I wish I had never learned to read, or, if I had, that I had only read +the books I saw at school: the primer or the other.” + +“What was the other?” + +“I think they called it the Bible: all about God, and Job, and Jesus.” + +“Ah, I know it.” + +“You have read it; it is a nice book—all true?” + +“True, true—I don’t know what to say; but if the world be true, and not a +lie, a fiction, I don’t see why the Bible, as they call it, should not be +true. By-the-bye, what do you call Bible in your tongue, or, indeed, +book of any kind? as Bible merely means a book.” + +“What do I call the Bible in my language, dear?” + +“Yes, the language of those who bring you things.” + +“The language of those who _did_, dear; they bring them now no longer. +They call me a fool, as you did, dear, just now; they call kissing the +Bible, which means taking a false oath, smacking calf-skin.” + +“That’s metaphor,” said I, “English, but metaphorical; what an odd +language! So you would like to have a Bible,—shall I buy you one?” + +“I am poor, dear—no money since I left off the other trade.” + +“Well, then, I’ll buy you one.” + +“No, dear, no; you are poor, and may soon want the money; but if you can +take me one conveniently on the sly, you know—I think you may, for, as it +is a good book, I suppose there can be no harm in taking it.” + +“That will never do,” said I, “more especially as I should be sure to be +caught, not having made taking of things my trade; but I’ll tell you what +I’ll do—try and exchange this book of yours for a Bible; who knows for +what great things this same book of yours may serve?” + +“Well, dear,” said the old woman, “do as you please; I should like to see +the—what do you call it?—Bible, and to read it, as you seem to think it +true.” + +“Yes,” said I, “seem; that is the way to express yourself in this maze of +doubt—I seem to think—these apples and pears seem to be—and here seems to +be a gentleman who wants to purchase either one or the other.” + +A person had stopped before the apple-woman’s stall, and was glancing now +at the fruit, now at the old woman and myself; he wore a blue mantle, and +had a kind of fur cap on his head; he was somewhat above the middle +stature; his features were keen but rather hard; there was a slight +obliquity in his vision. Selecting a small apple, he gave the old woman +a penny; then, after looking at me scrutinizingly for a moment, he moved +from the booth in the direction of Southwark. + +“Do you know who that man is?” said I to the old woman. + +“No,” said she, “except that he is one of my best customers: he +frequently stops, takes an apple, and gives me a penny; his is the only +piece of money I have taken this blessed day. I don’t know him, but he +has once or twice sat down in the booth with two strange-looking +men—Mulattos, or Lascars, I think they call them.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +Bought and Exchanged—Quite Empty—A New Firm—Bibles—Countenance of a +Lion—Clap of Thunder—A Truce with This—I Have Lost It—Clearly a +Right—Goddess of the Mint. + +In pursuance of my promise to the old woman, I set about procuring her a +Bible with all convenient speed, placing the book which she had intrusted +to me for the purpose of exchange in my pocket. I went to several shops +and asked if Bibles were to be had: I found that there were plenty. +When, however, I informed the people that I came to barter, they looked +blank, and declined treating with me; saying that they did not do +business in that way. At last I went into a shop over the window of +which I saw written, “Books bought and exchanged:” there was a smartish +young fellow in the shop, with black hair and whiskers; “You exchange?” +said I. “Yes,” said he, “sometimes, but we prefer selling; what book do +you want?” “A Bible,” said I. “Ah,” said he, “there’s a great demand +for Bibles just now; all kinds of people are becoming very pious of +late,” he added, grinning at me; “I am afraid I can’t do business with +you, more especially as the master is not at home. What book have you +brought?” Taking the book out of my pocket, I placed it on the counter: +the young fellow opened the book, and inspecting the title-page, burst +into a loud laugh. “What do you laugh for?” said I, angrily, and half +clenching my fist. “Laugh!” said the young fellow; “laugh! who could +help laughing?” “I could,” said I; “I see nothing to laugh at; I want to +exchange this book for a Bible.” “You do?” said the young fellow; “well, +I daresay there are plenty who would be willing to exchange, that is, if +they dared. I wish master were at home; but that would never do, either. +Master’s a family man, the Bibles are not mine, and master being a family +man, is sharp, and knows all his stock; I’d buy it of you, but, to tell +you the truth, I am quite empty here,” said he, pointing to his pocket, +“so I am afraid we can’t deal.” + +Whereupon, looking anxiously at the young man, “what am I to do?” said I; +“I really want a Bible.” + +“Can’t you buy one?” said the young man; “have you no money?” + +“Yes,” said I, “I have some, but I am merely the agent of another; I came +to exchange, not to buy; what am I to do?” + +“I don’t know,” said the young man, thoughtfully, laying down the book on +the counter; “I don’t know what you can do; I think you will find some +difficulty in this bartering job, the trade are rather precise.” All at +once he laughed louder than before; suddenly stopping, however, he put on +a very grave look. “Take my advice,” said he; “there is a firm +established in this neighbourhood which scarcely sells any books but +Bibles; they are very rich, and pride themselves on selling their books +at the lowest possible price; apply to them, who knows but what they will +exchange with you?” + +Thereupon I demanded with some eagerness of the young man the direction +to the place where he thought it possible that I might effect the +exchange—which direction the young fellow cheerfully gave me, and, as I +turned away, had the civility to wish me success. + +I had no difficulty in finding the house to which the young fellow had +directed me; it was a very large house, situated in a square; and upon +the side of the house was written in large letters, “Bibles, and other +religious books.” + +At the door of the house were two or three tumbrils, in the act of being +loaded with chests, very much resembling tea-chests; one of the chests +falling down, burst, and out flew, not tea, but various books, in a neat, +small size, and in neat leather covers; Bibles, said I,—Bibles, +doubtless. I was not quite right, nor quite wrong; picking up one of the +books, I looked at it for a moment, and found it to be the New Testament. +“Come, young lad,” said a man who stood by, in the dress of a porter, +“put that book down, it is none of yours; if you want a book, go in and +deal for one.” + +Deal, thought I, deal,—the man seems to know what I am coming about,—and +going in, I presently found myself in a very large room. Behind a +counter two men stood with their backs to a splendid fire, warming +themselves, for the weather was cold. + +Of these men one was dressed in brown, and the other was dressed in +black; both were tall men—he who was dressed in brown was thin, and had a +particularly ill-natured countenance; the man dressed in black was bulky, +his features were noble, but they were those of a lion. + +“What is your business, young man?” said the precise personage, as I +stood staring at him and his companion. + +“I want a Bible,” said I. + +“What price, what size?” said the precise-looking man. + +“As to size,” said I, “I should like to have a large one—that is, if you +can afford me one—I do not come to buy.” + +“Oh, friend,” said the precise-looking man, “if you come here expecting +to have a Bible for nothing, you are mistaken—we—” + +“I would scorn to have a Bible for nothing,” said I, “or anything else; I +came not to beg, but to barter; there is no shame in that, especially in +a country like this, where all folks barter.” + +“Oh, we don’t barter,” said the precise man, “at least Bibles; you had +better depart.” + +“Stay, brother,” said the man with the countenance of a lion, “let us ask +a few questions; this may be a very important case; perhaps the young man +has had convictions.” + +“Not I,” I exclaimed, “I am convinced of nothing, and with regard to the +Bible—I don’t believe—” + +“Hey!” said the man with the lion countenance, and there he stopped. But +with that “Hey” the walls of the house seemed to shake, the windows +rattled, and the porter whom I had seen in front of the house came +running up the steps, and looked into the apartment through the glass of +the door. + +There was silence for about a minute—the same kind of silence which +succeeds a clap of thunder. + +At last the man with the lion countenance, who had kept his eyes fixed +upon me, said calmly, “Were you about to say that you don’t believe in +the Bible, young man?” + +“No more than in anything else,” said I; “you were talking of +convictions—I have no convictions. It is not easy to believe in the +Bible till one is convinced that there is a Bible.” + +“He seems to be insane,” said the prim-looking man, “we had better order +the porter to turn him out.” + +“I am by no means certain,” said I, “that the porter could turn me out; +always provided there is a porter, and this system of ours be not a lie, +and a dream.” + +“Come,” said the lion-looking man, impatiently, “a truce with this +nonsense. If the porter cannot turn you out, perhaps some other person +can; but to the point—you want a Bible?” + +“I do,” said I, “but not for myself; I was sent by another person to +offer something in exchange for one.” + +“And who is that person?” + +“A poor old woman, who has had what you call convictions,—heard voices, +or thought she heard them—I forgot to ask her whether they were loud +ones.” + +“What has she sent to offer in exchange?” said the man, without taking +any notice of the concluding part of my speech. + +“A book,” said I. + +“Let me see it.” + +“Nay, brother,” said the precise man, “this will never do; if we once +adopt the system of barter, we shall have all the holders of useless +rubbish in the town applying to us.” + +“I wish to see what he has brought,” said the other; “perhaps Baxter, or +Jewell’s Apology, either of which would make a valuable addition to our +collection. Well, young man, what’s the matter with you?” + +I stood like one petrified; I had put my hand into my pocket—the book was +gone. + +“What’s the matter?” repeated the man with the lion countenance, in a +voice very much resembling thunder. + +“I have it not—I have lost it!” + +“A pretty story, truly,” said the precise-looking man, “lost it!” + +“You had better retire,” said the other. + +“How shall I appear before the party who intrusted me with the book? She +will certainly think that I have purloined it, notwithstanding all that I +can say; nor, indeed, can I blame her,—appearances are certainly against +me.” + +“They are so—you had better retire.” + +I moved towards the door. “Stay, young man, one word more; there is only +one way of proceeding which would induce me to believe that you are +sincere.” + +“What is that?” said I, stopping and looking at him anxiously. + +“The purchase of a Bible.” + +“Purchase!” said I, “purchase! I came not to purchase, but to barter; +such was my instruction, and how can I barter if I have lost the book?” + +The other made no answer, and turning away I made for the door; all of a +sudden I started, and turning round, “Dear me,” said I, “it has just come +into my head, that if the book was lost by my negligence, as it must have +been, I have clearly a right to make it good.” + +No answer. + +“Yes,” I repeated, “I have clearly a right to make it good; how glad I +am! see the effect of a little reflection. I will purchase a Bible +instantly, that is, if I have not lost—” and with considerable agitation +I felt in my pocket. + +The prim-looking man smiled: “I suppose,” said he, “that he has lost his +money as well as book.” + +“No,” said I, “I have not;” and pulling out my hand I displayed no less a +sum than three half-crowns. + +“O, noble goddess of the Mint!” as Dame Charlotta Nordenflycht, the +Swede, said a hundred and fifty years ago, “great is thy power; how +energetically the possession of thee speaks in favour of man’s +character!” + +“Only half-a-crown for this Bible?” said I, putting down the money, “it +is worth three;” and bowing to the man of noble features, I departed with +my purchase. + +“Queer customer,” said the prim-looking man, as I was about to close the +door—“don’t like him.” + +“Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say,” said he of the +countenance of a lion. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +The Pickpocket—Strange Rencounter—Drag Him Along—A Great Service—Things +of Importance—Philological Matters—Mother of Languages—Zhats! + +A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the last chapter, +as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my footsteps to an alley +leading from one narrow street to another in the neighbourhood of +Cheapside. Just before I reached the mouth of the alley, a man in a +great coat, closely followed by another, passed it; and, at the moment in +which they were passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from +the pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized the +hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the other, “My +good friend, this person has just picked your pocket.” + +The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, glanced at +me, and then at the person whom I held. London is the place for strange +rencounters. It appeared to me that I recognised both individuals—the +man whose pocket had been picked and the other; the latter now began to +struggle violently; “I have picked no one’s pocket,” said he. “Rascal,” +said the other, “you have got my pocket-book in your bosom.” “No, I have +not,” said the other; and struggling more violently than before, the +pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the ground. + +The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was still +struggling. “You had better take up your book,” said I; “I can hold +him.” He followed my advice; and, taking up his pocket-book, surveyed my +prisoner with a ferocious look, occasionally glaring at me. Yes, I had +seen him before—it was the stranger whom I had observed on London Bridge, +by the stall of the old apple-woman, with the cap and cloak; but, instead +of these, he now wore a hat and great coat. “Well,” said I, at last, +“what am I to do with this gentleman of ours?” nodding to the prisoner, +who had now left off struggling. “Shall I let him go?” + +“Go!” said the other, “go! The knave—the rascal; let him go, indeed! +Not so, he shall go before the Lord Mayor. Bring him along.” + +“Oh, let me go,” said the other: “let me go; this is the first offence, I +assure ye—the first time I ever thought to do anything wrong.” + +“Hold your tongue,” said I, “or I shall be angry with you. If I am not +very much mistaken, you once attempted to cheat me.” + +“I never saw you before in all my life,” said the fellow, though his +countenance seemed to belie his words. + +“That is not true,” said I; “you are the man who attempted to cheat me of +one-and-ninepence in the coach-yard, on the first morning of my arrival +in London.” + +“I don’t doubt it,” said the other; “a confirmed thief;” and here his +tones became peculiarly sharp; “I would fain see him hanged—crucified. +Drag him along.” + +“I am no constable,” said I; “you have got your pocket-book,—I would +rather you would bid me let him go.” + +“Bid you let him go!” said the other almost furiously, “I command—stay, +what was I going to say? I was forgetting myself,” he observed more +gently; “but he stole my pocket-book;—if you did but know what it +contained.” + +“Well,” said I, “if it contains anything valuable, be the more thankful +that you have recovered it; as for the man, I will help you to take him +where you please; but I wish you would let him go.” + +The stranger hesitated, and there was an extraordinary play of emotion in +his features: he looked ferociously at the pickpocket, and, more than +once, somewhat suspiciously at myself; at last his countenance cleared, +and, with a good grace, he said, “Well, you have done me a great service, +and you have my consent to let him go; but the rascal shall not escape +with impunity,” he exclaimed suddenly, as I let the man go, and starting +forward, before the fellow could escape, he struck him a violent blow on +the face. The man staggered, and had nearly fallen; recovering himself, +however, he said, “I tell you what, my fellow; if I ever meet you in this +street in a dark night, and I have a knife about me, it shall be the +worse for you; as for you, young man,” said he to me; but, observing that +the other was making towards him, he left whatever he was about to say +unfinished, and, taking to his heels, was out of sight in a moment. + +The stranger and myself walked in the direction of Cheapside, the way in +which he had been originally proceeding; he was silent for a few moments, +at length he said, “You have really done me a great service, and I should +be ungrateful not to acknowledge it. I am a merchant; and a merchant’s +pocket-book, as you perhaps know, contains many things of importance; +but, young man,” he exclaimed, “I think I have seen you before; I thought +so at first, but where I cannot exactly say: where was it?” I mentioned +London Bridge and the old apple-woman. “Oh,” said he, and smiled, and +there was something peculiar in his smile, “I remember now. Do you +frequently sit on London Bridge?” “Occasionally,” said I; “that old +woman is an old friend of mine.” “Friend?” said the stranger, “I am glad +of it, for I shall know where to find you. At present I am going to +’Change; time, you know, is precious to a merchant.” We were by this +time close to Cheapside. “Farewell,” said he, “I shall not forget this +service. I trust we shall soon meet again.” He then shook me by the +hand and went his way. + +The next day, as I was seated beside the old woman in the booth, the +stranger again made his appearance, and, after a word or two, sat down +beside me; the old woman was sometimes reading the Bible, which she had +already had two or three days in her possession, and sometimes +discoursing with me. Our discourse rolled chiefly on philological +matters. + +“What do you call bread in your language?” said I. + +“You mean the language of those who bring me things to buy, or who did; +for, as I told you before, I sha’n’t buy any more, it’s no language of +mine, dear—they call bread pannam in their language.” + +“Pannam!” said I, “pannam! evidently connected with, if not derived from, +the Latin panis; even as the word tanner, which signifieth a sixpence, is +connected with, if not derived from, the Latin tener, which is itself +connected with, if not derived from, tawno or tawner, which, in the +language of Mr. Petulengro, signifieth a sucking child. Let me see, what +is the term for bread in the language of Mr. Petulengro? Morro, or +manro, as I have sometimes heard it called; is there not some connection +between these words and panis? Yes, I think there is; and I should not +wonder if morro, manro, and panis were connected, perhaps derived from +the same root; but what is that root? I don’t know—I wish I did; though, +perhaps, I should not be the happier. Morro—manro! I rather think morro +is the oldest form; it is easier to say morro than manro. Morro! Irish, +aran; Welsh, bara; English, bread. I can see a resemblance between all +the words, and pannam too; and I rather think that the Petulengrian word +is the elder. How odd it would be if the language of Mr. Petulengro +should eventually turn out to be the mother of all the languages in the +world; yet it is certain that there are some languages in which the terms +for bread have no connection with the word used by Mr. Petulengro, +notwithstanding those languages, in many other points, exhibit a close +affinity to the language of the horse-shoe master: for example, bread, in +Hebrew, is Laham, which assuredly exhibits little similitude to the word +used by the aforesaid Petulengro. In Armenian it is—” + +“Zhats!” said the stranger, starting up. “By the Patriarch and the Three +Holy Churches, this is wonderful! How came you to know aught of +Armenian?” + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +New Acquaintance—Wired Cases—Bread and Wine—Armenian Colonies—Learning +Without Money—What a Language—The Tide—Your Foible—Learning of the +Haiks—Old Proverb—Pressing Invitation. + +Just as I was about to reply to the interrogation of my new-formed +acquaintance, a man, with a dusky countenance, probably one of the +Lascars, or Mulattos, of whom the old woman had spoken, came up and +whispered to him, and with this man he presently departed, not however +before he had told me the place of his abode, and requested me to visit +him. + +After the lapse of a few days, I called at the house, which he had +indicated. It was situated in a dark and narrow street, in the heart of +the city, at no great distance from the Bank. I entered a counting-room, +in which a solitary clerk, with a foreign look, was writing. The +stranger was not at home; returning the next day, however, I met him at +the door as he was about to enter; he shook me warmly by the hand. “I am +glad to see you,” said he, “follow me, I was just thinking of you.” He +led me through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of stairs; +before ascending, however, he looked into the book in which the +foreign-visaged clerk was writing, and, seemingly not satisfied with the +manner in which he was executing his task, he gave him two or three +cuffs, telling him at the same time that he deserved crucifixion. + +The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, with three +windows which opened upon the street. The walls were hung with wired +cases, apparently containing books. There was a table and two or three +chairs; but the principal article of furniture was a long sofa, extending +from the door by which we entered to the farther end of the apartment. +Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance motioned to me to sit +beside him, and then, looking me full in the face, repeated his former +inquiry, “In the name of all that is wonderful, how came you to know +aught of my language?” + +“There is nothing wonderful in that,” said I; “we are at the commencement +of a philological age, every one studies languages; that is, every one +who is fit for nothing else; philology being the last resource of dulness +and ennui, I have got a little in advance of the throng, by mastering the +Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time when every unmarriageable miss, +and desperate blockhead, will likewise have acquired the letters of +Mesroub, and will know the term for bread, in Armenian, and perhaps that +for wine.” + +“Kini,” said my companion; and that and the other word put me in mind of +the duties of hospitality. “Will you eat bread and drink wine with me?” + +“Willingly,” said I. Whereupon my companion, unlocking a closet, +produced, on a silver salver, a loaf of bread, with a silver-handled +knife, and wine in a silver flask, with cups of the same metal. “I hope +you like my fare,” said he, after we had both eaten and drunk. + +“I like your bread,” said I, “for it is stale; I like not your wine, it +is sweet, and I hate sweet wine.” + +“It is wine of Cyprus,” said my entertainer; and when I found that it was +wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, and the second taste pleased me much +better than the first, notwithstanding that I still thought it somewhat +sweet. “So,” said I, after a pause, looking at my companion, “you are an +Armenian.” + +“Yes,” said he, “an Armenian born in London, but not less an Armenian on +that account. My father was a native of Ispahan, one of the celebrated +Armenian colony which was established there shortly after the time of the +dreadful hunger, which drove the children of Haik in swarms from their +original country, and scattered them over most parts of the eastern and +western world. In Ispahan he passed the greater portion of his life, +following mercantile pursuits with considerable success. Certain +enemies, however, having accused him to the despot of the place, of using +seditious language, he was compelled to flee, leaving most of his +property behind. Travelling in the direction of the west, he came at +last to London, where he established himself, and eventually died, +leaving behind a large property and myself, his only child, the fruit of +a marriage with an Armenian English woman, who did not survive my birth +more than three months.” + +The Armenian then proceeded to tell me that he had carried on the +business of his father, which seemed to embrace most matters, from buying +silks of Lascars to speculating in the funds, and that he had +considerably increased the property which his father had left him. He +candidly confessed that he was wonderfully fond of gold, and said there +was nothing like it for giving a person respectability and consideration +in the world; to which assertion I made no answer, being not exactly +prepared to contradict it. + +And, when he had related to me his history, he expressed a desire to know +something more of myself, whereupon I gave him the outline of my history, +concluding with saying, “I am now a poor author, or rather a philologist, +upon the streets of London, possessed of many tongues, which I find of no +use in the world.” + +“Learning without money is anything but desirable,” said the Armenian, +“as it unfits a man for humble occupations. It is true that it may +occasionally beget him friends; I confess to you that your understanding +something of my language weighs more with me than the service you +rendered me in rescuing my pocket-book the other day from the claws of +that scoundrel whom I yet hope to see hanged, if not crucified, +notwithstanding there were in that pocket-book papers and documents of +considerable value. Yes, that circumstance makes my heart warm towards +you, for I am proud of my language—as I indeed well may be—what a +language, noble and energetic! quite original, differing from all others +both in words and structure.” + +“You are mistaken,” said I; “many languages resemble the Armenian both in +structure and words.” + +“For example?” said the Armenian. + +“For example?” said I, “the English.” + +“The English,” said the Armenian; “show me one word in which the English +resembles the Armenian.” + +“You walk on London Bridge,” said I. + +“Yes,” said the Armenian. + +“I saw you look over the balustrade the other morning.” + +“True,” said the Armenian. + +“Well, what did you see rushing up through the arches with noise and +foam?” + +“What was it?” said the Armenian. “What was it?—you don’t mean the +_tide_?” + +“Do I not?” said I. + +“Well, what has the tide to do with the matter?” + +“Much,” said I; “what is the tide?” + +“The ebb and flow of the sea,” said the Armenian. + +“The sea itself; what is the Haik word for sea?” + +The Armenian gave a strong gasp; then, nodding his head thrice, “you are +right,” said he, “the English word tide is the Armenian for sea; and now +I begin to perceive that there are many English words which are Armenian; +there is --- and --- and there again in French there is --- and --- +derived from the Armenian. How strange, how singular—I thank you. It is +a proud thing to see that the language of my race has had so much +influence over the languages of the world.” + +I saw that all that related to his race was the weak point of the +Armenian. I did not flatter the Armenian with respect to his race or +language. “An inconsiderable people,” said I, “shrewd and industrious, +but still an inconsiderable people. A language bold and expressive, and +of some antiquity, derived, though perhaps not immediately, from some +much older tongue. I do not think that the Armenian has had any +influence over the formation of the languages of the world. I am not +much indebted to the Armenian for the solution of any doubts; whereas to +the language of Mr. Petulengro—” + +“I have heard you mention that name before,” said the Armenian; “who is +Mr. Petulengro?” + +And then I told the Armenian who Mr. Petulengro was. The Armenian spoke +contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro and his race. “Don’t speak +contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro,” said I, “nor of anything belonging to +him. He is a dark, mysterious personage; all connected with him is a +mystery, especially his language; but I believe that his language is +doomed to solve a great philological problem—Mr. Petulengro—” + +“You appear agitated,” said the Armenian; “take another glass of wine; +you possess a great deal of philological knowledge, but it appears to me +that the language of this Petulengro is your foible: but let us change +the subject; I feel much interested in you, and would fain be of service +to you. Can you cast accounts?” + +I shook my head. + +“Keep books?” + +“I have an idea that I could write books,” said I; “but, as to keeping +them—” and here again I shook my head. + +The Armenian was silent some time; all at once, glancing at one of the +wire cases, with which, as I have already said, the walls of the room +were hung, he asked me if I was well acquainted with the learning of the +Haiks. “The books in these cases,” said he, “contain the masterpieces of +Haik learning.” + +“No,” said I, “all I know of the learning of the Haiks is their +translation of the Bible.” + +“You have never read Z---?” + +“No,” said I, “I have never read Z---.” + +“I have a plan,” said the Armenian; “I think I can employ you agreeably +and profitably; I should like to see Z--- in an English dress; you shall +translate Z---. If you can read the Scriptures in Armenian, you can +translate Z---. He is our Esop, the most acute and clever of all our +moral writers—his philosophy—” + +“I will have nothing to do with him,” said I. + +“Wherefore?” said the Armenian. + +“There is an old proverb,” said I, “‘that a burnt child avoids the fire.’ +I have burnt my hands sufficiently with attempting to translate +philosophy, to make me cautious of venturing upon it again;” and then I +told the Armenian how I had been persuaded by the publisher to translate +his philosophy into German, and what sorry thanks I had received; “and +who knows,” said I, “but the attempt to translate Armenian philosophy +into English might be attended with yet more disagreeable consequences.” + +The Armenian smiled. “You would find me very different from the +publisher.” + +“In many points I have no doubt I should,” I replied; “but at the present +moment I feel like a bird which has escaped from a cage, and, though +hungry, feels no disposition to return. Of what nation is the dark man +below stairs, whom I saw writing at the desk?” + +“He is a Moldave,” said the Armenian; “the dog (and here his eyes +sparkled) deserves to be crucified, he is continually making mistakes.” + +The Armenian again renewed his proposition about Z---, which I again +refused, as I felt but little inclination to place myself beneath the +jurisdiction of a person who was in the habit of cuffing those whom he +employed, when they made mistakes. I presently took my departure; not, +however, before I had received from the Armenian a pressing invitation to +call upon him whenever I should feel disposed. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +What to do—Strong Enough—Fame and Profit—Alliterative Euphony—Excellent +Fellow—Listen to Me—A Plan—Bagnigge Wells. + +Anxious thoughts frequently disturbed me at this time with respect to +what I was to do, and how support myself in the Great City. My future +prospects were gloomy enough, and I looked forward and feared; sometimes +I felt half disposed to accept the offer of the Armenian, and to commence +forthwith, under his superintendence, the translation of the Haik Esop; +but the remembrance of the cuffs which I had seen him bestow upon the +Moldavian, when glancing over his shoulder into the ledger or whatever it +was on which he was employed, immediately drove the inclination from my +mind. I could not support the idea of the possibility of his staring +over my shoulder upon my translation of the Haik Esop, and, dissatisfied +with my attempts, treating me as he had treated the Moldavian clerk; +placing myself in a position which exposed me to such treatment, would +indeed be plunging into the fire after escaping from the frying pan. The +publisher, insolent and overbearing as he was, whatever he might have +wished or thought, had never lifted his hand against me, or told me that +I merited crucifixion. + +What was I to do? turn porter? I was strong; but there was something +besides strength required to ply the trade of a porter—a mind of a +particularly phlegmatic temperament, which I did not possess. What +should I do?—enlist as a soldier? I was tall enough; but something +besides height is required to make a man play with credit the part of +soldier, I mean a private one—a spirit, if spirit it can be called, which +would not only enable a man to submit with patience to insolence and +abuse, and even to cuffs and kicks, but occasionally to the lash. I felt +that I was not qualified to be a soldier, at least a private one; far +better be a drudge to the most ferocious of publishers, editing Newgate +lives and writing in eighteenpenny reviews—better to translate the Haik +Esop, under the superintendence of ten Armenians, than be a private +soldier in the English service; I did not decide rashly—I knew something +of soldiering. What should I do? I thought that I would make a last and +desperate attempt to dispose of the ballads and of Ab Gwilym. + +I had still an idea that, provided I could persuade any spirited +publisher to give these translations to the world, I should acquire both +considerable fame and profit; not, perhaps, a world-embracing fame, such +as Byron’s; but a fame not to be sneered at, which would last me a +considerable time, and would keep my heart from breaking;—profit, not +equal to that which Scott had made by his wondrous novels, but which +would prevent me from starving, and enable me to achieve some other +literary enterprise. I read and re-read my ballads, and the more I read +them the more I was convinced that the public, in the event of their +being published, would freely purchase, and hail them with the merited +applause. Were not the deeds and adventures wonderful and +heart-stirring, from which it is true I could claim no merit, being but +the translator; but had I not rendered them into English, with all their +original fire? Yes, I was confident I had; and I had no doubt that the +public would say so. And then, with respect to Ab Gwilym, had I not done +as much justice to him as to the Danish ballads; not only rendering +faithfully his thoughts, imagery, and phraseology, but even preserving in +my translation the alliterative euphony which constitutes one of the most +remarkable features of Welsh prosody? Yes, I had accomplished all this; +and I doubted not that the public would receive my translations from Ab +Gwilym with quite as much eagerness as my version of the Danish ballads. +But I found the publishers as untractable as ever, and to this day the +public has never had an opportunity of doing justice to the glowing fire +of my ballad versification, and the alliterative euphony of my imitations +of Ab Gwilym. + +I had not seen Francis Ardry since the day I had seen him taking lessons +in elocution. One afternoon, as I was seated at my table, my head +resting on my hands, he entered my apartment; sitting down, he inquired +of me why I had not been to see him. + +“I might ask the same question of you,” I replied. “Wherefore have you +not been to see me?” Whereupon Francis Ardry told me that he had been +much engaged in his oratorical exercises, also in escorting the young +Frenchwoman about to places of public amusement; he then again questioned +me as to the reason of my not having been to see him. + +I returned an evasive answer. The truth was, that for some time past my +appearance, owing to the state of my finances, had been rather shabby; +and I did not wish to expose a fashionable young man like Francis Ardry, +who lived in a fashionable neighbourhood, to the imputation of having a +shabby acquaintance. I was aware that Francis Ardry was an excellent +fellow; but, on that very account, I felt, under existing circumstances, +a delicacy in visiting him. + +It is very possible that he had an inkling of how matters stood, as he +presently began to talk of my affairs and prospects. I told him of my +late ill success with the booksellers, and inveighed against their +blindness to their own interest in refusing to publish my translations. +“The last that I addressed myself to,” said I, “told me not to trouble +him again, unless I could bring him a decent novel or a tale.” + +“Well,” said Frank, “and why did you not carry him a decent novel or a +tale?” + +“Because I have neither,” said I; “and to write them is, I believe, above +my capacity. At present I feel divested of all energy—heartless, and +almost hopeless.” + +“I see how it is,” said Francis Ardry, “you have overworked yourself, +and, worst of all, to no purpose. Take my advice; cast all care aside, +and only think of diverting yourself for a month at least.” + +“Divert myself,” said I; “and where am I to find the means?” + +“Be that care on my shoulders,” said Francis Ardry. “Listen to me—my +uncles have been so delighted with the favourable accounts which they +have lately received from T--- of my progress in oratory, that, in the +warmth of their hearts, they made me a present yesterday of two hundred +pounds. This is more money than I want, at least for the present; do me +the favour to take half of it as a loan—hear me,” said he, observing that +I was about to interrupt him, “I have a plan in my head—one of the +prettiest in the world. The sister of my charmer is just arrived from +France; she cannot speak a word of English; and, as Annette and myself +are much engaged in our own matters, we cannot pay her the attention +which we should wish, and which she deserves, for she is a truly +fascinating creature, although somewhat differing from my charmer, having +blue eyes and flaxen hair; whilst Annette, on the contrary—But I hope you +will shortly see Annette. Now my plan is this—Take the money, dress +yourself fashionably, and conduct Annette’s sister to Bagnigge Wells.” + +“And what should we do at Bagnigge Wells?” + +“Do!” said Francis Ardry. “Dance!” + +“But,” said I, “I scarcely know anything of dancing.” + +“Then here’s an excellent opportunity of improving yourself. Like most +Frenchwomen, she dances divinely; however, if you object to Bagnigge +Wells and dancing, go to Brighton, and remain there a month or two, at +the end of which time you can return with your mind refreshed and +invigorated, and materials, perhaps, for a tale or novel.” + +“I never heard a more foolish plan,” said I, “or one less likely to +terminate profitably or satisfactorily. I thank you, however, for your +offer, which is, I dare say, well meant. If I am to escape from my cares +and troubles, and find my mind refreshed and invigorated, I must adopt +other means than conducting a French demoiselle to Brighton or Bagnigge +Wells, defraying the expense by borrowing from a friend.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +Singular Personage—A Large Sum—Papa of Rome—We are Christians—Degenerate +Armenians—Roots of Ararat—Regular Features. + +The Armenian! I frequently saw this individual, availing myself of the +permission which he had given me to call upon him. A truly singular +personage was he, with his love of amassing money, and his nationality so +strong as to be akin to poetry. Many an Armenian I have subsequently +known fond of money-getting, and not destitute of national spirit; but +never another who, in the midst of his schemes of lucre, was at all times +willing to enter into a conversation on the structure of the Haik +language, or whoever offered me money to render into English the fables +of Z--- in the hope of astonishing the stock-jobbers of the Exchange with +the wisdom of the Haik Esop. + +But he was fond of money, very fond. Within a little time I had won his +confidence to such a degree that he informed me that the grand wish of +his heart was to be possessed of two hundred thousand pounds. + +“I think you might satisfy yourself with the half,” said I. “One hundred +thousand pounds is a large sum.” + +“You are mistaken,” said the Armenian, “a hundred thousand pounds is +nothing. My father left me that or more at his death. No; I shall never +be satisfied with less than two.” + +“And what will you do with your riches,” said I, “when you have obtained +them? Will you sit down and muse upon them, or will you deposit them in +a cellar, and go down once a day to stare at them? I have heard say that +the fulfilment of one’s wishes is invariably the precursor of extreme +misery, and forsooth I can scarcely conceive a more horrible state of +existence than to be without a hope or wish.” + +“It is bad enough, I dare say,” said the Armenian; “it will, however, be +time enough to think of disposing of the money when I have procured it. +I still fall short by a vast sum of the two hundred thousand pounds.” + +I had occasionally much conversation with him on the state and prospects +of his nation, especially of that part of it which still continued in the +original country of the Haiks—Ararat and its confines, which, it +appeared, he had frequently visited. He informed me that since the death +of the last Haik monarch, which occurred in the eleventh century, Armenia +had been governed both temporally and spiritually by certain personages +called patriarchs; their temporal authority, however, was much +circumscribed by the Persian and Turk, especially the former, of whom the +Armenian spoke with much hatred, whilst their spiritual authority had at +various times been considerably undermined by the emissaries of the Papa +of Rome, as the Armenian called him. + +“The Papa of Rome sent his emissaries at an early period amongst us,” +said the Armenian, “seducing the minds of weak-headed people, persuading +them that the hillocks of Rome are higher than the ridges of Ararat; that +the Roman Papa has more to say in heaven than the Armenian patriarch, and +that puny Latin is a better language than nervous and sonorous Haik.” + +“They are both dialects,” said I, “of the language of Mr. Petulengro, one +of whose race I believe to have been the original founder of Rome; but, +with respect to religion, what are the chief points of your faith? you +are Christians, I believe.” + +“Yes,” said the Armenian, “we are Christians in our way; we believe in +God, the Holy Spirit, and Saviour, though we are not prepared to admit +that the last personage is not only himself, but the other two. We +believe—” and then the Armenian told me of several things which the Haiks +believed or disbelieved. “But what we find most hard of all to believe,” +said he, “is that the man of the mole-hills is entitled to our +allegiance, he not being a Haik, or understanding the Haik language.” + +“But, by your own confession,” said I, “he has introduced a schism in +your nation, and has amongst you many that believe in him.” + +“It is true,” said the Armenian, “that even on the confines of Ararat +there are a great number who consider that mountain to be lower than the +hillocks of Rome; but the greater number of degenerate Armenians are to +be found amongst those who have wandered to the west; most of the Haik +churches of the west consider Rome to be higher than Ararat—most of the +Armenians of this place hold that dogma; I, however, have always stood +firm in the contrary opinion.” + +“Ha! ha!”—here the Armenian laughed in his peculiar manner—“talking of +this matter puts me in mind of an adventure which lately befell me, with +one of the emissaries of the Papa of Rome, for the Papa of Rome has at +present many emissaries in this country, in order to seduce the people +from their own quiet religion to the savage heresy of Rome; this fellow +came to me partly in the hope of converting me, but principally to extort +money for the purpose of furthering the designs of Rome in this country. +I humoured the fellow at first, keeping him in play for nearly a month, +deceiving and laughing at him. At last he discovered that he could make +nothing of me, and departed with the scowl of Caiaphas, whilst I cried +after him, ‘The roots of Ararat are _deeper_ than those of Rome.’” + +The Armenian had occasionally reverted to the subject of the translation +of the Haik Esop, which he had still a lurking desire that I should +execute; but I had invariably declined the undertaking, without, however, +stating my reasons. On one occasion, when we had been conversing on the +subject, the Armenian, who had been observing my countenance for some +time with much attention, remarked, “Perhaps, after all, you are right, +and you might employ your time to better advantage. Literature is a fine +thing, especially Haik literature, but neither that nor any other would +be likely to serve as a foundation to a man’s fortune; and to make a +fortune should be the principal aim of every one’s life; therefore listen +to me. Accept a seat at the desk opposite to my Moldavian clerk, and +receive the rudiments of a merchant’s education. You shall be instructed +in the Armenian way of doing business—I think you would make an excellent +merchant.” + +“Why do you think so?” + +“Because you have something of the Armenian look.” + +“I understand you,” said I; “you mean to say that I squint?” + +“Not exactly,” said the Armenian, “but there is certainly a kind of +irregularity in your features. One eye appears to me larger than the +other—never mind, but rather rejoice; in that irregularity consists your +strength. All people with regular features are fools; it is very hard +for them, you’ll say, but there is no help: all we can do, who are not in +such a predicament, is to pity those who are. Well! will you accept my +offer? No! you are a singular individual; but I must not forget my own +concerns. I must now go forth, having an appointment by which I hope to +make money.” + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +Wish Fulfilled—Extraordinary Figure—Bueno—Noah—The Two Faces—I don’t +Blame Him—Too Fond of Money—Were I an Armenian. + +The fulfilment of the Armenian’s grand wish was nearer at hand than +either he or I had anticipated. Partly owing to the success of a bold +speculation, in which he had some time previously engaged, and partly +owing to the bequest of a large sum of money by one of his nation who +died at this period in Paris, he found himself in the possession of a +fortune somewhat exceeding two hundred thousand pounds; this fact he +communicated to me one evening about an hour after the close of ’Change; +the hour at which I generally called, and at which I mostly found him at +home. + +“Well,” said I, “and what do you intend to do next?” + +“I scarcely know,” said the Armenian. “I was thinking of that when you +came in. I don’t see anything that I can do, save going on in my former +course. After all, I was perhaps too moderate in making the possession +of two hundred thousand pounds the summit of my ambition; there are many +individuals in this town who possess three times that sum, and are not +yet satisfied. No, I think I can do no better than pursue the old +career; who knows but I may make the two hundred thousand three or +four?—there is already a surplus, which is an encouragement; however, we +will consider the matter over a goblet of wine; I have observed of late +that you have become partial to my Cyprus.” + +And it came to pass that, as we were seated over the Cyprus wine, we +heard a knock at the door. “Adelante!” cried the Armenian; whereupon the +door opened, and in walked a somewhat extraordinary figure—a man in a +long loose tunic of a stuff striped with black and yellow; breeches of +plush velvet, silk stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. On his head +he wore a high-peaked hat; he was tall, had a hooked nose, and in age was +about fifty. + +“Welcome, Rabbi Manasseh,” said the Armenian. “I know your knock—you are +welcome; sit down.” + +“I am welcome,” said Manasseh, sitting down; “he—he—he! you know my +knock—I bring you money—_bueno_!” + +There was something very peculiar in the sound of that _bueno_—I never +forgot it. + +Thereupon a conversation ensued between Rabbi Manasseh and the Armenian, +in a language which I knew to be Spanish, though a peculiar dialect. It +related to a mercantile transaction. The Rabbi sighed heavily as he +delivered to the other a considerable sum of money. + +“It is right,” said the Armenian, handing a receipt. “It is right; and I +am quite satisfied.” + +“You are satisfied—you have taken money. _Bueno_, I have nothing to say +against your being satisfied.” + +“Come, Rabbi,” said the Armenian, “do not despond; it may be your turn +next to take money; in the meantime, can’t you be persuaded to taste my +Cyprus?” + +“He—he—he! señor, you know I do not love wine. I love Noah when he is +himself; but, as Janus, I love him not. But you are merry; _bueno_, you +have a right to be so.” + +“Excuse me,” said I; “but does Noah ever appear as Janus?” + +“He—he—he!” said the Rabbi, “he only appeared as Janus once—una vez +quando estuvo borracho; which means—” + +“I understand,” said I; “when he was—” and I drew the side of my right +hand sharply across my left wrist. + +“Are you one of our people?” said the Rabbi. + +“No,” said I, “I am one of the Goyim; but I am only half enlightened. +Why should Noah be Janus, when he was in that state?” + +“He—he—he! you must know that in Lasan akhades wine is janin.” + +“In Armenian, kini,” said I; “in Welsh, gwin; Latin, vinum; but do you +think that Janus and janin are one?” + +“Do I think? Don’t the commentators say so? Does not Master Leo +Abarbenel say so, in his ‘Dialogues of Divine Love’?” + +“But,” said I, “I always thought that Janus was a god of the ancient +Romans, who stood in a temple open in time of war, and shut in time of +peace; he was represented with two faces, which—which—” + +“He—he—he!” said the Rabbi, rising from his seat; “he had two faces, had +he? And what did those two faces typify? You do not know; no, nor did +the Romans who carved him with two faces know why they did so; for they +were only half enlightened, like you and the rest of the Goyim. Yet they +were right in carving him with two faces looking from each other—they +were right, though they knew not why; there was a tradition among them +that the Janinoso had two faces, but they knew not that one was for the +world which was gone, and the other for the world before him—for the +drowned world, and for the present, as Master Leo Abarbenel says in his +‘Dialogues of Divine Love.’ He—he—he!” continued the Rabbi, who had by +this time advanced to the door, and, turning round, waved the two +forefingers of his right hand in our faces; “the Goyims and Epicouraiyim +are clever men, they know how to make money better than we of Israel. My +good friend there is a clever man, I bring him money, he never brought me +any; _bueno_, I do not blame him, he knows much, very much; but one thing +there is my friend does not know, nor any of the Epicureans, he does not +know the sacred thing—he has never received the gift of interpretation +which God alone gives to the seed—he has his gift, I have mine—he is +satisfied, I don’t blame him, _bueno_.” + +And with this last word in his mouth, he departed. + +“Is that man a native of Spain?” I demanded. + +“Not a native of Spain,” said the Armenian, “though he is one of those +who call themselves Spanish Jews, and who are to be found scattered +throughout Europe, speaking the Spanish language transmitted to them by +their ancestors, who were expelled from Spain in the time of Ferdinand +and Isabella.” + +“The Jews are a singular people,” said I. + +“A race of cowards and dastards,” said the Armenian, “without a home or +country; servants to servants; persecuted and despised by all.” + +“And what are the Haiks?” I demanded. + +“Very different from the Jews,” replied the Armenian; “the Haiks have a +home—a country, and can occasionally use a good sword; though it is true +they are not what they might be.” + +“Then it is a shame that they do not become so,” said I; “but they are +too fond of money. There is yourself, with two hundred thousand pounds +in your pocket, craving for more, whilst you might be turning your wealth +to the service of your country.” + +“In what manner?” said the Armenian. + +“I have heard you say that the grand oppressor of your country is the +Persian; why not attempt to free your country from his oppression—you +have two hundred thousand pounds, and money is the sinew of war?” + +“Would you, then, have me attack the Persian?” + +“I scarcely know what to say; fighting is a rough trade, and I am by no +means certain that you are calculated for the scratch. It is not every +one who has been brought up in the school of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno +Chikno. All I can say is, that if I were an Armenian, and had two +hundred thousand pounds to back me, I would attack the Persian.” + +“Hem!” said the Armenian. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + +The One Half-Crown—Merit in Patience—Cementer of Friendship—Dreadful +Perplexity—The Usual Guttural—Armenian Letters—Much Indebted to You—Pure +Helplessness—Dumb People. + +One morning on getting up I discovered that my whole worldly wealth was +reduced to one half-crown—throughout that day I walked about in +considerable distress of mind; it was now requisite that I should come to +a speedy decision with respect to what I was to do; I had not many +alternatives, and, before I had retired to rest on the night of the day +in question, I had determined that I could do no better than accept the +first proposal of the Armenian, and translate, under his superintendence, +the Haik Esop into English. + +I reflected, for I made a virtue of necessity, that, after all, such an +employment would be an honest and honourable one; honest, inasmuch as by +engaging in it I should do harm to nobody; honourable, inasmuch as it was +a literary task, which not every one was capable of executing. It was +not everyone of the booksellers’ writers of London who was competent to +translate the Haik Esop. I determined to accept the offer of the +Armenian. + +Once or twice the thought of what I might have to undergo in the +translation from certain peculiarities of the Armenian’s temper almost +unsettled me; but a mechanical diving of my hand into my pocket, and the +feeling of the solitary half-crown, confirmed me; after all, this was a +life of trial and tribulation, and I had read somewhere or other that +there was much merit in patience, so I determined to hold fast in my +resolution of accepting the offer of the Armenian. + +But all of a sudden I remembered that the Armenian appeared to have +altered his intentions towards me: he appeared no longer desirous that I +should render the Haik Esop into English for the benefit of the +stock-jobbers on Exchange, but rather that I should acquire the rudiments +of doing business in the Armenian fashion, and accumulate a fortune, +which would enable me to make a figure upon ’Change with the best of the +stock-jobbers. “Well,” thought I, withdrawing my hand from my pocket, +whither it had again mechanically dived, “after all, what would the +world, what would this city be, without commerce? I believe the world, +and particularly this city, would cut a very poor figure without +commerce; and there is something poetical in the idea of doing business +after the Armenian fashion, dealing with dark-faced Lascars and Rabbins +of the Sephardim. Yes, should the Armenian insist upon it, I would +accept a seat at the desk, opposite the Moldavian clerk. I do not like +the idea of cuffs similar to those the Armenian bestowed upon the +Moldavian clerk; whatever merit there may be in patience, I do not think +that my estimation of the merit of patience would be sufficient to induce +me to remain quietly sitting under the infliction of cuffs. I think I +should, in the event of his cuffing me, knock the Armenian down. Well, I +think I have heard it said somewhere, that a knock-down blow is a great +cementer of friendship; I think I have heard of two people being better +friends than ever after the one had received from the other a knock-down +blow.” + +That night I dreamed I had acquired a colossal fortune, some four hundred +thousand pounds, by the Armenian way of doing business, but suddenly woke +in dreadful perplexity as to how I should dispose of it. + +About nine o’clock next morning I set off to the house of the Armenian; I +had never called upon him so early before, and certainly never with a +heart beating with so much eagerness; but the situation of my affairs had +become very critical, and I thought that I ought to lose no time in +informing the Armenian that I was at length perfectly willing either to +translate the Haik Esop under his superintendence, or to accept a seat at +the desk opposite to the Moldavian clerk, and acquire the secrets of +Armenian commerce. With a quick step I entered the counting-room, where, +notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, I found the clerk, busied as +usual at his desk. + +He had always appeared to me a singular being, this same Moldavian clerk. +A person of fewer words could scarcely be conceived: provided his master +were at home, he would, on my inquiring, nod his head; and, provided he +were not, he would invariably reply with the monosyllable, “no,” +delivered in a strange guttural tone. On the present occasion, being +full of eagerness and impatience, I was about to pass by him to the +apartment above, without my usual inquiry, when he lifted his head from +the ledger in which he was writing, and, laying down his pen, motioned to +me with his forefinger, as if to arrest my progress; whereupon I stopped, +and, with a palpitating heart, demanded whether the master of the house +was at home? The Moldavian clerk replied with his usual guttural, and, +opening his desk, ensconced his head therein. + +“It does not much matter,” said I, “I suppose I shall find him at home +after ’Change; it does not much matter, I can return.” + +I was turning away with the intention of leaving the room; at this +moment, however, the head of the Moldavian clerk became visible, and I +observed a letter in his hand, which he had inserted in the desk at the +same time with his head; this he extended towards me, making at the same +time a side-long motion with his head, as much as to say that it +contained something which interested me. + +I took the letter, and the Moldavian clerk forthwith resumed his +occupation. The back of the letter bore my name, written in Armenian +characters: with a trembling hand I broke the seal, and, unfolding the +letter, I beheld several lines also written in the letters of Mesroub, +the Cadmus of the Armenians. + +I stared at the lines, and at first could not make out a syllable of +their meaning; at last, how ever, by continued staring, I discovered +that, though the letters were Armenian, the words were English; in about +ten minutes I had contrived to decipher the sense of the letter; it ran +somewhat in this style:— + + “MY DEAR FRIEND,— + + “The words which you uttered in our last conversation have made a + profound impression upon me; I have thought them over day and night, + and have come to the conclusion that it is my bounden duty to attack + the Persians. When these lines are delivered to you, I shall be on + the route to Ararat. A mercantile speculation will be to the world + the ostensible motive of my journey, and it is singular enough that + one which offers considerable prospect of advantage has just + presented itself on the confines of Persia. Think not, however, that + motives of lucre would have been sufficiently powerful to tempt me to + the East at the present moment. I may speculate, it is true; but I + should scarcely have undertaken the journey but for your pungent + words inciting me to attack the Persians. Doubt not that I will + attack them on the first opportunity. I thank you heartily for + putting me in mind of my duty. I have hitherto, to use your own + words, been too fond of money-getting, like all my countrymen. I am + much indebted to you; farewell! and may every prosperity await you.” + +For some time after I had deciphered the epistle, I stood as if rooted to +the floor. I felt stunned—my last hope was gone; presently a feeling +arose in my mind—a feeling of self-reproach. Whom had I to blame but +myself for the departure of the Armenian? Would he have ever thought of +attacking the Persians had I not put the idea into his head? he had told +me in his epistle that he was indebted to me for the idea. But for that, +he might at the present moment have been in London, increasing his +fortune by his usual methods, and I might be commencing under his +auspices the translation of the Haik Esop, with the promise, no doubt, of +a considerable remuneration for my trouble; or I might be taking a seat +opposite the Moldavian clerk, and imbibing the first rudiments of doing +business after the Armenian fashion, with the comfortable hope of +realizing, in a short time, a fortune of three or four hundred thousand +pounds; but the Armenian was now gone, and farewell to the fine hopes I +had founded upon him the day before. What was I to do? I looked wildly +around, till my eyes rested on the Moldavian clerk, who was writing away +in his ledger with particular vehemence. Not knowing what to do or say, +I thought I might as well ask the Moldavian clerk when the Armenian had +departed, and when he thought that he would return. It is true it +mattered little to me when he departed, seeing that he was gone, and it +was evident that he would not be back soon; but I knew not what to do, +and in pure helplessness thought I might as well ask; so I went up to the +Moldavian clerk, and asked him when the Armenian had departed, and +whether he had been gone two days or three? Whereupon the Moldavian +clerk, looking up from his ledger, made certain signs, which I could by +no means understand. I stood astonished, but, presently recovering +myself, inquired when he considered it probable that the master would +return, and whether he thought it would be two months or—my tongue +faltered—two years; whereupon the Moldavian clerk made more signs than +before, and yet more unintelligible; as I persisted, however, he flung +down his pen, and, putting his thumb into his mouth, moved it rapidly, +causing the nail to sound against the lower jaw; whereupon I saw that he +was dumb, and hurried away, for I had always entertained a horror of dumb +people, having once heard my mother say, when I was a child, that dumb +people were half demoniacs, or little better. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + + +Kind of Stupor—Peace of God—Divine Hand—Farewell, Child—The Fair—Massive +Edifice—Battered Tars—Lost! Lost!—Good Day, Gentlemen. + +Leaving the house of the Armenian, I strolled about for some time; almost +mechanically my feet conducted me to London Bridge, to the booth in which +stood the stall of the old apple-woman; the sound of her voice aroused +me, as I sat in a kind of stupor on the stone bench beside her; she was +inquiring what was the matter with me. + +At first, I believe, I answered her very incoherently, for I observed +alarm beginning to depict itself upon her countenance. Rousing myself, +however, I in my turn put a few questions to her upon her present +condition and prospects. The old woman’s countenance cleared up +instantly; she informed me that she had never been more comfortable in +her life; that her trade, her _honest_ trade—laying an emphasis on the +word honest—had increased of late wonderfully; that her health was +better, and, above all, that she felt no fear and horror “here,” laying +her hand on her breast. + +On my asking her whether she still heard voices in the night, she told me +that she frequently did; but that the present were mild voices, sweet +voices, encouraging voices, very different from the former ones; that a +voice only the night previous, had cried out about “the peace of God,” in +particularly sweet accents; a sentence which she remembered to have read +in her early youth in the primer, but which she had clean forgotten till +the voice the night before had brought it to her recollection. + +After a pause, the old woman said to me, “I believe, dear, that it is the +blessed book you brought me which has wrought this goodly change. How +glad I am now that I can read; but oh what a difference between the book +you brought to me and the one you took away. I believe the one you +brought is written by the finger of God, and the other by—” + +“Don’t abuse the book,” said I, “it is an excellent book for those who +can understand it; it was not exactly suited to you, and perhaps it had +been better had you never read it—and yet, who knows? Peradventure, if +you had not read that book, you would not have been fitted for the +perusal of the one which you say is written by the finger of God;” and, +pressing my hand to my head, I fell into a deep fit of musing. “What, +after all,” thought I, “if there should be more order and system in the +working of the moral world than I have thought? Does there not seem in +the present instance to be something like the working of a Divine hand? +I could not conceive why this woman, better educated than her mother, +should have been, as she certainly was, a worse character than her +mother. Yet perhaps this woman may be better and happier than her mother +ever was; perhaps she is so already—perhaps this world is not a wild, +lying dream, as I have occasionally supposed it to be.” + +But the thought of my own situation did not permit me to abandon myself +much longer to these musings. I started up. “Where are you going, +child?” said the woman anxiously. “I scarcely know,” said I; “anywhere.” +“Then stay here, child,” said she; “I have much to say to you.” “No,” +said I, “I shall be better moving about;” and I was moving away, when it +suddenly occurred to me that I might never see this woman again; and +turning round offered her my hand, and bade her good-bye. “Farewell, +child,” said the old woman, “and God bless you!” I then moved along the +bridge until I reached the Southwark side, and, still holding on my +course, my mind again became quickly abstracted from all surrounding +objects. + +At length I found myself in a street or road, with terraces on either +side, and seemingly of interminable length, leading, as it would appear, +to the south-east. I was walking at a great rate—there were likewise a +great number of people, also walking at a great rate; also carts and +carriages driving at a great rate; and all, men, carts, and carriages, +going in the selfsame direction, namely, to the south-east. I stopped +for a moment and deliberated whether or not I should proceed. What +business had I in that direction? I could not say that I had any +particular business in that direction, but what could I do were I to turn +back? only walk about well-known streets; and, if I must walk, why not +continue in the direction in which I was to see whither the road and its +terraces led? I was here in a _terra incognita_, and an unknown place +had always some interest for me; moreover, I had a desire to know whither +all this crowd was going, and for what purpose. I thought they could not +be going far, as crowds seldom go far, especially at such a rate; so I +walked on more lustily than before, passing group after group of the +crowd, and almost vieing in speed with some of the carriages, especially +the hackney-coaches; and by dint of walking at this rate, the terraces +and houses becoming somewhat less frequent as I advanced, I reached in +about three quarters of an hour a kind of low dingy town, in the +neighbourhood of the river; the streets were swarming with people, and I +concluded, from the number of wild-beast shows, caravans, gingerbread +stalls, and the like, that a fair was being held. Now, as I had always +been partial to fairs, I felt glad that I had fallen in with the crowd +which had conducted me to the present one, and, casting away as much as I +was able all gloomy thoughts, I did my best to enter into the diversions +of the fair; staring at the wonderful representations of animals on +canvas hung up before the shows of wild beasts, which, by-the-bye, are +frequently found much more worthy of admiration than the real beasts +themselves; listening to the jokes of the merry-andrews from the +platforms in front of the temporary theatres, or admiring the splendid +tinsel dresses of the performers who thronged the stages in the intervals +of the entertainments; and in this manner, occasionally gazing and +occasionally listening, I passed through the town till I came in front of +a large edifice looking full upon the majestic bosom of the Thames. + +It was a massive stone edifice, built in an antique style, and black with +age, with a broad esplanade between it and the river, on which, mixed +with a few people from the fair, I observed moving about a great many +individuals in quaint dresses of blue, with strange three-cornered hats +on their heads; most of them were mutilated; this had a wooden leg—this +wanted an arm; some had but one eye; and as I gazed upon the edifice, and +the singular-looking individuals who moved before it, I guessed where I +was. “I am at ---” said I; “these individuals are battered tars of Old +England, and this edifice, once the favourite abode of Glorious +Elizabeth, is the refuge which a grateful country has allotted to them. +Here they can rest their weary bodies; at their ease talk over the +actions in which they have been injured; and, with the tear of enthusiasm +flowing from their eyes, boast how they have trod the deck of fame with +Rodney, or Nelson, or others whose names stand emblazoned in the naval +annals of their country.” + +Turning to the right, I entered a park or wood consisting of enormous +trees, occupying the foot, sides, and top of a hill, which rose behind +the town; there were multitudes of people among the trees, diverting +themselves in various ways. Coming to the top of the hill, I was +presently stopped by a lofty wall, along which I walked, till, coming to +a small gate, I passed through, and found myself on an extensive green +plain, on one side bounded in part by the wall of the park, and on the +others, in the distance, by extensive ranges of houses; to the south-east +was a lofty eminence, partially clothed with wood. The plain exhibited +an animated scene, a kind of continuation of the fair below; there were +multitudes of people upon it, many tents, and shows; there was also +horse-racing, and much noise and shouting, the sun shining brightly +overhead. After gazing at the horse-racing for a little time, feeling +myself somewhat tired, I went up to one of the tents, and laid myself +down on the grass. There was much noise in the tent. “Who will stand +me?” said a voice with a slight tendency to lisp. “Will you, my lord?” +“Yes,” said another voice. Then there was a sound as of a piece of money +banging on a table. “Lost! lost! lost!” cried several voices; and then +the banging down of the money, and the “lost! lost! lost!” were +frequently repeated; at last the second voice exclaimed, “I will try no +more; you have cheated me.” “Never cheated any one in my life, my +lord—all fair—all chance. Them that finds, wins—them that can’t finds, +loses. Any one else try? Who’ll try? Will you, my lord?” and then it +appeared that some other lord tried, for I heard more money flung down. +Then again the cry of “Lost! lost!”—then again the sound of money, and so +on. Once or twice, but not more, I heard “Won! won!” but the predominant +cry was “Lost! lost!” At last there was a considerable hubbub, and the +words “Cheat!” “Rogue!” and “You filched away the pea!” were used freely +by more voices than one, to which the voice with the tendency to lisp +replied, “Never filched a pea in my life; would scorn it. Always glad +when folks wins; but, as those here don’t appear to be civil, nor to wish +to play any more, I shall take myself off with my table; so, good day, +gentlemen.” + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + + +Singular Table—No Money—Out of Employ—My Bonnet—We of the Thimble—Good +Wages—Wisely Resolved—Strangest Way in the World—Fat Gentleman—Not Such +Another—First Edition—Not Very Easy—Won’t Close—Avella Gorgio—Alarmed +Look. + +Presently a man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a rather +singular table; it appeared to be of white deal, was exceedingly small at +the top, and with very long legs. At a few yards from the entrance he +paused, and looked round, as if to decide on the direction which he +should take; presently, his eye glancing on me as I lay upon the ground, +he started, and appeared for a moment inclined to make off as quick as +possible, table and all. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover +assurance, and, coming up to the place where I was, the long legs of the +table projecting before him, he cried, “Glad to see you here, my lord.” + +“Thank you,” said I, “it’s a fine day.” + +“Very fine, my lord; will your lordship play? Them that finds, wins—them +that don’t finds, loses.” + +“Play at what?” said I. + +“Only at the thimble and pea, my lord.” + +“I never heard of such a game.” + +“Didn’t you? Well, I’ll soon teach you,” said he, placing the table +down. “All you have to do is to put a sovereign down on my table, and to +find the pea, which I put under one of my thimbles. If you can find +it,—and it is easy enough to find it,—I give you a sovereign besides your +own: for them that finds, wins.” + +“And them that don’t find, loses,” said I; “no, I don’t wish to play.” + +“Why not, my lord?” + +“Why, in the first place, I have no money.” + +“Oh, you have no money; that of course alters the case. If you have no +money, you can’t play. Well, I suppose I must be seeing after my +customers,” said he, glancing over the plain. + +“Good day,” said I. + +“Good day,” said the man slowly, but without moving, and as if in +reflection. After a moment or two, looking at me inquiringly, he added, +“Out of employ?” + +“Yes,” said I, “out of employ.” + +The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground. At length he +said, “May I speak a word or two to you, my lord?” + +“As many as you please,” said I. + +“Then just come a little out of hearing, a little farther on the grass, +if you please, my lord.” + +“Why do you call me my lord?” said I, as I arose and followed him. + +“We of the thimble always calls our customers lords,” said the man; “but +I won’t call you such a foolish name any more; come along.” + +The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a dry pit, +when, looking round to see that no one was nigh, he laid his table on the +grass, and, sitting down with his legs over the side of the pit, he +motioned me to do the same. “So you are in want of employ,” said he, +after I had sat down beside him. + +“Yes,” said I, “I am very much in want of employ.” + +“I think I can find you some.” + +“What kind?” said I. + +“Why,” said the man, “I think you would do to be my bonnet.” + +“Bonnet!” said I, “what is that?” + +“Don’t you know? However, no wonder, as you had never heard of the +thimble-and-pea game, but I will tell you. We of the game are very much +exposed; folks when they have lost their money, as those who play with us +mostly do, sometimes uses rough language, calls us cheats, and sometimes +knocks our hats over our eyes; and what’s more, with a kick under our +table, causes the top deals to fly off; this is the third table I have +used this day, the other two being broken by uncivil customers: so we of +the game generally like to have gentlemen go about with us to take our +part, and encourage us, though pretending to know nothing about us; for +example, when the customer says, ‘I’m cheated,’ the bonnet must say, ‘No, +you a’n’t, it is all right;’ or, when my hat is knocked over my eyes, the +bonnet must square and say, ‘I never saw the man before in all my life, +but I won’t see him ill-used;’ and so, when they kicks at the table, the +bonnet must say, ‘I won’t see the table ill-used, such a nice table too; +besides, I want to play myself;’ and then I would say to the bonnet, +‘Thank you, my lord, them that finds, wins;’ and then the bonnet plays, +and I lets the bonnet win.” + +“In a word,” said I, “the bonnet means the man who covers you, even as +the real bonnet covers the head.” + +“Just so,” said the man, “I see you are awake, and would soon make a +first-rate bonnet.” + +“Bonnet,” said I, musingly; “bonnet; it is metaphorical.” + +“Is it?” said the man. + +“Yes,” said I, “like the cant words—” + +“Bonnet is cant,” said the man; “we of the thimble, as well as all +clyfakers and the like, understand cant, as, of course, must every +bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, you had better learn it as soon as +you can, that we may discourse together without being understood by every +one. Besides covering his principal, a bonnet must have his eyes about +him, for the trade of the pea, though a strictly honest one, is not +altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet, if he sees the +constable coming, to say, the gorgio’s welling.” + +“That is not cant,” said I, “that is the language of the Rommany Chals.” + +“Do you know those people?” said the man. + +“Perfectly,” said I, “and their language too.” + +“I wish I did,” said the man, “I would give ten pounds and more to know +the language of the Rommany Chals. There’s some of it in the language of +the pea and thimble; how it came there I don’t know, but so it is. I +wish I knew it, but it is difficult. You’ll make a capital bonnet; shall +we close?” + +“What would the wages be?” I demanded. + +“Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would prove, I could afford +to give from forty to fifty shillings a week.” + +“Is it possible?” said I. + +“Good wages, a’n’t they?” said the man. + +“First rate,” said I; “bonneting is more profitable than reviewing.” + +“Anan?” said the man. + +“Or translating; I don’t think the Armenian would have paid me at that +rate for translating his Esop.” + +“Who is he?” said the man. + +“Esop?” + +“No, I know what that is, Esop’s cant for a hunchback; but t’other?” + +“You should know,” said I. + +“Never saw the man in all my life.” + +“Yes, you have,” said I, “and felt him too; don’t you remember the +individual from whom you took the pocket-book?” + +“Oh, that was he; well, the less said about that matter the better; I +have left off that trade, and taken to this, which is a much better. +Between ourselves, I am not sorry that I did not carry off that +pocket-book; if I had, it might have encouraged me in the trade, in +which, had I remained, I might have been lagged, sent abroad, as I had +been already imprisoned; so I determined to leave it off at all hazards, +though I was hard up, not having a penny in the world.” + +“And wisely resolved,” said I, “it was a bad and dangerous trade; I +wonder you should ever have embraced it.” + +“It is all very well talking,” said the man, “but there is a reason for +everything; I am the son of a Jewess, by a military officer,”—and then +the man told me his story. I shall not repeat the man’s story, it was a +poor one, a vile one; at last he observed, “So that affair which you know +of determined me to leave the filching trade, and take up with a more +honest and safe one; so at last I thought of the pea and thimble, but I +wanted funds, especially to pay for lessons at the hands of a master, for +I knew little about it.” + +“Well,” said I, “how did you get over that difficulty?” + +“Why,” said the man, “I thought I should never have got over it. What +funds could I raise? I had nothing to sell; the few clothes I had I +wanted, for we of the thimble must always appear decent, or nobody would +come near us. I was at my wits’ ends; at last I got over my difficulty +in the strangest way in the world.” + +“What was that?” + +“By an old thing which I had picked up some time before—a book.” + +“A book?” said I. + +“Yes, which I had taken out of your lordship’s pocket one day as you were +walking the streets in a great hurry. I thought it was a pocket-book at +first, full of bank notes, perhaps,” continued he, laughing. “It was +well for me, however, that it was not, for I should have soon spent the +notes; as it was, I had flung the old thing down with an oath, as soon as +I brought it home. When I was so hard up, however, after the affair with +that friend of yours, I took it up one day, and thought I might make +something by it to support myself a day with. Chance or something else +led me into a grand shop; there was a man there who seemed to be the +master, talking to a jolly, portly old gentleman, who seemed to be a +country squire. Well, I went up to the first, and offered it for sale; +he took the book, opened it at the title-page, and then all of a sudden +his eyes glistened, and he showed it to the fat, jolly gentleman, and his +eyes glistened too, and I heard him say, ‘How singular!’ and then the two +talked together in a speech I didn’t understand—I rather thought it was +French, at any rate it wasn’t cant; and presently the first asked me what +I would take for the book. Now I am not altogether a fool nor am I +blind, and I had narrowly marked all that passed, and it came into my +head that now was the time for making a man of myself, at any rate I +could lose nothing by a little confidence; so I looked the man boldly in +the face, and said, ‘I will have five guineas for that book, there a’n’t +such another in the whole world.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said the first man, ‘there +are plenty of them, there have been nearly fifty editions to my +knowledge; I will give you five shillings.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘I’ll not take +it, for I don’t like to be cheated, so give me my book again;’ and I +attempted to take it away from the fat gentleman’s hand. ‘Stop,’ said +the younger man, ‘are you sure that you won’t take less?’ ‘Not a +farthing,’ said I; which was not altogether true, but I said so. ‘Well,’ +said the fat gentleman, ‘I will give you what you ask;’ and sure enough +he presently gave me the money; so I made a bow, and was leaving the +shop, when it came into my head that there was something odd in all this, +and, as I had got the money in my pocket, I turned back, and, making +another bow, said, ‘May I be so bold as to ask why you gave me all this +money for that ’ere dirty book? When I came into the shop, I should have +been glad to get a shilling for it; but I saw you wanted it, and asked +five guineas.’ Then they looked at one another, and smiled, and shrugged +up their shoulders. Then the first man, looking at me, said, ‘Friend, +you have been a little too sharp for us; however, we can afford to +forgive you, as my friend here has long been in quest of this particular +book; there are plenty of editions, as I told you, and a common copy is +not worth five shillings; but this is a first edition, and a copy of the +first edition is worth its weight in gold.’” + +“So, after all, they outwitted you,” I observed. + +“Clearly,” said the man; “I might have got double the price, had I known +the value; but I don’t care, much good may it do them, it has done me +plenty. By means of it I have got into an honest respectable trade, in +which there’s little danger and plenty of profit, and got out of one +which would have got me lagged sooner or later.” + +“But,” said I, “you ought to remember that the thing was not yours; you +took it from me, who had been requested by a poor old apple-woman to +exchange it for a Bible.” + +“Well,” said the man, “did she ever get her Bible?” + +“Yes,” said I, “she got her Bible.” + +“Then she has no cause to complain; and, as for you, chance or something +else has sent you to me, that I may make you reasonable amends for any +loss you may have had. Here am I ready to make you my bonnet, with forty +or fifty shillings a week, which you say yourself are capital wages.” + +“I find no fault with the wages,” said I, “but I don’t like the employ.” + +“Not like bonneting,” said the man; “ah, I see, you would like to be +principal; well, a time may come—those long white fingers of yours would +just serve for the business.” + +“Is it a difficult one?” I demanded. + +“Why, it is not very easy: two things are needful—natural talent, and +constant practice; but I’ll show you a point or two connected with the +game;” and, placing his table between his knees as he sat over the side +of the pit, he produced three thimbles, and a small brown pellet, +something resembling a pea. He moved the thimble and pellet about, now +placing it to all appearance under one, and now under another; “Under +which is it now?” he said at last. “Under that,” said I, pointing to the +lowermost of the thimbles, which, as they stood, formed a kind of +triangle. “No,” said he, “it is not, but lift it up;” and, when I lifted +up the thimble, the pellet, in truth, was not under it. “It was under +none of them,” said he, “it was pressed by my little finger against my +palm;” and then he showed me how he did the trick, and asked me if the +game was not a funny one; and, on my answering in the affirmative, he +said, “I am glad you like it, come along and let us win some money.” + +Thereupon, getting up, he placed the table before him, and was moving +away; observing, however, that I did not stir, he asked me what I was +staying for. “Merely for my own pleasure,” said I, “I like sitting here +very well.” “Then you won’t close?” said the man. “By no means,” I +replied, “your proposal does not suit me.” “You may be principal in +time,” said the man. “That makes no difference,” said I; and, sitting +with my legs over the pit, I forthwith began to decline an Armenian noun. +“That a’n’t cant,” said the man, “no, nor gypsy, either. Well, if you +won’t close, another will, I can’t lose any more time,” and forthwith he +departed. + +And after I had declined four Armenian nouns, of different declensions, I +rose from the side of the pit, and wandered about amongst the various +groups of people scattered over the green. Presently I came to where the +man of the thimbles was standing, with the table before him, and many +people about him. “Them who finds, wins, and them who can’t find, +loses,” he cried. Various individuals tried to find the pellet, but all +were unsuccessful, till at last considerable dissatisfaction was +expressed, and the terms rogue and cheat were lavished upon him. “Never +cheated anybody in all my life,” he cried; and, observing me at hand, +“didn’t I play fair, my lord?” he inquired. But I made no answer. +Presently some more played, and he permitted one or two to win, and the +eagerness to play with him became greater. After I had looked on for +some time, I was moving away: just then I perceived a short, thick +personage, with a staff in his hand, advancing in a great hurry; +whereupon, with a sudden impulse, I exclaimed— + + “Shoon thimble engro; + Avella gorgio.” + +The man who was in the midst of his pea-and-thimble process, no sooner +heard the last word of the distich, than he turned an alarmed look in the +direction of where I stood; then, glancing around, and perceiving the +constable, he slipped forthwith his pellet and thimbles into his pocket, +and, lifting up his table, he cried to the people about him, “Make way!” +and with a motion with his head to me, as if to follow him, he darted off +with a swiftness which the short, pursy constable could by no means +rival; and whither he went, or what became of him, I know not, inasmuch +as I turned away in another direction. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + + +Mr. Petulengro—Rommany Rye—Lil Writers—One’s Own Horn—Lawfully-earnt +Money—The Wooded Hill—A Great Favourite—The Shop Window—Much Wanted. + +And, as I wandered along the green, I drew near to a place where several +men, with a cask beside them, sat carousing in the neighbourhood of a +small tent. “Here he comes,” said one of them, as I advanced, and +standing up he raised his voice and sang:— + + “Here the Gypsy gemman see, + With his Roman jib and his rome and dree— + Rome and dree, rum and dry + Rally round the Rommany Rye.” + +It was Mr. Petulengro, who was here diverting himself with several of his +comrades; they all received me with considerable frankness. “Sit down, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “and take a cup of good ale.” + +I sat down. “Your health, gentlemen,” said I, as I took the cup which +Mr. Petulengro handed to me. + +“Aukko tu pios adrey Rommanis. Here is your health in Rommany, brother,” +said Mr. Petulengro; who, having refilled the cup, now emptied it at a +draught. + +“Your health in Rommany, brother,” said Tawno Chikno, to whom the cup +came next. + +“The Rommany Rye,” said a third. + +“The Gypsy gentleman,” exclaimed a fourth, drinking. + +And then they all sang in chorus,— + + “Here the Gypsy gemman see, + With his Roman jib and his rome and dree— + Rome and dree, rum and dry + Rally round the Rommany Rye.” + +“And now, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “seeing that you have drunk and +been drunken, you will perhaps tell us where you have been, and what +about?” + +“I have been in the Big City,” said I, “writing lils.” + +“How much money have you got in your pocket, brother?” said Mr. +Petulengro. + +“Eighteen pence,” said I; “all I have in the world.” + +“I have been in the Big City, too,” said Mr. Petulengro; “but I have not +written lils—I have fought in the ring—I have fifty pounds in my pocket—I +have much more in the world. Brother, there is considerable difference +between us.” + +“I would rather be the lil-writer, after all,” said the tall, handsome, +black man; “indeed, I would wish for nothing better.” + +“Why so?” said Mr. Petulengro. + +“Because they have so much to say for themselves,” said the black man, +“even when dead and gone. When they are laid in the churchyard, it is +their own fault if people a’n’t talking of them. Who will know, after I +am dead, or bitchadey pawdel, that I was once the beauty of the world, or +that you, Jasper, were—” + +“The best man in England of my inches. That’s true, Tawno—however, +here’s our brother will perhaps let the world know something about us.” + +“Not he,” said the other, with a sigh; “he’ll have quite enough to do in +writing his own lils, and telling the world how handsome and clever he +was; and who can blame him? Not I. If I could write lils, every word +should be about myself and my own tacho Rommanis—my own lawful wedded +wife, which is the same thing. I tell you what, brother, I once heard a +wise man say in Brummagem, that ‘there is nothing like blowing one’s own +horn,’ which I conceive to be much the same thing as writing one’s own +lil.” + +After a little more conversation, Mr. Petulengro arose, and motioned me +to follow him. “Only eighteen pence in the world, brother!” said he, as +we walked together. + +“Nothing more, I assure you. How came you to ask me how much money I +had?” + +“Because there was something in your look, brother, something very much +resembling that which a person showeth who does not carry much money in +his pocket. I was looking at my own face this morning in my wife’s +looking-glass—I did not look as you do, brother.” + +“I believe your sole motive for inquiring,” said I, “was to have an +opportunity of venting a foolish boast, and to let me know that you were +in possession of fifty pounds.” + +“What is the use of having money unless you let people know you have it?” +said Mr. Petulengro. “It is not everyone can read faces, brother; and, +unless you knew I had money, how could you ask me to lend you any?” + +“I am not going to ask you to lend me any.” + +“Then you may have it without asking; as I said before, I have fifty +pounds, all lawfully-earnt money, got by fighting in the ring—I will lend +you that, brother.” + +“You are very kind,” said I; “but I will not take it.” + +“Then the half of it?” + +“Nor the half of it; but it is getting towards evening, I must go back to +the Great City.” + +“And what will you do in the Boro Foros?” + +“I know not,” said I. + +“Earn money?” + +“If I can.” + +“And if you can’t?” + +“Starve!” + +“You look ill, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro. + +“I do not feel well; the Great City does not agree with me. Should I be +so fortunate as to earn some money, I would leave the Big City, and take +to the woods and fields.” + +“You may do that, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “whether you have money +or not. Our tents and horses are on the other side of yonder wooded +hill, come and stay with us; we shall all be glad of your company, but +more especially myself and my wife Pakomovna.” + +“What hill is that?” I demanded. + +And then Mr. Petulengro told me the name of the hill. “We stay on +t’other side of the hill a fortnight,” he continued; “and as you are fond +of lil writing, you may employ yourself profitably whilst there. You can +write the lil of him whose dook gallops down that hill every night, even +as the living man was wont to do long ago.” + +“Who was he?” I demanded. + +“Jemmy Abershaw,” said Mr. Petulengro; “one of those whom we call Boro +drom engroes, and the gorgios highwaymen. I once heard a rye say that +the life of that man would fetch much money; so come to the other side of +the hill, and write the lil in the tent of Jasper and his wife +Pakomovna.” + +At first I felt inclined to accept the invitation of Mr. Petulengro; a +little consideration, however, determined me to decline it. I had always +been on excellent terms with Mr. Petulengro, but I reflected that people +might be excellent friends when they met occasionally in the street, or +on the heath, or in the wood; but that these very people when living +together in a house, to say nothing of a tent, might quarrel. I +reflected, moreover, that Mr. Petulengro had a wife. I had always, it is +true, been a great favourite with Mrs. Petulengro, who had frequently +been loud in her commendation of the young rye, as she called me, and his +turn of conversation; but this was at a time when I stood in need of +nothing, lived under my parents’ roof, and only visited at the tents to +divert and to be diverted. The times were altered, and I was by no means +certain that Mrs. Petulengro, when she should discover that I was in need +both of shelter and subsistence, might not alter her opinion both with +respect to the individual and what he said—stigmatizing my conversation +as saucy discourse, and myself as a scurvy companion; and that she might +bring over her husband to her own way of thinking, provided, indeed, he +should need any conducting. I therefore, though without declaring my +reasons, declined the offer of Mr. Petulengro, and presently, after +shaking him by the hand, bent again my course towards the Great City. + +I crossed the river at a bridge considerably above that hight of London; +for, not being acquainted with the way, I missed the turning which should +have brought me to the latter. Suddenly I found myself in a street of +which I had some recollection, and mechanically stopped before the window +of a shop at which various publications were exposed; it was that of the +bookseller to whom I had last applied in the hope of selling my ballads +or Ab Gwilym, and who had given me hopes that, in the event of my writing +a decent novel, or a tale, he would prove a purchaser. As I stood +listlessly looking at the window, and the publications which it +contained, I observed a paper affixed to the glass by wafers with +something written upon it. I drew yet nearer for the purpose of +inspecting it; the writing was in a fair round hand—“A Novel or Tale is +much wanted,” was what was written. + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + + +Bread and Water—Fair Play—Fashionable Life—Colonel B---—Joseph Sell—The +Kindly Glow—Easiest Manner Imaginable. + +“I must do something,” said I, as I sat that night in my lonely +apartment, with some bread and a pitcher of water before me. + +Thereupon taking some of the bread, and eating it, I considered what I +was to do. “I have no idea what I am to do,” said I, as I stretched my +hand towards the pitcher, “unless”—and here I took a considerable +draught—“I write a tale or a novel—That bookseller,” I continued, +speaking to myself, “is certainly much in need of a tale or a novel, +otherwise he would not advertise for one. Suppose I write one, I appear +to have no other chance of extricating myself from my present +difficulties; surely it was Fate that conducted me to his window.” + +“I will do it,” said I, as I struck my hand against the table; “I will do +it.” Suddenly a heavy cloud of despondency came over me. Could I do it? +Had I the imagination requisite to write a tale or a novel? “Yes, yes,” +said I, as I struck my hand again against the table, “I can manage it; +give me fair play, and I can accomplish anything.” + +But should I have fair play? I must have something to maintain myself +with whilst I wrote my tale, and I had but eighteen pence in the world. +Would that maintain me whilst I wrote my tale? Yes, I thought it would, +provided I ate bread, which did not cost much, and drank water, which +cost nothing; it was poor diet, it was true, but better men than myself +had written on bread and water; had not the big man told me so? or +something to that effect, months before? + +It was true there was my lodging to pay for; but up to the present time I +owed nothing, and perhaps, by the time the people of the house asked me +for money, I should have written a tale or a novel, which would bring me +in money; I had paper, pens, and ink, and, let me not forget them, I had +candles in my closet, all paid for, to light me during my night work. +Enough, I would go doggedly to work upon my tale or novel. + +But what was the tale or novel to be about? Was it to be a tale of +fashionable life, about Sir Harry Somebody, and the Countess Something? +But I knew nothing about fashionable people, and cared less; therefore +how should I attempt to describe fashionable life? What should the tale +consist of? The life and adventures of some one. Good—but of whom? Did +not Mr. Petulengro mention one Jemmy Abershaw? Yes. Did he not tell me +that the life and adventures of Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much money +to the writer? Yes, but I knew nothing of that worthy. I heard, it is +true, from Mr. Petulengro, that when alive he committed robberies on the +hill, on the side of which Mr. Petulengro had pitched his tents, and that +his ghost still haunted the hill at midnight; but those were scant +materials out of which to write the man’s life. It is probable, indeed, +that Mr. Petulengro would be able to supply me with further materials if +I should apply to him, but I was in a hurry, and could not afford the +time which it would be necessary to spend in passing to and from Mr. +Petulengro, and consulting him. Moreover, my pride revolted at the idea +of being beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials of the history. +No, I would not write the history of Abershaw. Whose then—Harry Simms? +Alas, the life of Harry Simms had been already much better written by +himself than I could hope to do it; and, after all, Harry Simms, like +Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber. Both, though bold and extraordinary +men, were merely highwaymen. I questioned whether I could compose a tale +likely to excite any particular interest out of the exploits of a mere +robber. I want a character for my hero, thought I, something higher than +a mere robber; some one like—like Colonel B---. By the way, why should I +not write the life and adventures of Colonel B--- of Londonderry, in +Ireland? + +A truly singular man was this same Colonel B--- of Londonderry, in +Ireland; a personage of most strange and incredible feats and daring, who +had been a partizan soldier, a bravo—who, assisted by certain +discontented troopers, nearly succeeded in stealing the crown and regalia +from the Tower of London; who attempted to hang the Duke of Ormond, at +Tyburn; and whose strange eventful career did not terminate even with his +life, his dead body, on the circulation of an unfounded report that he +did not come to his death by fair means, having been exhumed by the mob +of his native place, where he had retired to die, and carried in a coffin +through the streets. + +Of his life I had inserted an account in the Newgate Lives and Trials; it +was bare and meagre, and written in the stiff awkward style of the +seventeenth century; it had, however, strongly captivated my imagination, +and I now thought that out of it something better could be made; that, if +I added to the adventures, and purified the style, I might fashion out of +it a very decent tale or novel. On a sudden, however, the proverb of +mending old garments with new cloth occurred to me. “I am afraid,” said +I, “any new adventures which I can invent will not fadge well with the +old tale; one will but spoil the other.” I had better have nothing to do +with Colonel B---, thought I, but boldly and independently sit down and +write the life of Joseph Sell. + +This Joseph Sell, dear reader, was a fictitious personage who had just +come into my head. I had never even heard of the name, but just at that +moment it happened to come into my head; I would write an entirely +fictitious narrative, called the Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, the +great traveller. + +I had better begin at once, thought I; and removing the bread and the +jug, which latter was now empty, I seized pen and paper, and forthwith +essayed to write the life of Joseph Sell, but soon discovered that it was +much easier to resolve upon a thing than to achieve it, or even to +commence it; for the life of me I did not know how to begin, and, after +trying in vain to write a line, I thought it would be as well to go to +bed, and defer my projected undertaking till the morrow. + +So I went to bed, but not to sleep. During the greater part of the night +I lay awake, musing upon the work which I had determined to execute. For +a long time my brain was dry and unproductive; I could form no plan which +appeared feasible. At length I felt within my brain a kindly glow; it +was the commencement of inspiration; in a few minutes I had formed my +plan; I then began to imagine the scenes and the incidents. Scenes and +incidents flitted before my mind’s eye so plentifully, that I knew not +how to dispose of them; I was in a regular embarrassment. At length I +got out of the difficulty in the easiest manner imaginable, namely, by +consigning to the depths of oblivion all the feebler and less stimulant +scenes and incidents, and retaining the better and more impressive ones. +Before morning I had sketched the whole work on the tablets of my mind, +and then resigned myself to sleep in the pleasing conviction that the +most difficult part of my undertaking was achieved. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + + +Considerably Sobered—Power of Writing—The Tempter—Hungry Talent—Work +Concluded. + +Rather late in the morning I awoke; for a few minutes I lay still, +perfectly still; my imagination was considerably sobered; the scenes and +situations which had pleased me so much over night appeared to me in a +far less captivating guise that morning. I felt languid and almost +hopeless—the thought, however, of my situation soon roused me,—I must +make an effort to improve the posture of my affairs; there was no time to +be lost; so I sprang out of bed, breakfasted on bread and water, and then +sat down doggedly to write the life of Joseph Sell. + +It was a great thing to have formed my plan, and to have arranged the +scenes in my head, as I had done on the preceding night. The chief thing +requisite at present was the mere mechanical act of committing them to +paper. This I did not find at first so easy as I could wish—I wanted +mechanical skill; but I persevered; and before evening I had written ten +pages. I partook of some bread and water; and, before I went to bed that +night, I had completed fifteen pages of my life of Joseph Sell. + +The next day I resumed my task—I found my power of writing considerably +increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the paper—my brain was in a +wonderfully teeming state; many scenes and visions which I had not +thought of before were evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written down; +they seemed to be more pat to my purpose, and more natural to my history, +than many others which I had imagined before, and which I made now give +place to these newer creations: by about midnight I had added thirty +fresh pages to my “Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell.” + +The third day arose—it was dark and dreary out of doors, and I passed it +drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have lost much of its former +glow, and my pen much of its power; I, however, toiled on, but at +midnight had only added seven pages to my history of Joseph Sell. + +On the fourth day the sun shone brightly—I arose, and having breakfasted +as usual, I fell to work. My brain was this day wonderfully prolific, +and my pen never before or since glided so rapidly over the paper; +towards night I began to feel strangely about the back part of my head, +and my whole system was extraordinarily affected. I likewise +occasionally saw double—a tempter now seemed to be at work within me. + +“You had better leave off now for a short space,” said the tempter, “and +go out and drink a pint of beer; you have still one shilling left—if you +go on at this rate, you will go mad—go out and spend sixpence, you can +afford it, more than half your work is done.” I was about to obey the +suggestion of the tempter, when the idea struck me that, if I did not +complete the work whilst the fit was on me, I should never complete it; +so I held on. I am almost afraid to state how many pages I wrote that +day of the life of Joseph Sell. + +From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely manner; but, as I +drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my task, dreadful fears and +despondencies came over me. It will be too late, thought I; by the time +I have finished the work, the bookseller will have been supplied with a +tale or a novel. Is it probable that, in a town like this, where talent +is so abundant—hungry talent too—a bookseller can advertise for a tale or +a novel, without being supplied with half a dozen in twenty-four hours? +I may as well fling down my pen—I am writing to no purpose. And these +thoughts came over my mind so often, that at last, in utter despair, I +flung down the pen. Whereupon the tempter within me said—“And, now you +have flung down the pen, you may as well fling yourself out of the +window; what remains for you to do?” Why, to take it up again, thought I +to myself, for I did not like the latter suggestion at all—and then +forthwith I resumed the pen, and wrote with greater vigour than before, +from about six o’clock in the evening until I could hardly see, when I +rested for awhile, when the tempter within me again said, or appeared to +say—“All you have been writing is stuff, it will never do—a drug—a mere +drug:” and methought these last words were uttered in the gruff tones of +the big publisher. “A thing merely to be sneered at,” a voice like that +of Taggart added; and then I seemed to hear a sternutation,—as I probably +did, for, recovering from a kind of swoon, I found myself shivering with +cold. The next day I brought my work to a conclusion. + +But the task of revision still remained; for an hour or two I shrank from +it, and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper which I had written +over. I was all but exhausted, and I dreaded, on inspecting the sheets, +to find them full of absurdities which I had paid no regard to in the +furor of composition. But the task, however trying to my nerves, must be +got over; at last, in a kind of desperation, I entered upon it. It was +far from an easy one; there were, however, fewer errors and absurdities +than I had anticipated. About twelve o’clock at night I had got over the +task of revision. “To-morrow, for the bookseller,” said I, as my hand +sank on the pillow. “Oh me!” + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + + +Nervous Look—The Bookseller’s Wife—The Last Stake—Terms—God Forbid!—Will +You Come to Tea?—A Light Heart. + +On arriving at the bookseller’s shop, I cast a nervous look at the +window, for the purpose of observing whether the paper had been removed +or not. To my great delight the paper was in its place; with a beating +heart I entered, there was nobody in the shop; as I stood at the counter, +however, deliberating whether or not I should call out, the door of what +seemed to be a back-parlour opened, and out came a well-dressed lady-like +female, of about thirty, with a good-looking and intelligent countenance. +“What is your business, young man?” said she to me, after I had made her +a polite bow. “I wish to speak to the gentleman of the house,” said I. +“My husband is not within at present,” she replied; “what is your +business?” “I have merely brought something to show him,” said I, “but I +will call again.” “If you are the young gentleman who has been here +before,” said the lady, “with poems and ballads, as, indeed, I know you +are,” she added, smiling, “for I have seen you through the glass door, I +am afraid it will be useless; that is,” she added with another smile, “if +you bring us nothing else.” “I have not brought you poems and ballads +now,” said I, “but something widely different; I saw your advertisement +for a tale or a novel, and have written something which I think will +suit; and here it is,” I added, showing the roll of paper which I held in +my hand. “Well,” said the bookseller’s wife, “you may leave it, though I +cannot promise you much chance of its being accepted. My husband has +already had several offered to him; however, you may leave it; give it +me. Are you afraid to intrust it to me?” she demanded somewhat hastily, +observing that I hesitated. “Excuse me,” said I, “but it is all I have +to depend upon in the world; I am chiefly apprehensive that it will not +be read.” “On that point I can reassure you,” said the good lady, +smiling, and there was now something sweet in her smile. “I give you my +word that it shall be read; come again to-morrow morning at eleven, when, +if not approved, it shall be returned to you.” + +I returned to my lodging, and forthwith betook myself to bed, +notwithstanding the earliness of the hour. I felt tolerably tranquil; I +had now cast my last stake, and was prepared to abide by the result. +Whatever that result might be, I could have nothing to reproach myself +with; I had strained all the energies which nature had given me in order +to rescue myself from the difficulties which surrounded me. I presently +sank into a sleep, which endured during the remainder of the day, and the +whole of the succeeding night. I awoke about nine on the morrow, and +spent my last threepence on a breakfast somewhat more luxurious than the +immediately preceding ones, for one penny of the sum was expended on the +purchase of milk. + +At the appointed hour I repaired to the house of the bookseller; the +bookseller was in his shop. “Ah,” said he, as soon as I entered, “I am +glad to see you.” There was an unwonted heartiness in the bookseller’s +tones, an unwonted benignity in his face. “So,” said he, after a pause, +“you have taken my advice, written a book of adventure; nothing like +taking the advice, young man, of your superiors in age. Well, I think +your book will do, and so does my wife, for whose judgment I have a great +regard; as well I may, as she is the daughter of a first-rate novelist, +deceased. I think I shall venture on sending your book to the press.” +“But,” said I, “we have not yet agreed upon terms.” “Terms, terms,” said +the bookseller; “ahem! well, there is nothing like coming to terms at +once. I will print the book, and allow you half the profit when the +edition is sold.” “That will not do,” said I; “I intend shortly to leave +London; I must have something at once.” “Ah, I see,” said the +bookseller, “in distress; frequently the case with authors, especially +young ones. Well, I don’t care if I purchase it of you, but you must be +moderate; the public are very fastidious, and the speculation may prove a +losing one, after all. Let me see, will five—hem”—he stopped. I looked +the bookseller in the face; there was something peculiar in it. Suddenly +it appeared to me as if the voice of him of the thimble sounded in my +ear, “Now is your time, ask enough, never such another chance of +establishing yourself; respectable trade, pea and thimble.” “Well,” said +I at last, “I have no objection to take the offer which you were about to +make, though I really think five-and-twenty guineas to be scarcely +enough, everything considered.” “Five-and-twenty guineas!” said the +bookseller; “are you—what was I going to say—I never meant to offer half +as much—I mean a quarter; I was going to say five guineas—I mean pounds; +I will, however, make it up guineas.” “That will not do,” said I; “but, +as I find we shall not deal, return me my manuscript, that I may carry it +to some one else.” The bookseller looked blank. “Dear me,” said he, “I +should never have supposed that you would have made any objection to such +an offer; I am quite sure that you would have been glad to take five +pounds for either of the two huge manuscripts of songs and ballads that +you brought me on a former occasion.” “Well,” said I, “if you will +engage to publish either of those two manuscripts, you shall have the +present one for five pounds.” “God forbid that I should make any such +bargain,” said the bookseller; “I would publish neither on any account; +but, with respect to this last book, I have really an inclination to +print it, both for your sake and mine; suppose we say ten pounds.” “No,” +said I, “ten pounds will not do; pray restore me my manuscript.” “Stay,” +said the bookseller, “my wife is in the next room, I will go and consult +her.” Thereupon he went into his back room, where I heard him conversing +with his wife in a low tone; in about ten minutes he returned. “Young +gentleman,” said he, “perhaps you will take tea with us this evening, +when we will talk further over the matter.” + +That evening I went and took tea with the bookseller and his wife, both +of whom, particularly the latter, overwhelmed me with civility. It was +not long before I learned that the work had been already sent to the +press, and was intended to stand at the head of a series of entertaining +narratives, from which my friends promised themselves considerable +profit. The subject of terms was again brought forward. I stood firm to +my first demand for a long time; when, however, the bookseller’s wife +complimented me on my production in the highest terms, and said that she +discovered therein the germs of genius, which she made no doubt would +some day prove ornamental to my native land, I consented to drop my +demand to twenty pounds, stipulating, however, that I should not be +troubled with the correction of the work. + +Before I departed I received the twenty pounds, and departed with a light +heart to my lodgings. + +Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, should you ever +be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter chapters of the life of +Lavengro. There are few positions, however difficult, from which dogged +resolution and perseverance may not liberate you. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + + +Indisposition—A Resolution—Poor Equivalents—The Piece of Gold—Flashing +Eyes—How Beautiful!—Bon Jour, Monsieur. + +I had long ago determined to leave London as soon as the means should be +in my power, and, now that they were, I determined to leave the Great +City; yet I felt some reluctance to go. I would fain have pursued the +career of original authorship which had just opened itself to me, and +have written other tales of adventure. The bookseller had given me +encouragement enough to do so; he had assured me that he should be always +happy to deal with me for an article (that was the word) similar to the +one I had brought him, provided my terms were moderate; and the +bookseller’s wife, by her complimentary language, had given me yet more +encouragement. But for some months past I had been far from well, and my +original indisposition, brought on partly by the peculiar atmosphere of +the Big City, partly by anxiety of mind, had been much increased by the +exertions which I had been compelled to make during the last few days. I +felt that, were I to remain where I was, I should die, or become a +confirmed valetudinarian. I would go forth into the country, travelling +on foot, and, by exercise and inhaling pure air, endeavour to recover my +health, leaving my subsequent movements to be determined by Providence. + +But whither should I bend my course? Once or twice I thought of walking +home to the old town, stay some time with my mother and my brother, and +enjoy the pleasant walks in the neighbourhood; but, though I wished very +much to see my mother and my brother, and felt much disposed to enjoy the +said pleasant walks, the old town was not exactly the place to which I +wished to go at this present juncture. I was afraid the people would +ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your alliterative +translations from Ab Gwilym—of which you were always talking, and with +which you promised to astonish the world? Now, in the event of such +interrogations, what could I answer? It is true I had compiled Newgate +Lives and Trials, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was +afraid that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as +equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab Gwilym. I would +go forth and wander in any direction but that of the old town. + +But how one’s sensibility on any particular point diminishes with time; +at present, I enter the old town perfectly indifferent as to what the +people may be thinking on the subject of the songs and ballads. With +respect to the people themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their +curiosity has altogether evaporated, or whether, which is at least +equally probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that +never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks on the +subject of the songs and ballads. + +As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a stick, I +despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and books to the old +town. My preparations were soon made; in about three days I was in +readiness to start. + +Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the +apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might be labouring +under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a piece of gold by the +hands of a young maiden in the house in which I lived. The latter +punctually executed her commission, but brought me back the piece of +gold. The old woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said. +“Tell the poor thin lad,” she added, “to keep it for himself, he wants it +more than I.” + +Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my stick in +one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my course to the +south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more than a year before, I had +entered the city by the north-east. As I was not going home, I +determined to take my departure in the direction the very opposite to +home. + +Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at the +lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing +along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I was, +a sudden pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal upon its +haunches. The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A +small beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of +fashion, sat beside him. + +“Holloa, friend,” said Francis Ardry, “whither bound?” + +“I do not know,” said I; “all I can say is, that I am about to leave +London.” + +“And the means?” said Francis Ardry. + +“I have them,” said I, with a cheerful smile. + +“_Qui est celui-ci_?” demanded the small female, impatiently. + +“_C’est_—_mon ami le plus intime_; so you were about to leave London +without telling me a word,” said Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily. + +“I intended to have written to you,” said I: “what a splendid mare that +is!” + +“Is she not?” said Francis Ardry, who was holding in the mare with +difficulty; “she cost a hundred guineas.” + +“_Qu’est-ce qu’il dit_?” demanded his companion. + +“_Il dit que le jument est bien beau_.” + +“_Allons_, _mon ami_, _il est tard_,” said the beauty, with a scornful +toss of her head; “_allons_!” + +“_Encore un moment_,” said Francis Ardry; “and when shall I see you +again?” + +“I scarcely know,” I replied: “I never saw a more splendid turn out.” + +“_Qu’est-ce qu’il dit_?” said the lady again. + +“_Il dit que tout l’équipage est en assez bon goût_.” + +“_Allons_, _c’est un ours_,” said the lady; “_le cheval même en a peur_,” +added she, as the mare reared up on high. + +“Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and the equipage?” said +Francis Ardry, reproachfully, after he had with some difficulty brought +the mare to order. + +Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my hat. “How +beautiful!” said I, looking the lady full in the face. + +“_Comment_?” said the lady, inquiringly. + +“_Il dit que vous êtes belle comme un ange_,” said Francis Ardry, +emphatically. + +“_Mais_, _à la bonne heure! arrêtez_, _mon ami_,” said the lady to +Francis Ardry, who was about to drive off; “_je voudrais bien causer un +moment avec lui_; _arrêtez_, _il est délicieux_.—_Est-ce bien ainsi que +vous traitez vos amis_?” said she, passionately, as Francis Ardry lifted +up his whip. “_Bon jour_, _Monsieur_, _bon jour_,” said she, thrusting +her head from the side and looking back, as Francis Ardry drove off at +the rate of thirteen miles an hour. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + + +The Milestone—The Meditation—Want to Get Up?—The Off-hand Leader—Sixteen +Shillings—The Near-hand Wheeler—All Right. + +In about two hours I had cleared the Great City, and got beyond the +suburban villages, or rather towns, in the direction in which I was +travelling; I was in a broad and excellent road, leading I knew not +whither. I now slackened my pace, which had hitherto been great. +Presently, coming to a milestone on which was graven nine miles, I rested +against it, and looking round towards the vast city, which had long +ceased to be visible, I fell into a train of meditation. + +I thought of all my ways and doings since the day of my first arrival in +that vast city—I had worked and toiled, and, though I had accomplished +nothing at all commensurate with the hopes which I had entertained +previous to my arrival, I had achieved my own living, preserved my +independence, and become indebted to no one. I was now quitting it, poor +in purse, it is true, but not wholly empty; rather ailing, it may be, but +not broken in health; and, with hope within my bosom, had I not cause +upon the whole to be thankful? Perhaps there were some who, arriving at +the same time under not more favourable circumstances, had accomplished +much more, and whose future was far more hopeful—Good! But there might +be others who, in spite of all their efforts, had been either trodden +down in the press, never more to be heard of, or were quitting that +mighty town broken in purse, broken in health, and, oh! with not one dear +hope to cheer them. Had I not, upon the whole, abundant cause to be +grateful? Truly, yes! + +My meditation over, I left the milestone and proceeded on my way in the +same direction as before until the night began to close in. I had always +been a good pedestrian; but now, whether owing to indisposition or to not +having for some time past been much in the habit of taking such lengthy +walks, I began to feel not a little weary. Just as I was thinking of +putting up for the night at the next inn or public-house I should arrive +at, I heard what sounded like a coach coming up rapidly behind me. +Induced, perhaps, by the weariness which I felt, I stopped and looked +wistfully in the direction of the sound; presently up came a coach, +seemingly a mail, drawn by four bounding horses—there was no one upon it +but the coachman and the guard; when nearly parallel with me it stopped. +“Want to get up?” sounded a voice, in the true coachman-like tone—half +querulous, half authoritative. I hesitated; I was tired, it is true, but +I had left London bound on a pedestrian excursion, and I did not much +like the idea of having recourse to a coach after accomplishing so very +inconsiderable a distance. “Come, we can’t be staying here all night,” +said the voice, more sharply than before. “I can ride a little way, and +get down whenever I like,” thought I; and springing forward I clambered +up the coach, and was going to sit down upon the box, next the coachman. +“No, no,” said the coachman, who was a man about thirty, with a hooked +nose and red face, dressed in a fashionably cut great coat, with a +fashionable black castor on his head. “No, no, keep behind—the box a’n’t +for the like of you,” said he, as he drove off; “the box is for lords, or +gentlemen at least.” I made no answer. “D--- that off-hand leader,” +said the coachman, as the right-hand front horse made a desperate start +at something he saw in the road; and, half rising, he with great +dexterity hit with his long whip the off-hand leader a cut on the off +cheek. “These seem to be fine horses,” said I. The coachman made no +answer. “Nearly thorough-bred,” I continued; the coachman drew his +breath, with a kind of hissing sound, through his teeth. “Come, young +fellow, none of your chaff. Don’t you think, because you ride on my +mail, I’m going to talk to you about ’orses. I talk to nobody about +’orses except lords.” “Well,” said I, “I have been called a lord in my +time.” “It must have been by a thimble-rigger, then,” said the coachman, +bending back, and half turning his face round with a broad leer. “You +have hit the mark wonderfully,” said I. “You coachmen, whatever else you +may be, are certainly no fools.” “We a’n’t, a’n’t we?” said the +coachman. “There you are right; and, to show you that you are, I’ll now +trouble you for your fare. If you have been amongst the thimble-riggers +you must be tolerably well cleared out. Where are you going?—to ---? I +think I have seen you there. The fare is sixteen shillings. Come, tip +us the blunt; them that has no money can’t ride on my mail.” + +Sixteen shillings was a large sum, and to pay it would make a +considerable inroad on my slender finances; I thought, at first, that I +would say I did not want to go so far; but then the fellow would ask at +once where I wanted to go, and I was ashamed to acknowledge my utter +ignorance of the road. I determined, therefore, to pay the fare, with a +tacit determination not to mount a coach in future without knowing +whither I was going. So I paid the man the money, who, turning round, +shouted to the guard—“All right, Jem; got fare to ---;” and forthwith +whipped on his horses, especially the off-hand leader, for whom he seemed +to entertain a particular spite, to greater speed than before—the horses +flew. + +A young moon gave a feeble light, partially illuminating a line of road +which, appearing by no means interesting, I the less regretted having +paid my money for the privilege of being hurried along it in the flying +vehicle. We frequently changed horses; and at last my friend the +coachman was replaced by another, the very image of himself—hawk nose, +red face, with narrow-rimmed hat and fashionable benjamin. After he had +driven about fifty yards, the new coachman fell to whipping one of the +horses. “D--- this near-hand wheeler,” said he, “the brute has got a +corn.” “Whipping him won’t cure him of his corn,” said I. “Who told you +to speak?” said the driver, with an oath; “mind your own business; +’tisn’t from the like of you I am to learn to drive ’orses.” Presently I +fell into a broken kind of slumber. In an hour or two I was aroused by a +rough voice—“Got to --- young man; get down if you please.” I opened my +eyes—there was a dim and indistinct light, like that which precedes dawn; +the coach was standing still in something like a street; just below me +stood the guard. “Do you mean to get down,” said he, “or will you keep +us here till morning? other fares want to get up.” Scarcely knowing what +I did, I took my bundle and stick and descended, whilst two people +mounted. “All right, John,” said the guard to the coachman, springing up +behind; whereupon off whisked the coach, one or two individuals who were +standing by disappeared, and I was left alone. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + + +The Still Hour—A Thrill—The Wondrous Circle—The Shepherd—Heaps and +Barrows—What do you Mean?—Milk of the Plains—Hengist spared it—No +Presents. + +After standing still a minute or two, considering what I should do, I +moved down what appeared to be the street of a small straggling town; +presently I passed by a church, which rose indistinctly on my right hand; +anon there was the rustling of foliage and the rushing of waters. I +reached a bridge, beneath which a small stream was running in the +direction of the south. I stopped and leaned over the parapet, for I +have always loved to look upon streams, especially at the still hours. +“What stream is this, I wonder?” said I, as I looked down from the +parapet into the water, which whirled and gurgled below. + +Leaving the bridge, I ascended a gentle acclivity, and presently reached +what appeared to be a tract of moory undulating ground. It was now +tolerably light, but there was a mist or haze abroad which prevented my +seeing objects with much precision. I felt chill in the damp air of the +early morn, and walked rapidly forward. In about half an hour I arrived +where the road divided into two, at an angle or tongue of dark green +sward. “To the right or the left?” said I, and forthwith took, without +knowing why, the left-hand road, along which I proceeded about a hundred +yards, when, in the midst of the tongue of sward formed by the two roads, +collaterally with myself, I perceived what I at first conceived to be a +small grove of blighted trunks of oaks, barked and grey. I stood still +for a moment, and then, turning off the road, advanced slowly towards it +over the sward; as I drew nearer, I perceived that the objects which had +attracted my curiosity, and which formed a kind of circle, were not +trees, but immense upright stones. A thrill pervaded my system; just +before me were two, the mightiest of the whole, tall as the stems of +proud oaks, supporting on their tops a huge transverse stone, and forming +a wonderful doorway. I knew now where I was, and, laying down my stick +and bundle, and taking off my hat, I advanced slowly, and cast myself—it +was folly, perhaps, but I could not help what I did—cast myself, with my +face on the dewy earth, in the middle of the portal of giants, beneath +the transverse stone. + +The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me! + +And after I had remained with my face on the ground for some time, I +arose, placed my hat on my head, and, taking up my stick and bundle, +wandered around the wondrous circle, examining each individual stone, +from the greatest to the least; and then, entering by the great door, +seated myself upon an immense broad stone, one side of which was +supported by several small ones, and the other slanted upon the earth; +and there in deep meditation, I sat for an hour or two, till the sun +shone in my face above the tall stones of the eastern side. + +And as I still sat there, I heard the noise of bells, and presently a +large number of sheep came browzing past the circle of stones; two or +three entered, and grazed upon what they could find, and soon a man also +entered the circle at the northern side. + +“Early here, sir,” said the man, who was tall, and dressed in a dark +green slop, and had all the appearance of a shepherd; “a traveller, I +suppose?” + +“Yes,” said I, “I am a traveller; are these sheep yours?” + +“They are, sir; that is, they are my master’s. A strange place this, +sir,” said he, looking at the stones; “ever here before?” + +“Never in body, frequently in mind.” + +“Heard of the stones, I suppose; no wonder—all the people of the plain +talk of them.” + +“What do the people of the plain say of them?” + +“Why, they say—How did they ever come here?” + +“Do they not suppose them to have been brought?” + +“Who should have brought them?” + +“I have read that they were brought by many thousand men.” + +“Where from?” + +“Ireland.” + +“How did they bring them?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“And what did they bring them for?” + +“To form a temple, perhaps.” + +“What is that?” + +“A place to worship God in.” + +“A strange place to worship God in.” + +“Why?” + +“It has no roof.” + +“Yes, it has.” + +“Where?” said the man, looking up. + +“What do you see above you?” + +“The sky.” + +“Well?” + +“Well!” + +“Have you anything to say?” + +“How did those stones come here?” + +“Are there other stones like these on the plains?” said I. + +“None; and yet there are plenty of strange things on these downs.” + +“What are they?” + +“Strange heaps, and barrows, and great walls of earth built on the top of +hills.” + +“Do the people of the plain wonder how they came there?” + +“They do not.” + +“Why?” + +“They were raised by hands.” + +“And these stones?” + +“How did they ever come here?” + +“I wonder whether they are here?” said I. + +“These stones?” + +“Yes.” + +“So sure as the world,” said the man; “and as the world, they will stand +as long.” + +“I wonder whether there is a world.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“An earth and sea, moon and stars, sheep and men.” + +“Do you doubt it?” + +“Sometimes.” + +“I never heard it doubted before.” + +“It is impossible there should be a world.” + +“It ain’t possible there shouldn’t be a world.” + +“Just so.” At this moment a fine ewe attended by a lamb, rushed into the +circle and fondled the knees of the shepherd. “I suppose you would not +care to have some milk,” said the man. + +“Why do you suppose so?” + +“Because, so be, there be no sheep, no milk, you know; and what there +ben’t is not worth having.” + +“You could not have argued better,” said I; “that is, supposing you have +argued; with respect to the milk you may do as you please.” + +“Be still, Nanny,” said the man; and producing a tin vessel from his +scrip, he milked the ewe into it. “Here is milk of the plains, master,” +said the man, as he handed the vessel to me. + +“Where are those barrows and great walls of earth you were speaking of,” +said I, after I had drunk some of the milk; “are there any near where we +are?” + +“Not within many miles; the nearest is yonder away,” said the shepherd, +pointing to the south-east. “It’s a grand place, that, but not like +this; quite different, and from it you have a sight of the finest spire +in the world.” + +“I must go to it,” said I, and I drank the remainder of the milk; +“yonder, you say.” + +“Yes, yonder; but you cannot get to it in that direction, the river lies +between.” + +“What river?” + +“The Avon.” + +“Avon is British,” said I. + +“Yes,” said the man, “we are all British here.” + +“No, we are not,” said I. + +“What are we then?” + +“English.” + +“A’n’t they one?” + +“No.” + +“Who were the British?” + +“The men who are supposed to have worshipped God in this place, and who +raised these stones.” + +“Where are they now?” + +“Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood all about, +especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their pleasant places, and +left not, to use their own words, one stone upon another.” + +“Yes, they did,” said the shepherd, looking aloft at the transverse +stone. + +“And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, which English +hands never raised, is by English hands thrown down, woe, woe, woe to the +English race; spare it, English! Hengist spared it!—Here is sixpence.” + +“I won’t have it,” said the man. + +“Why not?” + +“You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to know all about +them.” + +“I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I say with +yourself, How did they ever come here?” + +“How did they ever come here?” said the shepherd. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + + +The River—Arid Downs—A Prospect. + +Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed out by him +as that in which the most remarkable of the strange remains of which he +had spoken lay. I proceeded rapidly, making my way over the downs +covered with coarse grass and fern; with respect to the river of which he +had spoken, I reflected that, either by wading or swimming, I could +easily transfer myself and what I bore to the opposite side. On arriving +at its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow, with here and +there a deep place, where the water ran dark and still. + +Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into one of these +gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a glow, and tingling with +delicious sensations. After conveying my clothes and scanty baggage to +the farther side, I dressed, and then with hurried steps bent my course +in the direction of some lofty ground; I at length found myself on a high +road, leading over wide and arid downs; following the road for some miles +without seeing anything remarkable, I supposed at length that I had taken +the wrong path, and wended on slowly and disconsolately for some time, +till, having nearly surmounted a steep hill, I knew at once, from certain +appearances, that I was near the object of my search. Turning to the +right near the brow of the hill, I proceeded along a path which brought +me to a causeway leading over a deep ravine, and connecting the hill with +another which had once formed part of it, for the ravine was evidently +the work of art. I passed over the causeway, and found myself in a kind +of gateway which admitted me into a square space of many acres, +surrounded on all sides by mounds or ramparts of earth. Though I had +never been in such a place before, I knew that I stood within the +precincts of what had been a Roman encampment, and one probably of the +largest size, for many thousand warriors might have found room to perform +their evolutions in that space, in which corn was now growing, the green +ears waving in the morning wind. + +After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the gateway +formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the left hand, and on +the top of that mound I found myself at a great altitude; beneath, at the +distance of a mile, was a fair old city, situated amongst verdant +meadows, watered with streams, and from the heart of that old city, from +amidst mighty trees, I beheld towering to the sky the finest spire in the +world. + +After I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I hurried +away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, regained the road, and, +passing over the brow of the hill, descended to the city of the spire. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + + +The Hostelry—Life Uncertain—Open Countenance—The Grand Point—Thank You, +Master—A Hard Mother—Poor Dear!—Considerable Odds—The Better +Country—English Fashion—Landlord-looking Person. + +And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I best +could—inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating and drinking when I +felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the digestive organs having +assumed a tone to which for many months they had been strangers—enjoying +at night balmy sleep in a large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a +corridor, in a certain hostelry in which I had taken up my +quarters—receiving from the people of the hostelry such civility and +condescension as people who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who +nevertheless are perceived to be not altogether destitute of coin, are in +the habit of receiving. On the third day, on a fine sunny afternoon, I +departed from the city of the spire. + +As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a sudden, a +respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several persons hastened +to her assistance. “She is dead,” said one. “No, she is not,” said +another. “I am afraid she is,” said a third. “Life is very uncertain,” +said a fourth. “It is Mrs. ---,” said a fifth; “let us carry her to her +own house.” Not being able to render any assistance, I left the poor +female in the hands of her townsfolk, and proceeded on my way. I had +chosen a road in the direction of the north-west, it led over downs where +corn was growing, but where neither tree nor hedge was to be seen; two or +three hours’ walking brought me to a beautiful valley, abounding with +trees of various kinds, with a delightful village at its farthest +extremity; passing through it I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of +which I sat down on a bank, and taking off my hat, permitted a breeze, +which swept coolly and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair, +dripping from the effects of exercise and the heat of the day. + +And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the downs +before me, a man came along the road in the direction in which I had +hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he stopped, and, looking at +me, cried—“Am I right for London, master?” + +He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between twenty-five and +thirty years of age—he had an open manly countenance, and there was a +bold and fearless expression in his eye. + +“Yes,” said I, in reply to his question; “this is one of the ways to +London. Do you come from far?” + +“From ---,” said the man, naming a well-known sea-port. + +“Is this the direct road to London from that place?” I demanded. + +“No,” said the man; “but I had to visit two or three other places on +certain commissions I was entrusted with; amongst others to ---, where I +had to take a small sum of money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you +please, I will sit down beside you.” + +“You have as much right to sit down here as I have,” said I, “the road is +free for every one; as for sitting down beside me, you have the look of +an honest man, and I have no objection to your company.” + +“Why, as for being honest, master,” said the man, laughing and sitting +down beside me, “I hav’n’t much to say—many is the wild thing I have done +when I was younger; however, what is done, is done. To learn, one must +live, master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand point of +wisdom.” + +“What is that?” said I. + +“That honesty is the best policy, master.” + +“You appear to be a sailor,” said I, looking at his dress. + +“I was not bred a sailor,” said the man, “though, when my foot is on the +salt water, I can play the part—and play it well too. I am now from a +long voyage.” + +“From America?” said I. + +“Farther than that,” said the man. + +“Have you any objection to tell me?” said I. + +“From New South Wales,” said the man, looking me full in the face. + +“Dear me,” said I. + +“Why do you say ‘Dear me’?” said the man. + +“It is a very long way off,” said I. + +“Was that your reason for saying so?” said the man. + +“Not exactly,” said I. + +“No,” said the man, with something of a bitter smile; “it was something +else that made you say so; you were thinking of the convicts.” + +“Well,” said I, “what then—you are no convict.” + +“How do you know?” + +“You do not look like one.” + +“Thank you, master,” said the man cheerfully; “and, to a certain extent, +you are right,—bygones are bygones—I am no longer what I was, nor ever +will be again; the truth, however, is the truth—a convict I have been—a +convict at Sydney Cove.” + +“And you have served out the period for which you were sentenced, and are +now returned?” + +“As to serving out my sentence,” replied the man, “I can’t say that I +did; I was sentenced for fourteen years, and I was in Sydney Cove little +more than half that time. The truth is that I did the Government a +service. There was a conspiracy amongst some of the convicts to murder +and destroy—I overheard and informed the Government; mind one thing, +however, I was not concerned in it; those who got it up were no comrades +of mine, but a bloody gang of villains. Well, the Government, in +consideration of the service I had done them, remitted the remainder of +my sentence; and some kind gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave +me good books and good advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct, +procured me employ in an exploring expedition, by which I earned money. +In fact, the being sent to Sydney was the best thing that ever happened +to me in all my life.” + +“And you have now returned to your native country. Longing to see home +brought you from New South Wales.” + +“There you are mistaken,” said the man. “Wish to see England again would +never have brought me so far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England +was a hard mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see +another kind of mother—a poor old woman whose son I am—has brought me +back.” + +“You have a mother, then?” said I. “Does she reside in London?” + +“She used to live in London,” said the man; “but I am afraid she is long +since dead.” + +“How did she support herself?” said I. + +“Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep a small stall +on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she is dead, and that +she died perhaps in misery. She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved +her, and she loved me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of +seeing her.” + +“Did you ever write to her,” said I, “or cause others to write to her?” + +“I wrote to her myself,” said the man, “about two years ago; but I never +received an answer. I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the +assistance of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do +that very well before I went—my poor mother taught me to read, out of a +book that she was very fond of; a strange book it was, I remember. Poor +dear!—what would I give only to know that she is alive.” + +“Life is very uncertain,” said I. + +“That is true,” said the man, with a sigh. + +“We are here one moment, and gone the next,” I continued. “As I passed +through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman +drop down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had +a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time.” + +“Who knows, indeed,” said the man. “Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead. +Well, God’s will be done.” + +“However,” said I, “I should not wonder at your finding your mother +alive.” + +“You wouldn’t?” said the man, looking at me wistfully. + +“I should not wonder at all,” said I; “indeed something within me seems +to tell me you will; I should not much mind betting five shillings to +five pence that you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend, +five shillings to five pence—” + +“Is very considerable odds,” said the man, rubbing his hands; “sure you +must have good reason to hope, when you are willing to give such odds.” + +“After all,” said I, “it not unfrequently happens that those who lay the +long odds lose. Let us hope, however. What do you mean to do in the +event of finding your mother alive?” + +“I scarcely know,” said the man; “I have frequently thought that if I +found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade her to accompany me to +the country which I have left—it is a better country for a man—that is a +free man—to live in than this; however, let me first find my mother—if I +could only find my mother—” + +“Farewell,” said I, rising. “Go your way, and God go with you—I will go +mine.” “I have but one thing to ask you,” said the man. “What is that?” +I inquired. “That you would drink with me before we part—you have done +me so much good.” “How should we drink?” said I; “we are on the top of a +hill where there is nothing to drink.” “But there is a village below,” +said the man; “do let us drink before we part.” “I have been through +that village already,” said I, “and I do not like turning back.” “Ah,” +said the man sorrowfully, “you will not drink with me because I told you +I was—” + +“You are quite mistaken,” said I, “I would as soon drink with a convict +as with a judge. I am by no means certain that, under the same +circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict. Come +along! I will go back to oblige you. I have an odd sixpence in my +pocket, which I will change, that I may drink with you.” So we went down +the hill together to the village through which I had already passed, +where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true English fashion, +after which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I mine. + +After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I rested for +the night. The next morning I set out again in the direction of the +north-west. I continued journeying for four days, my daily journeys +varying from twenty to twenty-five miles. During this time nothing +occurred to me worthy of any especial notice. The weather was brilliant, +and I rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On the fifth day, +about two o’clock, I arrived at a small town. Feeling hungry, I entered +a decent-looking inn—within a kind of bar I saw a huge, fat, +landlord-looking person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed maiden. +Addressing myself to the fat man, “House!” said I, “house! Can I have +dinner, house?” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + + +Primitive Habits—Rosy-faced Damsel—A Pleasant Moment—Suit of Black—The +Furtive Glance—The Mighty Round—Degenerate Times—The Newspaper—The Evil +Chance—I Congratulate You. + +“Young gentleman,” said the huge fat landlord, “you are come at the right +time; dinner will be taken up in a few minutes, and such a dinner,” he +continued, rubbing his hands, “as you will not see every day in these +times.” + +“I am hot and dusty,” said I, “and should wish to cool my hands and +face.” + +“Jenny!” said the huge landlord, with the utmost gravity, “show the +gentleman into number seven, that he may wash his hands and face.” + +“By no means,” said I, “I am a person of primitive habits, and there is +nothing like the pump in weather like this.” + +“Jenny!” said the landlord, with the same gravity as before, “go with the +young gentleman to the pump in the back kitchen, and take a clean towel +along with you.” + +Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a drawer, and +producing a large, thick, but snowy-white towel, she nodded to me to +follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a long passage into the +back kitchen. + +And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and going to it I +placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, “Pump, Jenny;” and Jenny +incontinently, without laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and I +washed and cooled my heated hands. + +And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my neckcloth, and +unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head beneath the spout of the +pump, and I said unto Jenny, “Now, Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump +for your life.” + +Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the handle of +the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as handmaid had never +pumped before; so that the water poured in torrents from my head, my +face, and my hair down upon the brick floor. + +And after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called out with a +half-strangled voice, “Hold, Jenny!” and Jenny desisted. I stood for a +few moments to recover my breath, then taking the towel which Jenny +proffered, I dried composedly my hands and head, my face and hair; then, +returning the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said, “Surely this +is one of the pleasant moments of life.” + +Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair with a pocket +comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back through the long passage, +and showed me into a neat sanded parlour on the ground floor. + +I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; presently +in came the handmaid, and commenced laying the table-cloth. “Shall I +spread the table for one, sir,” said she, “or do you expect anybody to +dine with you?” + +“I can’t say that I expect anybody,” said I, laughing inwardly to myself; +“however, if you please you can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance +of mine should chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for +him.” + +So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty street, and +now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which adorned the wall over +against me. I fell into a kind of doze, from which I was almost +instantly awakened by the opening of the door. Dinner, thought I; and I +sat upright in my chair. No, a man of the middle age, and rather above +the middle height dressed in a plain suit of black, made his appearance, +and sat down in a chair at some distance from me, but near to the table, +and appeared to be lost in thought. + +“The weather is very warm, sir,” said I. + +“Very,” said the stranger, laconically, looking at me for the first time. + +“Would you like to see the newspaper?” said I, taking up one which lay +upon the window seat. + +“I never read newspapers,” said the stranger, “nor, indeed—.” Whatever +it might be that he had intended to say he left unfinished. Suddenly he +walked to the mantel-piece at the farther end of the room, before which +he placed himself with his back towards me. There he remained motionless +for some time; at length, raising his hand, he touched the corner of the +mantel-piece with his finger, advanced towards the chair which he had +left, and again seated himself. + +“Have you come far?” said he, suddenly looking towards me, and speaking +in a frank and open manner, which denoted a wish to enter into +conversation. “You do not seem to be of this place.” + +“I come from some distance,” said I; “indeed I am walking for exercise, +which I find as necessary to the mind as the body. I believe that by +exercise people would escape much mental misery.” + +Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his hand, with +seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the glasses; after a +moment or two he touched the glass as if inadvertently, then, glancing +furtively at me, he withdrew his hand and looked towards the window. + +“Are you from these parts?” said I at last, with apparent carelessness. + +“From this vicinity,” replied the stranger. “You think, then, that it is +as easy to walk off the bad humours of the mind as of the body?” + +“I, at least, am walking in that hope,” said I. + +“I wish you may be successful,” said the stranger; and here he touched +one of the forks which lay on the table near him. + +Here the door, which was slightly ajar, was suddenly pushed open with +some fracas, and in came the stout landlord, supporting with some +difficulty an immense dish, in which was a mighty round mass of smoking +meat garnished all round with vegetables; so high was the mass that it +probably obstructed his view, for it was not until he had placed it upon +the table that he appeared to observe the stranger; he almost started, +and quite out of breath exclaimed, “God bless me, your honour; is your +honour the acquaintance that the young gentleman was expecting?” + +“Is the young gentleman expecting an acquaintance?” said the stranger. + +There is nothing like putting a good face upon these matters, thought I +to myself; and, getting up, I bowed to the unknown. “Sir,” said I, “when +I told Jenny that she might lay the table-cloth for two, so that in the +event of any acquaintance dropping in he might find a knife and fork +ready for him, I was merely jocular, being an entire stranger in these +parts, and expecting no one. Fortune, however, it would seem, has been +unexpectedly kind to me; I flatter myself, sir, that since you have been +in this room I have had the honour of making your acquaintance; and in +the strength of that hope I humbly entreat you to honour me with your +company to dinner, provided you have not already dined.” + +The stranger laughed outright. + +“Sir,” I continued, “the round of beef is a noble one, and seems +exceedingly well boiled, and the landlord was just right when he said I +should have such a dinner as is not seen every day. A round of beef, at +any rate such a round of beef as this, is seldom seen smoking upon the +table in these degenerate times. Allow me, sir,” said I, observing that +the stranger was about to speak, “allow me another remark. I think I saw +you just now touch the fork, I venture to hail it as an omen that you +will presently seize it, and apply it to its proper purpose, and its +companion the knife also.” + +The stranger changed colour, and gazed upon me in silence. + +“Do, sir,” here put in the landlord; “do, sir, accept the young +gentleman’s invitation. Your honour has of late been looking poorly, and +the young gentleman is a funny young gentleman, and a clever young +gentleman; and I think it will do your honour good to have a dinner’s +chat with the young gentleman.” + +“It is not my dinner hour,” said the stranger; “I dine considerably +later; taking anything now would only discompose me; I shall, however, be +most happy to sit down with the young gentleman; reach me that paper, +and, when the young gentleman has satisfied his appetite, we may perhaps +have a little chat together.” + +The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, retired with +his maid Jenny. I helped myself to a portion of the smoking round, and +commenced eating with no little appetite. The stranger appeared to be +soon engrossed with the newspaper. We continued thus a considerable +time—the one reading and the other dining. Chancing suddenly to cast my +eyes upon the stranger, I saw his brow contract; he gave a slight stamp +with his foot, and flung the newspaper to the ground, then stooping down +he picked it up, first moving his fore finger along the floor, seemingly +slightly scratching it with his nail. + +“Do you hope, sir,” said I, “by that ceremony with the finger to preserve +yourself from the evil chance?” + +The stranger started; then, after looking at me for some time in silence, +he said, “Is it possible that you—?” + +“Ay, ay,” said I, helping myself to some more of the round, “I have +touched myself in my younger days, both for the evil chance and the good. +Can’t say, though, that I ever trusted much in the ceremony.” + +The stranger made no reply, but appeared to be in deep thought; nothing +further passed between us until I had concluded the dinner, when I said +to him, “I shall now be most happy, sir, to have the pleasure of your +conversation over a pint of wine.” + +The stranger rose; “No, my young friend,” said he, smiling, “that would +scarce be fair. It is my turn now—pray do me the favour to go home with +me, and accept what hospitality my poor roof can offer; to tell you the +truth, I wish to have some particular discourse with you which would +hardly be possible in this place. As for wine, I can give you some much +better than you can get here: the landlord is an excellent fellow, but he +is an inn-keeper, after all. I am going out for a moment, and will send +him in, so that you may settle your account; I trust you will not refuse +me, I only live about two miles from here.” + +I looked in the face of the stranger—it was a fine intelligent face, with +a cast of melancholy in it. “Sir,” said I, “I would go with you though +you lived four miles instead of two.” + +“Who is that gentleman?” said I to the landlord, after I had settled his +bill; “I am going home with him.” + +“I wish I were going too,” said the fat landlord, laying his hand upon +his stomach. “Young gentleman, I shall be a loser by his honour’s taking +you away; but, after all, the truth is the truth—there are few gentlemen +in these parts like his honour, either for learning or welcoming his +friends. Young gentleman, I congratulate you.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + + +New Acquaintance—Old French Style—The Portrait—Taciturnity—The Evergreen +Tree—The Dark Hour—The Flash—Ancestors—A Fortunate Man—A Posthumous +Child—Antagonistic Ideas—The Hawks—Flaws—The Pony—Irresistible +Impulse—Favourable Crisis—The Topmost Branch—Twenty Feet—Heartily +Ashamed. + +I found the stranger awaiting me at the door of the inn. “Like yourself, +I am fond of walking,” said he, “and when any little business calls me to +this place I generally come on foot.” + +We were soon out of the town, and in a very beautiful country. After +proceeding some distance on the high road, we turned off, and were +presently in one of those mazes of lanes for which England is famous; the +stranger at first seemed inclined to be taciturn; a few observations, +however, which I made, appeared to rouse him, and he soon exhibited not +only considerable powers of observation, but stores of information which +surprised me. So pleased did I become with my new acquaintance, that I +soon ceased to pay the slightest attention either to place or distance. +At length the stranger was silent, and I perceived that we had arrived at +a handsome iron gate and lodge; the stranger having rung a bell, the gate +was opened by an old man, and we proceeded along a gravel path, which in +about five minutes brought us to a large brick house, built something in +the old French style, having a spacious lawn before it, and immediately +in front a pond in which were golden fish, and in the middle a stone swan +discharging quantities of water from its bill. We ascended a spacious +flight of steps to the door, which was at once flung open, and two +servants with powdered hair, and in livery of blue plush, came out and +stood one on either side as we passed the threshold. We entered a large +hall, and the stranger, taking me by the hand, welcomed me to his poor +home, as he called it, and then gave orders to another servant, but out +of livery, to show me to an apartment, and give me whatever assistance I +might require in my toilette. Notwithstanding the plea as to primitive +habits which I had lately made to my other host in the town, I offered no +objection to this arrangement, but followed the bowing domestic to a +spacious and airy chamber, where he rendered me all those little nameless +offices which the somewhat neglected state of my dress required. When +everything had been completed to my perfect satisfaction, he told me that +if I pleased he would conduct me to the library, where dinner would be +speedily served. + +In the library I found a table laid for two; my host was not there, +having as I supposed not been quite so speedy with his toilette as his +guest. Left alone, I looked round the apartment with inquiring eyes; it +was long and tolerably lofty, the walls from the top to the bottom were +lined with cases containing books of all sizes and bindings; there were a +globe or two, a couch, and an easy chair. Statues and busts there were +none, and only one painting, a portrait, that of my host, but not him of +the mansion. Over the mantel-piece, the features staringly like, but so +ridiculously exaggerated that they scarcely resembled those of a human +being, daubed evidently by the hand of the commonest sign-artist, hung a +half-length portrait of him of round of beef celebrity—my sturdy host of +the town. + +I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as I best +could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed his +taciturnity—scarce a word escaped his lips till dinner was served, when +he said, smiling, “I suppose it would be merely a compliment to ask you +to partake?” + +“I don’t know,” said I, seating myself; “your first course consists of +troutlets, I am fond of troutlets, and I always like to be +companionable.” + +The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to it from the +circumstance of having already dined; the stranger also, though without +my excuse, partook but slightly of the good cheer; he still continued +taciturn, and appeared lost in thought, and every attempt which I made to +induce him to converse was signally unsuccessful. + +And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I remember that +the wine was good, and fully justified the encomiums of my host of the +town. Over the wine I made sure that my entertainer would have loosened +the chain which seemed to tie his tongue—but no! I endeavoured to tempt +him by various topics, and talked of geometry and the use of the globes, +of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter, which I said I had heard +was a very large star, also of the evergreen tree, which, according to +Olaus, stood of old before the heathen temple of Upsal, and which I +affirmed was a yew—but no, nothing that I said could induce my +entertainer to relax his taciturnity. + +It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable. “I must presently be going,” I +at last exclaimed. + +At these words he gave a sudden start; “Going,” said he, “are you not my +guest, and an honoured one?” + +“You know best,” said I; “but I was apprehensive I was an intruder; to +several of my questions you have returned no answer.” + +“Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed, seizing me by the hand; “but you +cannot go now, I have much to talk to you about—there is one thing in +particular—” + +“If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal,” said I, interrupting him, “I hold +it to have been a yew—what else? The evergreens of the south, as the old +bishop observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted for +such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it have been but +the yew—the sacred yew which our ancestors were in the habit of planting +in their churchyards? Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the +honour of the tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would +have one growing before my front window.” + +“You would do right; the yew is indeed a venerable tree, but it is not +about the yew.” + +“The star Jupiter, perhaps?” + +“Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation which escaped you at +the inn has made a considerable impression upon me.” + +“But I really must take my departure,” said I; “the dark hour is at +hand.” + +And as I uttered these last words, the stranger touched rapidly something +which lay near him I forget what it was. It was the first action of the +kind which I had observed on his part since we sat down to table. + +“You allude to the evil chance,” said I; “but it is getting both dark and +late.” + +“I believe we are going to have a storm,” said my friend, “but I really +hope that you will give me your company for a day or two; I have, as I +said before, much to talk to you about.” + +“Well,” said I, “I shall be most happy to be your guest for this night; I +am ignorant of the country, and it is not pleasant to travel unknown +paths by night—dear me, what a flash of lightning!” + +It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet lightning illumed the +room. By the momentary light I distinctly saw my host touch another +object upon the table. + +“Will you allow me to ask you a question or two?” said he at last. + +“As many as you please,” said I; “but shall we not have lights?” + +“Not unless you particularly wish it,” said my entertainer; “I rather +like the dark, and though a storm is evidently at hand, neither thunder +nor lightning has any terrors for me. It is other things I quake at—I +should rather say ideas. Now permit me to ask you—” + +And then my entertainer asked me various questions, to all of which I +answered unreservedly; he was then silent for some time, at last he +exclaimed, “I should wish to tell you the history of my life—though not +an adventurous one, I think it contains some things which will interest +you.” + +Without waiting for my reply he began. Amidst darkness and gloom, +occasionally broken by flashes of lightning, the stranger related to me, +as we sat at the table in the library, his truly touching history. + +“Before proceeding to relate the events of my life, it will not be amiss +to give you some account of my ancestors. My great grandfather on the +male side was a silk mercer, in Cheapside, who, when he died, left his +son, who was his only child, a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds, +and a splendid business; the son, however, had no inclination for trade, +the summit of his ambition was to be a country gentleman, to found a +family, and to pass the remainder of his days in rural ease and dignity, +and all this he managed to accomplish; he disposed of his business, +purchased a beautiful and extensive estate for four score thousand +pounds, built upon it the mansion to which I had the honour of welcoming +you to-day, married the daughter of a neighbouring squire, who brought +him a fortune of five thousand pounds, became a magistrate, and only +wanted a son and heir to make him completely happy; this blessing, it is +true, was for a long time denied him; it came, however, at last, as is +usual, when least expected. His lady was brought to bed of my father, +and then who so happy a man as my grandsire; he gave away two thousand +pounds in charities, and in the joy of his heart made a speech at the +next quarter sessions; the rest of his life was spent in ease, +tranquillity, and rural dignity; he died of apoplexy on the day that my +father became of age; perhaps it would be difficult to mention a man who +in all respects was so fortunate as my grandfather; his death was sudden, +it is true, but I am not one of those who pray to be delivered from a +sudden death. + +“I should not call my father a fortunate man; it is true that he had the +advantage of a first-rate education; that he made the grand tour with a +private tutor, as was the fashion at that time; that he came to a +splendid fortune on the very day that he came of age; that for many years +he tasted all the diversions of the capital; that, at last determined to +settle, he married the sister of a baronet, an amiable and accomplished +lady, with a large fortune; that he had the best stud of hunters in the +county, on which, during the season, he followed the fox gallantly; had +he been a fortunate man he would never have cursed his fate, as he was +frequently known to do; ten months after his marriage his horse fell upon +him, and so injured him, that he expired in a few days in great agony. +My grandfather was, indeed, a fortunate man; when he died he was followed +to the grave by the tears of the poor—my father was not. + +“Two remarkable circumstances are connected with my birth—I am a +posthumous child, and came into the world some weeks before the usual +time, the shock which my mother experienced at my father’s death having +brought on the pangs of premature labour; both my mother’s life and my +own were at first despaired of; we both, however, survived the crisis. +My mother loved me with the most passionate fondness, and I was brought +up in this house under her own eye—I was never sent to school. + +“I have already told you that mine is not a tale of adventure; my life +has not been one of action, but of wild imaginings and strange +sensations; I was born with excessive sensibility, and that has been my +bane. I have not been a fortunate man. + +“No one is fortunate unless he is happy, and it is impossible for a being +constructed like myself to be happy for an hour, or even enjoy peace and +tranquillity; most of our pleasures and pains are the effects of +imagination, and wherever the sensibility is great, the imagination is +great also. No sooner has my imagination raised up an image of pleasure, +than it is sure to conjure up one of distress and gloom; these two +antagonistic ideas instantly commence a struggle in my mind, and the +gloomy one generally, I may say invariably, prevails. How is it possible +that I should be a happy man? + +“It has invariably been so with me from the earliest period that I can +remember; the first playthings that were given me caused me for a few +minutes excessive pleasure; they were pretty and glittering; presently, +however, I became anxious and perplexed; I wished to know their history, +how they were made, and what of—were the materials precious; I was not +satisfied with their outward appearance. In less than an hour I had +broken the playthings in an attempt to discover what they were made of. + +“When I was eight years of age my uncle the baronet, who was also my +godfather, sent me a pair of Norway hawks, with directions for managing +them; he was a great fowler. Oh, how rejoiced was I with the present +which had been made me, my joy lasted for at least five minutes; I would +let them breed, I would have a house of hawks; yes, that I would—but—and +here came the unpleasant idea—suppose they were to fly away, how very +annoying! Ah, but, said hope, there’s little fear of that; feed them +well and they will never fly away, or if they do they will come back, my +uncle says so; so sunshine triumphed for a little time. Then the +strangest of all doubts came into my head; I doubted the legality of my +tenure of these hawks; how did I come by them? why, my uncle gave them to +me, but how did they come into his possession? what right had he to them? +after all, they might not be his to give.—I passed a sleepless night. +The next morning I found that the man who brought the hawks had not +departed. ‘How came my uncle by these hawks?’ I anxiously inquired. +‘They were sent to him from Norway, master, with another pair.’ ‘And who +sent them?’ ‘That I don’t know, master, but I suppose his honour can +tell you.’ I was even thinking of scrawling a letter to my uncle to make +inquiry on this point, but shame restrained me, and I likewise reflected +that it would be impossible for him to give my mind entire satisfaction; +it is true he could tell who sent him the hawks, but how was he to know +how the hawks came into the possession of those who sent them to him, and +by what right they possessed them or the parents of the hawks. In a +word, I wanted a clear valid title, as lawyers would say, to my hawks, +and I believe no title would have satisfied me that did not extend up to +the time of the first hawk, that is, prior to Adam; and, could I have +obtained such a title, I make no doubt that, young as I was, I should +have suspected that it was full of flaws. + +“I was now disgusted with the hawks, and no wonder, seeing all the +disquietude they had caused me; I soon totally neglected the poor birds, +and they would have starved had not some of the servants taken compassion +upon them and fed them. My uncle, soon hearing of my neglect, was angry, +and took the birds away; he was a very good-natured man, however, and +soon sent me a fine pony; at first I was charmed with the pony, soon, +however, the same kind of thoughts arose which had disgusted me on a +former occasion. How did my uncle become possessed of the pony? This +question I asked him the first time I saw him. Oh, he had bought it of a +gypsy, that I might learn to ride upon it. A gypsy; I had heard that +gypsies were great thieves, and I instantly began to fear that the gypsy +had stolen the pony, and it is probable that for this apprehension I had +better grounds than for many others. I instantly ceased to set any value +upon the pony, but for that reason, perhaps, I turned it to some account; +I mounted it and rode it about, which I don’t think I should have done +had I looked upon it as a secure possession. Had I looked upon my title +as secure, I should have prized it so much, that I should scarcely have +mounted it for fear of injuring the animal; but now, caring not a straw +for it, I rode it most unmercifully, and soon became a capital rider. +This was very selfish in me, and I tell the fact with shame. I was +punished, however, as I deserved; the pony had a spirit of its own, and, +moreover, it had belonged to gypsies; once, as I was riding it furiously +over the lawn, applying both whip and spur, it suddenly lifted up its +heels, and flung me at least five yards over its head. I received some +desperate contusions, and was taken up for dead; it was many months +before I perfectly recovered. + +“But it is time for me to come to the touching part of my story. There +was one thing that I loved better than the choicest gift which could be +bestowed upon me, better than life itself—my mother;—at length she became +unwell, and the thought that I might possibly lose her now rushed into my +mind for the first time; it was terrible, and caused me unspeakable +misery, I may say horror. My mother became worse, and I was not allowed +to enter her apartment, lest by my frantic exclamations of grief I might +aggravate her disorder. I rested neither day nor night, but roamed about +the house like one distracted. Suddenly I found myself doing that which +even at the time struck me as being highly singular; I found myself +touching particular objects that were near me, and to which my fingers +seemed to be attracted by an irresistible impulse. It was now the table +or the chair that I was compelled to touch; now the bell-rope; now the +handle of the door; now I would touch the wall, and the next moment +stooping down, I would place the point of my finger upon the floor: and +so I continued to do day after day; frequently I would struggle to resist +the impulse, but invariably in vain. I have even rushed away from the +object, but I was sure to return, the impulse was too strong to be +resisted: I quickly hurried back, compelled by the feeling within me to +touch the object. Now I need not tell you that what impelled me to these +actions was the desire to prevent my mother’s death; whenever I touched +any particular object, it was with the view of baffling the evil chance, +as you would call it—in this instance my mother’s death. + +“A favourable crisis occurred in my mother’s complaint, and she +recovered; this crisis took place about six o’clock in the morning; +almost simultaneously with it there happened to myself a rather +remarkable circumstance connected with the nervous feeling which was +rioting in my system. I was lying in bed in a kind of uneasy doze, the +only kind of rest which my anxiety, on account of my mother, permitted me +at this time to take, when all at once I sprang up as if electrified, the +mysterious impulse was upon me, and it urged me to go without delay, and +climb a stately elm behind the house, and touch the topmost branch; +otherwise—you know the rest—the evil chance would prevail. Accustomed +for some time as I had been, under this impulse, to perform extravagant +actions, I confess to you that the difficulty and peril of such a feat +startled me; I reasoned against the feeling, and strove more strenuously +than I had ever done before; I even made a solemn vow not to give way to +the temptation, but I believe nothing less than chains, and those strong +ones, could have restrained me. The demoniac influence, for I can call +it nothing else, at length prevailed; it compelled me to rise, to dress +myself, to descend the stairs, to unbolt the door, and to go forth; it +drove me to the foot of the tree, and it compelled me to climb the trunk; +this was a tremendous task, and I only accomplished it after repeated +falls and trials. When I had got amongst the branches, I rested for a +time, and then set about accomplishing the remainder of the ascent; this +for some time was not so difficult, for I was now amongst the branches; +as I approached the top, however, the difficulty became greater, likewise +the danger; but I was a light boy, and almost as nimble as a squirrel, +and, moreover, the nervous feeling was within me, impelling me upward. +It was only by means of a spring, however, that I was enabled to touch +the top of the tree; I sprang, touched the top of the tree, and fell a +distance of at least twenty feet, amongst the branches; had I fallen to +the bottom I must have been killed, but I fell into the middle of the +tree, and presently found myself astride upon one of the boughs; +scratched and bruised all over, I reached the ground, and regained my +chamber unobserved; I flung myself on my bed quite exhausted; presently +they came to tell me that my mother was better—they found me in the state +which I have described, and in a fever besides. The favourable crisis +must have occurred just about the time that I performed the magic touch; +it certainly was a curious coincidence, yet I was not weak enough, even +though a child, to suppose that I had baffled the evil chance by my +daring feat. + +“Indeed, all the time that I was performing these strange feats, I knew +them to be highly absurd, yet the impulse to perform them was +irresistible—a mysterious dread hanging over me till I had given way to +it; even at that early period I frequently used to reason within myself +as to what could be the cause of my propensity to touch, but of course I +could come to no satisfactory conclusion respecting it; being heartily +ashamed of the practice, I never spoke of it to any one, and was at all +times highly solicitous that no one should observe my weakness.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + + +Maternal Anxiety—The Baronet—Little Zest—Country Life—Mr. Speaker!—The +Craving—Spirited Address—An Author. + +After a short pause my host resumed his narration. “Though I was never +sent to school, my education was not neglected on that account; I had +tutors in various branches of knowledge, under whom I made a tolerable +progress; by the time I was eighteen I was able to read most of the Greek +and Latin authors with facility; I was likewise, to a certain degree, a +mathematician. I cannot say that I took much pleasure in my studies; my +chief aim in endeavouring to accomplish my tasks was to give pleasure to +my beloved parent, who watched my progress with anxiety truly maternal. +My life at this period may be summed up in a few words; I pursued my +studies, roamed about the woods, walked the green lanes occasionally, +cast my fly in a trout stream, and sometimes, but not often, rode a +hunting with my uncle. A considerable part of my time was devoted to my +mother, conversing with her and reading to her; youthful companions I had +none, and as to my mother, she lived in the greatest retirement, devoting +herself to the superintendence of my education, and the practice of acts +of charity; nothing could be more innocent than this mode of life, and +some people say that in innocence there is happiness, yet I can’t say +that I was happy. A continual dread overshadowed my mind, it was the +dread of my mother’s death. Her constitution had never been strong, and +it had been considerably shaken by her last illness; this I knew, and +this I saw—for the eyes of fear are marvellously keen. Well, things went +on in this way till I had come of age; my tutors were then dismissed, and +my uncle the baronet took me in hand, telling my mother that it was high +time for him to exert his authority; that I must see something of the +world, for that, if I remained much longer with her, I should be ruined. +‘You must consign him to me,’ said he, ‘and I will introduce him to the +world.’ My mother sighed and consented; so my uncle the baronet +introduced me to the world, took me to horse races and to London, and +endeavoured to make a man of me according to his idea of the term, and in +part succeeded. I became moderately dissipated—I say moderately, for +dissipation had but little zest for me. + +“In this manner four years passed over. It happened that I was in London +in the height of the season with my uncle, at his house; one morning he +summoned me into the parlour, he was standing before the fire, and looked +very serious. ‘I have had a letter,’ said he; ‘your mother is very ill.’ +I staggered, and touched the nearest object to me; nothing was said for +two or three minutes, and then my uncle put his lips to my ear and +whispered something. I fell down senseless. My mother was—I remember +nothing for a long time—for two years I was out of my mind; at the end of +this time I recovered, or partly so. My uncle the baronet was very kind +to me; he advised me to travel, he offered to go with me. I told him he +was very kind, but I would rather go by myself. So I went abroad, and +saw, amongst other things, Rome and the Pyramids. By frequent change of +scene my mind became not happy, but tolerably tranquil. I continued +abroad some years, when, becoming tired of travelling, I came home, found +my uncle the baronet alive, hearty, and unmarried, as he still is. He +received me very kindly, took me to Newmarket, and said that he hoped by +this time I was become quite a man of the world; by his advice I took a +house in town, in which I lived during the season. In summer I strolled +from one watering-place to another; and, in order to pass the time, I +became very dissipated. + +“At last I became as tired of dissipation as I had previously been of +travelling, and I determined to retire to the country, and live on my +paternal estate; this resolution I was not slow in putting into effect; I +sold my house in town, repaired and refurnished my country house, and, +for at least ten years, lived a regular country life; I gave dinner +parties, prosecuted poachers, was charitable to the poor, and now and +then went into my library; during this time I was seldom or never visited +by the magic impulse, the reason being, that there was nothing in the +wide world for which I cared sufficiently to move a finger to preserve +it. When the ten years, however, were nearly ended, I started out of bed +one morning in a fit of horror, exclaiming, ‘Mercy, mercy! what will +become of me? I am afraid I shall go mad. I have lived thirty-five +years and upwards without doing anything; shall I pass through life in +this manner? Horror!’ And then in rapid succession I touched three +different objects. + +“I dressed myself and went down, determining to set about something; but +what was I to do?—there was the difficulty. I ate no breakfast, but +walked about the room in a state of distraction; at last I thought that +the easiest way to do something was to get into Parliament, there would +be no difficulty in that. I had plenty of money, and could buy a seat; +but what was I to do in Parliament? Speak, of course—but could I speak? +‘I’ll try at once,’ said I, and forthwith I rushed into the largest +dining room, and, locking the door, I commenced speaking; ‘Mr. Speaker,’ +said I, and then I went on speaking for about ten minutes as I best +could, and then I left off, for I was talking nonsense. No, I was not +formed for Parliament; I could do nothing there. What—what was I to do? + +“Many, many times I thought this question over, but was unable to solve +it; a fear now stole over me that I was unfit for anything in the world, +save the lazy life of vegetation which I had for many years been leading; +yet, if that were the case, thought I, why the craving within me to +distinguish myself? Surely it does not occur fortuitously, but is +intended to rouse and call into exercise certain latent powers that I +possess? and then with infinite eagerness I set about attempting to +discover these latent powers. I tried an infinity of pursuits, botany +and geology amongst the rest, but in vain; I was fitted for none of them. +I became very sorrowful and despondent, and at one time I had almost +resolved to plunge again into the whirlpool of dissipation; it was a +dreadful resource, it was true, but what better could I do? + +“But I was not doomed to return to the dissipation of the world. One +morning a young nobleman, who had for some time past shown a wish to +cultivate my acquaintance, came to me in a considerable hurry. ‘I am +come to beg an important favour of you,’ said he; ‘one of the county +memberships is vacant—I intend to become a candidate; what I want +immediately is a spirited address to the electors. I have been +endeavouring to frame one all the morning, but in vain; I have, +therefore, recourse to you as a person of infinite genius; pray, my dear +friend, concoct me one by the morning.’ ‘What you require of me,’ I +replied, ‘is impossible; I have not the gift of words; did I possess it I +would stand for the county myself, but I can’t speak. Only the other day +I attempted to make a speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed, +although I was quite alone, of the nonsense I was uttering.’ ‘It is not +a speech that I want,’ said my friend, ‘I can talk for three hours +without hesitating, but I want an address to circulate through the +county, and I find myself utterly incompetent to put one together; do +oblige me by writing one for me, I know you can; and, if at any time you +want a person to speak for you, you may command me not for three but for +six hours. Good morning; to-morrow I will breakfast with you.’ In the +morning he came again. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘what success?’ ‘Very poor,’ +said I; ‘but judge for yourself;’ and I put into his hand a manuscript of +several pages. My friend read it through with considerable attention. +‘I congratulate you,’ said he, ‘and likewise myself; I was not mistaken +in my opinion of you; the address is too long by at least two-thirds, or +I should rather say it is longer by two-thirds than addresses generally +are; but it will do—I will not curtail it of a word. I shall win my +election.’ And in truth he did win his election; and it was not only his +own but the general opinion that he owed it to the address. + +“But, however that might be, I had, by writing the address, at last +discovered what had so long eluded my search—what I was able to do. I, +who had neither the nerve nor the command of speech necessary to +constitute the orator—who had not the power of patient research required +by those who would investigate the secrets of nature, had, nevertheless, +a ready pen and teeming imagination. This discovery decided my fate—from +that moment I became an author.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + + +Trepidations—Subtle Principle—Perverse Imagination—Are they Mine?—Another +Book—How Hard!—Agricultural Dinner—Incomprehensible Actions—Inmost +Bosom—Give it Up—Chance Resemblance—Rascally Newspaper. + +“An author,” said I, addressing my host; “is it possible that I am under +the roof of an author?” + +“Yes,” said my host, sighing, “my name is so and so, and I am the author +of so and so; it is more than probable that you have heard both of my +name and works. I will not detain you much longer with my history; the +night is advancing, and the storm appears to be upon the increase. My +life since the period of my becoming an author may be summed briefly as +an almost uninterrupted series of doubts, anxieties, and trepidations. I +see clearly that it is not good to love anything immoderately in this +world, but it has been my misfortune to love immoderately everything on +which I have set my heart. This is not good, I repeat—but where is the +remedy? The ancients were always in the habit of saying, ‘Practise +moderation,’ but the ancients appear to have considered only one portion +of the subject. It is very possible to practise moderation in some +things, in drink and the like—to restrain the appetites—but can a man +restrain the affections of his mind, and tell them, so far you shall go, +and no farther? Alas, no! for the mind is a subtle principle, and cannot +be confined. The winds may be imprisoned; Homer says that Odysseus +carried certain winds in his ship, confined in leathern bags, but Homer +never speaks of confining the affections. It were but right that those +who exhort us against inordinate affections, and setting our hearts too +much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us how to avoid doing +so. + +“I need scarcely tell you, that no sooner did I become an author, than I +gave myself up immoderately to my vocation. It became my idol, and, as a +necessary consequence, it has proved a source of misery and disquietude +to me, instead of pleasure and blessing. I had trouble enough in writing +my first work, and I was not long in discovering that it was one thing to +write a stirring and spirited address to a set of county electors, and +another widely different to produce a work at all calculated to make an +impression upon the great world. I felt, however, that I was in my +proper sphere, and by dint of unwearied diligence and exertion I +succeeded in evolving from the depths of my agitated breast a work which, +though it did not exactly please me, I thought would serve to make an +experiment upon the public; so I laid it before the public, and the +reception which it met with was far beyond my wildest expectations. The +public were delighted with it, but what were my feelings? Anything, +alas! but those of delight. No sooner did the public express its +satisfaction at the result of my endeavours, than my perverse imagination +began to conceive a thousand chimerical doubts; forthwith I sat down to +analyse it; and my worst enemy, and all people have their enemies, +especially authors—my worst enemy could not have discovered or sought to +discover a tenth part of the faults which I, the author and creator of +the unfortunate production, found or sought to find in it. It has been +said that love makes us blind to the faults of the loved object—common +love does, perhaps—the love of a father to his child, or that of a lover +to his mistress, but not the inordinate love of an author to his works, +at least not the love which one like myself bears to his works: to be +brief, I discovered a thousand faults in my work, which neither public +nor critics discovered. However, I was beginning to get over this +misery, and to forgive my work all its imperfections, when—and I shake +when I mention it—the same kind of idea which perplexed me with regard to +the hawks and the gypsy pony rushed into my mind, and I forthwith +commenced touching the objects around me, in order to baffle the evil +chance, as you call it; it was neither more nor less than a doubt of the +legality of my claim to the thoughts, expressions, and situations +contained in the book; that is, to all that constituted the book. How +did I get them? How did they come into my mind? Did I invent them? Did +they originate with myself? Are they my own, or are they some other +body’s? You see into what difficulty I had got; I won’t trouble you by +relating all that I endured at that time, but will merely say that after +eating my own heart, as the Italians say, and touching every object that +came in my way for six months, I at length flung my book, I mean the copy +of it which I possessed, into the fire, and began another. + +“But it was all in vain; I laboured at this other, finished it, and gave +it to the world; and no sooner had I done so, than the same thought was +busy in my brain, poisoning all the pleasure which I should otherwise +have derived from my work. How did I get all the matter which composed +it? Out of my own mind, unquestionably; but how did it come there—was it +the indigenous growth of the mind? And then I would sit down and ponder +over the various scenes and adventures in my book, endeavouring to +ascertain how I came originally to devise them, and by dint of reflecting +I remembered that to a single word in conversation, or some simple +accident in a street, or on a road, I was indebted for some of the +happiest portions of my work; they were but tiny seeds, it is true, which +in the soil of my imagination had subsequently become stately trees, but +I reflected that without them no stately trees would have been produced, +and that, consequently, only a part in the merit of these compositions +which charmed the world—for they did charm the world—was due to myself. +Thus, a dead fly was in my phial, poisoning all the pleasure which I +should otherwise have derived from the result of my brain sweat. ‘How +hard!’ I would exclaim, looking up to the sky, ‘how hard! I am like +Virgil’s sheep, bearing fleeces not for themselves.’ But, not to tire +you, it fared with my second work as it did with my first; I flung it +aside, and in order to forget it I began a third, on which I am now +occupied; but the difficulty of writing it is immense, my extreme desire +to be original sadly cramping the powers of my mind; my fastidiousness +being so great that I invariably reject whatever ideas I do not think to +be legitimately my own. But there is one circumstance to which I cannot +help alluding here, as it serves to show what miseries this love of +originality must needs bring upon an author. I am constantly discovering +that, however original I may wish to be, I am continually producing the +same things which other people say or write. Whenever, after producing +something which gives me perfect satisfaction, and which has cost me +perhaps days and nights of brooding, I chance to take up a book for the +sake of a little relaxation, a book which I never saw before, I am sure +to find in it something more or less resembling some part of what I have +been just composing. You will easily conceive the distress which then +comes over me; ’tis then that I am almost tempted to execrate the chance +which, by discovering my latent powers, induced me to adopt a profession +of such anxiety and misery. + +“For some time past I have given up reading almost entirely, owing to the +dread which I entertain of lighting upon something similar to what I +myself have written. I scarcely ever transgress without having almost +instant reason to repent. To-day, when I took up the newspaper, I saw in +a speech of the Duke of Rhododendron, at an agricultural dinner, the very +same ideas, and almost the same expressions which I had put into the +mouth of an imaginary personage of mine, on a widely different occasion; +you saw how I dashed the newspaper down—you saw how I touched the floor; +the touch was to baffle the evil chance, to prevent the critics detecting +any similarity between the speech of the Duke of Rhododendron at the +agricultural dinner, and the speech of my personage. My sensibility on +the subject of my writings is so great, that sometimes a chance word is +sufficient to unman me, I apply it to them in a superstitious sense; for +example, when you said some time ago that the dark hour was coming on, I +applied it to my works—it appeared to bode them evil fortune; you saw how +I touched, it was to baffle the evil chance; but I do not confine myself +to touching when the fear of the evil chance is upon me. To baffle it I +occasionally perform actions which must appear highly incomprehensible; I +have been known, when riding in company with other people, to leave the +direct road, and make a long circuit by a miry lane to the place to which +we were going. I have also been seen attempting to ride across a morass, +where I had no business whatever, and in which my horse finally sank up +to its saddle-girths, and was only extricated by the help of a multitude +of hands. I have, of course, frequently been asked the reason of such +conduct, to which I have invariably returned no answer, for I scorn +duplicity; whereupon people have looked mysteriously, and sometimes put +their fingers to their foreheads. ‘And yet it can’t be,’ I once heard an +old gentleman say; ‘don’t we know what he is capable of?’ and the old man +was right; I merely did these things to avoid the evil chance, impelled +by the strange feeling within me; and this evil chance is invariably +connected with my writings, the only things at present which render life +valuable to me. If I touch various objects, and ride into miry places, +it is to baffle any mischance befalling me as an author, to prevent my +books getting into disrepute; in nine cases out of ten to prevent any +expressions, thoughts, or situations in any work which I am writing from +resembling the thoughts, expressions, and situations of other authors, +for my great wish, as I told you before, is to be original. + +“I have now related my history, and have revealed to you the secrets of +my inmost bosom. I should certainly not have spoken so unreservedly as I +have done, had I not discovered in you a kindred spirit. I have long +wished for an opportunity of discoursing on the point which forms the +peculiar feature of my history with a being who could understand me; and +truly it was a lucky chance which brought you to these parts; you who +seem to be acquainted with all things strange and singular, and who are +as well acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as with all that +relates to the star Jupiter, or the mysterious tree at Upsal.” + +Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, amidst the +darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning. Both of us +remained silent for some time after it was concluded. + +“It is a singular story,” said I, at last, “though I confess that I was +prepared for some part of it. Will you permit me to ask you a question?” + +“Certainly,” said my host. + +“Did you never speak in public?” said I. + +“Never.” + +“And when you made this speech of yours in the dining-room, commencing +with Mr. Speaker, no one was present?” + +“None in the world, I double-locked the door; what do you mean?” + +“An idea came into my head—dear me how the rain is pouring—but, with +respect to your present troubles and anxieties, would it not be wise, +seeing that authorship causes you so much trouble and anxiety, to give it +up altogether?” + +“Were you an author yourself,” replied my host, “you would not talk in +this manner; once an author, ever an author—besides, what could I do? +return to my former state of vegetation? no, much as I endure, I do not +wish that; besides, every now and then my reason tells me that these +troubles and anxieties of mine are utterly without foundation; that +whatever I write is the legitimate growth of my own mind, and that it is +the height of folly to afflict myself at any chance resemblance between +my own thoughts and those of other writers, such resemblance being +inevitable from the fact of our common human origin. In short—” + +“I understand you,” said I; “notwithstanding your troubles and anxieties +you find life very tolerable; has your originality ever been called in +question?” + +“On the contrary, every one declares that originality constitutes the +most remarkable feature of my writings; the man has some faults, they +say, but want of originality is certainly not one of them. He is quite +different from others—a certain newspaper, it is true, the --- I think, +once insinuated that in a certain work of mine I had taken a hint or two +from the writings of a couple of authors which it mentioned; it happened, +however, that I had never even read one syllable of the writings of +either, and of one of them had never even heard the name; so much for the +discrimination of the ---—By-the-bye, what a rascally newspaper that is!” + +“A very rascally newspaper,” said I. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + + +Disturbed Slumbers—The Bed-Post—Two Wizards—What can I Do?—Real +Library—The Rev. Mr. Platitude—Toleration to Dissenters—Paradox—Sword of +St. Peter—Enemy to Humbug—High Principles—False Concord—The Damsel—What +Religion?—Farther Conversation—That would never Do!—May you Prosper. + +During the greater part of that night my slumbers were disturbed by +strange dreams. Amongst other things, I fancied that I was my host; my +head appeared to be teeming with wild thoughts and imaginations, out of +which I was endeavouring to frame a book. And now the book was finished +and given to the world, and the world shouted; and all eyes were turned +upon me, and I shrunk from the eyes of the world. And, when I got into +retired places, I touched various objects in order to baffle the evil +chance. In short, during the whole night, I was acting over the story +which I had heard before I went to bed. + +At about eight o’clock I awoke. The storm had long since passed away, +and the morning was bright and shining; my couch was so soft and +luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I lay some time, my eyes +wandering about the magnificent room to which fortune had conducted me in +so singular a manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking of my own +homeless condition, and imagining where I should find myself on the +following morning. Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy +thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress myself, and, whilst +dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination to touch the bed-post. + +I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, however, as I +left it, to touch the lintel of the door. Is it possible, thought I, +that from what I have lately heard the long-forgotten influence should +have possessed me again? but I will not give way to it; so I hurried down +stairs, resisting as I went a certain inclination which I occasionally +felt to touch the rail of the banister. I was presently upon the gravel +walk before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning. I stood for +some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters of the pond, +and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of the park; the beauty +and freshness of the morning—for the air had been considerably cooled by +the late storm—soon enabled me to cast away the gloomy ideas which had +previously taken possession of my mind, and, after a stroll of about half +an hour, I returned towards the house in high spirits. It is true that +once I felt very much inclined to go and touch the leaves of a flowery +shrub which I saw at some distance, and had even moved two or three paces +towards it; but, bethinking myself, I manfully resisted the temptation. +“Begone!” I exclaimed, “ye sorceries, in which I formerly trusted—begone +for ever vagaries which I had almost forgotten; good luck is not to be +obtained, or bad averted, by magic touches; besides, two wizards in one +parish would be too much, in all conscience.” + +I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast was laid on +the table, and my friend was standing before the portrait which I have +already said hung above the mantel-piece; so intently was he occupied in +gazing at it that he did not hear me enter, nor was aware of my presence +till I advanced close to him and spoke, when he turned round and shook me +by the hand. + +“What can possibly have induced you to hang that portrait up in your +library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, but it appears to me a +wretched daub.” + +“Daub as you call it,” said my friend, smiling, “I would not part with it +for the best piece of Raphael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to +that picture—it is my principal source of inspiration; when my +imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare upon those +features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and drollery begin to flow +into my mind; these I round, amplify, or combine into goodly creations, +and bring forth as I find an opportunity. It is true that I am +occasionally tormented by the thought that, by doing this, I am +committing plagiarism; though, in that case, all thoughts must be +plagiarisms, all that we think being the result of what we hear, see, or +feel. What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source or +other; and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from the features of my +landlord than from the works of Butler and Cervantes. My works, as you +are aware, are of a serio-comic character. My neighbours are of opinion +that I am a great reader, and so I am, but only of those features—my real +library is that picture.” + +“But how did you obtain it?” said I. + +“Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood, and my +jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for his +portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and then my +fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could not bear +the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it +of him for five pounds—I would not take five thousand for it; when you +called that picture a daub, you did not see all the poetry of it.” + +We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better +spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere +breakfast was over a servant entered—“The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,” +said he. + +A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. “What +does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?” said he, half to +himself; “let him come in,” said he to the servant. + +The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the +Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is +vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was about +thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his face was +of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg grater; his +hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips, +which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth; +he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of spotless +black, and a neckerchief of spotless white. + +The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my +entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing +daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table, +and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned, and consented. + +In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally called +absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or presses +forward into the future. One of these fits of absence came over me at +this time—I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a +word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, “You are +no man for me,” fell into a fit of musing—into the same train of thought +as in the morning, no very pleasant one—I was thinking of the future. + +I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should have +continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the voice of Mr. +Platitude raised to a very high key. “Yes, my dear sir,” said he, “it is +but too true; I have it on good authority—a gone church—a lost church—a +ruined church—a demolished church is the Church of England. Toleration +to Dissenters! oh, monstrous!” + +“I suppose,” said my host, “that the repeal of the Test Acts will be +merely a precursor of the emancipation of the Papists?” + +“Of the Catholics,” said the Reverend Mr. Platitude. “Ahem. There was a +time, as I believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed +to the emancipation of the Catholics as it was possible for any one to +be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, labouring under a cloud of most +unfortunate prejudice; but I thank my Maker I am so no longer. I have +travelled, as you are aware. It is only by travelling that one can rub +off prejudices; I think you will agree with me there. I am speaking to a +traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in Italy. The Catholics are +at least our fellow-Christians. I thank Heaven that I am no longer an +enemy to Catholic emancipation.” + +“And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?” + +“Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class such a set as the +Dissenters with Catholics?” + +“Perhaps it would be unjust,” said my host, “though to which of the two +parties is another thing; but permit me to ask you a question: Does it +not smack somewhat of paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit +there are Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be +Catholics?” + +“It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,” said the Reverend Mr. +Platitude; “if I had my will I would neither admit there were any, nor +permit any to be.” + +“Of course you would admit there were such as long as they existed; but +how would you get rid of them?” + +“I would have the Church exert its authority.” + +“What do you mean by exerting its authority?” + +“I would not have the Church bear the sword in vain.” + +“What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember what the founder of the +religion which you profess said about the sword, ‘He who striketh with +it—’ I think those who have called themselves the Church have had enough +of the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. Platitude. The Church of +Rome tried the sword with the Lutherans: how did it fare with the Church +of Rome? The Church of England tried the sword, Mr. Platitude, with the +Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?” + +“Oh, as for the Church of England,” said Mr. Platitude, “I have little to +say. Thank God I left all my Church of England prejudices in Italy. Had +the Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago have +sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. If the Church of +England had not been in some degree a schismatic church, it would not +have fared so ill at the time of which you are speaking; the rest of the +Church would have come to its assistance. The Irish would have helped +it, so would the French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always +been the bane of the Church.” + +Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to the past; +methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted with oak; I was +seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were wine +and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain suit of +brown, with the hair combed back from his somewhat high forehead; he had +a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly, +without saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time +rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and emitting an +accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured tone, “As +I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have always been an enemy to +humbug.” + +When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was quitting the +apartment. + +“Who is that person?” said I to my entertainer, as the door closed behind +him. + +“Who is he?” said my host; “why, the Rev. Mr. Platitude.” + +“Does he reside in this neighbourhood?” + +“He holds a living about three miles from here; his history, as far as I +am acquainted with it, is as follows. His father was a respectable +tanner in the neighbouring town, who, wishing to make his son a +gentleman, sent him to college. Having never been at college myself, I +cannot say whether he took the wisest course; I believe it is more easy +to unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many gentlemanly youths +go to college, and return anything but what they went. Young Mr. +Platitude did not go to college a gentleman, but neither did he return +one; he went to college an ass, and returned a prig; to his original +folly was superadded a vast quantity of conceit. He told his father that +he had adopted high principles, and was determined to discountenance +everything low and mean; advised him to eschew trade, and to purchase him +a living. The old man retired from business, purchased his son a living, +and shortly after died, leaving him what remained of his fortune. The +first thing the Reverend Mr. Platitude did, after his father’s decease, +was to send his mother and sister into Wales to live upon a small +annuity, assigning as a reason that he was averse to anything low, and +that they talked ungrammatically. Wishing to shine in the pulpit, he now +preached high sermons, as he called them, interspersed with scraps of +learning. His sermons did not, however, procure him much popularity; on +the contrary, his church soon became nearly deserted, the greater part of +his flock going over to certain dissenting preachers, who had shortly +before made their appearance in the neighbourhood. Mr. Platitude was +filled with wrath, and abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms. +Coming in contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was +rash enough to enter into argument with them. Poor Platitude! he had +better have been quiet, he appeared like a child, a very infant, in their +grasp; he attempted to take shelter under his college learning, but +found, to his dismay, that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin than +himself. These illiterate boors, as he supposed them, caught him at once +in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink home overwhelmed with +shame. To avenge himself he applied to the ecclesiastical court, but was +told that the Dissenters could not be put down by the present +ecclesiastical law. He found the Church of England, to use his own +expression, a poor, powerless, restricted Church. He now thought to +improve his consequence by marriage, and made up to a rich and beautiful +young lady in the neighbourhood; the damsel measured him from head to +foot with a pair of very sharp eyes, dropped a curtsey, and refused him. +Mr. Platitude, finding England a very stupid place, determined to travel; +he went to Italy; how he passed his time there he knows best, to other +people it is a matter of little importance. At the end of two years he +returned with a real or assumed contempt for everything English, and +especially for the Church to which he belongs, and out of which he is +supported. He forthwith gave out that he had left behind him all his +Church of England prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against +sacerdotal wedlock and the toleration of schismatics. In an evil hour +for myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and +from that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least once +a week. I seldom enter into any discussion with him, but fix my eyes on +the portrait over the mantel-piece, and endeavour to conjure up some +comic idea or situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour +about Church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal +wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, whose +acquaintance he says he made in Italy. I believe he is some sharking +priest, who has come over to proselytize and plunder. This being has +some powers of conversation and some learning, but he carries the +countenance of an arch villain; Platitude is evidently his tool.” + +“Of what religion are you?” said I to my host. + +“That of the Vicar of Wakefield—good, quiet, Church of England, which +would live and let live, practises charity, and rails at no one; where +the priest is the husband of one wife, takes care of his family and his +parish—such is the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto +thought too little of religious matters. When, however, I have completed +this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be able to devote more +attention to them.” + +After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I remember right, +college education, priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and the like, +I rose and said to my host, “I must now leave you.” + +“Whither are you going?” + +“I do not know.” + +“Stay here, then—you shall be welcome as many days, months, and years as +you please to stay.” + +“Do you think I would hang upon another man? No, not if he were Emperor +of all the Chinas. I will now make my preparations, and then bid you +farewell.” + +I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things which I +carried with me on my travels. + +“I will walk a little way with you,” said my friend on my return. + +He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said anything by the +way. When we had come upon the road I said, “Farewell now; I will not +permit you to give yourself any further trouble on my account. Receive +my best thanks for your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish +to ask you a question. Do you think you shall ever grow tired of +authorship?” + +“I have my fears,” said my friend, advancing his hand to one of the iron +bars of the gate. + +“Don’t touch,” said I, “it is a bad habit. I have but one word to add: +should you ever grow tired of authorship follow your first idea of +getting into Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you +want manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a teacher, +you must take lessons of a master of elocution.” + +“That would never do!” said my host; “I know myself too well to think of +applying for assistance to any one. Were I to become a parliamentary +orator, I should wish to be an original one, even if not above +mediocrity. What pleasure should I take in any speech I might make, +however original as to thought, provided the gestures I employed and the +very modulation of my voice were not my own? Take lessons, indeed! why, +the fellow who taught me, the professor, might be standing in the gallery +whilst I spoke; and, at the best parts of my speech, might say to +himself, ‘That gesture is mine—that modulation is mine.’ I could not +bear the thought of such a thing.” + +“Farewell,” said I, “and may you prosper. I have nothing more to say.” + +I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned round suddenly; my +friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of the gate. + +“He has been touching,” said I, as I proceeded on my way; “I wonder what +was the evil chance he wished to baffle.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + + +Elastic Step—Disconsolate Party—Not the Season—Mend your Draught—Good +Ale—Crotchet—Hammer and Tongs—Schoolmaster—True Eden Life—Flaming +Tinman—Twice my Size—Hard at Work—My Poor Wife—Grey Moll—A Bible—Half and +Half—What to do—Half Inclined—In No Time—On One Condition—Don’t +Stare—Like the Wind. + +After walking some time, I found myself on the great road, at the same +spot where I had turned aside the day before with my new-made +acquaintance, in the direction of his house. I now continued my journey +as before, towards the north. The weather, though beautiful, was much +cooler than it had been for some time past; I walked at a great rate, +with a springing and elastic step. In about two hours I came to where a +kind of cottage stood a little way back from the road, with a huge oak +before it, under the shade of which stood a little pony and a cart, which +seemed to contain various articles. I was going past—when I saw scrawled +over the door of the cottage, “Good beer sold here;” upon which, feeling +myself all of a sudden very thirsty, I determined to go in and taste the +beverage. + +I entered a well-sanded kitchen, and seated myself on a bench, on one +side of a long white table; the other side, which was nearest the wall, +was occupied by a party, or rather family, consisting of a grimy-looking +man, somewhat under the middle size, dressed in faded velveteens, and +wearing a leather apron—a rather pretty-looking woman, but sun-burnt, and +meanly dressed, and two ragged children, a boy and girl, about four or +five years old. The man sat with his eyes fixed upon the table, +supporting his chin with both his hands; the woman, who was next to him, +sat quite still, save that occasionally she turned a glance upon her +husband with eyes that appeared to have been lately crying. The children +had none of the vivacity so general at their age. A more disconsolate +family I had never seen; a mug, which, when filled, might contain +half-a-pint, stood empty before them; a very disconsolate party indeed. + +“House!” said I; “House!” and then as nobody appeared, I cried again as +loud as I could, “House! do you hear me, House!” + +“What’s your pleasure, young man?” said an elderly woman, who now made +her appearance from a side apartment. + +“To taste your ale,” said I. + +“How much?” said the woman, stretching out her hand towards the empty mug +upon the table. + +“The largest measure-full in your house,” said I, putting back her hand +gently. “This is not the season for half-pint mugs.” + +“As you will, young man,” said the landlady; and presently brought in an +earthen pitcher which might contain about three pints, and which foamed +and frothed withal. + +“Will this pay for it?” said I, putting down sixpence. + +“I have to return you a penny,” said the landlady, putting her hand into +her pocket. + +“I want no change,” said I, flourishing my hand with an air. + +“As you please, young gentleman,” said the landlady, and then making a +kind of curtsey, she again retired to the side apartment. + +“Here is your health, sir,” said I to the grimy-looking man, as I raised +the pitcher to my lips. + +The tinker, for such I supposed him to be, without altering his posture, +raised his eyes, looked at me for a moment, gave a slight nod, and then +once more fixed his eyes upon the table. I took a draught of the ale, +which I found excellent; “won’t you drink?” said I, holding the pitcher +to the tinker. + +The man again lifted his eyes, looked at me, and then at the pitcher, and +then at me again. I thought at one time that he was about to shake his +head in sign of refusal, but no, he looked once more at the pitcher, and +the temptation was too strong. Slowly removing his head from his arms, +he took the pitcher, sighed, nodded, and drank a tolerable quantity, and +then set the pitcher down before me upon the table. + +“You had better mend your draught,” said I to the tinker, “it is a sad +heart that never rejoices.” + +“That’s true,” said the tinker, and again raising the pitcher to his +lips, he mended his draught as I had bidden him, drinking a larger +quantity than before. + +“Pass it to your wife,” said I. + +The poor woman took the pitcher from the man’s hand; before, however, +raising it to her lips, she looked at the children. True mother’s heart, +thought I to myself, and taking the half-pint mug, I made her fill it, +and then held it to the children, causing each to take a draught. The +woman wiped her eyes with the corner of her gown, before she raised the +pitcher and drank to my health. + +In about five minutes none of the family looked half so disconsolate as +before, and the tinker and I were in deep discourse. + +Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true and proper +drink of Englishmen. He is not deserving of the name of Englishman who +speaketh against ale, that is good ale, like that which has just made +merry the hearts of this poor family; and yet there are beings, calling +themselves Englishmen, who say that it is a sin to drink a cup of ale, +and who, on coming to this passage will be tempted to fling down the book +and exclaim, “The man is evidently a bad man, for behold, by his own +confession, he is not only fond of ale himself, but is in the habit of +tempting other people with it.” Alas! alas! what a number of silly +individuals there are in this world; I wonder what they would have had me +do in this instance—given the afflicted family a cup of cold water? go +to! They could have found water in the road, for there was a pellucid +spring only a few yards distant from the house, as they were well +aware—but they wanted not water; what should I have given them? meat and +bread? go to! They were not hungry; there was stifled sobbing in their +bosoms, and the first mouthful of strong meat would have choked them. +What should I have given them? Money! what right had I to insult them by +offering them money? Advice! words, words, words; friends, there is a +time for everything; there is a time for a cup of cold water; there is a +time for strong meat and bread; there is a time for advice, and there is +a time for ale; and I have generally found that the time for advice is +after a cup of ale. I do not say many cups; the tongue then speaketh +more smoothly, and the ear listeneth more benignantly; but why do I +attempt to reason with you? do I not know you for conceited creatures, +with one idea—and that a foolish one;—a crotchet, for the sake of which +ye would sacrifice anything, religion if required—country? There, fling +down my book, I do not wish ye to walk any farther in my company, unless +you cast your nonsense away, which ye will never do, for it is the breath +of your nostrils; fling down my book, it was not written to support a +crotchet, for know one thing, my good people, I have invariably been an +enemy to humbug. + +“Well,” said the tinker, after we had discoursed some time, “I little +thought when I first saw you, that you were of my own trade.” + +_Myself_.—Nor am I, at least not exactly. There _is_ not much +difference, ’tis true, between a tinker and a smith. + +_Tinker_.—You are a whitesmith, then? + +_Myself_.—Not I, I’d scorn to be anything so mean; no, friend, black’s +the colour; I am a brother of the horseshoe. Success to the hammer and +tongs. + +_Tinker_.—Well, I shouldn’t have thought you had been a blacksmith by +your hands. + +_Myself_.—I have seen them, however, as black as yours. The truth is, I +have not worked for many a day. + +_Tinker_.—Where did you serve first? + +_Myself_.—In Ireland. + +_Tinker_.—That’s a good way off, isn’t it? + +_Myself_.—Not very far; over those mountains to the left, and the run of +salt water that lies behind them, there’s Ireland. + +_Tinker_.—It’s a fine thing to be a scholar. + +_Myself_.—Not half so fine as to be a tinker. + +_Tinker_.—How you talk! + +_Myself_.—Nothing but the truth; what can be better than to be one’s own +master? Now a tinker is his own master, a scholar is not? Let us +suppose the best of scholars, a schoolmaster, for example, for I suppose +you will admit that no one can be higher in scholarship than a +schoolmaster; do you call his a pleasant life? I don’t; we should call +him a school-slave, rather than a schoolmaster. Only conceive him in +blessed weather like this, in his close school, teaching children to +write in copy-books, “Evil communication corrupts good manners,” or “You +cannot touch pitch without defilement,” or to spell out of Abedariums, or +to read out of Jack Smith, or Sandford and Merton. Only conceive him, I +say, drudging in such guise from morning till night, without any rational +enjoyment but to beat the children. Would you compare such a dog’s life +as that with your own—the happiest under heaven—true Eden life, as the +Germans would say,—pitching your tent under the pleasant hedge-rows, +listening to the song of the feathered tribes, collecting all the leaky +kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and joining, earning your honest +bread by the wholesome sweat of your brow—making ten holes—hey, what’s +this? what’s the man crying for? + +Suddenly the tinker had covered his face with his hands, and begun to sob +and moan like a man in the deepest distress; the breast of his wife was +heaved with emotion; even the children were agitated, the youngest began +to roar. + +_Myself_.—What’s the matter with you; what are you all crying about? + +_Tinker_ (uncovering his face).—Lord, why to hear you talk; isn’t that +enough to make anybody cry—even the poor babes? Yes, you said right, +’tis life in the garden of Eden—the tinker’s; I see so now that I’m about +to give it up. + +_Myself_.—Give it up! you must not think of such a thing. + +_Tinker_.—No, I can’t bear to think of it, and yet I must; what’s to be +done? How hard to be frightened to death, to be driven off the roads. + +_Myself_.—Who has driven you off the roads? + +_Tinker_.—Who! the Flaming Tinman. + +_Myself_.—Who is he? + +_Tinker_.—The biggest rogue in England, and the cruellest, or he wouldn’t +have served me as he has done—I’ll tell you all about it. I was born +upon the roads, and so was my father before me, and my mother too; and I +worked with them as long as they lived, as a dutiful child, for I have +nothing to reproach myself with on their account; and when my father died +I took up the business, and went his beat, and supported my mother for +the little time she lived; and when she died I married this young woman, +who was not born upon the roads, but was a small tradesman’s daughter, at +Glo’ster. She had a kindness for me, and, notwithstanding her friends +were against the match, she married the poor tinker, and came to live +with him upon the roads. Well, young man, for six or seven years I was +the happiest fellow breathing, living just the life you described just +now—respected by everybody in this beat; when in an evil hour comes this +Black Jack, this flaming tinman, into these parts, driven as they say out +of Yorkshire—for no good, you may be sure. Now there is no beat will +support two tinkers, as you doubtless know; mine was a good one, but it +would not support the flying tinker and myself, though if it would have +supported twenty it would have been all the same to the flying villain, +who’ll brook no one but himself; so he presently finds me out, and offers +to fight me for the beat. Now, being bred upon the roads, I can fight a +little, that is with anything like my match, but I was not going to fight +him, who happens to be twice my size, and so I told him; whereupon he +knocks me down, and would have done me further mischief had not some men +been nigh and prevented him; so he threatened to cut my throat, and went +his way. Well, I did not like such usage at all, and was woundily +frightened, and tried to keep as much out of his way as possible, going +anywhere but where I thought I was likely to meet him; and sure enough +for several months I contrived to keep out of his way. At last somebody +told me that he was gone back to Yorkshire, whereupon I was glad at +heart, and ventured to show myself, going here and there as I did before. +Well, young man, it was yesterday that I and mine set ourselves down in a +lane, about five miles from here, and lighted our fire, and had our +dinner, and after dinner I sat down to mend three kettles and a frying +pan which the people in the neighbourhood had given me to mend—for, as I +told you before, I have a good connection, owing to my honesty. Well, as +I sat there hard at work, happy as the day’s long, and thinking of +anything but what was to happen, who should come up but this Black Jack, +this king of the tinkers, rattling along in his cart, with his wife, that +they call Grey Moll, by his side—for the villain has got a wife, and a +maid-servant too; the last I never saw, but they that has, says that she +is as big as a house, and young, and well to look at, which can’t be all +said of Moll, who, though she’s big enough in all conscience, is neither +young nor handsome. Well, no sooner does he see me and mine, than giving +the reins to Grey Moll, he springs out of his cart, and comes straight at +me; not a word did he say, but on he comes straight at me like a wild +bull. I am a quiet man, young fellow, but I saw now that quietness would +be of no use, so I sprang up upon my legs, and being bred upon the roads, +and able to fight a little, I squared as he came running in upon me, and +had a round or two with him. Lord bless you, young man, it was like a +fly fighting with an elephant—one of those big beasts the show-folks +carry about. I had not a chance with the fellow, he knocked me here, he +knocked me there, knocked me into the hedge, and knocked me out again. I +was at my last shifts, and my poor wife saw it. Now my poor wife, though +she is as gentle as a pigeon, has yet a spirit of her own, and though she +wasn’t bred upon the roads, can scratch a little, so when she saw me at +my last shifts, she flew at the villain—she couldn’t bear to see her +partner murdered—and scratched the villain’s face. Lord bless you, young +man, she had better have been quiet: Grey Moll no sooner saw what she was +about, than springing out of the cart, where she had sat all along +perfectly quiet, save a little whooping and screeching to encourage her +blade:—Grey Moll, I say (my flesh creeps when I think of it—for I am a +kind husband, and love my poor wife)— + +_Myself_.—Take another draught of the ale; you look frightened, and it +will do you good. Stout liquor makes stout heart, as the man says in the +play. + +_Tinker_.—That’s true, young man; here’s to you—where was I? Grey Moll +no sooner saw what my wife was about, than springing out of the cart, she +flew at my poor wife, clawed off her bonnet in a moment, and seized hold +of her hair. Lord bless you, young man, my poor wife, in the hands of +Grey Moll, was nothing better than a pigeon in the claws of a buzzard +hawk, or I in the hands of the Flaming Tinman, which when I saw, my heart +was fit to burst, and I determined to give up everything—everything to +save my poor wife out of Grey Moll’s claws. “Hold!” I shouted. “Hold, +both of you—Jack, Moll. Hold, both of you, for God’s sake, and I’ll do +what you will: give up trade, and business, connection, bread, and +everything, never more travel the roads, and go down on my knees to you +in the bargain.” Well, this had some effect: Moll let go my wife, and +the Blazing Tinman stopped for a moment; it was only for a moment, +however, that he left off—all of a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me +against a tree; and what did the villain then? why the flying villain +seized me by the throat, and almost throttled me, roaring—what do you +think, young man, that the flaming villain roared out? + +_Myself_.—I really don’t know—something horrible, I suppose. + +_Tinker_.—Horrible, indeed; you may well say horrible, young man; neither +more nor less than the bible—“a bible, a bible!” roared the Blazing +Tinman; and he pressed my throat so hard against the tree that my senses +began to dwaul away—a bible, a bible, still ringing in my ears. Now, +young man, my poor wife is a Christian woman, and, though she travels the +roads, carries a bible with her at the bottom of her sack, with which +sometimes she teaches the children to read—it was the only thing she +brought with her from the place of her kith and kin, save her own body +and the clothes on her back; so my poor wife, half distracted, runs to +her sack, pulls out the bible, and puts it into the hand of the Blazing +Tinman, who then thrusts the end of it into my mouth with such fury that +it made my lips bleed, and broke short one of my teeth which happened to +be decayed. “Swear,” said he, “swear, you mumping villain, take your +bible oath that you will quit and give up the beat altogether, or +I’ll”—and then the hard-hearted villain made me swear by the bible, and +my own damnation, half-throttled as I was—to—to—I can’t go on— + +_Myself_.—Take another draught—stout liquor— + +_Tinker_.—I can’t, young man, my heart’s too full, and what’s more, the +pitcher is empty. + +_Myself_.—And so he swore you, I suppose, on the bible, to quit the +roads? + +_Tinker_.—You are right, he did so, the gypsy villain. + +_Myself_.—Gypsy! Is he a gypsy? + +_Tinker_.—Not exactly; what they call a half and half. His father was a +gypsy, and his mother, like mine, one who walked the roads. + +_Myself_.—Is he of the Smiths—the Petulengres? + +_Tinker_.—I say, young man, you know a thing or two; one would think, to +hear you talk, you had been bred upon the roads. I thought none but +those bred upon the roads knew anything of that name—Petulengres! No, +not he, he fights the Petulengres whenever he meets them; he likes nobody +but himself, and wants to be king of the roads. I believe he is a Boss, +or a --- at any rate he’s a bad one, as I know to my cost. + +_Myself_.—And what are you going to do? + +_Tinker_.—Do! you may well ask that; I don’t know what to do. My poor +wife and I have been talking of that all the morning, over that half-pint +mug of beer; we can’t determine on what’s to be done. All we know is, +that we must quit the roads. The villain swore that the next time he saw +us on the roads he’d cut all our throats, and seize our horse and bit of +cart that are now standing out there under the tree. + +_Myself_.—And what do you mean to do with your horse and cart? + +_Tinker_.—Another question! What shall we do with our cart and pony? +they are of no use to us now. Stay on the roads I will not, both for my +oath’s sake and my own. If we had a trifle of money, we were thinking of +going to Bristol, where I might get up a little business, but we have +none; our last three farthings we spent about the mug of beer. + +_Myself_.—But why don’t you sell your horse and cart? + +_Tinker_.—Sell them, and who would buy them, unless some one who wished +to set up in my line; but there’s no beat, and what’s the use of the +horse and cart and the few tools without the beat? + +_Myself_.—I’m half inclined to buy your cart and pony, and your beat too. + +_Tinker_.—You! How came you to think of such a thing? + +_Myself_.—Why, like yourself, I hardly know what to do. I want a home +and work. As for a home, I suppose I can contrive to make a home out of +your tent and cart; and as for work, I must learn to be a tinker, it +would not be hard for one of my trade to learn to tinker; what better can +I do? Would you have me go to Chester and work there now? I don’t like +the thoughts of it. If I go to Chester and work there, I can’t be my own +man; I must work under a master, and perhaps he and I should quarrel, and +when I quarrel I am apt to hit folks, and those that hit folks are +sometimes sent to prison; I don’t like the thought either of going to +Chester or to Chester prison. What do you think I could earn at Chester? + +_Tinker_.—A matter of eleven shillings a week, if anybody would employ +you, which I don’t think they would with those hands of yours. But +whether they would or not, if you are of a quarrelsome nature, you must +not go to Chester; you would be in the castle in no time. I don’t know +how to advise you. As for selling you my stock, I’d see you farther +first, for your own sake. + +_Myself_.—Why? + +_Tinker_.—Why! you would get your head knocked off. Suppose you were to +meet him? + +_Myself_.—Pooh, don’t be afraid on my account; if I were to meet him I +could easily manage him one way or other. I know all kinds of strange +words and names, and, as I told you before, I sometimes hit people when +they put me out. + +Here the tinker’s wife, who for some minutes past had been listening +attentively to our discourse, interposed, saying, in a low soft tone: “I +really don’t see, John, why you shouldn’t sell the young man the things, +seeing that he wishes for them, and is so confident; you have told him +plainly how matters stand, and if anything ill should befall him, people +couldn’t lay the blame on you; but I don’t think any ill will befall him, +and who knows but God has sent him to our assistance in time of need.” + +“I’ll hear of no such thing,” said the tinker; “I have drunk at the young +man’s expense, and though he says he’s quarrelsome, I would not wish to +sit in pleasanter company. A pretty fellow I should be, now, if I were +to let him follow his own will. If he once sets up on my beat, he’s a +lost man, his ribs will be stove in, and his head knocked off his +shoulders. There, you are crying, but you shan’t have your will, though; +I won’t be the young man’s destruction—If, indeed, I thought he could +manage the tinker—but he never can; he says he can hit, but it’s no use +hitting the tinker;—crying still! you are enough to drive one mad. I +say, young man, I believe you understand a thing or two, just now you +were talking of knowing hard words and names—I don’t wish to send you to +your mischief—you say you know hard words and names; let us see. Only on +one condition I’ll sell you the pony and things; as for the beat it’s +gone, isn’t mine—sworn away by my mouth. Tell me what’s my name; if you +can’t, may I—” + +_Myself_.—Don’t swear, it’s a bad habit, neither pleasant nor profitable. +Your name is Slingsby—Jack Slingsby. There, don’t stare, there’s nothing +in my telling you your name: I’ve been in these parts before, at least +not very far from here. Ten years ago, when I was little more than a +child, I was about twenty miles from here in a post chaise, at the door +of an inn, and as I looked from the window of the chaise, I saw you +standing by a gutter, with a big tin ladle in your hand, and somebody +called you Jack Slingsby. I never forget anything I hear or see; I +can’t, I wish I could. So there’s nothing strange in my knowing your +name; indeed, there’s nothing strange in anything, provided you examine +it to the bottom. Now what am I to give you for the things? + +I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in trade, cart, +and pony—purchased sundry provisions of the landlady, also a wagoner’s +frock, which had belonged to a certain son of hers, deceased, gave my +little animal a feed of corn, and prepared to depart. + +“God bless you, young man,” said Slingsby, shaking me by the hand, “you +are the best friend I’ve had for many a day: I have but one thing to tell +you, Don’t cross that fellow’s path if you can help it; and stay—should +the pony refuse to go, just touch him so, and he’ll fly like the wind.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + + +Effects of Corn—One Night Longer—The Hoofs—A Stumble—Are you Hurt?—What a +Difference!—Drowsy—Maze of Bushes—Housekeeping—Sticks and Furze—The +Driftway—Account of Stock—Anvil and Bellows—Twenty Years. + +It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure from the +place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my little cart; the +pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was probably not much +accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far from having to hasten him +forward by the particular application which the tinker had pointed out to +me, I had rather to repress his eagerness, being, though an excellent +pedestrian, not unfrequently left behind. The country through which I +passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary: few habitations +appeared. As it was quite a matter of indifference to me in what +direction I went, the whole world being before me, I allowed the pony to +decide upon the matter; it was not long before he left the high road, +being probably no friend to public places. I followed him I knew not +whither, but, from subsequent observation, have reason to suppose that +our course was in a north-west direction. At length night came upon us, +and a cold wind sprang up, which was succeeded by a drizzling rain. + +I had originally intended to pass the night in the cart, or to pitch my +little tent on some convenient spot by the road’s side; but, owing to the +alteration in the weather, I thought that it would be advisable to take +up my quarters in any hedge alehouse at which I might arrive. To tell +the truth, I was not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the night once +more beneath a roof. I had determined to live quite independent, but I +had never before passed a night by myself abroad, and felt a little +apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, however, on the morrow, to be a little +more prepared for the step, so I determined for one night—only for one +night longer—to sleep like a Christian; but human determinations are not +always put into effect, such a thing as opportunity is frequently +wanting, such was the case here. I went on for a considerable time, in +expectation of coming to some rustic hostelry, but nothing of the kind +presented itself to my eyes; the country in which I now was seemed almost +uninhabited, not a house of any kind was to be seen—at least I saw +none—though it is true houses might be near without my seeing them, owing +to the darkness of the night, for neither moon nor star was abroad. I +heard, occasionally, the bark of dogs; but the sound appeared to come +from an immense distance. The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my +feet was wet and miry; in short, it was a night in which even a tramper +by profession would feel more comfortable in being housed than abroad. I +followed in the rear of the cart, the pony still proceeding at a sturdy +pace, till methought I heard other hoofs than those of my own nag; I +listened for a moment, and distinctly heard the sound of hoofs +approaching at a great rate, and evidently from the quarter towards which +I and my little caravan were moving. We were in a dark lane—so dark that +it was impossible for me to see my own hand. Apprehensive that some +accident might occur, I ran forward, and, seizing the pony by the bridle, +drew him as near as I could to the hedge. On came the hoofs—trot, trot, +trot; and evidently more than those of one horse; their speed as they +advanced appeared to slacken—it was only, however, for a moment. I heard +a voice cry, “Push on,—this is a desperate robbing place,—never mind the +dark;” and the hoofs came on quicker than before. “Stop!” said I, at the +top of my voice; “stop! or—” Before I could finish what I was about to +say there was a stumble, a heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and putting +out my foot I felt what I conjectured to be the head of a horse stretched +upon the road. “Lord have mercy upon us! what’s the matter?” exclaimed a +voice. “Spare my life,” cried another voice, apparently from the ground; +“only spare my life, and take all I have.” “Where are you, Master Wise?” +cried the other voice. “Help! here, Master Bat,” cried the voice from +the ground, “help me up or I shall be murdered.” “Why, what’s the +matter?” said Bat. “Some one has knocked me down, and is robbing me,” +said the voice from the ground. “Help! murder!” cried Bat; and, +regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that he would stay +and help him up, he urged his horse forward and galloped away as fast as +he could. I remained for some time quiet, listening to various groans +and exclamations uttered by the person on the ground; at length I said, +“Holloa! are you hurt?” “Spare my life, and take all I have!” said the +voice from the ground. “Have they not done robbing you yet?” said I; +“when they have finished let me know, and I will come and help you.” +“Who is that?” said the voice; “pray come and help me, and do me no +mischief.” “You were saying that some one was robbing you,” said I; +“don’t think I shall come till he is gone away.” “Then you ben’t he?” +said the voice. “Ar’n’t you robbed?” said I. “Can’t say I be,” said the +voice; “not yet at any rate; but who are you? I don’t know you.” “A +traveller whom you and your partner were going to run over in this dark +lane; you almost frightened me out of my senses.” “Frightened!” said the +voice, in a louder tone; “frightened! oh!” and thereupon I heard somebody +getting upon his legs. This accomplished, the individual proceeded to +attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty raised him upon his +legs also. “Ar’n’t you hurt?” said I. “Hurt!” said the voice; “not I; +don’t think it, whatever the horse may be. I tell you what, my fellow, I +thought you were a robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good +mind—” “To do what?” “To serve you out; ar’n’t you ashamed—?” “At +what?” said I; “not to have robbed you? Shall I set about it now?” “Ha, +ha!” said the man, dropping the bullying tone which he had assumed; “you +are joking—robbing! who talks of robbing? I wonder how my horse’s knees +are; not much hurt, I think—only mired.” The man, whoever he was, then +got upon his horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, “Good +night, friend; where are you?” “Here I am,” said I, “just behind you.” +“You are, are you? Take that.” I know not what he did, but probably +pricking his horse with the spur the animal kicked out violently; one of +his heels struck me on the shoulder, but luckily missed my face; I fell +back with the violence of the blow, whilst the fellow scampered off at a +great rate. Stopping at some distance, he loaded me with abuse, and +then, continuing his way at a rapid trot, I heard no more of him. + +“What a difference!” said I, getting up; “last night I was fêted in the +hall of a rich genius, and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark +lane by the heel of Master Wise’s horse—I wonder who gave him that name? +And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge upon me, and I was not +wise enough to keep out of his way. Well, I am not much hurt, so it is +of little consequence.” + +I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I might as well +make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, taking the reins in +my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, whereupon the sturdy little +animal started again at as brisk a pace as if he had not already come +many a long mile. I lay half reclining in the cart, holding the reins +lazily, and allowing the animal to go just where he pleased, often +wondering where he would conduct me. At length I felt drowsy, and my +head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself, but it was only to doze +again; this occurred several times. Opening my eyes after a doze +somewhat longer than the others, I found that the drizzling rain had +ceased, a corner of the moon was apparent in the heavens, casting a faint +light; I looked around for a moment or two, but my eyes and brain were +heavy with slumber, and I could scarcely distinguish where we were. I +had a kind of dim consciousness that we were traversing an uninclosed +country—perhaps a heath; I thought, however, that I saw certain large +black objects looming in the distance, which I had a confused idea might +be woods or plantations; the pony still moved at his usual pace. I did +not find the jolting of the cart at all disagreeable; on the contrary, it +had quite a somniferous effect upon me. Again my eyes closed; I opened +them once more, but with less perception in them than before, looked +forward, and, muttering something about woodlands, I placed myself in an +easier posture than I had hitherto done, and fairly fell asleep. + +How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I believe for +a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the ceasing of the +jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of which I was perfectly +sensible in my sleep. I started up and looked around me, the moon was +still shining, and the face of the heaven was studded with stars; I found +myself amidst a haze of bushes of various kinds, but principally hazel +and holly, through which was a path or driftway with grass growing on +either side, upon which the pony was already diligently browsing. I +conjectured that this place had been one of the haunts of his former +master, and, on dismounting and looking about, was strengthened in that +opinion by finding a spot under an ash tree which, from its burnt and +blackened appearance, seemed to have been frequently used as a +fire-place. I will take up my quarters here, thought I; it is an +excellent spot for me to commence my new profession in; I was quite right +to trust myself to the guidance of the pony. Unharnessing the animal +without delay, I permitted him to browse at free will on the grass, +convinced that he would not wander far from a place to which he was so +much attached; I then pitched the little tent close beside the ash tree +to which I have alluded, and conveyed two or three articles into it, and +instantly felt that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my +life. Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair, +something like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses; of this +I was the more sensible from feeling very cold and shivering, owing to my +late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in the night air. Collecting, +therefore, all the dry sticks and furze I could find, I placed them upon +the fire-place, adding certain chips and a billet which I found in the +cart, it having apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry with him a +small store of fuel. Having then struck a spark in a tinder-box and +lighted a match, I set fire to the combustible heap, and was not slow in +raising a cheerful blaze; I then drew my cart near the fire, and, seating +myself on one of the shafts, hung over the warmth with feelings of +intense pleasure and satisfaction. Having continued in the posture for a +considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven in the direction of a +particular star; I, however, could not find the star, nor indeed many of +the starry train, the greater number having fled, from which +circumstance, and from the appearance of the sky, I concluded that +morning was nigh. About this time I again began to feel drowsy; I +therefore arose, and having prepared for myself a kind of couch in the +tent, I flung myself upon it and went to sleep. + +I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by the carolling of +birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a novel; I awoke because, to +use vulgar language, I had slept my sleep out, not because the birds were +carolling around me in numbers, as they had probably been for hours +without my hearing them. I got up and left my tent; the morning was yet +more bright than that of the preceding day. Impelled by curiosity, I +walked about, endeavouring to ascertain to what place chance, or rather +the pony, had brought me; following the driftway for some time, amidst +bushes and stunted trees, I came to a grove of dark pines, through which +it appeared to lead; I tracked it a few hundred yards, but seeing nothing +but trees, and the way being wet and sloughy, owing to the recent rain, I +returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in another direction, came +to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless the one I had traversed +the preceding night. My curiosity satisfied, I returned to my little +encampment, and on the way beheld a small footpath on the left winding +through the bushes, which had before escaped my observation. Having +reached my tent and cart, I breakfasted on some of the provisions which I +had procured the day before, and then proceeded to take a regular account +of the stock formerly possessed by Slingsby the tinker, but now become my +own by right of lawful purchase. + +Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was possessed of a +mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a blanket to cover me, +the last quite clean and nearly new; then there was a frying pan and a +kettle, the first for cooking any food which required cooking, and the +second for heating any water which I might wish to heat. I likewise +found an earthen teapot and two or three cups; of the first I should +rather say I found the remains, it being broken in three parts, no doubt +since it came into my possession, which would have precluded the +possibility of my asking anybody to tea for the present, should anybody +visit me, even supposing I had tea and sugar, which was not the case. I +then overhauled what might more strictly be called the stock in trade; +this consisted of various tools, an iron ladle, a chafing pan and small +bellows, sundry pans and kettles, the latter being of tin, with the +exception of one which was of copper, all in a state of considerable +dilapidation—if I may use the term; of these first Slingsby had spoken in +particular, advising me to mend them as soon as possible, and to +endeavour to sell them, in order that I might have the satisfaction of +receiving some return upon the outlay which I had made. There was +likewise a small quantity of block tin, sheet tin, and solder. “This +Slingsby,” said I, “is certainly a very honest man, he has sold me more +than my money’s worth; I believe, however, there is something more in the +cart.” Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the cart, and, amidst a +quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and bellows of that kind which +are used in forges, and two hammers such as smiths use, one great, and +the other small. + +The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, as no word +which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby have given me reason to +suppose that he had ever followed the occupation of a smith; yet, if he +had not, how did he come by them? I sat down upon the shaft, and +pondered the question deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded that +he had come by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur upon +the roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, must have a +very imperfect conception; honestly, of course—for I scouted the idea +that Slingsby would have stolen this blacksmith’s gear—for I had the +highest opinion of his honesty, which opinion I still retain at the +present day, which is upwards of twenty years from the time of which I am +speaking, during the whole of which period I have neither seen the poor +fellow, nor received any intelligence of him. + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + + +New Profession—Beautiful Night—Jupiter—Sharp and Shrill—The Rommany +Chi—All Alone—Three and Sixpence—What is Rommany?—Be Civil—Parraco +Tute—Slight Start—She Will Be Grateful—The Rustling. + +I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach myself the +mysteries of my new profession. I cannot say that I was very successful, +but the time passed agreeably, and was therefore not ill spent. Towards +evening I flung my work aside, took some refreshment, and afterwards a +walk. + +This time I turned up the small footpath, of which I have already spoken. +It led in a zigzag manner through thickets of hazel, elder, and sweet +briar; after following its windings for somewhat better than a furlong, I +heard a gentle sound of water, and presently came to a small rill, which +ran directly across the path. I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had +already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be nigh at +hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally frequented by +wandering people, who I was aware never take up their quarters in places +where water is difficult to be obtained. Forthwith I stretched myself on +the ground, and took a long and delicious draught of the crystal stream, +and then, seating myself in a bush, I continued for some time gazing on +the water as it purled tinkling away in its channel through an opening in +the hazels, and should have probably continued much longer had not the +thought that I had left my property unprotected compelled me to rise and +return to my encampment. + +Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, and +innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven. I sat on the shaft, my +eyes turned upwards. I had found it: there it was twinkling millions of +miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we belong: of all +stars, the one which has the most interest for me—the star Jupiter. + +Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter? I know nothing +about thee, save what every child knows, that thou art a big star, whose +only light is derived from moons. And is not that knowledge enough to +make me feel an interest in thee? Ay, truly, I never look at thee +without wondering what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter? +That there is life in Jupiter who can doubt? There is life in our own +little star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, which is not a +little star. But how different must life be in Jupiter from what it is +in our own little star! Life here is life beneath the dear sun—life in +Jupiter is life beneath moons—four moons—no single moon is able to +illumine that vast bulk. All know what life is in our own little star; +it is anything but a routine of happiness here, where the dear sun rises +to us every day: then how sad and moping must life be in mighty Jupiter, +on which no sun ever shines, and which is never lighted save by pale +moonbeams! The thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in +Jupiter than in this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, +has always made me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star. + +Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first. During +the morning I worked upon my kettles, and employed the remaining part of +the day as I best could. The whole of this time I only saw two +individuals, rustics, who passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me +a glance; they probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps +they were. + +One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good spirits, for by +this time I had actually mended in a very creditable way, as I imagined, +two kettles and a frying pan, I heard a voice which seemed to proceed +from the path leading to the rivulet; at first it sounded from a +considerable distance, but drew nearer by degrees. I soon remarked that +the tones were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet something of +childhood in them. Once or twice I distinguished certain words in the +song which the voice was singing; the words were—but no, I thought again +I was probably mistaken—and then the voice ceased for a time; presently I +heard it again, close to the entrance of the footpath; in another moment +I heard it in the lane or glade in which stood my tent, where it abruptly +stopped, but not before I had heard the very words which I at first +thought I had distinguished. + +I turned my head: at the entrance of the footpath, which might be about +thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I perceived the figure +of a young girl; her face was turned towards me, and she appeared to be +scanning me and my encampment; after a little time she looked in the +other direction, only for a moment, however; probably observing nothing +in that quarter, she again looked towards me and almost immediately +stepped forward; and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard in +the wood, the first words of which were those which I have already +alluded to. + + “The Rommany chi + And the Rommany chal, + Shall jaw tasaulor + To drab the bawlor, + And dook the gry + Of the farming rye.” + +A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon my kettle; +a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good. Let them look to +their cattle. + +“All alone here, brother?” said a voice close by me, in sharp but not +disagreeable tones. + +I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with the gravity +which became one of my profession. I allowed at least half a minute to +elapse before I even lifted up my eyes. + +A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features were very +pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion was a clear olive, +and her jet black hair hung back upon her shoulders. She was rather +scantily dressed, and her arms and feet were bare; round her neck, +however, was a handsome string of corals, with ornaments of gold; in her +hand she held a bulrush. + +“All alone here, brother?” said the girl, as I looked up; “all alone +here, in the lane; where are your wife and children?” + +“Why do you call me brother?” said I; “I am no brother of yours. Do you +take me for one of your people? I am no gypsy; not I, indeed!” + +“Don’t be afraid, brother, you are no Roman—Roman indeed, you are not +handsome enough to be a Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. +If I called you brother, it was because I didn’t know what else to call +you. Marry, come up, brother, I should be very sorry to have you for a +brother.” + +“Then you don’t like me?” + +“Neither like you, nor dislike you, brother; what will you have for that +kekaubi?” + +“What’s the use of talking to me in that un-Christian way; what do you +mean, young gentlewoman?” + +“Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what a kekaubi +is. I was asking you what you would have for that kettle.” + +“Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn’t it well mended?” + +“Well mended! I could have done it better myself; three-and-sixpence! +it’s only fit to be played at football with.” + +“I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has caused me a world +of trouble.” + +“I never saw a worse mended kettle. I say, brother, your hair is white.” + +“’Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing but nature.” + +“I am young, brother; my hair is black—that’s nature: you are young, +brother; your hair is white—that’s not nature.” + +“I can’t help it if it be not, but it is nature after all; did you never +see grey hair on the young?” + +“Never! I have heard it is true of a grey lad, and a bad one he was. +Oh, so bad.” + +“Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, sister; do to oblige +me, pretty sister.” + +“Hey, brother, you don’t speak as you did—you don’t speak like a gorgio, +you speak like one of us, you call me sister.” + +“As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person after all, sister.” + +“I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the face—there—do you +speak Rommany?” + +“Rommany! Rommany! what is Rommany?” + +“What is Rommany? our language, to be sure; tell me, brother, only one +thing, you don’t speak Rommany?” + +“You say it.” + +“I don’t say it, I wish to know. Do you speak Rommany?” + +“Do you mean thieves’ slang—cant? no, I don’t speak cant, I don’t like +it, I only know a few words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don’t they?” + +“I don’t know,” said the girl, sitting down on the ground, “I was almost +thinking—well, never mind, you don’t know Rommany. I say, brother, I +think I should like to have the kekaubi.” + +“I thought you said it was badly mended?” + +“Yes, yes, brother, but—” + +“I thought you said it was only fit to be played at football with?” + +“Yes, yes, brother, but—” + +“What will you give for it?” + +“Brother, I am the poor person’s child, I will give you sixpence for the +kekaubi.” + +“Poor person’s child; how came you by that necklace?” + +“Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?” + +“Not for sixpence; isn’t the kettle nicely mended?” + +“I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the kekaubi, +brother?” + +“You like me then?” + +“I don’t dislike you—I dislike no one; there’s only one, and him I don’t +dislike, him I hate.” + +“Who is he?” + +“I scarcely know, I never saw him, but ’tis no affair of yours, you don’t +speak Rommany; you will let me have the kekaubi, pretty brother?” + +“You may have it, but not for sixpence, I’ll give it to you.” + +“Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the rikkeni kekaubi is now +mine. O, rare! I thank you kindly, brother.” + +Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had hitherto held in +her hand, and seizing the kettle, she looked at it for a moment, and then +began a kind of dance, flourishing the kettle over her head the while, +and singing— + + “The Rommany chi + And the Rommany chal, + Shall jaw tasaulor + To drab the bawlor, + And dook the gry + Of the farming rye.” + +“Good by, brother I must be going.” + +“Good by, sister; why do you sing that wicked song?” + +“Wicked song, hey, brother! you don’t understand the song!” + +“Ha, ha! gypsy daughter,” said I, starting up and clapping my hands, “I +don’t understand Rommany, don’t I? You shall see; here’s the answer to +your gillie— + + ‘The Rommany chi + And the Rommany chal + Love Luripen + And dukkeripen, + And hokkeripen, + And every pen + But Lachipen + And tatchipen.’” + +The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained for some +time after I had concluded the song, standing motionless as a statue, +with the kettle in her hand. At length she came towards me, and stared +me full in the face. “Grey, tall, and talks Rommany,” said she to +herself. In her countenance there was an expression which I had not seen +before—an expression which struck me as being composed of fear, +curiosity, and the deepest hate. It was momentary, however, and was +succeeded by one smiling, frank, and open. “Ha, ha, brother,” said she, +“well, I like you all the better for talking Rommany; it is a sweet +language, isn’t it? especially as you sing it. How did you pick it up? +But you picked it up upon the roads, no doubt? Ha, it was funny in you +to pretend not to know it, and you so flush with it all the time; it was +not kind in you, however, to frighten the poor person’s child so by +screaming out, but it was kind in you to give the rikkeni kekaubi to the +child of the poor person. She will be grateful to you; she will bring +you her little dog to show you, her pretty juggal; the poor person’s +child will come and see you again; you are not going away to-day, I hope, +or to-morrow, pretty brother, grey-hair’d brother—you are not going away +to-morrow, I hope?” + +“Nor the next day,” said I, “only to take a stroll to see if I can sell a +kettle; good by, little sister, Rommany sister, dingy sister.” + +“Good by, tall brother,” said the girl, as she departed, singing + + “The Rommany chi,” etc. + +“There’s something about that girl that I don’t understand,” said I to +myself; “something mysterious. However, it is nothing to me, she knows +not who I am, and if she did, what then?” + +Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep meditation, +with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in the bushes over +against me. I turned my eyes in that direction, but saw nothing. “Some +bird,” said I; “an owl, perhaps;” and once more I fell into meditation; +my mind wandered from one thing to another—musing now on the structure of +the Roman tongue—now on the rise and fall of the Persian power—and now on +the powers vested in recorders at quarter sessions. I was thinking what +a fine thing it must be to be a recorder of the peace, when lifting up my +eyes, I saw right opposite, not a culprit at the bar, but, staring at me +through a gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half covered with +grey hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + + +Friend of Slingsby—All Quiet—Danger—The Two Cakes—Children in the +Wood—Don’t be Angry—In Deep Thought—Temples Throbbing—Deadly Sick—Another +Blow—No Answer—How Old are You?—Play and Sacrament—Heavy Heart—Song of +Poison—Drow of Gypsies—The Dog—Ely’s Church—Get up, Bebee—The Vehicle—Can +you Speak?—The Oil. + +The next day at an early hour, I harnessed my little pony, and, putting +my things in my cart, I went on my projected stroll. Crossing the moor, +I arrived in about an hour at a small village, from which, after a short +stay, I proceeded to another, and from thence to a third. I found that +the name of Slingsby was well known in these parts. + +“If you are a friend of Slingsby you must be an honest lad,” said an +ancient crone; “you shall never want for work whilst I can give it you. +Here, take my kettle, the bottom came out this morning, and lend me that +of yours till you bring it back. I’m not afraid to trust you—not I. +Don’t hurry yourself, young man, if you don’t come back for a fortnight I +shan’t have the worse opinion of you.” + +I returned to my quarters at evening, tired but rejoiced at heart; I had +work before me for several days, having collected various kekaubies which +required mending, in place of those which I left behind—those which I had +been employed upon during the last few days. I found all quiet in the +lane or glade, and, unharnessing my little horse, I once more pitched my +tent in the old spot beneath the ash, lighted my fire, ate my frugal +meal, and then, after looking for some time at the heavenly bodies, and +more particularly at the star Jupiter, I entered my tent, lay down upon +my pallet, and went to sleep. + +Nothing occurred on the following day which requires any particular +notice, nor indeed on the one succeeding that. It was about noon on the +third day that I sat beneath the shade of the ash tree; I was not at +work, for the weather was particularly hot, and I felt but little +inclination to make any exertion. Leaning my back against the tree, I +was not long in falling into a slumber; I particularly remember that +slumber of mine beneath the ash tree, for it was about the sweetest +slumber that I ever enjoyed; how long I continued in it I do not know; I +could almost have wished that it had lasted to the present time. All of +a sudden it appeared to me that a voice cried in my ear, “Danger! danger! +danger!” Nothing seemingly could be more distinct than the words which I +heard; then an uneasy sensation came over me, which I strove to get rid +of, and at last succeeded, for I awoke. The gypsy girl was standing just +opposite to me, with her eyes fixed upon my countenance; a singular kind +of little dog stood beside her. + +“Ha!” said I, “was it you that cried danger? What danger is there?” + +“Danger, brother, there is no danger; what danger should there be? I +called to my little dog, but that was in the wood; my little dog’s name +is not danger, but stranger; what danger should there be, brother?” + +“What, indeed, except in sleeping beneath a tree; what is that you have +got in your hand?” + +“Something for you,” said the girl, sitting down and proceeding to untie +a white napkin; “a pretty manricli, so sweet, so nice; when I went home +to my people I told my grandbebee how kind you had been to the poor +person’s child, and when my grandbebee saw the kekaubi, she said, ‘Hir mi +devlis, it won’t do for the poor people to be ungrateful; by my God, I +will bake a cake for the young harko mescro.’” + +“But there are two cakes.” + +“Yes, brother, two cakes, both for you; my grandbebee meant them both for +you—but list, brother, I will have one of them for bringing them. I know +you will give me one, pretty brother, grey-haired brother—which shall I +have, brother?” + +In the napkin were two round cakes, seemingly made of rich and costly +compounds, and precisely similar in form, each weighing about half a +pound. + +“Which shall I have, brother?” said the gypsy girl. + +“Whichever you please.” + +“No, brother, no, the cakes are yours, not mine, it is for you to say.” + +“Well, then, give me the one nearest you, and take the other.” + +“Yes, brother, yes,” said the girl; and taking the cakes, she flung them +into the air two or three times, catching them as they fell, and singing +the while. “Pretty brother, grey-haired brother—here, brother,” said +she, “here is your cake, this other is mine.” + +“Are you sure,” said I, taking the cake, “that this is the one I chose?” + +“Quite sure, brother; but if you like you can have mine; there’s no +difference, however—shall I eat?” + +“Yes, sister, eat.” + +“See, brother, I do; now, brother, eat, pretty brother, grey-haired +brother.” + +“I am not hungry.” + +“Not hungry! well, what then—what has being hungry to do with the matter? +It is my grandbebee’s cake which was sent because you were kind to the +poor person’s child; eat, brother, eat, and we shall be like the children +in the wood that the gorgios speak of.” + +“The children in the wood had nothing to eat.” + +“Yes, they had hips and haws; we have better. Eat, brother.” + +“See, sister, I do,” and I ate a piece of the cake. + +“Well, brother, how do you like it?” said the girl, looking fixedly at +me. + +“It is very rich and sweet, and yet there is something strange about it; +I don’t think I shall eat any more.” + +“Fie, brother, fie, to find fault with the poor person’s cake; see, I +have nearly eaten mine.” + +“That’s a pretty little dog.” + +“Is it not, brother? that’s my juggal, my little sister, as I call her.” + +“Come here, juggal,” said I to the animal. + +“What do you want with my juggal?” said the girl. + +“Only to give her a piece of cake,” said I, offering the dog a piece +which I had just broken off. + +“What do you mean?” said the girl, snatching the dog away; “my +grandbebee’s cake is not for dogs.” + +“Why, I just now saw you give the animal a piece of yours.” + +“You lie, brother, you saw no such thing; but I see how it is, you wish +to affront the poor person’s child. I shall go to my house.” + +“Keep still, and don’t be angry; see, I have eaten the piece which I +offered the dog. I meant no offence. It is a sweet cake after all.” + +“Isn’t it, brother? I am glad you like it. Offence! brother, no offence +at all! I am so glad you like my grandbebee’s cake, but she will be +wanting me at home. Eat one piece more of grandbebee’s cake, and I will +go.” + +“I am not hungry, I will put the rest by.” + +“One piece more before I go, handsome brother, grey-haired brother.” + +“I will not eat any more, I have already eaten more than I wished to +oblige you; if you must go, good day to you.” + +The girl rose upon her feet, looked hard at me, then at the remainder of +the cake which I held in my hand, and then at me again, and then stood +for a moment or two, as if in deep thought; presently an air of +satisfaction came over her countenance, she smiled and said, “Well, +brother, well, do as you please, I merely wished you to eat because you +have been so kind to the poor person’s child. She loves you so, that she +could have wished to have seen you eat it all; good by, brother, I dare +say when I am gone you will eat some more of it, and if you don’t I dare +say you have eaten enough to—to—show your love for us. After all it was +a poor person’s cake, a Rommany manricli, and all you gorgios are +somewhat gorgious. Farewell, brother, pretty brother, grey-haired +brother. Come, juggal.” + +I remained under the ash tree seated on the grass for a minute or two, +and endeavoured to resume the occupation in which I had been engaged +before I fell asleep, but I felt no inclination for labour. I then +thought I would sleep again, and once more reclined against the tree, and +slumbered for some little time, but my sleep was more agitated than +before. Something appeared to bear heavy on my breast, I struggled in my +sleep, fell on the grass, and awoke; my temples were throbbing, there was +a burning in my eyes, and my mouth felt parched; the oppression about the +chest which I had felt in my sleep still continued. “I must shake off +these feelings,” said I, “and get upon my legs.” I walked rapidly up and +down upon the green sward; at length, feeling my thirst increase, I +directed my steps down the narrow path to the spring which ran amidst the +bushes; arriving there, I knelt down and drank of the water, but on +lifting up my head I felt thirstier than before; again I drank, but with +the like results; I was about to drink for the third time, when I felt a +dreadful qualm which instantly robbed me of nearly all my strength. What +can be the matter with me, thought I; but I suppose I have made myself +ill by drinking cold water. I got up and made the best of my way back to +my tent; before I reached it the qualm had seized me again, and I was +deadly sick. I flung myself on my pallet, qualm succeeded qualm, but in +the intervals my mouth was dry and burning, and I felt a frantic desire +to drink, but no water was at hand, and to reach the spring once more was +impossible: the qualms continued, deadly pains shot through my whole +frame; I could bear my agonies no longer, and I fell into a trance or +swoon. How long I continued therein I know not; on recovering, however, +I felt somewhat better, and attempted to lift my head off my couch; the +next moment, however, the qualms and pains returned, if possible, with +greater violence than before. I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without +any help; and then methought I heard a sound at a distance like people +singing, and then once more I relapsed into my swoon. + +I revived just as a heavy blow sounded, upon the canvas of the tent. I +started, but my condition did not permit me to rise; again the same kind +of blow sounded upon the canvas; I thought for a moment of crying out and +requesting assistance, but an inexplicable something chained my tongue, +and now I heard a whisper on the outside of the tent. “He does not move, +bebee,” said a voice which I knew. “I should not wonder if it has done +for him already; however, strike again with your ran;” and then there was +another blow, after which another voice cried aloud in a strange tone, +“Is the gentleman of the house asleep, or is he taking his dinner?” I +remained quite silent and motionless, and in another moment the voice +continued, “What, no answer? what can the gentleman of the house be about +that he makes no answer? perhaps the gentleman of the house may be +darning his stockings?” Thereupon a face peered into the door of the +tent, at the farther extremity of which I was stretched. It was that of +a woman, but owing to the posture in which she stood, with her back to +the light, and partly owing to a large straw bonnet, I could distinguish +but very little of the features of her countenance. I had, however, +recognised her voice; it was that of my old acquaintance, Mrs. Herne. +“Ho, ho, sir!” said she, “here you are. Come here, Leonora,” said she to +the gypsy girl, who pressed in at the other side of the door; “here is +the gentleman, not asleep, but only stretched out after dinner. Sit down +on your ham, child, at the door, I shall do the same. There—you have +seen me before, sir, have you not?” + +“The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he does not know you.” + +“I have known him of old, Leonora,” said Mrs. Herne; “and, to tell you +the truth, though I spoke to him just now, I expected no answer.” + +“It’s a way he has, bebee, I suppose?” + +“Yes, child, it’s a way he has.” + +“Take off your bonnet, bebee, perhaps he cannot see your face.” + +“I do not think that will be of much use, child; however, I will take off +my bonnet—there—and shake out my hair—there—you have seen this hair +before, sir, and this face—” + +“No answer, bebee.” + +“Though the one was not quite so grey, nor the other so wrinkled.” + +“How came they so, bebee?” + +“All along of this gorgio, child.” + +“The gentleman in the house, you mean, bebee.” + +“Yes, child, the gentleman in the house. God grant that I may preserve +my temper. Do you know, sir, my name? My name is Herne, which signifies +a hairy individual, though neither grey-haired nor wrinkled. It is not +the nature of the Hernes to be grey or wrinkled, even when they are old, +and I am not old.” + +“How old are you, bebee?” + +“Sixty-five years, child—an inconsiderable number. My mother was a +hundred and one—a considerable age—when she died, yet she had not one +grey hair, and not more than six wrinkles—an inconsiderable number.” + +“She had no griefs, bebee?” + +“Plenty, child, but not like mine.” + +“Not quite so hard to bear, bebee?” + +“No, child, my head wanders when I think of them. After the death of my +husband, who came to his end untimeously, I went to live with a daughter +of mine, married out among certain Romans who walk about the eastern +counties, and with whom for some time I found a home and pleasant +society, for they lived right Romanly, which gave my heart considerable +satisfaction, who am a Roman born, and hope to die so. When I say right +Romanly, I mean that they kept to themselves, and were not much given to +blabbing about their private matters in promiscuous company. Well, +things went on in this way for some time, when one day my son-in-law +brings home a young gorgio of singular and outrageous ugliness, and, +without much preamble, says to me and mine, ‘This is my pal, a’n’t he a +beauty? fall down and worship him.’ ‘Hold,’ said I, ‘I for one will +never consent to such foolishness.’” + +“That was right, bebee, I think I should have done the same.” + +“I think you would, child; but what was the profit of it? The whole +party makes an almighty of this gorgio, lets him into their ways, says +prayers of his making, till things come to such a pass that my own +daughter says to me, ‘I shall buy myself a veil and fan, and treat myself +to a play and sacrament.’ ‘Don’t,’ says I; says she, ‘I should like for +once in my life to be courtesied to as a Christian gentlewoman.’” + +“Very foolish of her, bebee.” + +“Wasn’t it, child? Where was I? At the fan and sacrament; with a heavy +heart I put seven score miles between us, came back to the hairy ones, +and found them over-given to gorgious companions; said I, ‘foolish +manners is catching, all this comes of that there gorgio.’ Answers the +child Leonora, ‘Take comfort, bebee, I hate the gorgios as much as you +do.’” + +“And I say so again, bebee, as much or more.” + +“Time flows on, I engage in many matters, in most miscarry. Am sent to +prison; says I to myself, I am become foolish. Am turned out of prison, +and go back to the hairy ones, who receive me not over courteously; says +I, for their unkindness, and my own foolishness, all the thanks to that +gorgio. Answers to me the child, ‘I wish I could set my eyes upon him, +bebee.’” + +“I did so, bebee; go on.” + +“‘How shall I know him, bebee?’ says the child. ‘Young and grey, tall, +and speaks Romanly.’ Runs to me the child, and says, ‘I’ve found him, +bebee.’ ‘Where, child?’ says I. ‘Come with me, bebee,’ says the child. +‘That’s he,’ says I, as I looked at my gentleman through the hedge.” + +“Ha, ha! bebee, and here he lies, poisoned like a hog.” + +“You have taken drows, sir,” said Mrs. Herne; “do you hear, sir? drows; +tip him a stave, child, of the song of poison.” + +And thereupon the girl clapped her hands, and sang— + + “The Rommany churl + And the Rommany girl + To-morrow shall hie + To poison the sty, + And bewitch on the mead + The farmer’s steed.” + +“Do you hear that, sir?” said Mrs. Herne; “the child has tipped you a +stave of the song of poison: that is, she has sung it Christianly, though +perhaps you would like to hear it Romanly; you were always fond of what +was Roman. Tip it him Romanly, child.” + +“He has heard it Romanly already, bebee; ’twas by that I found him out, +as I told you.” + +“Halloo, sir, are you sleeping? you have taken drows; the gentleman makes +no answer. God give me patience!” + +“And what if he doesn’t, bebee; isn’t he poisoned like a hog? Gentleman! +indeed, why call him gentleman? if he ever was one he’s broke, and is now +a tinker, and a worker of blue metal.” + +“That’s his way, child, to-day a tinker, to-morrow something else; and as +for being drabbed, I don’t know what to say about it.” + +“Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, bebee; ha, ha, +look at the gentleman’s motions.” + +“He is sick, child, sure enough. Ho, ho! sir, you have taken drows; +what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe, the hog died by the drow of +gypsies; I saw him stretched at even. That’s yourself, sir. There is no +hope, sir, no help, you have taken drow; shall I tell you your fortune, +sir, your dukkerin? God bless you, pretty gentleman, much trouble will +you have to suffer, and much water to cross; but never mind, pretty +gentleman, you shall be fortunate at the end, and those who hate shall +take off their hats to you.” + +“Hey, bebee!” cried the girl; “what is this? what do you mean? you have +blessed the gorgio!” + +“Blessed him! no, sure; what did I say? Oh, I remember, I’m mad; well, I +can’t help it, I said what the dukkerin dook told me; woe’s me, he’ll get +up yet.” + +“Nonsense, bebee! Look at his motions, he’s drabbed, spite of dukkerin.” + +“Don’t say so, child; he’s sick, ’tis true, but don’t laugh at dukkerin, +only folks do that that know no better. I, for one, will never laugh at +the dukkerin dook. Sick again; I wish he was gone.” + +“He’ll soon be gone, bebee; let’s leave him. He’s as good as gone; look +there, he’s dead.” + +“No, he’s not, he’ll get up—I feel it; can’t we hasten him?” + +“Hasten him! yes, to be sure; set the dog upon him. Here, juggal, look +in there, my dog.” + +The dog made its appearance at the door of the tent, and began to bark +and tear up the ground. + +“At him, juggal, at him; he wished to poison, to drab you. Halloo!” + +The dog barked violently, and seemed about to spring at my face, but +retreated. + +“The dog won’t fly at him, child; he flashed at the dog with his eye, and +scared him. He’ll get up.” + +“Nonsense, bebee! you make me angry; how should he get up?” + +“The dook tells me so, and, what’s more, I had a dream. I thought I was +at York, standing amidst a crowd to see a man hung, and the crowd shouted +‘There he comes!’ and I looked, and, lo! it was the tinker; before I +could cry with joy I was whisked away, and I found myself in Ely’s big +church, which was chock full of people to hear the dean preach, and all +eyes were turned to the big pulpit; and presently I heard them say, +‘There he mounts!’ and I looked up to the big pulpit, and, lo! the tinker +was in the pulpit, and he raised his arm and began to preach. Anon, I +found myself at York again, just as the drop fell, and I looked up, and I +saw, not the tinker, but my own self hanging in the air.” + +“You are going mad, bebee; if you want to hasten him, take your stick and +poke him in the eye.” + +“That will be of no use, child, the dukkerin tells me so; but I will try +what I can do. Halloo, tinker! you must introduce yourself into a quiet +family, and raise confusion—must you? You must steal its language, and, +what was never done before, write it down Christianly—must you? Take +that—and that;” and she stabbed violently with her stick towards the end +of the tent. + +“That’s right, bebee, you struck his face; now once more, and let it be +in the eye. Stay, what’s that? get up, bebee.” + +“What’s the matter, child?” + +“Some one is coming, come away.” + +“Let me make sure of him, child; he’ll be up yet.” And thereupon Mrs. +Herne, rising, leaned forward into the tent, and supporting herself +against the pole, took aim in the direction of the farther end. “I will +thrust out his eye,” said she; and, lunging with her stick, she would +probably have accomplished her purpose had not at that moment the pole of +the tent given way, whereupon she fell to the ground, the canvas falling +upon her and her intended victim. + +“Here’s a pretty affair, bebee,” screamed the girl. + +“He’ll get up yet,” said Mrs. Herne, from beneath the canvas. + +“Get up!—get up yourself; where are you? where is your—Here, there, +bebee, here’s the door; there, make haste, they are coming.” + +“He’ll get up yet,” said Mrs. Herne, recovering her breath, “the dook +tells me so.” + +“Never mind him or the dook; he is drabbed; come away, or we shall be +grabbed—both of us.” + +“One more blow, I know where his head lies.” + +“You are mad, bebee; leave the fellow—gorgio avella.” + +And thereupon the females hurried away. + +A vehicle of some kind was evidently drawing nigh; in a little time it +came alongside of the place where lay the fallen tent, and stopped +suddenly. There was a silence for a moment, and then a parley ensued +between two voices, one of which was that of a woman. It was not in +English, but in a deep guttural tongue. + +“Peth yw hono sydd yn gorwedd yna ar y ddaear?” said a masculine voice. + +“Yn wirionedd—I do not know what it can be,” said the female voice, in +the same tongue. + +“Here is a cart, and there are tools; but what is that on the ground?” + +“Something moves beneath it; and what was that—a groan?” + +“Shall I get down?” + +“Of course, Peter, some one may want your help.” + +“Then I will get down, though I do not like this place, it is frequented +by Egyptians, and I do not like their yellow faces nor their clibberty +clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn says. Now I am down. It is a tent, +Winifred, and see, here is a boy beneath it. Merciful father! what a +face!” + +A middle-aged man, with a strongly marked and serious countenance, +dressed in sober-coloured habiliments, had lifted up the stifling folds +of the tent and was bending over me. “Can you speak, my lad?” said he in +English, “what is the matter with you? if you could but tell me, I could +perhaps help you—” “What is it that you say? I can’t hear you. I will +kneel down;” and he flung himself on the ground, and placed his ear close +to my mouth. “Now speak if you can. Hey! what! no, sure, God forbid!” +then starting up, he cried to a female who sat in the cart, anxiously +looking on—“Gwenwyn! gwenwyn! yw y gwas wedi ei gwenwynaw. The oil! +Winifred, the oil!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + + +Desired Effect—The Three Oaks—Winifred—Things of Time—With God’s Will—The +Preacher—Creature Comforts—Croesaw—Welsh and English—Mayor of Chester. + +The oil, which the strangers compelled me to take, produced the desired +effect, though, during at least two hours, it was very doubtful whether +or not my life would be saved. At the end of that period the man said, +that with the blessing of God, he would answer for my life. He then +demanded whether I thought I could bear to be removed from the place in +which we were? “for I like it not,” he continued, “as something within me +tells me that it is not good for any of us to be here.” I told him, as +well as I was able, that I, too, should be glad to leave the place; +whereupon, after collecting my things, he harnessed my pony, and, with +the assistance of the woman, he contrived to place me in the cart; he +then gave me a draught out of a small phial, and we set forward at a slow +pace, the man walking by the side of the cart in which I lay. It is +probable that the draught consisted of a strong opiate, for after +swallowing it I fell into a deep slumber; on my awaking, I found that the +shadows of night had enveloped the earth—we were still moving on. +Shortly, however, after descending a declivity, we turned into a lane, at +the entrance of which was a gate. This lane conducted to a meadow, +through the middle of which ran a small brook; it stood between two +rising grounds, that on the left, which was on the farther side of the +water, was covered with wood, whilst the one on the right, which was not +so high, was crowned with the white walls of what appeared to be a +farm-house. + +Advancing along the meadow, we presently came to a place where grew three +immense oaks, almost on the side of the brook, over which they flung +their arms, so as to shade it as with a canopy; the ground beneath was +bare of grass, and nearly as hard and smooth as the floor of a barn. +Having led his own cart on one side of the midmost tree, and my own on +the other, the stranger said to me, “This is the spot where my wife and +myself generally tarry in the summer season, when we come into these +parts. We are about to pass the night here. I suppose you will have no +objection to do the same? Indeed, I do not see what else you could do +under present circumstances.” After receiving my answer, in which I, of +course, expressed my readiness to assent to his proposal, he proceeded to +unharness his horse, and, feeling myself much better, I got down, and +began to make the necessary preparations for passing the night beneath +the oak. + +Whilst thus engaged, I felt myself touched on the shoulder, and, looking +round, perceived the woman, whom the stranger called Winifred, standing +close to me. The moon was shining brightly upon her, and I observed that +she was very good-looking, with a composed, yet cheerful expression of +countenance; her dress was plain and primitive, very much resembling that +of a Quaker. She held a straw bonnet in her hand. “I am glad to see +thee moving about, young man,” said she, in a soft, placid tone; “I could +scarcely have expected it. Thou must be wondrous strong; many, after +what thou hast suffered, would not have stood on their feet for weeks or +months. What do I say?—Peter, my husband, who is skilled in medicine, +just now told me that not one in five hundred would have survived what +thou hast this day undergone; but allow me to ask thee one thing, Hast +thou returned thanks to God for thy deliverance?” I made no answer, and +the woman, after a pause, said, “Excuse me, young man, but do you know +anything of God?” “Very little,” I replied, “but I should say he must be +a wondrous strong person, if he made all those big bright things up above +there, to say nothing of the ground on which we stand, which bears beings +like these oaks, each of which is fifty times as strong as myself, and +will live twenty times as long.” The woman was silent for some moments, +and then said, “I scarcely know in what spirit thy words are uttered. If +thou art serious, however, I would caution thee against supposing that +the power of God is more manifested in these trees, or even in those +bright stars above us, than in thyself—they are things of time, but thou +art a being destined to an eternity; it depends upon thyself whether thy +eternity shall be one of joy or sorrow.” + +Here she was interrupted by the man, who exclaimed from the other side of +the tree, “Winifred, it is getting late, you had better go up to the +house on the hill to inform our friends of our arrival, or they will have +retired for the night.” “True,” said Winifred, and forthwith wended her +way to the house in question, returning shortly with another woman, whom +the man, speaking in the same language which I had heard him first use, +greeted by the name of Mary; the woman replied in the same tongue, but +almost immediately said in English, “We hoped to have heard you speak +to-night, Peter, but we cannot expect that now, seeing that it is so +late, owing to your having been detained by the way, as Winifred tells +me; nothing remains for you to do now but to sup—to-morrow, with God’s +will, we shall hear you.” “And to-night, also, with God’s will, +providing you be so disposed. Let those of your family come hither.” +“They will be hither presently,” said Mary, “for knowing that thou art +arrived, they will, of course, come and bid thee welcome.” And scarcely +had she spoke, when I beheld a party of people descending the moonlit +side of the hill. They soon arrived at the place where we were; they +might amount in all to twelve individuals. The principal person was a +tall, athletic man, of about forty, dressed like a plain country farmer; +this was, I soon found, the husband of Mary; the rest of the group +consisted of the children of these two, and their domestic servants. One +after another they all shook Peter by the hand, men and women, boys and +girls, and expressed their joy at seeing him. After which, he said, +“Now, friends, if you please, I will speak a few words to you.” A stool +was then brought him from the cart, which he stepped on, and the people +arranging themselves round him, some standing, some seated on the ground, +he forthwith began to address them in a clear, distinct voice; and the +subject of his discourse was the necessity, in all human beings, of a +change of heart. + +The preacher was better than his promise, for, instead of speaking a few +words, he preached for at least three quarters of an hour; none of the +audience, however, showed the slightest symptom of weariness; on the +contrary, the hope of each individual appeared to hang upon the words +which proceeded from his mouth. At the conclusion of the sermon or +discourse, the whole assembly again shook Peter by the hand, and returned +to their house, the mistress of the family saying, as she departed, “I +shall soon be back, Peter, I go but to make arrangements for the supper +of thyself and company;” and, in effect, she presently returned, attended +by a young woman, who bore a tray in her hands. “Set it down, Jessy,” +said the mistress to the girl, “and then betake thyself to thy rest, I +shall remain here for a little time to talk with my friends.” The girl +departed, and the preacher and the two females placed themselves on the +ground about the tray. The man gave thanks, and himself and his wife +appeared to be about to eat, when the latter suddenly placed her hand +upon his arm, and said something to him in a low voice, whereupon he +exclaimed, “Ay, truly, we were both forgetful;” and then getting up, he +came towards me, who stood a little way off, leaning against the wheel of +my cart; and, taking me by the hand, he said, “Pardon us, young man, we +were both so engaged in our own creature-comforts, that we forgot thee, +but it is not too late to repair our fault; wilt thou not join us, and +taste our bread and milk?” “I cannot eat,” I replied, “but I think I +could drink a little milk;” whereupon he led me to the rest, and seating +me by his side, he poured some milk into a horn cup, saying, “‘Croesaw.’ +That,” added he, with a smile, “is Welsh for welcome.” + +The fare upon the tray was of the simplest description, consisting of +bread, cheese, milk, and curds. My two friends partook with a good +appetite. “Mary,” said the preacher, addressing himself to the woman of +the house, “every time I come to visit thee, I find thee less inclined to +speak Welsh. I suppose, in a little time, thou wilt entirely have +forgotten it; hast thou taught it to any of thy children?” “The two +eldest understand a few words,” said the woman, “but my husband does not +wish them to learn it; he says sometimes, jocularly, that though it +pleased him to marry a Welsh wife, it does not please him to have Welsh +children. ‘Who,’ I have heard him say, ‘would be a Welshman, if he could +be an Englishman?’” “I for one,” said the preacher, somewhat hastily; +“not to be king of all England would I give up my birthright as a +Welshman. Your husband is an excellent person, Mary, but I am afraid he +is somewhat prejudiced.” “You do him justice, Peter, in saying that he +is an excellent person,” said the woman; “as to being prejudiced, I +scarcely know what to say, but he thinks that two languages in the same +kingdom are almost as bad as two kings.” “That’s no bad observation,” +said the preacher, “and it is generally the case; yet, thank God, the +Welsh and English go on very well, side by side, and I hope will do so +till the Almighty calls all men to their long account.” “They jog on +very well now,” said the woman; “but I have heard my husband say that it +was not always so, and that the Welsh, in old times, were a violent and +ferocious people, for that once they hanged the mayor of Chester.” “Ha, +ha!” said the preacher, and his eyes flashed in the moonlight; “he told +you that, did he?” “Yes,” said Mary; “once, when the mayor of Chester, +with some of his people, was present at one of the fairs over the border, +a quarrel arose between the Welsh and English, and the Welsh beat the +English, and hanged the mayor.” “Your husband is a clever man,” said +Peter, “and knows a great deal; did he tell you the name of the leader of +the Welsh? No! then I will: the leader of the Welsh on that occasion was +---. He was a powerful chieftain, and there was an old feud between him +and the men of Chester. Afterwards, when two hundred of the men of +Chester invaded his country to take revenge for their mayor, he enticed +them into a tower, set fire to it, and burnt them all. That --- was a +very fine, noble—God forgive me, what was I about to say!—a very bad, +violent man; but, Mary, this is very carnal and unprofitable +conversation, and in holding it we set a very bad example to the young +man here—let us change the subject.” + +They then began to talk on religious matters. At length Mary departed to +her abode, and the preacher and his wife retired to their tilted cart. + +“Poor fellow, he seems to be almost brutally ignorant,” said Peter, +addressing his wife in their own native language, after they had bidden +me farewell for the night. + +“I am afraid he is,” said Winifred, “yet my heart warms to the poor lad, +he seems so forlorn.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + + +Morning Hymn—Much Alone—John Bunyan—Beholden to Nobody—Sixty-five—Sober +Greeting—Early Sabbaths—Finny Brood—The Porch—No Fortune-telling—The +Master’s Niece—Doing Good—Two or Three Things—Groans and Voices—Pechod +Ysprydd Glan. + +I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the influence of the +opiate. Early in the morning I was awakened by the voices of Peter and +his wife, who were singing a morning hymn in their own language. Both +subsequently prayed long and fervently. I lay still till their devotions +were completed, and then left my tent. “Good morning,” said Peter, “how +dost thou feel?” “Much better,” said I, “than I could have expected.” +“I am glad of it,” said Peter. “Art thou hungry? yonder comes our +breakfast,” pointing to the same young woman I had seen the preceding +night, who was again descending the hill, bearing the tray upon her head. + +“What dost thou intend to do, young man, this day?” said Peter, when we +had about half finished breakfast. “Do,” said I; “as I do other days, +what I can.” “And dost thou pass this day as thou dost other days?” said +Peter. “Why not?” said I; “what is there in this day different from the +rest? it seems to be of the same colour as yesterday.” “Art thou aware,” +said the wife, interposing, “what day it is? that it is Sabbath? that it +is Sunday?” “No,” said I, “I did not know that it was Sunday.” “And how +did that happen?” said Winifred, with a sigh. “To tell you the truth,” +said I, “I live very much alone, and pay very little heed to the passing +of time.” “And yet of what infinite importance is time,” said Winifred. +“Art thou not aware that every year brings thee nearer to thy end?” “I +do not think,” said I, “that I am so near my end as I was yesterday.” +“Yes thou art,” said the woman; “thou wast not doomed to die yesterday; +an invisible hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will +come, therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved +yesterday; and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died yesterday, +where wouldst thou have been now?” “Cast into the earth, perhaps,” said +I. “I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast into the earth is +the natural end of man.” “Who is Mr. Petulengro?” said Peter, +interrupting his wife, as she was about to speak. “Master of the +horseshoe,” said I, “and, according to his own account, king of Egypt.” +“I understand,” said Peter, “head of some family of wandering +Egyptians—they are a race utterly godless. Art thou of them?—but no, +thou art not, thou hast not their yellow blood. I suppose thou belongest +to the family of wandering artizans called ---. I do not like you the +worse for belonging to them. A mighty speaker of old sprang up from +amidst that family.” “Who was he?” said I. “John Bunyan,” replied +Peter, reverently, “and the mention of his name reminds me that I have to +preach this day; wilt thou go and hear? the distance is not great, only +half a mile.” “No,” said I, “I will not go and hear.” “Wherefore?” said +Peter. “I belong to the church,” said I, “and not to the congregations.” +“Oh! the pride of that church,” said Peter, addressing his wife in their +own tongue, “exemplified even in the lowest and most ignorant of its +members.” “Then thou, doubtless, meanest to go to church,” said Peter, +again addressing me; “there is a church on the other side of that wooded +hill.” “No,” said I, “I do not mean to go to church.” “May I ask thee +wherefore?” said Peter. “Because,” said I, “I prefer remaining beneath +the shade of these trees, listening to the sound of the leaves, and +tinkling of the waters.” + +“Then thou intendest to remain here?” said Peter, looking fixedly at me. +“If I do not intrude,” said I; “but if I do, I will wander away; I wish +to be beholden to nobody—perhaps you wish me to go?” “On the contrary,” +said Peter, “I wish you to stay. I begin to see something in thee which +has much interest for me; but we must now bid thee farewell for the rest +of the day, the time is drawing nigh for us to repair to the place of +preaching; before we leave thee alone, however, I should wish to ask thee +a question—Didst thou seek thy own destruction yesterday, and didst thou +wilfully take that poison?” “No,” said I; “had I known there had been +poison in the cake, I certainly should not have taken it.” “And who gave +it thee?” said Peter. “An enemy of mine,” I replied. “Who is thy +enemy?” “An Egyptian sorceress and poisonmonger.” “Thy enemy is a +female. I fear thou hadst given her cause to hate thee—of what did she +complain?” “That I had stolen the tongue out of her head.” “I do not +understand thee—is she young?” “About sixty-five.” + +Here Winifred interposed. “Thou didst call her just now by hard names, +young man,” said she; “I trust thou dost bear no malice against her.” +“No,” said I, “I bear no malice against her.” “Thou art not wishing to +deliver her into the hand of what is called justice?” “By no means,” +said I; “I have lived long enough upon the roads not to cry out for the +constable when my finger is broken. I consider this poisoning as an +accident of the roads; one of those to which those who travel are +occasionally subject.” “In short, thou forgivest thine adversary?” +“Both now and for ever,” said I. “Truly,” said Winifred, “the spirit +which the young man displayeth pleases me much: I should be loth that he +left us yet. I have no doubt that, with the blessing of God, and a +little of thy exhortation, he will turn out a true Christian before he +leaveth us.” “My exhortation!” said Peter, and a dark shade passed over +his countenance; “thou forgettest what I am—I—I—but I am forgetting +myself; the Lord’s will be done; and now put away the things, for I +perceive that our friends are coming to attend us to the place of +meeting.” + +Again the family which I had seen the night before descended the hill +from their abode. They were now dressed in their Sunday’s best. The +master of the house led the way. They presently joined us, when a quiet +sober greeting ensued on each side. After a little time Peter shook me +by the hand and bade me farewell till the evening; Winifred did the same, +adding, that she hoped I should be visited by sweet and holy thoughts. +The whole party then moved off in the direction by which we had come the +preceding night, Peter and the master leading the way, followed by +Winifred and the mistress of the family. As I gazed on their departing +forms, I felt almost inclined to follow them to their place of worship. +I did not stir, however, but remained leaning against my oak with my +hands behind me. + +And after a time I sat me down at the foot of the oak with my face turned +towards the water, and, folding my hands, I fell into deep meditation. I +thought on the early Sabbaths of my life, and the manner in which I was +wont to pass them. How carefully I said my prayers when I got up on the +Sabbath morn, and how carefully I combed my hair and brushed my clothes +in order that I might do credit to the Sabbath day. I thought of the old +church at pretty D---, the dignified rector, and yet more dignified +clerk. I thought of England’s grand Liturgy, and Tate and Brady’s +sonorous minstrelsy. I thought of the Holy Book, portions of which I was +in the habit of reading between service. I thought, too, of the evening +walk which I sometimes took in fine weather like the present, with my +mother and brother—a quiet sober walk, during which I would not break +into a run, even to chase a butterfly, or yet more a honey-bee, being +fully convinced of the dread importance of the day which God had +hallowed. And how glad I was when I had got over the Sabbath day without +having done anything to profane it. And how soundly I slept on the +Sabbath night after the toil of being very good throughout the day. + +And when I had mused on those times a long while, I sighed and said to +myself, I am much altered since then; am I altered for the better? And +then I looked at my hands and my apparel, and sighed again. I was not +wont of yore to appear thus on the Sabbath day. + +For a long time I continued in a state of deep meditation, till at last I +lifted up my eyes to the sun, which, as usual during that glorious +summer, was shining in unclouded majesty; and then I lowered them to the +sparkling water, in which hundreds of the finny brood were disporting +themselves, and then I thought what a fine thing it was to be a fish on +such a fine summer day, and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst +the fishes; and then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over +the water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started when I +saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable. + +Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to bathe and +cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late hard life and by Mrs. +Herne’s drow. I wonder if there is any harm in bathing on the Sabbath +day. I will ask Winifred when she comes home; in the mean time I will +bathe, provided I can find a fitting place. + +But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to disport in, was +shallow, and by no means adapted for the recreation of so large a being +as myself; it was, moreover, exposed, though I saw nobody at hand, nor +heard a single human voice or sound. Following the winding of the brook +I left the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets, came to a +place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark, and there I +bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid and exhausted frame. + +Having put on my clothes, I returned by the way I had come to my vehicle +beneath the oak tree. From thence, for want of something better to do, I +strolled up the hill, on the top of which stood the farm-house; it was a +large and commodious building built principally of stone, and seeming of +some antiquity, with a porch, on either side of which was an oaken bench. +On the right was seated a young woman with a book in her hand, the same +who had brought the tray to my friends and myself. + +“Good day,” said I, “pretty damsel, sitting in the farm porch.” + +“Good day,” said the girl, looking at me for a moment, and then fixing +her eyes on her book. + +“That’s a nice book you are reading,” said I. + +The girl looked at me with surprise. “How do you know what book it is?” +said she. + +“How do I know—never mind; but a nice book it is—no love, no +fortune-telling in it.” + +The girl looked at me half offended. “Fortune-telling!” said she, “I +should think not. But you know nothing about it;” and she bent her head +once more over the book. + +“I tell you what, young person,” said I, “I know all about that book; +what will you wager that I do not?” + +“I never wager,” said the girl. + +“Shall I tell you the name of it,” said I, “O daughter of the dairy?” + +The girl half started. “I should never have thought,” said she, half +timidly, “that you could have guessed it.” + +“I did not guess it,” said I, “I knew it; and meet and proper it is that +you should read it.” + +“Why so?” said the girl. + +“Can the daughter of the dairy read a more fitting book than the +‘Dairyman’s Daughter’?” + +“Where do you come from?” said the girl. + +“Out of the water,” said I. “Don’t start, I have been bathing; are you +fond of the water?” + +“No,” said the girl, heaving a sigh; “I am not fond of the water, that +is, of the sea;” and here she sighed again. + +“The sea is a wide gulf,” said I, “and frequently separates hearts.” + +The girl sobbed. + +“Why are you alone here?” said I. + +“I take my turn with the rest,” said the girl, “to keep at home on +Sunday.” + +“And you are—” said I. + +“The master’s niece!” said the girl. “How came you to know it? But why +did you not go with the rest and with your friends?” + +“Who are those you call my friends?” said I. + +“Peter and his wife.” + +“And who are they?” said I. + +“Do you not know?” said the girl; “you came with them.” + +“They found me ill by the way,” said I; “and they relieved me: I know +nothing about them.” + +“I thought you knew everything,” said the girl. + +“There are two or three things which I do not know, and this is one of +them. Who are they?” + +“Did you never hear of the great Welsh preacher, Peter Williams?” + +“Never,” said I. + +“Well,” said the girl, “this is he, and Winifred is his wife, and a nice +person she is. Some people say, indeed, that she is as good a preacher +as her husband, though of that matter I can say nothing, having never +heard her preach. So these two wander over all Wales and the greater +part of England, comforting the hearts of the people with their doctrine, +and doing all the good they can. They frequently come here, for the +mistress is a Welsh woman, and an old friend of both, and then they take +up their abode in the cart beneath the old oaks down there by the +stream.” + +“And what is their reason for doing so?” said I; “would it not be more +comfortable to sleep beneath a roof?” + +“I know not their reasons,” said the girl, “but so it is; they never +sleep beneath a roof unless the weather is very severe. I once heard the +mistress say that Peter had something heavy upon his mind; perhaps that +is the cause. If he is unhappy, all I can say is, that I wish him +otherwise, for he is a good man and a kind—” + +“Thank you,” said I, “I will now depart.” + +“Hem!” said the girl, “I was wishing—” + +“What? to ask me a question?” + +“Not exactly; but you seem to know everything; you mentioned, I think, +fortune-telling.” + +“Do you wish me to tell your fortune?” + +“By no means; but I have a friend at a distance at sea, and I should wish +to know—” + +“When he will come back? I have told you already there are two or three +things which I do not know—this is another of them. However, I should +not be surprised if he were to come back some of these days; I would, if +I were in his place. In the mean time be patient, attend to the dairy, +and read the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter’ when you have nothing better to do.” + +It was late in the evening when the party of the morning returned. The +farmer and his family repaired at once to their abode, and my two friends +joined me beneath the tree. Peter sat down at the foot of the oak, and +said nothing. Supper was brought by a servant, not the damsel of the +porch. We sat round the tray, Peter said grace, but scarcely anything +else; he appeared sad and dejected, his wife looked anxiously upon him. +I was as silent as my friends; after a little time we retired to our +separate places of rest. + +About midnight I was awakened by a noise; I started up and listened; it +appeared to me that I heard voices and groans. In a moment I had issued +from my tent—all was silent—but the next moment I again heard groans and +voices; they proceeded from the tilted cart where Peter and his wife lay; +I drew near, again there was a pause, and then I heard the voice of +Peter, in an accent of extreme anguish, exclaim, “Pechod Ysprydd Glan—O +pechod Ysprydd Glan!” and then he uttered a deep groan. Anon, I heard +the voice of Winifred, and never shall I forget the sweetness and +gentleness of the tones of her voice in the stillness of that night. I +did not understand all she said—she spoke in her native language, and I +was some way apart; she appeared to endeavour to console her husband, but +he seemed to refuse all comfort, and, with many groans, repeated—“Pechod +Ysprydd Glan—O pechod Ysprydd Glan!” I felt I had no right to pry into +their afflictions, and retired. + +Now “pechod Ysprydd Glan,” interpreted, is the sin against the Holy +Ghost. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + + +The Following Day—Pride—Thriving Trade—Tylwyth Teg—Ellis Wyn—Sleeping +Bard—Incalculable Good—Fearful Agony—The Tale. + +Peter and his wife did not proceed on any expedition during the following +day. The former strolled gloomily about the fields, and the latter +passed many hours in the farmhouse. Towards evening, without saying a +word to either, I departed with my vehicle, and finding my way to a small +town at some distance, I laid in a store of various articles, with which +I returned. It was night, and my two friends were seated beneath the +oak; they had just completed their frugal supper. “We waited for thee +some time,” said Winifred, “but finding that thou didst not come, we +began without thee; but sit down, I pray thee, there is still enough for +thee.” “I will sit down,” said I, “but I require no supper, for I have +eaten where I have been;” nothing more particular occurred at the time. +Next morning the kind pair invited me to share their breakfast. “I will +not share your breakfast,” said I. “Wherefore not?” said Winifred, +anxiously. “Because,” said I, “it is not proper that I be beholden to +you for meat and drink.” “But we are beholden to other people,” said +Winifred. “Yes,” said I, “but you preach to them, and give them ghostly +advice, which considerably alters the matter; not that I would receive +anything from them, if I preached to them six times a day.” “Thou art +not fond of receiving favours, then, young man,” said Winifred. “I am +not,” said I. “And of conferring favours?” “Nothing affords me greater +pleasure,” said I, “than to confer favours.” “What a disposition!” said +Winifred, holding up her hands; “and this is pride, genuine pride—that +feeling which the world agrees to call so noble. Oh, how mean a thing is +pride! never before did I see all the meanness of what is called pride!” + +“But how wilt thou live, friend,” said Peter, “dost thou not intend to +eat?” “When I went out last night,” said I, “I laid in a provision.” +“Thou hast laid in a provision!” said Peter, “pray let us see it. +Really, friend,” said he, after I had produced it, “thou must drive a +thriving trade; here are provisions enough to last three people for +several days. Here are butter and eggs, here is tea, here is sugar, and +there is a flitch. I hope thou wilt let us partake of some of thy fare.” +“I should be very happy if you would,” said I. “Doubt not but we shall,” +said Peter; “Winifred shall have some of thy flitch cooked for dinner. +In the meantime, sit down, young man, and breakfast at our expense—we +will dine at thine.” + +On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat alone beneath the oak. +We fell into conversation; Peter was at first melancholy, but he soon +became more cheerful, fluent, and entertaining. I spoke but little; but +I observed that sometimes what I said surprised the good Methodist. We +had been silent some time. At length, lifting up my eyes to the broad +and leafy canopy of the trees, I said, having nothing better to remark, +“What a noble tree! I wonder if the fairies ever dance beneath it?” + +“Fairies!” said Peter, “fairies! how came you, young man, to know +anything about the fair family?” + +“I am an Englishman,” said I, “and of course know something about +fairies; England was once a famous place for them.” + +“Was once, I grant you,” said Peter, “but is so no longer. I have +travelled for years about England, and never heard them mentioned before; +the belief in them has died away, and even their name seems to be +forgotten. If you had said you were a Welshman, I should not have been +surprised. The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair +family, and many believe in them.” + +“And do you believe in them?” said I. + +“I scarcely know what to say. Wise and good men have been of opinion +that they are nothing but devils, who, under the form of pretty and +amiable spirits, would fain allure poor human beings; I see nothing +irrational in the supposition.” + +“Do you believe in devils, then?” + +“Do I believe in devils, young man!” said Peter, and his frame was shaken +as if by convulsions. “If I do not believe in devils, why am I here at +the present moment?” + +“You know best,” said I; “but I don’t believe the fairies are devils, and +I don’t wish to hear them insulted. What learned men have said they are +devils?” + +“Many have said it, young man, and, amongst others, Master Ellis Wyn, in +that wonderful book of his, the ‘Bardd Cwsg.’” + +“The ‘Bardd Cwsg,’” said I; “what kind of book is that? I have never +heard of that book before.” + +“Heard of it before; I suppose not; how should you have heard of it +before! By-the-bye, can you read?” + +“Very tolerably,” said I; “so there are fairies in this book. What do +you call it—the ‘Bardd Cwsg?’” + +“Yes, the ‘Bardd Cwsg.’ You pronounce Welsh very fairly; have you ever +been in Wales?” + +“Never,” said I. + +“Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don’t understand Welsh; but we +were talking of the ‘Bardd Cwsg,’—yes, there are fairies in the ‘Bardd +Cwsg,’ the author of it, Master Ellis Wyn, was carried away in his sleep +by them over mountains and valleys, rivers and great waters, incurring +mighty perils at their hands, till he was rescued from them by an angel +of the Most High, who subsequently showed him many wonderful things.” + +“I beg your pardon,” said I, “but what were those wonderful things?” + +“I see, young man,” said Peter, smiling, “that you are not without +curiosity; but I can easily pardon any one for being curious about the +wonders contained in the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The angel showed him +the course of this world, its pomps and vanities, its cruelty and its +pride, its crimes and deceits. On another occasion, the angel showed him +Death in his nether palace, surrounded by his grisly ministers, and by +those who are continually falling victims to his power. And, on a third +occasion, the state of the condemned in their place of everlasting +torment.” + +“But this was all in his sleep,” said I, “was it not?” + +“Yes,” said Peter, “in his sleep; and on that account the book is called +‘Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsg,’ or, Visions of the Sleeping Bard.” + +“I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep,” said I. “I prefer real +ones; and perhaps, notwithstanding what he says, the man had no visions +at all—they are probably of his own invention.” + +“They are substantially true, young man,” said Peter; “like the dreams of +Bunyan, they are founded on three tremendous facts, Sin, Death, and Hell; +and, like his, they have done incalculable good, at least in my own +country, in the language in which they are written. Many a guilty +conscience has the ‘Bardd Cwsg’ aroused with its dreadful sights, its +strong sighs, its puffs of smoke from the pit, and its showers of sparks +from the mouth of the yet lower gulf of—Unknown—were it not for the +‘Bardd Cwsg’ perhaps I might not be here.” + +“I would sooner hear your own tale,” said I, “than all the visions of the +‘Bardd Cwsg.’” + +Peter shook, bent his form nearly double, and covered his face with his +hands. I sat still and motionless, with my eyes fixed upon him. +Presently Winifred descended the hill, and joined us. “What is the +matter?” said she, looking at her husband, who still remained in the +posture I have described. He made no answer; whereupon, laying her hand +gently on his shoulder, she said, in the peculiar soft and tender tone +which I had heard her use on a former occasion, “Take comfort, Peter; +what has happened now to afflict thee?” Peter removed his hands from his +face. “The old pain, the old pain,” said he; “I was talking with this +young man, and he would fain know what brought me here, he would fain +hear my tale, Winifred—my sin: O pechod Ysprydd Glan! O pechod Ysprydd +Glan!” and the poor man fell into a more fearful agony than before. +Tears trickled down Winifred’s face, I saw them trickling by the +moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing form of her afflicted husband. +I arose from my seat; “I am the cause of all this,” said I, “by my folly +and imprudence, and it is thus I have returned your kindness and +hospitality, I will depart from you and wander my way.” I was retiring, +but Peter sprang up and detained me. “Go not,” said he, “you were not in +fault; if there be any fault in the case, it was mine; if I suffer, I am +but paying the penalty of my own iniquity;” he then paused, and appeared +to be considering: at length he said, “Many things which thou hast seen +and heard connected with me require explanation; thou wishest to know my +tale, I will tell it thee, but not now, not to-night; I am too much +shaken.” + +Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter took +the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and almost +inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale—the tale of the Pechod +Ysprydd Glan. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + + +Taking a Cup—Getting to Heaven—After Breakfast—Wooden Gallery—Mechanical +Habit—Reserved and Gloomy—Last Words—A Long Time—From the Clouds—Ray of +Hope—Momentary Chill—Pleasing Anticipation. + +“I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a respectable farmer, +and am the youngest of seven brothers. + +“My father was a member of the Church of England, and was what is +generally called a serious man. He went to church regularly, and read +the Bible every Sunday evening; in his moments of leisure he was fond of +holding religious discourse both with his family and his neighbours. + +“One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father sat with one of his +neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our stone kitchen. I +sat near them, and listened to their discourse. I was at that time seven +years of age. They were talking of religious matters. ‘It is a hard +matter to get to heaven,’ said my father. ‘Exceedingly so,’ said the +other. ‘However, I don’t despond, none need despair of getting to +heaven, save those who have committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.’ + +“‘Ah!’ said my father, ‘thank God I never committed that—how awful must +be the state of a person who has committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost! I can scarcely think of it without my hair standing on end;’ and +then my father and his friend began talking of the nature of the sin +against the Holy Ghost, and I heard them say what it was, as I sat with +greedy ears listening to their discourse. + +“I lay awake the greater part of the night musing upon what I had heard. +I kept wondering to myself what must be the state of a person who had +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost, and how he must feel. Once or +twice I felt a strong inclination to commit it, a strange kind of fear, +however, prevented me; at last I determined not to commit it, and having +said my prayers, I fell asleep. + +“When I awoke in the morning the first thing I thought of was the +mysterious sin, and a voice within me seemed to say, ‘Commit it;’ and I +felt a strong temptation to do so, even stronger than in the night. I +was just about to yield, when the same dread, of which I have already +spoken, came over me, and, springing out of bed, I went down on my knees. +I slept in a small room alone, to which I ascended by a wooden stair, +open to the sky. I have often thought since that it is not a good thing +for children to sleep alone. + +“After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured to employ myself upon +my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of nothing but the sin against +the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of being fixed upon my book, wandered in +vacancy. My master observed my inattention, and chid me. The time came +for saying my task, and I had not acquired it. My master reproached me, +and, yet more, he beat me; I felt shame and anger, and I went home with a +full determination to commit the sin against the Holy Ghost. + +“But when I got home my father ordered me to do something connected with +the farm, so that I was compelled to exert myself; I was occupied till +night, and was so busy that I almost forgot the sin and my late +resolution. My work completed, I took my supper, and went to my room; I +began my prayers, and, when they were ended, I thought of the sin, but +the temptation was slight, I felt very tired, and was presently asleep. + +“Thus, you see, I had plenty of time allotted me by a gracious and kind +God to reflect on what I was about to do. He did not permit the enemy of +souls to take me by surprise, and to hurry me at once into the commission +of that which was to be my ruin here and hereafter. Whatever I did was +of my own free will, after I had had time to reflect. Thus God is +justified; he had no hand in my destruction, but, on the contrary, he did +all that was compatible with justice to prevent it. I hasten to the +fatal moment. Awaking in the night, I determined that nothing should +prevent my committing the sin. Arising from my bed, I went out upon the +wooden gallery; and having stood for a few moments looking at the stars, +with which the heavens were thickly strewn, I laid myself down, and +supporting my face with my hand, I murmured out words of horror—words not +to be repeated, and in this manner I committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost. + +“When the words were uttered I sat up upon the topmost step of the +gallery; for some time I felt stunned in somewhat the same manner as I +once subsequently felt after being stung by an adder. I soon arose, +however, and retired to my bed, where, notwithstanding what I had done, I +was not slow in falling asleep. + +“I awoke several times during the night, each time with a dim idea that +something strange and monstrous had occurred, but I presently fell asleep +again; in the morning I awoke with the same vague feeling, but presently +recollection returned, and I remembered that I had committed the sin +against the Holy Ghost. I lay musing for some time on what I had done, +and I felt rather stunned, as before; at last I arose and got out of bed, +dressed myself, and then went down on my knees, and was about to pray +from the force of mechanical habit; before I said a word, however, I +recollected myself, and got up again. What was the use of praying? I +thought; I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost. + +“I went to school, but sat stupified. I was again chidden, again beaten +by my master. I felt no anger this time, and scarcely heeded the +strokes. I looked, however, at my master’s face, and thought to myself, +you are beating me for being idle, as you suppose; poor man, what would +you do if you knew I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost? + +“Days and weeks passed by. I had once been cheerful, and fond of the +society of children of my own age; but I was now reserved and gloomy. It +seemed to me that a gulf separated me from all my fellow-creatures. I +used to look at my brothers and schoolfellows, and think how different I +was from them; they had not done what I had. I seemed, in my own eyes, a +lone monstrous being, and yet, strange to say, I felt a kind of pride in +being so. I was unhappy, but I frequently thought to myself, I have done +what no one else would dare to do; there was something grand in the idea; +I had yet to learn the horror of my condition. + +“Time passed on, and I began to think less of what I had done; I began +once more to take pleasure in my childish sports; I was active, and +excelled at football and the like all the lads of my age. I likewise +began, what I had never done before, to take pleasure in the exercises of +the school. I made great progress in Welsh and English grammar, and +learnt to construe Latin. My master no longer chid or beat me, but one +day told my father that he had no doubt that one day I should be an +honour to Wales. + +“Shortly after this my father fell sick; the progress of the disorder was +rapid; feeling his end approaching, he called his children before him. +After tenderly embracing us, he said, ‘God bless you, my children; I am +going from you, but take comfort, I trust that we shall all meet again in +heaven.’ + +“As he uttered these last words, horror took entire possession of me. +Meet my father in heaven,—how could I ever hope to meet him there? I +looked wildly at my brethren and at my mother; they were all bathed in +tears, but how I envied them! They might hope to meet my father in +heaven, but how different were they from me, they had never committed the +unpardonable sin. + +“In a few days my father died; he left his family in comfortable +circumstances, at least such as would be considered so in Wales, where +the wants of the people are few. My elder brother carried on the farm +for the benefit of my mother and us all. In course of time my brothers +were put out to various trades. I still remained at school, but without +being a source of expense to my relations, as I was by this time able to +assist my master in the business of the school. + +“I was diligent both in self-improvement and in the instruction of +others; nevertheless, a horrible weight pressed upon my breast; I knew I +was a lost being; that for me there was no hope; that, though all others +might be saved, I must of necessity be lost: I had committed the +unpardonable sin, for which I was doomed to eternal punishment, in the +flaming gulf, as soon as life was over!—and how long could I hope to +live? perhaps fifty years; at the end of which I must go to my place; and +then I would count the months and the days, nay, even the hours which yet +intervened between me and my doom. Sometimes I would comfort myself with +the idea that a long time would elapse before my time would be out; but +then again I thought that, however long the term might be, it must be out +at last; and then I would fall into an agony, during which I would almost +wish that the term were out, and that I were in my place; the horrors of +which I thought could scarcely be worse than what I then endured. + +“There was one thought about this time which caused me unutterable grief +and shame, perhaps more shame than grief. It was that my father, who was +gone to heaven, and was there daily holding communion with his God, was +by this time aware of my crime. I imagined him looking down from the +clouds upon his wretched son, with a countenance of inexpressible horror. +When this idea was upon me, I would often rush to some secret place to +hide myself,—to some thicket, where I would cast myself on the ground, +and thrust my head into a thick bush, in order to escape from the +horror-struck glance of my father above in the clouds; and there I would +continue groaning till the agony had, in some degree, passed away. + +“The wretchedness of my state increasing daily, it at last became +apparent to the master of the school, who questioned me earnestly and +affectionately. I, however, gave him no satisfactory answer, being +apprehensive that, if I unbosomed myself, I should become as much an +object of horror to him as I had long been to myself. At length he +suspected that I was unsettled in my intellects; and, fearing probably +the ill effect of my presence upon his scholars, he advised me to go +home; which I was glad to do, as I felt myself every day becoming less +qualified for the duties of the office which I had undertaken. + +“So I returned home to my mother and my brother, who received me with the +greatest kindness and affection. I now determined to devote myself to +husbandry, and assist my brother in the business of the farm. I was +still, however, very much distressed. One fine morning, however, as I +was at work in the field, and the birds were carolling around me, a ray +of hope began to break upon my poor dark soul. I looked at the earth and +looked at the sky, and felt as I had not done for many a year; presently +a delicious feeling stole over me. I was beginning to enjoy existence. +I shall never forget that hour. I flung myself on the soil, and kissed +it; then, springing up with a sudden impulse, I rushed into the depths of +a neighbouring wood, and, falling upon my knees, did what I had not done +for a long time—prayed to God. + +“A change, an entire change, seemed to have come over me. I was no +longer gloomy and despairing, but gay and happy. My slumbers were light +and easy; not disturbed, as before, by frightful dreams. I arose with +the lark, and like him uttered a cheerful song of praise to God, +frequently and earnestly, and was particularly cautious not to do +anything which I considered might cause His displeasure. + +“At church I was constant, and when there listened with deepest attention +to every word which proceeded from the mouth of the minister. In a +little time it appeared to me that I had become a good, very good young +man. At times the recollection of the sin would return, and I would feel +a momentary chill; but the thought quickly vanished, and I again felt +happy and secure. + +“One Sunday morning, after I had said my prayers, I felt particularly +joyous. I thought of the innocent and virtuous life I was leading; and +when the recollection of the sin intruded for a moment, I said, ‘I am +sure God will never utterly cast away so good a creature as myself.’ I +went to church, and was as usual attentive. The subject of the sermon +was on the duty of searching the Scriptures: all I knew of them was from +the Liturgy. I now, however, determined to read them, and perfect the +good work which I had begun. My father’s Bible was upon the shelf, and +on that evening I took it with me to my chamber. I placed it on the +table, and sat down. My heart was filled with pleasing anticipation. I +opened the book at random, and began to read; the first passage on which +my eyes lighted was the following:— + +“‘He who committeth the sin against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven, +either in this world or the next.’” + +Here Peter was seized with convulsive tremors. Winifred sobbed +violently. I got up, and went away. Returning in about a quarter of an +hour, I found him more calm; he motioned me to sit down; and, after a +short pause, continued his narration. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + + +Hasty Farewell—Lofty Rock—Wrestlings of Jacob—No Rest—Ways of +Providence—Two Females—Foot of the Cross—Enemy of Souls—Perplexed—Lucky +Hour—Valetudinarian—Methodists—Fervent in Prayer—You Saxons—Weak +Creatures—Very Agreeable—Almost Happy—Kindness and Solicitude. + +“Where was I, young man? Oh, I remember, at the fatal passage which +removed all hope. I will not dwell on what I felt. I closed my eyes, +and wished that I might be dreaming; but it was no dream, but a terrific +reality: I will not dwell on that period, I should only shock you. I +could not bear my feelings; so, bidding my friends a hasty farewell, I +abandoned myself to horror and despair, and ran wild through Wales, +climbing mountains and wading streams. + +“Climbing mountains and wading streams, I ran wild about, I was burnt by +the sun, drenched by the rain, and had frequently at night no other +covering than the sky, or the humid roof of some cave; but nothing seemed +to affect my constitution; probably the fire which burned within me +counteracted what I suffered from without. During the space of three +years I scarcely knew what befel me; my life was a dream—a wild, horrible +dream; more than once I believe I was in the hands of robbers, and once +in the hands of gypsies. I liked the last description of people least of +all; I could not abide their yellow faces, or their ceaseless clabber. +Escaping from these beings, whose countenances and godless discourse +brought to my mind the demons of the deep Unknown, I still ran wild +through Wales, I know not how long. On one occasion, coming in some +degree to my recollection, I felt myself quite unable to bear the horrors +of my situation; looking round I found myself near the sea; instantly the +idea came into my head that I would cast myself into it, and thus +anticipate my final doom. I hesitated a moment, but a voice within me +seemed to tell me that I could do no better; the sea was near, and I +could not swim, so I determined to fling myself into the sea. As I was +running along at great speed, in the direction of a lofty rock, which +beetled over the waters, I suddenly felt myself seized by the coat. I +strove to tear myself away, but in vain; looking round, I perceived a +venerable hale old man, who had hold of me. ‘Let me go!’ said I, +fiercely. ‘I will not let thee go,’ said the old man; and now, instead +of with one, he grappled me with both hands. ‘In whose name dost thou +detain me?’ said I, scarcely knowing what I said. ‘In the name of my +Master, who made thee and yonder sea; and has said to the sea, so far +shalt thou come, and no farther, and to thee, thou shalt do no murder.’ +‘Has not a man a right to do what he pleases with his own?’ said I. ‘He +has,’ said the old man, ‘but thy life is not thy own; thou art +accountable for it to thy God. Nay, I will not let thee go,’ he +continued, as I again struggled; ‘if thou struggle with me the whole day +I will not let thee go, as Charles Wesley says, in his ‘Wrestlings of +Jacob;’ and see, it is of no use struggling, for I am, in the strength of +my Master, stronger than thou;’ and, indeed, all of a sudden I had become +very weak and exhausted; whereupon the old man, beholding my situation, +took me by the arm and led me gently to a neighbouring town, which stood +behind a hill, and which I had not before observed; presently he opened +the door of a respectable-looking house, which stood beside a large +building having the appearance of a chapel, and conducted me into a small +room, with a great many books in it. Having caused me to sit down, he +stood looking at me for some time, occasionally heaving a sigh. I was, +indeed, haggard and forlorn. ‘Who art thou?’ he said at last. ‘A +miserable man,’ I replied. ‘What makes thee miserable?’ said the old +man. ‘A hideous crime,’ I replied. ‘I can find no rest; like Cain, I +wander here and there.’ The old man turned pale. ‘Hast thou taken +another’s life?’ said he; ‘if so, I advise thee to surrender thyself to +the magistrate; thou canst do no better; thy doing so will be the best +proof of thy repentance; and though there be no hope for thee in this +world there may be much in the next.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘I have never taken +another’s life.’ ‘What then, another’s goods? If so, restore them +seven-fold, if possible: or, if it be not in thy power, and thy +conscience accuse thee, surrender thyself to the magistrate, and make the +only satisfaction thou art able.’ ‘I have taken no one’s goods,’ said I. +‘Of what art thou guilty, then?’ said he. ‘Art thou a drunkard? a +profligate?’ ‘Alas, no,’ said I; ‘I am neither of these; would that I +were no worse!’ + +“Thereupon the old man looked steadfastly at me for some time; then, +after appearing to reflect, he said, ‘Young man, I have a great desire to +know your name.’ ‘What matters it to you what is my name?’ said I; ‘you +know nothing of me.’ ‘Perhaps you are mistaken,’ said the old man, +looking kindly at me; ‘but at all events tell me your name.’ I hesitated +a moment, and then told him who I was, whereupon he exclaimed with much +emotion, ‘I thought so; how wonderful are the ways of Providence! I have +heard of thee, young man, and know thy mother well. Only a month ago, +when upon a journey, I experienced much kindness from her. She was +speaking to me of her lost child, with tears; she told me that you were +one of the best of sons, but that some strange idea appeared to have +occupied your mind. Despair not, my son. If thou hast been afflicted, I +doubt not but that thy affliction will eventually turn out to thy +benefit; I doubt not but that thou wilt be preserved, as an example of +the great mercy of God. I will now kneel down and pray for thee, my +son.’ + +“He knelt down, and prayed long and fervently. I remained standing for +some time; at length I knelt down likewise. I scarcely knew what he was +saying, but when he concluded I said ‘Amen.’ + +“And when we had risen from our knees, the old man left me for a short +time, and on his return led me into another room, where were two females; +one was an elderly person, the wife of the old man,—the other was a young +woman of very prepossessing appearance (hang not down thy head, +Winifred), who I soon found was a distant relation of the old man,—both +received me with great kindness, the old man having doubtless previously +told them who I was. + +“I staid several days in the good man’s house. I had still the greater +portion of a small sum which I happened to have about me when I departed +on my dolorous wandering, and with this I purchased clothes, and altered +my appearance considerably. On the evening of the second day, my friend +said, ‘I am going to preach, perhaps you will come and hear me.’ I +consented, and we all went, not to a church, but to the large building +next the house; for the old man, though a clergyman, was not of the +established persuasion, and there the old man mounted a pulpit, and began +to preach. ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,’ etc., +etc., was his text. His sermon was long, but I still bear the greater +portion of it in my mind. + +“The substance of it was that Jesus was at all times ready to take upon +himself the burden of our sins, provided we came to him with a humble and +contrite spirit, and begged his help. This doctrine was new to me; I had +often been at church, but had never heard it preached before, at least so +distinctly. When he said that all men might be saved, I shook, for I +expected he would add, all except those who had committed the mysterious +sin; but no, all men were to be saved who with a humble and contrite +spirit would come to Jesus, cast themselves at the foot of his cross, and +accept pardon through the merits of his blood-shedding alone. +‘Therefore, my friends,’ said he, in conclusion, ‘despair not—however +guilty you may be, despair not—however desperate your condition may +seem,’ said he, fixing his eyes upon me, ‘despair not. There is nothing +more foolish and more wicked than despair; overweening confidence is not +more foolish than despair; both are the favourite weapons of the enemy of +souls.’ + +“This discourse gave rise in my mind to no slight perplexity. I had read +in the Scriptures that he who committeth a certain sin shall never be +forgiven, and that there is no hope for him either in this world or the +next. And here was a man, a good man certainly, and one who, of +necessity, was thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures, who told me +that any one might be forgiven, however wicked, who would only trust in +Christ and in the merits of his blood-shedding. Did I believe in Christ? +Ay, truly. Was I willing to be saved by Christ? Ay, truly. Did I trust +in Christ? I trusted that Christ would save every one but myself. And +why not myself? simply because the Scriptures had told me that he who has +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost can never be saved, and I had +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost,—perhaps the only one who ever +had committed it. How could I hope? The Scriptures could not lie, and +yet here was this good old man, profoundly versed in the Scriptures, who +bade me hope; would he lie? No. But did the old man know my case? Ah, +no, he did not know my case! but yet he had bid me hope, whatever I had +done, provided I would go to Jesus. But how could I think of going to +Jesus, when the Scriptures told me plainly that all would be useless? I +was perplexed, and yet a ray of hope began to dawn in my soul. I thought +of consulting the good man, but I was afraid he would drive away the +small glimmer. I was afraid he would say, ‘O, yes, every one is to be +saved, except a wretch like you; I was not aware before that there was +anything so horrible,—begone!’ Once or twice the old man questioned me +on the subject of my misery, but I evaded him; once, indeed, when he +looked particularly benevolent, I think I should have unbosomed myself to +him, but we were interrupted. He never pressed me much; perhaps he was +delicate in probing my mind, as we were then of different persuasions. +Hence he advised me to seek the advice of some powerful minister in my +own church; there were many such in it, he said. + +“I staid several days in the family, during which time I more than once +heard my venerable friend preach; each time he preached, he exhorted his +hearers not to despair. The whole family were kind to me; his wife +frequently discoursed with me, and also the young person to whom I have +already alluded. It appeared to me that the latter took a peculiar +interest in my fate. + +“At last my friend said to me, ‘It is now time thou shouldst return to +thy mother and thy brother.’ So I arose, and departed to my mother and +my brother; and at my departure my old friend gave me his blessing, and +his wife and the young person shed tears, the last especially. And when +my mother saw me, she shed tears, and fell on my neck and kissed me, and +my brother took me by the hand and bade me welcome; and when our first +emotions were subsided, my mother said, ‘I trust thou art come in a lucky +hour. A few weeks ago my cousin (whose favourite thou always wast) died +and left thee his heir—left thee the goodly farm in which he lived. I +trust, my son, that thou wilt now settle, and be a comfort to me in my +old days.’ And I answered, ‘I will, if so please the Lord;’ and I said +to myself, ‘God grant that this bequest be a token of the Lord’s favour.’ + +“And in a few days I departed to take possession of my farm; it was about +twenty miles from my mother’s house, in a beautiful but rather wild +district; I arrived at the fall of the leaf. All day long I busied +myself with my farm, and thus kept my mind employed. At night, however, +I felt rather solitary, and I frequently wished for a companion. Each +night and morning I prayed fervently unto the Lord; for His hand had been +very heavy upon me, and I feared Him. + +“There was one thing connected with my new abode, which gave me +considerable uneasiness—the want of spiritual instruction. There was a +church, indeed, close at hand, in which service was occasionally +performed, but in so hurried and heartless a manner that I derived little +benefit from it. The clergyman to whom the benefice belonged was a +valetudinarian, who passed his time in London, or at some watering place, +entrusting the care of his flock to the curate of a distant parish, who +gave himself very little trouble about the matter. Now I wanted every +Sunday to hear from the pulpit words of consolation and encouragement, +similar to those which I had heard uttered from the pulpit by my good and +venerable friend, but I was debarred from this privilege. At length, one +day being in conversation with one of my labourers, a staid and serious +man, I spoke to him of the matter which lay heavy upon my mind; +whereupon, looking me wistfully in the face, he said, ‘Master, the want +of religious instruction in my church was what drove me to the +Methodists.’ ‘The Methodists,’ said I; ‘are there any in these parts?’ +‘There is a chapel,’ said he, ‘only half a mile distant, at which there +are two services every Sunday, and other two during the week.’ Now it +happened that my venerable friend was of the Methodist persuasion, and +when I heard the poor man talk in this manner, I said to him, ‘May I go +with you next Sunday?’ ‘Why not?’ said he; so I went with the labourer +on the ensuing Sabbath to the meeting of the Methodists. + +“I liked the preaching which I heard at the chapel very well, though it +was not quite so comfortable as that of my old friend, the preacher being +in some respects a different kind of man. It, however, did me good, and +I went again, and continued to do so, though I did not become a regular +member of the body at that time. + +“I had now the benefit of religious instruction, and also to a certain +extent of religious fellowship, for the preacher and various members of +his flock frequently came to see me. They were honest plain men, not +exactly of the description which I wished for, but still good sort of +people, and I was glad to see them. Once on a time, when some of them +were with me, one of them enquired whether I was fervent in prayer. +‘Very fervent,’ said I. ‘And do you read the Scriptures often?’ said he. +‘No,’ said I. ‘Why not?’ said he. ‘Because I am afraid to see there my +own condemnation.’ They looked at each other, and said nothing at the +time. On leaving me, however, they all advised me to read the Scriptures +with fervency and prayer. + +“As I had told these honest people, I shrank from searching the +Scriptures; the remembrance of the fatal passage was still too vivid in +my mind to permit me. I did not wish to see my condemnation repeated, +but I was very fervent in prayer, and almost hoped that God would yet +forgive me by virtue of the blood-shedding of the Lamb. Time passed on, +my affairs prospered, and I enjoyed a certain portion of tranquillity. +Occasionally, when I had nothing else to do, I renewed my studies. Many +is the book I read, especially in my native language, for I was always +fond of my native language, and proud of being a Welshman. Amongst the +books I read were the odes of the great Ab Gwilym, whom thou, friend, +hast never heard of; no, nor any of thy countrymen, for you are an +ignorant race, you Saxons, at least with respect to all that relates to +Wales and Welshmen. I likewise read the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The +latter work possessed a singular fascination for me, on account of its +wonderful delineations of the torments of the nether world. + +“But man does not love to be alone; indeed, the Scripture says that it is +not good for man to be alone. I occupied my body with the pursuits of +husbandry, and I improved my mind with the perusal of good and wise +books; but, as I have already said, I frequently sighed for a companion +with whom I could exchange ideas, and who could take an interest in my +pursuits; the want of such a one I more particularly felt in the long +winter evenings. It was then that the image of the young person whom I +had seen in the house of the preacher frequently rose up distinctly +before my mind’s eye, decked with quiet graces—hang not down your head, +Winifred—and I thought that of all the women in the world I should wish +her to be my partner, and then I considered whether it would be possible +to obtain her. I am ready to acknowledge, friend, that it was both +selfish and wicked in me to wish to fetter any human being to a lost +creature like myself, conscious of having committed a crime for which the +Scriptures told me there is no pardon. I had, indeed, a long struggle as +to whether I should make the attempt or not—selfishness however +prevailed. I will not detain your attention with relating all that +occurred at this period—suffice it to say that I made my suit and was +successful; it is true that the old man, who was her guardian, hesitated, +and asked several questions respecting my state of mind. I am afraid +that I partly deceived him, perhaps he partly deceived himself; he was +pleased that I had adopted his profession—we are all weak creatures. +With respect to the young person, she did not ask many questions; and I +soon found that I had won her heart. To be brief, I married her; and +here she is, the truest wife that ever man had, and the kindest. Kind I +may well call her, seeing that she shrinks not from me, who so cruelly +deceived her, in not telling her at first what I was. I married her, +friend; and brought her home to my little possession, where we passed our +time very agreeably. Our affairs prospered, our garners were full, and +there was coin in our purse. I worked in the field; Winifred busied +herself with the dairy. At night I frequently read books to her, books +of my own country, friend; I likewise read to her songs of my own, holy +songs and carols which she admired, and which yourself would perhaps +admire, could you understand them; but I repeat, you Saxons are an +ignorant people with respect to us, and a perverse, inasmuch as you +despise Welsh without understanding it. Every night I prayed fervently, +and my wife admired my gift of prayer. + +“One night, after I had been reading to my wife a portion of Ellis Wyn, +my wife said, ‘This is a wonderful book, and containing much true and +pleasant doctrine; but how is it that you, who are so fond of good books, +and good things in general, never read the Bible? You read me the book +of Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of your own composition, you +edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet you never read the Bible.’ +And when I heard her mention the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own +condemnation. However, I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I +commenced on that very night reading the Bible. All went on smoothly for +a long time; for months and months I did not find the fatal passage, so +that I almost thought that I had imagined it. My affairs prospered much +the while, so that I was almost happy,—taking pleasure in everything +around me,—in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions, and the +Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible, feeling +particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into my head that I +would print some of my compositions, and purchase a particular field of a +neighbour—oh, God—God! I came to the fatal passage. + +“Friend, friend, what shall I say? I rushed out. My wife followed me, +asking me what was the matter. I could only answer with groans—for three +days and three nights I did little else than groan. Oh, the kindness and +solicitude of my wife! ‘What is the matter, husband, dear husband?’ she +was continually saying. I became at last more calm. My wife still +persisted in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm. It is hard to keep +a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as mine, so I told my wife +the tale, as we sat one night—it was a mid-winter night—over the dying +brands of our hearth, after the family had retired to rest, her hand +locked in mine, even as it is now. + +“I thought she would have shrunk from me with horror; but she did not; +her hand, it is true, trembled once or twice; but that was all. At last +she gave mine a gentle pressure; and, looking up in my face, she +said—what do you think my wife said, young man?” + +“It is impossible for me to guess,” said I. + +“‘Let us go to rest, my love; your fears are all groundless.’” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + + +Getting Late—Seven Years Old—Chastening—Go Forth—London Bridge—Same +Eyes—Common Occurrence—Very Sleepy. + +“And so I still say,” said Winifred, sobbing. “Let us retire to rest, +dear husband; your fears are groundless. I had hoped long since that +your affliction would have passed away, and I still hope that it +eventually will; so take heart, Peter, and let us retire to rest, for it +is getting late.” + +“Rest!” said Peter; “there is no rest for the wicked!” + +“We are all wicked,” said Winifred; “but you are afraid of a shadow. How +often have I told you that the sin of your heart is not the sin against +the Holy Ghost: the sin of your heart is its natural pride, of which you +are scarcely aware, to keep down which God in His mercy permitted you to +be terrified with the idea of having committed a sin which you never +committed.” + +“Then you will still maintain,” said Peter, “that I never committed the +sin against the Holy Spirit?” + +“I will,” said Winifred; “you never committed it. How should a child +seven years old commit a sin like that?” + +“Have I not read my own condemnation?” said Peter. “Did not the first +words which I read in the Holy Scripture condemn me? ‘He who committeth +the sin against the Holy Ghost shall never enter into the kingdom of +God.’” + +“You never committed it,” said Winifred. + +“But the words! the words! the words!” said Peter. + +“The words are true words,” said Winifred, sobbing; “but they were not +meant for you, but for those who have broken their profession, who, +having embraced the cross, have receded from their Master.” + +“And what sayst thou to the effect which the words produced upon me?” +said Peter. “Did they not cause me to run wild through Wales for years, +like Merddin Wyllt of yore? thinkest thou that I opened the book at that +particular passage by chance?” + +“No,” said Winifred, “not by chance; it was the hand of God directed you, +doubtless for some wise purpose. You had become satisfied with yourself. +The Lord wished to rouse thee from thy state of carnal security, and +therefore directed your eyes to that fearful passage.” + +“Does the Lord then carry out His designs by means of guile?” said Peter, +with a groan. “Is not the Lord true? Would the Lord impress upon me +that I had committed a sin of which I am guiltless? Hush, Winifred! +hush! thou knowest that I have committed the sin.” + +“Thou hast not committed it,” said Winifred, sobbing yet more violently. +“Were they my last words, I would persist that thou hast not committed +it, though, perhaps, thou wouldst, but for this chastening; it was not to +convince thee that thou hast committed the sin, but rather to prevent +thee from committing it, that the Lord brought that passage before thy +eyes. He is not to blame, if thou art wilfully blind to the truth and +wisdom of His ways.” + +“I see thou wouldst comfort me,” said Peter, “as thou hast often before +attempted to do. I would fain ask the young man his opinion.” + +“I have not yet heard the whole of your history,” said I. + +“My story is nearly told,” said Peter; “a few words will complete it. My +wife endeavoured to console and reassure me, using the arguments which +you have just heard her use, and many others, but in vain. Peace nor +comfort came to my breast. I was rapidly falling into the depths of +despair; when one day Winifred said to me, ‘I see thou wilt be lost if we +remain here. One resource only remains. Thou must go forth, my husband, +into the wide world, and to comfort thee I will go with thee.’ ‘And what +can I do in the wide world?’ said I, despondingly. ‘Much,’ replied +Winifred, ‘if you will but exert yourself; much good canst thou do with +the blessing of God.’ Many things of the same kind she said to me; and +at last I arose from the earth to which God had smitten me, and disposed +of my property in the best way I could, and went into the world. We did +all the good we were able, visiting the sick, ministering to the sick, +and praying with the sick. At last I became celebrated as the possessor +of a great gift of prayer. And people urged me to preach, and Winifred +urged me too, and at last I consented, and I preached. I—I—outcast +Peter, became the preacher, Peter Williams. I, the lost one, attempted +to show others the right road. And in this way I have gone on for +thirteen years, preaching and teaching, visiting the sick, and +ministering to them, with Winifred by my side hearkening me on. +Occasionally I am visited with fits of indescribable agony, generally on +the night before the Sabbath; for I then ask myself, how dare I, the +outcast, attempt to preach the word of God? Young man, my tale is told; +you seem in thought!” + +“I am thinking of London Bridge,” said I. + +“Of London Bridge!” said Peter and his wife. + +“Yes,” said I, “of London Bridge. I am indebted for much wisdom to +London Bridge; it was there that I completed my studies. But to the +point. I was once reading on London Bridge a book which an ancient +gentlewoman, who kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending me; and +there I found written, ‘Each one carries in his breast the recollection +of some sin which presses heavy upon him. O! if men could but look into +each other’s hearts, what blackness would they find there!’” + +“That’s true,” said Peter. “What is the name of the book?” + +“‘The Life of Blessed Mary Flanders.’” + +“Some popish saint, I suppose,” said Peter. + +“As much of a saint, I dare say,” said I, “as most popish ones; but you +interrupted me. One part of your narrative brought the passage which I +have quoted into my mind. You said that after you had committed this +same sin of yours you were in the habit, at school, of looking upon your +schoolfellows with a kind of gloomy superiority, considering yourself a +lone monstrous being who had committed a sin far above the daring of any +of them. Are you sure that many others of your schoolfellows were not +looking upon you and the others with much the same eyes with which you +were looking upon them!” + +“How!” said Peter, “dost thou think that they had divined my secret?” + +“Not they,” said I; “they were, I dare say, thinking too much of +themselves and of their own concerns to have divined any secrets of +yours. All I mean to say is, they had probably secrets of their own, and +who knows that the secret sin of more than one of them was not the very +sin which caused you so much misery?” + +“Dost thou then imagine,” said Peter, “the sin against the Holy Ghost to +be so common an occurrence?” + +“As you have described it,” said I, “of very common occurrence, +especially amongst children, who are, indeed, the only beings likely to +commit it.” + +“Truly,” said Winifred, “the young man talks wisely.” + +Peter was silent for some moments, and appeared to be reflecting; at +last, suddenly raising his head, he looked me full in the face, and, +grasping my hand with vehemence, he said, “Tell me, young man, only one +thing, hast thou, too, committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?” + +“I am neither Papist nor Methodist,” said I, “but of the Church, and, +being so, confess myself to no one, but keep my own counsel; I will tell +thee, however, had I committed, at the same age, twenty such sins as that +which you committed, I should feel no uneasiness at these years—but I am +sleepy, and must go to rest.” + +“God bless thee, young man,” said Winifred. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + + +Low and Calm—Much Better—Blessed Effect—No Answer—Such a Sermon. + +Before I sank to rest I heard Winifred and her husband conversing in the +place where I had left them; both their voices were low and calm. I soon +fell asleep, and slumbered for some time. On my awakening I again heard +them conversing, but they were now in their cart; still the voices of +both were calm. I heard no passionate bursts of wild despair on the part +of the man. Methought I occasionally heard the word Pechod proceeding +from the lips of each, but with no particular emphasis. I supposed they +were talking of the innate sin of both their hearts. + +“I wish that man were happy,” said I to myself, “were it only for his +wife’s sake, and yet he deserves to be happy for his own.” + +The next day Peter was very cheerful, more cheerful than I had ever seen +him. At breakfast his conversation was animated, and he smiled +repeatedly. I looked at him with the greatest interest, and the eyes of +his wife were almost constantly fixed upon him. A shade of gloom would +occasionally come over his countenance, but it almost instantly +disappeared; perhaps it proceeded more from habit than anything else. +After breakfast he took his Welsh Bible and sat down beneath a tree. His +eyes were soon fixed intently on the volume; now and then he would call +his wife, show her some passage, and appeared to consult with her. The +day passed quickly and comfortably. + +“Your husband seems much better,” said I, at evening fall, to Winifred, +as we chanced to be alone. + +“He does,” said Winifred, “and that on the day of the week when he was +wont to appear most melancholy, for to-morrow is the Sabbath. He now no +longer looks forward to the Sabbath with dread, but appears to reckon on +it. What a happy change! and to think that this change should have been +produced by a few words, seemingly careless ones, proceeding from the +mouth of one who is almost a stranger to him. Truly, it is wonderful.” + +“To whom do you allude,” said I; “and to what words?” + +“To yourself, and to the words which came from your lips last night, +after you had heard my poor husband’s history. Those strange words, +drawn out with so much seeming indifference, have produced in my husband +the blessed effect which you have observed. They have altered the +current of his ideas. He no longer thinks himself the only being in the +world doomed to destruction,—the only being capable of committing the +never-to-be-forgiven sin. Your supposition that that which harrowed his +soul is of frequent occurrence amongst children, has tranquillized him; +the mist which hung over his mind has cleared away, and he begins to see +the groundlessness of his apprehensions. The Lord has permitted him to +be chastened for a season, but his lamp will only burn the brighter for +what he has undergone.” + +Sunday came, fine and glorious as the last. Again my friends and myself +breakfasted together—again the good family of the house on the hill +above, headed by the respectable master, descended to the meadow. Peter +and his wife were ready to receive them. Again Peter placed himself at +the side of the honest farmer, and Winifred by the side of her friend. +“Wilt thou not come?” said Peter, looking towards me with a face in which +there was much emotion. “Wilt thou not come?” said Winifred, with a face +beaming with kindness. But I made no answer, and presently the party +moved away, in the same manner in which it had moved on the preceding +sabbath, and I was again left alone. + +The hours of the sabbath passed slowly away. I sat gazing at the sky, +the trees, and the water. At last I strolled up to the house and sat +down in the porch. It was empty; there was no modest maiden there, as on +the preceding sabbath. The damsel of the book had accompanied the rest. +I had seen her in the procession, and the house appeared quite deserted. +The owners had probably left it to my custody, so I sat down in the +porch, quite alone. The hours of the sabbath passed heavily away. + +At last evening came, and with it the party of the morning, I was now at +my place beneath the oak. I went forward to meet them. Peter and his +wife received me with a calm and quiet greeting, and passed forward. The +rest of the party had broke into groups. There was a kind of excitement +amongst them, and much eager whispering. I went to one of the groups; +the young girl of whom I have spoken more than once, was speaking: “Such +a sermon,” said she, “it has never been our lot to hear; Peter never +before spoke as he has done this day—he was always a powerful preacher; +but oh, the unction of the discourse of this morning, and yet more of +that of the afternoon, which was the continuation of it.” “What was the +subject?” said I, interrupting her. “Ah! you should have been there, +young man, to have heard it; it would have made a lasting impression upon +you. I was bathed in tears all the time; those who heard it will never +forget the preaching of the good Peter Williams on the Power, Providence, +and Goodness of God.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + + +Deep Interest—Goodly Country—Two Mansions—Welshman’s Candle—Beautiful +Universe—Godly Discourse—Fine Church—Points of Doctrine—Strange +Adventures—Paltry Cause—Roman Pontiff—Evil Spirit. + +On the morrow I said to my friends, “I am about to depart; farewell!” +“Depart!” said Peter and his wife, simultaneously, “whither wouldst thou +go?” “I can’t stay here all my days,” I replied. “Of course not,” said +Peter; “but we had no idea of losing thee so soon: we had almost hoped +that thou wouldst join us, become one of us. We are under infinite +obligations to thee.” “You mean I am under infinite obligations to you,” +said I. “Did you not save my life?” “Perhaps so, under God,” said +Peter; “and what hast thou not done for me? Art thou aware that, under +God, thou hast preserved my soul from despair? But, independent of that, +we like thy company, and feel a deep interest in thee, and would fain +teach thee the way that is right. Hearken, to-morrow we go into Wales; +go with us.” “I have no wish to go into Wales,” said I. “Why not?” said +Peter, with animation, “Wales is a goodly country; as the Scripture +says—a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths, that spring out +of valleys and hills, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose +hills thou mayest dig lead.” + +“I dare say it is a very fine country,” said I, “but I have no wish to go +there just now; my destiny seems to point in another direction, to say +nothing of my trade.” “Thou dost right to say nothing of thy trade,” +said Peter, smiling, “for thou seemest to care nothing about it; which +has led Winifred and myself to suspect that thou art not altogether what +thou seemest; but, setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou +wouldst go with us into Wales.” “I cannot promise to go with you into +Wales,” said I; “but, as you depart to-morrow, I will stay with you +through the day, and on the morrow accompany you part of the way.” “Do,” +said Peter. “I have many people to see to-day, and so has Winifred; but +we will both endeavour to have some serious discourse with thee, which, +perhaps, will turn to thy profit in the end.” + +In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was seated +beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced addressing me in +the following manner:— + +“I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing to admit, that +the most important thing which a human being possesses is his soul; it is +of infinite more importance than the body, which is a frail substance, +and cannot last for many years; but not so the soul, which, by its +nature, is imperishable. To one of two mansions the soul is destined to +depart, after its separation from the body, to heaven or hell: to the +halls of eternal bliss, where God and His holy angels dwell, or to the +place of endless misery, inhabited by Satan and his grisly companions. +My friend, if the joys of heaven are great, unutterably great, so are the +torments of hell unutterably so. I wish not to speak of them, I wish not +to terrify your imagination with the torments of hell; indeed, I like not +to think of them; but it is necessary to speak of them sometimes, and to +think of them sometimes, lest you should sink into a state of carnal +security. Authors, friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as +to the particulars of hell. They all agree, however, in considering it a +place of exceeding horror. Master Ellis Wyn, who by-the-bye was a +churchman, calls it, amongst other things, a place of strong sighs, and +of flaming sparks. Master Rees Pritchard, who was not only a churchman, +but Vicar of Llandovery, and flourished about two hundred years ago—I +wish many like him flourished now—speaking of hell, in his collection of +sweet hymns, called the ‘Welshman’s Candle,’ observes, + +“‘The pool is continually blazing; it is very deep, without any known +bottom, and the walls are so high, that there is neither hope nor +possibility of escaping over them.’ + +“But, I told you just now, I have no great pleasure in talking of hell. +No, friend, no; I would sooner talk of the other place, and of the +goodness and hospitality of God amongst His saints above.” + +And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of heaven, and +the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions above; explaining to +me, in the clearest way, how I might get there. + +And when he had finished what he had to say, he left me, whereupon +Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me, began to address me. “I do +not think,” said she, “from what I have observed of thee, that thou +wouldst wish to be ungrateful, and yet, is not thy whole life a series of +ingratitude, and to whom?—to thy Maker. Has He not endowed thee with a +goodly and healthy form; and senses which enable thee to enjoy the +delights of His beautiful universe—the work of His hands? Canst thou not +enjoy, even to rapture, the brightness of the sun, the perfume of the +meads, and the song of the dear birds, which inhabit among the trees? +Yes, thou canst; for I have seen thee, and observed thee doing so. Yet, +during the whole time that I have known thee, I have not heard proceed +from thy lips one single word of praise or thanksgiving to—” + +And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a considerable time, +and to all her discourse I listened with attention; and when she had +concluded I took her hand and said, “I thank you,” and that was all. + +On the next day everything was ready for our departure. The good family +of the house came to bid us farewell. There were shaking of hands, and +kisses, as on the night of our arrival. + +And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have spoken so +often, came up to me, and holding out her hand said, “Farewell, young +man, wherever thou goest.” Then, after looking around her, she said, “It +was all true you told me. Yesterday I received a letter from him thou +wottest of, he is coming soon. God bless you, young man; who would have +thought thou knewest so much!” + +So after we had taken our farewell of the good family, we departed, +proceeding in the direction of Wales. Peter was very cheerful, and +enlivened the way with godly discourse and spiritual hymns, some of which +were in the Welsh language. At length I said, “It is a pity that you did +not continue in the church; you have a turn for Psalmody, and I have +heard of a man becoming a bishop, by means of a less qualification.” + +“Very probably,” said Peter; “more the pity. But I have told you the +reason of my forsaking it. Frequently, when I went to the church door, I +found it barred, and the priest absent; what was I to do? My heart was +bursting for want of some religious help and comfort; what could I do? as +good Master Rees Pritchard observes in his ‘Candle for Welshmen.’ + +“‘It is a doleful thing to see little children burning on the hot coals +for want of help; but yet more doleful to see a flock of souls falling +into the burning lake for want of a priest.’” + +“The Church of England is a fine church,” said I; “I would not advise any +one to speak ill of the Church of England before me.” + +“I have nothing to say against the church,” said Peter; “all I wish is +that it would fling itself a little more open, and that its priests would +a little more bestir themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the +cross and become a missionary church.” + +“It is too proud for that,” said Winifred. + +“You are much more of a Methodist,” said I, “than your husband. But tell +me,” said I, addressing myself to Peter, “do you not differ from the +church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true member of the +church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar opinions of wandering +sectaries!” + +“Oh, the pride of that church!” said Winifred, half to herself; +“wandering sectaries!” + +“We differ in no points of doctrine,” said Peter: “we believe all the +church believes, though we are not so fond of vain and superfluous +ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths and surplices, as the church is. We +likewise think that there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in +holding free discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker,” he +added, smiling; “it was those superfluous ceremonies, those surplices and +white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of strictly regulating +his words and conversation, which drove John Wesley out of the church, +and sent him wandering up and down as you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do.” + +Nothing further passed for some time; we were now drawing near the hills: +at last I said, “You must have met with a great many strange adventures +since you took up this course of life?” + +“Many,” said Peter, “it has been my lot to meet with; but none more +strange than one which occurred to me only a few weeks ago. You were +asking me, not long since, whether I believed in devils? Ay, truly, +young man; and I believe that the abyss and the yet deeper unknown do not +contain them all; some walk about upon the green earth. So it happened, +some weeks ago, that I was exercising my ministry, about forty miles from +here. I was alone, Winifred being slightly indisposed, staying for a few +days at the house of an acquaintance; I had finished afternoon’s +worship—the people had dispersed, and I was sitting solitary by my cart +under some green trees in a quiet retired place; suddenly a voice said to +me, ‘Good evening, Pastor;’ I looked up, and before me stood a man, at +least the appearance of a man, dressed in a black suit of rather a +singular fashion. He was about my own age, or somewhat older. As I +looked upon him, it appeared to me that I had seen him twice before +whilst preaching. I replied to his salutation, and perceiving that he +looked somewhat fatigued, I took out a stool from the cart, and asked him +to sit down. We began to discourse; I at first supposed that he might be +one of ourselves, some wandering minister; but I was soon undeceived. +Neither his language nor his ideas were those of any one of our body. He +spoke on all kinds of matters with much fluency; till at last he +mentioned my preaching, complimenting me on my powers. I replied, as +well I might, that I could claim no merit of my own, and that if I spoke +with any effect, it was only by the grace of God. As I uttered these +last words, a horrible kind of sneer came over his countenance, which +made me shudder, for there was something diabolical in it. I said little +more, but listened attentively to his discourse. At last he said that ‘I +was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy of one of my powers.’ ‘How +can that be,’ said I, ‘even if I possessed all the powers in the world, +seeing that I am engaged in the cause of our Lord Jesus?’ + +“The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, but he almost +instantly observed that if I chose to forsake this same miserable cause, +from which nothing but contempt and privation were to be expected, he +would enlist me into another, from which I might expect both profit and +renown. An idea now came into my head, and I told him firmly, that if he +wished me to forsake my present profession and become a member of the +Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that I had no ill-will +against that church, but I thought I could do most good in my present +position, which I would not forsake to be Archbishop of Canterbury. +Thereupon he burst into a strange laughter, and went away, repeating to +himself, ‘Church of England! Archbishop of Canterbury!’ A few days +after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again appeared before +me, and asked me whether I had thought over his words, and whether I was +willing to enlist under the banners of his master, adding, that he was +eager to secure me, as he conceived that I might be highly useful to the +cause. I then asked him who his master was; he hesitated for a moment, +and then answered, ‘The Roman Pontiff.’ ‘If it be he,’ said I, ‘I can +have nothing to do with him, I will serve no one who is an enemy of +Christ.’ Thereupon he drew near to me and told me not to talk so much +like a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that no such person +ever existed, but that if he ever did, he was the greatest impostor the +world ever saw. How long he continued in this way I know not, for I now +considered that an evil spirit was before me, and shrank within myself, +shivering in every limb; when I recovered myself and looked about me, he +was gone. Two days after, he again stood before me, in the same place, +and about the same hour, renewing his propositions, and speaking more +horribly than before. I made him no answer; whereupon he continued; but +suddenly hearing a noise behind him, he looked round and beheld Winifred, +who had returned to me on the morning of that day. ‘Who are you?’ said +he, fiercely. ‘This man’s wife,’ said she, calmly fixing her eyes upon +him. ‘Begone from him, unhappy one, thou temptest him in vain.’ He made +no answer, but stood as if transfixed: at length recovering himself, he +departed, muttering ‘Wife! wife! If the fool has a wife, he will never +do for us.’” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + + +The Border—Thank you Both—Pipe and Fiddle—Taliesin. + +We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, “If you are to +go into Wales, you must presently decide, for we are close upon the +border.” + +“Which is the border?” said I. + +“Yon small brook,” said Peter, “into which the man on horseback who is +coming towards us, is now entering.” + +“I see it,” said I, “and the man; he stops in the middle of it, as if to +water his steed.” + +We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. “Well,” said Peter, +“will you go into Wales?” + +“What should I do in Wales?” I demanded. + +“Do!” said Peter, smiling, “learn Welsh.” + +I stopped my little pony. “Then I need not go into Wales; I already know +Welsh.” + +“Know Welsh!” said Peter, staring at me. + +“Know Welsh!” said Winifred, stopping her cart. + +“How and when did you learn it?” said Peter. + +“From books, in my boyhood.” + +“Read Welsh!” said Peter, “is it possible?” + +“Read Welsh!” said Winifred, “is it possible?” + +“Well, I hope you will come with us,” said Peter. + +“Come with us, young man,” said Winifred; “let me, on the other side of +the brook, welcome you into Wales.” + +“Thank you both,” said I, “but I will not come.” + +“Wherefore?” exclaimed both, simultaneously. + +“Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into Wales at this +time, and in this manner. When I go into Wales, I should wish to go in a +new suit of superfine black, with hat and beaver, mounted on a powerful +steed, black and glossy, like that which bore Greduv to the fight of +Catraeth. I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen assembled on the +border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and much whooping and +shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as far as Machynllaith, +where I should wish to be invited to a dinner at which all the bards +should be present, and to be seated at the right hand of the president, +who, when the cloth was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of +silence, exclaim—‘Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose the health +of my most respectable friend the translator of the odes of the great Ab +Gwilym, the pride and glory of Wales.’” + +“How!” said Peter, “hast thou translated the works of the mighty Dafydd?” + +“With notes critical, historical, and explanatory.” + +“Come with us, friend,” said Peter. “I cannot promise such a dinner as +thou wishest, but neither pipe nor fiddle shall be wanting.” + +“Come with us, young man,” said Winifred, “even as thou art, and the +daughters of Wales shall bid thee welcome.” + +“I will not go with you,” said I. “Dost thou see that man in the ford?” + +“Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet done drinking? Of +course I see him.” + +“I shall turn back with him. God bless you!” + +“Go back with him not,” said Peter, “he is one of those whom I like not, +one of the clibberty-clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn observes—turn not with +that man.” + +“Go not back with him,” said Winifred. “If thou goest with that man, +thou wilt soon forget all our profitable counsels; come with us.” + +“I cannot; I have much to say to him. Kosko Divous, Mr. Petulengro.” + +“Kosko Divous, Pal,” said Mr. Petulengro, riding through the water; “are +you turning back?” + +I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. + +Peter came running after me: “One moment, young man, who and what are +you?” + +“I must answer in the words of Taliesin,” said I; “none can say with +positiveness whether I be fish or flesh, least of all myself. God bless +you both!” + +“Take this,” said Peter; and he thrust his Welsh Bible into my hand. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + + +At a Funeral—Two Days Ago—Very Coolly—Roman Woman—Well and +Hearty—Somewhat Dreary—Plum Pudding—Roman Fashion—Quite Different—The +Dark Lane—Beyond the Time—Fine Fellow—Such a Struggle—Like a Wild +Cat—Fair Play—Pleasant Enough Spot—No Gloves. + +So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. We travelled for some time in +silence; at last we fell into discourse. “You have been in Wales, Mr. +Petulengro?” + +“Ay, truly, brother.” + +“What have you been doing there?” + +“Assisting at a funeral.” + +“At whose funeral?” + +“Mrs. Herne’s, brother.” + +“Is she dead, then?” + +“As a nail, brother.” + +“How did she die?” + +“By hanging, brother.” + +“I am lost in astonishment,” said I; whereupon Mr. Petulengro, lifting +his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, and adjusting himself +sideways in the saddle, replied, with great deliberation, “Two days ago, +I happened to be at a fair not very far from here; I was all alone by +myself, for our party were upwards of forty miles off, when who should +come up but a chap that I knew, a relation, or rather, a connection of +mine; one of those Hernes. ‘Ar’n’t you going to the funeral?’ said he; +and then, brother, there passed between him and me, in the way of +questioning and answering, much the same as has just now passed between I +and you; but when he mentioned hanging, I thought I could do no less than +ask who hanged her, which you forgot to do. ‘Who hanged her?’ said I; +and then the man told me that she had done it herself; been her own +hinjiri; and then I thought to myself what a sin and shame it would be if +I did not go to the funeral, seeing that she was my own mother-in-law. I +would have brought my wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but +there was no time for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to be +buried early the next morning, so I went with the man, and he led me into +Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when there, through many +wild and desolate places to their encampment, and there I found the +Hernes, and the dead body—the last laid out on a mattress, in a tent, +dressed Romaneskoenæs in a red cloak, and big bonnet of black beaver. I +must say for the Hernes that they took the matter very coolly, some were +eating, others drinking, and some were talking about their small affairs; +there was one, however, who did not take the matter so coolly, but took +on enough for the whole family, sitting beside the dead woman, tearing +her hair, and refusing to take either meat or drink; it was the child +Leonora. I arrived at night-fall, and the burying was not to take place +till the morning, which I was rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of +them Hernes, who are not very fond of anybody. They never asked me to +eat or drink, notwithstanding I had married into the family; one of them, +however, came up and offered to fight me for five shillings; had it not +been for them I should have come back as empty as I went—he didn’t stand +up five minutes. Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, beneath +a tree, for the tents were full, and not over clean; I slept little, and +had my eyes about me, for I knew the kind of people I was among. + +“Early in the morning the funeral took place. The body was placed not in +a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to a churchyard but to a deep +dell close by; and there it was buried beneath a rock, dressed just as I +have told you; and this was done by the bidding of Leonora, who had heard +her bebee say that she wished to be buried, not in gorgeous fashion, but +like a Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko puro rati, brother. When +it was over, and we had got back to the encampment, I prepared to be +going. Before mounting my gry, however, I bethought me to ask what could +have induced the dead woman to make away with herself, a thing so +uncommon amongst Romanies; whereupon one squinted with his eyes, a second +spirted saliver into the air, and a third said that he neither knew nor +cared; she was a good riddance, having more than once been nearly the +ruin of them all, from the quantity of brimstone she carried about her. +One, however, I suppose, rather ashamed of the way in which they had +treated me, said at last, that if I wanted to know all about the matter, +none could tell me better than the child, who was in all her secrets, and +was not a little like her; so I looked about for the child, but could +find her nowhere. At last the same man told me that he shouldn’t wonder +if I found her at the grave; so I went back to the grave, and sure enough +there I found the child, Leonora, seated on the ground above the body, +crying and taking on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, ‘How came all +this, Leonora? tell me all about it.’ It was a long time before I could +get any answer; at last she opened her mouth, and spoke, and these were +the words she said, ‘It was all along of your Pal;’ and then she told me +all about the matter. How Mrs. Herne could not abide you, which I knew +before, and that she had sworn your destruction, which I did not know +before. And then she told me how she found you living in the wood by +yourself, and how you were enticed to eat a poisoned cake; and she told +me many other things that you wot of, and she told me what perhaps you +don’t wot, namely, that finding that you had been removed, she, the +child, had tracked you a long way, and found you at last well and hearty, +and no ways affected by the poison, and heard you, as she stood +concealed, disputing about religion with a Welsh Methody. Well, brother, +she told me all this; and moreover, that when Mrs. Herne heard of it, she +said that a dream of hers had come to pass. I don’t know what it was, +but something about herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she added, +that it was all up with her, and that she must take a long journey. +Well, brother, that same night Leonora, waking from her sleep in the +tent, where Mrs. Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her bebee, and, +becoming alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging +from a branch; and when the child had got so far, she took on violently, +and I could not get another word from her; so I left her, and here I am.” + +“And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is sad news which you +tell me about Mrs. Herne.” + +“Somewhat dreary, brother; yet perhaps, after all, it is a good thing +that she is removed; she carried so much Devil’s tinder about with her, +as the man said.” + +“I am sorry for her,” said I; “more especially as I am the cause of her +death—though the innocent one.” + +“She could not bide you, brother, that’s certain; but that is no +reason”—said Mr. Petulengro, balancing himself upon the saddle—“that is +no reason why she should prepare drow to take away your essence of life; +and, when disappointed, to hang herself upon a tree: if she was +dissatisfied with you, she might have flown at you, and scratched your +face; or, if she did not judge herself your match, she might have put +down five shillings for a turn-up between you and some one she thought +could beat you—myself, for example, and so the matter might have ended +comfortably; but she was always too fond of covert wars, drows, and +brimstones. This is not the first poisoning affair she has been engaged +in.” + +“You allude to drabbing bawlor.” + +“Bah!” said Mr. Petulengro; “there’s no harm in that. No, no! she has +cast drows in her time for other guess things than bawlor; both Gorgios +and Romans have tasted of them, and died. Did you never hear of the +poisoned plum pudding?” + +“Never.” + +“Then I will tell you about it. It happened about six years ago, a few +months after she had quitted us—she had gone first amongst her own +people, as she called them; but there was another small party of Romans, +with whom she soon became very intimate. It so happened that this small +party got into trouble; whether it was about a horse or an ass, or +passing bad money, no matter to you and me, who had no hand in the +business; three or four of them were taken and lodged in --- Castle, and +amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro, or principal man of the +party, and who it seems had most hand in the affair, was still at large. +All of a sudden a rumour was spread abroad that the woman was about to +play false, and to peach the rest. Said the principal man, when he heard +it, ‘If she does, I am nashkado.’ Mrs. Herne was then on a visit to the +party, and when she heard the principal man take on so, she said, ‘But I +suppose you know what to do?’ ‘I do not,’ said he. ‘Then hir mi +devlis,’ said she, ‘you are a fool. But leave the matter to me, I know +how to dispose of her in Roman fashion.’ Why she wanted to interfere in +the matter, brother, I don’t know, unless it was from pure brimstoneness +of disposition—she had no hand in the matter which had brought the party +into trouble—she was only on a visit, and it had happened before she +came; but she was always ready to give dangerous advice. Well, brother, +the principal man listened to what she had to say, and let her do what +she would; and she made a pudding, a very nice one, no doubt—for, besides +plums, she put in drows and all the Roman condiments that she knew of; +and she gave it to the principal man, and the principal man put it into a +basket and directed it to the woman in --- Castle, and the woman in the +castle took it and—” + +“Ate of it,” said I, “just like my case?” + +“Quite different, brother, she took it, it is true; but instead of giving +way to her appetite as you might have done, she put it before the rest +whom she was going to impeach—perhaps she wished to see how they liked it +before she tasted it herself—and all the rest were poisoned, and one +died, and there was a precious outcry, and the woman cried the loudest of +all; and she said, ‘it was my death was sought for; I know the man, and +I’ll be revenged,’ and then the Poknees spoke to her and said, ‘Where can +we find him?’ and she said, ‘I am awake to his motions; three weeks from +hence, the night before the full moon, at such and such an hour, he will +pass down such a lane with such a man.’” + +“Well,” said I, “and what did the Poknees do?” + +“Do, brother, sent for a plastramengro from Bow Street, quite secretly, +and told him what the woman had said; and the night before the full moon, +the plastramengro went to the place which the juwa had pointed out, all +alone, brother; and, in order that he might not be too late, he went two +hours before his time. I know the place well, brother, where the +plastramengro placed himself behind a thick holly-tree, at the end of a +lane, where a gate leads into various fields, through which there is a +path for carts and horses. The lane is called the dark lane by the +Gorgios, being much shaded by trees; so the plastramengro placed himself +in the dark lane behind the holly tree; it was a cold February night, +dreary, though; the wind blew in gusts, and the moon had not yet risen, +and the plastramengro waited behind the tree till he was tired, and +thought he might as well sit down; so he sat down, and was not long in +falling to sleep, and there he slept for some hours; and when he awoke, +the moon had risen, and was shining bright, so that there was a kind of +moonlight even in the dark lane; and the plastramengro pulled out his +watch, and contrived to make out that it was just two hours beyond the +time when the men should have passed by. Brother, I do not know what the +plastramengro thought of himself, but I know, brother, what I should have +thought of myself in his situation. I should have thought, brother, that +I was a drowsy scoppelo, and that I had let the fellow pass by whilst I +was sleeping behind a bush. As it turned out, however, his going to +sleep did no harm, but quite the contrary: just as he was going away, he +heard a gate slam in the direction of the fields, and then he heard the +low stumping of horses, as if on soft ground, for the path in those +fields is generally soft, and at that time it had been lately ploughed +up. Well, brother, presently he saw two men on horseback coming towards +the lane through the field behind the gate; the man who rode foremost was +a tall big fellow, the very man he was in quest of; the other was a +smaller chap, not so small either, but a light, wiry fellow, and a proper +master of his hands when he sees occasion for using them. Well, brother, +the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank, undid it, and +rode through, holding it open for the other. Before, however, the other +could follow into the lane, out bolted the plastramengro from behind the +tree, kicked the gate too with his foot, and, seizing the big man on +horseback, ‘You are my prisoner,’ said he. I am of opinion, brother, +that plastramengro, notwithstanding he went to sleep, must have been a +regular fine fellow.” + +“I am entirely of your opinion,” said I; “but what happened then?” + +“Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat recovered from his +surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be laid hold of at +night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more especially when you happen +to have two or three things on your mind, which, if proved against you, +would carry you to the nashky. The Rommany chal, I say, clubbed his +whip, and aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had hit him on +the skull, as was intended, would very likely have cracked it. The +plastramengro, however, received it partly on his staff, so that it did +him no particular damage. Whereupon seeing what kind of customer he had +to deal with, he dropped his staff, and seized the chal with both his +hands, who forthwith spurred his horse, hoping by doing so, either to +break away from him, or fling him down; but it would not do—the +plastramengro held on like a bulldog, so that the Rommany chal, to escape +being hauled to the ground, suddenly flung himself off the saddle, and +then happened in that lane, close by the gate, such a struggle between +those two—the chal and the runner—as I suppose will never happen again. +But you must have heard of it; every one has heard of the fight between +the Bow Street engro and the Rommany chal.” + +“I never heard of it till now.” + +“All England rung of it, brother. There never was a better match than +between those two. The runner was somewhat the stronger of the two—all +these engroes are strong fellows—and a great deal cooler, for all of that +sort are wondrous cool people—he had, however, to do with one who knew +full well how to take his own part. The chal fought the engro, brother, +in the old Roman fashion. He bit, he kicked, and screamed like a wild +cat of Benygant; casting foam from his mouth, and fire from his eyes. +Sometimes he was beneath the engro’s legs, and sometimes he was upon his +shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult, was to get a firm +hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal by any part of his +wearing apparel, than the chal either tore himself away, or contrived to +slip out of it; so that in a little time the chal was three parts naked; +and as for holding him by the body, it was out of the question, for he +was as slippery as an eel. At last the engro seized the chal by the +Belcher’s handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his neck, and do +whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; and when the engro +saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt; ‘It’s of no use,’ said he; +‘you had better give in; hold out your hands for the darbies, or I will +throttle you.’” + +“And what did the other fellow do, who came with the chal?” said I. + +“I sat still on my horse, brother.” + +“You,” said I. “Were you the man?” + +“I was he, brother.” + +“And why did you not help your comrade?” + +“I have fought in the ring, brother.” + +“And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting in the lane?” + +“You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it taught me to prize +fair play. When I fought Staffordshire Dick, t’other side of London, I +was alone, brother. Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his +brother pals about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat +Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn’t have done had they put one finger on +his side the scale; for he was as good a man as myself, or nearly so. +Now, brother, had I but bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal, the +plastramengro would never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not, +for I thought to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see, +brother—” + +“That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro; I see that clearly; and now, +pray proceed with your narration; it is both moral and entertaining.” + +But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither did he +proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his eyes were +intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some lofty trees, on the +left side of the road. It was a pleasant enough spot, and seemed to +invite wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the fatigues of +the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun. After examining it for +a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, “I say, brother, that would be +a nice place for a tuzzle!” + +“I dare say it would,” said I, “if two people were inclined to fight.” + +“The ground is smooth,” said Mr. Petulengro; “without holes or ruts, and +the trees cast much shade. I don’t think, brother, that we could find a +better place,” said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his horse. + +“But you and I don’t want to fight!” + +“Speak for yourself, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro. “However, I will +tell you how the matter stands. There is a point at present between us. +There can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Herne’s death, +innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, I shouldn’t like it +to be known that I went up and down the country with a pal who was the +cause of my mother-in-law’s death, that’s to say, unless he gave me +satisfaction. Now, if I and my pal have a tuzzle, he gives me +satisfaction; and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can’t do, +it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he who says +to the contrary, knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a dinelo into the +bargain.” + +“But we have no gloves!” + +“Gloves!” said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, “gloves! I tell you what, +brother, I always thought you were a better hand at the gloves than the +naked fist; and, to tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for +Mrs. Herne’s death, I wish to see what you can do with your morleys; so +now is your time, brother, and this is your place, grass and shade, no +ruts or holes; come on, brother, or I shall think you what I should not +like to call you.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + + +Offence and Defence—I’m Satisfied—Fond of Solitude—Possession of +Property—Chal Devlehi—Winding Path. + +And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I had never +heard him do before, and which I can only account for by his being +fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other alternative than to +accept his challenge; so I put myself into a posture which I deemed the +best both for offence and defence, and the tuzzle commenced; and when it +had endured for about half an hour, Mr. Petulengro said, “Brother, there +is much blood on your face; you had better wipe it off;” and when I had +wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr. Petulengro said, +“I think enough has been done, brother, in the affair of the old woman; I +have, moreover, tried what you are able to do, and find you as I thought, +less apt with the naked morleys than the stuffed gloves; nay, brother, +put your hands down; I’m satisfied; blood has been shed, which is all +that can be reasonably expected for an old woman, who carried so much +brimstone about with her as Mrs. Herne.” + +So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. Petulengro sitting +sideways upon his horse as before, and I driving my little pony-cart; and +when he had proceeded about three miles, we came to a small public-house, +which bore the sign of the Silent Woman, where we stopped to refresh our +cattle and ourselves; and as we sat over our bread and ale, it came to +pass that Mr. Petulengro asked me various questions, and amongst others, +how I intended to dispose of myself; I told him that I did not know; +whereupon with considerable frankness, he invited me to his camp, and +told me that if I chose to settle down amongst them, and become a Rommany +chal, I should have his wife’s sister, Ursula, who was still unmarried, +and occasionally talked of me. + +I declined his offer, assigning as a reason the recent death of Mrs. +Herne, of which I was the cause, although innocent. “A pretty life I +should lead with those two,” said I, “when they came to know it.” +“Pooh,” said Mr. Petulengro, “they will never know it. I shan’t blab, +and as for Leonora, that girl has a head on her shoulders.” “Unlike the +woman in the sign,” said I, “whose head is cut off. You speak nonsense, +Mr. Petulengro; as long as a woman has a head on her shoulders she’ll +talk,—but, leaving women out of the case, it is impossible to keep +anything a secret; an old master of mine told me so long ago. I have +moreover another reason for declining your offer. I am at present not +disposed for society. I am become fond of solitude. I wish I could find +some quiet place to which I could retire to hold communion with my own +thoughts, and practise, if I thought fit, either of my trades.” “What +trades?” said Mr. Petulengro. “Why, the one which I have lately been +engaged in, or my original one, which I confess I should like better, +that of a kaulomescro.” “Ah, I have frequently heard you talk of making +horse-shoes,” said Mr. Petulengro. “I, however, never saw you make one, +and no one else that I am aware, I don’t believe—come, brother, don’t be +angry, it’s quite possible that you may have done things which neither I +nor any one else has seen you do, and that such things may some day or +other come to light, as you say nothing can be kept secret. Be that, +however, as it may, pay the reckoning and let us be going, I think I can +advise you to just such a kind of place as you seem to want.” + +“And how do you know that I have got wherewithal to pay the reckoning?” I +demanded. “Brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “I was just now looking in +your face, which exhibited the very look of a person conscious of the +possession of property; there was nothing hungry or sneaking in it. Pay +the reckoning, brother.” + +And when we were once more upon the road Mr. Petulengro began to talk of +the place which he conceived would serve me as a retreat under present +circumstances. “I tell you frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of +place, and I am not very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so +surprisingly dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field, +on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years past. I +dare say you will be quiet enough, for the nearest town is five miles +distant, and there are only a few huts and hedge public-houses in the +neighbourhood. Brother, I am fond of solitude myself, but not that kind +of solitude; I like a quiet heath, where I can pitch my house, but I +always like to have a gay stirring place not far off, where the women can +pen dukkerin, and I myself can sell or buy a horse, if needful—such a +place as the Chong Gav. I never feel so merry as when there, brother, or +on the heath above it, where I taught you Rommany.” + +Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few yards from +the milestone, on the left hand, was a cross-road. Thereupon Mr. +Petulengro said, “Brother, my path lies to the left; if you choose to go +with me to my camp, good, if not Chal Devlehi.” But I again refused Mr. +Petulengro’s invitation, and, shaking him by the hand, proceeded forward +alone, and about ten miles farther on I reached the town of which he had +spoken, and following certain directions which he had given, discovered, +though not without some difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned. +It was a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field, the shelving sides +were overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it on +the top, a steep winding path led down into the depths, practicable, +however, for a light cart, like mine; at the bottom was an open space, +and there I pitched my tent, and there I contrived to put up my forge. +“I will here ply the trade of kaulomescro,” said I. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + + +Highly Poetical—Volundr—Grecian Mythology—Making a Petul—Tongues of +Flame—Hammering—Spite of Dukkerin—Heaviness. + +It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a +forge. I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals have +assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of a +crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely +define, but which are highly pleasurable. I have a decided _penchant_ +for forges, especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot—a +dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting of four +roads, which is still more so; for how many a superstition—and +superstition is the soul of poetry—is connected with these cross roads! +I love to light upon such a one, especially after nightfall, as +everything about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer +sounds more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered by +the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst the sooty +visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow, and half illumined by the red +and partial blaze of the forge, looks more mysterious and strange. On +such occasions I draw in my horse’s rein, and, seated in the saddle, +endeavour to associate with the picture before me—in itself a picture of +romance—whatever of the wild and wonderful I have read of in books, or +have seen with my own eyes in connection with forges. + +I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, would +afford materials for a highly poetical history. I do not speak +unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, and therefore +fully competent to give an opinion as to what might be made out of the +forge by some dextrous hand. Certainly, the strangest and most +entertaining life ever written is that of a blacksmith of the olden +north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, who lived in woods and thickets, +made keen swords, so keen, indeed, that if placed in a running stream, +they would fairly divide an object, however slight, which was borne +against them by the water, and who eventually married a king’s daughter, +by whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father was a +cunning blacksmith. I never see a forge at night, when seated on the +back of my horse at the bottom of a dark lane, but I somehow or other +associate it with the exploits of this extraordinary fellow, with many +other extraordinary things, amongst which, as I have hinted before, are +particular passages of my own life, one or two of which I shall perhaps +relate to the reader. + +I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a forge. These +gentry would be the very last people in the world to flit across my mind +whilst gazing at the forge from the bottom of the dark lane. The truth +is, they are highly unpoetical fellows, as well they may be, connected as +they are with the Grecian mythology. At the very mention of their names +the forge burns dull and dim, as if snow-balls had been suddenly flung +into it; the only remedy is to ply the bellows, an operation which I now +hasten to perform. + +I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe. Having no other horses on whose +hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my first essay on those of my own +horse, if that could be called horse which horse was none, being only a +pony. Perhaps if I had sought all England, I should scarcely have found +an animal more in need of the kind offices of the smith. On three of his +feet there were no shoes at all, and on the fourth only a remnant of one, +on which account his hoofs were sadly broken and lacerated by his late +journeys over the hard and flinty roads. “You belonged to a tinker +before,” said I, addressing the animal, “but now you belong to a smith. +It is said that the household of the shoemaker invariably go worse shod +than that of any other craft. That may be the case of those who make +shoes of leather, but it shan’t be said of the household of him who makes +shoes of iron; at any rate, it shan’t be said of mine. I tell you what, +my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be better shod, and +better fed, than you were with your last master.” + +I am in the dingle making a petul; and I must here observe, that whilst I +am making a horse-shoe, the reader need not be surprised if I speak +occasionally in the language of the lord of the horse-shoe—Mr. +Petulengro. I have for some time past been plying the peshota, or +bellows, endeavouring to raise up the yag, or fire, in my primitive +forge. The angar, or coals, are now burning fiercely, casting forth +sparks and long vagescoe chipes, or tongues of flame; a small bar of +sastra, or iron, is lying in the fire, to the length of ten or twelve +inches, and so far it is hot, very hot, exceedingly hot, brother. And +now you see me prala, snatch the bar of iron, and place the heated end of +it upon the covantza, or anvil, and forthwith I commence cooring the +sastra as hard as if I had been just engaged by a master at the rate of +dui caulor, or two shillings a day, brother; and when I have beaten the +iron till it is nearly cool, and my arm tired, I place it again in the +angar, and begin again to rouse the fire with the pudamengro, which +signifies the blowing thing, and is another and more common word for +bellows, and whilst thus employed I sing a gypsy song, the sound of which +is wonderfully in unison with the hoarse moaning of the pudamengro, and +ere the song is finished, the iron is again hot and malleable. Behold, I +place it once more on the covantza, and recommence hammering; and now I +am somewhat at fault; I am in want of assistance; I want you, brother, or +some one else, to take the bar out of my hand and support it upon the +covantza, whilst I, applying a chinomescro, or kind of chisel, to the +heated iron, cut off with a lusty stroke or two of the shukaro baro, or +big hammer, as much as is required for the petul. But having no one to +help me, I go on hammering till I have fairly knocked off as much as I +want, and then I place the piece in the fire, and again apply the +bellows, and take up the song where I left it off; and when I have +finished the song, I take out the iron, but this time with my plaistra, +or pincers, and then I recommence hammering, turning the iron round and +round with my pincers: and now I bend the iron, and lo, and behold, it +has assumed something of the outline of a petul. + +I am not going to enter into farther details with respect to the +process—it was rather a wearisome one. I had to contend with various +disadvantages; my forge was a rude one, my tools might have been better; +I was in want of one or two highly necessary implements, but, above all, +manual dexterity. Though free of the forge, I had not practised the +albeytarian art for very many years, never since—but stay, it is not my +intention to tell the reader, at least in this place, how and when I +became a blacksmith. There was one thing, however, which stood me in +good stead in my labour, the same thing which through life has ever been +of incalculable utility to me, and has not unfrequently supplied the +place of friends, money, and many other things of almost equal +importance—iron perseverance, without which all the advantages of time +and circumstance are of very little avail in any undertaking. I was +determined to make a horse-shoe, and a good one, in spite of every +obstacle—ay, in spite of dukkerin. At the end of four days, during which +I had fashioned and refashioned the thing at least fifty times, I had +made a petul such as no master of the craft need have been ashamed of; +with the second shoe I had less difficulty, and, by the time I had made +the fourth, I would have scorned to take off my hat to the best smith in +Cheshire. + +But I had not yet shod my little gry; this I proceeded now to do. After +having first well pared the hoofs with my churi, I applied each petul +hot, glowing hot to the pindro. Oh, how the hoofs hissed; and, oh, the +pleasant pungent odour which diffused itself through the dingle, an odour +good for an ailing spirit. + +I shod the little horse bravely—merely pricked him once, slightly, with a +cafi, for doing which, I remember, he kicked me down; I was not +disconcerted, however, but, getting up, promised to be more cautious in +future; and having finished the operation, I filed the hoof well with the +rin baro; then dismissed him to graze amongst the trees, and, putting my +smaller tools into the muchtar, I sat down on my stone, and, supporting +my arm upon my knee, leaned my head upon my hand. Heaviness had come +over me. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + + +Several Causes—Frogs and Eftes—Gloom and Twilight—What should I Do?—“Our +Father”—Fellow Men—What a Mercy!—Almost Calm—Fresh Store—History of +Saul—Pitch Dark. + +Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and of body +also. I had accomplished the task which I had imposed upon myself, and +now that nothing more remained to do, my energies suddenly deserted me, +and I felt without strength, and without hope. Several causes, perhaps, +co-operated to bring about the state in which I then felt myself. It is +not improbable that my energies had been overstrained during the work, +the progress of which I have attempted to describe; and every one is +aware that the results of overstrained energies are feebleness and +lassitude—want of nourishment might likewise have something to do with +it. During my sojourn in the dingle, my food has been of the simplest +and most unsatisfying description, by no means calculated to support the +exertions which the labour I had been engaged upon required; it had +consisted of coarse oaten cakes, and hard cheese, and for beverage I had +been indebted to a neighbouring pit, in which, in the heat of the day, I +frequently saw, not golden or silver fish, but frogs and eftes swimming +about. I am, however, inclined to believe that Mrs. Herne’s cake had +quite as much to do with the matter as insufficient nourishment. I had +never entirely recovered from the effects of its poison, but had +occasionally, especially at night, been visited by a grinding pain in the +stomach, and my whole body had been suffused with cold sweat; and indeed +these memorials of the drow have never entirely disappeared—even at the +present time they display themselves in my system, especially after much +fatigue of body, and excitement of mind. So there I sat in the dingle +upon my stone, nerveless and hopeless, by whatever cause or causes that +state had been produced—there I sat with my head leaning upon my hand, +and so I continued a long, long time. At last I lifted my head from my +hand, and began to cast anxious, unquiet looks about the dingle—the +entire hollow was now enveloped in deep shade—I cast my eyes up; there +was a golden gleam on the tops of the trees which grew towards the upper +parts of the dingle; but lower down, all was gloom and twilight—yet, when +I first sat down on my stone, the sun was right above the dingle, +illuminating all its depths by the rays which it cast perpendicularly +down—so I must have sat a long, long time upon my stone. And now, once +more, I rested my head upon my hand, but almost instantly lifted it again +in a kind of fear, and began looking at the objects before me, the forge, +the tools, the branches of the trees, endeavouring to follow their rows, +till they were lost in the darkness of the dingle; and now I found my +right hand grasping convulsively the three fore fingers of the left, +first collectively, and then successively, wringing them till the joints +cracked; then I became quiet, but not for long. + +Suddenly I started up, and could scarcely repress the shriek which was +rising to my lips. Was it possible? Yes, all too certain; the evil one +was upon me; the inscrutable horror which I had felt in my boyhood had +once more taken possession of me. I had thought that it had forsaken me; +that it would never visit me again; that I had outgrown it; that I might +almost bid defiance to it; and I had even begun to think of it without +horror, as we are in the habit of doing of horrors of which we conceive +we run no danger; and, lo! when least thought of, it had seized me again. +Every moment I felt it gathering force, and making me more wholly its +own. What should I do?—resist, of course; and I did resist. I grasped, +I tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were my +efforts? I could only have got rid of it by getting rid of myself: it +was a part of myself, or rather it was all myself. I rushed amongst the +trees, and struck at them with my bare fists, and dashed my head against +them, but I felt no pain. How could I feel pain with that horror upon +me! and then I flung myself on the ground, gnawed the earth, and +swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost total darkness in +the dingle, and the darkness added to my horror. I could no longer stay +there; up I rose from the ground, and attempted to escape; at the bottom +of the winding path which led up the acclivity I fell over something +which was lying on the ground; the something moved, and gave a kind of +whine. It was my little horse, which had made that place its lair; my +little horse; my only companion and friend, in that now awful solitude. +I reached the mouth of the dingle; the sun was just sinking in the far +west, behind me; the fields were flooded with his last gleams. How +beautiful everything looked in the last gleams of the sun! I felt +relieved for a moment; I was no longer in the horrid dingle; in another +minute the sun was gone, and a big cloud occupied the place where he had +been; in a little time it was almost as dark as it had previously been in +the open part of the dingle. My horror increased; what was I to do?—it +was of no use fighting against the horror; that I saw; the more I fought +against it, the stronger it became. What should I do: say my prayers? +Ah! why not? So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, “Our Father;” +but that was of no use; and now I could no longer repress cries; the +horror was too great to be borne. What should I do: run to the nearest +town or village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I +was ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed +to do that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I went screaming +amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a maniac. Moreover, I +knew that I was not a maniac, for I possessed all my reasoning powers, +only the horror was upon me—the screaming horror! But how were +indifferent people to distinguish between madness and this screaming +horror? So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined not to go +amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might be. I went to the mouth +of the dingle, and there, placing myself on my knees, I again said the +Lord’s Prayer; but it was of no use; praying seemed to have no effect +over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than +diminish; and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive +they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road; I, +therefore, went deeper into the dingle; I sat down with my back against a +thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh; and when I felt them, I pressed +harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might in some +degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no longer; the +power of the mental horror was so great that it was impossible, with that +upon me, to feel any pain from the thorns. I continued in this posture a +long time, undergoing what I cannot describe, and would not attempt if I +were able. Several times I was on the point of starting up and rushing +anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I knew I could not escape from +myself, so why should I not remain in the dingle? so I thought and said +to myself, for my reasoning powers were still uninjured. At last it +appeared to me that the horror was not so strong, not quite so strong +upon me. Was it possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its +prey? O what a mercy! but it could not be—and yet I looked up to heaven, +and clasped my hands, and said “Our Father.” I said no more; I was too +agitated; and now I was almost sure that the horror had done its worst. + +After a little time I arose, and staggered down yet farther into the +dingle. I again found my little horse on the same spot as before, I put +my hand to his mouth; he licked my hand. I flung myself down by him and +put my arms round his neck, the creature whinnied, and appeared to +sympathize with me; what a comfort to have any one, even a dumb brute, to +sympathize with me at such a moment! I clung to my little horse, as if +for safety and protection. I laid my head on his neck, and felt almost +calm; presently the fear returned, but not so wild as before; it +subsided, came again, again subsided; then drowsiness came over me, and +at last I fell asleep, my head supported on the neck of the little horse. +I awoke; it was dark, dark night—not a star was to be seen—but I felt no +fear, the horror had left me. I arose from the side of the little horse, +and went into my tent, lay down, and again went to sleep. + +I awoke in the morning weak and sore, and shuddering at the remembrance +of what I had gone through on the preceding day; the sun was shining +brightly, but it had not yet risen high enough to show its head above the +trees which fenced the eastern side of the dingle, on which account the +dingle was wet and dank, from the dews of the night. I kindled my fire, +and, after sitting by it for some time to warm my frame, I took some of +the coarse food which I have already mentioned; notwithstanding my late +struggle, and the coarseness of the fare, I ate with appetite. My +provisions had by this time been very much diminished, and I saw that it +would be speedily necessary, in the event of my continuing to reside in +the dingle, to lay in a fresh store. After my meal I went to the pit, +and filled a can with water, which I brought to the dingle, and then +again sat down on my stone. I considered what I should next do; it was +necessary to do something, or my life in this solitude would be +insupportable. What should I do? rouse up my forge and fashion a +horse-shoe; but I wanted nerve and heart for such an employment; +moreover, I had no motive for fatiguing myself in this manner; my own +horse was shod, no other was at hand, and it is hard to work for the sake +of working. What should I do? read? Yes, but I had no other book than +the Bible which the Welsh Methodist had given me; well, why not read the +Bible? I was once fond of reading the Bible; ay, but those days were +long gone by. However, I did not see what else I could do on the present +occasion—so I determined to read the Bible—it was in Welsh; at any rate +it might amuse me, so I took the Bible out of the sack, in which it was +lying in the cart, and began to read at the place where I chanced to open +it. I opened it at that part where the history of Saul commences. At +first I read with indifference, but after some time my attention was +riveted, and no wonder, I had come to the visitations of Saul, those dark +moments of his, when he did and said such unaccountable things; it almost +appeared to me that I was reading of myself; I, too, had my visitations, +dark as ever his were. O, how I sympathized with Saul, the tall dark +man! I had read his life before, but it had made no impression on me; it +had never occurred to me that I was like him, but I now sympathized with +Saul, for my own dark hour was but recently passed, and, perhaps, would +soon return again; the dark hour came frequently on Saul. + +Time wore away; I finished the book of Saul, and, closing the volume, +returned it to its place. I then returned to my seat on the stone, and +thought of what I had read, and what I had lately undergone. All at once +I thought I felt well-known sensations, a cramping of the breast, and a +tingling of the soles of the feet—they were what I had felt on the +preceding day; they were the forerunners of the fear. I sat motionless +on my stone, the sensations passed away, and the fear came not. Darkness +was now coming again over the earth; the dingle was again in deep shade; +I roused the fire with the breath of the bellows, and sat looking at the +cheerful glow; it was cheering and comforting. My little horse came now +and lay down on the ground beside the forge; I was not quite deserted. I +again ate some of the coarse food, and drank plentifully of the water +which I had fetched in the morning. I then put fresh fuel on the fire, +and sat for a long time looking on the blaze; I then went into my tent. + +I awoke, on my own calculation, about midnight—it was pitch dark, and +there was much fear upon me. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + + +Free and Independent—I Don’t See Why—Oats—A Noise—Unwelcome +Visitors—What’s the Matter?—Good Day to Ye—The Tall Girl—Dovrefeld—Blow +on the Face—Civil Enough—What’s This?—Vulgar Woman—Hands off—Gasping for +Breath—Long Melford—A Pretty Manœuvre—A Long Draught—Signs of +Animation—It Won’t Do—No Malice—Bad People. + +Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the reader in the +preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom of the dingle; I had +just breakfasted, and had finished the last morsel of food which I had +brought with me to that solitude. + +“What shall I now do?” said I, to myself; “shall I continue here, or +decamp—this is a sad lonely spot—perhaps I had better quit it; but +whither should I go? the wide world is before me, but what can I do +therein? I have been in the world already without much success. No, I +had better remain here; the place is lonely, it is true, but here I am +free and independent, and can do what I please; but I can’t remain here +without food. Well, I will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a +fresh supply of provision, and come back, turning my back upon the world, +which has turned its back upon me. I don’t see why I should not write a +little sometimes; I have pens and an ink-horn, and for a writing-desk I +can place the Bible on my knee. I shouldn’t wonder if I could write a +capital satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but first of all I +must think of supplying myself with food.” + +I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to go to the +nearest town, with my little horse and cart, and procure what I +wanted—the nearest town, according to my best calculation, lay about five +miles distant; I had no doubt, however, that by using ordinary diligence, +I should be back before evening. In order to go lighter, I determined to +leave my tent standing as it was, and all the things which I had +purchased of the tinker, just as they were. “I need not be apprehensive +on their account,” said I, to myself; “nobody will come here to meddle +with them—the great recommendation of this place is its perfect +solitude—I dare say that I could live here six months without seeing a +single human visage. I will now harness my little gry and be off to the +town.” + +At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding on the bank +near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me, for by this +time he had become so accustomed to me, that he would obey my call for +all the world as if he had been one of the canine species. “Now,” said I +to him, “we are going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats for +you—I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you to do your best, +and to draw me and the cart to the town with all possible speed, and to +bring us back; if you do your best, I promise you oats on your return. +You know the meaning of oats, Ambrol?” + +Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood me perfectly +well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once fed him during the +time he had been in my possession without saying the word in question to +him. Now, Ambrol, in the Gypsy tongue, signifieth a pear. + +So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I removed two or +three things from out it into the tent; I then lifted up the shafts, and +was just going to call to the pony to come and be fastened to them, when +I thought I heard a noise. + +I stood stock still supporting the shafts of the little cart in my hand, +and bending the right side of my face slightly towards the ground; but I +could hear nothing; the noise which I thought I had heard was not one of +those sounds which I was accustomed to hear in that solitude, the note of +a bird, or the rustling of a bough; it was—there I heard it again, a +sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst gravel. Could +it proceed from the road? Oh no, the road was too far distant for me to +hear the noise of anything moving along it. Again I listened, and now I +distinctly heard the sound of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the +dingle; nearer and nearer they drew, and presently the sound of wheels +was blended with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard a boisterous shout, +which seemed to proceed from the entrance of the dingle. “Here are folks +at hand,” said I, letting the shaft of the cart fall to the ground, “is +it possible that they can be coming here?” + +My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon dispelled; the +wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or two, where once again in +motion, and were now evidently moving down the winding path which led to +my retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself near the +entrance of the open space, with my eyes fixed on the path down which my +unexpected and I may say unwelcome visitors were coming. Presently I +heard a stamping or sliding, as if of a horse in some difficulty; and +then a loud curse, and the next moment appeared a man and a horse and +cart; the former holding the head of the horse up to prevent him from +falling, of which he was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of +the path. Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted from me. +When, however, he had reached the bottom of the descent, he turned his +head, and perceiving me, as I stood bareheaded, without either coat or +waistcoat, about two yards from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent, +that the backward motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon his +haunches. + +“Why don’t you move forward?” said a voice from behind, apparently that +of a female, “you are stopping up the way, and we shall be all down upon +one another;” and I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of +the cart. + +“Why don’t you move forward, Jack?” said another voice, also of a female, +yet higher up the path. + +The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which he +had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much drawn back, his +left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still +grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till it +was clean down on its haunches. + +“What is the matter?” said the voice which I had last heard. + +“Get back with you, Belle, Moll,” said the man, still staring at me, +“here’s something not over-canny or comfortable.” + +“What is it?” said the same voice; “let me pass, Moll, and I’ll soon +clear the way,” and I heard a kind of rushing down the path. + +“You need not be afraid,” said I, addressing myself to the man, “I mean +you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself—come here to seek for +shelter—you need not be afraid; I am a Rome chabo by matriculation—one of +the right sort, and no mistake—Good day to ye, brother; I bids ye +welcome.” + +The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment—then, turning to his horse with +a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches, and led him and the +cart farther down to one side of the dingle, muttering as he passed me, +“Afraid. Hm!” + +I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking fellow; he +was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic frame; his face was +black and bluff, and sported an immense pair of whiskers, but with here +and there a grey hair, for his age could not be much under fifty. He +wore a faded blue frock coat, corduroys, and highlows—on his black head +was a kind of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona +handkerchief—I did not like the look of the man at all. + +“Afraid,” growled the fellow, proceeding to unharness his horse; “that +was the word, I think.” + +But other figures were now already upon the scene. Dashing past the +other horse and cart, which by this time had reached the bottom of the +pass, appeared an exceedingly tall woman, or rather girl, for she could +scarcely have been above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight bodice and +a blue stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and her hair, which +was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her complexion was +fair, and her features handsome, with a determined but open +expression—she was followed by another female, about forty, stout and +vulgar-looking, at whom I scarcely glanced, my whole attention being +absorbed by the tall girl. + +“What’s the matter, Jack?” said the latter, looking at the man. + +“Only afraid, that’s all,” said the man, still proceeding with his work. + +“Afraid at what—at that lad? why, he looks like a ghost—I would engage to +thrash him with one hand.” + +“You might beat me with no hands at all,” said I, “fair damsel, only by +looking at me—I never saw such a face and figure, both regal—why, you +look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, +and could lick them all, though they were heroes— + + “‘On Dovrefeld in Norway, + Were once together seen, + The twelve heroic brothers + Of Ingeborg the queen.’” + +“None of your chaffing, young fellow,” said the tall girl, “or I will +give you what shall make you wipe your face; be civil, or you will rue +it.” + +“Well, perhaps I was a peg too high,” said I, “I ask your pardon—here’s +something a bit lower— + + “‘As I was jawing to the gav yeck divvus + I met on the drom miro Rommany chi—’” + +“None of your Rommany chies, young fellow,” said the tall girl, looking +more menacingly than before, and clenching her fist, “you had better be +civil, I am none of your chies; and, though I keep company with gypsies, +or, to speak more proper, half and halfs, I would have you to know that I +come of Christian blood and parents, and was born in the great house of +Long Melford.” + +“I have no doubt,” said I, “that it was a great house; judging from your +size, I shouldn’t wonder if you were born in a church.” + +“Stay, Belle,” said the man, putting himself before the young virago, who +was about to rush upon me, “my turn is first”—then, advancing to me in a +menacing attitude, he said, with a look of deep malignity, “‘Afraid’ was +the word, wasn’t it?” + +“It was,” said I, “but I think I wronged you; I should have said, aghast, +you exhibited every symptom of one labouring under uncontrollable fear.” + +The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared to +be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could make up his mind, +the tall girl stepped forward, crying, “He’s chaffing; let me at him;” +and, before I could put myself on my guard, she struck me a blow on the +face which had nearly brought me to the ground. + +“Enough,” said I, putting my hand to my cheek; “you have now performed +your promise, and made me wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me +fairly the ground of this quarrel.” + +“Grounds!” said the fellow; “didn’t you say I was afraid; and if you +hadn’t, who gave you leave to camp on my ground?” + +“Is it your ground?” said I. + +“A pretty question,” said the fellow; “as if all the world didn’t know +that. Do you know who I am?” + +“I guess I do,” said I; “unless I am much mistaken, you are he whom folks +call the ‘Flaming Tinman.’ To tell you the truth, I’m glad we have met, +for I wished to see you. These are your two wives, I suppose; I greet +them. There’s no harm done—there’s room enough here for all of us—we +shall soon be good friends, I dare say; and when we are a little better +acquainted, I’ll tell you my history.” + +“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” said the fellow. + +“I don’t think he’s chaffing now,” said the girl, whose anger seemed to +have subsided on a sudden; “the young man speaks civil enough.” + +“Civil,” said the fellow, with an oath; “but that’s just like you; with +you it is a blow, and all over. Civil! I suppose you would have him +stay here, and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to +my two morts.” + +“Two morts,” said the girl, kindling up, “where are they? Speak for one, +and no more. I am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be. I +tell you one thing, Black John, or Anselo, for t’other an’t your name, +the same thing I told the young man here, be civil, or you will rue it.” + +The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed +before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my little horse, +which was feeding amongst the trees. “What’s this?” said he, rushing +forward and seizing the animal. “Why, as I am alive, this is the horse +of that mumping villain Slingsby.” + +“It’s his no longer; I bought it and paid for it.” + +“It’s mine now,” said the fellow; “I swore I would seize it the next time +I found it on my beat; ay, and beat the master too.” + +“I am not Slingsby.” + +“All’s one for that.” + +“You don’t say you will beat me?” + +“Afraid was the word.” + +“I’m sick and feeble.” + +“Hold up your fists.” + +“Won’t the horse satisfy you?” + +“Horse nor bellows either.” + +“No mercy, then.” + +“Here’s at you.” + +“Mind your eyes, Jack. There, you’ve got it. I thought so,” shouted the +girl, as the fellow staggered back from a sharp blow in the eye. “I +thought he was chaffing at you all along.” + +“Never mind, Anselo. You know what to do—go in,” said the vulgar woman, +who had hitherto not spoken a word, but who now came forward with all the +look of a fury; “go in apopli; you’ll smash ten like he.” + +The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on smashing, but +stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on the nose. + +“You’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that way,” said the girl, +looking at me doubtfully. + +And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an eye, the +Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his frock-coat, and dashing off +his red night-cap, came rushing in more desperately than ever. To a +flush hit which he received in the mouth he paid as little attention as a +wild bull would have done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in +another, he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me. The fellow’s +strength appeared to be tremendous. + +“Pay him off now,” said the vulgar woman. The Flaming Tinman made no +reply, but planting his knee on my breast, seized my throat with two huge +horny hands. I gave myself up for dead, and probably should have been so +in another minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the +handkerchief which the fellow wore round his neck with a grasp nearly as +powerful as that with which he pressed my throat. + +“Do you call that fair play?” said she. + +“Hands off, Belle,” said the other woman; “do you call it fair play to +interfere? hands off, or I’ll be down upon you myself.” + +But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard at the +handkerchief, that the Flaming Tinman was nearly throttled; suddenly +relinquishing his hold of me, he started on his feet, and aimed a blow at +my fair preserver, who avoided it, but said coolly:— + +“Finish t’other business first, and then I’m your woman whenever you +like; but finish it fairly—no foul play when I’m by—I’ll be the boy’s +second, and Moll can pick up you when he happens to knock you down.” + +The battle during the next ten minutes raged with considerable fury, but +it so happened that during this time I was never able to knock the +Flaming Tinman down, but on the contrary received six knock-down blows +myself. “I can never stand this,” said I, as I sat on the knee of Belle, +“I am afraid I must give in; the Flaming Tinman hits very hard,” and I +spat out a mouthful of blood. + +“Sure enough you’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in the way you +fight—it’s of no use flipping at the Flaming Tinman with your left hand; +why don’t you use your right?” + +“Because I’m not handy with it,” said I; and then getting up, I once more +confronted the Flaming Tinman, and struck him six blows for his one, but +they were all left-handed blows, and the blow which the Flaming Tinman +gave me knocked me off my legs. + +“Now, will you use Long Melford?” said Belle, picking me up. + +“I don’t know what you mean by Long Melford,” said I, gasping for breath. + +“Why, this long right of yours,” said Belle, feeling my right arm—“if you +do, I shouldn’t wonder if you yet stand a chance.” + +And now the Flaming Tinman was once more ready, much more ready than +myself. I, however, rose from my second’s knee as well as my weakness +would permit me; on he came, striking left and right, appearing almost as +fresh as to wind and spirit as when he first commenced the combat, though +his eyes were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in two; on +he came, striking left and right, and I did not like his blows at all, or +even the wind of them, which was anything but agreeable, and I gave way +before him. At last he aimed a blow, which, had it taken full effect, +would doubtless have ended the battle, but owing to his slipping, the +fist only grazed my left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a +tree, close to which I had been driven; before the Tinman could recover +himself, I collected all my strength, and struck him beneath the ear, and +then fell to the ground completely exhausted, and it so happened that the +blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow. + +“Hurrah for Long Melford!” I heard Belle exclaim; “there is nothing like +Long Melford for shortness all the world over.” + +At these words, I turned round my head as I lay, and perceived the +Flaming Tinman stretched upon the ground apparently senseless. “He is +dead,” said the vulgar woman, as she vainly endeavoured to raise him up; +“he is dead; the best man in all the north country, killed in this +fashion, by a boy.” Alarmed at these words, I made shift to get on my +feet; and, with the assistance of the woman, placed my fallen adversary +in a sitting posture. I put my hand to his heart, and felt a slight +pulsation—“He’s not dead,” said I, “only stunned; if he were let blood, +he would recover presently.” I produced a penknife which I had in my +pocket, and, baring the arm of the Tinman, was about to make the +necessary incision, when the woman gave me a violent blow, and, pushing +me aside, exclaimed, “I’ll tear the eyes out of your head, if you offer +to touch him. Do you want to complete your work, and murder him +outright, now he’s asleep? you have had enough of his blood already.” +“You are mad,” said I, “I only seek to do him service. Well, if you +won’t let him be blooded, fetch some water and fling it into his face, +you know where the pit is.” + +“A pretty manœuvre,” said the woman; “leave my husband in the hands of +you and that limmer, who has never been true to us; I should find him +strangled or his throat cut when I came back.” “Do you go,” said I, to +the tall girl, “take the can and fetch some water from the pit.” “You +had better go yourself,” said the girl, wiping a tear as she looked on +the yet senseless form of the tinker; “you had better go yourself, if you +think water will do him good.” I had by this time somewhat recovered my +exhausted powers, and, taking the can, I bent my steps as fast as I could +to the pit; arriving there, I lay down on the brink, took a long draught, +and then plunged my head into the water; after which I filled the can, +and bent my way back to the dingle. Before I could reach the path which +led down into its depths, I had to pass some way along its side; I had +arrived at a part immediately over the scene of the last encounter, where +the bank, overgrown with trees, sloped precipitously down. Here I heard +a loud sound of voices in the dingle; I stopped, and laying hold of a +tree, leaned over the bank and listened. The two women appeared to be in +hot dispute in the dingle. “It was all owing to you, you limmer,” said +the vulgar woman to the other; “had you not interfered, the old man would +soon have settled the boy.” + +“I’m for fair play and Long Melford,” said the other. “If your old man, +as you call him, could have settled the boy fairly, he might, for all I +should have cared, but no foul work for me; and as for sticking the boy +with our gulleys when he comes back, as you proposed, I am not so fond of +your old man or you that I should oblige you in it, to my soul’s +destruction.” “Hold your tongue, or I’ll—”; I listened no farther, but +hastened as fast as I could to the dingle. My adversary had just begun +to show signs of animation; the vulgar woman was still supporting him, +and occasionally cast glances of anger at the tall girl who was walking +slowly up and down. I lost no time in dashing the greater part of the +water into the Tinman’s face, whereupon he sneezed, moved his hands, and +presently looked round him. At first his looks were dull and heavy, and +without any intelligence at all; he soon, however, began to recollect +himself, and to be conscious of his situation; he cast a scowling glance +at me, then one of the deepest malignity at the tall girl, who was still +walking about without taking much notice of what was going forward. At +last he looked at his right hand, which had evidently suffered from the +blow against the tree, and a half-stifled curse escaped his lips. The +vulgar woman now said something to him in a low tone, whereupon he looked +at her for a moment, and then got upon his legs. Again the vulgar woman +said something to him; her looks were furious, and she appeared to be +urging him on to attempt something. I observed that she had a clasped +knife in her hand. The fellow remained standing for some time as if +hesitating what to do, at last he looked at his hand, and, shaking his +head, said something to the woman which I did not understand. The tall +girl, however, appeared to overhear him, and, probably repeating his +words, said, “No, it won’t do; you are right there, and now hear what I +have to say,—let bygones be bygones, and let us all shake hands, and camp +here, as the young man was saying just now.” The man looked at her, and +then, without any reply, went to his horse, which was lying down among +the trees, and kicking it up, led it to the cart, to which he forthwith +began to harness it. The other cart and horse had remained standing +motionless during the whole affair which I have been recounting, at the +bottom of the pass. The woman now took the horse by the head, and +leading it with the cart into the open part of the dingle turned both +round, and then led them back, till the horse and cart had mounted a +little way up the ascent; she then stood still and appeared to be +expecting the man. During this proceeding Belle had stood looking on +without saying anything; at last, perceiving that the man had harnessed +his horse to the other cart, and that both he and the woman were about to +take their departure, she said, “You are not going, are you?” Receiving +no answer, she continued: “I tell you what, both of you, Black John, and +you Moll, his mort, this is not treating me over civilly,—however, I am +ready to put up with it, and go with you if you like, for I bear no +malice. I’m sorry for what has happened, but you have only yourselves to +thank for it. Now, shall I go with you, only tell me?” The man made no +manner of reply, but flogged his horse. The woman, however, whose +passions were probably under less control, replied, with a screeching +tone, “Stay where you are, you jade, and may the curse of Judas cling to +you,—stay with the bit of a mullo whom you helped, and my only hope is +that he may gulley you before he comes to be—Have you with us, indeed! +after what’s past, no, nor nothing belonging to you. Fetch down your +mailla go-cart and live here with your chabo.” She then whipped on the +horse, and ascended the pass, followed by the man. The carts were light, +and they were not long in ascending the winding path. I followed to see +that they took their departure. Arriving at the top, I found near the +entrance a small donkey-cart, which I concluded belonged to the girl. +The tinker and his mort were already at some distance; I stood looking +after them for a little time, then taking the donkey by the reins I led +it with the cart to the bottom of the dingle. Arrived there, I found +Belle seated on the stone by the fireplace. Her hair was all +dishevelled, and she was in tears. + +“They were bad people,” said she, “and I did not like them, but they were +my only acquaintance in the wide world.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + + +At Tea—Vapours—Isopel Berners—Softly and Kindly—Sweet Pretty +Creature—Bread and Water—Two Sailors—Truth and Constancy—Very Strangely. + +In the evening of that same day the tall girl and I sat at tea by the +fire, at the bottom of the dingle; the girl on a small stool, and myself, +as usual, upon my stone. + +The water which served for the tea had been taken from a spring of +pellucid water in the neighbourhood, which I had not had the good fortune +to discover, though it was well known to my companion, and to the +wandering people who frequented the dingle. + +“This tea is very good,” said I, “but I cannot enjoy it as much as if I +were well: I feel very sadly.” + +“How else should you feel,” said the girl, “after fighting with the +Flaming Tinman? All I wonder is that you can feel at all! As for the +tea, it ought to be good, seeing that it cost me ten shillings a pound.” + +“That’s a great deal for a person in your station to pay.” + +“In my station! I’d have you to know, young man—however, I haven’t the +heart to quarrel with you, you look so ill; and after all, it is a good +sum to pay for one who travels the roads; but if I must have tea, I like +to have the best; and tea I must have, for I am used to it, though I +can’t help thinking that it sometimes fills my head with strange +fancies—what some folk call vapours, making me weep and cry.” + +“Dear me,” said I, “I should never have thought that one of your size and +fierceness would weep and cry!” + +“My size and fierceness! I tell you what, young man, you are not over +civil, this evening; but you are ill, as I said before, and I shan’t take +much notice of your language, at least for the present; as for my size, I +am not so much bigger than yourself; and as for being fierce, you should +be the last one to fling that at me. It is well for you that I can be +fierce sometimes. If I hadn’t taken your part against blazing Bosville, +you wouldn’t be now taking tea with me.” + +“It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we’ll let that +pass. So that man’s name is Bosville; what’s your own?” + +“Isopel Berners.” + +“How did you get that name?” + +“I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions! will you have +another cup of tea?” + +“I was just going to ask for another.” + +“Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as for my name, I +got it from my mother.” + +“Your mother’s name, then, was Isopel?” + +“Isopel Berners.” + +“But had you never a father?” + +“Yes, I had a father,” said the girl, sighing, “but I don’t bear his +name.” + +“Is it the fashion, then, in your country for children to bear their +mother’s name?” + +“If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry with you. I have +told you my name, and whether my father’s or mother’s, I am not ashamed +of it.” + +“It is a noble name.” + +“There you are right, young man. The chaplain in the great house, where +I was born, told me it was a noble name; it was odd enough, he said, that +the only three noble names in the county were to be found in the great +house; mine was one; the other two were Devereux and Bohun.” + +“What do you mean by the great house?” + +“The workhouse.” + +“Is it possible that you were born there?” + +“Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, I will tell you +my whole tale. My father was an officer of the sea, and was killed at +sea, as he was coming home to marry my mother, Isopel Berners. He had +been acquainted with her, and had left her; but after a few months he +wrote her a letter, to say that he had no rest, and that he repented, and +that as soon as his ship came to port he would do her all the reparation +in his power. Well, young man, the very day before they reached port +they met the enemy, and there was a fight, and my father was killed, +after he had struck down six of the enemy’s crew on their own deck; for +my father was a big man, as I have heard, and knew tolerably well how to +use his hands. And when my mother heard the news, she became half +distracted, and ran away into the fields and forests, totally neglecting +her business, for she was a small milliner; and so she ran demented about +the meads and forests for a long time, now sitting under a tree, and now +by the side of a river—at last she flung herself into some water, and +would have been drowned, had not some one been at hand and rescued her, +whereupon she was conveyed to the great house, lest she should attempt to +do herself further mischief, for she had neither friends nor parents—and +there she died three months after, having first brought me into the +world. She was a sweet pretty creature, I’m told, but hardly fit for +this world, being neither large, nor fierce, nor able to take her own +part. So I was born and bred in the great house, where I learnt to read +and sew, to fear God, and to take my own part. When I was fourteen I was +put out to service to a small farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I +did not stay long, for I was half starved, and otherwise ill-treated, +especially by my mistress, who one day attempting to knock me down with a +besom, I knocked her down with my fist, and went back to the great +house.” + +“And how did they receive you in the great house?” + +“Not very kindly, young man—on the contrary, I was put into a dark room, +where I was kept a fortnight on bread and water; I did not much care, +however, being glad to have got back to the great house at any rate, the +place where I was born, and where my poor mother died, and in the great +house I continued two years longer, reading and sewing, fearing God, and +taking my own part when necessary. At the end of the two years I was +again put out to service, but this time to a rich farmer and his wife, +with whom, however, I did not live long, less time, I believe, than with +the poor ones, being obliged to leave for—” + +“Knocking your mistress down?” + +“No, young man, knocking my master down, who conducted himself improperly +towards me. This time I did not go back to the great house, having a +misgiving that they would not receive me, so I turned my back to the +great house where I was born, and where my poor mother died, and wandered +for several days, I know not whither, supporting myself on a few +halfpence which I chanced to have in my pocket. It happened one day, as +I sat under a hedge crying, having spent my last farthing, that a +comfortable-looking elderly woman came up in a cart, and seeing the state +in which I was, she stopped and asked what was the matter with me; I told +her some part of my story, whereupon she said, ‘Cheer up, my dear, if you +like you shall go with me, and wait upon me.’ Of course I wanted little +persuasion, so I got into the cart and went with her. She took me to +London and various other places, and I soon found that she was a +travelling woman, who went about the country with silks and linen. I was +of great use to her, more especially in those places where we met evil +company. Once, as we were coming from Dover, we were met by two sailors, +who stopped our cart, and would have robbed and stripped us. ‘Let me get +down,’ said I; so I got down, and fought with them both, till they turned +round and ran away. Two years I lived with the old gentlewoman, who was +very kind to me, almost as kind as a mother; at last she fell sick at a +place in Lincolnshire, and after a few days died, leaving me her cart and +stock in trade, praying me only to see her decently buried, which I did, +giving her a funeral fit for a gentlewoman. After which I travelled the +country melancholy enough for want of company, but so far fortunate, that +I could take my own part when any body was uncivil to me. At last, +passing through the valley of Todmorden, I formed the acquaintance of +Blazing Bosville and his wife, with whom I occasionally took journeys for +company’s sake, for it is melancholy to travel about alone, even when one +can take one’s own part. I soon found they were evil people; but, upon +the whole, they treated me civilly, and I sometimes lent them a little +money, so that we got on tolerably well together. He and I, it is true, +had once a dispute, and nearly came to blows, for once, when we were +alone, he wanted me to marry him, promising, if I would, to turn off Grey +Moll, or if I liked it better, to make her wait upon me as a +maid-servant; I never liked him much, but from that hour less than ever. +Of the two, I believe Grey Moll to be the best, for she is at any rate +true and faithful to him, and I like truth and constancy, don’t you, +young man?” + +“Yes,” said I, “they are very nice things. I feel very strangely.” + +“How do you feel, young man?” + +“Very much afraid.” + +“Afraid, at what? At the Flaming Tinman? Don’t be afraid of him. He +won’t come back, and if he did, he shouldn’t touch you in this state. +I’d fight him for you, but he won’t come back, so you needn’t be afraid +of him.” + +“I’m not afraid of the Flaming Tinman.” + +“What, then, are you afraid of?” + +“The evil one.” + +“The evil one,” said the girl “where is he?” + +“Coming upon me.” + +“Never heed,” said the girl, “I’ll stand by you.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. + + +Hubbub of Voices—No Offence—Nodding—The Guests. + +The kitchen of the public-house was a large one, and many people were +drinking in it; there was a confused hubbub of voices. + +I sat down on a bench behind a deal table, of which there were three or +four in the kitchen; presently a bulky man, in a green coat, of the +Newmarket cut, and without a hat, entered, and observing me, came up, and +in rather a gruff tone cried, “Want anything, young fellow?” + +“Bring me a jug of ale,” said I; “if you are the master, as I suppose you +are, by that same coat of yours, and your having no hat on your head.” + +“Don’t be saucy, young fellow,” said the landlord, for such he was, +“don’t be saucy, or—” Whatever he intended to say, he left unsaid, for +fixing his eyes upon one of my hands, which I had placed by chance upon +the table, he became suddenly still. + +This was my left hand, which was raw and swollen, from the blows dealt on +a certain hard skull in a recent combat. “What do you mean by staring at +my hand so?” said I, withdrawing it from the table. + +“No offence, young man, no offence,” said the landlord, in a quite +altered tone; “but the sight of your hand—,” then observing that our +conversation began to attract the notice of the guests in the kitchen, he +interrupted himself, saying in an under tone, “But mum’s the word for the +present, I will go and fetch the ale.” + +In about a minute he returned, with a jug of ale foaming high. “Here’s +your health,” said he, blowing off the foam, and drinking; but perceiving +that I looked rather dissatisfied, he murmured, “All’s right, I glory in +you; but mum’s the word.” Then placing the jug on the table, he gave me +a confidential nod, and swaggered out of the room. + +What can the silly impertinent fellow mean, thought I; but the ale was +now before me, and I hastened to drink, for my weakness was great, and my +mind was full of dark thoughts, the remains of the indescribable horror +of the preceding night. It may kill me, thought I, as I drank deep, but +who cares, anything is better than what I have suffered. I drank deep, +and then leaned back against the wall; it appeared as if a vapour was +stealing up into my brain, gentle and benign, soothing and stilling the +horror and the fear; higher and higher it mounted, and I felt nearly +overcome; but the sensation was delicious, compared with that I had +lately experienced, and now I felt myself nodding; and, bending down, I +laid my head on the table on my folded hands. + +And in that attitude I remained some time, perfectly unconscious. At +length, by degrees, perception returned, and I lifted up my head. I felt +somewhat dizzy and bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn itself +from me. And now, once more, I drank of the jug; this second draught did +not produce an overpowering effect upon me—it revived and strengthened +me—I felt a new man. + +I looked around me: the kitchen had been deserted by the greater part of +the guests; besides myself, only four remained; these were seated at the +farther end. One was haranguing fiercely and eagerly; he was abusing +England, and praising America. At last he exclaimed, “So when I gets to +New York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the King.” + +That man must be a Radical, thought I. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII. + + +A Radical—Simple-Looking Man—Church of England—The +President—Aristocracy—Gin and Water—Mending the Roads—Persecuting +Church—Simon de Montford—Broken Bells—Get Up—Not for the Pope—Quay of New +York—Mumpers’ Dingle—No Wish to Fight—First Draught—A Poor +Pipe—Half-a-crown Broke. + +The individual whom I supposed to be a Radical, after a short pause, +again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built fellow of about +thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white hat on his head, a +snuff-coloured coat on his back, and when he was not speaking, a pipe in +his mouth. “Who would live in such a country as England?” he shouted. + +“There is no country like America—” said his nearest neighbour, a man +also in a white hat, and of a very ill-favoured countenance—“there is no +country like America,” said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth, “I +think I shall—” and here he took a draught from a jug, the contents of +which he appeared to have in common with the other,—“go to America one of +these days myself.” + +“Poor old England is not such a bad country, after all,” said a third, a +simple-looking man in a labouring dress, who sat smoking a pipe without +anything before him. “If there was but a little more work to be got I +should have nothing to say against her. I hope, however—” + +“You hope, who cares what you hope?” interrupted the first, in a savage +tone; “you are one of those sneaking hounds who are satisfied with dog’s +wages, a bit of bread and a kick. Work, indeed, who, with the spirit of +a man, would work for a country where there is neither liberty of speech, +nor of action, a land full of beggarly aristocracy, hungry +borough-mongers, insolent parsons, and ‘their wives and daughters,’ as +William Cobbett says, in his ‘Register.’” + +“Ah, the Church of England has been a source of incalculable mischief to +these realms,” said another. + +The person who uttered these words sat rather aloof from the rest; he was +dressed in a long black surtout. I could not see much of his face, +partly owing to his keeping it very much directed to the ground, and +partly owing to a large slouched hat, which he wore; I observed, however, +that his hair was of a reddish tinge. On the table near him was a glass +and spoon. + +“You are quite right,” said the first, alluding to what this last had +said, “the Church of England has done incalculable mischief here. I +value no religion three halfpence, for I believe in none; but the one +that I hate most is the Church of England; so when I get to New York, +after I have shown the fine fellows on the quay a spice of me, by --- the +King, I’ll toss up my hat again, and the --- Church of England too.” + +“And suppose the people of New York should clap you in the stocks?” said +I. + +These words drew upon me the attention of the whole four. The Radical +and his companion stared at me ferociously; the man in black gave me a +peculiar glance from under his slouched hat; the simple-looking man in +the labouring dress laughed. + +“What are you laughing at, you fool?” said the Radical, turning and +looking at the other, who appeared to be afraid of him, “hold your noise; +and a pretty fellow you,” said he, looking at me, “to come here, and +speak against the great American nation.” + +“I speak against the great American nation?” said I, “I rather paid them +a compliment.” + +“By supposing they would put me in the stocks. Well, I call it abusing +them, to suppose they would do any such thing—stocks, indeed!—there are +no stocks in all the land. Put me in the stocks? why, the President will +come down to the quay, and ask me to dinner, as soon as he hears what I +have said about the King and Church.” + +“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “if you go to America, you will say of the +President and country what now you say of the King and Church, and cry +out for somebody to send you back to England.” + +The Radical dashed his pipe to pieces against the table. “I tell you +what, young fellow, you are a spy of the aristocracy, sent here to kick +up a disturbance.” + +“Kicking up a disturbance,” said I, “is rather inconsistent with the +office of spy. If I were a spy, I should hold my head down, and say +nothing.” + +The man in black partially raised his head, and gave me another peculiar +glance. + +“Well, if you ar’n’t sent to spy, you are sent to bully, to prevent +people speaking, and to run down the great American nation; but you +sha’n’t bully me. I say down with the aristocracy, the beggarly British +aristocracy. Come, what have you to say to that?” + +“Nothing,” said I. + +“Nothing!” repeated the Radical. + +“No,” said I, “down with them as soon as you can.” + +“As soon as I can! I wish I could. But I can down with a bully of +theirs. Come, will you fight for them?” + +“No,” said I. + +“You won’t?” + +“No,” said I; “though from what I have seen of them I should say they are +tolerably able to fight for themselves.” + +“You won’t fight for them,” said the Radical triumphantly; “I thought so; +all bullies, especially those of the aristocracy, are cowards. Here, +landlord,” said he, raising his voice, and striking against the table +with the jug, “some more ale—he won’t fight for his friends.” + +“A white feather,” said his companion. + +“He! he!” tittered the man in black. + +“Landlord, landlord,” shouted the Radical, striking the table with the +jug louder than before. “Who called?” said the landlord, coming in at +last. “Fill this jug again,” said the other, “and be quick about it.” +“Does any one else want anything?” said the landlord. “Yes,” said the +man in black; “you may bring me another glass of gin and water.” “Cold?” +said the landlord. “Yes,” said the man in black, “with a lump of sugar +in it.” + +“Gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it,” said I, and struck the +table with my fist. + +“Take some?” said the landlord, inquiringly. + +“No,” said I, “only something came into my head.” + +“He’s mad,” said the man in black. + +“Not he,” said the Radical. “He’s only shamming; he knows his master is +here, and therefore has recourse to those manœuvres, but it won’t do. +Come, landlord, what are you staring at? Why don’t you obey your orders? +Keeping your customers waiting in this manner is not the way to increase +your business.” + +The landlord looked at the Radical, and then at me. At last, taking the +jug and glass, he left the apartment, and presently returned with each +filled with its respective liquor. He placed the jug with beer before +the Radical, and the glass with the gin and water before the man in +black, and then, with a wink to me, he sauntered out. + +“Here is your health, sir,” said the man of the snuff-coloured coat, +addressing himself to the man in black, “I honour you for what you said +about the Church of England. Every one who speaks against the Church of +England has my warm heart. Down with it, I say, and may the stones of it +be used for mending the roads, as my friend William says in his +Register.” + +The man in black, with a courteous nod of his head, drank to the man in +the snuff-coloured coat. “With respect to the steeples,” said he, “I am +not altogether of your opinion; they might be turned to better account +than to serve to mend the roads; they might still be used as places of +worship, but not for the worship of the Church of England. I have no +fault to find with the steeples, it is the Church itself which I am +compelled to arraign, but it will not stand long, the respectable part of +its ministers are already leaving it. It is a bad Church, a persecuting +Church.” + +“Whom does it persecute?” said I. + +The man in black glanced at me slightly, and then replied slowly, “The +Catholics.” + +“And do those whom you call Catholics never persecute?” said I. + +“Never,” said the man in black. + +“Did you ever read ‘Fox’s Book of Martyrs?’” said I. + +“He! he!” tittered the man in black, “there is not a word of truth in +‘Fox’s Book of Martyrs.’” + +“Ten times more than in the ‘Flos Sanctorum,’” said I. + +The man in black looked at me, but made no answer. + +“And what say you to the Massacre of the Albigenses and the Vaudois, +‘whose bones lie scattered on the cold Alp,’ or the Revocation of the +Edict of Nantes?” + +The man in black made no answer. + +“Go to,” said I, “it is because the Church of England is not a +persecuting Church, that those whom you call the respectable part are +leaving her; it is because they can’t do with the poor Dissenters what +Simon de Montford did with the Albigenses, and the cruel Piedmontese with +the Vaudois, that they turn to bloody Rome; the Pope will no doubt +welcome them, for the Pope, do you see, being very much in want, will +welcome—” + +“Hollo!” said the Radical, interfering. “What are you saying about the +Pope? I say hurrah for the Pope: I value no religion three halfpence, as +I said before, but if I were to adopt any, it should be the Popish, as +it’s called, because I conceives the Popish to be the grand enemy of the +Church of England, of the beggarly aristocracy, and the borough-monger +system, so I won’t hear the Pope abused while I am by. Come, don’t look +fierce. You won’t fight, you know, I have proved it; but I will give you +another chance—I will fight for the Pope, will you fight against him?” + +“O dear me, yes,” said I, getting up and stepping forward. “I am a quiet +peaceable young man, and, being so, am always ready to fight against the +Pope—the enemy of all peace and quiet—to refuse fighting for the +aristocracy is a widely different thing from refusing to fight against +the Pope—so come on, if you are disposed to fight for him. To the Pope +broken bells, to Saint James broken shells. No Popish vile oppression, +but the Protestant succession. Confusion to the Groyne, hurrah for the +Boyne, for the army at Clonmel, and the Protestant young gentlemen who +live there as well.” + +“An Orangeman,” said the man in black. + +“Not a Platitude,” said I. + +The man in black gave a slight start. + +“Amongst that family,” said I, “no doubt something may be done, but +amongst the Methodist preachers I should conceive that the success would +not be great.” + +The man in black sat quite still. + +“Especially amongst those who have wives,” I added. + +The man in black stretched his hand towards his gin and water. + +“However,” said I, “we shall see what the grand movement will bring +about, and the results of the lessons in elocution.” + +The man in black lifted the glass up to his mouth, and in doing so, let +the spoon fall. + +“But what has this to do with the main question?” said I, “I am waiting +here to fight against the Pope.” + +“Come, Hunter,” said the companion of the man in the snuff-coloured coat, +“get up, and fight for the Pope.” + +“I don’t care for the young fellow,” said the man in the snuff-coloured +coat. + +“I know you don’t,” said the other, “so get up, and serve him out.” + +“I could serve out three like him,” said the man in the snuff-coloured +coat. + +“So much the better for you,” said the other, “the present work will be +all the easier for you, get up, and serve him out at once.” + +The man in the snuff-coloured coat did not stir. + +“Who shows the white feather now?” said the simple-looking man. + +“He! he! he!” tittered the man in black. + +“Who told you to interfere?” said the Radical, turning ferociously +towards the simple-looking man; “say another word, and I’ll—And you!” +said he, addressing himself to the man in black, “a pretty fellow you to +turn against me, after I had taken your part. I tell you what, you may +fight for yourself. I’ll see you and your Pope in the pit of Eldon, +before I fight for either of you, so make the most of it.” + +“Then you won’t fight?” said I. + +“Not for the Pope,” said the Radical; “I’ll see the Pope—” + +“Dear me!” said I, “not fight for the Pope, whose religion you would turn +to, if you were inclined for any. I see how it is, you are not fond of +fighting; but I’ll give you another chance—you were abusing the Church of +England just now. I’ll fight for it—will you fight against it?” + +“Come, Hunter,” said the other, “get up, and fight against the Church of +England.” + +“I have no particular quarrel against the Church of England,” said the +man in the snuff-coloured coat, “my quarrel is with the aristocracy. If +I said anything against the Church, it was merely for a bit of corollary, +as Master William Cobbett would say; the quarrel with the Church belongs +to this fellow in black; so let him carry it on. However,” he continued +suddenly, “I won’t slink from the matter either; it shall never be said +by the fine fellows on the quay of New York, that I wouldn’t fight +against the Church of England. So down with the beggarly aristocracy, +the Church, and the Pope, to the bottom of the pit of Eldon, and may the +Pope fall first, and the others upon him.” + +Thereupon, dashing his hat on the table, he placed himself in an attitude +of offence, and rushed forward. He was, as I have said before, a +powerful fellow, and might have proved a dangerous antagonist, more +especially to myself, who, after my recent encounter with the Flaming +Tinman, and my wrestlings with the evil one, was in anything but fighting +order. Any collision, however, was prevented by the landlord, who, +suddenly appearing, thrust himself between us. “There shall be no +fighting here,” said he, “no one shall fight in this house, except it be +with myself; so if you two have anything to say to each other, you had +better go into the field behind the house. But you fool,” said he, +pushing Hunter violently on the breast, “do you know whom you are going +to tackle with—this is the young chap that beat Blazing Bosville, only as +late as yesterday, in Mumpers’ Dingle. Grey Moll told me all about it +last night, when she came for some brandy for her husband, who, she said, +had been half killed; and she described the young man to me so closely, +that I knew him at once, that is, as soon as I saw how his left hand was +bruised, for she told me he was a left hand hitter. Ar’n’t it all true, +young man? Ar’n’t you he that beat Flaming Bosville in Mumpers’ Dingle?” +“I never beat Flaming Bosville,” said I, “he beat himself. Had he not +struck his hand against a tree, I shouldn’t be here at the present +moment.” “Hear! hear!” said the landlord, “now that’s just as it should +be; I like a modest man, for, as the parson says, nothing sits better +upon a young man than modesty. I remember, when I was young, fighting +with Tom, of Hopton, the best man that ever pulled off coat in England. +I remember, too, that I won the battle; for I happened to hit Tom, of +Hopton, in the mark, as he was coming in, so that he lost his wind, and +falling squelch on the ground, do ye see, he lost the battle, though I am +free to confess that he was a better man than myself; indeed, the best +man that ever fought in England; yet still I won the battle, as every +customer of mine, and everybody within twelve miles round, has heard over +and over again. Now, Mr. Hunter, I have one thing to say, if you choose +to go into the field behind the house, and fight the young man, you can. +I’ll back him for ten pounds; but no fighting in my kitchen—because why? +I keeps a decent kind of an establishment.” + +“I have no wish to fight the young man,” said Hunter; “more especially as +he has nothing to say for the aristocracy. If he chose to fight for +them, indeed—but he won’t, I know; for I see he’s a decent, respectable +young man; and, after all, fighting is a blackguard way of settling a +dispute; so I have no wish to fight; however, there is one thing I’ll +do,” said he, uplifting his fist; “I’ll fight this fellow in black here +for half-a-crown, or for nothing, if he pleases; it was he that got up +the last dispute between me and the young man, with his Pope and his +nonsense; so I will fight him for anything he pleases, and perhaps the +young man will be my second; whilst you—” + +“Come, Doctor,” said the landlord, “or whatsoever you be, will you go +into the field with Hunter? I’ll second you, only you must back +yourself. I’ll lay five pounds on Hunter, if you are inclined to back +yourself; and will help you to win it as far, do you see, as a second +can; because why? I always likes to do the fair thing.” + +“Oh! I have no wish to fight,” said the man in black, hastily; “fighting +is not my trade. If I have given any offence, I beg anybody’s pardon.” + +“Landlord,” said I, “what have I to pay?” + +“Nothing at all,” said the landlord, “glad to see you. This is the first +time that you have been at my house, and I never charge new customers, at +least customers such as you, anything for the first draught. You’ll come +again, I dare say; shall always be glad to see you. I won’t take it,” +said he, as I put sixpence on the table; “I won’t take it.” + +“Yes, you shall,” said I; “but not in payment for anything I have had +myself: it shall serve to pay for a jug of ale for that gentleman,” said +I, pointing to the simple-looking individual; “he is smoking a poor pipe. +I do not mean to say that a pipe is a bad thing; but a pipe without ale, +do you see—” + +“Bravo!” said the landlord, “that’s just the conduct I like.” + +“Bravo!” said Hunter. “I shall be happy to drink with the young man +whenever I meet him at New York, where, do you see, things are better +managed than here.” + +“If I have given offence to anybody,” said the man in black, “I repeat +that I ask pardon—more especially to the young gentleman, who was +perfectly right to stand up for his religion, just as I—not that I am of +any particular religion, no more than this honest gentleman here,” bowing +to Hunter; “but I happen to know something of the Catholics—several +excellent friends of mine are Catholics—and of a surety the Catholic +religion is an ancient religion, and a widely-extended religion though it +certainly is not a universal religion, but it has of late made +considerable progress, even amongst those nations who have been +particularly opposed to it—amongst the Prussians and the Dutch, for +example, to say nothing of the English; and then, in the East, amongst +the Persians, among the Armenians.” + +“The Armenians,” said I; “O dear me, the Armenians—” + +“Have you anything to say about these people, sir?” said the man in +black, lifting up his glass to his mouth. + +“I have nothing further to say,” said I, “than that the roots of Ararat +are occasionally found to be deeper than those of Rome.” + +“There’s half-a-crown broke,” said the landlord, as the man in black let +fall the glass, which was broken to pieces on the floor. “You will pay +me the damage, friend, before you leave this kitchen. I like to see +people drink freely in my kitchen, but not too freely, and I hate +breakages; because why? I keeps a decent kind of an establishment.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIX. + + +The Dingle—Give them Ale—Not over Complimentary—America—Many +People—Washington—Promiscuous Company—Language of the Roads—The Old +Women—Numerals—The Man in Black. + +The public-house where the scenes which I have attempted to describe in +the preceding chapters took place, was at the distance of about two miles +from the dingle. The sun was sinking in the west by the time I returned +to the latter spot. I found Belle seated by a fire, over which her +kettle was suspended. During my absence she had prepared herself a kind +of tent, consisting of large hoops covered over with tarpaulin, quite +impenetrable to rain, however violent. “I am glad you are returned,” +said she, as soon as she perceived me; “I began to be anxious about you. +Did you take my advice?” + +“Yes,” said I, “I went to the public-house and drank ale as you advised +me; it cheered, strengthened, and drove away the horror from my mind,—I +am much beholden to you.” + +“I knew it would do you good,” said Belle; “I remembered that when the +poor women in the great house were afflicted with hysterics and fearful +imaginings, the surgeon, who was a good, kind man, used to say, ‘Ale, +give them ale, and let it be strong.’” + +“He was no advocate for tea, then?” said I. + +“He had no objection to tea; but he used to say, ‘Everything in its +season.’ Shall we take ours now—I have waited for you.” + +“I have no objection,” said I; “I feel rather heated, and at present +should prefer tea to ale—‘Everything in its season,’ as the surgeon +said.” + +Thereupon Belle prepared tea, and, as we were taking it, she said, “What +did you see and hear at the public-house?” + +“Really,” said I, “you appear to have your full portion of curiosity; +what matters it to you what I saw and heard at the public-house?” + +“It matters very little to me,” said Belle; “I merely inquired of you, +for the sake of a little conversation—you were silent, and it is +uncomfortable for two people to sit together without opening their +lips—at least I think so.” + +“One only feels uncomfortable,” said I, “in being silent, when one +happens to be thinking of the individual with whom one is in company. To +tell you the truth, I was not thinking of my companion, but of certain +company with whom I had been at the public-house.” + +“Really, young man,” said Belle, “you are not over complimentary; but who +may this wonderful company have been—some young—?” and here Belle +stopped. + +“No,” said I, “there was no young person—if person you were going to say. +There was a big portly landlord, whom I dare say you have seen; a noisy +savage Radical, who wanted at first to fasten upon me a quarrel about +America, but who subsequently drew in his horns; then there was a strange +fellow, a prowling priest, I believe, whom I have frequently heard of, +who at first seemed disposed to side with the Radical against me, and +afterwards with me against the Radical. There, you know my company, and +what took place.” + +“Was there no one else?” said Belle. + +“You are mighty curious,” said I. “No, none else, except a poor simple +mechanic, and some common company, who soon went away.” + +Belle looked at me for a moment, and then appeared to be lost in +thought—“America!” said she, musingly—“America!” + +“What of America?” said I. + +“I have heard that it is a mighty country.” + +“I dare say it is,” said I; “I have heard my father say that the +Americans are first-rate marksmen.” + +“I heard nothing about that,” said Belle; “what I heard was, that it is a +great and goodly land, where people can walk about without jostling, and +where the industrious can always find bread; I have frequently thought of +going thither.” + +“Well,” said I, “the Radical in the public-house will perhaps be glad of +your company thither; he is as great an admirer of America as yourself, +though I believe on different grounds.” + +“I shall go by myself,” said Belle, “unless—unless that should happen +which is not likely—I am not fond of Radicals no more than I am of +scoffers and mockers.” + +“Do you mean to say that I am a scoffer and mocker?” + +“I don’t wish to say you are,” said Belle; “but some of your words sound +strangely like scoffing and mocking. I have now one thing to beg, which +is, that if you have anything to say against America, you would speak it +out boldly.” + +“What should I have to say against America? I never was there.” + +“Many people speak against America who never were there.” + +“Many people speak in praise of America who never were there; but with +respect to myself, I have not spoken for or against America.” + +“If you liked America you would speak in its praise.” + +“By the same rule, if I disliked America I should speak against it.” + +“I can’t speak with you,” said Belle; “but I see you dislike the +country.” + +“The country!” + +“Well, the people—don’t you?” + +“I do.” + +“Why do you dislike them?” + +“Why, I have heard my father say that the American marksmen, led on by a +chap of the name of Washington, sent the English to the right-about in +double-quick time.” + +“And that is your reason for disliking the Americans?” + +“Yes,” said I, “that is my reason for disliking them.” + +“Will you take another cup of tea?” said Belle. + +I took another cup; we were again silent. “It is rather uncomfortable,” +said I, at last, “for people to sit together without having anything to +say.” + +“Were you thinking of your company?” said Belle. + +“What company?” said I. + +“The present company.” + +“The present company! oh, ah!—I remember that I said one only feels +uncomfortable in being silent with a companion, when one happens to be +thinking of the companion. Well, I had been thinking of you the last two +or three minutes, and had just come to the conclusion, that to prevent us +both feeling occasionally uncomfortable towards each other, having +nothing to say, it would be as well to have a standing subject, on which +to employ our tongues. Belle, I have determined to give you lessons in +Armenian.” + +“What is Armenian?” + +“Did you ever hear of Ararat?” + +“Yes, that was the place where the ark rested; I have heard the chaplain +in the great house talk of it; besides, I have read of it in the Bible.” + +“Well, Armenian is the speech of people of that place, and I should like +to teach it you.” + +“To prevent—” + +“Ay, ay, to prevent our occasionally feeling uncomfortable together. +Your acquiring it besides might prove of ulterior advantage to us both; +for example, suppose you and I were in promiscuous company, at Court, for +example, and you had something to communicate to me which you did not +wish anyone else to be acquainted with, how safely you might communicate +it to me in Armenian.” + +“Would not the language of the roads do as well?” said Belle. + +“In some places it would,” said I, “but not at Court, owing to its +resemblance to thieves’ slang. There is Hebrew, again, which I was +thinking of teaching you, till the idea of being presented at Court made +me abandon it, from the probability of our being understood, in the event +of our speaking it, by at least half a dozen people in our vicinity. +There is Latin, it is true, or Greek, which we might speak aloud at Court +with perfect confidence of safety, but upon the whole I should prefer +teaching you Armenian, not because it would be a safer language to hold +communication with at Court, but because, not being very well grounded in +it myself, I am apprehensive that its words and forms may escape from my +recollection, unless I have sometimes occasion to call them forth.” + +“I am afraid we shall have to part company before I have learnt it,” said +Belle; “in the mean time, if I wish to say anything to you in private, +somebody being by, shall I speak in the language of the roads?” + +“If no roadster is nigh, you may,” said I, “and I will do my best to +understand you. Belle, I will now give you a lesson in Armenian.” + +“I suppose you mean no harm?” said Belle. + +“Not in the least; I merely propose the thing to prevent our occasionally +feeling uncomfortable together. Let us begin.” + +“Stop till I have removed the tea-things,” said Belle; and, getting up, +she removed them to her own encampment. + +“I am ready,” said Belle, returning, and taking her former seat, “to join +with you in anything which will serve to pass away the time agreeably, +provided there is no harm in it.” + +“Belle,” said I, “I have determined to commence the course of Armenian +lessons by teaching you the numerals; but, before I do that, it will be +as well to tell you that the Armenian language is called Haik.” + +“I am sure that word will hang upon my memory,” said Belle. + +“Why hang upon it?” said I. + +“Because the old women in the great house used to call so the +chimney-hook, on which they hung the kettle; in like manner, on the hake +of my memory I will hang your hake.” + +“Good!” said I, “you will make an apt scholar; but, mind, that I did not +say hake, but haik; the words are, however, very much alike; and, as you +observe, upon your hake you may hang my haik. We will now proceed to the +numerals.” + +“What are numerals?” said Belle. + +“Numbers. I will say the Haikan numbers up to ten. There, have you +heard them?”—“Yes.” “Well, try and repeat them.” + +“I only remember number one,” said Belle, “and that because it is me.” + +“I will repeat them again,” said I, “and pay great attention. Now, try +again.” + +“Me, jergo, earache.” + +“I neither said jergo, nor earache. I said yergou and yerek. Belle, I +am afraid I shall have some difficulty with you as a scholar.” + +Belle made no answer. Her eyes were turned in the direction of the +winding path, which led from the bottom of the hollow where we were +seated, to the plain above. “Gorgio shunella,” she said, at length, in a +low voice. + +“Pure Rommany,” said I; “where?” I added, in a whisper. + +“Dovey odoi,” said Belle, nodding with her head towards the path. + +“I will soon see who it is,” said I; and starting up, I rushed towards +the pathway, intending to lay violent hands on any one I might find +lurking in its windings. Before, however, I had reached its +commencement, a man, somewhat above the middle height, advanced from it +into the dingle, in whom I recognised the man in black, whom I had seen +in the public-house. + + + + +CHAPTER XC. + + +Buona Sera—Rather Apprehensive—The Steep Bank—Lovely +Virgin—Hospitality—Tory Minister—Custom of the Country—Sneering +Smile—Wandering Zigan—Gypsies’ Cloaks—Certain Faculty—Acute +Answer—Various Ways—Adio—Best Hollands. + +The man in black and myself stood opposite to each other for a minute or +two in silence; I will not say that we confronted each other that time, +for the man in black, after a furtive glance, did not look me in the +face, but kept his eyes fixed, apparently on the leaves of a bunch of +ground nuts which were growing at my feet. At length, looking around the +dingle, he exclaimed, “Buona Sera, I hope I don’t intrude.” + +“You have as much right here,” said I, “as I or my companion; but you had +no right to stand listening to our conversation.” + +“I was not listening,” said the man, “I was hesitating whether to advance +or retire; and if I heard some of your conversation, the fault was not +mine.” + +“I do not see why you should have hesitated if your intentions were +good,” said I. + +“I think the kind of place in which I found myself, might excuse some +hesitation,” said the man in black, looking around; “moreover, from what +I had seen of your demeanour at the public-house, I was rather +apprehensive that the reception I might experience at your hands might be +more rough than agreeable.” + +“And what may have been your motive for coming to this place?” said I. + +“Per far visita a sua signoria, ecco il motivo.” + +“Why do you speak to me in that gibberish,” said I; “do you think I +understand it?” + +“It is not Armenian,” said the man in black; “but it might serve in a +place like this, for the breathing of a little secret communication, were +any common roadster near at hand. It would not do at Court, it is true, +being the language of singing women, and the like; but we are not at +Court—when we are, I can perhaps summon up a little indifferent Latin, if +I have anything private to communicate to the learned Professor.” + +At the conclusion of this speech the man in black lifted up his head, +and, for some moments, looked me in the face. The muscles of his own +seemed to be slightly convulsed, and his mouth opened in a singular +manner. + +“I see,” said I, “that for some time you were standing near me, and my +companion, in the mean act of listening.” + +“Not at all,” said the man in black; “I heard from the steep bank above, +that to which I have now alluded, whilst I was puzzling myself to find +the path which leads to your retreat. I made, indeed, nearly the compass +of the whole thicket before I found it.” + +“And how did you know that I was here?” I demanded. + +“The landlord of the public-house, with whom I had some conversation +concerning you, informed me that he had no doubt I should find you in +this place, to which he gave me instructions not very clear. But now I +am here, I crave permission to remain a little time, in order that I may +hold some communion with you.” + +“Well,” said I, “since you are come, you are welcome, please to step this +way.” + +Thereupon I conducted the man in black to the fire-place, where Belle was +standing, who had risen from her stool on my springing up to go in quest +of the stranger. The man in black looked at her with evident curiosity, +then making her rather a graceful bow, “Lovely virgin,” said he, +stretching out his hand, “allow me to salute your fingers.” + +“I am not in the habit of shaking hands with strangers,” said Belle. + +“I did not presume to request to shake hands with you,” said the man in +black, “I merely wished to be permitted to salute with my lips the +extremity of your two fore-fingers.” + +“I never permit anything of the kind,” said Belle, “I do not approve of +such unmanly ways, they are only befitting those who lurk in corners or +behind trees, listening to the conversation of people who would fain be +private.” + +“Do you take me for a listener, then?” said the man in black. + +“Ay, indeed I do,” said Belle; “the young man may receive your excuses, +and put confidence in them if he please, but for my part I neither admit +them, nor believe them;” and thereupon flinging her long hair back, which +was hanging over her cheeks, she seated herself on her stool. + +“Come, Belle,” said I, “I have bidden the gentleman welcome; I beseech +you, therefore, to make him welcome, he is a stranger, where we are at +home, therefore, even did we wish him away, we are bound to treat him +kindly.” + +“That’s not English doctrine,” said the man in black. + +“I thought the English prided themselves on their hospitality,” said I. + +“They do so,” said the man in black; “they are proud of showing +hospitality to people above them, that is to those who do not want it, +but of the hospitality which you were now describing, and which is +Arabian, they know nothing. No Englishman will tolerate another in his +house, from whom he does not expect advantage of some kind, and to those +from whom he does, he can be civil enough. An Englishman thinks that, +because he is in his own house, he has a right to be boorish and brutal +to any one who is disagreeable to him, as all those are who are really in +want of assistance. Should a hunted fugitive rush into an Englishman’s +house, beseeching protection, and appealing to the master’s feelings of +hospitality, the Englishman would knock him down in the passage.” + +“You are too general,” said I, “in your strictures; Lord ---, the +unpopular Tory minister, was once chased through the streets of London by +a mob, and, being in danger of his life, took shelter in the shop of a +Whig linendraper, declaring his own unpopular name, and appealing to the +linendraper’s feelings of hospitality; whereupon the linendraper, utterly +forgetful of all party rancour, nobly responded to the appeal, and +telling his wife to conduct his lordship upstairs, jumped over the +counter, with his ell in his hand, and placing himself with half-a-dozen +of his assistants at the door of his boutique, manfully confronted the +mob, telling them that he would allow himself to be torn to a thousand +pieces, ere he would permit them to injure a hair of his lordship’s head; +what do you think of that?” + +“He! he! he!” tittered the man in black. + +“Well,” said I, “I am afraid your own practice is not very different from +that which you have been just now describing, you sided with the Radical +in the public-house against me, as long as you thought him the most +powerful, and then turned against him, when you saw he was cowed. What +have you to say to that?” + +“O! when one is in Rome, I mean England, one must do as they do in +England, I was merely conforming to the custom of the country, he! he! +but I beg your pardon here, as I did in the public-house. I made a +mistake.” + +“Well,” said I, “we will drop the matter, but pray seat yourself on that +stone, and I will sit down on the grass near you.” + +The man in black, after proffering two or three excuses for occupying +what he supposed to be my seat, sat down upon the stone, and I squatted +down, gypsy fashion, just opposite to him, Belle sitting on her stool a +slight distance on my right. After a time I addressed him thus. “Am I +to reckon this a mere visit of ceremony? should it prove so, it will be, +I believe, the first visit of the kind ever paid me.” + +“Will you permit me to ask,” said the man in black,—“the weather is very +warm,” said he, interrupting himself, and taking off his hat. + +I now observed that he was partly bald, his red hair having died away +from the fore part of his crown—his forehead was high, his eyebrows +scanty, his eyes grey and sly, with a downward tendency, his nose was +slightly aquiline, his mouth rather large—a kind of sneering smile played +continually on his lips, his complexion was somewhat rubicund. + +“A bad countenance,” said Belle, in the language of the roads, observing +that my eyes were fixed on his face. + +“Does not my countenance please you, fair damsel?” said the man in black, +resuming his hat and speaking in a peculiarly gentle voice. + +“How,” said I, “do you understand the language of the roads?” + +“As little as I do Armenian,” said the man in black; “but I understand +look and tone.” + +“So do I, perhaps,” retorted Belle; “and, to tell you the truth, I like +your tone as little as your face.” + +“For shame,” said I; “have you forgot what I was saying just now about +the duties of hospitality? You have not yet answered my question,” said +I, addressing myself to the man, “with respect to your visit.” + +“Will you permit me to ask who you are?” + +“Do you see the place where I live?” said I. + +“I do,” said the man in black, looking around. + +“Do you know the name of this place?” + +“I was told it was Mumpers’, or Gypsies’ Dingle,” said the man in black. + +“Good,” said I; “and this forge and tent, what do they look like?” + +“Like the forge and tent of a wandering Zigan; I have seen the like in +Italy.” + +“Good,” said I; “they belong to me.” + +“Are you, then, a Gypsy?” said the man in black. + +“What else should I be?” + +“But you seem to have been acquainted with various individuals with whom +I have likewise had acquaintance; and you have even alluded to matters, +and even words, which have passed between me and them.” + +“Do you know how Gypsies live?” said I. + +“By hammering old iron, I believe, and telling fortunes.” + +“Well,” said I, “there’s my forge, and yonder is some iron, though not +old, and by your own confession I am a soothsayer.” + +“But how did you come by your knowledge?” + +“O,” said I, “if you want me to reveal the secrets of my trade, I have, +of course, nothing further to say. Go to the scarlet dyer, and ask him +how he dyes cloth.” + +“Why scarlet?” said the man in black. “Is it because Gypsies blush like +scarlet?” + +“Gypsies never blush,” said I; “but Gypsies’ cloaks are scarlet.” + +“I should almost take you for a Gypsy,” said the man in black, “but for—” + +“For what?” said I. + +“But for that same lesson in Armenian, and your general knowledge of +languages; as for your manners and appearance I will say nothing,” said +the man in black, with a titter. + +“And why should not a Gypsy possess a knowledge of languages?” said I. + +“Because the Gypsy race is perfectly illiterate,” said the man in black; +“they are possessed, it is true, of a knavish acuteness; and are +particularly noted for giving subtle and evasive answers—and in your +answers, I confess, you remind me of them; but that one of the race +should acquire a learned language like the Armenian, and have a general +knowledge of literature, is a thing che io non credo afatto.” + +“What do you take me for?” said I. + +“Why,” said the man in black, “I should consider you to be a philologist, +who, for some purpose, has taken up a Gypsy life; but I confess to you +that your way of answering questions is far too acute for a philologist.” + +“And why should not a philologist be able to answer questions acutely?” +said I. + +“Because the philological race is the most stupid under Heaven,” said the +man in black; “they are possessed, it is true, of a certain faculty for +picking up words, and a memory for retaining them; but that any one of +the sect should be able to give a rational answer, to say nothing of an +acute one, on any subject—even though the subject were philology—is a +thing of which I have no idea.” + +“But you found me giving a lesson in Armenian to this handmaid?” + +“I believe I did,” said the man in black. + +“And you heard me give what you are disposed to call acute answers to the +questions you asked me?” + +“I believe I did,” said the man in black. + +“And would any one but a philologist think of giving a lesson in Armenian +to a handmaid in a dingle?” + +“I should think not,” said the man in black. + +“Well, then, don’t you see that it is possible for a philologist to give +not only a rational, but an acute answer?” + +“I really don’t know,” said the man in black. + +“What’s the matter with you?” said I. + +“Merely puzzled,” said the man in black. + +“Puzzled?” + +“Yes.” + +“Really puzzled?” + +“Yes.” + +“Remain so.” + +“Well,” said the man in black, rising, “puzzled or not, I will no longer +trespass upon your and this young lady’s retirement; only allow me, +before I go, to apologize for my intrusion.” + +“No apology is necessary,” said I; “will you please to take anything +before you go? I think this young lady, at my request, would contrive to +make you a cup of tea.” + +“Tea!” said the man in black—“he! he! I don’t drink tea; I don’t like +it—if, indeed, you had,” and here he stopped. + +“There’s nothing like gin and water, is there?” said I, “but I am sorry +to say I have none.” + +“Gin and water,” said the man in black, “how do you know that I am fond +of gin and water?” + +“Did I not see you drinking some at the public-house?” + +“You did,” said the man in black, “and I remember, that when I called for +some, you repeated my words—permit me to ask, is gin and water an unusual +drink in England?” + +“It is not usually drunk cold, and with a lump of sugar,” said I. + +“And did you know who I was by my calling for it so?” + +“Gypsies have various ways of obtaining information,” said I. + +“With all your knowledge,” said the man in black, “you do not appear to +have known that I was coming to visit you?” + +“Gypsies do not pretend to know anything which relates to themselves,” +said I; “but I advise you, if you ever come again, to come openly.” + +“Have I your permission to come again?” said the man in black. + +“Come when you please; this dingle is as free for you as me.” + +“I will visit you again,” said the man in black—“till then, addio.” + +“Belle,” said I, after the man in black had departed, “we did not treat +that man very hospitably; he left us without having eaten or drunk at our +expense.” + +“You offered him some tea,” said Belle, “which, as it is mine, I should +have grudged him, for I like him not.” + +“Our liking or disliking him had nothing to do with the matter, he was +our visitor and ought not to have been permitted to depart dry; living as +we do in this desert, we ought always to be prepared to administer to the +wants of our visitors. Belle, do you know where to procure any good +Hollands?” + +“I think I do,” said Belle, “but—” + +“I will have no buts. Belle, I expect that with as little delay as +possible you procure, at my expense, the best Hollands you can find.” + + + + +CHAPTER XCI. + + +Excursions—Adventurous English—Opaque Forests—The Greatest Patience. + +Time passed on, and Belle and I lived in the dingle; when I say lived, +the reader must not imagine that we were always there. She went out upon +her pursuits, and I went out where inclination led me; but my excursions +were very short ones, and hers occasionally occupied whole days and +nights. If I am asked how we passed the time when we were together in +the dingle, I would answer that we passed the time very tolerably, all +things considered; we conversed together, and when tired of conversing I +would sometimes give Belle a lesson in Armenian; her progress was not +particularly brilliant, but upon the whole satisfactory; in about a +fortnight she had hung up one hundred Haikan numerals upon the hake of +her memory. I found her conversation highly entertaining; she had seen +much of England and Wales, and had been acquainted with some of the most +remarkable characters who travelled the roads at that period; and let me +be permitted to say that many remarkable characters have travelled the +roads of England, of whom fame has never said a word. I loved to hear +her anecdotes of these people; some of whom I found had occasionally +attempted to lay violent hands either upon her person or effects, and had +invariably been humbled by her without the assistance of either justice +or constable. I could clearly see, however, that she was rather tired of +England, and wished for a change of scene; she was particularly fond of +talking of America, to which country her aspirations chiefly tended. She +had heard much of America, which had excited her imagination; for at that +time America was much talked of, on roads and in homesteads, at least so +said Belle, who had good opportunities of knowing, and most people +allowed that it was a good country for adventurous English. The people +who chiefly spoke against it, as she informed me, were soldiers disbanded +upon pensions, the sextons of village churches, and excisemen. Belle had +a craving desire to visit that country, and to wander with cart and +little animal amongst its forests; when I would occasionally object, that +she would be exposed to danger from strange and perverse customers, she +said that she had not wandered the roads of England so long and alone, to +be afraid of anything which might befall in America; and that she hoped, +with God’s favour, to be able to take her own part, and to give to +perverse customers as good as they might bring. She had a dauntless +heart, that same Belle: such was the staple of Belle’s conversation. As +for mine, I would endeavour to entertain her with strange dreams of +adventure, in which I figured in opaque forests, strangling wild beasts, +or discovering and plundering the hordes of dragons; and sometimes I +would narrate to her other things far more genuine—how I had tamed savage +mares, wrestled with Satan, and had dealings with ferocious publishers. +Belle had a kind heart, and would weep at the accounts I gave her of my +early wrestlings with the dark Monarch. She would sigh, too, as I +recounted the many slights and degradations I had received at the hands +of ferocious publishers; but she had the curiosity of a woman; and once, +when I talked to her of the triumphs which I had achieved over unbroken +mares, she lifted up her head and questioned me as to the secret of the +virtue which I possessed over the aforesaid animals; whereupon I sternly +reprimanded, and forthwith commanded her to repeat the Armenian numerals; +and, on her demurring, I made use of words, to escape which she was glad +to comply, saying the Armenian numerals from one to a hundred, which +numerals, as a punishment for her curiosity, I made her repeat three +times, loading her with the bitterest reproaches whenever she committed +the slightest error, either in accent or pronunciation, which reproaches +she appeared to bear with the greatest patience. And now I have given a +very fair account of the manner in which Isopel Berners and myself passed +our time in the dingle. + + + + +CHAPTER XCII. + + +The Landlord—Rather Too Old—Without a Shilling—Reputation—A Fortnight +Ago—Liquids—The Main Chance—Respectability—Irrational Beings—Parliament +Cove—My Brewer. + +Amongst other excursions, I went several times to the public-house to +which I introduced the reader in a former chapter. I had experienced +such beneficial effects from the ale I had drunk on that occasion, that I +wished to put its virtue to a frequent test; nor did the ale on +subsequent trials belie the good opinion which I had at first formed of +it. After each visit which I made to the public-house, I found my frame +stronger, and my mind more cheerful than they had previously been. The +landlord appeared at all times glad to see me, and insisted that I should +sit within the bar, where, leaving his other guests to be attended to by +a niece of his who officiated as his housekeeper, he would sit beside me +and talk of matters concerning “the ring,” indulging himself with a cigar +and a glass of sherry, which he told me was his favourite wine, whilst I +drank my ale. “I loves the conversation of all you coves of the ring,” +said he once, “which is natural, seeing as how I have fought in a ring +myself. Ah, there is nothing like the ring; I wish I was not rather too +old to go again into it. I often think I should like to have another +rally—one more rally, and then—but there’s a time for all things—youth +will be served, every dog has his day, and mine has been a fine one—let +me be content. After beating Tom of Hopton, there was not much more to +be done in the way of reputation; I have long sat in my bar the wonder +and glory of this here neighbourhood. I’m content, as far as reputation +goes; I only wish money would come in a little faster; however, the next +main of cocks will bring me in something handsome—comes off next +Wednesday at --- have ventured ten five pound notes—shouldn’t say +ventured either—run no risk at all, because why? I knows my birds.” +About ten days after this harangue, I called again at about three o’clock +one afternoon. The landlord was seated on a bench by a table in the +common room, which was entirely empty; he was neither smoking nor +drinking, but sat with his arms folded, and his head hanging down over +his breast. At the sound of my step he looked up; “Ah,” said he, “I am +glad you are come, I was just thinking about you.” “Thank you,” said I; +“it was very kind of you, especially at a time like this, when your mind +must be full of your good fortune. Allow me to congratulate you on the +sums of money you won by the main of cocks at ---. I hope you brought it +all safe home.” “Safe home!” said the landlord; “I brought myself safe +home, and that was all, came home without a shilling, regularly done, +cleaned out.” “I am sorry for that,” said I; “but after you had won the +money, you ought to have been satisfied, and not risked it again—how did +you lose it? I hope not by the pea and thimble.” “Pea and thimble,” +said the landlord—“not I; those confounded cocks left me nothing to lose +by the pea and thimble.” “Dear me,” said I; “I thought that you knew +your birds.” “Well, so I did,” said the landlord, “I knew the birds to +be good birds, and so they proved, and would have won if better birds had +not been brought against them, of which I knew nothing, and so do you see +I am done, regularly done.” “Well,” said I, “don’t be cast down; there +is one thing of which the cocks by their misfortune cannot deprive +you—your reputation; make the most of that, give up cock-fighting, and be +content with the custom of your house, of which you will always have +plenty, as long as you are the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood.” + +The landlord struck the table before him violently with his fist. +“Confound my reputation!” said he. “No reputation that I have will be +satisfaction to my brewer for the seventy pounds I owe him. Reputation +won’t pass for the current coin of this here realm; and let me tell you, +that if it a’n’t backed by some of it, it a’n’t a bit better than rotten +cabbage, as I have found. Only three weeks since I was, as I told you, +the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood; and people used to come and +look at me, and worship me, but as soon as it began to be whispered about +that I owed money to the brewer, they presently left off all that kind of +thing; and now, during the last three days, since the tale of my +misfortune with the cocks has got wind, almost everybody has left off +coming to the house, and the few who does, merely comes to insult and +flout me. It was only last night that fellow, Hunter, called me an old +fool in my own kitchen here. He wouldn’t have called me a fool a +fortnight ago; ’twas I called him fool then, and last night he called me +old fool; what do you think of that? the man that beat Tom, of Hopton, to +be called, not only a fool, but an old fool; and I hadn’t heart, with one +blow of this here fist into his face, to send his head ringing against +the wall; for when a man’s pocket is low, do you see, his heart a’n’t +much higher; but it is of no use talking, something must be done. I was +thinking of you just as you came in, for you are just the person that can +help me.” + +“If you mean,” said I, “to ask me to lend you the money which you want, +it will be to no purpose, as I have very little of my own, just enough +for my own occasions; it is true, if you desired it, I would be your +intercessor with the person to whom you owe the money, though I should +hardly imagine that anything I could say—” “You are right there,” said +the landlord, “much the brewer would care for anything you could say on +my behalf—your going would be the very way to do me up entirely. A +pretty opinion he would have of the state of my affairs if I were to send +him such a ’cessor as you, and as for your lending me money, don’t think +I was ever fool enough to suppose either that you had any, or if you had +that you would be fool enough to lend me any. No, no, the coves of the +ring knows better, I have been in the ring myself, and knows what a +fighting cove is, and though I was fool enough to back those birds, I was +never quite fool enough to lend anybody money. What I am about to +propose is something very different from going to my landlord, or lending +any capital; something which, though it will put money into my pocket, +will likewise put something handsome into your own. I want to get up a +fight in this here neighbourhood, which would be sure to bring plenty of +people to my house, for a week before and after it takes place, and as +people can’t come without drinking, I think I could, during one +fortnight, get off for the brewer all the sour and unsaleable liquids he +now has, which people wouldn’t drink at any other time, and by that +means, do you see, liquidate my debt; then, by means of betting, making +first all right, do you see, I have no doubt that I could put something +handsome into my pocket and yours, for I should wish you to be the +fighting man, as I think I can depend upon you.” “You really must excuse +me,” said I, “I have no wish to figure as a pugilist, besides there is +such a difference in our ages; you may be the stronger man of the two, +and perhaps the hardest hitter, but I am in much better condition, am +more active on my legs, so that I am almost sure I should have the +advantage, for, as you very properly observed, ‘Youth will be served.’” +“Oh, I didn’t mean to fight,” said the landlord, “I think I could beat +you if I were to train a little; but in the fight I propose I looks more +to the main chance than anything else. I question whether half so many +people could be brought together if you were to fight with me as the +person I have in view, or whether there would be half such opportunities +for betting, for I am a man, do you see, the person I wants you to fight +with is not a man, but the young woman you keeps company with.” + +“The young woman I keep company with,” said I, “pray what do you mean?” + +“We will go into the bar, and have something,” said the landlord, getting +up. “My niece is out, and there is no one in the house, so we can talk +the matter over quietly.” Thereupon I followed him into the bar, where, +having drawn me a jug of ale, helped himself as usual to a glass of +sherry, and lighted a cigar, he proceeded to explain himself farther. +“What I wants, is to get up a fight between a man and a woman; there +never has yet been such a thing in the ring, and the mere noise of the +matter would bring thousands of people together, quite enough to drink +out, for the thing should be close to my house, all the brewer’s stock of +liquids, both good and bad.” “But,” said I, “you were the other day +boasting of the respectability of your house; do you think that a fight +between a man and a woman close to your establishment would add to its +respectability?” “Confound the respectability of my house,” said the +landlord, “will the respectability of my house pay the brewer, or keep +the roof over my head? No, no! when respectability won’t keep a man, do +you see, the best thing is to let it go and wander. Only let me have my +own way, and both the brewer, myself, and every one of us, will be +satisfied. And then the betting—what a deal we may make by the +betting—and that we shall have all to ourselves, you, I, and the young +woman; the brewer will have no hand in that. I can manage to raise ten +pounds, and if by flashing that about, I don’t manage to make a hundred, +call me horse.” “But, suppose,” said I, “the party should lose, on whom +you sport your money, even as the birds did?” “We must first make all +right,” said the landlord, “as I told you before; the birds were +irrational beings, and therefore couldn’t come to an understanding with +the others, as you and the young woman can. The birds fought fair; but I +intend that you and the young woman should fight cross.” “What do you +mean by cross?” said I. “Come, come,” said the landlord, “don’t attempt +to gammon me; you in the ring, and pretend not to know what fighting +cross is. That won’t do, my fine fellow; but as no one is near us, I +will speak out. I intend that you and the young woman should understand +one another and agree beforehand which should be beat; and if you take my +advice you will determine between you that the young woman shall be beat, +as I am sure that the odds will run high upon her, her character as a +fist woman being spread far and wide, so that all the flats who think it +will be all right, will back her, as I myself would, if I thought it +would be a fair thing.” “Then,” said I, “you would not have us fight +fair?” “By no means,” said the landlord, “because why? I conceives that +a cross is a certainty to those who are in it, whereas by the fair thing +one may lose all he has.” “But,” said I, “you said the other day, that +you liked the fair thing.” “That was by way of gammon,” said the +landlord; “just, do you see, as a Parliament cove might say, speechifying +from a barrel to a set of flats, whom he means to sell. Come, what do +you think of the plan?” + +“It is a very ingenious one,” said I. + +“A’n’t it?” said the landlord. “The folks in this neighbourhood are +beginning to call me old fool, but if they don’t call me something else, +when they sees me friends with the brewer, and money in my pocket, my +name is not Catchpole. Come, drink your ale, and go home to the young +gentlewoman.” + +“I am going,” said I, rising from my seat, after finishing the remainder +of the ale. + +“Do you think she’ll have any objection?” said the landlord. + +“To do what?” said I. + +“Why, to fight cross.” + +“Yes, I do,” said I. + +“But you will do your best to persuade her?” + +“No, I will not,” said I. + +“Are you fool enough to wish to fight fair?” + +“No!” said I, “I am wise enough to wish not to fight at all.” + +“And how’s my brewer to be paid?” said the landlord. + +“I really don’t know,” said I. + +“I’ll change my religion,” said the landlord. + + + + +CHAPTER XCIII. + + +Another Visit—_A la Margutte_—Clever Man—Napoleon’s Estimate—Another +Statue. + +One evening Belle and myself received another visit from the man in +black. After a little conversation of not much importance, I asked him +whether he would not take some refreshment, assuring him that I was now +in possession of some very excellent Hollands which, with a glass, a jug +of water, and a lump of sugar, were heartily at his service; he accepted +my offer, and Belle going with a jug to the spring, from which she was in +the habit of procuring water for tea, speedily returned with it full of +the clear, delicious water of which I have already spoken. Having placed +the jug by the side of the man in black, she brought him a glass and +spoon, and a tea-cup, the latter containing various lumps of snowy-white +sugar: in the meantime I had produced a bottle of the stronger liquid. +The man in black helped himself to some water, and likewise to some +Hollands, the proportion of water being about two-thirds; then adding a +lump of sugar, he stirred the whole up, tasted it, and said that it was +good. + +“This is one of the good things of life,” he added, after a short pause. + +“What are the others?” I demanded. + +“There is Malvoisia sack,” said the man in black, “and partridge, and +beccafico.” + +“And what do you say to high mass?” said I. + +“High mass!” said the man in black; “however,” he continued, after a +pause, “I will be frank with you; I came to be so; I may have heard high +mass on a time, and said it too; but as for any predilection for it, I +assure you I have no more than for a long High Church sermon.” + +“You speak _à la Margutte_,” said I. + +“Margutte!” said the man in black, musingly, “Margutte!” + +“You have read Pulci, I suppose?” said I. + +“Yes, yes,” said the man in black, laughing; “I remember.” + +“He might be rendered into English,” said I, “something in this style:— + + ‘To which Margutte answered with a sneer, + I like the blue no better than the black, + My faith consists alone in savoury cheer, + In roasted capons, and in potent sack; + But above all, in famous gin and clear, + Which often lays the Briton on his back, + With lump of sugar, and with lympth from well, + I drink it, and defy the fiends of hell.’” + +“He! he! he!” said the man in black; “that is more than Mezzofante could +have done for a stanza of Byron.” + +“A clever man,” said I. + +“Who?” said the man in black. + +“Mezzofante di Bologna.” + +“He! he! he!” said the man in black; “now I know that you are not a +Gypsy, at least a soothsayer; no soothsayer would have said that—” + +“Why,” said I, “does he not understand five-and-twenty tongues?” + +“O yes,” said the man in black; “and five-and-twenty added to them; +but—he! he! he! it was principally from him who is certainly the greatest +of Philologists that I formed my opinion of the sect.” + +“You ought to speak of him with more respect,” said I; “I have heard say +that he has done good service to your See.” + +“O, yes,” said the man in black; “he has done good service to our See, +that is, in his way; when the neophytes of the propaganda are to be +examined in the several tongues in which they are destined to preach, he +is appointed to question them, the questions being first written down for +him, or else, he! he! he! Of course you know Napoleon’s estimate of +Mezzofante; he sent for the linguist from motives of curiosity, and after +some discourse with him, told him that he might depart; then turning to +some of his generals, he observed, ‘_Nous avons eu ici un exemple qu’un +homme peut avoir beaucoup de paroles avec bien peu d’esprit_.’” + +“You are ungrateful to him,” said I; “well, perhaps, when he is dead and +gone you will do him justice.” + +“True,” said the man in black; “when he is dead and gone we intend to +erect him a statue of wood, on the left-hand side of the door of the +Vatican library.” + +“Of wood?” said I. + +“He was the son of a carpenter, you know,” said the man in black; “the +figure will be of wood, for no other reason, I assure you; he! he!” + +“You should place another statue on the right.” + +“Perhaps we shall,” said the man in black; “but we know of no one amongst +the philologists of Italy, nor, indeed, of the other countries, inhabited +by the faithful, worthy to sit parallel in effigy with our illustrissimo; +when, indeed, we have conquered those regions of the perfidious by +bringing the inhabitants thereof to the true faith, I have no doubt that +we shall be able to select one worthy to bear him company, one whose +statue shall be placed on the right hand of the library, in testimony of +our joy at his conversion; for, as you know, ‘There is more joy,’ etc.” + +“Wood?” said I. + +“I hope not,” said the man in black; “no, if I be consulted as to the +material for the statue, I should strongly recommend bronze.” + +And when the man in black had said this, he emptied his second tumbler of +its contents, and prepared himself another. + + + + +CHAPTER XCIV. + + +Prerogative—Feeling of Gratitude—A Long History—Alliterative +Style—Advantageous Specimen—Jesuit Benefice—Not Sufficient—Queen Stork’s +Tragedy—Good Sense—Grandeur and Gentility—Ironmonger’s Daughter—Clan +Mac-Sycophant—Lick-Spittles—A Curiosity—Newspaper Editors—Charles the +Simple—High-flying Ditty—Dissenters—Lower Classes—Priestley’s House—Saxon +Ancestors—Austin—Renovating Glass—Money—Quite Original. + +“So you hope to bring these regions again beneath the banner of the Roman +See?” said I; after the man in black had prepared the beverage, and +tasted it. + +“Hope,” said the man in black; “how can we fail? Is not the Church of +these regions going to lose its prerogative?” + +“Its prerogative?” + +“Yes; those who should be the guardians of the religion of England are +about to grant Papists emancipation and to remove the disabilities from +Dissenters, which will allow the Holy Father to play his own game in +England.” + +On my inquiring how the Holy Father intended to play his game, the man in +black gave me to understand that he intended for the present to cover the +land with temples, in which the religion of Protestants would be +continually scoffed at and reviled. + +On my observing that such behaviour would savour strongly of ingratitude, +the man in black gave me to understand that if I entertained the idea +that the See of Rome was ever influenced in its actions by any feeling of +gratitude I was much mistaken, assuring me that if the See of Rome in any +encounter should chance to be disarmed and its adversary, from a feeling +of magnanimity, should restore the sword which had been knocked out of +its hand, the See of Rome always endeavoured on the first opportunity to +plunge the said sword into its adversary’s bosom,—conduct which the man +in black seemed to think was very wise, and which he assured me had +already enabled it to get rid of a great many troublesome adversaries, +and would, he had no doubt, enable it to get rid of a great many more. + +On my attempting to argue against the propriety of such behaviour, the +man in black cut the matter short, by saying, that if one party was a +fool he saw no reason why the other should imitate it in its folly. + +After musing a little while I told him that emancipation had not yet +passed through the legislature, and that perhaps it never would, +reminding him that there was often many a slip between the cup and the +lip; to which observation the man in black agreed, assuring me, however, +that there was no doubt that emancipation would be carried, inasmuch as +there was a very loud cry at present in the land; a cry of “tolerance,” +which had almost frightened the Government out of its wits; who, to get +rid of the cry, was going to grant all that was asked in the way of +toleration, instead of telling the people to “Hold their nonsense,” and +cutting them down, provided they continued bawling longer. + +I questioned the man in black with respect to the origin of this cry; but +he said to trace it to its origin would require a long history; that, at +any rate, such a cry was in existence, the chief raisers of it being +certain of the nobility, called Whigs, who hoped by means of it to get +into power, and to turn out certain ancient adversaries of theirs called +Tories, who were for letting things remain in _statu quo_; that these +Whigs were backed by a party amongst the people called Radicals, a +specimen of whom I had seen in the public-house; a set of fellows who +were always in the habit of bawling against those in place; “and so,” he +added, “by means of these parties, and the hubbub which the Papists and +other smaller sects are making, a general emancipation will be carried, +and the Church of England humbled, which is the principal thing which the +See of Rome cares for.” + +On my telling the man in black that I believed that even among the high +dignitaries of the English Church there were many who wished to grant +perfect freedom to religions of all descriptions, he said he was aware +that such was the fact, and that such a wish was anything but wise, +inasmuch as if they had any regard for the religion they professed, they +ought to stand by it through thick and thin, proclaiming it to be the +only true one, and denouncing all others, in an alliterative style, as +dangerous and damnable; whereas, by their present conduct, they were +bringing their religion into contempt with the people at large, who would +never continue long attached to a Church, the ministers of which did not +stand up for it, and likewise cause their own brethren, who had a clearer +notion of things, to be ashamed of belonging to it. “I speak advisedly,” +said he, in continuation, “there is one Platitude.” + +“And I hope there is only one,” said I; “you surely would not adduce the +likes and dislikes of that poor silly fellow as the criterions of the +opinions of any party?” + +“You know him,” said the man in black; “nay, I, heard you mention him in +the public-house; the fellow is not very wise, I admit, but he has sense +enough to know, that unless a Church can make people hold their tongues +when it thinks fit, it is scarcely deserving the name of a Church; no, I +think that the fellow is not such a very bad stick, and that upon the +whole he is, or rather was, an advantageous specimen of the High Church +English clergy, who, for the most part, so far from troubling their heads +about persecuting people, only think of securing their tithes, eating +their heavy dinners, puffing out their cheeks with importance on country +justice benches, and occasionally exhibiting their conceited wives, +hoyden daughters, and gawky sons at country balls, whereas Platitude—” + +“Stop,” said I; “you said in the public-house that the Church of England +was a persecuting Church, and here in the dingle you have confessed that +one section of it is willing to grant perfect freedom to the exercise of +all religions, and the other only thinks of leading an easy life.” + +“Saying a thing in the public-house is a widely-different thing from +saying it in the dingle,” said the man in black; “had the Church of +England been a persecuting Church, it would not stand in the position in +which it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities, have spread +itself over the greater part of the world. I was about to observe, that +instead of practising the indolent habits of his High Church brethren, +Platitude would be working for his money, preaching the proper use of +fire and faggot, or rather of the halter and the whipping-post, +encouraging mobs to attack the houses of Dissenters, employing spies to +collect the scandal of neighbourhoods, in order that he might use it for +sacerdotal purposes, and, in fact, endeavouring to turn an English parish +into something like a Jesuit benefice in the south of France.” + +“He tried that game,” said I, “and the parish said—‘Pooh, pooh,’ and, for +the most part, went over to the Dissenters.” + +“Very true,” said the man in black, taking a sip at his glass, “but why +were the Dissenters allowed to preach? why were they not beaten on the +lips till they spat out blood, with a dislodged tooth or two? Why, but +because the authority of the Church of England has, by its own fault, +become so circumscribed that Mr. Platitude was not able to send a host of +beadles and sbirri to their chapel to bring them to reason, on which +account Mr. Platitude is very properly ashamed of his Church, and is +thinking of uniting himself with one which possesses more vigour and +authority.” + +“It may have vigour and authority,” said I, “in foreign lands, but in +these kingdoms the day for practising its atrocities is gone by. It is +at present almost below contempt, and is obliged to sue for grace _in +formâ pauperis_.” + +“Very true,” said the man in black, “but let it once obtain emancipation, +and it will cast its slough, put on its fine clothes, and make converts +by thousands. ‘What a fine Church,’ they’ll say; ‘with what authority it +speaks—no doubts, no hesitation, no sticking at trifles.’ What a +contrast to the sleepy English Church! they’ll go over to it by millions, +till it preponderates here over every other, when it will of course be +voted the dominant one; and then—and then—” and here the man in black +drank a considerable quantity of gin and water. + +“What then?” said I. + +“What then?” said the man in black, “why, she will be true to herself. +Let Dissenters, whether they be Church of England, as perhaps they may +still call themselves, Methodist, or Presbyterian, presume to grumble, +and there shall be bruising of lips in pulpits, tying up to +whipping-posts, cutting off ears and noses—he! he! the farce of King Log +has been acted long enough; the time for Queen Stork’s tragedy is drawing +nigh;” and the man in black sipped his gin and water in a very exulting +manner. + +“And this is the Church which, according to your assertion in the +public-house, never persecutes?” + +“I have already given you an answer,” said the man in black, “with +respect to the matter of the public-house; it is one of the happy +privileges of those who belong to my church to deny in the public-house +what they admit in the dingle; we have high warranty for such double +speaking. Did not the foundation stone of our Church, Saint Peter, deny +in the public-house what he had previously professed in the valley?” + +“And do you think,” said I, “that the people of England, who have shown +aversion to anything in the shape of intolerance, will permit such +barbarities as you have described?” + +“Let them become Papists,” said the man in black: “only let the majority +become Papists, and you will see.” + +“They will never become so,” said I; “the good sense of the people of +England will never permit them to commit such an absurdity.” + +“The good sense of the people of England!” said the man in black, filling +himself another glass. + +“Yes,” said I; “the good sense of not only the upper, but the middle and +lower classes.” + +“And of what description of people are the upper class?” said the man in +black, putting a lump of sugar into his gin and water. + +“Very fine people,” said I, “monstrously fine people; so, at least, they +are generally believed to be.” + +“He! he!” said the man in black; “only those think them so who don’t know +them. The male part of the upper class are in youth a set of heartless +profligates; in old age, a parcel of poor, shaking, nervous paillards. +The female part, worthy to be the sisters and wives of such wretches, +unmarried, full of cold vice, kept under by vanity and ambition, but +which, after marriage, they seek not to restrain; in old age, abandoned +to vapours and horrors; do you think that such beings will afford any +obstacle to the progress of the Church in these regions, as soon as her +movements are unfettered?” + +“I cannot give an opinion; I know nothing of them, except from a +distance. But what think you of the middle classes?” + +“Their chief characteristic,” said the man in black, “is a rage for +grandeur and gentility; and that same rage makes us quite sure of them in +the long run. Everything that’s lofty meets their unqualified +approbation; whilst everything humble, or, as they call it, ‘low,’ is +scouted by them. They begin to have a vague idea that the religion which +they have hitherto professed is low; at any rate that it is not the +religion of the mighty ones of the earth, of the great kings and emperors +whose shoes they have a vast inclination to kiss, nor was used by the +grand personages of whom they have read in their novels and romances, +their Ivanhoes, their Marmions, and their Ladies of the Lake.” + +“Do you think that the writings of Scott have had any influence in +modifying their religious opinions?” + +“Most certainly I do,” said the man in black. “The writings of that man +have made them greater fools than they were before. All their +conversation now is about gallant knights, princesses, and cavaliers, +with which his pages are stuffed—all of whom were Papists, or very high +Church, which is nearly the same thing; and they are beginning to think +that the religion of such nice sweet-scented gentry must be something +very superfine. Why, I know at Birmingham the daughter of an ironmonger, +who screeches to the piano the Lady of the Lake’s hymn to the Virgin +Mary, always weeps when Mary Queen of Scots is mentioned, and fasts on +the anniversary of the death of that very wise martyr, Charles the First. +Why, I would engage to convert such an idiot to popery in a week, were it +worth my trouble. _O Cavalière Gualtiero avete fatto molto in favore +delle Santa Sede_!” + +“If he has,” said I, “he has done it unwittingly; I never heard before +that he was a favourer of the popish delusion.” + +“Only in theory,” said the man in black. “Trust any of the clan +Mac-Sycophant for interfering openly and boldly in favour of any cause on +which the sun does not shine benignantly. Popery is at present, as you +say, suing for grace in these regions _in formâ pauperis_; but let +royalty once take it up, let old gouty George once patronize it, and I +would consent to drink puddle-water, if the very next time the canny Scot +was admitted to the royal symposium he did not say, ‘By my faith, yere +Majesty, I have always thought, at the bottom of my heart, that popery, +as ill scrapit tongues ca’ it, was a very grand religion; I shall be +proud to follow your Majesty’s example in adopting it.’” + +“I doubt not,” said I, “that both gouty George and his devoted servant +will be mouldering in their tombs long before Royalty in England thinks +about adopting popery.” + +“We can wait,” said the man in black, “in these days of rampant +gentility, there will be no want of Kings nor of Scots about them.” + +“But not Walters,” said I. + +“Our work has been already tolerably well done by one,” said the man in +black; “but if we wanted literature we should never lack in these regions +hosts of literary men of some kind or other to eulogize us, provided our +religion were in the fashion, and our popish nobles choose, and they +always do our bidding, to admit the canaille to their tables, their +kitchen tables. As for literature in general,” said he, “the Santa Sede +is not particularly partial to it, it may be employed both ways. In +Italy, in particular, it has discovered that literary men are not always +disposed to be lick-spittles.” + +“For example, Dante,” said I. + +“Yes,” said the man in black. “A dangerous personage; that poem of his +cuts both ways; and then there was Pulci, that Morgante of his cuts both +ways, or rather one way, and that sheer against us; and then there was +Aertino, who dealt so hard with the poveri frati; all writers, at least +Italian ones, are not lick-spittles. And then in Spain,—’tis true, Lope +de Vega and Calderon were most inordinate lick-spittles; the Principe +Constante of the last is a curiosity in its way; and then the Mary Stuart +of Lope; I think I shall recommend the perusal of that work to the +Birmingham ironworker’s daughter; she has been lately thinking of adding +‘a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of the Peninsula’ to the +rest of her accomplishments, he! he! he! but then there was Cervantes, +starving, but straight; he deals us some hard knocks in that second part +of his Quixote; then there was some of the writers of the picaresque +novels. No, all literary men are not lick-spittles, whether in Italy or +Spain, or, indeed, upon the Continent; it is only in England that all—” + +“Come,” said I, “mind what you are about to say of English literary men.” + +“Why should I mind?” said the man in black, “there are no literary men +here. I have heard of literary men living in garrets, but not in +dingles, whatever philologists may do; I may, therefore, speak out +freely. It is only in England that literary men are invariably +lickspittles; on which account, perhaps, they are so despised, even by +those who benefit by their dirty services. Look at your fashionable +novel writers, he! he! and above all at your newspaper editors, ho! ho!” + +“You will, of course, except the editors of the --- from your censure of +the last class?” said I. + +“Them!” said the man in black; “why, they might serve as models in the +dirty trade to all the rest who practise it. See how they bepraise their +patrons, the grand Whig nobility, who hope, by raising the cry of +liberalism, and by putting themselves at the head of the populace, to +come into power shortly. I don’t wish to be hard, at present, upon those +Whigs,” he continued, “for they are playing our game; but a time will +come when, not wanting them, we will kick them to a considerable +distance: and then, when toleration is no longer the cry, and the Whigs +are no longer backed by the populace, see whether the editors of the --- +will stand by them; they will prove themselves as expert lick-spittles of +despotism as of liberalism. Don’t think they will always bespatter the +Tories and Austria.” + +“Well,” said I, “I am sorry to find that you entertain so low an opinion +of the spirit of English literary men; we will now return, if you please, +to the subject of the middle classes; I think your strictures upon them +in general are rather too sweeping—they are not altogether the foolish +people you have described. Look, for example, at that very powerful and +numerous body the Dissenters, the descendants of those sturdy Patriots +who hurled Charles the Simple from his throne.” + +“There are some sturdy fellows amongst them, I do not deny,” said the man +in black, “especially amongst the preachers, clever withal—two or three +of that class nearly drove Mr. Platitude mad, as perhaps you are aware, +but they are not very numerous; and the old sturdy sort of preachers are +fast dropping off, and, as we observe with pleasure, are generally +succeeded by frothy coxcombs, whom it would not be very difficult to gain +over. But what we most rely upon as an instrument to bring the +Dissenters over to us is the mania for gentility, which amongst them has +of late become as great, and more ridiculous, than amongst the middle +classes belonging to the Church of England. All the plain and simple +fashions of their forefathers they are either about to abandon, or have +already done so. Look at the most part of their chapels, no longer +modest brick edifices, situated in quiet and retired streets, but +lunatic-looking erections, in what the simpletons call the modern Gothic +taste, of Portland-stone, with a cross upon the top, and the site +generally the most conspicuous that can be found, and look at the manner +in which they educate their children, I mean those that are wealthy. +They do not even wish them to be Dissenters, ‘the sweet dears shall enjoy +the advantages of good society, of which their parents were debarred.’ +So the girls are sent to tip-top boarding schools, where amongst other +trash they read ‘Rokeby,’ and are taught to sing snatches from that +high-flying ditty, the ‘Cavalier ---’ + + ‘Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown + With the barons of England, who fight for the crown?’— + +he! he! their own names. Whilst the lads are sent to those hot-beds of +pride and folly—colleges, whence they return with a greater contempt for +everything ‘low,’ and especially for their own pedigree, than they went +with. I tell you, friend, the children of Dissenters, if not their +parents, are going over to the Church, as you call it, and the Church is +going over to Rome.” + +“I do not see the justice of that latter assertion at all,” said I; “some +of the Dissenters’ children may be coming over to the Church of England, +and yet the Church of England be very far from going over to Rome.” + +“In the high road for it, I assure you,” said the man in black, “part of +it is going to abandon, the rest to lose their prerogative, and when a +Church no longer retains its prerogative, it speedily loses its own +respect, and that of others.” + +“Well,” said I, “if the higher classes have all the vices and follies +which you represent, on which point I can say nothing, as I have never +mixed with them; and even supposing the middle classes are the foolish +beings you would fain make them, and which I do not believe them as a +body to be, you would still find some resistance amongst the lower +classes, I have a considerable respect for their good sense and +independence of character; but pray let me hear your opinion of them.” + +“As for the lower classes,” said the man in black, “I believe them to be +the most brutal wretches in the world, the most addicted to foul feeding, +foul language, and foul vices of every kind; wretches who have neither +love for country, religion, nor anything save their own vile selves. You +surely do not think that they would oppose a change of religion? why, +there is not one of them but would hurrah for the Pope, or Mahomet, for +the sake of a hearty gorge and a drunken bout, like those which they are +treated with at election contests.” + +“Has your church any followers amongst them?” said I. + +“Wherever there happens to be a Romish family of considerable +possessions,” said the man in black, “our church is sure to have +followers of the lower class, who have come over in the hope of getting +something in the shape of dole or donation. As, however, the Romish is +not yet the dominant religion, and the clergy of the English +establishment have some patronage to bestow, the churches are not quite +deserted by the lower classes; yet were the Romish to become the +established religion, they would, to a certainty, all go over to it; you +can scarcely imagine what a self-interested set they are—for example, the +landlord of that public-house in which I first met you, having lost a sum +of money upon a cock-fight, and his affairs in consequence being in a bad +condition, is on the eve of coming over to us, in the hope that two old +Popish females of property, whom, I confess, will advance a sum of money +to set him up again in the world.” + +“And what could have put such an idea into the poor fellow’s head?” said +I. + +“Oh! he and I have had some conversation upon the state of his affairs,” +said the man in black; “I think he might make a rather useful convert in +these parts, provided things take a certain turn, as they doubtless will. +It is no bad thing to have a fighting fellow, who keeps a public-house, +belonging to one’s religion. He has been occasionally employed as a +bully at elections by the Tory party, and he may serve us in the same +capacity. The fellow comes of a good stock; I heard him say that his +father headed the high Church mob, who sacked and burnt Priestley’s house +at Birmingham towards the end of the last century.” + +“A disgraceful affair,” said I. + +“What do you mean by a disgraceful affair?” said the man in black. “I +assure you that nothing has occurred for the last fifty years which has +given the high-Church party so much credit in the eyes of Rome as that; +we did not imagine that the fellows had so much energy. Had they +followed up that affair, by twenty others of a similar kind, they would +by this time have had everything in their own power; but they did not, +and, as a necessary consequence, they are reduced to almost nothing.” + +“I suppose,” said I, “that your church would have acted very differently +in its place.” + +“It has always done so,” said the man in black, coolly sipping. “Our +church has always armed the brute-population against the genius and +intellect of a country, provided that same intellect and genius were not +willing to become its instruments and eulogists; and provided we once +obtain a firm hold here again, we would not fail to do so. We would +occasionally stuff the beastly rabble with horseflesh and bitter ale, and +then halloo them on against all those who were obnoxious to us.” + +“Horseflesh and bitter ale!” I replied. + +“Yes,” said the man in black; “horseflesh and bitter ale, the favourite +delicacies of their Saxon ancestors, who were always ready to do our +bidding after a liberal allowance of such cheer. There is a tradition in +our church, that before the Northumbrian rabble, at the instigation of +Austin, attacked and massacred the presbyterian monks of Bangor, they had +been allowed a good gorge of horseflesh and bitter ale. He! he! he!” +continued the man in black, “what a fine spectacle to see such a mob, +headed by a fellow like our friend, the landlord, sack the house of +another Priestley!” + +“Then you don’t deny that we have had a Priestley,” said I, “and admit +the possibility of our having another? You were lately observing that +all English literary men were sycophants?” + +“Lick-spittles,” said the man in black; “yes, I admit that you have had a +Priestley, but he was a Dissenter of the old class; you have had him, and +perhaps may have another.” + +“Perhaps we may,” said I. “But with respect to the lower classes, have +you mixed much with them?” + +“I have mixed with all classes,” said the man in black, “and with the +lower not less than the upper and middle, they are much as I have +described them; and of the three, the lower are the worst. I never knew +one of them that possessed the slightest principle, no, not—. It is +true, there was one fellow whom I once met, who—; but it is a long story, +and the affair happened abroad.” + +“I ought to know something of the English people,” he continued, after a +moment’s pause; “I have been many years amongst them labouring in the +cause of the Church.” + +“Your See must have had great confidence in your powers, when it selected +you to labour for it in these parts.” Said I. + +“They chose me,” said the man in black, “principally because being of +British extraction and education, I could speak the English language and +bear a glass of something strong. It is the opinion of my See, that it +would hardly do to send a missionary into a country like this who is not +well versed in English; a country where they think, so far from +understanding any language besides his own, scarcely one individual in +ten speaks his own intelligibly, or an ascetic person where, as they say, +high and low, male and female, are, at some period of their lives, fond +of a renovating glass as it is styled, in other words, of tippling.” + +“Your See appears to entertain a very strange opinion of the English,” +said I. + +“Not altogether an unjust one,” said the man in black, lifting the glass +to his mouth. + +“Well,” said I, “it is certainly very kind on its part to wish to bring +back such a set of beings beneath its wing.” + +“Why, as to the kindness of my See,” said the man in black, “I have not +much to say; my See has generally in what it does a tolerably good +motive; these heretics possess in plenty what my See has a great +hankering for, and can turn to a good account—money!” + +“The founder of the Christian religion cared nothing for money,” said I. + +“What have we to do with what the founder of the Christian religion cared +for?” said the man in black. “How could our temples be built, and our +priests supported without money? But you are unwise to reproach us with +a desire of obtaining money; you forget that your own church, if the +Church of England be your own church, as I suppose it is, from the +willingness which you displayed in the public-house to fight for it, is +equally avaricious; look at your greedy Bishops, and your corpulent +Rectors! do they imitate Christ in his disregard for money? You might as +well tell me that they imitate Christ in His meekness and humility.” + +“Well,” said I, “whatever their faults may be, you can’t say that they go +to Rome for money.” + +The man in black made no direct answer, but appeared by the motion of his +lips to be repeating something to himself. + +“I see your glass is again empty,” said I; “perhaps you will replenish +it?” + +The man in black arose from his chair, adjusted his habiliments which +were rather in disorder, and placed upon his head his hat, which he had +laid aside, then, looking at me, who was still lying on the ground, he +said—“I might, perhaps, take another glass, though I believe I have had +quite as much as I can well bear; but I do not wish to hear you utter +anything more this evening after that last observation of yours—it is +quite original; I will meditate upon it on my pillow this night after +having said an ave and a pater—go to Rome for money!” He then made Belle +a low bow, slightly motioned to me with his hand as if bidding farewell, +and then left the dingle with rather uneven steps. + +“Go to Rome for money,” I heard him say as he ascended the winding path, +“he! he! he! Go to Rome for money, ho! ho! ho!” + + + + +CHAPTER XCV. + + +Wooded Retreat—Fresh Shoes—Wood Fire—Ash, when Green—Queen of +China—Cleverest People—Declensions—Armenian—Thunder—Deep Olive—What Do +You Mean?—Koul Adonai—The Thick Bushes—Wood Pigeon—Old Goethe. + +Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular moment +occurring. Belle drove the little cart containing her merchandise about +the neighbourhood, returning to the dingle towards the evening. As for +myself, I kept within my wooded retreat, working during the periods of +her absence leisurely at my forge. Having observed that the quadruped +which my companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been +some time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, and +during the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing them. As I was +employed three mornings and afternoons about them, I am sure that the +reader will agree that I worked leisurely, or rather lazily. On the +third day Belle arrived, somewhat later than usual; I was lying on my +back at the bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes, which +I had produced, and catching them as they fell, some being always in the +air mounting or descending, somewhat after the fashion of the waters of a +fountain. + +“Why have you been absent so long?” said I to Belle, “it must be long +past four by the day.” + +“I have been almost killed by the heat,” said Belle; “I was never out in +a more sultry day—the poor donkey, too, could scarcely move along.” + +“He shall have fresh shoes,” said I, continuing my exercise, “here they +are, quite ready; to-morrow I will tack them on.” + +“And why are you playing with them in that manner?” said Belle. + +“Partly in triumph at having made them, and partly to show that I can do +something besides making them; it is not every one who, after having made +a set of horse-shoes, can keep them going up and down in the air, without +letting one fall.” + +“One has now fallen on your chin,” said Belle. + +“And another on my cheek,” said I, getting up, “it is time to discontinue +the game, for the last shoe drew blood.” + +Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, after having +flung the donkey’s shoes into my tent, I put some fresh wood on the fire, +which was nearly out, and hung the kettle over it. I then issued forth +from the dingle, and strolled round the wood that surrounded it; for a +long time I was busied in meditation, looking at the ground, striking +with my foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of grass and thistles that I +met in my way. After some time, I lifted up my eyes to the sky, at first +vacantly, and then with more attention, turning my head in all directions +for a minute or two; after which I returned to the dingle. Isopel was +seated near the fire, over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed +her dress—no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion +remained; she had just added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or +three of which I had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour +filled the dingle. + +“I am fond of sitting by a wood fire,” said Belle, “when abroad, whether +it be hot or cold; I love to see the flames dart out of the wood; but +what kind is this, and where did you get it?” + +“It is ash,” said I, “green ash. Somewhat less than a week ago, whilst I +was wandering along the road by the side of a wood, I came to a place +where some peasants were engaged in cutting up and clearing away a +confused mass of fallen timber: a mighty aged oak had given way the night +before, and in its fall had shivered some smaller trees; the upper part +of the oak, and the fragments of the rest, lay across the road. I +purchased, for a trifle, a bundle or two, and the wood on the fire is +part of it—ash, green ash.” + +“That makes good the old rhyme,” said Belle, “which I have heard sung by +the old women in the great house:— + + ‘Ash, when green, + Is fire for a queen.’” + +“And on fairer form of queen, ash fire never shone,” said I, “than on +thine, O beauteous queen of the dingle.” + +“I am half disposed to be angry with you, young man,” said Belle. + +“And why not entirely?” said I. + +Belle made no reply. + +“Shall I tell you?” I demanded. “You had no objection to the first part +of the speech, but you did not like being called queen of the dingle. +Well, if I had the power, I would make you queen of something better than +the dingle—Queen of China. Come, let us have tea.” + +“Something less would content me,” said Belle, sighing, as she rose to +prepare our evening meal. + +So we took tea together, Belle and I. “How delicious tea is after a hot +summer’s day, and a long walk,” said she. + +“I dare say it is most refreshing then,” said I; “but I have heard people +say that they most enjoy it on a cold winter’s night, when the kettle is +hissing on the fire, and their children playing on the hearth.” + +Belle sighed. “Where does tea come from?” she presently demanded. + +“From China,” said I; “I just now mentioned it, and the mention of it put +me in mind of tea.” + +“What kind of country is China?” + +“I know very little about it; all I know is, that it is a very large +country far to the East, but scarcely large enough to contain its +inhabitants, who are so numerous, that though China does not cover +one-ninth part of the world, its inhabitants amount to one-third of the +population of the world.” + +“And do they talk as we do?” + +“O no! I know nothing of their language; but I have heard that it is +quite different from all others, and so difficult that none but the +cleverest people amongst foreigners can master it, on which account, +perhaps, only the French pretend to know anything about it.” + +“Are the French so very clever, then?” said Belle. + +“They say there are no people like them, at least in Europe. But talking +of Chinese reminds me that I have not for some time past given you a +lesson in Armenian. The word for tea in Armenian is—by-the-bye, what is +the Armenian word for tea?” + +“That’s your affair, not mine,” said Belle; “it seems hard that the +master should ask the scholar.” + +“Well,” said I, “whatever the word may be in Armenian, it is a noun; and +as we have never yet declined an Armenian noun together, we may as well +take this opportunity of declining one. Belle, there are ten declensions +in Armenian!” + +“What’s a declension?” + +“The way of declining a noun.” + +“Then, in the civilest way imaginable, I decline the noun. Is that a +declension?” + +“You should never play on words; to do so is low, vulgar, smelling of the +pothouse, the workhouse. Belle, I insist on your declining an Armenian +noun.” + +“I have done so already,” said Belle. + +“If you go on in this way,” said I, “I shall decline taking any more tea +with you. Will you decline an Armenian noun?” + +“I don’t like the language,” said Belle. “If you must teach me +languages, why not teach me French or Chinese?” + +“I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but a Frenchman is +clever enough to speak it—to say nothing of teaching; no, we will stick +to Armenian, unless, indeed, you would prefer Welsh!” + +“Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar,” said Belle; “so, if I must learn one of +the two, I will prefer Armenian, which I never heard of till you +mentioned it to me; though of the two, I really think Welsh sounds best.” + +“The Armenian noun,” said I, “which I propose for your declension this +night, is --- which signifieth Master.” + +“I neither like the word nor the sound,” said Belle. + +“I can’t help that,” said I; “it is the word I choose: Master, with all +its variations, being the first noun, the sound of which I would have you +learn from my lips. Come, let us begin— + +“A master. Of a master, etc. Repeat—” + +“I am not much used to say the word,” said Belle, “but to oblige you I +will decline it as you wish;” and thereupon Belle declined Master in +Armenian. + +“You have declined the noun very well,” said I; “that is in the singular +number; we will now go to the plural.” + +“What is the plural?” said Belle. + +“That which implies more than one, for example, Masters; you shall now go +through Masters in Armenian.” + +“Never,” said Belle, “never; it is bad to have one master, but more I +would never bear, whether in Armenian or English.” + +“You do not understand,” said I; “I merely want you to decline Masters in +Armenian.” + +“I do decline them; I will have nothing to do with them, nor with master +either; I was wrong to—What sound is that?” + +“I did not hear it, but I dare say it is thunder; in Armenian—” + +“Never mind what it is in Armenian; but why do you think it is thunder?” + +“Ere I returned from my stroll, I looked up into the heavens, and by +their appearance I judged that a storm was nigh at hand.” + +“And why did you not tell me so?” + +“You never asked me about the state of the atmosphere, and I am not in +the habit of giving my opinion to people on any subject, unless +questioned. But, setting that aside, can you blame me for not troubling +you with forebodings about storm and tempest, which might have prevented +the pleasure you promised yourself in drinking tea, or perhaps a lesson +in Armenian, though you pretend to dislike the latter.” + +“My dislike is not pretended,” said Belle; “I hate the sound of it, but I +love my tea, and it was kind of you not to wish to cast a cloud over my +little pleasures; the thunder came quite time enough to interrupt it +without being anticipated—there is another peal—I will clear away, and +see that my tent is in a condition to resist the storm, and I think you +had better bestir yourself.” + +Isopel departed, and I remained seated on my stone, as nothing belonging +to myself required any particular attention; in about a quarter of an +hour she returned, and seated herself upon her stool. + +“How dark the place is become since I left you,” said she; “just as if +night were just at hand.” + +“Look up at the sky,” said I; “and you will not wonder; it is all of a +deep olive. The wind is beginning to rise; hark how it moans among the +branches; and see now their tops are bending—it brings dust on its +wings—I felt some fall on my face; and what is this, a drop of rain?” + +“We shall have plenty anon,” said Belle; “do you hear? it already begins +to hiss upon the embers; that fire of ours will soon be extinguished.” + +“It is not probable that we shall want it,” said I, “but we had better +seek shelter: let us go into my tent.” + +“Go in,” said Belle, “but you go in alone; as for me, I will seek my +own.” + +“You are right,” said I, “to be afraid of me; I have taught you to +decline master in Armenian.” + +“You almost tempt me,” said Belle, “to make you decline mistress in +English.” + +“To make matters short,” said I, “I decline a mistress.” + +“What do you mean?” said Belle, angrily. + +“I have merely done what you wished me,” said I, “and in your own style; +there is no other way of declining anything in English, for in English +there are no declensions.” + +“The rain is increasing,” said Belle. + +“It is so,” said I; “I shall go to my tent; you may come, if you please; +I do assure you I am not afraid of you.” + +“Nor I of you,” said Belle; “so I will come. Why should I be afraid? I +can take my own part; that is—” + +We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to pour with +vehemence. “I hope we shall not be flooded in this hollow,” said I to +Belle. “There is no fear of that,” said Belle; “the wandering people, +amongst other names, call it the dry hollow. I believe there is a +passage somewhere or other by which the wet is carried off. There must +be a cloud right above us, it is so dark. Oh! what a flash!” + +“And what a peal,” said I; “that is what the Hebrews call Koul Adonai—the +voice of the Lord. Are you afraid?” + +“No,” said Belle, “I rather like to hear it.” + +“You are right,” said I, “I am fond of the sound of thunder myself. +There is nothing like it; Koul Adonai behadar; the voice of the Lord is a +glorious voice, as the prayer-book version hath it.” + +“There is something awful in it,” said Belle; “and then the lightning, +the whole dingle is now in a blaze.” + +“‘The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, and discovereth the +thick bushes.’ As you say, there is something awful in thunder.” + +“There are all kinds of noises above us,” said Belle; “surely I heard the +crashing of a tree?” + +“‘The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedar trees,’” said I, “but what you +hear is caused by a convulsion of the air; during a thunder-storm there +are occasionally all kinds of aërial noises. Ab Gwilym, who, next to +King David, has best described a thunder-storm, speaks of these aërial +noises in the following manner:— + + ‘Astonied now I stand at strains, + As of ten thousand clanking chains; + And once, methought, that overthrown, + The welkin’s oaks came whelming down; + Upon my head up starts my hair: + Why hunt abroad the hounds of air? + What cursed hag is screeching high, + Whilst crash goes all her crockery?” + +You would hardly believe, Belle, that though I offered at least ten +thousand lines nearly as good as those to the booksellers in London, the +simpletons were so blind to their interest as to refuse purchasing them.” + +“I don’t wonder at it,” said Belle, “especially if such dreadful +expressions frequently occur as that towards the end; surely that was the +crash of a tree?” + +“Ah!” said I, “there falls the cedar tree—I mean the sallow; one of the +tall trees on the outside of the dingle has been snapped short.” + +“What a pity,” said Belle, “that the fine old oak, which you saw the +peasants cutting up, gave way the other night, when scarcely a breath of +air was stirring; how much better to have fallen in a storm like this, +the fiercest I remember.” + +“I don’t think so,” said I; “after braving a thousand tempests, it was +meeter for it to fall of itself than to be vanquished at last. But to +return to Ab Gwilym’s poetry, he was above culling dainty words, and +spoke boldly his mind on all subjects. Enraged with the thunder for +parting him and Morfydd, he says, at the conclusion of his ode, + + ‘My curse, O Thunder, cling to thee, + For parting my dear pearl and me!’” + +“You and I shall part; this is, I shall go to my tent if you persist in +repeating from him. The man must have been a savage. A poor wood-pigeon +has fallen dead.” + +“Yes,” said I, “there he lies just outside the tent; often have I +listened to his note when alone in this wilderness. So you do not like +Ab Gwilym; what say you to old Goethe:— + + ‘Mist shrouds the night, and rack; + Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack! + Wildly the owls are flitting, + Hark to the pillars splitting + Of palaces verdant ever, + The branches quiver and sever, + The mighty stems are creaking, + The poor roots breaking and shrieking, + In wild mixt ruin down dashing, + O’er one another they’re crashing; + Whilst ’midst the rocks so hoary, + Whirlwinds hurry and worry. + Hear’st not, sister—’” + +“Hark!” said Belle, “hark!” + + “‘Hear’st not, sister, a chorus + Of voices—?’” + +“No,” said Belle, “but I hear a voice.” + + + + +CHAPTER XCVI. + + +A Shout—A Fire Ball—See to the Horses—Passing Away—Gap in the Hedge—On +Three Wheels—Why Do You Stop?—No Craven Heart—The Cordial—Across the +Country—Small Bags. + +I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud clashing of +branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered growl of thunder. I +was about to tell Belle that she must have been mistaken, when I heard a +shout, indistinct it is true, owing to the noises aforesaid, from some +part of the field above the dingle. “I will soon see what’s the matter,” +said I to Belle, starting up. “I will go, too,” said the girl. “Stay +where you are,” said I; “if I need you, I will call;” and, without +waiting for any answer, I hurried to the mouth of the dingle. I was +about a few yards only from the top of the ascent, when I beheld a blaze +of light, from whence I knew not; the next moment there was a loud crash, +and I appeared involved in a cloud of sulphurous smoke. “Lord have mercy +upon us!” I heard a voice say, and methought I heard the plunging and +struggling of horses. I had stopped short on hearing the crash, for I +was half stunned; but I now hurried forward, and in a moment stood upon +the plain. Here I was instantly aware of the cause of the crash and the +smoke. One of those balls, generally called fire-balls, had fallen from +the clouds, and was burning on the plain at a short distance; and the +voice which I had heard, and the plunging, were as easily accounted for. +Near the left-hand corner of the grove which surrounded the dingle, and +about ten yards from the fire-ball, I perceived a chaise, with a +postillion on the box, who was making efforts, apparently useless, to +control his horses, which were kicking and plunging in the highest degree +of excitement. I instantly ran towards the chaise, in order to offer +what help was in my power. “Help me,” said the poor fellow, as I drew +nigh; but before I could reach the horses, they had turned rapidly round, +one of the fore-wheels flew from its axle-tree, the chaise was overset, +and the postillion flung violently from his seat upon the field. The +horses now became more furious than before, kicking desperately, and +endeavouring to disengage themselves from the fallen chaise. As I was +hesitating whether to run to the assistance of the postillion, or +endeavour to disengage the animals, I heard the voice of Belle +exclaiming, “See to the horses, I will look after the man.” She had, it +seems, been alarmed by the crash which accompanied the firebolt, and had +hurried up to learn the cause. I forthwith seized the horses by the +heads, and used all the means I possessed to soothe and pacify them, +employing every gentle modulation of which my voice was capable. Belle, +in the meantime, had raised up the man, who was much stunned by his fall; +but presently recovering his recollection to a certain degree, he came +limping to me, holding his hand to his right thigh. “The first thing +that must now be done,” said I, “is to free these horses from the traces; +can you undertake to do so?” “I think I can,” said the man, looking at +me somewhat stupidly. “I will help,” said Belle, and without loss of +time laid hold of one of the traces. The man, after a short pause, also +set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were extricated. “Now,” +said I to the man, “what is next to be done?” “I don’t know,” said he; +“indeed, I scarcely know anything; I have been so frightened by this +horrible storm, and so shaken by my fall.” “I think,” said I, “that the +storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as for your fall, +you must bear it as lightly as you can. I will tie the horses amongst +those trees, and then we will all betake us to the hollow below.” “And +what’s to become of my chaise?” said the postillion, looking ruefully on +the fallen vehicle. “Let us leave the chaise for the present,” said I; +“we can be of no use to it.” “I don’t like to leave my chaise lying on +the ground in this weather,” said the man, “I love my chaise, and him +whom it belongs to.” “You are quite right to be fond of yourself,” said +I, “on which account I advise you to seek shelter from the rain as soon +as possible.” “I was not talking of myself,” said the man, “but my +master, to whom the chaise belongs.” “I thought you called the chaise +yours,” said I. “That’s my way of speaking,” said the man, “but the +chaise is my master’s, and a better master does not live. Don’t you +think we could manage to raise up the chaise?” “And what is to become of +the horses?” said I. “I love my horses well enough,” said the man; “but +they will take less harm than the chaise. We two can never lift up that +chaise.” “But we three can,” said Belle; “at least, I think so; and I +know where to find two poles which will assist us.” “You had better go +to the tent,” said I, “you will be wet through.” “I care not for a +little wetting,” said Belle; “moreover, I have more gowns than one—see +you after the horses.” Thereupon, I led the horses past the mouth of the +dingle, to a place where a gap in the hedge afforded admission to the +copse or plantation, on the southern side. Forcing them through the gap, +I led them to a spot amidst the trees, which I deemed would afford them +the most convenient place for standing; then, darting down into the +dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my own nag, and with +these fastened them each to a separate tree in the best manner I could. +This done, I returned to the chaise and the postillion. In a minute or +two Belle arrived with two poles, which, it seems, had long been lying, +overgrown with brushwood, in a ditch or hollow behind the plantation. +With these both she and I set to work in endeavouring to raise the fallen +chaise from the ground. + +We experienced considerable difficulty in this undertaking; at length, +with the assistance of the postillion, we saw our efforts crowned with +success—the chaise was lifted up, and stood upright on three wheels. + +“We may leave it here in safety,” said I, “for it will hardly move away +on three wheels, even supposing it could run by itself; I am afraid there +is work here for a wheelwright, in which case I cannot assist you; if you +were in need of a blacksmith it would be otherwise.” “I don’t think +either the wheel or the axle is hurt,” said the postillion, who had been +handling both; “it is only the linch-pin having dropped out that caused +the wheel to fly off; if I could but find the linch-pin! though, perhaps, +it fell out a mile away.” “Very likely,” said I; “but never mind the +linch-pin, I can make you one, or something that will serve: but I can’t +stay here any longer, I am going to my place below with this young +gentlewoman, and you had better follow us.” “I am ready,” said the man; +and after lifting up the wheel and propping it against the chaise, he +went with us, slightly limping, and with his hand pressed to his thigh. + +As we were descending the narrow path, Belle leading the way, and myself +the last of the party, the postillion suddenly stopped short, and looked +about him. “Why do you stop?” said I. “I don’t wish to offend you,” +said the man; “but this seems to be a strange place you are leading me +into; I hope you and the young gentlewoman, as you call her, don’t mean +me any harm—you seemed in a great hurry to bring me here.” “We wished to +get you out of the rain,” said I, “and ourselves too; that is, if we can, +which I rather doubt, for the canvas of a tent is slight shelter in such +a rain; but what harm should we wish to do you?” “You may think I have +money,” said the man, “and I have some, but only thirty shillings, and +for a sum like that it would be hardly worth while to—” “Would it not?” +said I; “thirty shillings, after all, are thirty shillings, and for what +I know, half-a-dozen throats may have been cut in this place for that sum +at the rate of five shillings each; moreover, there are the horses, which +would serve to establish the young gentlewoman and myself in +housekeeping, provided we were thinking of such a thing.” “Then I +suppose I have fallen into pretty hands,” said the man, putting himself +in a posture of defence; “but I’ll show no craven heart; and if you +attempt to lay hands on me, I’ll try to pay you in your own coin. I’m +rather lamed in the leg, but I can still use my fists; so come on both of +you, man and woman, if woman this be, though she looks more like a +grenadier.” + +“Let me hear no more of this nonsense,” said Belle; “if you are afraid, +you can go back to your chaise—we only seek to do you a kindness.” + +“Why, he was just now talking of cutting throats,” said the man. “You +brought it on yourself,” said Belle; “you suspected us, and he wished to +pass a joke upon you; he would not hurt a hair of your head, were your +coach laden with gold, nor would I.” “Well,” said the man, “I was +wrong—here’s my hand to both of you,” shaking us by the hands; “I’ll go +with you where you please, but I thought this a strange lonesome place, +though I ought not much to mind strange lonesome places, having been in +plenty of such when I was a servant in Italy, without coming to any +harm—come, let us move on, for ’tis a shame to keep you two in the rain.” + +So we descended the path which led into the depths of the dingle; at the +bottom I conducted the postillion to my tent, which, though the rain +dripped and trickled through it, afforded some shelter; there I bade him +sit down on the log of wood, while I placed myself as usual on my stone. +Belle in the meantime had repaired to her own place of abode. After a +little time, I produced a bottle of the cordial of which I have +previously had occasion to speak, and made my guest take a considerable +draught. I then offered him some bread and cheese, which he accepted +with thanks. In about an hour the rain had much abated: “What do you now +propose to do?” said I. “I scarcely know,” said the man; “I suppose I +must endeavour to put on the wheel with your help.” “How far are you +from your home?” I demanded. “Upwards of thirty miles,” said the man; +“my master keeps an inn on the great north road, and from thence I +started early this morning with a family which I conveyed across the +country to a hall at some distance from here. On my return I was beset +by the thunder-storm, which frightened the horses, who dragged the chaise +off the road to the field above, and overset it as you saw. I had +proposed to pass the night at an inn about twelve miles from here on my +way back, though how I am to get there to-night I scarcely know, even if +we can put on the wheel, for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my +fall, and the smoulder and smoke of that fire-ball have rather bewildered +my head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the way.” + +“The best thing you can do,” said I, “is to pass the night here; I will +presently light a fire, and endeavour to make you comfortable—in the +morning we will see to your wheel.” “Well,” said the man, “I shall be +glad to pass the night here, provided I do not intrude, but I must see to +the horses.” Thereupon I conducted the man to the place where the horses +were tied. “The trees drip very much upon them,” said the man, “and it +will not do for them to remain here all night; they will be better out on +the field picking the grass, but first of all they must have a good feed +of corn.” Thereupon he went to his chaise, from which he presently +brought two small bags, partly filled with corn—into them he inserted the +mouths of the horses, tying them over their heads. “Here we will leave +them for a time,” said the man; “when I think they have had enough, I +will come back, tie their fore-legs, and let them pick about.” + + + + +CHAPTER XCVII. + + +Fire of Charcoal—The New Comer—No Wonder!—Not a Blacksmith—A Love +Affair—Gretna Green—A Cool Thousand—Family Estates—Borough Interest—Grand +Education—Let us Hear—Already Quarrelling—Honourable Parents—Most +Heroically—Not Common People—Fresh Charcoal. + +It might be about ten o’clock at night. Belle, the postillion, and +myself sat just within the tent, by a fire of charcoal which I had +kindled in the chafing-pan. The man had removed the harness from his +horses, and, after tethering their legs, had left them for the night in +the field above, to regale themselves on what grass they could find. The +rain had long since entirely ceased, and the moon and stars shone bright +in the firmament, up to which, putting aside the canvas, I occasionally +looked from the depths of the dingle. Large drops of water, however, +falling now and then upon the tent from the neighbouring trees, would +have served, could we have forgotten it, to remind us of the recent +storm, and also a certain chilliness in the atmosphere, unusual to the +season, proceeding from the moisture with which the ground was saturated; +yet these circumstances only served to make our party enjoy the charcoal +fire the more. There we sat bending over it: Belle, with her long +beautiful hair streaming over her magnificent shoulders; the postillion +smoking his pipe, in his shirt-sleeves and waistcoat, having flung aside +his great coat, which had sustained a thorough wetting; and I without my +wagoner’s slop, of which, it being in the same plight, I had also +divested myself. + +The new comer was a well-made fellow of about thirty, with an open and +agreeable countenance. I found him very well informed for a man in his +station, and with some pretensions to humour. After we had discoursed +for some time on indifferent subjects, the postillion, who had exhausted +his pipe, took it from his mouth, and, knocking out the ashes upon the +ground, exclaimed, “I little thought, when I got up in the morning, that +I should spend the night in such agreeable company, and after such a +fright.” + +“Well,” said I, “I am glad that your opinion of us has improved; it is +not long since you seemed to hold us in rather a suspicious light.” + +“And no wonder,” said the man, “seeing the place you were taking me to. +I was not a little, but very much, afraid of ye both; and so I continued +for some time, though, not to show a craven heart, I pretended to be +quite satisfied; but I see I was altogether mistaken about ye. I thought +you vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers; but now—” + +“Vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers,” said I; “and what are we but people +of that stamp?” + +“Oh,” said the postillion, “if you wish to be thought such, I am far too +civil a person to contradict you, especially after your kindness to me, +but—” + +“But!” said I; “what do you mean by but? I would have you to know that I +am proud of being a travelling blacksmith: look at these donkey-shoes, I +finished them this day.” + +The postillion took the shoes and examined them. “So you made these +shoes?” he cried at last. + +“To be sure I did; do you doubt it?” + +“Not in the least,” said the man. + +“Ah! ah!” said I, “I thought I should bring you back to your original +opinion. I am, then, a vagrant Gypsy body, a tramper, a wandering +blacksmith.” + +“Not a blacksmith, whatever else you may be,” said the postillion, +laughing. + +“Then how do you account for my making those shoes?” + +“By your not being a blacksmith,” said the postillion; “no blacksmith +would have made shoes in that manner. Besides, what did you mean just +now by saying you had finished these shoes to-day? a real blacksmith +would have flung off three or four sets of donkey-shoes in one morning, +but you, I will be sworn, have been hammering at these for days, and they +do you credit, but why? because you are no blacksmith; no, friend, your +shoes may do for this young gentlewoman’s animal, but I shouldn’t like to +have my horses shod by you, unless at a great pinch indeed.” + +“Then,” said I, “for what do you take me?” + +“Why, for some runaway young gentleman,” said the postillion. “No +offence, I hope?” + +“None at all; no one is offended at being taken or mistaken for a young +gentleman, whether runaway or not; but from whence do you suppose I have +run away?” + +“Why, from college,” said the man; “no offence?” + +“None whatever; and what induced me to run away from college?” + +“A love affair, I’ll be sworn,” said the postillion. “You had become +acquainted with this young gentlewoman, so she and you—” + +“Mind how you get on, friend,” said Belle, in a deep serious tone. + +“Pray proceed,” said I; “I dare say you mean no offence.” + +“None in the world,” said the postillion; “all I was going to say was +that you agreed to run away together, you from college, and she from +boarding-school. Well, there’s nothing to be ashamed of in a matter like +that, such things are done every day by young folks in high life.” + +“Are you offended?” said I to Belle. + +Belle made no answer; but, placing her elbows on her knees, buried her +face in her hands. + +“So we ran away together?” said I. + +“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “to Gretna Green, though I can’t say that +I drove ye, though I have driven many a pair.” + +“And from Gretna Green we came here?” + +“I’ll be bound you did,” said the man, “till you could arrange matters at +home.” + +“And the horse-shoes?” said I. + +“The donkey-shoes, you mean,” answered the postillion; “why, I suppose +you persuaded the blacksmith who married you to give you, before you +left, a few lessons in his trade.” + +“And we intend to stay here till we have arranged matters at home?” + +“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “till the old people are pacified, and +they send you letters directed to the next post town, to be left till +called for, beginning with ‘Dear children,’ and enclosing you each a +cheque for one hundred pounds, when you will leave this place, and go +home in a coach like gentlefolks, to visit your governors; I should like +nothing better than to have the driving of you: and then there will be a +grand meeting of the two families, and after a few reproaches, the old +people will agree to do something handsome for the poor thoughtless +things; so you will have a genteel house taken for you, and an annuity +allowed you. You won’t get much the first year, five hundred at the +most, in order that the old folks may let you feel that they are not +altogether satisfied with you, and that you are yet entirely in their +power; but the second, if you don’t get a cool thousand, may I catch +cold, especially should young madam here present a son and heir for the +old people to fondle, destined one day to become sole heir of the two +illustrious houses, and then all the grand folks in the neighbourhood, +who have, bless their prudent hearts! kept rather aloof from you till +then, for fear you should want anything from them—I say, all the carriage +people in the neighbourhood, when they see how swimmingly matters are +going on, will come in shoals to visit you.” + +“Really,” said I, “you are getting on swimmingly.” + +“Oh,” said the postillion, “I was not a gentleman’s servant nine years +without learning the ways of gentry, and being able to know gentry when I +see them.” + +“And what do you say to all this?” I demanded of Belle. + +“Stop a moment,” interposed the postillion, “I have one more word to +say:—and when you are surrounded by your comforts, keeping your nice +little barouche and pair, your coachman and livery servant, and visited +by all the carriage people in the neighbourhood—to say nothing of the +time when you come to the family estates on the death of the old people—I +shouldn’t wonder if now and then you look back with longing and regret to +the days when you lived in the damp dripping dingle, had no better +equipage than a pony or donkey-cart, and saw no better company than a +tramper or Gypsy, except once, when a poor postillion was glad to seat +himself at your charcoal fire.” + +“Pray,” said I, “did you ever take lessons in elocution?” + +“Not directly,” said the postillion; “but my old master, who was in +Parliament, did, and so did his son, who was intended to be an orator. A +great professor used to come and give them lessons, and I used to stand +and listen, by which means I picked up a considerable quantity of what is +called rhetoric. In what I last said, I was aiming at what I have heard +him frequently endeavouring to teach my governors as a thing +indispensably necessary in all oratory, a graceful +pere—pere—peregrination.” + +“Peroration, perhaps?” + +“Just so,” said the postillion; “and now I’m sure I am not mistaken about +you; you have taken lessons yourself, at first hand, in the college +vacations, and a promising pupil you were, I make no doubt. Well, your +friends will be all the happier to get you back. Has your governor much +borough interest?” + +“I ask you once more,” said I, addressing myself to Belle, “what you +think of the history which this good man has made for us?” + +“What should I think of it,” said Belle, still keeping her face buried in +her hands, “but that it is mere nonsense?” + +“Nonsense!” said the postillion. + +“Yes,” said the girl, “and you know it.” + +“May my leg always ache, if I do,” said the postillion, patting his leg +with his hand; “will you persuade me that this young man has never been +at college?” + +“I have never been at college, but—” + +“Ay, ay,” said the postillion; “but—” + +“I have been to the best schools in Britain, to say nothing of a +celebrated one in Ireland.” + +“Well, then, it comes to the same thing,” said the postillion; “or +perhaps you know more than if you had been at college—and your governor?” + +“My governor, as you call him,” said I, “is dead.” + +“And his borough interest?” + +“My father had no borough interest,” said I; “had he possessed any, he +would perhaps not have died as he did, honourably poor.” + +“No, no,” said the postillion; “if he had had borough interest, he +wouldn’t have been poor, nor honourable, though perhaps a right +honourable. However, with your grand education and genteel manners, you +made all right at last by persuading this noble young gentlewoman to run +away from boarding-school with you.” + +“I was never at boarding-school,” said Belle, “unless you call—” + +“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “boarding-school is vulgar, I know: I beg +your pardon, I ought to have called it academy, or by some other much +finer name—you were in something much greater than a boarding-school.” + +“There you are right,” said Belle, lifting up her head and looking the +postillion full in the face by the light of the charcoal fire; “for I was +bred in the workhouse.” + +“Wooh!” said the postillion. + +“It is true that I am of good—” + +“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “let us hear—” + +“Of good blood,” continued Belle; “my name is Berners, Isopel Berners, +though my parents were unfortunate. Indeed, with respect to blood, I +believe I am of better blood than the young man.” + +“There you are mistaken,” said I; “by my father’s side I am of Cornish +blood, and by my mother’s of brave French Protestant extraction. Now, +with respect to the blood of my father—and to be descended well on the +father’s side is the principal thing—it is the best blood in the world, +for the Cornish blood, as the proverb says—” + +“I don’t care what the proverb says,” said Belle; “I say my blood is the +best—my name is Berners, Isopel Berners—it was my mother’s name, and is +better, I am sure, than any you bear, whatever that may be; and though +you say that the descent on the father’s side is the principal thing—and +I know why you say so,” she added with some excitement—“I say that +descent on the mother’s side is of most account, because the mother—” + +“Just come from Gretna Green, and already quarrelling!” said the +postillion. + +“We do not come from Gretna Green,” said Belle. + +“Ah, I had forgot,” said the postillion, “none but great people go to +Gretna Green. Well, then, from church, and already quarrelling about +family, just like two great people.” + +“We have never been to church,” said Belle, “and, to prevent any more +guessing on your part, it will be as well for me to tell you, friend, +that I am nothing to the young man, and he, of course, nothing to me. I +am a poor travelling girl, born in a workhouse: journeying on my +occasions with certain companions, I came to this hollow, where my +company quarrelled with the young man, who had settled down here, as he +had a right to do, if he pleased; and not being able to drive him out, +they went away after quarrelling with me, too, for not choosing to side +with them; so I stayed here along with the young man, there being room +for us both, and the place being as free to me as to him.” + +“And, in order that you may be no longer puzzled with respect to myself,” +said I, “I will give you a brief outline of my history. I am the son of +honourable parents, who gave me a first-rate education, as far as +literature and languages went, with which education I endeavoured, on the +death of my father, to advance myself to wealth and reputation in the big +city; but failing in the attempt, I conceived a disgust for the busy +world, and determined to retire from it. After wandering about for some +time, and meeting with various adventures, in one of which I contrived to +obtain a pony, cart, and certain tools, used by smiths and tinkers, I +came to this place, where I amused myself with making horse-shoes, or +rather pony-shoes, having acquired the art of wielding the hammer and +tongs from a strange kind of smith—not him of Gretna Green—whom I knew in +my childhood. And here I lived, doing harm to no one, quite lonely and +solitary, till one fine morning the premises were visited by this young +gentlewoman and her companions. She did herself anything but justice +when she said that her companions quarrelled with her because she would +not side with them against me; they quarrelled with her, because she came +most heroically to my assistance as I was on the point of being murdered; +and she forgot to tell you, that after they had abandoned her, she stood +by me in the dark hour, comforting and cheering me, when unspeakable +dread, to which I am occasionally subject, took possession of my mind. +She says she is nothing to me, even as I am nothing to her. I am of +course nothing to her, but she is mistaken in thinking she is nothing to +me. I entertain the highest regard and admiration for her, being +convinced that I might search the whole world in vain for a nature more +heroic and devoted.” + +“And for my part,” said Belle, with a sob, “a more quiet agreeable +partner in a place like this I would not wish to have; it is true he has +strange ways, and frequently puts words into my mouth very difficult to +utter, but—but—” and here she buried her face once more in her hands. + +“Well,” said the postillion, “I have been mistaken about you; that is, +not altogether, but in part. You are not rich folks, it seems, but you +are not common people, and that I could have sworn. What I call a shame +is, that some people I have known are not in your place and you in +theirs,—you with their estates and borough interest, they in this dingle +with these carts and animals; but there is no help for these things. +Were I the great Mumbo Jumbo above, I would endeavour to manage matters +better; but being a simple postillion, glad to earn three shillings a +day, I can’t be expected to do much.” + +“Who is Mumbo Jumbo?” said I. + +“Ah!” said the postillion, “I see there may be a thing or two I know +better than yourself. Mumbo Jumbo is a god of the black coast, to which +people go for ivory and gold.” + +“Were you ever there?” I demanded. + +“No,” said the postillion, “but I heard plenty of Mumbo Jumbo when I was +a boy.” + +“I wish you would tell us something about yourself. I believe that your +own real history would prove quite as entertaining, if not more, than +that which you imagined about us.” + +“I am rather tired,” said the postillion, “and my leg is rather +troublesome. I should be glad to try to sleep upon one of your blankets. +However, as you wish to hear something about me, I shall be happy to +oblige you; but your fire is rather low, and this place is chilly.” + +Thereupon I arose, and put fresh charcoal on the pan; then taking it +outside the tent, with a kind of fan which I had fashioned, I fanned the +coals into a red glow, and continued doing so until the greater part of +the noxious gas, which the coals are in the habit of exhaling, was +exhausted. I then brought it into the tent and reseated myself, +scattering over the coals a small portion of sugar. “No bad smell,” said +the postillion; “but upon the whole I think I like the smell of tobacco +better; and with your permission I will once more light my pipe.” + +Thereupon he relighted his pipe; and, after taking two or three whiffs, +began in the following manner. + + + + +CHAPTER XCVIII. + + +An Exordium—Fine Ships—High Barbary Captains—Free-Born +Englishmen—Monstrous Figure—Swash-buckler—The Grand Coaches—The Footmen—A +Travelling Expedition—Black Jack—Nelson’s Cannon—Pharaoh’s Butler—A +Diligence—Two Passengers—Sharking Priest—Virgilio—Lessons in Italian—Two +Opinions—Holy Mary—Priestly Confederates—Methodist Chapel—Veturini—Some +of Our Party—Like a Sepulchre—All for Themselves. + +“I am a poor postillion, as you see; yet, as I have seen a thing or two, +and heard a thing or two of what is going on in the world, perhaps what I +have to tell you connected with myself may not prove altogether +uninteresting. Now, my friends, this manner of opening a story is what +the man who taught rhetoric would call a hex—hex—” + +“Exordium,” said I. + +“Just so,” said the postillion; “I treated you to a per—per—peroration +some time ago, so that I have contrived to put the cart before the horse, +as the Irish orators frequently do in the honourable House, in whose +speeches, especially those who have taken lessons in rhetoric, the +per—per—what’s the word?—frequently goes before the exordium. + +“I was born in the neighbouring county; my father was land-steward to a +squire of about a thousand a year. My father had two sons, of whom I am +the youngest by some years. My elder brother was of a spirited roving +disposition, and for fear that he should turn out what is generally +termed ungain, my father determined to send him to sea: so once upon a +time, when my brother was about fifteen, he took him to the great +sea-port of the county, where he apprenticed him to a captain of one of +the ships which trade to the high Barbary coast. Fine ships they were, I +have heard say, more than thirty in number, and all belonging to a +wonderful great gentleman, who had once been a parish boy, but had +contrived to make an immense fortune by trading to that coast for +gold-dust, ivory, and other strange articles; and for doing so, I mean +for making a fortune, had been made a knight baronet. So my brother went +to the high Barbary shore, on board the fine vessel, and in about a year +returned and came to visit us; he repeated the voyage several times, +always coming to see his parents on his return. Strange stories he used +to tell us of what he had been witness to on the high Barbary coast, both +off shore and on. He said that the fine vessel in which he sailed was +nothing better than a painted hell; that the captain was a veritable +fiend, whose grand delight was in tormenting his men, especially when +they were sick, as they frequently were, there being always fever on the +high Barbary coast; and that though the captain was occasionally sick +himself, his being so made no difference, or rather it did make a +difference, though for the worse, he being when sick always more +inveterate and malignant than at other times. He said that once, when he +himself was sick, his captain had pitched his face all over, which +exploit was much applauded by the other high Barbary captains; all of +whom, from what my brother said, appeared to be of much the same +disposition as my brother’s captain, taking wonderful delight in +tormenting the crews, and doing all manner of terrible things. My +brother frequently said that nothing whatever prevented him from running +away from his ship, and never returning, but the hope he entertained of +one day being captain himself, and able to torment people in his turn, +which he solemnly vowed he would do, as a kind of compensation for what +he himself had undergone. And if things were going on in a strange way +off the high Barbary shore amongst those who came there to trade, they +were going on in a way yet stranger with the people who lived upon it. + +“Oh the strange ways of the black men who lived on that shore, of which +my brother used to tell us at home; selling their sons, daughters, and +servants for slaves, and the prisoners taken in battle, to the Spanish +captains, to be carried to Havannah, and when there, sold at a profit, +the idea of which, my brother said, went to the hearts of our own +captains, who used to say what a hard thing it was that free-born +Englishmen could not have a hand in the traffic, seeing that it was +forbidden by the laws of their country; talking fondly of the good old +times when their forefathers used to carry slaves to Jamaica and +Barbadoes, realizing immense profit, besides the pleasure of hearing +their shrieks on the voyage; and then the superstitions of the blacks, +which my brother used to talk of; their sharks’ teeth, their wisps of +fowls’ feathers, their half-baked pots, full of burnt bones, of which +they used to make what they called fetish; and bow down to, and ask +favours of, and then, perhaps, abuse and strike, provided the senseless +rubbish did not give them what they asked for; and then, above all, Mumbo +Jumbo, the grand fetish master, who lived somewhere in the woods, and who +used to come out every now and then with his fetish companions; a +monstrous figure, all wound round with leaves and branches, so as to be +quite indistinguishable, and, seating himself on the high seat in the +villages, receive homage from the people, and also gifts and offerings, +the most valuable of which were pretty damsels, and then betake himself +back again, with his followers, into the woods. Oh the tales that my +brother used to tell us of the high Barbary shore! Poor fellow! what +became of him I can’t say; the last time he came back from a voyage, he +told us that his captain, as soon as he had brought his vessel to port, +and settled with his owner, drowned himself off the quay, in a fit of the +horrors, which it seems high Barbary captains, after a certain number of +years, are much subject to. After staying about a month with us, he went +to sea again, with another captain; and, bad as the old one had been, it +appears the new one was worse, for, unable to bear his treatment, my +brother left his ship off the high Barbary shore, and ran away up the +country. Some of his comrades, whom we afterwards saw, said that there +were various reports about him on the shore; one that he had taken on +with Mumbo Jumbo, and was serving him in his house in the woods, in the +capacity of swash-buckler, or life-guardsman; another, that he was gone +in quest of a mighty city in the heart of the negro country; another, +that in swimming a stream he had been devoured by an alligator. Now, +these two last reports were bad enough; the idea of their flesh and blood +being bit asunder by a ravenous fish, was sad enough to my poor parents; +and not very comfortable was the thought of his sweltering over the hot +sands in quest of the negro city; but the idea of their son, their eldest +child, serving Mumbo Jumbo as swash-buckler, was worst of all, and caused +my poor parents to shed many a scalding tear. + +“I stayed at home with my parents until I was about eighteen, assisting +my father in various ways. I then went to live at the Squire’s, partly +as groom, partly as footman. After living in the country some time, I +attended the family in a trip of six weeks, which they made to London. +Whilst there, happening to have some words with an old ill-tempered +coachman, who had been for a great many years in the family, my master +advised me to leave, offering to recommend me to a family of his +acquaintance who were in need of a footman. I was glad to accept his +offer, and in a few days went to my new place. My new master was one of +the great gentry, a baronet in Parliament, and possessed of an estate of +about twenty thousand a year; his family consisted of his lady, a son, a +fine young man, just coming of age, and two very sweet amiable daughters. +I liked this place much better than my first, there was so much more +pleasant noise and bustle—so much more grand company—and so many more +opportunities of improving myself. Oh, how I liked to see the grand +coaches drive up to the door, with the grand company; and though, amidst +that company, there were some who did not look very grand, there were +others, and not a few, who did. Some of the ladies quite captivated me; +there was the Marchioness of --- in particular. This young lady puts me +much in mind of her; it is true, the Marchioness, as I saw her then, was +about fifteen years older than this young gentlewoman is now, and not so +tall by some inches, but she had the very same hair, and much the same +neck and shoulders—no offence, I hope? And then some of the young +gentlemen, with their cool, haughty, care-for-nothing looks, struck me as +being very fine fellows. There was one in particular, whom I frequently +used to stare at, not altogether unlike some one I have seen +hereabouts—he had a slight cast in his eye, and—but I won’t enter into +every particular. And then the footmen! Oh, how those footmen helped to +improve me with their conversation. Many of them could converse much +more glibly than their masters, and appeared to have much better taste. +At any rate, they seldom approved of what their masters did. I remember +being once with one in the gallery of the play-house, when something of +Shakspeare’s was being performed; some one in the first tier of boxes was +applauding very loudly. ‘That’s my fool of a governor,’ said he; ‘he is +weak enough to like Shakspeare—I don’t—he’s so confoundedly low, but he +won’t last long—going down. Shakspeare culminated—I think that was the +word—culminated some time ago.’ + +“And then the professor of elocution, of whom my governors used to take +lessons, and of which lessons I had my share, by listening behind the +door; but for that professor of elocution I should not be able to round +my periods—an expression of his—in the manner I do. + +“After I had been three years at this place my mistress died. Her death, +however, made no great alteration in my way of living, the family +spending their winters in London, and their summers at their old seat in +S--- as before. At last, the young ladies, who had not yet got husbands, +which was strange enough, seeing, as I told you before, they were very +amiable, proposed to our governor a travelling expedition abroad. The +old baronet consented, though young master was much against it, saying, +they would all be much better at home. As the girls persisted, however, +he at last withdrew his opposition, and even promised to follow them, as +soon as his parliamentary duties would permit, for he was just got into +Parliament; and, like most other young members, thought that nothing +could be done in the House without him. So the old gentleman and the two +young ladies set off, taking me with them, and a couple of ladies’ maids +to wait upon them. First of all, we went to Paris, where we continued +three months, the old baronet and the ladies going to see the various +sights of the city and the neighbourhood, and I attending them. They +soon got tired of sight-seeing, and of Paris too; and so did I. However, +they still continued there, in order, I believe, that the young ladies +might lay in a store of French finery. I should have passed my idle time +at Paris, of which I had plenty after the sight-seeing was over, very +unpleasantly, but for Black Jack. Eh! did you never hear of Black Jack? +Ah! if you had ever been an English servant in Paris, you would have +known Black Jack; not an English gentleman’s servant who has been at +Paris for this last ten years but knows Black Jack and his ordinary. A +strange fellow he was—of what country no one could exactly say—for as for +judging from speech, that was impossible, Jack speaking all languages +equally ill. Some said he came direct from Satan’s kitchen, and that +when he gives up keeping ordinary, he will return there again, though the +generally-received opinion at Paris was, that he was at one time butler +to King Pharaoh; and that, after lying asleep for four thousand years in +a place called the Kattycombs, he was awaked by the sound of Nelson’s +cannon, at the Battle of the Nile; and going to the shore, took on with +the admiral, and became, in course of time, ship steward; and that after +Nelson’s death, he was captured by the French, on board one of whose +vessels he served in a somewhat similar capacity till the peace, when he +came to Paris, and set up an ordinary for servants, sticking the name of +Katcomb over the door, in allusion to the place where he had his long +sleep. But, whatever his origin was, Jack kept his own council, and +appeared to care nothing for what people said about him, or called him. +Yes, I forgot, there was one name he would not be called, and that was +‘Portuguese.’ I once saw Black Jack knock down a coachman, six foot +high, who called him black-faced Portuguese. ‘Any name but dat, you +shab,’ said Black Jack, who was a little round fellow, of about five feet +two; ‘I would not stand to be called Portuguese by Nelson himself.’ Jack +was rather fond of talking about Nelson, and hearing people talk about +him, so that it is not improbable that he may have sailed with him; and +with respect to his having been King Pharaoh’s butler, all I have to say +is, I am not disposed to give the downright lie to the report. Jack was +always ready to do a kind turn to a poor servant out of place, and has +often been known to assist such as were in prison, which charitable +disposition he perhaps acquired from having lost a good place himself, +having seen the inside of a prison, and known the want of a meal’s +victuals, all which trials King Pharaoh’s butler underwent, so he may +have been that butler; at any rate, I have known positive conclusions +come to, on no better premises, if indeed as good. As for the story of +his coming direct from Satan’s kitchen, I place no confidence in it at +all, as Black Jack had nothing of Satan about him, but blackness, on +which account he was called Black Jack. Nor am I disposed to give credit +to a report that his hatred of the Portuguese arose from some ill +treatment which he had once experienced when on shore, at Lisbon, from +certain gentlewomen of the place, but rather conclude that it arose from +an opinion he entertained that the Portuguese never paid their debts, one +of the ambassadors of that nation, whose house he had served, having left +Paris several thousand francs in his debt. This is all that I have to +say about Black Jack, without whose funny jokes, and good ordinary, I +should have passed my time in Paris in a very disconsolate manner. + +“After we had been at Paris between two and three months, we left it in +the direction of Italy, which country the family had a great desire to +see. After travelling a great many days in a thing which, though called +a diligence, did not exhibit much diligence, we came to a great big town, +seated around a nasty salt-water basin, connected by a narrow passage +with the sea. Here we were to embark; and so we did as soon as possible, +glad enough to get away; at least I was, and so I make no doubt were the +rest; for such a place for bad smells I never was in. It seems all the +drains and sewers of the place run into that same salt basin, voiding +into it all their impurities, which, not being able to escape into the +sea in any considerable quantity, owing to the narrowness of the +entrance, there accumulate, filling the whole atmosphere with these same +outrageous scents, on which account the town is a famous lodging-house of +the plague. The ship in which we embarked was bound for a place in Italy +called Naples, where we were to stay some time. The voyage was rather a +lazy one, the ship not being moved by steam; for at the time of which I +am speaking, some five years ago, steamships were not so plentiful as +now. There were only two passengers in the grand cabin, where my +governor and his daughters were, an Italian lady and a priest. Of the +lady I have not much to say; she appeared to be a quiet respectable +person enough, and after our arrival at Naples, I neither saw nor heard +anything more of her; but of the priest I shall have a good deal to say +in the sequel, (that, by-the-bye, is a word I learned from the professor +of rhetoric,) and it would have been well for our family had they never +met him. + +“On the third day of the voyage the priest came to me, who was rather +unwell with sea-sickness, which he, of course, felt nothing of, that kind +of people being never affected like others. He was a finish-looking man +of about forty-five, but had something strange in his eyes, which I have +since thought denoted that all was not right in a certain place called +the heart. After a few words of condolence, in a broken kind of English, +he asked me various questions about our family; and I, won by his seeming +kindness, told him all I knew about them, of which communicativeness I +afterwards very much repented. As soon as he had got out of me all he +desired, he left me; and I observed that during the rest of the voyage he +was wonderfully attentive to our governor, and yet more to the young +ladies. Both, however, kept him rather at a distance; the young ladies +were reserved, and once or twice I heard our governor cursing him between +his teeth for a sharking priest. The priest, however, was not +disconcerted, and continued his attentions, which in a little time +produced an effect, so that, by the time we landed at Naples, our great +folks had conceived a kind of liking for the man, and when they took +their leave invited him to visit them, which he promised to do. We hired +a grand house or palace at Naples; it belonged to a poor kind of prince, +who was glad enough to let it to our governor, and also his servants and +carriages; and glad enough were the poor servants, for they got from us +what they never got from the prince—plenty of meat and money—and glad +enough, I make no doubt, were the horses for the provender we gave them; +and I daresay the coaches were not sorry to be cleaned and furbished up. +Well, we went out and came in; going to see the sights, and returning. +Amongst other things we saw was the burning mountain, and the tomb of a +certain sorcerer called Virgilio, who made witch rhymes, by which he +could raise the dead. Plenty of people came to see us, both English and +Italians, and amongst the rest the priest. He did not come amongst the +first, but allowed us to settle and become a little quiet before he +showed himself; and after a day or two he paid us another visit, then +another, till at last his visits were daily. + +“I did not like that Jack Priest; so I kept my eye upon all his motions. +Lord! how that Jack Priest did curry favour with our governor and the two +young ladies; and he curried, and curried, till he had got himself into +favour with the governor, and more especially with the two young ladies, +of whom their father was doatingly fond. At last the ladies took lessons +in Italian of the priest, a language in which he was said to be a grand +proficient, and of which they had hitherto known but very little; and +from that time his influence over them, and consequently over the old +governor, increased till the tables were turned, and he no longer curried +favour with them, but they with him; yes, as true as my leg aches, the +young ladies curried, and the old governor curried favour with that same +Priest; when he was with them, they seemed almost to hang on his lips, +that is, the young ladies; and as for the old governor, he never +contradicted him, and when the fellow was absent, which, by-the-bye, was +not often, it was ‘Father so-and-so said this, and Father so-and-so said +that; Father so-and-so thinks we should do so-and-so, or that we should +not do so-and-so.’ I at first thought that he must have given them +something, some philtre or the like; but one of the English +maid-servants, who had a kind of respect for me, and who saw much more +behind the scenes than I did, informed me that he was continually +instilling strange notions into their heads, striving, by every possible +method, to make them despise the religion of their own land, and take up +that of the foreign country in which they were. And sure enough, in a +little time, the girls had altogether left off going to an English +chapel, and were continually visiting places of Italian worship. The old +governor, it is true, still went to his church, but he appeared to be +hesitating between two opinions; and once when he was at dinner, he said +to two or three English friends, that since he had become better +acquainted with it, he had conceived a much more favourable opinion of +the Catholic religion than he had previously entertained. In a word, the +priest ruled the house, and everything was done according to his will and +pleasure; by degrees he persuaded the young ladies to drop their English +acquaintances, whose place he supplied with Italians, chiefly females. +My poor old governor would not have had a person to speak to, for he +never could learn the language, but for two or three Englishmen who used +to come occasionally and take a bottle with him, in a summer-house, whose +company he could not be persuaded to resign, notwithstanding the +entreaties of his daughters, instigated by the priest, whose grand +endeavour seemed to be to render the minds of all three foolish, for his +own ends. And if he was busy above stairs with the governor, there was +another busy below with us poor English servants, a kind of subordinate +priest, a low Italian; as he could speak no language but his own, he was +continually jabbering to us in that, and by hearing him the maids and +myself contrived to pick up a good deal of the language, so that we +understood most that was said, and could speak it very fairly; and the +themes of his jabber were the beauty and virtues of one whom he called +Holy Mary, and the power and grandeur of one whom he called the Holy +Father; and he told us that we should shortly have an opportunity of +seeing the Holy Father, who could do anything he liked with Holy Mary: in +the mean time we had plenty of opportunities of seeing Holy Mary, for in +every church, chapel, and convent to which we were taken, there was an +image of Holy Mary, who, if the images were dressed at all in her +fashion, must have been very fond of short petticoats and tinsel, and +who, if those said figures at all resembled her in face, could scarcely +have been half as handsome as either of my two fellow-servants, not to +speak of the young ladies. + +“Now it happened that one of the female servants was much taken with what +she saw and heard, and gave herself up entirely to the will of the +subordinate, who had quite as much dominion over her as his superior had +over the ladies; the other maid, however, the one who had a kind of +respect for me, was not so easily besotted; she used to laugh at what she +saw, and at what the fellow told her, and from her I learnt that amongst +other things intended by these priestly confederates was robbery; she +said that the poor old governor had already been persuaded by his +daughters to put more than a thousand pounds into the superior priest’s +hands for purposes of charity and religion, as was said, and that the +subordinate one had already inveigled her fellow-servant out of every +penny which she had saved from her wages, and had endeavoured likewise to +obtain what money she herself had, but in vain. With respect to myself, +the fellow shortly after made an attempt towards obtaining a hundred +crowns, of which, by some means, he knew me to be in possession, telling +me what a meritorious thing it was to give one’s superfluities for the +purposes of religion. ‘That is true,’ said I, ‘and if, after my return +to my native country, I find I have anything which I don’t want myself, I +will employ it in helping to build a Methodist chapel.’ + +“By the time that the three months were expired for which we had hired +the palace of the needy Prince, the old governor began to talk of +returning to England, at least of leaving Italy. I believe he had become +frightened at the calls which were continually being made upon him for +money; for after all, you know, if there is a sensitive part of a man’s +wearing apparel it is his breeches pocket; but the young ladies could not +think of leaving dear Italy and the dear priest; and then they had seen +nothing of the country, they had only seen Naples; before leaving dear +Italia they must see more of the country and the cities; above all, they +must see a place which they called the Eternal City, or by some similar +nonsensical name; and they persisted so that the poor governor permitted +them, as usual, to have their way; and it was decided what route they +should take, that is, the priest was kind enough to decide for them; and +was also kind enough to promise to go with them part of the route, as far +as a place where there was a wonderful figure of Holy Mary, which the +priest said it was highly necessary for them to see before visiting the +Eternal City; so we left Naples in hired carriages, driven by fellows +they call veturini, cheating drunken dogs, I remember they were. Besides +our own family, there was the priest and his subordinate, and a couple of +hired lackeys. We were several days upon the journey, travelling through +a very wild country, which the ladies pretended to be delighted with, and +which the governor cursed on account of the badness of the roads; and +when we came to any particularly wild spot we used to stop, in order to +enjoy the scenery, as the ladies said; and then we would spread a +horse-cloth on the ground, and eat bread and cheese, and drink wine of +the country. And some of the holes and corner in which we bivouacked, as +the ladies called it, were something like this place where we are now, so +that when I came down here it put me in mind of them. At last we arrived +at the place where was the holy image. + +“We went to the house or chapel in which the holy image was kept, a +frightful ugly black figure of Holy Mary, dressed in her usual way; and +after we had stared at the figure, and some of our party had bowed down +to it, we were shown a great many things which were called holy relics, +which consisted of thumb-nails and fore-nails and toe-nails, and hair and +teeth, and a feather or two, a mighty thigh-bone, but whether of a man or +a camel, I can’t say; all of which things I was told, if properly touched +and handled, had mighty power to cure all kinds of disorders. And as we +went from the holy house, we saw a man in a state of great excitement, he +was foaming at the mouth, and cursing the holy image and all its +household, because, after he had worshipped it and made offerings to it, +and besought it to assist him in a game of chance which he was about to +play, it had left him in the lurch, allowing him to lose all his money; +and when I thought of all the rubbish I had seen, and the purposes which +it was applied to, in conjunction with the rage of the losing gamester at +the deaf and dumb image, I could not help comparing the whole with what +my poor brother used to tell me of the superstitious practices of the +blacks on the high Barbary shore, and their occasional rage and fury at +the things they worshipped; and I said to myself, if all this here +doesn’t smell of fetish may I smell fetid. + +“At this place the priest left us, returning to Naples with his +subordinate, on some particular business I suppose. It was, however, +agreed that he should visit us at the Holy City. We did not go direct to +the Holy City, but bent our course to two or three other cities which the +family were desirous of seeing, but as nothing occurred to us in these +places of any particular interest, I shall take the liberty of passing +them by in silence. At length we arrived at the Eternal City; an immense +city it was, looking as if it had stood for a long time, and would stand +for a long time still; compared with it, London would look like a mere +assemblage of bee-skeps; however, give me the bee-skeps with their merry +hum and bustle, and life and honey, rather than that huge town, which +looked like a sepulchre, where there was no life, no busy hum, no bees, +but a scanty sallow population, intermixed with black priests, white +priests, grey priests; and though I don’t say there was no honey in the +place, for I believe there was, I am ready to take my Bible oath that it +was not made there, and that the priests kept it all for themselves.” + + + + +CHAPTER XCIX. + + +A Cloister—Half English—New Acquaintance—Mixed Liquors—Turning +Papist—Purposes of Charity—Foreign Religion—Melancholy—Elbowing and +Pushing—Outlandish Sight—The Figure—I Don’t Care for You—Merry +Andrews—One Good—Religion of My Country—Fellow of Spirit—A Dispute—The +Next Morning—Female Doll—Proper Dignity—Fetish Country. + +“The day after our arrival,” continued the postillion, “I was sent, under +the guidance of a lackey of the place, with a letter, which the priest, +when he left, had given us for a friend of his in the Eternal City. We +went to a large house, and on ringing, were admitted by a porter into a +cloister, where I saw some ill-looking, shabby young fellows walking +about, who spoke English to one another. To one of these the porter +delivered the letter, and the young fellow going away, presently returned +and told me to follow him; he led me into a large room, where, behind a +table, on which were various papers, and a thing, which they call in that +country a crucifix, sat a man in a kind of priestly dress. The lad +having opened the door for me, shut it behind me, and went away. The man +behind the table was so engaged in reading the letter which I had +brought, that at first he took no notice of me; he had red hair, a kind +of half-English countenance, and was seemingly about five-and-thirty. +After a little time he laid the letter down, appeared to consider a +moment, and then opened his mouth with a strange laugh, not a loud laugh, +for I heard nothing but a kind of hissing deep down the throat; all of a +sudden, however, perceiving me, he gave a slight start, but instantly +recovering himself, he inquired in English concerning the health of the +family, and where we lived; on my delivering him a card, he bade me +inform my master and the ladies that in the course of the day he would do +himself the honour of waiting upon them. He then arose and opened the +door for me to depart; the man was perfectly civil and courteous, but I +did not like that strange laugh of his, after having read the letter. He +was as good as his word, and that same day paid us a visit. It was now +arranged that we should pass the winter in Rome, to my great annoyance, +for I wished to return to my native land, being heartily tired of +everything connected with Italy. I was not, however, without hope that +our young master would shortly arrive, when I trusted that matters, as +far as the family were concerned, would be put on a better footing. In a +few days our new acquaintance, who, it seems, was a mongrel Englishman, +had procured a house for our accommodation; it was large enough, but not +near so pleasant as that we had at Naples, which was light and airy, with +a large garden. This was a dark gloomy structure in a narrow street, +with a frowning church beside it; it was not far from the place where our +new friend lived, and its being so was probably the reason why he +selected it. It was furnished partly with articles which we bought, and +partly with those which we hired. We lived something in the same way as +at Naples; but though I did not much like Naples, I yet liked it better +than this place, which was so gloomy. Our new acquaintance made himself +as agreeable as he could, conducting the ladies to churches and convents, +and frequently passing the afternoon drinking with the governor, who was +fond of a glass of brandy and water and a cigar, as the new acquaintance +also was—no, I remember, he was fond of gin and water, and did not smoke. +I don’t think he had so much influence over the young ladies as the other +priest, which was, perhaps, owing to his not being so good looking; but I +am sure he had more influence with the governor, owing, doubtless, to his +bearing him company in drinking mixed liquors, which the other priest did +not do. + +“He was a strange fellow, that same new acquaintance of ours, and unlike +all the priests I saw in that country, and I saw plenty of various +nations,—they were always upon their guard, and had their features and +voice modulated; but this man was subject to fits of absence, during +which he would frequently mutter to himself; then, though he was +perfectly civil to everybody, as far as words went, I observed that he +entertained a thorough contempt for most people, especially for those +whom he was making dupes. I have observed him whilst drinking with our +governor, when the old man’s head was turned, look at him with an air +which seemed to say, ‘What a thundering old fool you are!’ and at our +young ladies, when their backs were turned, with a glance which said +distinctly enough, ‘You precious pair of ninnyhammers;’ and then his +laugh—he had two kinds of laughs—one which you could hear, and another +which you could only see. I have seen him laugh at our governor and the +young ladies, when their heads were turned away, but I heard no sound. +My mother had a sandy cat, which sometimes used to open its mouth wide +with a mew which nobody could hear, and the silent laugh of that +red-haired priest used to put me wonderfully in mind of the silent mew of +my mother’s sandy-red cat. And then the other laugh, which you could +hear; what a strange laugh that was, never loud, yes, I have heard it +tolerably loud. He once passed near me, after having taken leave of a +silly English fellow—a limping parson of the name of Platitude, who they +said was thinking of turning Papist, and was much in his company; I was +standing behind the pillar of a piazza, and as he passed he was laughing +heartily. O he was a strange fellow, that same red-haired acquaintance +of ours! + +“After we had been at Rome about six weeks, our old friend the priest of +Naples arrived, but without his subordinate, for whose services he now +perhaps thought that he had no occasion. I believe he found matters in +our family wearing almost as favourable an aspect as he could desire: +with what he had previously taught them and shown them at Naples and +elsewhere, and with what the red-haired confederate had taught them and +shown them at Rome, the poor young ladies had become quite handmaids of +superstition, so that they, especially the youngest, were prepared to bow +down to anything, and kiss anything, however vile and ugly, provided a +priest commanded them; and as for the old governor, what with the +influence which his daughters exerted, and what with the ascendancy which +the red-haired man had obtained over him, he dared not say his purse, far +less his soul, was his own. Only think of an Englishman not being master +of his own purse! My acquaintance, the lady’s maid, assured me, that to +her certain knowledge, he had disbursed to the red-haired man, for +purposes of charity, as it was said, at least one thousand pounds during +the five weeks we had been at Rome. She also told me that things would +shortly be brought to a conclusion, and so indeed they were, though in a +different manner from what she and I and some other people imagined; that +there was to be a grand festival, and a mass, at which we were to be +present, after which the family were to be presented to the Holy Father, +for so those two priestly sharks had managed it; and then—she said she +was certain that the two ladies, and perhaps the old governor, would +forsake the religion of their native land, taking up with that of these +foreign regions, for so my fellow-servant expressed it, and that perhaps +attempts might be made to induce us poor English servants to take up with +the foreign religion, that is herself and me, for as for our +fellow-servant, the other maid, she wanted no inducing, being disposed +body and soul to go over to it. Whereupon, I swore with an oath that +nothing should induce me to take up with the foreign religion; and the +poor maid, my fellow-servant, bursting into tears, said that for her part +she would sooner die than have anything to do with it; thereupon we shook +hands and agreed to stand by and countenance one another: and moreover, +provided our governors were fools enough to go over to the religion of +these here foreigners, we would not wait to be asked to do the like, but +leave them at once, and make the best of our way home, even if we were +forced to beg on the road. + +“At last the day of the grand festival came, and we were all to go to the +big church to hear the mass. Now it happened that for some time past I +had been much afflicted with melancholy, especially when I got up of a +morning, produced by the strange manner in which I saw things going on in +our family; and to dispel it in some degree, I had been in the habit of +taking a dram before breakfast. On the morning in question, feeling +particularly low-spirited when I thought of the foolish step our governor +would probably take before evening, I took two drams before breakfast, +and after breakfast, feeling my melancholy still continuing, I took +another, which produced a slight effect upon my head, though I am +convinced nobody observed it. + +“Away we drove to the big church; it was a dark, misty day, I remember, +and very cold, so that if anybody had noticed my being slightly in +liquor, I could have excused myself by saying that I had merely taken a +glass to fortify my constitution against the weather; and of one thing I +am certain, which is, that such an excuse would have stood me in stead +with our governor, who looked, I thought, as if he had taken one too; but +I may be mistaken, and why should I notice him, seeing that he took no +notice of me: so away we drove to the big church, to which all the +population of the place appeared to be moving. + +“On arriving there we dismounted, and the two priests who were with us +led the family in, whilst I followed at a little distance, but quickly +lost them amidst the throng of people. I made my way, however, though in +what direction I knew not, except it was one in which everybody seemed +striving, and by dint of elbowing and pushing, I at last got to a place +which looked like the aisle of a cathedral, where the people stood in two +rows, a space between being kept open by certain strangely-dressed men +who moved up and down with rods in their hands; all were looking to the +upper end of this place or aisle; and at the upper end, separated from +the people by palings like those of an altar, sat in magnificent-looking +stalls, on the right and the left, various wonderful-looking individuals +in scarlet dresses. At the farther end was what appeared to be an altar, +on the left hand was a pulpit, and on the right a stall higher than any +of the rest, where was a figure whom I could scarcely see. + +“I can’t pretend to describe what I saw exactly, for my head, which was +at first rather flurried, had become more so from the efforts which I had +made to get through the crowd; also from certain singing which proceeded +from I know not where, and above all from the bursts of an organ which +were occasionally so loud that I thought the roof, which was painted with +wondrous colours, would come toppling down on those below. So there +stood I—a poor English servant—in that outlandish place, in the midst of +that foreign crowd, looking at that outlandish sight—hearing those +outlandish sounds, and occasionally glancing at our party, which, by this +time, I distinguished at the opposite side to where I stood, but much +nearer the place where the red figures sat. Yes, there stood our poor +governor, and the sweet young ladies, and I thought they never looked so +handsome before, and close by them were the sharking priests, and not far +from them was that idiotical parson Platitude, winking and grinning, and +occasionally lifting up his hands as if in ecstasy at what he saw and +heard, so that he drew upon himself the notice of the congregation. + +“And now an individual mounted the pulpit, and began to preach in a +language which I did not understand, but which I believe to be Latin, +addressing himself seemingly to the figure in the stall; and when he had +ceased, there was more singing, more organ playing, and then two men in +robes brought forth two things which they held up; and then the people +bowed their heads, and our poor governor bowed his head, and the sweet +young ladies bowed their heads, and the sharking priests, whilst the +idiotical parson Platitude tried to fling himself down; and then there +were various evolutions withinside the pale, and the scarlet figures got +up and sat down, and this kind of thing continued for some time. At +length the figure which I had seen in the principal stall came forth and +advanced towards the people; an awful figure he was, a huge old man with +a sugar-loaf hat, with a sulphur-coloured dress, and holding a crook in +his hand like that of a shepherd; and as he advanced the people fell on +their knees, our poor old governor amongst them; the sweet young ladies, +the sharking priests, the idiotical parson Platitude, all fell on their +knees, and somebody or other tried to pull me on my knees; but by this +time I had become outrageous, all that my poor brother used to tell me of +the superstitions of the high Barbary shore rushed into my mind, and I +thought they were acting them over here; above all, the idea that the +sweet young ladies, to say nothing of my poor old governor, were, after +the conclusion of all this mummery, going to deliver themselves up body +and soul into the power of that horrid-looking old man, maddened me, and, +rushing forward into the open space, I confronted the horrible-looking +old figure with the sugar-loaf hat, the sulphur-coloured garments, and +shepherd’s crook, and shaking my fist at his nose, I bellowed out in +English— + +“‘I don’t care for you, old Mumbo Jumbo, though you have fetish!’ + +“I can scarcely tell you what occurred for some time. I have a dim +recollection that hands were laid upon me, and that I struck out +violently left and right. On coming to myself, I was seated on a stone +bench in a large room, something like a guard-room, in the custody of +certain fellows dressed like Merry Andrews; they were bluff, +good-looking, wholesome fellows, very different from the sallow Italians; +they were looking at me attentively, and occasionally talking to each +other in a language which sounded very like the cracking of walnuts in +the mouth, very different from cooing Italian. At last one of them asked +me in Italian what had ailed me, to which I replied, in an incoherent +manner, something about Mumbo Jumbo; whereupon the fellow, one of the +bluffest of the lot, a jovial rosy-faced rascal, lifted up his right +hand, placing it in such a manner that the lips were between the +forefinger and thumb, then lifting up his right foot and drawing back his +head, he sucked in his breath with a hissing sound, as if to imitate one +drinking a hearty draught, and then slapped me on the shoulder, saying +something which sounded like goot wine, goot companion, whereupon they +all laughed, exclaiming, ya, ya, goot companion. And now hurried into +the room our poor old governor, with the red-haired priest; the first +asked what could have induced me to behave in such a manner in such a +place, to which I replied that I was not going to bow down to Mumbo +Jumbo, whatever other people might do. Whereupon my master said he +believed I was mad, and the priest said he believed I was drunk; to which +I answered that I was neither so mad nor drunk but I could distinguish +how the wind lay. Whereupon they left me, and in a little time I was +told by the bluff-looking Merry Andrews I was at liberty to depart. I +believe the priest, in order to please my governor, interceded for me in +high quarters. + +“But one good resulted from this affair; there was no presentation of our +family to the Holy Father, for old Mumbo was so frightened by my +outrageous looks that he was laid up for a week, as I was afterwards +informed. + +“I went home, and had scarcely been there half an hour when I was sent +for by the governor, who again referred to the scene in church, said that +he could not tolerate such scandalous behaviour, and that unless I +promised to be more circumspect in future, he should be compelled to +discharge me. I said that if he was scandalized at my behaviour in the +church, I was more scandalized at all I saw going on in the family, which +was governed by two rascally priests, who, not content with plundering +him, appeared bent on hurrying the souls of us all to destruction; and +that with respect to discharging me, he could do so that moment, as I +wished to go. I believe his own reason told him that I was right, for he +made no direct answer; but, after looking on the ground for some time, he +told me to leave him. As he did not tell me to leave the house, I went +to my room, intending to lie down for an hour or two; but scarcely was I +there when the door opened, and in came the red-haired priest. He showed +himself, as he always did, perfectly civil, asked me how I was, took a +chair and sat down. After a hem or two he entered into a long +conversation on the excellence of what he called the Catholic religion; +told me that he hoped I would not set myself against the light, and +likewise against my interest; for that the family were about to embrace +the Catholic religion, and would make it worth my while to follow their +example. I told him that the family might do what they pleased, but that +I would never forsake the religion of my country for any consideration +whatever; that I was nothing but a poor servant, but I was not to be +bought by base gold. ‘I admire your honourable feelings,’ said he; ‘you +shall have no gold; and as I see you are a fellow of spirit, and do not +like being a servant, for which I commend you, I can promise you +something better. I have a good deal of influence in this place; and if +you will not set your face against the light, but embrace the Catholic +religion, I will undertake to make your fortune. You remember those fine +fellows to-day who took you into custody, they are the guards of his +Holiness. I have no doubt that I have interest enough to procure your +enrolment amongst them.’ ‘What,’ said I, ‘become swash-buckler to Mumbo +Jumbo up here! May I’—and here I swore—‘if I do. The mere possibility +of one of their children being swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo on the high +Barbary shore has always been a source of heart-breaking to my poor +parents. What, then, would they not undergo if they knew for certain +that their other child was swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here?’ +Thereupon he asked me, even as you did some time ago, what I meant by +Mumbo Jumbo? And I told him all I had heard about the Mumbo Jumbo of the +high Barbary shore; telling him that I had no doubt that the old fellow +up here was his brother, or nearly related to him. The man with the red +hair listened with the greatest attention to all I said, and when I had +concluded, he got up, nodded to me, and moved to the door; ere he reached +the door I saw his shoulders shaking, and as he closed it behind him I +heard him distinctly laughing, to the tune of—he! he! he! + +“But now matters began to mend. That same evening my young master +unexpectedly arrived. I believe he soon perceived that something +extraordinary had been going on in the family. He was for some time +closeted with the governor, with whom, I believe, he had a dispute; for +my fellow-servant, the ladies’ maid, informed me that she heard high +words. + +“Rather late at night the young gentleman sent for me into his room, and +asked me various questions with respect to what had been going on, and my +behaviour in the church, of which he had heard something. I told him all +I knew with respect to the intrigues of the two priests in the family, +and gave him a circumstantial account of all that had occurred in the +church; adding that, under similar circumstances, I was ready to play the +same part over again. Instead of blaming me, he commended my behaviour, +told me I was a fine fellow, and said he hoped that if he wanted my +assistance, I would stand by him; this I promised to do. Before I left +him, he entreated me to inform him the very next time I saw the priests +entering the house. + +“The next morning, as I was in the court-yard, where I had placed myself +to watch, I saw the two enter and make their way up a private stair to +the young ladies’ apartment; they were attended by a man dressed +something like a priest, who bore a large box; I instantly ran to relate +what I had seen to my young master. I found him shaving. ‘I will just +finish what I am about,’ said he, ‘and then wait upon these gentlemen.’ +He finished what he was about with great deliberation; then taking a +horsewhip, and bidding me follow him, he proceeded at once to the door of +his sisters’ apartment; finding it fastened, he burst it open at once +with his foot, and entered, followed by myself. There we beheld the two +unfortunate young ladies down on their knees before a large female doll, +dressed up, as usual, in rags and tinsel; the two priests were standing +near, one on either side, with their hands uplifted, whilst the fellow +who brought the trumpery stood a little way down the private stair, the +door of which stood open; without a moment’s hesitation, my young master +rushed forward, gave the image a cut or two with his horsewhip—then +flying at the priests, he gave them a sound flogging, kicked them down +the private stair, and spurned the man, box and image after them—then +locking the door, he gave his sisters a fine sermon, in which he +represented to them their folly in worshipping a silly wooden graven +image, which, though it had eyes, could see not; though it had ears, +could hear not; though it had hands, could not help itself; and though it +had feet, could not move about unless it were carried. Oh, it was a fine +sermon that my young master preached, and sorry I am that the Father of +the Fetish, old Mumbo, did not hear it. The elder sister looked ashamed, +but the youngest, who was very weak, did nothing but wring her hands, +weep and bewail the injury which had been done to the dear image. The +young man, however, without paying much regard to either of them, went to +his father, with whom he had a long conversation, which terminated in the +old governor giving orders for preparations to be made for the family’s +leaving Rome and returning to England. I believe that the old governor +was glad of his son’s arrival, and rejoiced at the idea of getting away +from Italy, where he had been so plundered and imposed upon. The +priests, however, made another attempt upon the poor young ladies. By +the connivance of the female servant who was in their interest, they +found their way once more into their apartment, bringing with them the +fetish image, whose body they partly stripped, exhibiting upon it certain +sanguine marks which they had daubed upon it with red paint, but which +they said were the result of the lashes which it had received from the +horsewhip. The youngest girl believed all they said, and kissed and +embraced the dear image; but the eldest, whose eyes had been opened by +her brother, to whom she was much attached, behaved with proper dignity; +for, going to the door, she called the female servant who had a respect +for me, and in her presence reproached the two deceivers for their +various impudent cheats, and especially for this their last attempt at +imposition; adding that if they did not forthwith withdraw and rid her +sister and herself of their presence, she would send word by her maid to +her brother, who would presently take effectual means to expel them. +They took the hint and departed, and we saw no more of them. + +“At the end of three days we departed from Rome, but the maid whom the +Priests had cajoled remained behind, and it is probable that the youngest +of our ladies would have done the same thing if she could have had her +own will, for she was continually raving about her image, and saying, she +should wish to live with it in a convent; but we watched the poor thing, +and got her on board ship. Oh, glad was I to leave that fetish country +and old Mumbo behind me!” + + + + +CHAPTER C. + + +Nothing but Gloom—Sporting Character—Gouty Tory—Servants’ +Club—Politics—Reformado Footman—Peroration—Good Night. + +“We arrived in England, and went to our country seat, but the peace and +tranquillity of the family had been marred, and I no longer found my +place the pleasant one which it had formerly been; there was nothing but +gloom in the house, for the youngest daughter exhibited signs of lunacy, +and was obliged to be kept under confinement. The next season I attended +my master, his son, and eldest daughter to London, as I had previously +done. There I left them, for hearing that a young baronet, an +acquaintance of the family, wanted a servant, I applied for the place, +with the consent of my masters, both of whom gave me a strong +recommendation; and, being approved of, I went to live with him. + +“My new master was what is called a sporting character, very fond of the +turf, upon which he was not very fortunate. He was frequently very much +in want of money, and my wages were anything but regularly paid; +nevertheless, I liked him very much, for he treated me more like a friend +than a domestic, continually consulting me as to his affairs. At length +he was brought nearly to his last shifts, by backing the favourite at the +Derby, which favourite turned out a regular brute, being found nowhere at +the rush. Whereupon, he and I had a solemn consultation over fourteen +glasses of brandy and water, and as many cigars—I mean, between us—as to +what was to be done. He wished to start a coach, in which event he was +to be driver, and I guard. He was quite competent to drive a coach, +being a first-rate whip, and I dare say I should have made a first-rate +guard; but to start a coach requires money, and we neither of us believed +that anybody would trust us with vehicles and horses, so that idea was +laid aside. We then debated as to whether or not he should go into the +Church; but to go into the Church—at any rate to become a dean or bishop, +which would have been our aim—it is necessary for a man to possess some +education; and my master, although he had been at the best school in +England, that is, the most expensive, and also at College, was almost +totally illiterate, so we let the Church scheme follow that of the coach. +At last, bethinking me that he was tolerably glib at the tongue, as most +people are who are addicted to the turf, also a great master of slang, +remembering also that he had a crabbed old uncle, who had some borough +interest, I proposed that he should get into the House, promising in one +fortnight to qualify him to make a figure in it, by certain lessons which +I would give him. He consented; and during the next fortnight I did +little else than give him lessons in elocution, following to a tittle the +method of the great professor, which I had picked up, listening behind +the door. At the end of that period, we paid a visit to his relation, an +old gouty Tory, who, at first, received us very coolly. My master, +however, by flattering a predilection of his for Billy Pitt, soon won his +affections so much, that he promised to bring him into Parliament; and in +less than a month was as good as his word. My master, partly by his own +qualifications, and the assistance which he had derived, and still +occasionally derived, from me, cut a wonderful figure in the House, and +was speedily considered one of the most promising speakers; he was always +a good hand at promising—he is, at present, I believe, a Cabinet +minister. + +“But as he got up in the world, he began to look down on me. I believe +he was ashamed of the obligation under which he lay to me; and at last, +requiring no further hints as to oratory from a poor servant like me, he +took an opportunity of quarrelling with me and discharging me. However, +as he had still some grace, he recommended me to a gentleman with whom, +since he had attached himself to politics, he had formed an acquaintance, +the editor of a grand Tory Review. I lost caste terribly amongst the +servants for entering the service of a person connected with a profession +so mean as literature; and it was proposed at the Servants’ Club, in Park +Lane, to eject me from that society. The proposition, however, was not +carried into effect, and I was permitted to show myself among them, +though few condescended to take much notice of me. My master was one of +the best men in the world, but also one of the most sensitive. On his +veracity being impugned by the editor of a newspaper, he called him out, +and shot him through the arm. Though servants are seldom admirers of +their masters, I was a great admirer of mine, and eager to follow his +example. The day after the encounter, on my veracity being impugned by +the servant of Lord C--- in something I said in praise of my master, I +determined to call him out; so I went into another room and wrote a +challenge. But whom should I send it by? Several servants to whom I +applied refused to be the bearers of it; they said I had lost caste, and +they could not think of going out with me. At length the servant of the +Duke of B--- consented to take it; but he made me to understand that, +though he went out with me, he did so merely because he despised the +Whiggish principles of Lord C---’s servant, and that if I thought he +intended to associate with me, I should be mistaken. Politics, I must +tell you, at that time ran as high amongst the servants as the gentlemen, +the servants, however, being almost invariably opposed to the politics of +their respective masters, though both parties agreed in one point, the +scouting of everything low and literary, though I think, of the two, the +liberal or reform party were the most inveterate. So he took my +challenge, which was accepted; we went out, Lord C---’s servant being +seconded by a reformado footman from the palace. We fired three times +without effect; but this affair lost me my place; my master on hearing it +forthwith discharged me; he was, as I have said before, very sensitive, +and he said this duel of mine was a parody of his own. Being, however, +one of the best men in the world, on his discharging me he made me a +donation of twenty pounds. + +“And it was well that he made me this present, for without it I should +have been penniless, having contracted rather expensive habits during the +time that I lived with the young baronet. I now determined to visit my +parents, whom I had not seen for years. I found them in good health, +and, after staying with them for two months, I returned again in the +direction of town, walking, in order to see the country. On the second +day of my journey, not being used to such fatigue, I fell ill at a great +inn on the north road, and there I continued for some weeks till I +recovered, but by that time my money was entirely spent. By living at +the inn I had contracted an acquaintance with the master and the people, +and become accustomed to inn life. As I thought that I might find some +difficulty in procuring any desirable situation in London, owing to my +late connection with literature, I determined to remain where I was, +provided my services would be accepted. I offered them to the master, +who, finding I knew something of horses, engaged me as a postillion. I +have remained there since. You have now heard my story. + +“Stay, you sha’n’t say that I told my tale without a per—peroration. +What shall it be? Oh, I remember something which will serve for one. As +I was driving my chaise some weeks ago I saw standing at the gate of an +avenue, which led up to an old mansion, a figure which I thought I +recognised. I looked at it attentively, and the figure, as I passed, +looked at me; whether it remembered me I do not know, but I recognised +the face it showed me full well. + +“If it was not the identical face of the red-haired priest whom I had +seen at Rome, may I catch cold! + +“Young gentleman, I will now take a spell on your blanket—young lady, +good night.” + + THE END. + + + + +SOME OPINIONS. + + +“The death of his father as told in the last chapter of _Lavengro_. Is +there anything of the kind more affecting in the library? . . . People +there are for whom Borrow will play the same part as did horses and dogs +for the gentleman in the tall white hat, whom David Copperfield met on +the top of the Canterbury coach. ‘Orses and dorgs,’ said that gentleman, +‘is some men’s fancy. They are wittles and drink to me, lodging, wife +and children, reading, writing and ’rithmetic, snuff, tobacker and +sleep.’”—MR. AUGUSTINE BIRRELL in “_Res Judicatæ_.” + +“The spirit of Le Sage, the genius of Sterne find new life in these +pages. We promise our readers intellectual enjoyment of the highest +order from a perusal of this extraordinary book.”—MORNING POST. + +“Described with extraordinary vigour, and no one will lay down the volume +unless compelled.”—ATHENÆUM. + +“Mr. Borrow has the rare art of describing scenes and presenting +characters with that graphic force and clearness which arise from +thorough knowledge of and interest in his subject. . . . As an observer +of strange varieties of the human race, he at once charms and rewards the +attention of the reader.”—SPECTATOR. + + _By the same author and uniform with this volume_. + + In neat cloth, with cut or uncut edges, 2s. + + THE BIBLE IN SPAIN; + + _Or_, _The Journeys and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an attempt to + circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula_. + + BY GEORGE BORROW. + + + + +MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS BOOKS. + + + _AN INEXPENSIVE LIBRARY OF INDISPENSABLE BOOKS_. + + _An Illustrated Series of first-class Books_, _averaging from 400 to 600 + pages_, _strongly and attractively bound in cloth_. + + PRICE TWO SHILLINGS EACH VOLUME, + WITH CUT OR UNCUT EDGES. + + In Half-Calf, Half-Persian, or Half-Morocco, Price Five Shillings each + Volume. + +The Design and Plan of the MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS BOOKS have been +amply justified by the remarkable favour with which it has been received +by the press and the public. The design is to provide _at the lowest +possible cost_ books which every intelligent reader will wish to possess +in a form readable, attractive, and lasting. The issue at monthly +intervals, not so frequent as to distract, not so intermittent as to lose +the advantage of regularity, enables readers to add to their library at +an almost imperceptible cost. Thus for about one pound a year, every man +may form a library which will afford an ever-increasing source of +gratification and cultivation to himself and his family. There is no +doubt, as in buying the novelties of the day, as to whether the new +volume will prove to be of permanent value and interest. It will have +already stood the test of time and of good critics, though frequently it +may have been unattainable except at a heavy cost. THE MINERVA LIBRARY +includes only works of widespread popularity, which have proved +themselves worthy of a permanent place in literature. + +Variety is studied in the selection of books, so that all classes of the +best literature of all nations may be represented. The adoption of the +name “Minerva” is justified by the abundant wisdom, thought, and +imaginative and inventive power which the books will be found to contain. + +Each volume contains an introduction by the Editor, in which a biography +of the author, or critical or explanatory notes, place the reader in +sympathy with the author and his work. In some of the books additional +elucidations and illustrations of the text are given, and in others +side-notes indicate the subjects of the paragraphs. + +The number of separate Plates as well as illustrations in the text forms +a marked feature of the series. As far as possible an authentic portrait +of every author is given. An inspection of the books only is needed to +make their attractiveness evident. + +Every Englishman who reads and thinks, and wishes to possess the BEST +BOOKS, should have every book in the Minerva Library. + +The Youth beginning to form a Library of books for lifelong companionship +cannot do better than subscribe to the Minerva Library. + +Schools, Mechanics, and Village Libraries, and literary institutions of +all kinds, should provide themselves with a number of copies of this +inexpensive library of indispensable books. + +The Artisan and the Shop Assistant will find their means and +opportunities consulted in this series. They cannot buy the best books +in the English language in a better and cheaper form combined. + +Naturally every Englishman wants to possess the choice works of the +greatest Englishmen; and to complete his ideas as a citizen of the world, +he needs a selection of the greatest writings of the geniuses of other +countries. Both these wants it is the object of the Minerva Library to +supply. + + + +Volume I.—Eleventh Edition. + + +CHARLES DARWIN’S JOURNAL During the Voyage of H.M.S. “Beagle” round the +World. With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of +Darwin, and Illustrations. + + “‘The ‘Minerva Library,’ the new venture of Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co. + has made an excellent start. . . . No better volumes could be chosen + for popular reading of a healthy sort than ‘Darwin’s Journal of + Researches during the Voyage of the Beagle,’ and ‘Borrow’s Bible in + Spain.’ The paper is good, the type is tolerable, the binding is in + excellent taste, and the price is extremely low.”—_Athenæum_. + + + +Volume II.—Fifth Edition. + + +THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. With a Critical Introduction by the Editor, +Portrait of the Author, and reproductions of the celebrated Illustrations +by PHIZ and CRUIKSHANK. + + “This series, which is edited by Mr. G. T. Bettany, is neatly bound, + well illustrated, and nicely printed.”—_Graphic_. + + “The determination of the publishers of the ‘Minerva Library’ to + render the series attractive and representative of English literature + of all kinds, is strikingly displayed in this volume. . . The book is + well printed and bound, and will be eagerly welcomed by all desiring + to obtain at a small cost a good edition of the works of the famous + humourist.”—_Liverpool Courier_. + + + +Volume III.—Fourth Edition. + + +BORROW’S BIBLE IN SPAIN: The Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of +an Englishman, in an attempt to circulate the Scriptures in the +Peninsula. By GEORGE BORROW, Author of “The Gipsies of Spain.” With a +Biographical Introduction by the Editor, and Illustrations. + +“Lovers of good literature and cheap may be commended to the ‘Minerva +Library’ Edition of ‘The Bible in Spain,’ edited by Mr. G. T. Bettany. +This is an excellent reprint, with neat binding, good type, and fair +woodcuts.”—_Saturday Review_. + + + +Volume IV.—Sixth Edition. + + +EMERSON’S PROSE WORKS: The complete Prose Works of RALPH WALDO EMERSON. +With a Critical Introduction by the Editor, and Portrait of the Author. + + “The series, judging by the initial volumes, will be endowed with + everything that makes reading pleasant and agreeable. . . . The + printing is a marvel of clearness, the slurs that too often + characterise cheap volumes being conspicuous by their absence. . . . + The binding is both elegant and durable. . . . If the excellence of + the first volumes is maintained in the future, the series will enjoy + a success both widespread and prolonged.” _City Press_. + + + +Volume V.—Fourth Edition. + + +GALTON’S SOUTH AFRICA: The Narrative of an Explorer in Tropical South +Africa: being an Account of a Visit to Damaraland in 1851. By FRANCIS +GALTON, F.R.S. With a New Map and Appendix, together with a Biographical +Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of Mr. Gallon, and Illustrations. +Containing also Vacation Tours in 1860 and 1861, by SIR GEORGE GROVE, +FRANCIS GALTON, F.R.S., and W. G. CLARK, M.A. + + “Be it understood the ‘Minerva Library’ presents itself in a form + that even the lover of luxurious books could scarcely find fault + with.”—_Warrington Guardian_. + + “The ‘Minerva Library’ will be hailed with delight, we are sure, by + all readers.”—_The Weekly Times_. + + + +Volume VI.—Third Edition. + + +THE BETROTHED LOVERS (I Promessi Sposi). By ALESSANDRO MANZONI. With a +Biographical Introduction by the Editor, and Portrait of the Author. + + Of this great work GOETHE wrote:—“Manzoni’s romance transcends all + that we have knowledge of in this kind. I need only say that the + internal part, all that comes from the core of the poet, is + thoroughly perfect, and that the external part, all the notes of + localities and so forth, is not a whit behind its great inner + qualities. . . . The work gives us the pleasure of an absolutely ripe + fruit.” + + + +Volume VII.—Fourth Edition. + + +GOETHE’S FAUST (Complete). Translated in the Original Metres, with +copious Critical and Explanatory Notes by BAYARD TAYLOR. With a Critical +Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of GOETHE, and RETZSCH’S +Illustrations. + +*** This is a full and complete reprint of BAYARD TAYLOR’S unrivalled +rendering of GOETHE’S masterpiece. It is published by special +arrangement with MRS. BAYARD TAYLOR, and contains the whole of the +Translator’s copious and extremely valuable Notes, Introductions, and +Appendices. + + + +Volume VIII.—Fourth Edition. + + +WALLACE’S TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON: Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro. By +ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, Author of “The Malay Archipelago,” “Darwinism,” +etc. Giving an account of the Native Tribes, and Observations on the +Climate, Geology, and Natural History of the Amazon Valley. With a +Biographical Introduction, Portrait of the Author, and Illustrations. + + “It would be impossible to overstate the service which Mr. Wallace, + the co-discoverer of Darwinism, has done.”—_Times_, September 11th, + 1889. + + + +Volume IX.—Fifth Edition. + + +DEAN STANLEY’S LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD. The Life and Correspondence of Thomas +Arnold, D.D. (Head-Master of Rugby School). By ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, +D.D., Dean of Westminster. With a Portrait of DR. ARNOLD, and Full-page +Illustrations. + + “One of the most remarkable and most instructive books ever + published—a book for which Arnold himself left abundant materials in + his voluminuous correspondence, supplemented by a large quantity of + miscellaneous matter added by his friend and former pupil, Dean + Stanley.”—_Morning Advertiser_. + + + +Volume X.—Third Edition, + + +POE’S TALES OF ADVENTURE, MYSTERY, AND Imagination. By EDGAR ALLAN POE. +With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of the Author, +and Illustrations. + + “Contains over forty of Poe’s marvellous stories, certainly among the + most exciting and sensational tales ever written. The volume itself + is a marvel, comprising, as it does, over 560 pages, strongly and + neatly bound, for two shillings.”—_Newcastle Chronicle_. + + + +Volume XI.—Second Edition. + + +COMEDIES BY MOLIÈRE: Including The Would-be Gentleman; The Affected Young +Ladies; The Forced Marriage; The Doctor by Compulsion; Scapin’s +Rogueries; The Blunderer; The School for Husbands; The School for Wives; +The Miser; The Hypochondriac; The Misanthrope; The Blue-Stockings; +Tartuffe, or the Hypocrite. Newly Translated by CHARLES MATTHEW, M.A. +The Translation revised by the Editor, with a Portrait of the Author, and +Biographical Introduction. + + “We hope that this new translation of Molière’s magnificent comedies + will make them as widely known as they deserve to be.”—_Playgoer_. + + + +Volume XII.—Second Edition. + + +FORSTER’S LIFE OF GOLDSMITH: The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith. By +JOHN FORSTER, Author of “The Life of Charles Dickens,” etc. With a +Biography of FORSTER by the Editor, and Numerous Illustrations by +MACLISE, STANFIELD, LEECH, and others. + + Forster’s “Life of Goldsmith” is a work which ranks very high among + successful biographies. Washington Irving said of it: “It is + executed with a spirit, a feeling, a grace, and an elegance, that + leave nothing to be desired.” + + + +Volume XIII.—Second Edition. + + +LANE’S MODERN EGYPTIANS: The Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians. +By EDWARD WILLIAM LANE, Translator of the “Arabian Nights’ +Entertainments.” With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Sixteen +Full-page Plates, and Eighty Illustrations in the Text. + + “A famous and valuable book by one of the best Oriental Scholars of + the century. It is, indeed, the fact that the present work is, as + has been said, the most remarkable description of a people ever + written.”—_Glasgow Herald_. + + + +Volume XIV. + + +TORRENS’ LIFE OF MELBOURNE: Memoirs of William Lamb, Second Viscount +Melbourne. By W. M. TORRENS. With Introduction by the Editor, and +Portrait of LORD MELBOURNE. + + “It is, indeed, one of the best and most interesting biographies ever + written . . . For ourselves, we must admit we have read the book from + cover to cover with avidity, and we hope it will reach the hands of + tens of thousands of our middle and working classes.”—_Daily + Chronicle_. + + + +Volume XV.—Fourth Edition. + + +THACKERAY’S VANITY FAIR. Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero. By +WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. With Biographical Introduction by the +Editor, Portrait of the Author, and full-page Illustrations. + + “The masterpiece of Thackeray’s satire is here placed within reach of + the slenderest purse, and yet in a form that leaves nothing to be + desired in the way of clear printing, and neat, serviceable + binding.”—_Manchester Examiner_. + + + +Volume XVI. + + +BARTH’S TRAVELS IN AFRICA: Travels and Discoveries in North and Central +Africa. Including Accounts of Tripoli, the Sahara, the Remarkable +Kingdom of Bornu, and the Countries round Lake Chad. By HENRY BARTH, +Ph.D., D.C.L. With Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Full-page +Plates, and Illustrations in the Text. + + “Barth’s journey through Tripoli to Central Africa is full of + instruction and entertainment. He had a fine feeling for the remote, + the unknown, the mysterious . . . Altogether, his is one of the most + inspiring of records.”—_Saturday Review_. + + + +Volume XVII.—Second Edition. + + +VICTOR HUGO: SELECT POEMS AND TRAGEDIES. (“Hernani” and “The King’s +Amusement.”) Translated by FRANCIS, FIRST EARL OF ELLESMERE, SIR EDWIN +ARNOLD, K.S.I., SIR GILBERT CAMPBELL, BART., BP. ALEXANDER, RICHARD +GARNETT, LL.D., ANDREW LANG, LL.D., CLEMENT SCOTT, M.A., CHARLES MATTHEW, +M.A., NELSON R. TYERMAN, and many others. With Portrait of VICTOR HUGO. + + “One of the best volumes yet issued in the splendid series of ‘Famous + Books’ which go to make up Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co’s ‘Minerva + Library,’”—_Northampton Mercury_. + + + +Volume XVIII.—Second Edition. + + +DARWIN’S CORAL REEFS, VOLCANIC ISLANDS, AND South American Geology: With +Critical and Historical Introductions, specially written for this edition +by Professor JOHN W. JUDD, F.R.S., Professor of Geology in the Normal +College of Science, South Kensington. With Maps and Illustrations. + + Darwin’s “Coral Reefs” is at once one of his most notable and + charming books, and one that has excited a most vigorous recent + controversy. His account of the Volcanic Islands he visited, and his + still more remarkable book describing the vast changes that have + taken place in South America in geological time, are also reprinted + in this volume, thus completing the “Geology of the Voyage of the + Beagle.” + + + +Volume XIX. + + +LOCKHART’S LIFE OF BURNS. Revised. With New Notes, &c., by J. H. +INGRAM. Portrait and Full-page Engravings. + + + +Volume XX. + + +BARTH’S CENTRAL AFRICA: Timbuktu and the Niger. With Full-page and other +Engravings. + + + +Volume XXI. + + +LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition. Edited by FREDK. +LOCKER-LAMPSON, assisted by COULSON KERNAHAN. + + + +Volume XXII. + + +CARLYLE’S SARTOR RESARTUS, HERO-WORSHIP, and PAST AND PRESENT. With +Introduction and Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXIII. + + +AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND LETTERS OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. With authentic Portrait. + + + +Volume XXIV. + + +BECKFORD’S “VATHEK,” and European Travels: With Biographical Introduction +and Portrait of Beckford. + + + +Volume XXV. + + +MACAULAY’S HISTORICAL AND LITERARY ESSAYS. With Biographical +Introduction and Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXVI. + + +YONGE’S LIFE OF WELLINGTON. By the Author of “History of the British +Navy,” etc. With Portrait and Plans of Battles. + + + +Volume XXVII. + + +CARLYLE’S HISTORY of the FRENCH REVOLUTION. With Introduction and +Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXVIII. + + +THE LAND OF THE LION AND SUN: Or, Modern Persia. By C. J. WILLS, M.D. +With Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXIX. + + +MARY BARTON: A Tale of Manchester Life. By Mrs. GASKELL. With full +Biographical Notice of the Author. + + + +Volume XXX. + + +INGRAM’S LIFE OF POE: The Life, Letters, and Opinions of Edgar Allan Poe. +By J. H. INGRAM. With Portraits. + + + +Volume XXXI. + + +SHIRLEY. By CHARLOTTE BRONTË. With Biographical Introduction, Portrait, +and four Full-page Illustrations. + +Among novels of the nineteenth century, few are more secure of literary +immortality than those of Charlotte Brontë. The illustrations of +localities mentioned in “Shirley” add to the interest of this edition. + + + +Volume XXXII. + + +HOOKER’S HIMALAYAN JOURNALS: Notes of a Naturalist in Bengal, the Sikkim +and Nepal Himalayas, the Khasia Mountains, etc. By Sir JOSEPH HOOKER, +K.C.S.I., F.R.S., LL.D., etc. New Edition, Revised by the Author. With +Portrait, Maps, and Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXXIII. + + +BACON’S FAMOUS WORKS: “Essays, Civil and Moral,” “The Proficience and +Advancement of Learning,” “Novum Organum,” etc. With Biographical +Introduction and Portrait. + + + +Volume XXXIV. + + +MACAULAY’S BIOGRAPHICAL, CRITICAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS AND POEMS, +including the “Lays of Ancient Rome.” With Marginal Notes, Introduction, +and Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXXV. + + +CARLYLE’S OLIVER CROMWELL’S LETTERS AND SPEECHES. With Introduction and +Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXXVI. + + +ALTON LOCKE; Tailor and Poet. By CHARLES KINGSLEY. With Critical +Introduction by COULSON KERNAHAN, and Portrait of the Author. + + + +Volume XXXVII. + + +THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS. By WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. With Critical +Introduction, Portrait, and Illustrations by the Author. + + + +Volume XXXVIII. + + +LAVENGRO: The Scholar, The Priest, The Gipsy. By GEORGE BORROW, Author +of “The Bible in Spain,” etc. With Introduction by THEODORE WATTS, and +Two Full-page Illustrations. + + + +OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. + + + “Messrs. Ward & Lock’s ‘Minerva Library’ comes with particular + acceptance. Seven volumes of the series are before us, and they are + models of cheapness and general excellence.”—THE STAR. + + “A series of Famous Books published at the cheapest price consistent + with excellent binding and a neat and handsome volume for the + bookshelves. . . The first volume is a most acceptable book, and + ought to have a multitude of readers.”—THE NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE. + + “Readers who delight in high-class literature will owe a deep debt of + gratitude to Messrs. Ward & Lock.”—THE DAILY CHRONICLE. + + “Works of this character, so well printed and bound, ought to be + widely welcomed, and the Minerva Library has clearly a career before + it.”—THE YORKSHIRE POST. + + “‘The Minerva Library’ will be hailed with delight, we are sure, by + all readers. . . . Will assuredly take as high a place among the + cheap issues of sterling literature as its patroness among the + goddesses.”—THE WEEKLY TIMES. + + WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, & Co., London, New York, Melbourne, and Sydney. + _And of all Booksellers_. + + BY THE AUTHOR OF “LAVENGRO.” + + FOURTH EDITION NOW READY. + + _Crown 8vo_, _cloth_, _with either cut or uncut edges_. TWO SHILLINGS. + + THE BIBLE IN SPAIN, + + _The Journeys_, _Adventures_, _and Imprisonments of an Englishman_, _in + an attempt to circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula_. + + BY + GEORGE BORROW, + Author of “Lavengro,” “The Gipsies of Spain,” etc. + + WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BY G. T. BETTANY, M.A., + _AND FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS_. + + A LEADING LITERARY CRITIC + +_wrote as follows to the Editor_: “As a friend and admirer of George +Borrow, I cannot resist the impulse to write and thank you for the good +service you are doing his memory, and the good service you are doing the +public, by the issue of your admirable edition of ‘The Bible in Spain.’ +This is a period of marvellously cheap reprints, but surely the ‘Minerva +Library’ leaves them all behind.” + + + +OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. + + + “The next cheap book is one of the famous books of the world. As to + the reception which this reprint of Borrow’s ‘Bible in Spain’ is + likely to receive there can hardly be any misgiving.”—THE ECHO. + + “Lovers of good literature, and cheap, may be commended to the + ‘Minerva Library’ edition of ‘The Bible in Spain.’”—THE SATURDAY + REVIEW. + + “That wonderfully interesting and too little known work ‘The Bible in + Spain.’ . . . Borrow’s literary style is faultless, and his keen + powers of observation were employed to excellent purpose. With 400 + pages and several illustrations, the volume is a striking + illustration of the cheap form in which our leading publishers can + serve up the best examples of English literature.”—SHEFFIELD + TELEGRAPH. + + “The manner in which Spanish life is photographed and the + circumstantial narration of incidents occurring in a time + particularly eventful for Spain, are in themselves sufficient to + secure for the book a permanent place in our literature.”—MANCHESTER + EXAMINER. + + “‘The Bible in Spain’ is one of the most interesting works ever + written, and has been pronounced to be ‘a genuine book,’ abounding in + life-like pictures of Spain and Portugal, and recording also many + romantic adventures.”—THE NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE. + + WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, & CO., + LONDON, NEW YORK, MELBOURNE, AND SYDNEY. + _And of all Booksellers_. + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{1} “In Cornwall are the best gentlemen.”—_Corn Prov._ + +{10} Norwegian ells—about eight feet. + +{95} Klopstock. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO*** + + +******* This file should be named 20198-0.txt or 20198-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/9/20198 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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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 + + + + + +Title: Lavengro + the Scholar - the Gypsy - the Priest + + +Author: George Borrow + +Editor: Theodore Watts + +Release Date: January 13, 2010 [eBook #20198] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1893 Ward, Lock, Bowden, and Co. edition +by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>LAVENGRO:<br /> +THE SCHOLAR—THE GYPSY—THE PRIEST.</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +GEORGE BORROW,<br /> +<span class="smcap">author of</span><br /> +“THE BIBLE IN SPAIN,” <span +class="smcap">etc.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap"><i>with an +introduction</i></span><br /> +<span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +THEODORE WATTS.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, AND CO.<br /> +<span class="smcap">london</span>: <span class="smcap">warwick +house</span>, <span class="smcap">salisbury square</span>, <span +class="smcap">e.c.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">new york</span>: <span class="smcap">east +12th street</span>.<br /> +<span class="smcap">melbourne</span>: <span class="smcap">st. +james’s street</span>. <span +class="smcap">sydney</span>: <span class="smcap">york +street</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1893.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Borrow’s home at Oulton (now pulled down), showing the +summer house where much of his work was written. (From a +Photograph kindly lent by Mr. Welchman, of Lowestoft, and taken +by Mr. F. G. Mayhew, of the same place.)" +title= +"Borrow’s home at Oulton (now pulled down), showing the +summer house where much of his work was written. (From a +Photograph kindly lent by Mr. Welchman, of Lowestoft, and taken +by Mr. F. G. Mayhew, of the same place.)" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page vii--><a name="pagevii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vii</span>NOTES UPON GEORGE BORROW.</h2> +<h3>I. <span class="smcap">Borrow as a Splendid Literary +Amateur</span>.</h3> +<p>There are some writers who cannot be adequately +criticised—who cannot, indeed, be adequately written about +at all—save by those to whom they are personally +known. I allude to those writers of genius who, having only +partially mastered the art of importing their own individual +characteristics into literary forms, end their life-work as they +began it, remaining to the last amateurs in literary art. +Of this class of writers George Borrow is generally taken to be +the very type. Was he really so?</p> +<p>There are passages in “Lavengro” which are +unsurpassed in the prose literature of England—unsurpassed, +I mean, for mere perfection of style—for blending of +strength and graphic power with limpidity and music of +flow. Is “Lavengro” the work of a literary +amateur who, yielding at will to every kind of authorial +self-indulgence, fails to find artistic expression for the life +moving within him—fails to project an individuality that +his friends knew to have been unique? Of other writers of +genius, admirable criticism may be made by those who have never +known them in the flesh. Is this because each of those +others, having passed from the stage of the literary amateur to +that of the literary artist, is able to pour the stream of his +personality into the literary mould and give to the world a true +image of himself? It has been my chance of life to be +brought into personal relations with many men of genius, but I +feel that there are others who could write about them more +adequately than I. Does Borrow stand alone? The +admirers of his writings seem generally to think he does, for +ever since I wrote my brief and hasty obituary notice of him in +1881, I have been urged to enlarge my reminiscences of +him—urged <!-- page viii--><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>not only by philologers and +gypsologists, but by many others in England, America, and +Germany. But I on my part have been for years urging upon +the friend who introduced me to him, and who knew him years +ago,—knew him when he was the comparatively young literary +lion of East Anglia,—Dr. Gordon Hake, to do what others are +urging me to do. Not only has the author of “Parables +and Tales” more knowledge of the subject than any one else, +but having a greater reputation than I, he can speak with more +authority, and having a more brilliant pen than I, he can give a +more vital picture than I can hope to give of our common +friend. If he is, as he seems to be, fully determined not +to depict Borrow in prose, let me urge him to continue in verse +that admirable description of him contained in one of the +well-known sonnets addressed to myself in “The New +Day”:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And he, the walking lord of gipsy lore!<br +/> + How often ’mid the deer that grazed the +Park,<br /> +Or in the fields and heath and windy moor,<br /> + Made musical with many a soaring lark,<br /> +Have we not held brisk commune with him there,<br /> + While Lavengro, then towering by your side,<br /> +With rose complexion and bright silvery hair,<br /> + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride<br /> +To tell the legends of the fading race—<br /> + As at the summons of his piercing glance,<br /> +Its story peopling his brown eyes and face,<br /> + While you called up that pendant of romance<br /> +To Petulengro with his boxing glory,<br /> + Your Amazonian Sinfi’s noble story!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>II. <span class="smcap">Is there a Key to</span> +“<span class="smcap">Lavengro</span>”?</h3> +<p>Dr. Hake, however, and those others among Borrow’s +friends who are apt to smile at the way in which critics of the +highest intelligence will stand baffled and bewildered before the +eccentricities of “Lavengro” and “The Romany +Rye”—some critics treating the work as autobiography +spoilt, and some as spoilt fiction—forget that while it is +easy to open a locked door with a key, to open a locked door +without a key is a very different undertaking. On the +subject of autobiographies and the autobiographic method, I had +several interesting talks with Borrow. I remember an +especial one that took place on Wimbledon Common, on a certain +autumn morning when I was pointing out to him the spot <!-- page +ix--><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>called Gypsy Ring. He was in a very communicative +mood that day, and more amenable to criticism than he generally +was. I had been speaking of certain bold coincidences in +“Lavengro” and “The Romany +Rye”—especially that of Lavengro’s meeting by +accident in the neighbourhood of Salisbury Plain the son of the +very apple-woman of London Bridge with whom he had made friends, +and also of such apparently manufactured situations as that of +Lavengro’s coming upon the man whom Wordsworth’s +poetry had sent into a deep slumber in a meadow.</p> +<p>“What is an autobiography?” he asked. +“Is it a mere record of the incidents of a man’s +life? or is it a picture of the man himself—his character, +his soul?”</p> +<p>Now this I think a very suggestive question of Borrow’s +with regard to himself and his own work. That he sat down +to write his own life in “Lavengro” I know. He +had no idea then of departing from the strict line of fact. +Indeed, his letters to his friend Mr. John Murray would alone be +sufficient to establish this in spite of his calling +“Lavengro” a dream. In the first volume he did +almost confine himself to matters of fact. But as he went +on he clearly found that the ordinary tapestry into which Destiny +had woven the incidents of his life were not tinged with +sufficient depth of colour to satisfy his sense of wonder; for, +let it be remembered, that of love as a strong passion he had +almost none. Surely no one but Lavengro could have lived in +a dingle with a girl like Belle Berners, and passed the time in +trying to teach her Armenian. Without strong passion no +very deeply coloured life-tapestry can, in these unadventurous +days, be woven. The manufactured incidents of which there +are so many in “Lavengro” and “The Romany +Rye,” are introduced to give colour to a web of life that +strong Passion had left untinged. But why? In order +to flash upon the personality of Lavengro, and upon +Lavengro’s attitude towards the universe unseen as well as +seen, a light more searching, as Borrow considered, than any +picture of actual experience could have done. In other +words, to build up the truth of the character of Lavengro, Borrow +does not shrink from manipulating certain incidents and inventing +others. And when he wishes to dive very boldly into the +“abysmal deeps of personality,” he speaks and moves +partly behind the mask of some fictitious character, such as the +man who touched for the evil chance, and such as the +hypochondriac who taught himself Chinese to ward off despair, but +could not tell the time of day by looking at the clock. +This is not the place for me to enter more fully into this +matter, but I am looking forward to a fitting occasion of showing +whether or not “Lavengro” and “The Romany +Rye” form <!-- page x--><a name="pagex"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. x</span>a spiritual autobiography; and if they +do, whether that autobiography does or does not surpass every +other for absolute truth of spiritual representation. +Meantime, let it be remembered by those who object to +Borrow’s method that, as I have just hinted, at the basis +of his character was a deep sense of wonder. Let it be +remembered that he was led to study the first of the many +languages he taught himself—Irish—because there was, +as he said, “something mysterious and uncommon in its +use.” Let it be remembered that it was this instinct +of wonder, not the impulse of the mere <i>poseur</i>, that +impelled him to make certain exaggerated statements about the +characters themselves who are introduced into his books.</p> +<h3>III. <span class="smcap">Isopel Berners</span>.</h3> +<p>For instance, the tall girl, Isopel Berners—the most +vigorous sketch he has given us—is perfect as she is +adorable. Among heroines she stands quite alone; there is +none other that is in the least like her. Yet she is in +many of her qualities typical of a class. Among the very +bravest of all human beings in the British Islands are, or were, +the nomadic girls of the high road and the dingle. Their +bravery is not only an inherited quality: it is in every way +fostered by their mode of life. No tenderness from the men +with whom they travel, either as wives or as mistresses, do they +get—none of the chivalry which girls in most other grades +of life experience—and none do they expect. In all +disputes between themselves and the men, their associates, they +know that the final argument is the knock-down blow. With +the Romany girl, too, this is the case, to be sure; but then, +while the Romany girl, as a rule, owing to tribal customs, +receives the blow in patience, the English girl is apt to return +it, and with vigour. This condition of things gives the +English road-girl a frank independence of bearing which +distinguishes her from girls of all other classes. There is +something of the charm of the savage about her, even to her odd +passion for tattoo. No doubt Isopel is an idealisation of +the class; but the class, with all its drawbacks, has a certain +winsomeness for men of Borrow’s temperament.</p> +<p>But, unfortunately, his love of the wonderful, his instinct +for exaggeration, asserts itself even here. I need give +only one instance of what I mean. He makes Isopel Berners +speak of herself as being taller than Lavengro. Now, as +Borrow gives Lavengro his own character and <!-- page xi--><a +name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xi</span>physique in +every detail, even to the silvery hair and even to the somewhat +peculiar method of sparring, and as he himself stood six feet two +inches, Isopel must have been better adapted to shine as a +giantess in a show than as a fighting woman capable of cowing the +“Flaming Tinman” himself.</p> +<p>It is a very exceptional woman that can really stand up +against a trained boxer, and it is, I believe, or used to be, an +axiom among the nomads that no fighting woman ought to stand more +than about five feet ten inches at the outside. A handsome +young woman never looks so superb as when boxing; but it is under +peculiar disadvantages that she spars with a man, inasmuch as she +has, even when properly padded (as assuredly every woman ought to +be) to guard her chest with even more care than she guards her +face. The truth is, as Borrow must have known, that women, +in order to stand a chance against men, must rely upon some +special and surprising method of attack—such, for instance, +as that of the sudden “left-hand body blow” of the +magnificent gypsy girl of whose exploits I told him that day at +“Gypsy Ring”—who, when travelling in England, +was attached to Boswell’s boxing-booth, and was always +accompanied by a favourite bantam cock, ornamented with a gold +ring in each wattle, and trained to clap his wings and crow +whenever he saw his mistress putting on the gloves—the most +beautiful girl, gypsy or other, that ever went into East +Anglia. This “left-hand body blow” of hers she +delivered so unexpectedly, and with such an engine-like velocity, +that but few boxers could “stop it.”</p> +<p>But, with regard to Isopel Berners, neither Lavengro, nor the +man she thrashed when he stole one of her flaxen hairs to conjure +with, gives the reader the faintest idea of Isopel’s method +of attack or defence, and we have to take her prowess on +trust.</p> +<p>In a word, Borrow was content to give us the Wonderful, +without taking that trouble to find for it a logical basis which +a literary master would have taken. And instances might +easily be multiplied of this exaggeration of Borrow’s, +which is apt to lend a sense of unreality to some of the most +picturesque pages of “Lavengro.”</p> +<h3>IV. <span class="smcap">Borrow’s Use of +Patois</span>.</h3> +<p>Nor does Borrow take much trouble to give organic life to a +dramatic picture by the aid of <i>patois</i> in dialogue. +In every conversation between Borrow’s gypsies, and between +them and Lavengro, the illusion is constantly being disturbed by +the vocabulary of the speakers. It is hard <!-- page +xii--><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span>for the reader to believe that characters such as +Jasper Petulengro, his wife, and sister Ursula, between whom so +much of the dialogue is distributed, should make use of the +complex sentences and book-words which Borrow, on occasion, puts +into their mouths.</p> +<p>I remember once remarking to him upon the value of +<i>patois</i> within certain limits—not only in imaginative +but in biographic art.</p> +<p>His answer came in substance to this, that if the matter of +the dialogue be true to nature, the entire verisimilitude of the +form is a secondary consideration.</p> +<p>“Walter Scott,” said he, “has run to death +the method of <i>patois</i> dialogue.”</p> +<p>He urged, moreover, that the gypsies really are extremely fond +of uncommon and fine words. And this, no doubt, is true, +especially in regard to the women. There is nothing in +which the native superiority of the illiterate Romany woman over +the illiterate English woman of the road is more clearly seen +than in the love of long “book-words” (often +mispronounced) displayed by the former. Strong, however, as +is the Romany chi’s passion for fine words, her sentences +are rarely complex like some of the sentences Borrow puts into +her mouth.</p> +<p>With regard, however, to the charge of idealising gypsy +life—a charge which has often been brought against +Borrow—it must be remembered that the gypsies to whom he +introduces us are the better kind of gryengroes (horse-dealers), +by far the most prosperous of all gypsies. Borrow’s +“gryengroes” are not in any way more prosperous than +those he knew.</p> +<p>These nomads have an instinctive knowledge of +horseflesh—will tell the amount of “blood” in +any horse by a lightning glance at his quarters—and will +sometimes make large sums before the fair is over.</p> +<p>Yet, on the whole, I will not deny that Borrow was as +successful in giving us vital portraits of English and Irish +characters as of Romany characters, perhaps more so.</p> +<p>That hypochondriacal strain in Borrow’s nature, which +Dr. Hake alludes to, perhaps prevented him from sympathising +fully with the joyous Romany temper. But over and above +this, and charming as the Petulengro family are, they do not live +as do the characters of Mr. Groome in his delightful book +“In Gypsy Tents”—a writer whose treatises on +the gypsies in the “Encyclopædia Britannica,” +and in “Chambers’ Encyclopedia,” are as full of +the fruits of actual personal contact with the gypsies as of the +learning to be derived from books.</p> +<h3><!-- page xiii--><a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>V. <span class="smcap">The +Saving Grace of Pugilism</span>.</h3> +<p>Borrow’s “Flaming Tinman” is, of course, a +brilliant success, but then he, though named Bosville, is not a +pure gypsy. He is what is called on the roads, I believe, a +“half and half”; and in nothing is more clearly seen +that “prepotency of transmission,” which I have +elsewhere attributed to the Anglo-Saxon in the racial struggle, +than in hybrids of this kind. A thorough-bred Romany chal +can be brutal enough, but the “Flaming +Tinman’s” peculiar shade of brutality is Anglo-Saxon, +not Romany. The Tinman’s ironical muttering while +unharnessing his horse, “Afraid. H’m! +Afraid; that was the word, I think,” is worthy of Dickens +at his very best—worthy of Dickens when he created Rogue +Riderhood—but it is hardly Romany, I think.</p> +<p>The battle in the dingle is superb.</p> +<p>Borrow is always at his strongest when describing a pugilistic +encounter: for in the saving grace of pugilism as an English +accomplishment, he believed as devoutly almost as he believed in +East Anglia and the Bible. It was this more than anything +else that aroused the ire of the critics of +“Lavengro” when it first appeared. One critical +journal characterised the book as the work of a +“barbarian.”</p> +<p>This was in 1851, when Clio seemed set upon substituting +Harlequin’s wand for Britannia’s trident, seemed set +upon crowning her with the cap and bells of Folly in her maudlin +mood,—the marvellous and memorable year when +England—while every forge in Europe was glowing with +expectance, ready to beat every ploughshare into a +sword—uttered her famous prophecy, that from the day of the +opening of the Prince Consort’s glass show in Hyde Park, +bullets, bayonets, and fists were to be institutions of a +benighted past.</p> +<p>Very different was the prophecy of this “eccentric +barbarian,” Borrow, especially as regards the abolition of +the British fist. His prophecy was that the decay of +pugilism would be followed by a flourishing time in England for +the revolver and the assassin’s knife,—a prophecy +which I can now recommend to those two converts to the virtues of +Pugilism, Mr. Justice Grantham and the present Editor of the +<i>Daily News</i>, the former of whom in passing sentence of +death (at the Central Criminal Court, on Wednesday, January 11th, +1893) upon a labourer named Hosler, for stabbing one Dennis +Finnessey to death in a quarrel about a pot of beer, borrowed in +the most impudent manner from the “eccentric +barbarian,” when he said, “If men would only use +their <!-- page xiv--><a name="pagexiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>fists instead of knives when tempted +to violence, so many people would not be hanged”; while the +latter remarked that “the same thing has been said from the +bench before, <i>and cannot be said too often</i>.” +When the “eccentric barbarian” argued that pugnacity +is one of the primary instincts of man—when he argued that +no civilisation can ever eradicate this instinct without +emasculating itself—when he argued that to clench +one’s fist and “strike out” is the irresistible +impulse of every one who has been assaulted, and that to make it +illegal to “strike out,” to make it illegal to learn +the art to “strike out” with the best effect, is not +to quell the instinct, but simply to force it to express itself +in other and more dangerous and dastardly ways—when he +argued thus more than forty years ago, he saw more clearly than +did his critics into the future—a future which held within +its womb not only the American civil war and the gigantic +Continental struggles whose bloody reek still “smells to +heaven,” but also the present carnival of dynamite, the +revolver, and the assassin’s knife.</p> +<h3>VI. <span class="smcap">Borrow’s +Gypsies</span>.</h3> +<p>To those who knew Borrow, the striking thing about +“Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye” is not +that there is so much about the gypsies, but that there is +comparatively so little, and that he only introduces one family +group. Judged from these two books the reader would +conclude that he knew nothing whatever of the Lees, the Stanleys, +and the most noticeable of all, the Lovells, and yet those who +knew him are aware that he was thrown into contact with most of +these. But here, as in everything else, Borrow’s +eccentric methods can never be foreseen. The most +interesting of all the gypsies are the Welsh gypsies. The +Welsh variety of the Romany tongue is quite peculiar, and the +Romanies of the Principality are superior to all others in these +islands in intelligence and in their passion for gorgio +respectability. Borrow in “Lavengro” takes the +reader to the Welsh border itself, and then turns back, leaving +the Welsh Romany undescribed. And in the only part of +“Wild Wales” where gypsy life is afterwards glanced +at, the gypsies introduced are not Welsh, but English.</p> +<p>The two great successes amongst Borrow’s Romany +characters are undoubtedly Mrs. Petulengro’s mother (old +Mrs. Herne) and her grandchild Leonora, but these are the two +wicked characters of the group. It is impossible to imagine +anything better told than the attempt of these two to poison +Lavengro: it is drama of the rarest kind. The <!-- page +xv--><a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xv</span>terrible ironical dialogue over the prostrate and +semi-conscious Lavengro, between the child-murderess and the +hag-murderess who have poisoned him, is like nothing else in +literature. This scene alone should make +“Lavengro” immortal. In no other race than the +Romany would a child of the elf-like intelligence and unconscious +wickedness of Leonora be possible; but also it must be said that +in no other race than the Romany would be possible a child like +her who is made the subject of my sonnet, “A Gypsy +Child’s Christmas,” printed in the “Journal of +the Gypsy Lore Society”—a sonnet which renders in +verse a real incident recorded by my friend before alluded +to:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Dear Sinfi rose and danced along “The +Dells,”<br /> + Drawn by the Christmas chimes, and soon she sate<br +/> + Where, ’neath the snow around the churchyard +gate,<br /> +The ploughmen slept in bramble-banded cells:<br /> +The gorgios passed, half fearing gipsy spells,<br /> + While Sinfi, gazing, seemed to meditate;<br /> + She laughed for joy, then wept disconsolate:<br /> +“De poor dead gorgios cannot hear de bells.”</p> +<p>Within the church the clouds of gorgio-breath<br /> + Arose, a steam of lazy praise and prayer,<br /> + To Him who weaves the loving Christmas-stair<br /> +O’er sorrow and sin and wintry deeps of Death;<br /> + But where stood He? Beside our Sinfi there,<br +/> +Remembering childish tears in Nazareth.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Perhaps Borrow’s pictures of the gypsies, by omitting to +depict the Romany woman on her loftier, her tragic side, fail to +demonstrate what he well knew to be the Romany’s great +racial mark of distinction all over Europe, the enormous +superiority of the gypsy women over the gypsy men, not in +intelligence merely, but in all the higher human qualities. +While it is next to impossible to imagine a gypsy hero, gypsy +heroines—women capable of the noblest things—are far +from uncommon.</p> +<p>The “Amazonian Sinfi,” alluded to in Dr. +Hake’s sonnet, was a heroine of this noble strain, and yet +perhaps she was but a type of a certain kind of Romany chi.</p> +<p>It was she of the bantam cock and “the left-hand body +blow” alluded to above.</p> +<p>This same gypsy girl also illustrated another side of the +variously endowed character of the Romany women, ignored, or +almost ignored by Borrow—their passion for music. The +daughter of an extremely well-to-do “gryengro,” or +dealer in horses, this gypsy girl had travelled over nearly <!-- +page xvi--><a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xvi</span>all England, and was familiar with London, where, in +the studio of a certain romantic artist, she was in great request +as a face-model. But having been brought into close contact +with a travelling band of Hungarian gypsy musicians who visited +England some years ago, she developed a passion for music that +showed her to be a musical genius. The gypsy musicians of +Hungary, who are darker than the tented gypsies, are the most +intelligent and most widely-travelled of even Hungarian +gypsies—indeed, of all the Romany race, and with them Sinfi +soon developed into the “Fiddling Sinfi,” who was +famous in Wales and also in East Anglia, and the East +Midlands. After a while she widened her reputation in a +curious way as the only performer on the old Welsh stringed +instrument called the “crwth,” or cruth. I told +Borrow her story at Gypsy Ring. Having become, through the +good nature of an eminent Welsh antiquary, the possessor of a +crwth, and having discovered the unique capabilities of that +rarely-seen instrument, she soon taught herself to play upon it +with extraordinary effect, fascinating her Welsh patrons by the +ravishing strains she could draw from it. This obsolete +instrument is six-stringed, with two of the strings reaching +beyond the key-board, and a bridge placed, not at right angles to +the sides of the instrument, but in an oblique direction. +Though in some respects inferior to the violin, it is in other +respects superior to it. Sinfi’s performances on this +remarkable instrument showed her to be a musical genius of a high +order.</p> +<h3>VII. <span class="smcap">My First Meeting with +Borrow</span>.</h3> +<p>But I am not leaving myself much room for personal +reminiscences of Borrow after all—though these are what I +sat down to write.</p> +<p>Dr. Hake, in his memoirs of “Eighty Years,” +records thus the first meeting between Borrow and myself at +Roehampton, at the doctor’s own delightful house, whose +windows at the back looked over Richmond Park, and in front over +the wildest part of Wimbledon Common.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Later on, George Borrow turned up while +Watts was there, and we went through a pleasant trio, in which +Borrow, as was his wont, took the first fiddle. The reader +must not here take metaphor for music. Borrow made himself +very agreeable to Watts, recited a fairy tale in the best style +to him, and liked him.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There is, however, no doubt that Borrow would have run away +from me had I been associated in his mind with the literary +calling. But at <!-- page xvii--><a +name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>that time +I had written nothing at all save poems, and a prose story or two +of a romantic kind, and even these, though some of the poems have +since appeared, were then known only through private +circulation.</p> +<p>About me there was nothing of the literary flavour: no need to +flee away from me as he fled from the writing fraternity. +He had not long before this refused to allow Dr. Hake to +introduce the late W. R. S. Ralston to him, simply because the +Russian scholar moved in the literary world.</p> +<p>With regard to newspaper critiques of books his axiom was that +“whatever is praised by the press is of necessity +bad,” and he refused to read anything that was so +praised.</p> +<p>After the “fairy tale” mentioned by Dr. Hake was +over, we went, at Borrow’s suggestion, for a ramble through +Richmond Park, calling on the way at the “Bald-Faced +Stag” in Kingston Vale, in order that Borrow should +introduce me to Jerry Abershaw’s sword, which was one of +the special glories of that once famous hostelry. A divine +summer day it was I remember—a day whose heat would have +been oppressive had it not been tempered every now and then by a +playful silvery shower falling from an occasional wandering +cloud, whose slate-coloured body thinned at the edges to a fringe +of lace brighter than any silver.</p> +<p>These showers, however, seemed, as Borrow remarked, merely to +give a rich colour to the sunshine, and to make the wild flowers +in the meadows on the left breathe more freely. In a word, +it was one of those uncertain summer days whose peculiarly +English charm was Borrow’s special delight. He liked +rain, but he liked it falling on the green umbrella (enormous, +shaggy, like a gypsy-tent after a summer storm) he generally +carried. As we entered the Robin Hood Gate we were +confronted by a sudden weird yellow radiance, magical and +mysterious, which showed clearly enough that in the sky behind us +there was gleaming over the fields and over Wimbledon Common a +rainbow of exceptional brilliance, while the raindrops sparkling +on the ferns seemed answering every hue in the magic arch far +away. Borrow told us some interesting stories of Romany +superstitions in connection with the rainbow—how, by making +a “trus’hul” (cross) of two sticks, the Romany +chi who “pens the dukkerin can wipe the rainbow out of the +sky,” etc. Whereupon Hake, quite as original a man as +Borrow, and a humourist of a still rarer temper, launched out +into a strain of wit and whim, which it is not my business here +to record, upon the subject of the “Spirit of the +Rainbow” which a certain child went out to find.</p> +<p>Borrow loved Richmond Park, and he seemed to know every +tree. <!-- page xviii--><a name="pagexviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xviii</span>I found also that he was extremely +learned in deer, and seemed familiar with every dappled coat +which, washed and burnished by the showers, seemed to shine in +the sun like metal. Of course, I observed him closely, and +I began to wonder whether I had encountered, in the +silvery-haired giant striding by my side, with a vast umbrella +under his arm, a true “Child of the Open Air.”</p> +<p>“Did a true Child of the Open Air ever carry a gigantic +green umbrella that would have satisfied Sarah Gamp +herself?” I murmured to Hake, while Borrow lingered under a +tree and, looking round the Park, said, in a dreamy way, +“Old England! Old England!”</p> +<h3>VIII. <span class="smcap">A Child of the Open Air Under +a Green Umbrella</span>.</h3> +<p>Perhaps, however, I had better define what Hake and I meant by +this phrase, and to do this I cannot do better than quote the +definition of Nature-worship, by H. A. the “Swimming +Rye,” which we had both been just discussing, and which I +quoted not long after this memorable walk in a literary +journal:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“With all the recent cultivation of the +picturesque by means of water-colour landscape, descriptive +novels, ‘Cook’s excursions,’ etc., the real +passion for Nature is as rare as ever it was,—perhaps +rarer. It is quite an affair of individual temperament: it +cannot be learned; it cannot be lost. That no writer has +ever tried to explain it shows how little it is known. +Often it has but little to do with poetry, little with +science. The poet, indeed, rarely has it at its very +highest; the man of science as rarely. I wish I could +define it:—in human souls—in one, perhaps, as much as +in another—there is always that instinct for contact which +is a great factor of progress; there is always an irresistible +yearning to escape from isolation, to get as close as may be to +some other conscious thing. In most individuals this +yearning is simply for contact with other human souls; in some +few it is not. There are some in every country of whom it +is the blessing, not the bane, that, owing to some exceptional +power, or to some exceptional infirmity, they can get closer to +‘<i>Natura Benigna</i>’ herself, closer to her whom +we now call ‘Inanimate Nature,’ than to the human +mother who bore them—far closer than to father, brother, +sister, wife, or friend. Darwin among English +<i>savants</i>, and Emily Brontë among English poets, and +Sinfi Lovell among English gypsies, showed a good deal of the +characteristics of the ‘Children of the Open +Air.’ But in the case of the first of these, besides +the strength of his family ties the pedantic inquisitiveness, the +methodising pedantry of the man of science; <!-- page xix--><a +name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xix</span>in the +second, the sensitivity to human contact; and in the third, +subjection to the love passion—disturbed, and indeed +partially stifled, the native instinct with which they were +undoubtedly endowed.</p> +<p>“Between the true ‘Children of the Open Air’ +and their fellows there are barriers of idiosyncrasy, barriers of +convention, or other barriers quite indefinable, which they find +most difficult to overpass, and, even when they succeed in +overpassing them, the attempt is not found to be worth the +making. For, what the Nature-worshipper finds in +intercourse with his fellow-men is, not the unegoistic frankness +of Nature, his first love, inviting him to touch her close, soul +to soul—but another <i>ego</i> enisled like his +own—sensitive, shrinking, like his own—a soul which, +love him as it may, is, nevertheless, and for all its love, the +central <i>ego</i> of the universe to itself, the very Alcyone +round whom all other Nature-worshippers revolve like the rest of +the human constellations. But between these and Nature +there is no such barrier, and upon Nature they lavish their +love—‘a most equal love,’ that varies no more +with her change of mood than does the love of a man for a +beautiful woman, whether she smiles, or weeps, or frowns. +To them a Highland glen is most beautiful; so is a green meadow; +so is a mountain gorge or a barren peak; so is a South American +savannah. A balmy summer is beautiful, but not more +beautiful than a winter’s sleet beating about the face, and +stinging every nerve into delicious life.</p> +<p>“To the ‘Child of the Open Air’ life has but +few ills; poverty cannot touch him. Let the Stock Exchange +rob him of his Turkish bonds, and he will go and tend sheep in +Sacramento Valley, perfectly content to see a dozen faces in a +year; so far from being lonely, he has got the sky, the wind, the +brown grass, and the sheep. And as life goes on, love of +Nature grows both as a cultus and a passion, and in time Nature +seems ‘to know him and love him’ in her +turn.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was the umbrella, green, manifold and bulging, under +Borrow’s arm, that made me ask Dr. Hake, as Borrow walked +along beneath the trees, “Is he a genuine Child of the Open +Air”? And then, calling to mind +“Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye,” I said, +“He went into the Dingle, and lived alone—went there +not as an experiment in self-education, as Thoreau went and lived +by Walden Pond. He could enjoy living alone, for the +‘horrors’ to which he was occasionally subject did +not spring from solitary living. He was never disturbed by +passion as was the nature-worshipper who once played such selfish +tricks with Sinfi Lovell, and as Emily Brontë would +certainly have been had she been placed in such circumstances as +Charlotte Brontë placed Shirley.”</p> +<p>“But the most damning thing of all,” said Hake, +“is that umbrella, gigantic and green: a painful thought +that has often occurred to me.”</p> +<p><!-- page xx--><a name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xx</span>“Passion has certainly never disturbed his +nature-worship,” said I. “So devoid of passion +is he that to depict a tragic situation is quite beyond his +powers. Picturesque he always is, powerful never. No +one reading an account of the privations of Lavengro during the +‘Joseph Sell’ period finds himself able to realise +from Borrow’s description the misery of a young man +tenderly reared, and with all the pride of an East Anglian +gentleman, living on bread and water in a garret, with starvation +staring him in the face. It is not passion,” I said +to Hake, “that prevents Borrow from enjoying the peace of +the nature-worshipper. It is Ambition! His books show +that he could never cleanse his stuffed bosom of the perilous +stuff of ambition. To become renowned, judging from many a +peroration in ‘Lavengro,’ was as great an incentive +to Borrow to learn languages as to Alexander Smith’s +poet-hero it was an incentive to write poetry.”</p> +<p>“Ambition and the green gamp,” said Hake. +“But, look, the rainbow is fading from the sky without the +intervention of gypsy sorceries, and see how the ferns are +changing colour with the change in the light.”</p> +<p>But I soon found that if Borrow was not a perfect Child of the +Open Air, he was something better: a man of that deep sympathy +with human kind, which the “Child of the Open Air” +must needs lack.</p> +<h3>IX. <span class="smcap">The Gypsies of Norman +Cross</span>.</h3> +<p>Knowing Borrow’s extraordinary shyness and his great +dislike of meeting strangers, Dr. Hake, while Borrow was trying +to get as close to the deer as they would allow, expressed to me +his surprise at the terms of cordial friendship that sprang up +between us during that walk. But I was not surprised: there +were several reasons why Borrow should at once take to +me—reasons that had nothing whatever to do with any +inherent attractiveness of my own.</p> +<p>By recalling what occurred I can throw a more brilliant light +upon Borrow’s character than by any kind of analytical +disquisition.</p> +<p>Two herons rose from the Ponds and flew away to where they +probably had their nests. By the expression on +Borrow’s face as he stood and gazed at them, I knew that, +like myself, he had a passion for herons.</p> +<p>“Were there many herons around Whittlesea Mere before it +was drained?” I said.</p> +<p><!-- page xxi--><a name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxi</span>“I should think so,” said he, dreamily, +“and every kind of water bird.”</p> +<p>Then, suddenly turning round upon me with a start, he said, +“But how do you know that I knew Whittlesea +Mere?”</p> +<p>“You say in ‘Lavengro’ that you played among +the reeds of Whittlesea Mere when you were a child.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mention Whittlesea Mere in +‘Lavengro,’” he said.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “but you speak of a lake near +the old State prison at Norman Cross, and that was Whittlesea +Mere.”</p> +<p>“Then you know Whittlesea Mere?” said Borrow, much +interested.</p> +<p>“I know the place that <i>was</i> Whittlesea Mere before +it was drained,” I said, “and I know the vipers +around Norman Cross, and I think I know the lane where you first +met Jasper Petulengro. He was a generation before my +time. Indeed, I never was thrown much across the +Petulengroes in the Eastern Counties, but I knew some of the +Hernes and the Lees and the Lovells.”</p> +<p>I then told him what I knew about Romanies and vipers, and +also gave him Marcianus’s story about the Moors being +invulnerable to the viper’s bite, and about their putting +the true breed of a suspected child to the test by setting it to +grasp a viper—as he, Borrow, when a child, grasped one of +the vipers of Norman Cross.</p> +<p>“The gypsies,” said Borrow, “always believed +me to be a Romany. But surely you are not a Romany +Rye?”</p> +<p>“No,” I said, “but I am a student of +folk-lore; and besides, as it has been my fortune to see every +kind of life in England, high and low, I could not entirely +neglect the Romanies, could I?”</p> +<p>“I should think not,” said Borrow, +indignantly. “But I hope you don’t know the +literary class among the rest.”</p> +<p>“Hake is my only link to <i>that</i> dark world,” +I said; “and even you don’t object to Hake. I +am purer than he, purer than you, from the taint of +printers’ ink.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “Who are you?”</p> +<p>“The very question I have been asking myself ever since +I was a child in short frocks,” I said, “and have +never yet found an answer. But Hake agrees with me that no +well-bred soul should embarrass itself with any such troublesome +query.” This gave a chance to Hake, who in such local +reminiscences as these had been able to take no part. The +humorous mystery of Man’s personality had often been a +subject of joke between him and me in many a ramble in the Park +and elsewhere. At once he threw himself into a strain of +whimsical philosophy which partly amused and partly vexed Borrow, +<!-- page xxii--><a name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxii</span>who stood waiting to return to the subject of the +gypsies and East Anglia.</p> +<p>“You are an Englishman?” said Borrow.</p> +<p>“Not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman,” +I said, using a phrase of his own in +“Lavengro”—“if not a thorough East +Anglian an East Midlander; who, you will admit, is nearly as +good.”</p> +<p>“Nearly,” said Borrow.</p> +<p>And when I went on to tell him that I once used to drive a +genuine “Shales mare,” a descendant of that same +famous Norfolk trotter who could trot fabulous miles an hour, to +whom he with the Norfolk farmers raised his hat in reverence at +the Norwich horse fair, and when I promised to show him a +portrait of this same East Anglian mare with myself behind her in +a dogcart—an East Anglian dogcart—when I praised the +stinging saltness of the sea water off Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and +Cromer, the quality which makes it the best, the most buoyant, +the most delightful of all sea water to swim in—when I told +him that the only English river in which you could see reflected +the rainbow he loved was “the glassy Ouse” of East +Anglia, and the only place in England where you could see it +reflected in the wet sand was the Norfolk coast, and when I told +him a good many things showing that I was in very truth not only +an Englishman, but an East Englishman, my conquest of the +“Walking Lord of Gypsy Lore” was complete, and from +that moment we became friends.</p> +<p>Hake meanwhile stood listening to the rooks in the +distance. He turned and asked Borrow whether he had never +noticed a similarity between the kind of muffled rattling roar +made by the sea-waves upon a distant pebbly beach and the sound +of a large rookery in the distance.</p> +<p>“It is on <i>sand</i> alone,” said Borrow, +“that the sea strikes its true music—Norfolk sand: a +rattle is not music.”</p> +<p>“The best of the sea’s lutes,” I said, +“is made by the sands of Cromer.”</p> +<p>I have read over to my beloved old friend Dr. Hake, the above +meagre account of that my first delightful ramble with +Borrow. He whose memory lets nothing escape, has reminded +me of a score of interesting things said and done on that +memorable occasion. But in putting into print any record of +one’s intercourse with a famous man, there is always an +unpleasant sense of lapsing into egotism. And besides, the +reader has very likely had enough now of talk between Borrow and +me.</p> +<h3><!-- page xxiii--><a name="pagexxiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxiii</span>X. <span class="smcap">The +Future of Borrow’s Works</span>.</h3> +<p>He whom London once tried hard, but in vain, to lionise, lived +during some of the last years of his life in Hereford Square, +unknown to any save about a dozen friends. At the head of +them stood Mr. John Murray, whose virtues, both as publisher and +as English gentleman, he was never tired of extolling.</p> +<p>Afterwards he went down to East Anglia—that East Anglia +he loved so well—went there, as he told me, to die.</p> +<p>But it was not till one day in 1881 that Borrow achieved, in +the Cottage by the Oulton Broads which his genius once made +famous, and where so much of his best work had been written, the +soul’s great conquest over its fleshly trammels, the +conquest we call death, but which he believed to be life. +His body was laid by the side of that of his wife at +Brompton.</p> +<p>When I wrote his obituary notice in the <i>Athenæum</i> +no little wonder was expressed in various quarters that the +“Walking Lord of Gypsy Lore” had been walking so +lately the earth.</p> +<p>And yet his “Bible in Spain” had still a regular +sale. His “Lavengro” and “Romany +Rye” were still allowed by all competent critics to be +among the most delightful books in the language. Indeed, at +his death, Borrow was what he now is, and what he will continue +to be long after Time has played havoc with nine-tenths of the +writers whose names are week by week, and day by day, +“paragraphed” in the papers as “literary +celebrities”—an English classic.</p> +<p>Apart from Borrow’s undoubted genius as a writer the +subject-matter of his writings has an interest that will not wane +but will go on growing. The more the features of our +“Beautiful England,” to use his own phrase, are +changed by the multitudinous effects of the railway system, the +more attraction will readers find in books which depict her +before her beauty was marred—books which depict her in +those antediluvian days when there was such a thing as space in +the island—when in England there was a sense of distance, +that sense without which there can be no romance—when the +stage-coach was in its glory—when the only magician who +could convey man and his belongings at any rate of speed beyond +man’s own walking rate was the horse—the beloved +horse whose praises Borrow loved to sing, and whose ideal was +reached in the mighty “Shales”—when the great +high roads were alive, not merely with the bustle of business, +but with real adventure for the traveller—days and scenes +which Borrow better than any one <!-- page xxiv--><a +name="pagexxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxiv</span>else +could paint. A time will come, I say, when not only books +full of descriptive genius, like “Lavengro,” but even +such comparatively tame descriptions of England as the +“Gleanings in England and Wales” of the now forgotten +East Midlander, Samuel Jackson Pratt, will be read with a new +interest. But why was Borrow so entirely forgotten at the +moment of his death? Simply because, like many another man +of genius and many a scholar, he refused to figure in the +literary arena—went on his way quietly influencing the +world, but mixing only with his private friends.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Theodore +Watts</span>.</p> +<h2><!-- page xxv--><a name="pagexxv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxv</span>AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE FIRST +EDITION.</h2> +<p>In the following pages I have endeavoured to describe a dream, +partly of study, partly of adventure, in which will be found +copious notices of books, and many descriptions of life and +manners, some in a very unusual form.</p> +<p>The scenes of action lie in the British Islands;—pray be +not displeased, gentle reader, if perchance thou hast imagined +that I was about to conduct thee to distant lands, and didst +promise thyself much instruction and entertainment from what I +might tell thee of them. I do assure thee that thou hast no +reason to be displeased, inasmuch as there are no countries in +the world less known by the British than these selfsame British +Islands, or where more strange things are every day occurring, +whether in road or street, house or dingle.</p> +<p>The time embraces nearly the first quarter of the present +century: this information again may, perhaps, be anything but +agreeable to thee; it is a long time to revert to, but fret not +thyself, many matters which at present much occupy the public +mind originated in some degree towards the latter end of that +period, and some of them will be treated of.</p> +<p>The principal actors in this dream, or drama, are, as you will +have gathered from the title-page, a Scholar, a Gypsy, and a +Priest. Should you imagine that these three form one, +permit me to assure you that you are very much mistaken. +Should there be something of the Gypsy manifest in the Scholar, +there is certainly nothing of the Priest. With respect to +the Gypsy—decidedly the most entertaining character of the +three—there is certainly nothing of the Scholar or the +Priest in him; and <!-- page xxvi--><a name="pagexxvi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvi</span>as for the Priest, though there may +be something in him both of scholarship and gypsyism, neither the +Scholar nor the Gypsy would feel at all flattered by being +confounded with him.</p> +<p>Many characters which may be called subordinate will be found, +and it is probable that some of these characters will afford much +more interest to the reader than those styled the +principal. The favourites with the writer are a brave old +soldier and his helpmate, an ancient gentlewoman who sold apples, +and a strange kind of wandering man and his wife.</p> +<p>Amongst the many things attempted in this book is the +encouragement of charity, and free and genial manners, and the +exposure of humbug, of which there are various kinds, but of +which the most perfidious, the most debasing, and the most cruel, +is the humbug of the Priest.</p> +<p>Yet let no one think that irreligion is advocated in this +book. With respect to religious tenets, I wish to observe +that I am a member of the Church of England, into whose communion +I was baptized, and to which my forefathers belonged. Its +being the religion in which I was baptized, and of my +forefathers, would be a strong inducement to me to cling to it; +for I do not happen to be one of those choice spirits “who +turn from their banner when the battle bears strongly against it, +and go over to the enemy,” and who receive at first a hug +and a “viva,” and in the sequel contempt and spittle +in the face; but my chief reason for belonging to it is, because, +of all Churches calling themselves Christian ones, I believe +there is none so good, so well founded upon Scripture, or whose +ministers are, upon the whole, so exemplary in their lives and +conversation, so well read in the book from which they preach, or +so versed in general learning, so useful in their immediate +neighbourhoods, or so unwilling to persecute people of other +denominations for matters of doctrine.</p> +<p>In the communion of this Church, and with the religious +consolation of its ministers, I wish and hope to live and die, +and in its and their defence will at all times be ready, if +required, to speak, though humbly, and to fight, though feebly, +against enemies, whether carnal or spiritual.</p> +<p>And is there no priestcraft in the Church of England? +There <!-- page xxvii--><a name="pagexxvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvii</span>is certainly, or rather there was, +a modicum of priestcraft in the Church of England, but I have +generally found that those who are most vehement against the +Church of England are chiefly dissatisfied with her, because +there is only a modicum of that article in her—were she +stuffed to the very cupola with it, like a certain other Church, +they would have much less to say against the Church of +England.</p> +<p>By the other Church, I mean Rome. Its system was once +prevalent in England, and, during the period that it prevailed +there, was more prolific of debasement and crime than all other +causes united. The people and the government at last +becoming enlightened by means of the Scripture, spurned it from +the island with disgust and horror, the land instantly after its +disappearance becoming a fair field, in which arts, sciences, and +all the amiable virtues flourished, instead of being a pestilent +marsh where swine-like ignorance wallowed, and artful hypocrites, +like so many Wills-o’-the-wisp, played antic gambols about, +around, and above debased humanity.</p> +<p>But Popery still wished to play her old part, to regain her +lost dominion, to reconvert the smiling land into the +pestilential morass, where she could play again her old +antics. From the period of the Reformation in England up to +the present time, she has kept her emissaries here, individuals +contemptible in intellect, it is true, but cat-like and gliding, +who, at her bidding, have endeavoured, as much as in their power +has lain, to damp and stifle every genial, honest, loyal, and +independent thought, and to reduce minds to such a state of +dotage as would enable their old Popish mother to do what she +pleased with them.</p> +<p>And in every country, however enlightened, there are always +minds inclined to grovelling superstition—minds fond of +eating dust, and swallowing clay—minds never at rest, save +when prostrate before some fellow in a surplice; and these Popish +emissaries found always some weak enough to bow down before them, +astounded by their dreadful denunciations of eternal woe and +damnation to any who should refuse to believe their Romania; but +they played a poor game—the law protected the servants of +Scripture, and the priest with his beads seldom ventured to <!-- +page xxviii--><a name="pagexxviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxviii</span>approach any but the remnant of those of the +eikonolatry—representatives of worm-eaten houses, their +debased dependants, and a few poor crazy creatures amongst the +middle classes—he played a poor game, and the labour was +about to prove almost entirely in vain, when the English +legislature, in compassion or contempt, or, yet more probably, +influenced by that spirit of toleration and kindness which is so +mixed up with Protestantism, removed almost entirely the +disabilities under which Popery laboured, and enabled it to raise +its head, and to speak out almost without fear.</p> +<p>And it did raise its head, and, though it spoke with some +little fear at first, soon discarded every relic of it; went +about the land uttering its damnation cry, gathering around +it—and for doing so many thanks to it—the favourers +of priestcraft who lurked within the walls of the Church of +England; frightening with the loudness of its voice the weak, the +timid, and the ailing; perpetrating, whenever it had an +opportunity, that species of crime to which it has ever been most +partial—<i>Deathbed robbery</i>; for as it is cruel, so is +it dastardly. Yes, it went on enlisting, plundering, and +uttering its terrible threats till—till it became, as it +always does when left to itself, a fool, a very fool. Its +plunderings might have been overlooked, and so might its +insolence, had it been common insolence, but it—, and then +the roar of indignation which arose from outraged England against +the viper, the frozen viper which it had permitted to warm itself +upon its bosom.</p> +<p>But thanks, Popery, you have done all that the friends of +enlightenment and religious liberty could wish; but if ever there +were a set of foolish ones to be found under Heaven, surely it is +the priestly rabble who came over from Rome to direct the grand +movement—so long in its getting up.</p> +<p>But now again the damnation cry is withdrawn, there is a +subdued meekness in your demeanour, you are now once more +harmless as a lamb. Well, we shall see how the +trick—“the old trick”—will serve you.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Birth—My +Father—Tamerlane—Ben Brain—French +Protestants—East Anglia—Sorrow and +Troubles—True Peace—A Beautiful Child—Foreign +Grave—Mirrors—Alpine Country Emblems—Slow of +Speech—The Jew—Strange Gestures.</p> +<p>On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D---, a +beautiful little town in a certain district of East Anglia, I +first saw the light.</p> +<p>My father was a Cornish man, the youngest, as I have heard him +say, of seven brothers. He sprang from a family of +gentlemen, or, as some people would call them, +gentillâtres, for they were not very wealthy; they had a +coat of arms, however, and lived on their own property at a place +called Tredinnock, which being interpreted means <i>the house on +the hill</i>, which house and the neighbouring acres had been +from time immemorial in their possession. I mention these +particulars that the reader may see at once that I am not +altogether of low and plebeian origin; the present age is highly +aristocratic, and I am convinced that the public will read my +pages with more zest from being told that I am a +gentillâtre by birth with Cornish blood <a +name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> in my veins, of a family who lived on +their own property at a place bearing a Celtic name signifying +the house on the hill, or more strictly the house on the +<i>hillock</i>.</p> +<p>My father was what is generally termed a posthumous +child—in other words, the gentillâtre who begot him +never had the satisfaction of invoking the blessing of the Father +of All upon his head, having departed this life some months +before the birth of his youngest son. The boy, therefore, +never knew a father’s care; he was, however, well tended by +his mother, whose favourite he was; so much so, indeed, that his +brethren, the youngest of whom was considerably older than +himself, were rather jealous of him. I never heard, +however, that they <!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 2</span>treated him with any marked +unkindness; and it will be as well to observe here that I am by +no means well acquainted with his early history, of which, +indeed, as I am not writing his life, it is not necessary to say +much. Shortly after his mother’s death, which +occurred when he was eighteen, he adopted the profession of arms, +which he followed during the remainder of his life, and in which, +had circumstances permitted, he would probably have shone amongst +the best. By nature he was cool and collected, slow to +anger, though perfectly fearless, patient of control, of great +strength; and, to crown all, a proper man with his hands.</p> +<p>With far inferior qualifications many a man has become a +field-marshal or general; similar ones made Tamerlane, who was +not a gentillâtre, but the son of a blacksmith, emperor of +one-third of the world; but the race is not always for the swift, +nor the battle for the strong, indeed I ought rather to say very +seldom; certain it is, that my father, with all his high military +qualifications, never became emperor, field-marshal, or even +general; indeed, he had never an opportunity of distinguishing +himself save in one battle, and that took place neither in +Flanders, Egypt, nor on the banks of the Indus or Oxus, but in +Hyde Park.</p> +<p>Smile not, gentle reader, many a battle has been fought in +Hyde Park, in which as much skill, science, and bravery have been +displayed as ever achieved a victory in Flanders or by the +Indus. In such a combat as that to which I allude I opine +that even Wellington or Napoleon would have been heartily glad to +cry for quarter ere the lapse of five minutes, and even the +Blacksmith Tartar would, perhaps, have shrunk from the opponent +with whom, after having had a dispute with him, my father engaged +in single combat for one hour, at the end of which time the +champions shook hands and retired, each having experienced quite +enough of the other’s prowess. The name of my +father’s antagonist was Brain.</p> +<p>What! still a smile? did you never hear that name +before? I cannot help it! Honour to Brain, who four +months after the event which I have now narrated was champion of +England, having conquered the heroic Johnson. Honour to +Brain, who, at the end of other four months, worn out by the +dreadful blows which he had received in his manly combats, +expired in the arms of my father, who read the Bible to him in +his latter moments—Big Ben Brain.</p> +<p>You no longer smile, even <i>you</i> have heard of Big +Ben.</p> +<p>I have already hinted that my father never rose to any very +exalted rank in his profession, notwithstanding his prowess and +other qualifications. After serving for many years in the +line, he at last entered as captain in the militia regiment of +the Earl of ---, at that period just raised, and to which he was +sent by the Duke of York to instruct the young levies in military +manœuvres and discipline; and in this mission I believe he +perfectly succeeded, competent judges having assured me that the +regiment in question soon came by his means to be considered as +one of the most brilliant in the service, and inferior to no +regiment of the line in appearance or discipline.</p> +<p><!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>As the head-quarters of this corps were at D---, the +duties of my father not unfrequently carried him to that place, +and it was on one of these occasions that he became acquainted +with a young person of the neighbourhood, for whom he formed an +attachment, which was returned; and this young person was my +mother.</p> +<p>She was descended from a family of French Protestants, natives +of Caen, who were obliged to leave their native country when old +Louis, at the instigation of the Pope, thought fit to revoke the +Edict of Nantes: their name was Petrement, and I have reason for +believing that they were people of some consideration; that they +were noble hearts and good Christians they gave sufficient proof +in scorning to bow the knee to the tyranny of Rome. So they +left beautiful Normandy for their faith’s sake, and with a +few louis d’ors in their purse, a Bible in the vulgar +tongue, and a couple of old swords, which, if report be true, had +done service in the Huguenot wars, they crossed the sea to the +isle of civil peace and religious liberty, and established +themselves in East Anglia.</p> +<p>And many other Huguenot families bent their steps thither, and +devoted themselves to agriculture or the mechanical arts; and in +the venerable old city, the capital of the province, in the +northern shadow of the Castle of De Burgh, the exiles built for +themselves a church where they praised God in the French tongue, +and to which, at particular seasons of the year, they were in the +habit of flocking from country and from town to sing—</p> +<p>“Thou hast provided for us a goodly earth; Thou waterest +her furrows, Thou sendest rain into the little valleys thereof, +Thou makest it soft with the drops of rain, and blessest the +increase of it.”</p> +<p>I have been told that in her younger days my mother was +strikingly handsome; this I can easily believe: I never knew her +in her youth, for though she was very young when she married my +father (who was her senior by many years), she had attained the +middle age before I was born, no children having been vouchsafed +to my parents in the early stages of their union. Yet even +at the present day, now that years threescore and ten have passed +over her head, attended with sorrow and troubles manifold, poorly +chequered with scanty joys, can I look on that countenance and +doubt that at one time beauty decked it as with a glorious +garment? Hail to thee, my parent! as thou sittest there, in +thy widow’s weeds, in the dusky parlour in the house +overgrown with the lustrous ivy of the sister isle, the solitary +house at the end of the retired court shaded by lofty +poplars. Hail to thee, dame of the oval face, olive +complexion, and Grecian forehead; by thy table seated with the +mighty volume of the good Bishop Hopkins spread out before thee; +there is peace in thy countenance, my mother; it is not worldly +peace, however, not the deceitful peace which lulls to bewitching +slumbers, and from which, let us pray, humbly pray, that every +sinner may be roused in time to implore mercy not in vain! +Thine is the peace of the righteous, my mother, of those to whom +no sin can be imputed, the score of whose misdeeds has been long +since washed away by the blood of atonement, which imputeth +righteousness <!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>to those who trust in it. It was +not always thus, my mother; a time was, when the cares, pomps, +and vanities of this world agitated thee too much; but that time +is gone by, another and a better has succeeded; there is peace +now on thy countenance, the true peace; peace around thee, too, +in thy solitary dwelling, sounds of peace, the cheerful hum of +the kettle and the purring of the immense Angola, which stares up +at thee from its settle with its almost human eyes.</p> +<p>No more earthly cares and affections now, my mother! +Yes, one. Why dost thou suddenly raise thy dark and still +brilliant eye from the volume with a somewhat startled +glance? What noise is that in the distant street? +Merely the noise of a hoof; a sound common enough; it draws +nearer, nearer, and now it stops before thy gate. +Singular! And now there is a pause, a long pause. Ha! +thou hearest something—a footstep; a swift but heavy +footstep! thou risest, thou tremblest, there is a hand on the pin +of the outer door, there is some one in the vestibule, and now +the door of thy apartment opens, there is a reflection on the +mirror behind thee, a travelling hat, a gray head and sunburnt +face. My dearest Son! My darling Mother!</p> +<p>Yes, mother, thou didst recognize in the distant street the +hoof-tramp of the wanderer’s horse.</p> +<p>I was not the only child of my parents; I had a brother some +three years older than myself. He was a beautiful child; +one of those occasionally seen in England, and in England alone; +a rosy, angelic face, blue eyes, and light chestnut hair; it was +not exactly an Anglo-Saxon countenance, in which, by the by, +there is generally a cast of loutishness and stupidity; it +partook, to a certain extent, of the Celtic character, +particularly in the fire and vivacity which illumined it; his +face was the mirror of his mind; perhaps no disposition more +amiable was ever found amongst the children of Adam, united, +however, with no inconsiderable portion of high and dauntless +spirit. So great was his beauty in infancy that people, +especially those of the poorer classes, would follow the nurse +who carried him about in order to look at and bless his lovely +face. At the age of three months an attempt was made to +snatch him from his mother’s arms in the streets of London, +at the moment she was about to enter a coach; indeed, his +appearance seemed to operate so powerfully upon every person who +beheld him that my parents were under continual apprehension of +losing him; his beauty, however, was perhaps surpassed by the +quickness of his parts. He mastered his letters in a few +hours, and in a day or two could decipher the names of people on +the doors of houses and over the shop-windows.</p> +<p>As he grew up his personal appearance became less +prepossessing, his quickness and cleverness, however, rather +increased; and I may say of him, that with respect to everything +which he took in hand he did it better and more speedily than any +other person. Perhaps it will be asked here, what became of +him? Alas! alas! his was an early and a foreign +grave. As I have said before, the race is not always for +the swift, nor the battle for the strong.</p> +<p>And now, doubtless, after the above portrait of my brother, +painted <!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 5</span>in the very best style of Rubens, the +reader will conceive himself justified in expecting a full-length +one of myself, as a child, for as to my present appearance, I +suppose he will be tolerably content with that flitting glimpse +in the mirror. But he must excuse me; I have no intention +of drawing a portrait of myself in childhood; indeed it would be +difficult, for at that time I never looked into mirrors. No +attempts, however, were ever made to steal me in my infancy, and +I never heard that my parents entertained the slightest +apprehension of losing me by the hands of kidnappers, though I +remember perfectly well that people were in the habit of standing +still to look at me, ay, more than at my brother; from which +premises the reader may form any conclusion with respect to my +appearance which seemeth good unto him and reasonable. +Should he, being a good-natured person, and always inclined to +adopt the charitable side in any doubtful point, be willing to +suppose that I, too, was eminently endowed by nature with +personal graces, I tell him frankly that I have no objection +whatever to his entertaining that idea; moreover, that I heartily +thank him, and shall at all times be disposed, under similar +circumstances, to exercise the same species of charity towards +himself.</p> +<p>With respect to my mind and its qualities I shall be more +explicit; for were I to maintain much reserve on this point, many +things which appear in these memoirs would be highly mysterious +to the reader, indeed incomprehensible. Perhaps no two +individuals were ever more unlike in mind and disposition than my +brother and myself: as light is opposed to darkness, so was that +happy, brilliant, cheerful child to the sad and melancholy being +who sprang from the same stock as himself, and was nurtured by +the same milk.</p> +<p>Once, when travelling in an Alpine country, I arrived at a +considerable elevation; I saw in the distance, far below, a +beautiful stream hastening to the ocean, its rapid waters here +sparkling in the sunshine, and there tumbling merrily in +cascades. On its banks were vineyards and cheerful +villages; close to where I stood, in a granite basin, with steep +and precipitous sides, slumbered a deep, dark lagoon, shaded by +black pines, cypresses, and yews. It was a wild, savage +spot, strange and singular; ravens hovered above the pines, +filling the air with their uncouth notes, pies chattered, and I +heard the cry of an eagle from a neighbouring peak; there lay the +lake, the dark, solitary, and almost inaccessible lake; gloomy +shadows were upon it, which, strangely modified as gusts of wind +agitated the surface, occasionally assumed the shape of +monsters. So I stood on the Alpine elevation, and looked +now on the gay distant river, and now at the dark +granite-encircled lake close beside me in the lone solitude, and +I thought of my brother and myself. I am no moralizer; but +the gay and rapid river and the dark and silent lake were, of a +verity, no bad emblems of us two.</p> +<p>So far from being quick and clever like my brother, and able +to rival the literary feat which I have recorded of him, many +years elapsed before I was able to understand the nature of +letters, or to connect them. A lover of nooks and retired +corners, I was as a child in the habit of fleeing from society, +and of sitting for hours together with my <!-- page 6--><a +name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>head on my +breast. What I was thinking about it would be difficult to +say at this distance of time; I remember perfectly well, however, +being ever conscious of a peculiar heaviness within me, and at +times of a strange sensation of fear, which occasionally amounted +to horror, and for which I could assign no real cause +whatever.</p> +<p>By nature slow of speech, I took no pleasure in conversation, +nor in hearing the voices of my fellow-creatures. When +people addressed me I not unfrequently, especially if they were +strangers, turned away my head from them, and if they persisted +in their notice burst into tears, which singularity of behaviour +by no means tended to dispose people in my favour. I was as +much disliked as my brother was deservedly beloved and +admired. My parents, it is true, were always kind to me; +and my brother, who was good nature itself, was continually +lavishing upon me every mark of affection.</p> +<p>There was, however, one individual who, in the days of my +childhood, was disposed to form a favourable opinion of me. +One day a Jew—I have quite forgotten the circumstance, but +I was long subsequently informed of it—one day a travelling +Jew knocked at the door of a farmhouse in which we had taken +apartments; I was near at hand, sitting in the bright sunshine, +drawing strange lines on the dust with my fingers, an ape and dog +were my companions; the Jew looked at me and asked me some +questions, to which, though I was quite able to speak, I returned +no answer. On the door being opened, the Jew, after a few +words, probably relating to pedlary, demanded who the child was, +sitting in the sun; the maid replied that I was her +mistress’s youngest son, a child weak <i>here</i>, pointing +to her forehead. The Jew looked at me again, and then said, +“’Pon my conscience, my dear, I believe that you must +be troubled there yourself to tell me any such thing. It is +not my habit to speak to children, inasmuch as I hate them, +because they often follow me and fling stones after me; but I no +sooner looked at that child than I was forced to speak to +it—his not answering me shows his sense, for it has never +been the custom of the wise to fling away their words in +indifferent talk and conversation; the child is a sweet child, +and has all the look of one of our people’s children. +Fool, indeed! did I not see his eyes sparkle just now when the +monkey seized the dog by the ear? they shone like my own +diamonds—does your good lady want any, real and fine? +Were it not for what you tell me, I should say it was a +prophet’s child. Fool, indeed! he can write already, +or I’ll forfeit the box which I carry on my back, and for +which I should be loth to take two hundred pounds!” +He then leaned forward to inspect the lines which I had +traced. All of a sudden he started back, and grew white as +a sheet; then, taking off his hat, he made some strange gestures +to me, cringing, chattering, and showing his teeth, and shortly +departed, muttering something about “holy letters,” +and talking to himself in a strange tongue. The words of +the Jew were in due course of time reported to my mother, who +treasured them in her heart, and from that moment began to +entertain brighter hopes of her youngest-born than she had ever +before ventured to foster.</p> +<h2><!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Barracks and Lodgings—A Camp—The +Viper—A Delicate Child—Blackberry Time—Meum and +Tuum—Hythe—The Golgotha—Daneman’s +Skull—Superhuman Stature—Stirring Times—The +Sea-Board.</p> +<p>I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life; indeed I +remember only two periods, and these by no means lengthy, when I +was, strictly speaking, stationary. I was a soldier’s +son, and as the means of my father were by no means sufficient to +support two establishments, his family invariably attended him +wherever he went, so that from my infancy I was accustomed to +travelling and wandering, and looked upon a monthly change of +scene and residence as a matter of course. Sometimes we +lived in barracks, sometimes in lodgings, but generally in the +former, always eschewing the latter from motives of economy, save +when the barracks were inconvenient and uncomfortable; and they +must have been highly so indeed to have discouraged us from +entering them; for though we were gentry (pray bear that in mind, +gentle reader), gentry by birth, and incontestably so by my +father’s bearing the commission of good old George the +Third, we were <i>not fine gentry</i>, but people who could put +up with as much as any genteel Scotch family who find it +convenient to live on a third floor in London, or on a sixth at +Edinburgh or Glasgow. It was not a little that could +discourage us: we once lived within the canvas walls of a camp, +at a place called Pett, in Sussex; and I believe it was at this +place that occurred the first circumstance, or adventure, call it +which you will, that I can remember in connection with myself: it +was a strange one, and I will relate it.</p> +<p>It happened that my brother and myself were playing one +evening in a sandy lane, in the neighbourhood of this Pett camp; +our mother was at a slight distance. All of a sudden a +bright yellow, and, to my infantine eye, beautiful and glorious +object made its appearance at the top of the bank from between +the thick quickset, and, gliding down, began to move across the +lane to the other side, like a line of golden light. +Uttering a cry of pleasure, I sprang forward, and seized it +nearly by the middle. A strange sensation of numbing +coldness seemed to pervade my whole arm, which surprised me the +more as the object to the eye appeared so warm and sunlike. +I did not drop it, however, but, holding it up, looked at it +intently, as its head dangled about a foot from my hand. It +made no resistance; I felt not even the slightest struggle; but +now my brother began to scream and shriek like one +possessed. “O mother, mother!” said he, +“the viper! my brother has a viper in his +hand!” He then, like one frantic, made an effort to +snatch the creature away from me. The viper now hissed +amain, and raised its head, in which were eyes like hot coals, +menacing, not myself, but my brother. I dropped my captive, +for I saw my mother running towards me; and the reptile, after +standing for a moment nearly erect and still hissing furiously, +made off, and disappeared. The whole scene is now before +me, as vividly as if it occurred yesterday—the <!-- page +8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>gorgeous +viper, my poor dear frantic brother, my agitated parent, and a +frightened hen clucking under the bushes: and yet I was not three +years old.</p> +<p>It is my firm belief that certain individuals possess an +inherent power, or fascination, over certain creatures, otherwise +I should be unable to account for many feats which I have +witnessed, and, indeed, borne a share in, connected with the +taming of brutes and reptiles. I have known a savage and +vicious mare, whose stall it was dangerous to approach, even when +bearing provender, welcome, nevertheless, with every appearance +of pleasure, an uncouth, wiry-headed man, with a frightfully +seamed face, and an iron hook supplying the place of his right +arm, one whom the animal had never seen before, playfully bite +his hair and cover his face with gentle and endearing kisses; and +I have already stated how a viper would permit, without +resentment, one child to take it up in his hand, whilst it showed +its dislike to the approach of another by the fiercest +hissings. Philosophy can explain many strange things, but +there are some which are a far pitch above her, and this is +one.</p> +<p>I should scarcely relate another circumstance which occurred +about this time but for a singular effect which it produced upon +my constitution. Up to this period I had been rather a +delicate child; whereas almost immediately after the occurrence +to which I allude I became both hale and vigorous, to the great +astonishment of my parents, who naturally enough expected that it +would produce quite a contrary effect.</p> +<p>It happened that my brother and myself were disporting +ourselves in certain fields near the good town of +Canterbury. A female servant had attended us, in order to +take care that we came to no mischief: she, however, it seems, +had matters of her own to attend to, and, allowing us to go where +we listed, remained in one corner of a field, in earnest +conversation with a red-coated dragoon. Now it chanced to +be blackberry time, and the two children wandered under the +hedges, peering anxiously among them in quest of that trash so +grateful to urchins of their degree. We did not find much +of it however, and were soon separated in the pursuit. All +at once I stood still, and could scarcely believe my eyes. +I had come to a spot where, almost covering the hedge, hung +clusters of what seemed fruit, deliciously-tempting +fruit—something resembling grapes of various colours, +green, red, and purple. Dear me, thought I, how fortunate! +yet have I a right to gather it? is it mine? for the observance +of the law of <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i> had early been +impressed upon my mind, and I entertained, even at that tender +age, the utmost horror for theft; so I stood staring at the +variegated clusters, in doubt as to what I should do. I +know not how I argued the matter in my mind; the temptation, +however, was at last too strong for me, so I stretched forth my +hand and ate. I remember, perfectly well, that the taste of +this strange fruit was by no means so pleasant as the appearance; +but the idea of eating fruit was sufficient for a child, and, +after all, the flavour was much superior to that of sour apples, +so I ate voraciously. How long I continued eating I +scarcely know. One thing is certain, that I never left the +field as I entered it, being carried home <!-- page 9--><a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>in the arms of +the dragoon in strong convulsions, in which I continued for +several hours. About midnight I awoke, as if from a +troubled sleep, and beheld my parents bending over my couch, +whilst the regimental surgeon, with a candle in his hand, stood +nigh, the light feebly reflected on the whitewashed walls of the +barrack-room.</p> +<p>Another circumstance connected with my infancy, and I have +done. I need offer no apology for relating it, as it +subsequently exercised considerable influence over my +pursuits. We were, if I remember right, in the vicinity of +a place called Hythe, in Kent. One sweet evening, in the +latter part of summer, our mother took her two little boys by the +hand, for a wander about the fields. In the course of our +stroll we came to the village church; an old gray-headed sexton +stood in the porch, who, perceiving that we were strangers, +invited us to enter. We were presently in the interior, +wandering about the aisles, looking on the walls, and inspecting +the monuments of the notable dead. I can scarcely state +what we saw; how should I? I was a child not yet four years +old, and yet I think I remember the evening sun streaming in +through a stained window upon the dingy mahogany pulpit, and +flinging a rich lustre upon the faded tints of an ancient +banner. And now once more we were outside the building, +where, against the wall, stood a low-eaved pent-house, into which +we looked. It was half filled with substances of some kind, +which at first looked like large gray stones. The greater +part were lying in layers; some, however, were seen in confused +and mouldering heaps, and two or three, which had perhaps rolled +down from the rest, lay separately on the floor. +“Skulls, madam,” said the sexton; “skulls of +the old Danes! Long ago they came pirating into these +parts: and then there chanced a mighty shipwreck, for God was +angry with them, and He sunk them; and their skulls, as they came +ashore, were placed here as a memorial. There were many +more when I was young, but now they are fast disappearing. +Some of them must have belonged to strange fellows, madam. +Only see that one; why, the two young gentry can scarcely lift +it!” And, indeed, my brother and myself had entered +the Golgotha, and commenced handling these grim relics of +mortality. One enormous skull, lying in a corner, had fixed +our attention, and we had drawn it forth. Spirit of eld, +what a skull was yon!</p> +<p>I still seem to see it, the huge grim thing; many of the +others were large, strikingly so, and appeared fully to justify +the old man’s conclusion that their owners must have been +strange fellows; but compared with this mighty mass of bone they +looked small and diminutive, like those of pigmies; it must have +belonged to a giant, one of those red-haired warriors of whose +strength and stature such wondrous tales are told in the ancient +chronicles of the north, and whose grave-hills, when ransacked, +occasionally reveal secrets which fill the minds of puny moderns +with astonishment and awe. Reader, have you ever pored days +and nights over the pages of Snorro? probably not, for he wrote +in a language which few of the present day understand, and few +would be tempted to read him tamed down by Latin dragomans. +A brave old book is that of Snorro, containing the histories and +adventures of old <!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 10</span>northern kings and champions, who +seemed to have been quite different men, if we may judge from the +feats which they performed, from those of these days. One +of the best of his histories is that which describes the life of +Harald Haardraade, who, after manifold adventures by land and +sea, now a pirate, now a mercenary of the Greek emperor, became +King of Norway, and eventually perished at the battle of Stanford +Bridge, whilst engaged in a gallant onslaught upon England. +Now, I have often thought that the old Kemp, whose mouldering +skull in the Golgotha at Hythe my brother and myself could +scarcely lift, must have resembled in one respect at least this +Harald, whom Snorro describes as a great and wise ruler and a +determined leader, dangerous in battle, of fair presence, and +measuring in height just <i>five ells</i>, <a +name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10" +class="citation">[10]</a> neither more nor less.</p> +<p>I never forgot the Daneman’s skull; like the apparition +of the viper in the sandy lane, it dwelt in the mind of the boy, +affording copious food for the exercise of imagination. +From that moment with the name of Dane were associated strange +ideas of strength, daring, and superhuman stature; and an +undefinable curiosity for all that is connected with the Danish +race began to pervade me; and if, long after, when I became a +student, I devoted myself with peculiar zest to Danish lore and +the acquirement of the old Norse tongue and its dialects, I can +only explain the matter by the early impression received at Hythe +from the tale of the old sexton, beneath the pent-house, and the +sight of the Danish skull.</p> +<p>And thus we went on straying from place to place, at Hythe +to-day, and perhaps within a week looking out from our +hostel-window upon the streets of old Winchester, our motions +ever in accordance with the “route” of the regiment, +so habituated to change of scene that it had become almost +necessary to our existence. Pleasant were these days of my +early boyhood; and a melancholy pleasure steals over me as I +recall them. Those were stirring times of which I am +speaking, and there was much passing around me calculated to +captivate the imagination. The dreadful struggle which so +long convulsed Europe, and in which England bore so prominent a +part, was then at its hottest; we were at war, and determination +and enthusiasm shone in every face; man, woman, and child were +eager to fight the Frank, the hereditary, but, thank God, never +dreaded enemy of the Anglo-Saxon race. “Love your +country and beat the French, and then never mind what +happens,” was the cry of entire England. Oh, those +were days of power, gallant days, bustling days, worth the +bravest days of chivalry, at least; tall battalions of native +warriors were marching through the land; there was the glitter of +the bayonet and the gleam of the sabre; the shrill squeak of the +fife and loud rattling of the drum were heard in the streets of +country towns, and the loyal shouts of the inhabitants greeted +the soldiery on their arrival or cheered them at their +departure. And now let us leave the upland, and descend to +the sea-board; there is a sight for you upon the billows! A +dozen men-of-war are gliding majestically out of port, <!-- page +11--><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>their +long buntings streaming from the top-gallant masts, calling on +the skulking Frenchman to come forth from his bights and bays; +and what looms upon us yonder from the fog-bank in the east? a +gallant frigate towing behind her the long low hull of a crippled +privateer, which but three short days ago had left Dieppe to skim +the sea, and whose crew of ferocious hearts are now cursing their +imprudence in an English hold. Stirring times those, which +I love to recall, for they were days of gallantry and enthusiasm, +and were moreover the days of my boyhood.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Pretty D---—The Venerable +Church—The Stricken Heart—Dormant Energies—The +Small Packet—Nerves—The Books—A +Picture—Mountain-like Billows—The +Foot-print—Spirit of De Foe—Reasoning +Powers—Terrors of God—Heads of the Dragons—High +Church Clerk—A Journey—The Drowned Country.</p> +<p>And when I was between six and seven years of age we were once +more at D---, the place of my birth, whither my father had been +despatched on the recruiting service. I have already said +that it was a beautiful little town—at least it was at the +time of which I am speaking; what it is at present I know not, +for thirty years and more have elapsed since I last trod its +streets. It will scarcely have improved, for how could it +be better than it then was? I love to think on thee, +pretty, quiet D---, thou pattern of an English country town, with +thy clean but narrow streets branching out from thy modest +market-place, with thine old-fashioned houses, with here and +there a roof of venerable thatch, with thy one half-aristocratic +mansion, where resided thy Lady Bountiful—she, the generous +and kind, who loved to visit the sick, leaning on her gold-headed +cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a respectful +distance behind. Pretty quiet D---, with thy venerable +church, in which moulder the mortal remains of England’s +sweetest and most pious bard.</p> +<p>Yes, pretty D---, I could always love thee, were it but for +the sake of him who sleeps beneath the marble slab in yonder +quiet chancel. It was within thee that the long-oppressed +bosom heaved its last sigh, and the crushed and gentle spirit +escaped from a world in which it had known nought but +sorrow. Sorrow! do I say? How faint a word to express +the misery of that bruised reed; misery so dark that a blind worm +like myself is occasionally tempted to exclaim, Better had the +world never been created than that one so kind, so harmless, and +so mild, should have undergone such intolerable woe! But it +is over now, for, as there is an end of joy, so has affliction +its termination. Doubtless the All-wise did not afflict him +without a cause: who knows but within that unhappy frame lurked +vicious seeds which the sunbeams of joy and prosperity might have +called into life and vigour? Perhaps the <!-- page 12--><a +name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>withering +blasts of misery nipped that which otherwise might have +terminated in fruit noxious and lamentable. But peace to +the unhappy one, he is gone to his rest; the deathlike face is no +longer occasionally seen timidly and mournfully looking for a +moment through the window-pane upon thy market-place, quiet and +pretty D---; the hind in thy neighbourhood no longer at +evening-fall views, and starts as he views, the dark lathy figure +moving beneath the hazels and alders of shadowy lanes, or by the +side of murmuring trout streams; and no longer at early dawn does +the sexton of the old church reverently doff his hat as, +supported by some kind friend, the death-stricken creature +totters along the church path to that mouldering edifice with the +low roof, inclosing a spring of sanatory waters, built and +devoted to some saint—if the legend over the door be true, +by the daughter of an East Anglian king.</p> +<p>But to return to my own history. I had now attained the +age of six: shall I state what intellectual progress I had been +making up to this period? Alas! upon this point I have +little to say calculated to afford either pleasure or +edification. I had increased rapidly in size and in +strength: the growth of the mind, however, had by no means +corresponded with that of the body. It is true, I had +acquired my letters, and was by this time able to read +imperfectly; but this was all: and even this poor triumph over +absolute ignorance would never have been effected but for the +unremitting attention of my parents, who, sometimes by threats, +sometimes by entreaties, endeavoured to rouse the dormant +energies of my nature, and to bend my wishes to the acquisition +of the rudiments of knowledge; but in influencing the wish lay +the difficulty. Let but the will of a human being be turned +to any particular object, and it is ten to one that sooner or +later he achieves it. At this time I may safely say that I +harboured neither wishes nor hopes; I had as yet seen no object +calculated to call them forth, and yet I took pleasure in many +things which perhaps unfortunately were all within my sphere of +enjoyment. I loved to look upon the heavens, and to bask in +the rays of the sun, or to sit beneath hedgerows and listen to +the chirping of the birds, indulging the while in musing and +meditation as far as my very limited circle of ideas would +permit; but, unlike my brother, who was at this time at school, +and whose rapid progress in every branch of instruction +astonished and delighted his preceptors, I took no pleasure in +books, whose use, indeed, I could scarcely comprehend, and bade +fair to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame +into the cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents.</p> +<p>But the time was now at hand when the ice which had hitherto +bound the mind of the child with its benumbing power was to be +thawed, and a world of sensations and ideas awakened to which it +had hitherto been an entire stranger. One day a young lady, +an intimate acquaintance of our family, and godmother to my +brother, drove up to the house in which we dwelt; she staid some +time conversing with my mother, and on rising to depart she put +down on the table a small packet, exclaiming, “I have +brought a little present for each of the boys: the one is a +History of England, which I intend for my godson <!-- page +13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>when +he returns from school, the other is—” and here she +said something which escaped my ear, as I sat at some distance, +moping in a corner:—“I intend it for the youngest +yonder,” pointing to myself; she then departed, and, my +mother going out shortly after, I was left alone.</p> +<p>I remember for some time sitting motionless in my corner, with +my eyes bent upon the ground; at last I lifted my head and looked +upon the packet as it lay on the table. All at once a +strange sensation came over me, such as I had never experienced +before—a singular blending of curiosity, awe, and pleasure, +the remembrance of which, even at this distance of time, produces +a remarkable effect upon my nervous system. What strange +things are the nerves—I mean those more secret and +mysterious ones in which I have some notion that the mind or +soul, call it which you will, has its habitation; how they +occasionally tingle and vibrate before any coming event closely +connected with the future weal or woe of the human being. +Such a feeling was now within me, certainly independent of what +the eye had seen or the ear had heard. A book of some +description had been brought for me, a present by no means +calculated to interest me; what cared I for books? I had +already many into which I never looked but from compulsion; +friends, moreover, had presented me with similar things before, +which I had entirely disregarded, and what was there in this +particular book, whose very title I did not know, calculated to +attract me more than the rest? yet something within told me that +my fate was connected with the book which had been last brought; +so, after looking on the packet from my corner for a considerable +time, I got up and went to the table.</p> +<p>The packet was lying where it had been left—I took it +up; had the envelope, which consisted of whitish brown paper, +been secured by a string or a seal I should not have opened it, +as I should have considered such an act almost in the light of a +crime; the books, however, had been merely folded up, and I +therefore considered that there could be no possible harm in +inspecting them, more especially as I had received no injunction +to the contrary. Perhaps there was something unsound in +this reasoning, something sophistical; but a child is sometimes +as ready as a grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that +which he is inclined to do. But whether the action was +right or wrong, and I am afraid it was not altogether right, I +undid the packet: it contained three books; two from their +similarity seemed to be separate parts of one and the same work; +they were handsomely bound, and to them I first turned my +attention. I opened them successively, and endeavoured to +make out their meaning; their contents, however, as far as I was +able to understand them, were by no means interesting; whoever +pleases may read these books for me, and keep them too, into the +bargain, said I to myself.</p> +<p>I now took up the third book: it did not resemble the others, +being longer and considerably thicker; the binding was of dingy +calf-skin. I opened it, and as I did so another strange +thrill of pleasure shot through my frame. The first object +on which my eyes rested was a picture; <!-- page 14--><a +name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>it was +exceedingly well executed, at least the scene which it +represented made a vivid impression upon me, which would hardly +have been the case had the artist not been faithful to +nature. A wild scene it was—a heavy sea and rocky +shore, with mountains in the background, above which the moon was +peering. Not far from the shore, upon the water, was a boat +with two figures in it, one of which stood at the bow, pointing +with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful shape in the water; +fire was flashing from the muzzle of the gun, and the monster +appeared to be transfixed. I almost thought I heard its +cry. I remained motionless, gazing upon the picture, +scarcely daring to draw my breath, lest the new and wondrous +world should vanish of which I had now obtained a glimpse. +“Who are those people, and what could have brought them +into that strange situation?” I asked of myself; and now +the seed of curiosity, which had so long lain dormant, began to +expand, and I vowed to myself to become speedily acquainted with +the whole history of the people in the boat. After looking +on the picture till every mark and line in it were familiar to +me, I turned over various leaves till I came to another +engraving; a new source of wonder—a low sandy beach on +which the furious sea was breaking in mountain-like billows; +cloud and rack deformed the firmament, which wore a dull and +leaden-like hue; gulls and other aquatic fowls were toppling upon +the blast, or skimming over the tops of the maddening +waves—“Mercy upon him! he must be drowned!” I +exclaimed, as my eyes fell upon a poor wretch who appeared to be +striving to reach the shore; he was upon his legs, but was +evidently half smothered with the brine; high above his head +curled a horrible billow, as if to engulf him for ever. +“He must be drowned! he must be drowned!” I almost +shrieked, and dropped the book. I soon snatched it up +again, and now my eye lighted on a third picture; again a shore, +but what a sweet and lovely one, and how I wished to be treading +it; there were beautiful shells lying on the smooth white sand, +some were empty like those I had occasionally seen on marble +mantelpieces, but out of others peered the heads and bodies of +wondrous crayfish; a wood of thick green trees skirted the beach +and partly shaded it from the rays of the sun, which shone hot +above, while blue waves slightly crested with foam were gently +curling against it; there was a human figure upon the beach, wild +and uncouth, clad in the skins of animals, with a huge cap on his +head, a hatchet at his girdle, and in his hand a gun; his feet +and legs were bare; he stood in an attitude of horror and +surprise; his body was bent far back, and his eyes, which seemed +starting out of his head, were fixed upon a mark on the +sand—a large distinct mark—a human footprint!</p> +<p>Reader, is it necessary to name the book which now stood open +in my hand, and whose very prints, feeble expounders of its +wondrous lines, had produced within me emotions strange and +novel? Scarcely, for it was a book which has exerted over +the minds of Englishmen an influence certainly greater than any +other of modern times, which has been in most people’s +hands, and with the contents of which even those who cannot read +are to a certain extent acquainted; a book from <!-- page 15--><a +name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>which the +most luxuriant and fertile of our modern prose writers have drunk +inspiration; a book, moreover, to which, from the hardy deeds +which it narrates and the spirit of strange and romantic +enterprise which it tends to awaken, England owes many of her +astonishing discoveries both by sea and land, and no +inconsiderable part of her naval glory.</p> +<p>Hail to thee, spirit of De Foe! What does not my own +poor self owe to thee? England has better bards than either +Greece or Rome, yet I could spare them easier far than De Foe, +“unabashed De Foe,” as the hunchbacked rhymer styled +him.</p> +<p>The true chord had now been touched; a raging curiosity with +respect to the contents of the volume, whose engravings had +fascinated my eye, burned within me, and I never rested until I +had fully satisfied it; weeks succeeded weeks, months followed +months, and the wondrous volume was my only study and principal +source of amusement. For hours together I would sit poring +over a page till I had become acquainted with the import of every +line. My progress, slow enough at first, became by degrees +more rapid, till at last, under “a shoulder of mutton +sail,” I found myself cantering before a steady breeze over +an ocean of enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that I +cared not how long it might be ere it reached its +termination.</p> +<p>And it was in this manner that I first took to the paths of +knowledge.</p> +<p>About this time I began to be somewhat impressed with +religious feelings. My parents were, to a certain extent, +religious people; but, though they had done their best to afford +me instruction on religious points, I had either paid no +attention to what they endeavoured to communicate, or had +listened with an ear far too obtuse to derive any benefit. +But my mind had now become awakened from the drowsy torpor in +which it had lain so long, and the reasoning powers which I +possessed were no longer inactive. Hitherto I had +entertained no conception whatever of the nature and properties +of God, and with the most perfect indifference had heard the +divine name proceeding from the mouths of +people—frequently, alas! on occasions when it ought not to +be employed; but I now never heard it without a tremor, for I now +knew that God was an awful and inscrutable being, the maker of +all things; that we were His children, and that we, by our sins, +had justly offended Him; that we were in very great peril from +His anger, not so much in this life as in another and far +stranger state of being yet to come; that we had a Saviour withal +to whom it was necessary to look for help: upon this point, +however, I was yet very much in the dark, as, indeed, were most +of those with whom I was connected. The power and terrors +of God were uppermost in my thoughts; they fascinated though they +astounded me. Twice every Sunday I was regularly taken to +the church, where, from a corner of the large spacious pew, lined +with black leather, I would fix my eyes on the dignified +high-church rector, and the dignified high-church clerk, and +watch the movement of their lips, from which, as they read their +respective portions of the venerable liturgy, would roll many a +portentous word descriptive of the wondrous works of the Most +High.</p> +<p><!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span><i>Rector</i>. “Thou didst divide the sea, +through Thy power: Thou brakest the heads of the dragons in the +waters.”</p> +<p><i>Philoh</i>. “Thou smotest the heads of +Leviathan in pieces: and gavest him to be meat for the people in +the wilderness.”</p> +<p><i>Rector</i>. “Thou broughtest out fountains and +waters out of the hard rocks: Thou driedst up mighty +waters.”</p> +<p><i>Philoh</i>. “The day is Thine, and the night is +Thine: Thou hast prepared the light and the sun.”</p> +<p>Peace to your memories, dignified rector, and yet more +dignified clerk! By this time ye are probably gone to your +long homes, and your voices are no longer heard sounding down the +aisles of the venerable church; nay, doubtless, this has already +long since been the fate of him of the sonorous +“Amen!”—the one of the two who, with all due +respect to the rector, principally engrossed my boyish +admiration—he, at least, is scarcely now among the +living! Living! why, I have heard say that he blew a +fife—for he was a musical as well as a Christian +professor—a bold fife, to cheer the Guards and the brave +Marines as they marched with measured step, obeying an insane +command, up Bunker’s height, whilst the rifles of the +sturdy Yankees were sending the leaden hail sharp and thick +amidst the red-coated ranks; for Philoh had not always been a man +of peace, nor an exhorter to turn the other cheek to the smiter, +but had even arrived at the dignity of a halberd in his +country’s service before his six-foot form required rest, +and the gray-haired veteran retired, after a long peregrination, +to his native town, to enjoy ease and respectability on a pension +of “eighteenpence a day;” and well did his +fellow-townsmen act when, to increase that ease and +respectability, and with a thoughtful regard for the dignity of +the good church service, they made him clerk and +precentor—the man of the tall form and of the audible +voice, which sounded loud and clear as his own Bunker fife. +Well, peace to thee, thou fine old chap, despiser of dissenters, +and hater of papists, as became a dignified and high-church +clerk; if thou art in thy grave the better for thee; thou wert +fitted to adorn a bygone time, when loyalty was in vogue, and +smiling content lay like a sunbeam upon the land, but thou +wouldst be sadly out of place in these days of cold philosophical +latitudinarian doctrine, universal tolerism, and half-concealed +rebellion—rare times, no doubt, for papists and dissenters, +but which would assuredly have broken the heart of the loyal +soldier of George the Third, and the dignified high-church clerk +of pretty D---.</p> +<p>We passed many months at this place: nothing, however, +occurred requiring any particular notice, relating to myself, +beyond what I have already stated, and I am not writing the +history of others. At length my father was recalled to his +regiment, which at that time was stationed at a place called +Norman Cross, in Lincolnshire, or rather Huntingdonshire, at some +distance from the old town of Peterborough. For this place +he departed, leaving my mother and myself to follow in a few +days. Our journey was a singular one. On the second +day we reached a marshy and fenny country, which, owing to +immense quantities of rain which had lately fallen, was +completely submerged. At a large <!-- page 17--><a +name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>town we got +on board a kind of passage-boat, crowded with people; it had +neither sails nor oars, and those were not the days of +steam-vessels; it was in a treck-schuyt, and was drawn by +horses.</p> +<p>Young as I was, there was much connected with this journey +which highly surprised me, and which brought to my remembrance +particular scenes described in the book which I now generally +carried in my bosom. The country was, as I have already +said, submerged—entirely drowned—no land was visible; +the trees were growing bolt upright in the flood, whilst +farmhouses and cottages were standing insulated; the horses which +drew us were up to the knees in water, and, on coming to blind +pools and “greedy depths,” were not unfrequently +swimming, in which case the boys or urchins who mounted them +sometimes stood, sometimes knelt, upon the saddle and +pillions. No accident, however, either to the quadrupeds or +bipeds, who appeared respectively to be quite <i>au fait</i> in +their business, and extricated themselves with the greatest ease +from places in which Pharaoh and all his hosts would have gone to +the bottom. Nightfall brought us to Peterborough, and from +thence we were not slow in reaching the place of our +destination.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Norman Cross—Wide Expanse—Vive +l’Empereur—Unpruned Woods—Man with the +Bag—Froth and Conceit—I beg your Pardon—Growing +Timid—About Three o’Clock—Taking One’s +Ease—Cheek on the Ground—King of the +Vipers—French King—Frenchmen and Water.</p> +<p>And a strange place it was, this Norman Cross, and, at the +time of which I am speaking, a sad cross to many a Norman, being +what was then styled a French prison, that is, a receptacle for +captives made in the French war. It consisted, if I +remember right, of some five or six casernes, very long, and +immensely high; each standing isolated from the rest, upon a spot +of ground which might average ten acres, and which was fenced +round with lofty palisades, the whole being compassed about by a +towering wall, beneath which, at intervals, on both sides, +sentinels were stationed, whilst outside, upon the field, stood +commodious wooden barracks, capable of containing two regiments +of infantry, intended to serve as guards upon the captives. +Such was the station or prison at Norman Cross, where some six +thousand French and other foreigners, followers of the grand +Corsican, were now immured.</p> +<p>What a strange appearance had those mighty casernes, with +their blank blind walls, without windows or grating, and their +slanting roofs, out of which, through orifices where the tiles +had been removed, would be protruded dozens of grim heads, +feasting their prison-sick eyes on the wide expanse of country +unfolded from that airy height. Ah! there was much misery +in those casernes; and from those roofs, doubtless, <!-- page +18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>many +a wistful look was turned in the direction of lovely +France. Much had the poor inmates to endure, and much to +complain of, to the disgrace of England be it said—of +England, in general so kind and bountiful. Rations of +carrion meat, and bread from which I have seen the very hounds +occasionally turn away, were unworthy entertainment even for the +most ruffian enemy, when helpless and a captive; and such, alas! +was the fare in those casernes. And then, those visits, or +rather ruthless inroads, called in the slang of the place +“straw-plait hunts,” when in pursuit of a contraband +article, which the prisoners, in order to procure themselves a +few of the necessaries and comforts of existence, were in the +habit of making, red-coated battalions were marched into the +prisons, who, with the bayonet’s point, carried havoc and +ruin into every poor convenience which ingenious wretchedness had +been endeavouring to raise around it; and then the triumphant +exit with the miserable booty; and, worst of all, the accursed +bonfire, on the barrack parade, of the plait contraband, beneath +the view of the glaring eyeballs from those lofty roofs, amidst +the hurrahs of the troops, frequently drowned in the curses +poured down from above like a tempest-shower, or in the terrific +war-whoop of “<i>Vive l’Empereur</i>!”</p> +<p>It was midsummer when we arrived at this place, and the +weather, which had for a long time been wet and gloomy, now +became bright and glorious; I was subjected to but little +control, and passed my time pleasantly enough, principally in +wandering about the neighbouring country. It was flat and +somewhat fenny, a district more of pasture than agriculture, and +not very thickly inhabited. I soon became well acquainted +with it. At the distance of two miles from the station was +a large lake, styled in the dialect of the country “a +mere,” about whose borders tall reeds were growing in +abundance, this was a frequent haunt of mine; but my favourite +place of resort was a wild sequestered spot at a somewhat greater +distance. Here, surrounded with woods and thick groves, was +the seat of some ancient family, deserted by the proprietor, and +only inhabited by a rustic servant or two. A place more +solitary and wild could scarcely be imagined; the garden and +walks were overgrown with weeds and briars, and the unpruned +woods were so tangled as to be almost impervious. About +this domain I would wander till overtaken by fatigue, and then I +would sit down with my back against some beech, elm, or stately +alder tree, and, taking out my book, would pass hours in a state +of unmixed enjoyment, my eyes now fixed on the wondrous pages, +now glancing at the sylvan scene around; and sometimes I would +drop the book and listen to the voice of the rooks and wild +pigeons, and not unfrequently to the croaking of multitudes of +frogs from the neighbouring swamps and fens.</p> +<p>In going to and from this place I frequently passed a tall +elderly individual, dressed in rather a quaint fashion, with a +skin cap on his head and stout gaiters on his legs; on his +shoulders hung a moderate sized leathern sack; he seemed fond of +loitering near sunny banks, and of groping amidst furze and low +scrubby bramble bushes, of which there were plenty in the +neighbourhood of Norman Cross. Once I saw him standing in +the middle of a dusty road, looking intently at a large <!-- page +19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>mark +which seemed to have been drawn across it, as if by a +walking-stick. “He must have been a large one,” +the old man muttered half to himself, “or he would not have +left such a trail, I wonder if he is near; he seems to have moved +this way.” He then went behind some bushes which grew +on the right side of the road, and appeared to be in quest of +something, moving behind the bushes with his head downwards, and +occasionally striking their roots with his foot: at length he +exclaimed, “Here he is!” and forthwith I saw him dart +amongst the bushes. There was a kind of scuffling noise, +the rustling of branches, and the crackling of dry sticks. +“I have him!” said the man at last; “I have got +him!” and presently he made his appearance about twenty +yards down the road, holding a large viper in his hand. +“What do you think of that, my boy?” said he, as I +went up to him; “what do you think of catching such a thing +as that with the naked hand?” “What do I +think?” said I. “Why, that I could do as much +myself.” “You do,” said the man, +“do you? Lord! how the young people in these days are +given to conceit; it did not use to be so in my time: when I was +a child, childer knew how to behave themselves; but the childer +of these days are full of conceit, full of froth, like the mouth +of this viper;” and with his forefinger and thumb he +squeezed a considerable quantity of foam from the jaws of the +viper down upon the road. “The childer of these days +are a generation of—God forgive me, what was I about to +say!” said the old man; and opening his bag he thrust the +reptile into it, which appeared far from empty. I passed +on. As I was returning, towards the evening, I overtook the +old man, who was wending in the same direction. “Good +evening to you, sir,” said I, taking off a cap which I wore +on my head. “Good evening,” said the old man; +and then, looking at me, “How’s this?” said he, +“you ar’n’t, sure, the child I met in the +morning?” “Yes,” said I, “I am; +what makes you doubt it?” “Why, you were then +all froth and conceit,” said the old man, “and now +you take off your cap to me.” “I beg your +pardon,” said I, “if I was frothy and conceited, it +ill becomes a child like me to be so.” +“That’s true, dear,” said the old man; +“well; as you have begged my pardon, I truly forgive +you.” “Thank you,” said I; “have +you caught any more of those things?” “Only +four or five,” said the old man; “they are getting +scarce, though this used to be a great neighbourhood for +them.” “And what do you do with them?” +said I; “do you carry them home and play with +them!” “I sometimes play with one or two that I +tame,” said the old man; “but I hunt them mostly for +the fat which they contain, out of which I make unguents which +are good for various sore troubles, especially for the +rheumatism.” “And do you get your living by +hunting these creatures?” I demanded. “Not +altogether,” said the old man; “besides being a +viper-hunter, I am what they call a herbalist, one who knows the +virtue of particular herbs; I gather them at the proper season, +to make medicines with for the sick.” “And do +you live in the neighbourhood?” I demanded. +“You seem very fond of asking questions, child. No, I +do not live in this neighbourhood in particular, I travel about; +I have not been in this neighbourhood till lately for some +years.”</p> +<p><!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>From this time the old man and myself formed an +acquaintance; I often accompanied him in his wanderings about the +neighbourhood, and on two or three occasions assisted him in +catching the reptiles which he hunted. He generally carried +a viper with him which he had made quite tame, and from which he +had extracted the poisonous fangs; it would dance and perform +various kinds of tricks. He was fond of telling me +anecdotes connected with his adventures with the reptile +species. “But,” said he one day, sighing, +“I must shortly give up this business, I am no longer the +man I was, I am become timid, and when a person is timid in +viper-hunting he had better leave off, as it is quite clear his +virtue is leaving him. I got a fright some years ago, which +I am quite sure I shall never get the better of; my hand has been +shaky more or less ever since.” “What +frightened you?” said I. “I had better not tell +you,” said the old man, “or you may be frightened +too, lose your virtue, and be no longer good for the +business.” “I don’t care,” said I; +“I don’t intend to follow the business: I dare say I +shall be an officer, like my father.” +“Well,” said the old man, “I once saw the king +of the vipers, and since then—” “The king +of the vipers!” said I, interrupting him; “have the +vipers a king?” “As sure as we have,” +said the old man, “as sure as we have King George to rule +over us, have these reptiles a king to rule over +them.” “And where did you see him?” said +I. “I will tell you,” said the old man, +“though I don’t like talking about the matter. +It may be about seven years ago that I happened to be far down +yonder to the west, on the other side of England, nearly two +hundred miles from here, following my business. It was a +very sultry day, I remember, and I had been out several hours +catching creatures. It might be about three o’clock +in the afternoon, when I found myself on some heathy land near +the sea, on the ridge of a hill, the side of which, nearly as far +down as the sea, was heath; but on the top there was arable +ground, which had been planted, and from which the harvest had +been gathered—oats or barley, I know not which—but I +remember that the ground was covered with stubble. Well, +about three o’clock, as I told you before, what with the +heat of the day and from having walked about for hours in a lazy +way, I felt very tired; so I determined to have a sleep, and I +laid myself down, my head just on the ridge of the hill, towards +the field, and my body over the side down amongst the heath; my +bag, which was nearly filled with creatures, lay at a little +distance from my face; the creatures were struggling in it, I +remember, and I thought to myself, how much more comfortably off +I was than they; I was taking my ease on the nice open hill, +cooled with the breezes, whilst they were in the nasty close bag, +coiling about one another, and breaking their very hearts all to +no purpose: and I felt quite comfortable and happy in the +thought, and little by little closed my eyes, and fell into the +sweetest snooze that ever I was in in all my life; and there I +lay over the hill’s side, with my head half in the field, I +don’t know how long, all dead asleep. At last it +seemed to me that I heard a noise in my sleep, something like a +thing moving, very faint, however, far away; then it died, and +<!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>then it came again upon my ear as I slept, and now it +appeared almost as if I heard crackle, crackle; then it died +again, or I became yet more dead asleep than before, I know not +which, but I certainly lay some time without hearing it. +All of a sudden I became awake, and there was I, on the ridge of +the hill, with my cheek on the ground towards the stubble, with a +noise in my ear like that of something moving towards me, among +the stubble of the field; well, I lay a moment or two listening +to the noise, and then I became frightened, for I did not like +the noise at all, it sounded so odd; so I rolled myself on my +belly, and looked towards the stubble. Mercy upon us! there +was a huge snake, or rather a dreadful viper, for it was all +yellow and gold, moving towards me, bearing its head about a foot +and a half above the ground, the dry stubble crackling beneath +its outrageous belly. It might be about five yards off when +I first saw it, making straight towards me, child, as if it would +devour me. I lay quite still, for I was stupified with +horror, whilst the creature came still nearer; and now it was +nearly upon me, when it suddenly drew back a little, and +then—what do you think?—it lifted its head and chest +high in the air, and high over my face as I looked up, flickering +at me with its tongue as if it would fly at my face. Child, +what I felt at that moment I can scarcely say, but it was a +sufficient punishment for all the sins I ever committed; and +there we two were, I looking up at the viper, and the viper +looking down upon me, flickering at me with its tongue. It +was only the kindness of God that saved me: all at once there was +a loud noise, the report of a gun, for a fowler was shooting at a +covey of birds, a little way off in the stubble. Whereupon +the viper sunk its head and immediately made off over the ridge +of the hill, down in the direction of the sea. As it passed +by me, however—and it passed close by me—it hesitated +a moment, as if it was doubtful whether it should not seize me; +it did not, however, but made off down the hill. It has +often struck me that he was angry with me, and came upon me +unawares for presuming to meddle with his people, as I have +always been in the habit of doing.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “how do you know that it was +the king of the vipers?”</p> +<p>“How do I know?” said the old man, “who else +should it be? There was as much difference between it and +other reptiles as between King George and other +people.”</p> +<p>“Is King George, then, different from other +people?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said the old man; “I have never +seen him myself, but I have heard people say that he is a ten +times greater man than other folks; indeed, it stands to reason +that he must be different from the rest, else people would not be +so eager to see him. Do you think, child, that people would +be fools enough to run a matter of twenty or thirty miles to see +the king, provided King George—”</p> +<p>“Haven’t the French a king?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man, “or something much +the same, and a queer one he is; not quite so big as King George, +they say, but quite as terrible a fellow. What of +him?”</p> +<p><!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>“Suppose he should come to Norman +Cross!”</p> +<p>“What should he do at Norman Cross, child?”</p> +<p>“Why, you were talking about the vipers in your bag +breaking their hearts, and so on, and their king coming to help +them. Now, suppose the French king should hear of his +people being in trouble at Norman Cross, and—”</p> +<p>“He can’t come, child,” said the old man, +rubbing his hands, “the water lies between. The +French don’t like the water; neither vipers nor Frenchmen +take kindly to the water, child.”</p> +<p>When the old man left the country, which he did a few days +after the conversation which I have just related, he left me the +reptile which he had tamed and rendered quite harmless by +removing the fangs. I was in the habit of feeding it with +milk, and frequently carried it abroad with me in my walks.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Tent—Man and Woman—Dark and +Swarthy—Manner of Speaking—Bad +Money—Transfixed—Faltering Tone—Little +Basket—High Opinion—Plenty of Good—Keeping +Guard—Tilted Cart—Rubricals—Jasper—The +Right Sort—The Horseman of the Lane—John +Newton—The Alarm—Gentle Brothers.</p> +<p>One day it happened that, being on my rambles, I entered a +green lane which I had never seen before; at first it was rather +narrow, but as I advanced it became considerably wider; in the +middle was a driftway with deep ruts, but right and left was a +space carpeted with a sward of trefoil and clover; there was no +lack of trees, chiefly ancient oaks, which, flinging out their +arms from either side, nearly formed a canopy, and afforded a +pleasing shelter from the rays of the sun, which was burning +fiercely above. Suddenly a group of objects attracted my +attention. Beneath one of the largest of the trees upon the +grass, was a kind of low tent or booth, from the top of which a +thin smoke was curling; beside it stood a couple of light carts, +whilst two or three lean horses or ponies were cropping the +herbage which was growing nigh. Wondering to whom this odd +tent could belong, I advanced till I was close before it, when I +found that it consisted of two tilts, like those of waggons, +placed upon the ground and fronting each other, connected behind +by a sail or large piece of canvas which was but partially drawn +across the top; upon the ground, in the intervening space, was a +fire, over which, supported by a kind of iron crowbar, hung a +caldron; my advance had been so noiseless as not to alarm the +inmates, who consisted of a man and woman, who sat apart, one on +each side of the fire; they were both busily employed—the +man was carding plaited straw, whilst the woman seemed to be +rubbing something with a white powder, some of which lay on a +plate beside her; suddenly the man looked up, and, perceiving me, +uttered a strange kind of cry, and the <!-- page 23--><a +name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>next moment +both the woman and himself were on their feet and rushing out +upon me.</p> +<p>I retreated a few steps, yet without turning to flee. I +was not, however, without apprehension, which, indeed, the +appearance of these two people was well calculated to inspire; +the woman was a stout figure, seemingly between thirty and forty; +she wore no cap, and her long hair fell on either side of her +head like horse-tails half way down her waist; her skin was dark +and swarthy, like that of a toad, and the expression of her +countenance was particularly evil; her arms were bare, and her +bosom was but half concealed by a slight boddice, below which she +wore a coarse petticoat, her only other article of dress. +The man was somewhat younger, but of a figure equally wild; his +frame was long and lathy, but his arms were remarkably short, his +neck was rather bent, he squinted slightly, and his mouth was +much awry; his complexion was dark, but, unlike that of the +woman, it was more ruddy than livid; there was a deep scar on his +cheek, something like the impression of a halfpenny. The +dress was quite in keeping with the figure: in his hat, which was +slightly peaked, was stuck a peacock’s feather; over a +waistcoat of hide, untanned and with the hair upon it, he wore a +rough jerkin of russet hue; smallclothes of leather, which had +probably once belonged to a soldier, but with which pipeclay did +not seem to have come in contact for many a year, protected his +lower man as far as the knee; his legs were cased in long +stockings of blue worsted, and on his shoes he wore immense +old-fashioned buckles.</p> +<p>Such were the two beings who now came rushing upon me; the man +was rather in advance, brandishing a ladle in his hand.</p> +<p>“So I have caught you at last,” said he; +“I’ll teach ye, you young highwayman, to come +skulking about my properties!”</p> +<p>Young as I was, I remarked that his manner of speaking was +different from that of any people with whom I had been in the +habit of associating. It was quite as strange as his +appearance, and yet it nothing resembled the foreign English +which I had been in the habit of hearing through the palisades of +the prison; he could scarcely be a foreigner.</p> +<p>“Your properties!” said I; “I am in the +King’s Lane. Why did you put them there, if you did +not wish them to be seen?”</p> +<p>“On the spy,” said the woman, “hey? +I’ll drown him in the sludge in the toad-pond over the +hedge.”</p> +<p>“So we will,” said the man, “drown him anon +in the mud!”</p> +<p>“Drown me, will you?” said I; “I should like +to see you! What’s all this about? Was it +because I saw you with your hands full of straw plait, and my +mother there—”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the woman; “what was I +about?”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How should I know? Making bad +money, perhaps!</p> +<p>And it will be as well here to observe, that at this time +there was much bad money in circulation in the neighbourhood, +generally supposed to be fabricated by the prisoners, so that +this false coin and straw plait formed the standard subjects of +conversation at Norman Cross.</p> +<p>“I’ll strangle thee,” said the beldame, +dashing at me. “Bad money, is it?”</p> +<p><!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>“Leave him to me, wifelkin,” said the man, +interposing; “you shall now see how I’ll baste him +down the lane.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I tell you what, my chap, you had better +put down that thing of yours; my father lies concealed within my +tepid breast, and if to me you offer any harm or wrong, +I’ll call him forth to help me with his forked tongue.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. What do you mean, ye Bengui’s +bantling? I never heard such discourse in all my life: +playman’s speech or Frenchman’s talk—which, I +wonder? Your father! tell the mumping villain that if he +comes near my fire I’ll serve him out as I will you. +Take that—Tiny Jesus! what have we got here! Oh, +delicate Jesus! what is the matter with the child?</p> +<p>I had made a motion which the viper understood; and now, +partly disengaging itself from my bosom, where it had lain perdu, +it raised its head to a level with my face, and stared upon my +enemy with its glittering eyes.</p> +<p>The man stood like one transfixed, and the ladle with which he +had aimed a blow at me, now hung in the air like the hand which +held it: his mouth was extended, and his cheeks became of a pale +yellow, save alone that place which bore the mark which I have +already described, and this shone now portentously, like +fire. He stood in this manner for some time; at last the +ladle fell from his hand, and its falling appeared to rouse him +from his stupor.</p> +<p>“I say, wifelkin,” said he in a faltering tone, +“did you ever see the like of this here?”</p> +<p>But the woman had retreated to the tent, from the entrance of +which her loathly face was now thrust, with an expression partly +of terror and partly of curiosity. After gazing some time +longer at the viper and myself, the man stooped down and took up +the ladle; then, as if somewhat more assured, he moved to the +tent, where he entered into conversation with the beldame in a +low voice. Of their discourse, though I could hear the +greater part of it, I understood not a single word; and I +wondered what it could be, for I knew by the sound that it was +not French. At last the man, in a somewhat louder tone, +appeared to put a question to the woman, who nodded her head +affirmatively, and in a moment or two produced a small stool, +which she delivered to him. He placed it on the ground, +close by the door of the tent, first rubbing it with his sleeve, +as if for the purpose of polishing its surface.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. Now, my precious little gentleman, do sit +down here by the poor people’s tent; we wish to be civil in +our slight way. Don’t be angry, and say no; but look +kindly upon us, and satisfied, my precious little God +Almighty.</p> +<p><i>Woman</i>. Yes, my georgeous angel, sit down by the +poor bodies’ fire, and eat a sweatmeat. We want to +ask you a question or two; only first put that serpent away.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I can sit down, and bid the serpent go to +sleep, that’s easy enough; but as for eating a sweetmeat, +how can I do that? I have not got one, and where am I to +get it?</p> +<p><i>Woman</i>. Never fear, my tiny tawny, we can give you +one, such as you never ate, I dare say, however far you may have +come from.</p> +<p><!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>The serpent sunk into his usual resting-place, and I sat +down on the stool. The woman opened a box, and took out a +strange little basket or hamper, not much larger than a +man’s fist, and formed of a delicate kind of matting. +It was sewed at the top; but ripping it open with a knife, she +held it to me, and I saw, to my surprise, that it contained +candied fruits of a dark green hue, tempting enough to one of my +age. “There, my tiny,” said she; “taste, +and tell me how you like them.”</p> +<p>“Very much,” said I; “where did you get +them?”</p> +<p>The beldame leered upon me for a moment, then, nodding her +head thrice, with a knowing look, said, “Who knows better +than yourself, my tawny?”</p> +<p>Now, I knew nothing about the matter; but I saw that these +strange people had conceived a very high opinion of the abilities +of their visitor, which I was nothing loath to encourage. I +therefore answered boldly, “Ah! who indeed!”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said the man; “who should know +better than yourself, or so well? And now, my tiny one, let +me ask you one thing—you didn’t come to do us any +harm?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I had no dislike to you; +though, if you were to meddle with me—”</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. Of course, my gorgeous, of course you would; +and quite right too. Meddle with you!—what right have +we? I should say, it would not be quite safe. I see +how it is; you are one of them there;—and he bent his head +towards his left shoulder.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Yes, I am one of them—for I thought +he was alluding to the soldiers,—you had best mind what you +are about, I can tell you.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. Don’t doubt we will for our own sake; +Lord bless you, wifelkin, only think that we should see one of +them there when we least thought about it. Well, I have +heard of such things, though I have never thought to see one; +however, seeing is believing. Well! now you are come, and +are not going to do us any mischief, I hope you will stay; you +can do us plenty of good if you will.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What good can I do you?</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. What good? plenty! Would you not bring +us luck? I have heard say, that one of them there always +does, if it will but settle down. Stay with us, you shall +have a tilted cart all to yourself if you like. We’ll +make you our little God Almighty, and say our prayers to you +every morning!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. That would be nice; and if you were to +give me plenty of these things, I should have no objection. +But what would my father say? I think he would hardly let +me.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. Why not? he would be with you; and kindly +would we treat him. Indeed, without your father you would +be nothing at all.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. That’s true; but I do not think he +could be spared from his regiment. I have heard him say +that they could do nothing without him.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. His regiment! What are you talking +about?—what does the child mean?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What do I mean!—why, that my father +is an officer-man at the barracks yonder, keeping guard over the +French prisoners.</p> +<p><!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span><i>Man</i>. Oh! then that sap is not your +father?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What, the snake? Why, no! Did +you think he was?</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. To be sure we did. Didn’t you +tell me so?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why, yes; but who would have thought you +would have believed it? It is a tame one. I hunt +vipers, and tame them.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. O-h!</p> +<p>“O-h!” grunted the woman, “that’s it, +is it?”</p> +<p>The man and woman, who during this conversation had resumed +their former positions within the tent, looked at each other with +a queer look of surprise, as if somewhat disconcerted at what +they now heard. They then entered into discourse with each +other in the same strange tongue which had already puzzled +me. At length the man looked me in the face, and said, +somewhat hesitatingly, “So you are not one of them there, +after all?”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. One of them there? I don’t +know what you mean.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. Why, we have been thinking you were a +goblin—a devilkin! However, I see how it is; you are +a sapengro, a chap who catches snakes, and plays tricks with +them! Well, it comes very nearly to the same thing; and if +you please to list with us, and bear us pleasant company, we +shall be glad of you. I’d take my oath upon it that +we might make a mort of money by you and that sap, and the tricks +it could do; and, as you seem fly to everything, I +shouldn’t wonder if you would make a prime hand at telling +fortunes.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I.</p> +<p><i>Man</i>. Of course. And you might still be our +God Almighty, or at any rate our clergyman, so you should live in +a tilted cart by yourself, and say prayers to us night and +morning—to wifelkin here, and all our family; there’s +plenty of us when we are all together; as I said before, you seem +fly, I shouldn’t wonder if you could read?</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” said I, “I can read;” and, +eager to display my accomplishments, I took my book out of my +pocket, and, opening it at random, proceeded to read how a +certain man, whilst wandering about a certain solitary island, +entered a cave, the mouth of which was overgrown with brushwood, +and how he was nearly frightened to death in that cave by +something which he saw.</p> +<p>“That will do,” said the man; “that’s +the kind of prayers for me and my family, ar’n’t +they, wifelkin? I never heard more delicate prayers in all +my life! Why, they beat the rubricals hollow!—and +here comes my son Jasper. I say, Jasper, here’s a +young sap-engro that can read, and is more fly than +yourself. Shake hands with him; I wish ye to be two +brothers.”</p> +<p>With a swift but stealthy pace Jasper came towards us from the +farther part of the lane; on reaching the tent he stood still, +and looked fixedly upon me as I sat upon the stool; I looked +fixedly upon him. A queer look had Jasper; he was a lad of +some twelve or thirteen years, with long arms, unlike the +singular being who called himself his father; his complexion was +ruddy, but his face was seamed, though it did not bear the +peculiar scar which disfigured the countenance of the other; nor, +though roguish enough, a certain evil expression which <!-- page +27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>that +of the other bore, and which the face of the woman possessed in a +yet more remarkable degree. For the rest, he wore drab +breeches, with certain strings at the knee, a rather gay +waistcoat, and tolerably white shirt; under his arm he bore a +mighty whip of whalebone with a brass knob, and upon his head was +a hat without either top or brim.</p> +<p>“There, Jasper! shake hands with the +sap-engro.”</p> +<p>“Can he box, father?” said Jasper, surveying me +rather contemptuously. “I should think not, he looks +so puny and small.”</p> +<p>“Hold your peace, fool!” said the man; “he +can do more than that—I tell you he’s fly: he carries +a sap about, which would sting a ninny like you to +dead.”</p> +<p>“What, a sap-engro!” said the boy, with a singular +whine, and stooping down, he leered curiously in my face, kindly, +however and then patted me on the head. “A +sap-engro,” he ejaculated; “lor!”</p> +<p>“Yes, and one of the right sort,” said the man; +“I am glad we have met with him, he is going to list with +us, and be our clergyman and God Almighty, a’n’t you, +my tawny?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said I; “I must see +what my father will say.”</p> +<p>“Your father; bah!”—but here he stopped, for +a sound was heard like the rapid galloping of a horse, not loud +and distinct as on a road, but dull and heavy as if upon a grass +sward; nearer and nearer it came, and the man, starting up, +rushed out of the tent, and looked around anxiously. I +arose from the stool upon which I had been seated, and just at +that moment, amidst a crashing of boughs and sticks, a man on +horseback bounded over the hedge into the lane at a few +yards’ distance from where we were: from the impetus of the +leap the horse was nearly down on his knees; the rider, however, +by dint of vigorous handling of the reins, prevented him from +falling, and then rode up to the tent. “’Tis +Nat,” said the man; “what brings him +here?” The new comer was a stout burly fellow, about +the middle age; he had a savage determined look, and his face was +nearly covered over with carbuncles; he wore a broad slouching +hat, and was dressed in a grey coat cut in a fashion which I +afterwards learnt to be the genuine Newmarket cut, the skirts +being exceedingly short; his waistcoat was of red plush, and he +wore broad corduroy breeches and white top-boots. The steed +which carried him was of iron grey, spirited and powerful, but +covered with sweat and foam. The fellow glanced fiercely +and suspiciously around, and said something to the man of the +tent in a harsh and rapid voice. A short and hurried +conversation ensued in the strange tongue. I could not take +my eyes off this new comer. Oh, that half jockey half +bruiser countenance, I never forgot it! More than fifteen +years afterwards I found myself amidst a crowd before Newgate; a +gallows was erected, and beneath it stood a criminal, a notorious +malefactor. I recognised him at once; the horseman of the +lane is now beneath the fatal tree, but nothing altered; still +the same man; jerking his head to the right and left with the +same fierce and under glance, just as if the affairs of this +world had the same kind of interest to the last; grey coat of +Newmarket cut, plush waistcoat, corduroys, and boots, nothing +altered; but the head, alas! is bare, and so is the neck. +<!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>Oh, crime and virtue, virtue and crime!—it was old +John Newton, I think, who, when he saw a man going to be hanged, +said, “There goes John Newton, but for the grace of +God!”</p> +<p>But the lane, the lane, all was now in confusion in the lane; +the man and woman were employed in striking the tents and in +making hurried preparations for departure; the boy Jasper was +putting the harness upon the ponies and attaching them to the +carts; and, to increase the singularity of the scene, two or +three wild-looking women and girls, in red cloaks and immense +black beaver bonnets, came from I know not what direction, and, +after exchanging a few words with the others, commenced with +fierce and agitated gestures to assist them in their +occupation. The rider meanwhile sat upon his horse, but +evidently in a state of great impatience; he muttered curses +between his teeth, spurred the animal furiously, and then reined +it in, causing it to rear itself up nearly perpendicular. +At last he said, “Curse ye, for Romans, how slow ye are! +well, it is no business of mine, stay here all day if you like; I +have given ye warning, I am off to the big north road. +However, before I go, you had better give me all you have of +that.”</p> +<p>“Truly spoken, Nat, my pal,” said the man; +“give it him, mother. There it is; now be off as soon +as you please, and rid us of evil company.”</p> +<p>The woman had handed him two bags formed of stocking, half +full of something heavy, which looked through them for all the +world like money of some kind. The fellow, on receiving +them, thrust them without ceremony into the pockets of his coat, +and then, without a word of farewell salutation, departed at a +tremendous rate, the hoofs of his horse thundering for a long +time on the hard soil of the neighbouring road, till the sound +finally died away in the distance. The strange people were +not slow in completing their preparations, and then, flogging +their animals terrifically, hurried away seemingly in the same +direction.</p> +<p>The boy Jasper was last of the band. As he was following +the rest, he stopped suddenly, and looked on the ground appearing +to muse; then, turning round, he came up to me where I was +standing, leered in my face, and then, thrusting out his hand, he +said, “Good-bye, Sap, I dare say we shall meet again, +remember we are brothers; two gentle brothers.”</p> +<p>Then whining forth, “What a sap-engro, lor!” he +gave me a parting leer, and hastened away.</p> +<p>I remained standing in the lane gazing after the retreating +company. “A strange set of people,” said I at +last; “I wonder who they can be.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Three Years—Lilly’s +Grammar—Proficiency—Ignorant of Figures—The +School Bell—Order of +Succession—Persecution—What are we to +do?—Northward—A Goodly Scene—Haunted +Ground—Feats of Chivalry—Rivers—Over the +Brig.</p> +<p>Years passed on, even three years; during this period I had +increased considerably in stature and in strength, and, let us +hope, improved in mind; for I had entered on the study of the +Latin language. The very first person to whose care I was +intrusted for the acquisition of Latin was an old friend of my +father’s, a clergyman who kept a seminary at a town the +very next we visited after our departure from “the +Cross.” Under his instruction, however, I continued +only a few weeks, as we speedily left the place. +“Captain,” said this divine, when my father came to +take leave of him on the eve of our departure, “I have a +friendship for you, and therefore wish to give you a piece of +advice concerning this son of yours. You are now removing +him from my care; you do wrong, but we will let that pass. +Listen to me: there is but one good school book in the +world—the one I use in my seminary—Lilly’s +Latin Grammar, in which your son has already made some +progress. If you are anxious for the success of your son in +life, for the correctness of his conduct and the soundness of his +principles, keep him to Lilly’s Grammar. If you can +by any means, either fair or foul, induce him to get by heart +Lilly’s Latin Grammar, you may set your heart at rest with +respect to him; I, myself, will be his warrant. I never yet +knew a boy that was induced, either by fair means or foul, to +learn Lilly’s Latin Grammar by heart, who did not turn out +a man, provided he lived long enough.”</p> +<p>My father, who did not understand the classical languages, +received with respect the advice of his old friend, and from that +moment conceived the highest opinion of Lilly’s Latin +Grammar. During three years I studied Lilly’s Latin +Grammar under the tuition of various schoolmasters, for I +travelled with the regiment, and in every town in which we were +stationed I was invariably (God bless my father!) sent to the +classical academy of the place. It chanced, by good +fortune, that in the generality of these schools the grammar of +Lilly was in use; when, however, that was not the case, it made +no difference in my educational course, my father always +stipulating with the masters that I should be daily examined in +Lilly. At the end of the three years I had the whole by +heart; you had only to repeat the first two or three words of any +sentence in any part of the book, and forthwith I would open cry, +commencing without blundering and hesitation, and continue till +you were glad to beg me to leave off, with many expressions of +admiration at my proficiency in the Latin language. +Sometimes, however, to convince you how well I merited these +encomiums, I would follow you to the bottom of the stair, and +even into the street, repeating in a kind of sing-song measure +the sonorous lines of the golden schoolmaster. <!-- page +30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>If I +am here asked whether I understood anything of what I had got by +heart, I reply—“Never mind, I understand it all now, +and believe that no one ever yet got Lilly’s Latin Grammar +by heart when young, who repented of the feat at a mature +age.”</p> +<p>And, when my father saw that I had accomplished my task, he +opened his mouth, and said, “Truly, this is more than I +expected. I did not think that there had been so much in +you, either of application or capacity; you have now learnt all +that is necessary, if my friend Dr. B---’s opinion was +sterling, as I have no doubt it was. You are still a child, +however, and must yet go to school, in order that you may be kept +out of evil company. Perhaps you may still contrive, now +you have exhausted the barn, to pick up a grain or two in the +barnyard. You are still ignorant of figures, I believe, not +that I would mention figures in the same day with Lilly’s +Grammar.”</p> +<p>These words were uttered in a place called ---, in the north, +or in the road to the north, to which, for some time past, our +corps had been slowly advancing. I was sent to the school +of the place, which chanced to be a day school. It was a +somewhat extraordinary one, and a somewhat extraordinary event +occurred to me within its walls.</p> +<p>It occupied part of the farther end of a small plain, or +square, at the outskirts of the town, close to some extensive +bleaching fields. It was a long low building of one room, +with no upper story; on the top was a kind of wooden box, or +sconce, which I at first mistook for a pigeon-house, but which in +reality contained a bell, to which was attached a rope, which, +passing through the ceiling, hung dangling in the middle of the +school-room. I am the more particular in mentioning this +appurtenance, as I had soon occasion to scrape acquaintance with +it in a manner not very agreeable to my feelings. The +master was very proud of his bell, if I might judge from the fact +of his eyes being frequently turned to that part of the ceiling +from which the rope depended. Twice every day, namely, +after the morning and evening tasks had been gone through, were +the boys rung out of school by the monotonous jingle of this +bell. This ringing out was rather a lengthy affair, for, as +the master was a man of order and method, the boys were only +permitted to go out of the room one by one; and as they were +rather numerous, amounting, at least, to one hundred, and were +taught to move at a pace of suitable decorum, at least a quarter +of an hour elapsed from the commencement of the march before the +last boy could make his exit. The office of bell-ringer was +performed by every boy successively; and it so happened that, the +very first day of my attendance at the school, the turn to ring +the bell had, by order of succession, arrived at the place which +had been allotted to me; for the master, as I have already +observed, was a man of method and order, and every boy had a +particular seat, to which he became a fixture as long as he +continued at the school.</p> +<p>So, upon this day, when the tasks were done and completed, and +the boys sat with their hats and caps in their hands, anxiously +expecting the moment of dismissal, it was suddenly notified to +me, by the urchins who sat nearest to me, that I must get up and +ring the bell. Now, as <!-- page 31--><a +name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>this was the +first time that I had been at the school, I was totally +unacquainted with the process, which I had never seen, and, +indeed, had never heard of till that moment. I therefore +sat still, not imagining it possible that any such duty could be +required of me. But now, with not a little confusion, I +perceived that the eyes of all the boys in the school were fixed +upon me. Presently there were nods and winks in the +direction of the bell-rope; and, as these produced no effect, +uncouth visages were made, like those of monkeys when enraged; +teeth were gnashed, tongues thrust out, and even fists were bent +at me. The master, who stood at the end of the room, with a +huge ferule under his arm, bent full upon me a look of stern +appeal; and the ushers, of whom there were four, glared upon me, +each from his own particular corner, as I vainly turned, in one +direction and another, in search of one reassuring look.</p> +<p>But now, probably in obedience to a sign from the master, the +boys in my immediate neighbourhood began to maltreat me. +Some pinched me with their fingers, some buffeted me, whilst +others pricked me with pins, or the points of compasses. +These arguments were not without effect. I sprang from my +seat, and endeavoured to escape along a double line of benches, +thronged with boys of all ages, from the urchin of six or seven, +to the nondescript of sixteen or seventeen. It was like +running the gauntlet; every one, great or small, pinching, +kicking, or otherwise maltreating me as I passed by.</p> +<p>Goaded on in this manner, I at length reached the middle of +the room, where dangled the bell-rope, the cause of all my +sufferings. I should have passed it—for my confusion +was so great, that I was quite at a loss to comprehend what all +this could mean, and almost believed myself under the influence +of an ugly dream—but now the boys, who were seated in +advance in the row, arose with one accord, and barred my farther +progress; and one, doubtless more sensible than the rest, seizing +the rope, thrust it into my hand. I now began to perceive +that the dismissal of the school, and my own release from +torment, depended upon this self same rope. I therefore, in +a fit of desperation, pulled it once or twice, and then left off, +naturally supposing that I had done quite enough. The boys +who sat next the door, no sooner heard the bell, than rising from +their seats, they moved out at the door. The bell, however, +had no sooner ceased to jingle, than they stopped short, and, +turning round, stared at the master, as much as to say, +“What are we to do now?” This was too much for +the patience of the man of method, which my previous stupidity +had already nearly exhausted. Dashing forward into the +middle of the room, he struck me violently on the shoulders with +his ferule, and snatching the rope out of my hand, exclaimed, +with a stentorian voice, and genuine Yorkshire accent. +“Prodigy of ignorance! dost not even know how to ring a +bell? Must I myself instruct thee?” He then +commenced pulling at the bell with such violence, that long +before half the school was dismissed the rope broke, and the rest +of the boys had to depart without their accustomed music.</p> +<p>But I must not linger here, though I could say much about the +school <!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>and the pedagogue highly amusing and +diverting, which, however, I suppress, in order to make way for +matters of yet greater interest. On we went, northward, +northward! and, as we advanced, I saw that the country was +becoming widely different from those parts of merry England in +which we had previously travelled. It was wilder, and less +cultivated, and more broken with hills and hillocks. The +people, too, of those regions appeared to partake of something of +the character of their country. They were coarsely dressed; +tall and sturdy of frame; their voices were deep and guttural; +and the half of the dialect which they spoke was unintelligible +to my ears.</p> +<p>I often wondered where we could be going, for I was at this +time about as ignorant of geography as I was of most other +things. However, I held my peace, asked no questions, and +patiently awaited the issue.</p> +<p>Northward, northward, still! And it came to pass that, +one morning, I found myself extended on the bank of a +river. It was a beautiful morning of early spring; small +white clouds were floating in the heaven, occasionally veiling +the countenance of the sun, whose light, as they retired, would +again burst forth, coursing like a racehorse over the +scene—and a goodly scene it was! Before me, across +the water, on an eminence, stood a white old city, surrounded +with lofty walls, above which rose the tops of tall houses, with +here and there a church or steeple. To my right hand was a +long and massive bridge, with many arches and of antique +architecture, which traversed the river. The river was a +noble one; the broadest that I had hitherto seen. Its +waters, of a greenish tinge, poured with impetuosity beneath the +narrow arches to meet the sea, close at hand, as the boom of the +billows breaking distinctly upon a beach declared. There +were songs upon the river from the fisher-barks; and occasionally +a chorus, plaintive and wild, such as I had never heard before, +the words of which I did not understand, but which at the present +time, down the long avenue of years, seem in memory’s ear +to sound like “Horam, coram, dago.” Several +robust fellows were near me, some knee-deep in water, employed in +hauling the seine upon the strand. Huge fish were +struggling amidst the meshes—princely salmon—their +brilliant mail of blue and silver flashing in the morning beam; +so goodly and gay a scene, in truth, had never greeted my boyish +eye.</p> +<p>And, as I gazed upon the prospect, my bosom began to heave, +and my tears to trickle. Was it the beauty of the scene +which gave rise to these emotions? Possibly; for though a +poor ignorant child—a half-wild creature—I was not +insensible to the loveliness of nature, and took pleasure in the +happiness and handiworks of my fellow-creatures. Yet, +perhaps, in something more deep and mysterious the feelings which +then pervaded me might originate. Who can lie down on Elvir +Hill without experiencing something of the sorcery of the +place? Flee from Elvir Hill, young swain, or the maids of +Elle will have power over you, and you will go elf-wild!—so +say the Danes. I had unconsciously laid myself down on +haunted ground; and I am willing to imagine that what I then +experienced was rather connected with the world of spirits and +<!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>dreams than with what I actually saw and heard around +me. Surely the elves and genii of the place were +conversing, by some inscrutable means, with the principle of +intelligence lurking within the poor uncultivated clod! +Perhaps to that ethereal principle the wonders of the past, as +connected with that stream, the glories of the present, and even +the history of the future, were at that moment being +revealed! Of how many feats of chivalry had those old walls +been witness, when hostile kings contended for their +possession?—how many an army from the south and from the +north had trod that old bridge?—what red and noble blood +had crimsoned those rushing waters?—what strains had been +sung, ay, were yet being sung on its banks?—some soft as +Doric reed; some fierce and sharp as those of Norwegian +Skaldaglam; some as replete with wild and wizard force as +Finland’s runes, singing of Kalevale’s moors, and the +deeds of Woinomoinen! Honour to thee, thou island +stream! Onward may thou ever roll, fresh and green, +rejoicing in thy bright past, thy glorious present, and in vivid +hope of a triumphant future! Flow on, beautiful +one!—which of the world’s streams canst thou envy, +with thy beauty and renown? Stately is the Danube, rolling +in its might through lands romantic with the wild exploits of +Turk, Polak, and Magyar! Lovely is the Rhine! on its shelvy +banks grows the racy grape; and strange old keeps of +robber-knights of yore are reflected in its waters, from +picturesque crags and airy headlands!—yet neither the +stately Danube, nor the beauteous Rhine, with all their fame, +though abundant, needst thou envy, thou pure island +stream!—and far less yon turbid river of old, not modern +renown, gurgling beneath the walls of what was once proud Rome, +towering Rome, Jupiter’s town, but now vile Rome, crumbling +Rome, Batuscha’s town, far less needst thou envy the turbid +Tiber of bygone fame, creeping sadly to the sea, surcharged with +the abominations of modern Rome—how unlike to thee, thou +pure island stream!</p> +<p>And as I lay on the bank and wept, there drew nigh to me a man +in the habiliments of a fisher. He was bare-legged, of a +weather-beaten countenance, and of stature approaching to the +gigantic. “What is the callant greeting for?” +said he, as he stopped and surveyed me. “Has ony body +wrought ye ony harm?”</p> +<p>“Not that I know of,” I replied, rather guessing +at than understanding his question; “I was crying because I +could not help it! I say, old one, what is the name of this +river?”</p> +<p>“Hout! I now see what you was greeting at—at +your ain ignorance, nae doubt—’tis very great! +Weel, I will na fash you with reproaches, but even enlighten ye, +since you seem a decent man’s bairn, and you speir a civil +question. Yon river is called the Tweed; and yonder, over +the brig, is Scotland. Did ye never hear of the Tweed, my +bonny man?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, as I rose from the grass, and +proceeded to cross the bridge to the town at which we had arrived +the preceding night; “I never heard of it; but now I have +seen it, I shall not soon forget it!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Castle—A Father’s +Inquiries—Scotch Language—A Determination—Bui +Hin Digri—Good Scotchman—Difference of +Races—Ne’er a Haggis—Pugnacious +People—Wha are Ye, Mon—The Nor Loch—Gestures +Wild—The Bicker—New Town Champion—Wild-Looking +Figure—Headlong.</p> +<p>It was not long before we found ourselves at Edinburgh, or +rather in the Castle, into which the regiment marched with drums +beating, colours flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons +behind. The Castle was, as I suppose it is now, a garrison +for soldiers. Two other regiments were already there; the +one an Irish, if I remember right, the other a small Highland +corps.</p> +<p>It is hardly necessary to say much about this Castle, which +everybody has seen; on which account, doubtless, nobody has ever +yet thought fit to describe it—at least that I am +aware. Be this as it may, I have no intention of describing +it, and shall content myself with observing, that we took up our +abode in that immense building, or caserne, of modern erection, +which occupies the entire eastern side of the bold rock on which +the Castle stands. A gallant caserne it was—the best +and roomiest that I had hitherto seen—rather cold and +windy, it is true, especially in the winter, but commanding a +noble prospect of a range of distant hills, which I was told were +“the hieland hills,” and of a broad arm of the sea, +which I heard somebody say was the Firth of Forth.</p> +<p>My brother, who, for some years past, had been receiving his +education in a certain celebrated school in England, was now with +us; and it came to pass, that one day my father, as he sat at +table, looked steadfastly on my brother and myself, and then +addressed my mother:—“During my journey down hither I +have lost no opportunity of making inquiries about these people, +the Scotch, amongst whom we now are, and since I have been here I +have observed them attentively. From what I have heard and +seen, I should say that upon the whole they are a very decent set +of people; they seem acute and intelligent, and I am told that +their system of education is so excellent, that every person is +learned—more or less acquainted with Greek and Latin. +There is one thing, however, connected with them, which is a +great drawback—the horrid jargon which they speak. +However learned they may be in Greek and Latin, their English is +execrable; and yet I’m told it is not so bad as it +was. I was in company the other day with an Englishman who +has resided here many years. We were talking about the +country and the people. ‘I should like both very +well,’ said I, ‘were it not for the language. I +wish sincerely our Parliament, which is passing so many foolish +acts every year, would pass one to force these Scotch to speak +English.’ ‘I wish so, too,’ said +he. ‘The language is a disgrace to the British +Government; but, if you had heard it twenty years ago, +captain!—if you had heard it as it was spoken when I first +came to Edinburgh!’”</p> +<p><!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>“Only custom,” said my mother. +“I dare say the language is now what it was +then.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said my father; +“though I dare say you are right; it could never have been +worse than it is at present. But now to the point. +Were it not for the language, which, if the boys were to pick it +up, might ruin their prospects in life,—were it not for +that, I should very much like to send them to a school there is +in this place, which everybody talks about—the High School, +I think they call it. ’Tis said to be the best school +in the whole island; but the idea of one’s children +speaking Scotch—broad Scotch! I must think the matter +over.”</p> +<p>And he did think the matter over; and the result of his +deliberation was a determination to send us to the school. +Let me call thee up before my mind’s eye, High School, to +which, every morning, the two English brothers took their way +from the proud old Castle through the lofty streets of the Old +Town. High School!—called so, I scarcely know why; +neither lofty in thyself nor by position, being situated in a +flat bottom; oblong structure of tawny stone, with many windows +fenced with iron netting—with thy long hall below, and thy +five chambers above, for the reception of the five classes, into +which the eight hundred urchins, who styled thee instructress, +were divided. Thy learned rector and his four subordinate +dominies; thy strange old porter of the tall form and grizzled +hair, hight Boee, and doubtless of Norse ancestry, as his name +declares; perhaps of the blood of Bui hin Digri, the hero of +northern song—the Jomsborg Viking who clove Thorsteinn +Midlaagr asunder in the dread sea battle of Horunga Vog, and who, +when the fight was lost and his own two hands smitten off, seized +two chests of gold with his bloody stumps, and, springing with +them into the sea, cried to the scanty relics of his crew, +“Overboard now, all Bui’s lads!” Yes, I +remember all about thee, and how at eight of every morn we were +all gathered together with one accord in the long hall, from +which, after the litanies had been read (for so I will call them, +being an Episcopalian), the five classes from the five sets of +benches trotted off in long files, one boy after the other, up +the five spiral staircases of stone, each class to its +destination; and well do I remember how we of the third sat +hushed and still, watched by the eye of the dux, until the door +opened, and in walked that model of a good Scotchman, the shrewd, +intelligent, but warm-hearted and kind dominie, the respectable +Carson.</p> +<p>And in this school I began to construe the Latin language, +which I had never done before, notwithstanding my long and +diligent study of Lilly, which illustrious grammar was not used +at Edinburgh, nor indeed known. Greek was only taught in +the fifth or highest class, in which my brother was; as for +myself, I never got beyond the third during the two years that I +remained at this seminary. I certainly acquired here a +considerable insight in the Latin tongue; and, to the scandal of +my father and horror of my mother, a thorough proficiency in the +Scotch, which, in less than two months, usurped the place of the +English, and so obstinately maintained its ground, that I still +can occasionally detect its lingering remains. I did not +spend my time unpleasantly at this school, though, first of all, +I had to pass through an ordeal.</p> +<p><!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>“Scotland is a better country than England,” +said an ugly, blear-eyed lad, about a head and shoulders taller +than myself, the leader of a gang of varlets who surrounded me in +the play-ground, on the first day, as soon as the morning lesson +was over. “Scotland is a far better country than +England, in every respect.”</p> +<p>“Is it?” said I. “Then you ought to be +very thankful for not having been born in England.”</p> +<p>“That’s just what I am, ye loon; and every morning +when I say my prayers, I thank God for not being an +Englishman. The Scotch are a much better and braver people +than the English.”</p> +<p>“It may be so,” said I, “for what I +know—indeed, till I came here, I never heard a word either +about the Scotch or their country.”</p> +<p>“Are ye making fun of us, ye English puppy?” said +the blear-eyed lad; “take that!” and I was presently +beaten black and blue. And thus did I first become aware of +the difference of races and their antipathy to each other.</p> +<p>“Bow to the storm, and it shall pass over +you.” I held my peace, and silently submitted to the +superiority of the Scotch—<i>in numbers</i>. This was +enough; from an object of persecution I soon became one of +patronage, especially amongst the champions of the class. +“The English,” said the blear-eyed lad, “though +a wee bit behind the Scotch in strength and fortitude, are nae to +be sneezed at, being far ahead of the Irish, to say nothing of +the French, a pack of cowardly scoundrels. And with regard +to the English country, it is na Scotland, it is true, but it has +its gude properties; and, though there is ne’er a haggis in +a’ the land, there’s an unco deal o’ gowd and +siller. I respect England, for I have an auntie married +there.”</p> +<p>The Scotch are certainly a most pugnacious people; their whole +history proves it. Witness their incessant wars with the +English in the olden time, and their internal feuds, highland +with lowland, clan with clan, family with family, Saxon with +Gael. In my time, the schoolboys, for want, perhaps, of +English urchins to contend with, were continually fighting with +each other; every noon there was at least one pugilistic +encounter, and sometimes three. In one month I witnessed +more of these encounters than I had ever previously seen under +similar circumstances in England. After all, there was not +much harm done. Harm! what harm could result from short +chopping blows, a hug, and a tumble? I was witness to many +a sounding whack, some blood shed, “a blue ee” now +and then, but nothing more. In England, on the contrary, +where the lads were comparatively mild, gentle, and pacific, I +had been present at more than one death caused by blows in boyish +combats, in which the oldest of the victors had scarcely reached +thirteen years; but these blows were in the jugular, given with +the full force of the arm shot out horizontally from the +shoulder.</p> +<p>But, the Scotch—though by no means proficients in boxing +(and how should they box, seeing that they have never had a +teacher?)—are, I repeat, a most pugnacious people; at least +they were in my time. Anything served them, that is, the +urchins, as a pretence for a fray, or, Dorically speaking, a +<i>bicker</i>; every street and close was at feud with <!-- page +37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>its +neighbour; the lads of the school were at feud with the young men +of the college, whom they pelted in winter with snow, and in +summer with stones; and then the feud between the Old and New +Town!</p> +<p>One day I was standing on the ramparts of the castle on the +southwestern side which overhangs the green brae, where it slopes +down into what was in those days the green swamp or morass, +called by the natives of Auld Reekie the Nor Loch; it was a dark +gloomy day, and a thin veil of mist was beginning to settle down +upon the brae and the morass. I could perceive, however, +that there was a skirmish taking place in the latter spot. +I had an indistinct view of two parties—apparently of +urchins—and I heard whoops and shrill cries: eager to know +the cause of this disturbance, I left the castle, and descending +the brae reached the borders of the morass, where was a runnel of +water and the remains of an old wall, on the other side of which +a narrow path led across the swamp: upon this path at a little +distance before me there was “a bicker.” I +pushed forward, but had scarcely crossed the ruined wall and +runnel, when the party nearest to me gave way, and in great +confusion came running in my direction. As they drew nigh, +one of them shouted to me, “Wha are ye, mon? are ye +o’ the Auld Toon?” I made no answer. +“Ha! ye are of the New Toon; De’il tak ye, +we’ll murder ye;” and the next moment a huge stone +sung past my head. “Let me be, ye fule bodies,” +said I, “I’m no of either of ye, I live yonder aboon +in the castle.” “Ah! ye live in the castle; +then ye’re an auld tooner; come gie us your help, man, and +dinna stand there staring like a dunnot, we want help sair +eneugh. Here are stanes.”</p> +<p>For my own part I wished for nothing better, and, rushing +forward, I placed myself at the head of my new associates, and +commenced flinging stones fast and desperately. The other +party now gave way in their turn, closely followed by ourselves; +I was in the van, and about to stretch out my hand to seize the +hindermost boy of the enemy, when, not being acquainted with the +miry and difficult paths of the Nor Loch, and in my eagerness +taking no heed of my footing, I plunged into a quagmire, into +which I sank as far as my shoulders. Our adversaries no +sooner perceived this disaster, than, setting up a shout, they +wheeled round and attacked us most vehemently. Had my +comrades now deserted me, my life had not been worth a +straw’s purchase, I should either have been smothered in +the quag, or, what is more probable, had my brains beaten out +with stones; but they behaved like true Scots, and fought stoutly +around their comrade, until I was extricated, whereupon both +parties retired, the night being near at hand.</p> +<p>“Ye are na a bad hand at flinging stanes,” said +the lad who first addressed me, as we now returned up the brae; +“your aim is right dangerous, mon, I saw how ye skelpit +them, ye maun help us agin thae New Toon blackguards at our next +bicker.”</p> +<p>So to the next bicker I went, and to many more, which speedily +followed as the summer advanced; the party to which I had given +my help on the first occasion consisted merely of outlyers, +posted about half way up the hill, for the purpose of overlooking +the movements of the enemy.</p> +<p><!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>Did the latter draw nigh in any considerable force, +messengers were forthwith despatched to the “auld +toon,” especially to the filthy alleys and closes of the +High Street, which forthwith would disgorge swarms of bare-headed +and bare-footed “callants,” who, with gestures wild +and “eldrich screech and hollo,” might frequently be +seen pouring down the sides of the hill. I have seen +upwards of a thousand engaged on either side in these frays, +which I have no doubt were full as desperate as the fights +described in the Iliad, and which were certainly much more bloody +than the combats of modern Greece in the war of independence: the +callants not only employed their hands in hurling stones, but not +unfrequently slings; at the use of which they were very expert, +and which occasionally dislodged teeth, shattered jaws, or +knocked out an eye. Our opponents certainly laboured under +considerable disadvantage, being compelled not only to wade +across a deceitful bog, but likewise to clamber up part of a +steep hill before they could attack us; nevertheless, their +determination was such, and such their impetuosity, that we had +sometimes difficulty enough to maintain our own. I shall +never forget one bicker, the last indeed which occurred at that +time, as the authorities of the town, alarmed by the desperation +of its character, stationed forthwith a body of police on the +hill side, to prevent, in future, any such breaches of the +peace.</p> +<p>It was a beautiful Sunday evening, the rays of the descending +<i>sun</i> were reflected redly from the grey walls of the +castle, and from the black rocks on which it was founded. +The bicker had long since commenced, stones from sling and hand +were flying; but the callants of the New Town were now carrying +everything before them.</p> +<p>A full-grown baker’s apprentice was at their head; he +was foaming with rage, and had taken the field, as I was told, in +order to avenge his brother, whose eye had been knocked out in +one of the late bickers. He was no slinger, or flinger, but +brandished in his right hand the spoke of a cart-wheel, like my +countryman Tom Hickathrift of old in his encounter with the giant +of the Lincolnshire fen. Protected by a piece of +wicker-work attached to his left arm, he rushed on to the fray, +disregarding the stones which were showered against him, and was +ably seconded by his followers. Our own party was chased +half way up the hill, where I was struck to the ground by the +baker, after having been foiled in an attempt which I had made to +fling a handful of earth into his eyes. All now appeared +lost, the Auld Toon was in full retreat. I myself lay at +the baker’s feet, who had just raised his spoke, probably +to give me the <i>coup de grâce</i>,—it was an awful +moment. Just then I heard a shout and a rushing sound; a +wild-looking figure is descending the hill with terrible bounds; +it is a lad of some fifteen years; he is bare-headed, and his red +uncombed hair stands on end like hedgehogs’ bristles; his +frame is lithy, like that of an antelope, but he has prodigious +breadth of chest; he wears a military undress, that of the +regiment, even of a drummer, for it is wild Davy, whom a month +before I had seen enlisted on Leith Links to serve King George +with drum and drumstick as long as his services might be +required, and who, ere a week had elapsed, had smitten with his +fist Drum-Major Elzigood, <!-- page 39--><a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>who, incensed +at his inaptitude, had threatened him with his cane; he has been +in confinement for weeks, this is the first day of his +liberation, and he is now descending the hill with horrid bounds +and shoutings; he is now about five yards distant, and the baker, +who apprehends that something dangerous is at hand, prepares +himself for the encounter; but what avails the strength of a +baker, even full grown?—what avails the defence of a wicker +shield? what avails the wheel-spoke, should there be an +opportunity of using it, against the impetus of an avalanche or a +cannon ball?—for to either of these might that wild figure +be compared, which, at the distance of five yards, sprang at once +with head, hands, feet and body, all together, upon the champion +of the New Town, tumbling him to the earth amain. And now +it was the turn of the Old Town to triumph. Our late +discomfited host, returning on its steps, overwhelmed the fallen +champion with blows of every kind, and then, led on by his +vanquisher who had assumed his arms, namely, the wheelspoke and +wicker shield, fairly cleared the brae of their adversaries, whom +they drove down headlong into the morass.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Expert Climbers—The +Crags—Something Red—The Horrible Edge—David +Haggart—Fine Materials—The Greatest +Victory—Extraordinary Robber—The Ruling Passion.</p> +<p>Meanwhile I had become a daring cragsman, a character to which +an English lad has seldom opportunities of aspiring; for in +England there are neither crags nor mountains. Of these, +however, as is well known, there is no lack in Scotland, and the +habits of individuals are invariably in harmony with the country +in which they dwell. The Scotch are expert climbers, and I +was now a Scot in most things, particularly in language. +The castle on which I dwelt stood upon a rock, a bold and craggy +one, which, at first sight, would seem to bid defiance to any +feet save those of goats and chamois; but patience and +perseverance generally enable mankind to overcome things which, +at first sight, appear impossible. Indeed, what is there +above man’s exertions? Unwearied determination will +enable him to run with the horse, to swim with the fish, and +assuredly to compete with the chamois and the goat in agility and +sureness of foot. To scale the rock was merely +child’s play for the Edinbro’ callants. It was +my own favourite diversion. I soon found that the rock +contained all manner of strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, +where owls nestled, and the weasel brought forth her young; here +and there were small natural platforms overgrown with long grass +and various kinds of plants, where the climber, if so disposed, +could stretch himself, and either give his eyes to sleep or his +mind to thought; for capital places were these same platforms, +either for repose or meditation. The boldest features of +the rock are descried on the southern side, where, after shelving +down <!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>gently from the wall for some distance, it terminates +abruptly in a precipice, black and horrible, of some three +hundred feet at least, as if the axe of nature had been here +employed cutting sheer down, and leaving behind neither +excrescence nor spur—a dizzy precipice it is, assimilating +much to those so frequent in the flinty hills of Northern Africa, +and exhibiting some distant resemblance to that of Gibraltar, +towering in its horridness above the neutral ground.</p> +<p>It was now holiday time, and having nothing particular +wherewith to occupy myself, I not unfrequently passed the greater +part of the day upon the rocks. Once, after scaling the +western crags, and creeping round a sharp angle of the wall, +overhung by a kind of watch tower, I found myself on the southern +side. Still keeping close to the wall, I was proceeding +onward, for I was bent upon a long excursion which should embrace +half the circuit of the castle, when suddenly my eye was +attracted by the appearance of something red, far below me; I +stopped short, and, looking fixedly upon it, perceived that it +was a human being in a kind of red jacket, seated on the extreme +verge of the precipice, which I have already made a faint attempt +to describe. Wondering who it could be, I shouted; but it +took not the slightest notice, remaining as immovable as the rock +on which it sat. “I should never have thought of +going near that edge,” said I to myself; “however, as +you have done it, why should not I? And I should like to +know who you are.” So I commenced the descent of the +rock, but with great care, for I had as yet never been in a +situation so dangerous; a slight moisture exuded from the palms +of my hands, my nerves were tingling, and my brain was somewhat +dizzy—and now I had arrived within a few yards of the +figure, and had recognised it: it was the wild drummer who had +turned the tide of battle in the bicker on the Castle Brae. +A small stone which I dislodged now rolled down the rock, and +tumbled into the abyss close beside him. He turned his +head, and after looking at me for a moment somewhat vacantly, he +resumed his former attitude. I drew yet nearer to the +horrible edge; not close, however, for fear was on me.</p> +<p>“What are you thinking of, David?” said I, as I +sat behind him and trembled, for I repeat that I was afraid.</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. I was thinking of Willie +Wallace.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You had better be thinking of yourself, +man. A strange place this to come to and think of William +Wallace.</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. Why so? Is not his tower +just beneath our feet?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You mean the auld ruin by the side of Nor +Loch—the ugly stane bulk, from the foot of which flows the +spring into the dyke, where the watercresses grow?</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. Just sae, Geordie.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. And why were ye thinking of him? +The English hanged him long since, as I have heard say.</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. I was thinking that I should wish +to be like him.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Do ye mean that ye would wish to be +hanged?</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. I wad na flinch from that, +Geordie, if I might be a great man first.</p> +<p><!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span><i>Myself</i>. And wha kens, Davie, how great you +may be, even without hanging? Are ye not in the high road +of preferment? Are ye not a bauld drummer already? +Wha kens how high ye may rise? perhaps to be general, or +drum-major.</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. I hae na wish to be drum-major; it +were na great things to be like the doited carle, Elsethan-gude, +as they call him; and, troth, he has nae his name for +naething. But I should have nae objection to be a general, +and to fight the French and Americans, and win myself a name and +a fame like Willie Wallace, and do brave deeds, such as I have +been reading about in his story book.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Ye are a fule, Davie; the story book is +full of lies. Wallace, indeed! the wuddie rebel! I +have heard my father say that the Duke of Cumberland was worth +twenty of Willie Wallace.</p> +<p><i>David Haggart</i>. Ye had better sae naething agin +Willie Wallace, Geordie, for, if ye do, de’il hae me, if I +dinna tumble ye doon the craig.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Fine materials in that lad for a hero, you will say. +Yes, indeed, for a hero, or for what he afterwards became. +In other times, and under other circumstances, he might have made +what is generally termed a great man, a patriot, or a +conqueror. As it was, the very qualities which might then +have pushed him on to fortune and renown were the cause of his +ruin. The war over, he fell into evil courses; for his wild +heart and ambitious spirit could not brook the sober and quiet +pursuits of honest industry.</p> +<p>“Can an Arabian steed submit to be a vile drudge?” +cries the fatalist. Nonsense! A man is not an +irrational creature, but a reasoning being, and has something +within him beyond mere brutal instinct. The greatest +victory which a man can achieve is over himself, by which is +meant those unruly passions which are not convenient to the time +and place. David did not do this; he gave the reins to his +wild heart, instead of curbing it, and became a robber, and, +alas! alas! he shed blood—under peculiar circumstances, it +is true, and without <i>malice prépense</i>—and for +that blood he eventually died, and justly; for it was that of the +warden of a prison from which he was escaping, and whom he slew +with one blow of his stalwart arm.</p> +<p>Tamerlane and Haggart! Haggart and Tamerlane! Both +these men were robbers, and of low birth, yet one perished on an +ignoble scaffold, and the other died emperor of the world. +Is this justice? The ends of the two men were widely +dissimilar—yet what is the intrinsic difference between +them? Very great indeed; the one acted according to his +lights and his country, not so the other. Tamerlane was a +heathen, and acted according to his lights; he was a robber where +all around were robbers, but he became the avenger of +God—God’s scourge on unjust kings, on the cruel +Bajazet, who had plucked out his own brothers’ eyes; he +became to a certain extent the purifier of the East, its +regenerator; his equal never was before, nor has it since been +seen. Here the wild heart was profitably employed the wild +strength, the teeming brain. Onward, Lame one! +Onward, Tamurlank! Haggart. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>But peace to thee, poor David! why should a mortal worm +be sitting in judgment over thee? The Mighty and Just One +has already judged thee, and perhaps above thou hast received +pardon for thy crimes, which could not be pardoned here below; +and now that thy feverish existence has closed, and thy once +active form become inanimate dust, thy very memory all but +forgotten, I will say a few words about thee, a few words soon +also to be forgotten. Thou wast the most extraordinary +robber that ever lived within the belt of Britain; Scotland rang +with thy exploits, and England, too, north of the Humber; strange +deeds also didst thou achieve when, fleeing from justice, thou +didst find thyself in the Sister Isle; busy wast thou there in +town and on curragh, at fair and race-course, and also in the +solitary place. Ireland thought thee her child, for who +spoke her brogue better than thyself?—she felt proud of +thee, and said, “Sure, O’Hanlon is come +again.” What might not have been thy fate in the far +west in America, whither thou hadst turned thine eye, saying, +“I will go there, and become an honest man!” +But thou wast not to go there, David—the blood which thou +hadst shed in Scotland was to be required of thee; the avenger +was at hand, the avenger of blood. Seized, manacled, +brought back to thy native land, condemned to die, thou wast left +in thy narrow cell, and told to make the most of thy time, for it +was short; and there, in thy narrow cell, and thy time so short, +thou didst put the crowning stone to thy strange deeds, by that +strange history of thyself, penned by thine own hand in the +robber tongue. Thou mightest have been better employed, +David!—but the ruling passion was strong with thee, even in +the jaws of death. Thou mightest have been better +employed!—but peace be with thee, I repeat, and the +Almighty’s grace and pardon.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Napoleon—The Storm—The +Cove—Up the Country—The Trembling +Hand—Irish—Tough Battle—Tipperary +Hills—Elegant Lodgings—A Speech—Fair +Specimen—Orangemen.</p> +<p>Onward, onward! and after we had sojourned in Scotland nearly +two years, the long continental war had been brought to an end, +Napoleon was humbled for a time, and the Bourbons restored to a +land which could well have dispensed with them; we returned to +England, where the corps was disbanded, and my parents with their +family retired to private life. I shall pass over in +silence the events of a year, which offer little of interest as +far as connected with me and mine. Suddenly, however, the +sound of war was heard again, Napoleon had broken forth from +Elba, and everything was in confusion. Vast military +preparations were again made, our own corps was levied anew, and +my brother became an officer in it; but the danger was soon over, +Napoleon was once more quelled, and chained for ever, like +Prometheus, to his rock. As the corps, however, though so +recently levied, had already <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>become a very +fine one, thanks to my father’s energetic drilling, the +Government very properly determined to turn it to some account, +and, as disturbances were apprehended in Ireland about this +period, it occurred to them that they could do no better than +despatch it to that country.</p> +<p>In the autumn of the year 1815 we set sail from a port in +Essex; we were some eight hundred strong, and were embarked in +two ships, very large, but old and crazy; a storm overtook us +when off Beachy Head, in which we had nearly foundered. I +was awakened early in the morning by the howling of the wind, and +the uproar on deck. I kept myself close, however, as is +still my constant practice on similar occasions, and waited the +result with that apathy and indifference which violent +sea-sickness is sure to produce. We shipped several seas, +and once the vessel missing stays—which, to do it justice, +it generally did at every third or fourth tack—we escaped +almost by a miracle from being dashed upon the foreland. On +the eighth day of our voyage we were in sight of Ireland. +The weather was now calm and serene, the sun shone brightly on +the sea and on certain green hills in the distance, on which I +descried what at first sight I believed to be two ladies +gathering flowers, which, however, on our nearer approach, proved +to be two tall white towers, doubtless built for some purpose or +other, though I did not learn for what.</p> +<p>We entered a kind of bay, or cove, by a narrow inlet; it was a +beautiful and romantic place this cove, very spacious, and being +nearly land-locked, was sheltered from every wind. A small +island, every inch of which was covered with fortifications, +appeared to swim upon the waters, whose dark blue denoted their +immense depth; tall green hills, which ascended gradually from +the shore, formed the background to the west; they were carpeted +to the top with turf of the most vivid green, and studded here +and there with woods, seemingly of oak; there was a strange old +castle half way up the ascent, a village on a crag—but the +mists of the morning were half veiling the scene when I surveyed +it, and the mists of time are now hanging densely between it and +my no longer youthful eye; I may not describe it;—nor will +I try.</p> +<p>Leaving the ship in the cove, we passed up a wide river in +boats till we came to a city, where we disembarked. It was +a large city, as large as Edinburgh to my eyes; there were plenty +of fine houses, but little neatness; the streets were full of +impurities; handsome equipages rolled along, but the greater part +of the population were in rags; beggars abounded; there was no +lack of merriment, however; boisterous shouts of laughter were +heard on every side. It appeared a city of +contradictions. After a few days’ rest we marched +from this place in two divisions. My father commanded the +second, I walked by his side.</p> +<p>Our route lay up the country; the country at first offered no +very remarkable feature; it was pretty, but tame. On the +second day, however, its appearance had altered, it had become +more wild; a range of distant mountains bound the horizon. +We passed through several villages, as I suppose I may term them, +of low huts, the walls <!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 44</span>formed of rough stones without +mortar, the roof of flags laid over wattles and wicker-work; they +seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children; the latter +were naked, the former, in general, blear-eyed beldames, who sat +beside the doors on low stools, spinning. We saw, however, +both men and women working at a distance in the fields.</p> +<p>I was thirsty; and going up to an ancient crone, employed in +the manner which I have described, I asked her for water; she +looked me in the face, appeared to consider a moment, then +tottering into her hut, presently reappeared with a small pipkin +of milk, which she offered to me with a trembling hand. I +drank the milk; it was sour, but I found it highly +refreshing. I then took out a penny and offered it to her, +whereupon she shook her head, smiled, and, patting my face with +her skinny hand, murmured some words in a tongue which I had +never heard before.</p> +<p>I walked on by my father’s side, holding the +stirrup-leather of his horse; presently several low uncouth cars +passed by, drawn by starved cattle: the drivers were tall +fellows, with dark features and athletic frames—they wore +long loose blue cloaks with sleeves, which last, however, dangled +unoccupied: these cloaks appeared in tolerably good condition, +not so their under garments. On their heads were broad +slouching hats: the generality of them were bare-footed. As +they passed, the soldiers jested with them in the patois of East +Anglia, whereupon the fellows laughed, and appeared to jest with +the soldiers; but what they said who knows, it being in a rough +guttural language, strange and wild. The soldiers stared at +each other, and were silent.</p> +<p>“A strange language that!” said a young officer to +my father, “I don’t understand a word of it; what can +it be?”</p> +<p>“Irish,” said my father, with a loud voice, +“and a bad language it is; I have known it of old, that is, +I have often heard it spoken when I was a guardsman in +London. There’s one part of London where all the +Irish live—at least all the worst of them—and there +they hatch their villanies to speak this tongue; it is that which +keeps them together and makes them dangerous: I was once sent +there to seize a couple of deserters—Irish—who had +taken refuge amongst their companions; we found them in what was +in my time called a ken, that is, a house where only thieves and +desperadoes are to be found. Knowing on what kind of +business I was bound, I had taken with me a sergeant’s +party; it was well I did so. We found the deserters in a +large room, with at least thirty ruffians, horrid-looking +fellows, seated about a long table, drinking, swearing, and +talking Irish. Ah! we had a tough battle, I remember; the +two fellows did nothing, but sat still, thinking it best to be +quiet; but the rest, with an ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a +powder-magazine, sprang up, brandishing their sticks; for these +fellows always carry sticks with them even to bed, and not +unfrequently spring up in their sleep, striking left and +right.”</p> +<p>“Did you take the deserters?” said the +officer.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said my father; “for we formed at the +end of the room, and charged with fixed bayonets, which compelled +the others to yield <!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 45</span>notwithstanding their numbers; but +the worst was when we got out into the street; the whole district +had become alarmed and hundreds came pouring down upon +us—men, women, and children. Women, did I +say!—they looked fiends, half-naked, with their hair +hanging down over their bosoms; they tore up the very pavement to +hurl at us sticks rang about our ears, stones, and Irish—I +liked the Irish worst of all, it sounded so horrid, especially as +I did not understand it. It’s a bad +language.”</p> +<p>“A queer tongue,” said I, “I wonder if I +could learn it?”</p> +<p>“Learn it!” said my father; “what should you +learn it for?—however, I am not afraid of that. It is +not like Scotch, no person can learn it, save those who are born +to it, and even in Ireland the respectable people do not speak +it, only the wilder sort, like those we have passed.”</p> +<p>Within a day or two we had reached a tall range of mountains +running north and south, which I was told were those of +Tipperary; along the skirts of these we proceeded till we came to +a town, the principal one of these regions. It was on the +bank of a beautiful river, which separated it from the +mountains. It was rather an ancient place, and might +contain some ten thousand inhabitants—I found that it was +our destination; there were extensive barracks at the farther +end, in which the corps took up its quarters; with respect to +ourselves, we took lodgings in a house which stood in the +principal street.</p> +<p>“You never saw more elegant lodgings than these, +captain,” said the master of the house, a tall, handsome, +and athletic man, who came up whilst our little family were +seated at dinner late in the afternoon of the day of our arrival; +“they beat anything in this town of Clonmel. I do not +let them for the sake of interest, and to none but gentlemen in +the army, in order that myself and my wife, who is from +Londonderry, may have the advantage of pleasant company, a +genteel company; ay, and Protestant company, captain. It +did my heart good when I saw your honour ride in at the head of +all those fine fellows, real Protestants, I’ll engage, not +a Papist among them, they are too good-looking and honest-looking +for that. So I no sooner saw your honour at the head of +your army, with that handsome young gentleman holding by your +stirrup, than I said to my wife, Mistress Hyne, who is from +Londonderry, ‘God bless me,’ said I, ‘what a +truly Protestant countenance, what a noble bearing, and what a +sweet young gentleman. By the silver hairs of his +honour—and sure enough I never saw hairs more regally +silver than those of your honour—by his honour’s gray +silver hairs, and by my own soul, which is not worthy to be +mentioned in the same day with one of them—it would be no +more than decent and civil to run out and welcome such a father +and son coming in at the head of such a Protestant +military.’ And then my wife, who is from Londonderry, +Mistress Hyne, looking me in the face like a fairy as she is, +‘You may say that,’ says she. ‘It would +be but decent and civil, honey.’ And your honour +knows how I ran out of my own door and welcomed your honour +riding in company with your son, who was walking; how I welcomed +ye both at the head of your royal regiment, <!-- page 46--><a +name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>and how I +shook your honour by the hand, saying, I am glad to see your +honour, and your honour’s son, and your honour’s +royal military Protestant regiment. And now I have you in +the house, and right proud I am to have ye one and all; one, two, +three, four, true Protestants every one, no Papists here; and I +have made bold to bring up a bottle of claret which is now +waiting behind the door; and, when your honour and your family +have dined, I will make bold too to bring up Mistress Hyne, from +Londonderry, to introduce to your honour’s lady, and then +we’ll drink to the health of King George, God bless him; to +the ‘glorious and immortal’—to Boyne +water—to your honour’s speedy promotion to be Lord +Lieutenant, and to the speedy downfall of the Pope and Saint +Anthony of Padua.”</p> +<p>Such was the speech of the Irish Protestant addressed to my +father in the long lofty dining-room with three windows, looking +upon the high street of the good town of Clonmel, as he sat at +meat with his family, after saying grace like a true-hearted +respectable soldier as he was.</p> +<p>“A bigot and an Orangeman!” Oh, yes! +It is easier to apply epithets of opprobrium to people than to +make yourself acquainted with their history and position. +He was a specimen, and a fair specimen, of a most remarkable body +of men, who during two centuries have fought a good fight in +Ireland in the cause of civilization and religious truth; they +were sent as colonists, few in number, into a barbarous and +unhappy country, where ever since, though surrounded with +difficulties of every kind, they have maintained their ground; +theirs has been no easy life, nor have their lines fallen upon +very pleasant places; amidst darkness they have held up a lamp, +and it would be well for Ireland were all her children like these +her adopted ones. “But they are fierce and +sanguinary,” it is said. Ay, ay! they have not +unfrequently opposed the keen sword to the savage pike. +“But they are bigoted and narrow-minded.” Ay, +ay! they do not like idolatry, and will not bow the knee before a +stone! “But their language is frequently +indecorous.” Go to, my dainty one, did ye ever listen +to the voice of Papist cursing?</p> +<p>The Irish Protestants have faults, numerous ones; but the +greater number of these may be traced to the peculiar +circumstances of their position: but they have virtues, numerous +ones; and their virtues are their own, their industry, their +energy, and their undaunted resolution are their own. They +have been vilified and traduced—but what would Ireland be +without them? I repeat, that it would be well for her were +all her sons no worse than these much calumniated children of her +adoption.</p> +<h2><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Protestant Young Gentlemen—The Greek +Letters—Open Chimney—Murtagh—Paris and +Salamanca—Nothing to do—To Whit, to Whoo!—The +Pack of Cards—Before Christmas.</p> +<p>We continued at this place for some months, during which time +the soldiers performed their duties, whatever they were; and I, +having no duties to perform, was sent to school. I had been +to English schools, and to the celebrated one of Edinburgh; but +my education, at the present day, would not be what it +is—perfect, had I never had the honour of being +<i>alumnus</i> in an Irish seminary.</p> +<p>“Captain,” said our kind host, “you would, +no doubt, wish that the young gentleman should enjoy every +advantage which the town may afford towards helping him on in the +path of genteel learning. It’s a great pity that he +should waste his time in idleness—doing nothing else than +what he says he has been doing for the last +fortnight—fishing in the river for trouts which he never +catches; and wandering up the glen in the mountain, in search of +the hips that grow there. Now, we have a school here, where +he can learn the most elegant Latin, and get an insight into the +Greek letters, which is desirable; and where, moreover, he will +have an opportunity of making acquaintance with all the +Protestant young gentlemen of the place, the handsome +well-dressed young persons whom your honour sees in the church on +the Sundays, when your honour goes there in the morning, with the +rest of the Protestant military; for it is no Papist school, +though there may be a Papist or two there—a few poor +farmers’ sons from the country, with whom there is no +necessity for your honour’s child to form any acquaintance +at all, at all!”</p> +<p>And to the school I went, where I read the Latin tongue and +the Greek letters, with a nice old clergyman, who sat behind a +black oaken desk, with a huge Elzevir Flaccus before him, in a +long gloomy kind of hall, with a broken stone floor, the roof +festooned with cobwebs, the walls considerably dilapidated, and +covered over with strange figures and hieroglyphics, evidently +produced by the application of burnt stick; and there I made +acquaintance with the Protestant young gentlemen of the place, +who, with whatever <i>éclat</i> they might appear at +church on a Sunday, did assuredly not exhibit to much advantage +in the school-room on the week days, either with respect to +clothes or looks. And there I was in the habit of sitting +on a large stone, before the roaring fire in the huge open +chimney, and entertaining certain of the Protestant young +gentlemen of my own age, seated on similar stones, with +extraordinary accounts of my own adventures, and those of the +corps, with an occasional anecdote extracted from the story-books +of Hickathrift and Wight Wallace, pretending to be conning the +lesson all the while.</p> +<p>And there I made acquaintance, notwithstanding the hint of the +land lord, with the Papist “gasoons,” as they were +called, the farmers’ sons from the country; and of these +gasoons, of which there were three two <!-- page 48--><a +name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>might be +reckoned as nothing at all; in the third, however, I soon +discovered that there was something extraordinary.</p> +<p>He was about sixteen years old, and above six feet high, +dressed in a gray suit; the coat, from its size, appeared to have +been made for him some ten years before. He was remarkably +narrow-chested and round-shouldered, owing, perhaps, as much to +the tightness of his garment as to the hand of nature. His +face was long, and his complexion swarthy, relieved, however, by +certain freckles, with which the skin was plentifully +studded. He had strange wandering eyes, gray, and somewhat +unequal in size; they seldom rested on the book, but were +generally wandering about the room, from one object to +another. Sometimes he would fix them intently on the wall; +and then suddenly starting, as if from a reverie, he would +commence making certain mysterious movements with his thumbs and +fore-fingers, as if he were shuffling something from him.</p> +<p>One morning, as he sat by himself on a bench, engaged in this +manner, I went up to him, and said, “Good day, Murtagh; you +do not seem to have much to do?”</p> +<p>“Faith, you may say that, Shorsha dear!—it is +seldom much to do that I have.”</p> +<p>“And what are you doing with your hands?”</p> +<p>“Faith, then, if I must tell you, I was e’en +dealing with the cards.”</p> +<p>“Do you play much at cards?”</p> +<p>“Sorra a game, Shorsha, have I played with the cards +since my uncle Phelim, the thief, stole away the ould pack, when +he went to settle in the county Waterford!”</p> +<p>“But you have other things to do?”</p> +<p>“Sorra anything else has Murtagh to do that he cares +about; and that makes me dread so going home at +nights.”</p> +<p>“I should like to know all about you; where do you live, +joy?”</p> +<p>“Faith, then, ye shall know all about me, and where I +live. It is at a place called the Wilderness that I live, +and they call it so, because it is a fearful wild place, without +any house near it but my father’s own; and that’s +where I live when at home.”</p> +<p>“And your father is a farmer, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“You may say that; and it is a farmer I should have +been, like my brother Denis, had not my uncle Phelim, the thief! +tould my father to send me to school, to learn Greek letters, +that I might be made a saggart of, and sent to Paris and +Salamanca.”</p> +<p>“And you would rather be a farmer than a +priest?”</p> +<p>“You may say that!—for, were I a farmer, like the +rest, I should have something to do, like the +rest—something that I cared for—and I should come +home tired at night, and fall asleep, as the rest do, before the +fire; but when I comes home at night I am not tired, for I have +been doing nothing all day that I care for; and then I sits down +and stares about me, and at the fire, till I become frighted; and +then I shouts to my brother Denis, or to the gasoons, ‘Get +up, I say, and let’s be doing something; tell us a tale of +Finn-ma-Coul, and how he lay down in the Shannon’s bed, and +let the river flow down his jaws!’ Arrah, Shorsha, +<!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>I wish you would come and stay with us, and tell us some +o’ your sweet stories of your ownself and the snake ye +carried about wid ye. Faith, Shorsha dear! that snake bates +anything about Finn-ma-Coul or Brian Boroo, the thieves two, bad +luck to them!”</p> +<p>“And do they get up and tell you stories?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes they does, but oftenmost they curses me, and +bids me be quiet! But I can’t be quiet, either before +the fire or abed; so I runs out of the house, and stares at the +rocks, at the trees, and sometimes at the clouds, as they run a +race across the bright moon; and, the more I stares, the more +frighted I grows, till I screeches and holloas. And last +night I went into the barn, and hid my face in the straw; and +there, as I lay and shivered in the straw, I heard a voice above +my head singing out ‘To whit, to whoo!’ and then up I +starts, and runs into the house, and falls over my brother Denis, +as he lies at the fire. ‘What’s that +for?’ says he. ‘Get up, you thief!’ says +I, ‘and be helping me. I have been out in the barn, +and an owl has crow’d at me!’”</p> +<p>“And what has this to do with playing cards?”</p> +<p>“Little enough, Shorsha dear!—If there were +card-playing, I should not be frighted.”</p> +<p>“And why do you not play at cards?”</p> +<p>“Did I not tell you that the thief, my uncle Phelim, +stole away the pack? If we had the pack, my brother Denis +and the gasoons would be ready enough to get up from their sleep +before the fire, and play cards with me for ha’pence, or +eggs, or nothing at all; but the pack is gone—bad luck to +the thief who took it!”</p> +<p>“And why don’t you buy another?”</p> +<p>“Is it of buying you are speaking? And where am I +to get the money?”</p> +<p>“Ah! that’s another thing!”</p> +<p>“Faith it is, honey!—And now the Christmas +holidays is coming, when I shall be at home by day as well as +night, and then what am I to do? Since I have been a +saggarting, I have been good for nothing at all—neither for +work nor Greek—only to play cards! Faith, it’s +going mad I will be!”</p> +<p>“I say, Murtagh!”</p> +<p>“Yes, Shorsha dear!”</p> +<p>“I have a pack of cards.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say so, Shorsha ma vourneen?—you +don’t say that you have cards fifty-two?”</p> +<p>“I do, though; and they are quite new—never been +once used.”</p> +<p>“And you’ll be lending them to me, I’ll +warrant?”</p> +<p>“Don’t think it!—But I’ll sell them to +you, joy, if you like.”</p> +<p>“Hanam mon Dioul! am I not after telling you that I have +no money at all?”</p> +<p>“But you have as good as money, to me, at least; and +I’ll take it in exchange.”</p> +<p>“What’s that, Shorsha dear?”</p> +<p>“Irish!”</p> +<p>“Irish?”</p> +<p><!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>“Yes, you speak Irish; I heard you talking it the +other day to the cripple. You shall teach me +Irish.”</p> +<p>“And is it a language-master you’d be making of +me?”</p> +<p>“To be sure!—what better can you do?—it +would help you to pass your time at school. You can’t +learn Greek, so you must teach Irish!”</p> +<p>Before Christmas, Murtagh was playing at cards with his +brother Denis, and I could speak a considerable quantity of +broken Irish.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Templemore—Devil’s +Mountain—No Companion—Force of Circumstance—Way +of the World—Ruined Castle—Grim and +Desolate—The Donjon—Old Woman—My Own House.</p> +<p>When Christmas was over, and the new year commenced, we broke +up our quarters, and marched away to Templemore. This was a +large military station, situated in a wild and thinly inhabited +country. Extensive bogs were in the neighbourhood, +connected with the huge bog of Allan, the Palus Mæotis of +Ireland. Here and there was seen a ruined castle looming +through the mists of winter; whilst, at the distance of seven +miles, rose a singular mountain, exhibiting in its brow a chasm, +or vacuum, just, for all the world, as if a piece had been bitten +out; a feat which, according to the tradition of the country, had +actually been performed by his Satanic majesty, who, after flying +for some leagues with the morsel in his mouth, becoming weary, +dropped it in the vicinity of Cashel, where it may now be seen in +the shape of a bold bluff hill, crowned with the ruins of a +stately edifice, probably built by some ancient Irish king.</p> +<p>We had been here only a few days, when my brother, who, as I +have before observed, had become one of his Majesty’s +officers, was sent on a detachment to a village at about ten +miles’ distance. He was not sixteen, and, though +three years older than myself, scarcely my equal in stature, for +I had become tall and large-limbed for my age; but there was a +spirit in him that would not have disgraced a general; and, +nothing daunted at the considerable responsibility which he was +about to incur, he marched sturdily out of the barrack-yard at +the head of his party, consisting of twenty light-infantry men, +and a tall grenadier sergeant, selected expressly by my father, +for the soldier-like qualities which he possessed, to accompany +his son on this his first expedition. So out of the +barrack-yard, with something of an air, marched my dear brother, +his single drum and fife playing the inspiring old melody,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Marlbrouk is gone to the wars,<br /> +He’ll never return no more!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I soon missed my brother, for I was now alone, with no being, +at all assimilating in age, with whom I could exchange a +word. Of late years, from being almost constantly at +school, I had cast aside, in a great degree, my unsocial habits +and natural reserve, but in the desolate <!-- page 51--><a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>region in +which we now were there was no school: and I felt doubly the loss +of my brother, whom, moreover, I tenderly loved for his own +sake. Books I had none, at least such “as I cared +about;” and with respect to the old volume, the wonders of +which had first beguiled me into common reading, I had so +frequently pored over its pages, that I had almost got its +contents by heart. I was therefore in danger of falling +into the same predicament as Murtagh, becoming +“frighted” from having nothing to do! Nay, I +had not even his resources; I cared not for cards, even if I +possessed them, and could find people disposed to play with +them. However, I made the most of circumstances, and roamed +about the desolate fields and bogs in the neighbourhood, +sometimes entering the cabins of the peasantry, with a +“God’s blessing upon you, good people!” where I +would take my seat on the “stranger’s stone” at +the corner of the hearth, and, looking them full in the face, +would listen to the carles and carlines talking Irish.</p> +<p>Ah, that Irish! How frequently do circumstances, at +first sight the most trivial and unimportant, exercise a mighty +and permanent influence on our habits and pursuits!—how +frequently is a stream turned aside from its natural course by +some little rock or knoll, causing it to make an abrupt +turn! On a wild road in Ireland I had heard Irish spoken +for the first time; and I was seized with a desire to learn +Irish, the acquisition of which, in my case, became the +stepping-stone to other languages. I had previously learnt +Latin, or rather Lilly; but neither Latin nor Lilly made me a +philologist. I had frequently heard French and other +languages, but had felt little desire to become acquainted with +them; and what, it may be asked, was there connected with the +Irish calculated to recommend it to my attention?</p> +<p>First of all, and principally, I believe, the strangeness and +singularity of its tones; then there was something mysterious and +uncommon associated with its use. It was not a school +language, to acquire which was considered an imperative duty; no, +no; nor was it a drawing-room language, drawled out occasionally, +in shreds and patches, by the ladies of generals and other great +dignitaries, to the ineffable dismay of poor officers’ +wives. Nothing of the kind; but a speech spoken in +out-of-the-way desolate places, and in cut-throat kens, where +thirty ruffians, at the sight of the king’s minions, would +spring up with brandished sticks and an “ubbubboo, like the +blowing up of a powder-magazine.” Such were the +points connected with the Irish, which first awakened in my mind +the desire of acquiring it; and by acquiring it I became, as I +have already said, enamoured of languages. Having learnt +one by chance, I speedily, as the reader will perceive, learnt +others, some of which were widely different from Irish.</p> +<p>Ah, that Irish! I am much indebted to it in more ways +than one. But I am afraid I have followed the way of the +world, which is very much wont to neglect original friends and +benefactors. I frequently find myself, at present, turning +up my nose at Irish, when I hear it in the street; yet I have +still a kind of regard for it, the fine old language:</p> +<blockquote><p>“A labhair Padruic n’insefail nan +riogh.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>One of the most peculiar features of this part of +Ireland is the ruined castles, which are so thick and numerous +that the face of the country appears studded with them, it being +difficult to choose any situation from which one, at least, may +not be descried. They are of various ages and styles of +architecture, some of great antiquity, like the stately remains +which crown the Crag of Cashel; others built by the early English +conquerors; others, and probably the greater part, erections of +the times of Elizabeth and Cromwell. The whole speaking +monuments of the troubled and insecure state of the country, from +the most remote periods to a comparatively modern time.</p> +<p>From the windows of the room where I slept I had a view of one +of these old places—an indistinct one, it is true, the +distance being too great to permit me to distinguish more than +the general outline. I had an anxious desire to explore +it. It stood to the south-east; in which direction, +however, a black bog intervened, which had more than once baffled +all my attempts to cross it. One morning, however, when the +sun shone brightly upon the old building, it appeared so near, +that I felt ashamed at not being able to accomplish a feat +seemingly so easy; I determined, therefore, upon another +trial. I reached the bog, and was about to venture upon its +black surface, and to pick my way amongst its innumerable holes, +yawning horribly, and half filled with water black as soot, when +it suddenly occurred to me that there was a road to the south, by +following which I might find a more convenient route to the +object of my wishes. The event justified my expectations, +for, after following the road for some three miles, seemingly in +the direction of the Devil’s Mountain, I suddenly beheld +the castle on my left.</p> +<p>I diverged from the road, and, crossing two or three fields, +came to a small grassy plain, in the midst of which stood the +castle. About a gun-shot to the south was a small village, +which had, probably, in ancient days, sprung up beneath its +protection. A kind of awe came over me as I approached the +old building. The sun no longer shone upon it, and it +looked so grim, so desolate and solitary; and here was I, in that +wild country, alone with that grim building before me. The +village was within sight, it is true; but it might be a village +of the dead for what I knew; no sound issued from it, no smoke +was rising from its roofs, neither man nor beast was visible, no +life, no motion—it looked as desolate as the castle +itself. Yet I was bent on the adventure, and moved on +towards the castle across the green plain, occasionally casting a +startled glance around me; and now I was close to it.</p> +<p>It was surrounded by a quadrangular wall, about ten feet in +height, with a square tower at each corner. At first I +could discover no entrance; walking round, however, to the +northern side, I found a wide and lofty gateway with a tower +above it, similar to those at the angles of the wall; on this +side the ground sloped gently down towards the bog, which was +here skirted by an abundant growth of copsewood, and a few +evergreen oaks. I passed through the gateway, and found +myself within a square enclosure of about two acres. On one +side rose a round and lofty keep, or donjon, with a conical roof, +part of which had fallen down, strewing the square with its +ruins. Close to the keep, on <!-- page 53--><a +name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>the other +side, stood the remains of an oblong house, built something in +the modern style, with various window-holes; nothing remained but +the bare walls and a few projecting stumps of beams, which seemed +to have been half burnt. The interior of the walls was +blackened, as if by fire; fire also appeared at one time to have +raged out of the window-holes, for the outside about them was +black, portentously so. “I wonder what has been going +on here!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>There were echoes along the walls as I walked about the +court. I entered the keep by a low and frowning doorway: +the lower floor consisted of a large dungeon-like room, with a +vaulted roof; on the left hand was a winding staircase in the +thickness of the wall; it looked anything but inviting; yet I +stole softly up, my heart beating. On the top of the first +flight of stairs was an arched doorway, to the left was a dark +passage, to the right, stairs leading still higher. I +stepped under the arch and found myself in an apartment somewhat +similar to the one below, but higher. There was an object +at the farther end.</p> +<p>An old woman, at least eighty, was seated on a stone, cowering +over a few sticks burning feebly on what had once been a right +noble and cheerful hearth; her side-glance was towards the +doorway as I entered, for she had heard my footsteps. I +stood suddenly still, and her haggard glance rested on my +face.</p> +<p>“Is this your house, mother?” I at length +demanded, in the language which I thought she would best +understand.</p> +<p>“Yes, my house, my own house; the house of the +broken-hearted.”</p> +<p>“Any other person’s house?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“My own house, the beggar’s house—the +accursed house of Cromwell!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">A Visit—Figure of a Man—The Dog of +Peace—The Raw Wound—The Guard-room—Boy +Soldier—Person in Authority—Never +Solitary—Clergyman and +Family—Still-Hunting—Fairy Man—Near +Sunset—Bagg—Left-Handed Hitter—Irish and +Supernatural—At Swanton Morley.</p> +<p>One morning I set out, designing to pay a visit to my brother, +at the place where he was detached; the distance was rather +considerable, yet I hoped to be back by evening fall, for I was +now a shrewd walker, thanks to constant practice. I set out +early, and, directing my course towards the north, I had in less +than two hours accomplished considerably more than half of the +journey. The weather had been propitious; a slight frost +had rendered the ground firm to the tread, and the skies were +clear; but now a change came over the scene, the skies darkened +and a heavy snow-storm came on; the road then lay straight +through a bog, and was bounded by a deep trench on both sides; I +was making <!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>the best of my way, keeping as nearly +as I could in the middle of the road, lest, blinded by the snow +which was frequently borne into my eyes by the wind, I might fall +into the dyke, when all at once I heard a shout to windward, and +turning my eyes I saw the figure of a man, and what appeared to +be an animal of some kind, coming across the bog with great +speed, in the direction of myself; the nature of the ground +seemed to offer but little impediment to these beings, both +clearing the holes and abysses which lay in their way with +surprising agility; the animal was, however, some slight way in +advance, and, bounding over the dyke, appeared on the road just +before me. It was a dog, of what species I cannot tell, +never having seen the like before or since; the head was large +and round; the ears so tiny as scarcely to be discernible; the +eyes of a fiery red: in size it was rather small than large; and +the coat, which was remarkably smooth, as white as the falling +flakes. It placed itself directly in my path, and showing +its teeth, and bristling its coat, appeared determined to prevent +my progress. I had an ashen stick in my hand, with which I +threatened it; this, however, only served to increase its fury; +it rushed upon me, and I had the utmost difficulty to preserve +myself from its fangs.</p> +<p>“What are you doing with the dog, the fairy dog?” +said a man, who at this time likewise cleared the dyke at a +bound.</p> +<p>He was a very tall man, rather well dressed as it should seem; +his garments, however, were like my own, so covered with snow +that I could scarcely discern their quality.</p> +<p>“What are ye doing with the dog of peace?”</p> +<p>“I wish he would show himself one,” said I; +“I said nothing to him, but he placed himself in my road, +and would not let me pass.”</p> +<p>“Of course he would not be letting you till he knew +where ye were going.”</p> +<p>“He’s not much of a fairy,” said I, +“or he would know that without asking; tell him that I am +going to see my brother.”</p> +<p>“And who is your brother, little Sas?”</p> +<p>“What my father is, a royal soldier.”</p> +<p>“Oh, ye are going then to the detachment at ---; by my +shoul, I have a good mind to be spoiling your journey.”</p> +<p>“You are doing that already,” said I, +“keeping me here talking about dogs and fairies; you had +better go home and get some salve to cure that place over your +eye; it’s catching cold you’ll be, in so much +snow.”</p> +<p>On one side of the man’s forehead there was a raw and +staring wound, as if from a recent and terrible blow.</p> +<p>“Faith, then I’ll be going, but it’s taking +you wid me I will be.”</p> +<p>“And where will you take me?”</p> +<p>“Why, then, to Ryan’s Castle, little +Sas.”</p> +<p>“You do not speak the language very correctly,” +said I; “it is not Sas you should call me—’tis +Sassanach,” and forthwith I accompanied the word with a +speech full of flowers of Irish rhetoric.</p> +<p>The man looked upon me for a moment, fixedly, then, bending +his head towards his breast, he appeared to be undergoing a kind +of <!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>convulsion, which was accompanied by a sound something +resembling laughter; presently he looked at me, and there was a +broad grin on his features.</p> +<p>“By my shoul, it’s a thing of peace I’m +thinking ye.”</p> +<p>But now with a whisking sound came running down the road a +hare; it was nearly upon us before it perceived us; suddenly +stopping short, however, it sprang into the bog on the right-hand +side; after it amain bounded the dog of peace, followed by the +man, but not until he had nodded to me a farewell +salutation. In a few moments I lost sight of him amidst the +snow-flakes.</p> +<p>The weather was again clear and fine before I reached the +place of detachment. It was a little wooden barrack, +surrounded by a wall of the same material; a sentinel stood at +the gate, I passed by him, and, entering the building, found +myself in a rude kind of guard-room; several soldiers were lying +asleep on a wooden couch at one end, others lounged on benches by +the side of a turf fire. The tall sergeant stood before the +fire, holding a cooking utensil in his left hand; on seeing me, +he made the military salutation.</p> +<p>“Is my brother here?” said I, rather timidly, +dreading to hear that he was out, perhaps for the day.</p> +<p>“The ensign is in his room, sir,” said Bagg, +“I am now preparing his meal, which will presently be +ready; you will find the ensign above stairs,” and he +pointed to a broken ladder which led to some place above.</p> +<p>And there I found him—the boy soldier—in a kind of +upper loft, so low that I could touch with my hands the sooty +rafters; the floor was of rough boards, through the joints of +which you could see the gleam of the soldiers’ fire, and +occasionally discern their figures as they moved about; in one +corner was a camp bedstead, by the side of which hung the +child’s sword, gorget, and sash; a deal table stood in the +proximity of the rusty grate, where smoked and smouldered a pile +of black turf from the bog,—a deal table without a piece of +baize to cover it, yet fraught with things not devoid of +interest: a Bible, given by a mother; the Odyssey, the Greek +Odyssey; a flute, with broad silver keys; crayons, moreover, and +water colours; and a sketch of a wild prospect near, which, +though but half finished, afforded ample proof of the excellence +and skill of the boyish hand now occupied upon it.</p> +<p>Ah! he was a sweet being, that boy soldier, a plant of early +promise, bidding fair to become in after time all that is great, +good, and admirable. I have read of a remarkable Welshman, +of whom it was said, when the grave closed over him, that he +could frame a harp, and play it; build a ship, and sail it; +compose an ode, and set it to music. A brave fellow that +son of Wales—but I had once a brother who could do more and +better than this, but the grave has closed over him, as over the +gallant Welshman of yore; there are now but two that remember +him—the one who bore him, and the being who was nurtured at +the same breast. He was taken, and I was left!—Truly +the ways of Providence are inscrutable.</p> +<p>“You seem to be very comfortable, John,” said I, +looking around <!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 56</span>the room and at the various objects +which I have described above: “you have a good roof over +your head, and have all your things about you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I am very comfortable, George, in many respects; I +am, moreover, independent, and feel myself a man for the first +time in my life—independent, did I say?—that’s +not the word, I am something much higher than that; here am I, +not sixteen yet, a person in authority, like the centurion in the +book there, with twenty Englishmen under me, worth a whole legion +of his men, and that fine fellow Bagg to wait upon me, and take +my orders. Oh! these last six weeks have passed like hours +of heaven.”</p> +<p>“But your time must frequently hang heavy on your hands; +this is a strange wild place, and you must be very +solitary?”</p> +<p>“I am never solitary; I have, as you see, all my things +about me, and there is plenty of company below stairs. Not +that I mix with the soldiers; if I did, good-bye to my authority; +but when I am alone I can hear all their discourse through the +planks, and I often laugh to myself at the funny things they +say.”</p> +<p>“And have you any acquaintance here?”</p> +<p>“The very best; much better than the Colonel and the +rest, at their grand Templemore; I had never so many in my whole +life before. One has just left me, a gentleman who lives at +a distance across the bog; he comes to talk with me about Greek, +and the Odyssey, for he is a very learned man, and understands +the old Irish, and various other strange languages. He has +had a dispute with Bagg. On hearing his name, he called him +to him, and, after looking at him for some time with great +curiosity, said that he was sure he was a Dane. Bagg, +however, took the compliment in dudgeon, and said that he was no +more a Dane than himself, but a true-born Englishman, and a +sergeant of six years’ standing.”</p> +<p>“And what other acquaintance have you?”</p> +<p>“All kinds; the whole neighbourhood can’t make +enough of me. Amongst others there’s the clergyman of +the parish and his family; such a venerable old man, such fine +sons and daughters! I am treated by them like a son and +brother—I might be always with them if I pleased; +there’s one drawback, however, in going to see them; +there’s a horrible creature in the house, a kind of tutor, +whom they keep more from charity than anything else; he is a +Papist and, they say, a priest; you should see him scowl +sometimes at my red coat, for he hates the king, and not +unfrequently, when the king’s health is drunk, curses him +between his teeth. I once got up to strike him; but the +youngest of the sisters, who is the handsomest, caught my arm and +pointed to her forehead.”</p> +<p>“And what does your duty consist of? Have you +nothing else to do than pay visits and receive them?”</p> +<p>“We do what is required of us, we guard this edifice, +perform our evolutions, and help the excise; I am frequently +called up in the dead of night to go to some wild place or other +in quest of an illicit still; this last part of our duty is poor +mean work, I don’t like it, nor more <!-- page 57--><a +name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>does Bagg; +though without it, we should not see much active service, for the +neighbourhood is quiet; save the poor creatures with their +stills, not a soul is stirring. ’Tis true +there’s Jerry Grant.”</p> +<p>“And who is Jerry Grant?”</p> +<p>“Did you never hear of him? that’s strange, the +whole country is talking about him; he is a kind of outlaw rebel, +or robber, all three, I daresay; there’s a hundred pounds +offered for his head.”</p> +<p>“And where does he live?”</p> +<p>“His proper home, they say, is in the Queen’s +County, where he has a band, but he is a strange fellow, fond of +wandering about by himself amidst the bogs and mountains, and +living in the old castles; occasionally he quarters himself in +the peasants’ houses, who let him do just what he pleases; +he is free of his money, and often does them good turns, and can +be good-humoured enough, so they don’t dislike him. +Then he is what they call a fairy man, a person in league with +fairies and spirits, and able to work much harm by supernatural +means on which account they hold him in great awe; he is, +moreover, a mighty strong and tall fellow. Bagg has seen +him.”</p> +<p>“Has he?”</p> +<p>“Yes! and felt him; he too is a strange one. A few +days ago he was told that Grant had been seen hovering about an +old castle some two miles off in the bog; so one afternoon what +does he do but, without saying a word to me—for which, by +the bye, I ought to put him under arrest, though what I should do +without Bagg I have no idea whatever—what does he do but +walk off to the castle, intending, as I suppose, to pay a visit +to Jerry. He had some difficulty in getting there on +account of the turf-holes in the bog, which he was not accustomed +to; however, thither at last he got and went in. It was a +strange lonesome place, he says, and he did not much like the +look of it; however, in he went, and searched about from the +bottom to the top and down again, but could find no one; he +shouted and hallooed, but nobody answered, save the rooks and +choughs, which started up in great numbers. ‘I have +lost my trouble,’ said Bagg, and left the castle. It +was now late in the afternoon, near sunset, when about half way +over the bog he met a man—”</p> +<p>“And that man was—”</p> +<p>“Jerry Grant! there’s no doubt of it. Bagg +says it was the most sudden thing in the world. He was +moving along, making the best of his way, thinking of nothing at +all save a public-house at Swanton Morley, which he intends to +take when he gets home and the regiment is disbanded—though +I hope that will not be for some time yet: he had just leaped a +turf-hole, and was moving on, when, at the distance of about six +yards before him, he saw a fellow coming straight towards +him. Bagg says that he stopped short, as suddenly as if he +had heard the word halt, when marching at double quick +time. It was quite a surprise, he says, and he can’t +imagine how the fellow was so close upon him before he was +aware. He was an immense tall fellow—Bagg thinks at +least two inches taller than himself—very well dressed in a +blue coat and buff breeches for all the world like a squire when +<!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>going out hunting. Bagg, however, saw at once that +he had a roguish air, and he was on his guard in a moment. +‘Good evening to ye, sodger,’ says the fellow, +stepping close up to Bagg, and staring him in the face. +‘Good evening to you, sir! I hope you are +well,’ says Bagg. ‘You are looking after some +one?’ says the fellow. ‘Just so, sir,’ +says Bagg, and forthwith seized him by the collar; the man +laughed, Bagg says it was such a strange awkward laugh. +‘Do you know whom you have got hold of, sodger?’ says +he. ‘I believe I do, sir,’ said Bagg, +‘and in that belief will hold you fast in the name of King +George, and the quarter sessions;’ the next moment he was +sprawling with his heels in the air. Bagg says there was +nothing remarkable in that; he was only flung by a kind of +wrestling trick, which he could easily have baffled, had he been +aware of it. ‘You will not do that again, sir,’ +said he, as he got up and put himself on his guard. The +fellow laughed again more strangely and awkwardly than before; +then, bending his body and moving his head from one side to the +other as a cat does before she springs, and crying out, +‘Here’s for ye, sodger!’ he made a dart at +Bagg, rushing in with his head foremost. ‘That will +do, sir,’ says Bagg, and, drawing himself back, he put in a +left-handed blow with all the force of his body and arm, just +over the fellow’s right eye—Bagg is a left-handed +hitter, you must know—and it was a blow of that kind which +won him his famous battle at Edinburgh with the big Highland +sergeant. Bagg says that he was quite satisfied with the +blow, more especially when he saw the fellow reel, fling out his +arms, and fall to the ground. ‘And now, sir,’ +said he, ‘I’ll make bold to hand you over to the +quarter sessions, and, if there is a hundred pounds for taking +you, who has more right to it than myself?’ So he +went forward, but ere he could lay hold of his man the other was +again on his legs, and was prepared to renew the combat. +They grappled each other—Bagg says he had not much fear of +the result, as he now felt himself the best man, the other +seeming half stunned with the blow—but just then there came +on a blast, a horrible roaring wind bearing night upon its wings, +snow, and sleet, and hail. Bagg says he had the fellow by +the throat quite fast, as he thought, but suddenly he became +bewildered, and knew not where he was; and the man seemed to melt +away from his grasp, and the wind howled more and more, and the +night poured down darker and darker; the snow and the sleet +thicker and more blinding. ‘Lord, have mercy upon +us!’ said Bagg.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. A strange adventure that; it is well that +Bagg got home alive.</p> +<p><i>John</i>. He says that the fight was a fair fight, +and that the fling he got was a fair fling, the result of a +common enough wrestling trick. But with respect to the +storm, which rose up just in time to save the fellow, he is of +opinion that it was not fair, but something Irish and +supernatural.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I dare say he’s right. I have +read of witchcraft in the Bible.</p> +<p><i>John</i>. He wishes much to have one more encounter +with the fellow; he says that on fair ground, and in fine +weather, he has no doubt that <!-- page 59--><a +name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>he could +master him, and hand him over to the quarter sessions. He +says that a hundred pounds would be no bad thing to be disbanded +upon; for he wishes to take an inn at Swanton Morley, keep a +cock-pit, and live respectably.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. He is quite right; and now kiss me, my +darling brother, for I must go back through the bog to +Templemore.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Groom and Cob—Strength and +Symmetry—Where’s the Saddle—The First +Ride—No more Fatigue—Love for Horses—Pursuit of +Words—Philologist and Pegasus—The Smith—What +more, Agrah?—Sassanach Ten Pence.</p> +<p>And it came to pass that, as I was standing by the door of the +barrack stable, one of the grooms came out to me, saying, +“I say, young gentleman, I wish you would give the cob a +breathing this fine morning.”</p> +<p>“Why do you wish me to mount him?” said I; +“you know; he is dangerous. I saw him fling you off +his back only a few days ago.”</p> +<p>“Why, that’s the very thing, master. +I’d rather see anybody on his back than myself; he does not +like me; but, to them he does, he can be as gentle as a +lamb.”</p> +<p>“But suppose,” said I, “that he should not +like me?”</p> +<p>“We shall soon see that, master,” said the groom; +“and if so be he shows temper, I will be the first to tell +you to get down. But there’s no fear of that; you +have never angered or insulted him, and to such as you, I say +again, he’ll be as gentle as a lamb.”</p> +<p>“And how came you to insult him,” said I, +“knowing his temper as you do?”</p> +<p>“Merely through forgetfulness, master: I was riding him +about a month ago, and having a stick in my hand, I struck him, +thinking I was on another horse, or rather thinking of nothing at +all. He has never forgiven me, though before that time he +was the only friend I had in the world; I should like to see you +on him, master.”</p> +<p>“I should soon be off him: I can’t +ride.”</p> +<p>“Then you are all right, master; there’s no +fear. Trust him for not hurting a young gentleman, an +officer’s son, who can’t ride. If you were a +blackguard dragoon, indeed, with long spurs, ’twere another +thing; as it is, he’ll treat you as if he were the elder +brother that loves you. Ride! he’ll soon teach you to +ride, if you leave the matter with him. He’s the best +riding master in all Ireland, and the gentlest.”</p> +<p>The cob was led forth; what a tremendous creature! I had +frequently seen him before, and wondered at him; he was barely +fifteen hands, but he had the girth of a metropolitan dray-horse; +his head was small in comparison with his immense neck, which +curved down nobly to his wide back: his chest was broad and fine, +and his shoulders models of symmetry and strength; he stood well +and powerfully upon <!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 60</span>his legs, which were somewhat +short. In a word, he was a gallant specimen of the genuine +Irish cob, a species at one time not uncommon, but at the present +day nearly extinct.</p> +<p>“There!” said the groom, as he looked at him, +half-admiringly, half sorrowfully, “with sixteen stone on +his back, he’ll trot fourteen miles in one hour, with your +nine stone, some two and a half more, ay, and clear a six-foot +wall at the end of it.”</p> +<p>“I’m half afraid,” said I; “I had +rather you would ride him.”</p> +<p>“I’d rather so, too, if he would let me; but he +remembers the blow. Now, don’t be afraid, young +master, he’s longing to go out himself. He’s +been trampling with his feet these three days, and I know what +that means; he’ll let anybody ride him but myself, and +thank them; but to me he says, ‘No! you struck +me.’”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “where’s the +saddle?”</p> +<p>“Never mind the saddle; if you are ever to be a frank +rider, you must begin without a saddle; besides, if he felt a +saddle, he would think you don’t trust him, and leave you +to yourself. Now, before you mount, make his +acquaintance—see there, how he kisses you and licks your +face, and see how he lifts his foot, that’s to shake +hands. You may trust him—now you are on his back at +last; mind how you hold the bridle—gently, gently! +It’s not four pair of hands like yours can hold him if he +wishes to be off. Mind what I tell you—leave it all +to him.”</p> +<p>Off went the cob at a slow and gentle trot, too fast, however, +for so inexperienced a rider. I soon felt myself sliding +off, the animal perceived it too, and instantly stood stone still +till I had righted myself; and now the groom came up: “When +you feel yourself going,” said he, “don’t lay +hold of the mane, that’s no use; mane never yet saved man +from falling, no more than straw from drowning; it’s his +sides you must cling to with your calves and feet, till you learn +to balance yourself. That’s it, now abroad with you; +I’ll bet my comrade a pot of beer that you’ll be a +regular rough rider by the time you come back.”</p> +<p>And so it proved; I followed the directions of the groom, and +the cob gave me every assistance. How easy is riding, after +the first timidity is got over, to supple and youthful limbs; and +there is no second fear. The creature soon found that the +nerves of his rider were in proper tone. Turning his head +half round he made a kind of whining noise, flung out a little +foam, and set off.</p> +<p>In less than two hours I had made the circuit of the +Devil’s Mountain, and was returning along the road, bathed +with perspiration, but screaming with delight; the cob laughing +in his equine way, scattering foam and pebbles to the left and +right, and trotting at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.</p> +<p>Oh, that ride! that first ride!—most truly it was an +epoch in my existence; and I still look back to it with feelings +of longing and regret. People may talk of first +love—it is a very agreeable event, I dare say—but +give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious sweat of a first +ride, like mine on the mighty cob! My whole frame was +shaken, it is true; <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>and during one long week I could +hardly move foot or hand; but what of that? By that one +trial I had become free, as I may say, of the whole equine +species. No more fatigue, no more stiffness of joints, +after that first ride round the Devil’s Hill on the +cob.</p> +<p>Oh, that cob; that Irish cob!—may the sod lie lightly +over the bones of the strongest, speediest, and most gallant of +its kind! Oh! the days when, issuing from the barrack-gate +of Templemore, we commenced our hurry-skurry just as inclination +led—now across the fields—direct over stone walls and +running brooks—mere pastime for the cob!—sometimes +along the road to Thurles and Holy Cross, even to distant +Cahir!—what was distance to the cob?</p> +<p>It was thus that the passion for the equine race was first +awakened within me—a passion which, up to the present time, +has been rather on the increase than diminishing. It is no +blind passion; the horse being a noble and generous creature, +intended by the All-Wise to be the helper and friend of man, to +whom he stands next in the order of creation. On many +occasions of my life I have been much indebted to the horse, and +have found in him a friend and coadjutor, when human help and +sympathy were not to be obtained. It is therefore natural +enough that I should love the horse; but the love which I +entertain for him has always been blended with respect; for I +soon perceived that, though disposed to be the friend and helper +of man, he is by no means inclined to be his slave; in which +respect he differs from the dog, who will crouch when beaten; +whereas the horse spurns, for he is aware of his own worth, and +that he carries death within the horn of his heel. If, +therefore, I found it easy to love the horse, I found it equally +natural to respect him.</p> +<p>I much question whether philology, or the passion for +languages, requires so little of an apology as the love for +horses. It has been said, I believe, that the more +languages a man speaks, the more a man is he; which is very true, +provided he acquires languages as a medium for becoming +acquainted with the thoughts and feelings of the various sections +into which the human race is divided; but, in that case, he +should rather be termed a philosopher than a +philologist—between which two the difference is wide +indeed! An individual may speak and read a dozen languages, +and yet be an exceedingly poor creature, scarcely half a man; and +the pursuit of tongues for their own sake, and the mere +satisfaction of acquiring them, surely argues an intellect of a +very low order; a mind disposed to be satisfied with mean and +grovelling things; taking more pleasure in the trumpery casket +than in the precious treasure which it contains, in the pursuit +of words, than in the acquisition of ideas.</p> +<p>I cannot help thinking that it was fortunate for myself, who +am, to a certain extent, a philologist, that with me the pursuit +of languages has been always modified by the love of horses; for +scarcely had I turned my mind to the former, when I also mounted +the wild cob, and hurried forth in the direction of the +Devil’s Hill, scattering dust and flint-stones on every +side; that ride, amongst other things, taught me that a lad with +thews and sinews was intended by nature for <!-- page 62--><a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>something +better than mere word-culling; and if I have accomplished +anything in after life worthy of mentioning, I believe it may +partly be attributed to the ideas which that ride, by setting my +blood in a glow, infused into my brain. I might, otherwise, +have become a mere philologist; one of those beings who toil +night and day in culling useless words for some <i>opus +magnum</i> which Murray will never publish, and nobody ever read; +beings without enthusiasm, who, having never mounted a generous +steed, cannot detect a good point in Pegasus himself; like a +certain philologist, who, though acquainted with the exact value +of every word in the Greek and Latin languages, could observe no +particular beauty in one of the most glorious of Homer’s +rhapsodies. What knew he of Pegasus? he had never mounted a +generous steed; the merest jockey, had the strain been +interpreted to him, would have called it a brave song!—I +return to the brave cob.</p> +<p>On a certain day I had been out on an excursion. In a +cross-road, at some distance from the Satanic hill, the animal +which I rode cast a shoe. By good luck a small village was +at hand, at the entrance of which was a large shed, from which +proceeded a most furious noise of hammering. Leading the +cob by the bridle, I entered boldly. “Shoe this +horse, and do it quickly, a gough,” said I to a wild grimy +figure of a man, whom I found alone, fashioning a piece of +iron.</p> +<p>“Arrigod yuit?” said the fellow, desisting from +his work, and staring at me.</p> +<p>“O yes, I have money,” said I, “and of the +best;” and I pulled out an English shilling.</p> +<p>“Tabhair chugam?” said the smith, stretching out +his grimy hand.</p> +<p>“No, I sha’n’t,” said I; “some +people are glad to get their money when their work is +done.”</p> +<p>The fellow hammered a little longer, and then proceeded to +shoe the cob, after having first surveyed it with +attention. He performed his job rather roughly, and more +than once appeared to give the animal unnecessary pain, +frequently making use of loud and boisterous words. By the +time the work was done, the creature was in a state of high +excitement, and plunged and tore. The smith stood at a +short distance, seeming to enjoy the irritation of the animal, +and showing, in a remarkable manner, a huge fang, which projected +from the under jaw of a very wry mouth.</p> +<p>“You deserve better handling,” said I, as I went +up to the cob and fondled it; whereupon it whinnied, and +attempted to touch my face with its nose.</p> +<p>“Are ye not afraid of that beast?” said the smith, +showing his fang. “Arrah, it’s vicious that he +looks!”</p> +<p>“It’s at you, then!—I don’t fear +him;” and thereupon I passed under the horse, between his +hind legs.</p> +<p>“And is that all you can do, agrah?” said the +smith.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I can ride him.”</p> +<p>“Ye can ride him, and what else, agrah?”</p> +<p>“I can leap him over a six-foot wall,” said I.</p> +<p>“Over a wall, and what more, agrah?”</p> +<p><!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>“Nothing more,” said I; “what more +would you have?”</p> +<p>“Can you do this, agrah?” said the smith; and he +uttered a word which I had never heard before, in a sharp pungent +tone. The effect upon myself was somewhat extraordinary, a +strange thrill ran through me; but with regard to the cob it was +terrible; the animal forthwith became like one mad, and reared +and kicked with the utmost desperation.</p> +<p>“Can you do that, agrah?” said the smith.</p> +<p>“What is it?” said I, retreating, “I never +saw the horse so before.”</p> +<p>“Go between his legs, agrah,” said the smith, +“his hinder legs;” and he again showed his fang.</p> +<p>“I dare not,” said I, “he would kill +me.”</p> +<p>“He would kill ye! and how do ye know that, +agrah?”</p> +<p>“I feel he would,” said I, “something tells +me so.”</p> +<p>“And it tells ye truth, agrah; but it’s a fine +beast, and it’s a pity to see him in such a state: Is agam +an’t leigeas”—and here he uttered another word +in a voice singularly modified, but sweet and almost plaintive; +the effect of it was as instantaneous as that of the other, but +how different!—the animal lost all its fury, and became at +once calm and gentle. The smith went up to it, coaxed and +patted it, making use of various sounds of equal endearment, then +turning to me, and holding out once more the grimy hand, he said, +“And now ye will be giving me the Sassanach ten pence, +agrah?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">A Fine Old City—Norman +Master-Work—Lollards’ Hole—Good Blood—The +Spaniard’s Sword—Old Retired Officer—Writing to +a Duke—God help the Child—Nothing like +Jacob—Irish Brigades—Old Sergeant Meredith—I +Have Been Young—Idleness—Only Course Open—The +Bookstall—A Portrait—A Banished Priest.</p> +<p>From the wild scenes which I have attempted to describe in the +latter pages I must now transport the reader to others of a +widely different character. He must suppose himself no +longer in Ireland, but in the eastern corner of merry +England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have disappeared amidst +the vapours of the west: I have nothing more to say of them; the +region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that +kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and +better things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old +city before us, and first of that let me speak.</p> +<p>A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side +you will; but it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold +and elevated, overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it +stands. Gazing from those heights, the eye beholds a scene +which cannot fail to awaken, even in the least sensitive bosom, +feelings of pleasure and admiration. At the foot of the +heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique <!-- page +64--><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, +flanked on either side by rich meadows of the brightest green, +beyond which spreads the city; the fine old city, perhaps the +most curious specimen at present extant of the genuine old +English town. Yes, there it spreads from north to south, +with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice +twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks +true, was raised by human hands to serve as the grave heap of an +old heathen king, who sits deep within it, with his sword in his +hand, and his gold and silver treasures about him. There is +a grey old castle upon the top of that mighty mound; and yonder, +rising three hundred feet above the soil, from among those noble +forest trees, behold that old Norman master-work, that +cloud-encircled cathedral spire, around which a garrulous army of +rooks and choughs continually wheel their flight. Now, who +can wonder that the children of that fine old city are proud of +her, and offer up prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, +who was not born within her walls, offer up prayers for her +prosperity, that want may never visit her cottages, vice her +palaces, and that the abomination of idolatry may never pollute +her temples. Ha, idolatry! the reign of idolatry has been +over there for many a long year, never more, let us hope, to +return; brave hearts in that old town have borne witness against +it, and sealed their testimony with their hearts’ +blood—most precious to the Lord is the blood of His saints! +we are not far from hallowed ground. Observe ye not yon +chalky precipice, to the right of the Norman bridge? On +this side of the stream, upon its brow, is a piece of ruined +wall, the last relic of what was of old a stately pile, whilst at +its foot is a place called the Lollards’ Hole; and with +good reason, for many a saint of God has breathed his last +beneath that white precipice, bearing witness against popish +idolatry, midst flame and pitch; many a grisly procession has +advanced along that suburb, across the old bridge, towards the +Lollards’ Hole: furious priests in front, a calm pale +martyr in the midst, a pitying multitude behind. It has had +its martyrs, the venerable old town!</p> +<p>Ah! there is good blood in that old city, and in the whole +circumjacent region of which it is the capital. The Angles +possessed the land at an early period, which, however, they were +eventually compelled to share with hordes of Danes and Northmen, +who flocked thither across the sea to found hearthsteads on its +fertile soil. The present race, a mixture of Angles and +Danes, still preserve much which speaks strongly of their +northern ancestry; amongst them ye will find the light-brown hair +of the north, the strong and burly forms of the north, many a +wild superstition, ay, and many a wild name connected with the +ancient history of the north and its sublime mythology; the warm +heart, and the strong heart of the old Danes and Saxons still +beat in those regions, and there ye will find, if anywhere, old +northern hospitality and kindness of manner, united with energy, +perseverance, and dauntless intrepidity; better soldiers or +mariners never bled in their country’s battles than those +nurtured in those regions, and within those old walls. It +was yonder, to the west, that the great naval hero of Britain +first saw the light; he who annihilated the sea pride of Spain, +and dragged the <!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 65</span>humbled banner of France in triumph +at his stern. He was born yonder, towards the west, and of +him there is a glorious relic in that old town; in its dark flint +guildhouse, the roof of which you can just descry rising above +that maze of buildings, in the upper hall of justice, is a +species of glass shrine, in which the relic is to be seen; a +sword of curious workmanship, the blade is of keen Toledan steel, +the heft of ivory and mother-of-pearl. ’Tis the sword +of Cordova, won in bloodiest fray off Saint Vincent’s +promontory, and presented by Nelson to the old capital of the +much-loved land of his birth. Yes, the proud +Spaniard’s sword is to be seen in yonder guildhouse, in the +glass case affixed to the wall: many other relics has the good +old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard’s sword.</p> +<p>Such was the place to which, when the war was over, my father +retired: it was here that the old tired soldier set himself down +with his little family. He had passed the greater part of +his life in meritorious exertion, in the service of his country, +and his chief wish now was to spend the remainder of his days in +quiet and respectability; his means, it is true, were not very +ample; fortunate it was that his desires corresponded with them: +with a small fortune of his own, and with his half-pay as a royal +soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his faithful partner +and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to provide for +them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world? +This was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, +and I believe that many an old retired officer at that time, and +under similar circumstances, experienced similar anxiety; had the +war continued, their children would have been, of course, +provided for in the army, but peace now reigned, and the military +career was closed to all save the scions of the aristocracy, or +those who were in some degree connected with that privileged +order, an advantage which few of these old officers could boast +of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves +very little trouble either about them or their families.</p> +<p>“I have been writing to the Duke,” said my father +one day to my excellent mother, after we had been at home +somewhat better than a year, “I have been writing to the +Duke of York about a commission for that eldest boy of +ours. He, however, affords me no hopes; he says that his +list is crammed with names, and that the greater number of the +candidates have better claims than my son.”</p> +<p>“I do not see how that can be,” said my +mother.</p> +<p>“Nor do I,” replied my father. “I see +the sons of bankers and merchants gazetted every month, and I do +not see what claims they have to urge, unless they be golden +ones. However, I have not served my king fifty years to +turn grumbler at this time of life. I suppose that the +people at the head of affairs know what is most proper and +convenient; perhaps when the lad sees how difficult, nay, how +impossible it is that he should enter the army, he will turn his +mind to some other profession; I wish he may!”</p> +<p>“I think he has already,” said my mother; +“you see how fond he is of the arts, of drawing and +painting, and, as far as I can judge, what he has already done is +very respectable; his mind seems quite turned that <!-- page +66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>way, +and I heard him say the other day that he would sooner be a +Michael Angelo than a general officer. But you are always +talking of him; what do you think of doing with the other +child?”</p> +<p>“What, indeed!” said my father; “that is a +consideration which gives me no little uneasiness. I am +afraid it will be much more difficult to settle him in life than +his brother. What is he fitted for, even were it in my +power to provide for him? God help the child! I bear +him no ill-will, on the contrary, all love and affection; but I +cannot shut my eyes; there is something so strange about +him! How he behaved in Ireland! I sent him to school +to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!”</p> +<p>“And Greek as well,” said my mother. +“I heard him say the other day that he could read St. John +in the original tongue.”</p> +<p>“You will find excuses for him, I know,” said my +father. “You tell me I am always thinking of my +first-born; I might retort by saying you are always thinking of +the other; but it is the way of women always to side with the +second-born. There’s what’s her name in the +Bible, by whose wiles the old blind man was induced to give to +his second son the blessing which was the birthright of the +other. I wish I had been in his place! I should not +have been so easily deceived! no disguise would ever have caused +me to mistake an impostor for my first-born. Though I must +say for this boy that he is nothing like Jacob; he is neither +smooth nor sleek, and, though my second-born, he is already +taller and larger than his brother.”</p> +<p>“Just so,” said my mother, “his brother +would make a far better Jacob than he.”</p> +<p>“I will hear nothing against my first-born,” said +my father, “even in the way of insinuation: he is my joy +and pride; the very image of myself in my youthful days, long +before I fought Big Ben; though perhaps not quite so tall or +strong built. As for the other, God bless the child! +I love him, I’m sure; but I must be blind not to see the +difference between him and his brother. Why, he has neither +my hair nor my eyes; and then his countenance! why, ’tis +absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost said like +that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the boy +is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair +and eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!—I confess I do +not like them, and that they give me no little uneasiness—I +know that he kept very strange company when he was in Ireland; +people of evil report, of whom terrible things were +said—horse-witches and the like. I questioned him +once or twice upon the matter, and even threatened him, but it +was of no use; he put on a look as if he did not understand me, a +regular Irish look, just such a one as those rascals assume when +they wish to appear all innocence and simplicity, and they full +of malice and deceit all the time. I don’t like them; +they are no friends to old England, or its old king, God bless +him! They are not good subjects, and never were; always in +league with foreign enemies. When I was in the Coldstream, +long before the Revolution, I used to hear enough about the Irish +brigades kept by the French kings, to be a thorn in the side of +the English whenever opportunity served. Old Sergeant +Meredith once told me, that in the time <!-- page 67--><a +name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>of the +Pretender there were always, in London alone, a dozen of fellows +connected with these brigades, with the view of seducing the +king’s soldiers from their allegiance, and persuading them +to desert to France to join the honest Irish, as they were +called. One of these traitors once accosted him and +proposed the matter to him, offering handfuls of gold if he could +induce any of his comrades to go over. Meredith appeared to +consent, but secretly gave information to his colonel; the fellow +was seized, and certain traitorous papers found upon him; he was +hanged before Newgate, and died exulting in his treason. +His name was Michael Nowlan. That ever son of mine should +have been intimate with the Papist Irish, and have learnt their +language!”</p> +<p>“But he thinks of other things now,” said my +mother.</p> +<p>“Other languages, you mean,” said my father. +“It is strange that he has conceived such a zest for the +study of languages; no sooner did he come home than he persuaded +me to send him to that old priest to learn French and Italian, +and, if I remember right, you abetted him; but, as I said before, +it is in the nature of women invariably to take the part of the +second-born. Well, there is no harm in learning French and +Italian, perhaps much good in his case, as they may drive the +other tongue out of his head. Irish! why, he might go to +the university but for that; but how would he look when, on being +examined with respect to his attainments, it was discovered that +he understood Irish? How did you learn it? they would ask +him; how did you become acquainted with the language of Papists +and rebels? The boy would be sent away in +disgrace.”</p> +<p>“Be under no apprehension, I have no doubt that he has +long since forgotten it.”</p> +<p>“I am glad to hear it,” said my father; +“for, between ourselves, I love the poor child; ay, quite +as well as my first-born. I trust they will do well, and +that God will be their shield and guide; I have no doubt He will, +for I have read something in the Bible to that effect. What +is that text about the young ravens being fed?”</p> +<p>“I know a better than that,” said my mother; +“one of David’s own words, ‘I have been young +and now am grown old, yet never have I seen the righteous man +forsaken, or his seed begging their bread.’”</p> +<p>I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my +own firm belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it. +Mere idleness is the most disagreeable state of existence, and +both mind and body are continually making efforts to escape from +it. It has been said that idleness is the parent of +mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an +attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness. There +are many tasks and occupations which a man is unwilling to +perform, but let no one think that he is therefore in love with +idleness; he turns to something which is more agreeable to his +inclination, and doubtless more suited to his nature; but he is +not in love with idleness. A boy may play the truant from +school because he dislikes books and study; but, depend upon it, +he intends doing something the while—to go fishing, or +perhaps to take a walk; and who knows but that from such +excursions both his mind and body may derive more benefit than +from <!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>books and school? Many people go to sleep to +escape from idleness; the Spaniards do; and, according to the +French account, John Bull, the ’squire, hangs himself in +the month of November; but the French, who are a very sensible +people, attribute the action, “<i>à une grande envie +de se désennuyer</i>;” he wishes to be doing +something, say they, and having nothing better to do, he has +recourse to the cord.</p> +<p>It was for want of something better to do that, shortly after +my return home, I applied myself to the study of languages. +By the acquisition of Irish, with the first elements of which I +had become acquainted under the tuition of Murtagh, I had +contracted a certain zest and inclination for the pursuit. +Yet it is probable, that had I been launched about this time into +some agreeable career, that of arms, for example, for which, +being the son of a soldier, I had, as was natural, a sort of +penchant, I might have thought nothing more of the acquisition of +tongues of any kind; but, having nothing to do, I followed the +only course suited to my genius which appeared open to me.</p> +<p>So it came to pass that one day, whilst wandering listlessly +about the streets of the old town, I came to a small book-stall, +and stopping, commenced turning over the books; I took up at +least a dozen, and almost instantly flung them down. What +were they to me? At last, coming to a thick volume, I +opened it, and after inspecting its contents for a few minutes, I +paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried it home.</p> +<p>It was a tessara-glot grammar; a strange old book, printed +somewhere in Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the +acquirement of the French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English +tongues, by means of which any one conversant in any one of these +languages could make himself master of the other three. I +turned my attention to the French and Italian. The old book +was not of much value; I derived some benefit from it, however, +and, conning it intensely, at the end of a few weeks obtained +some insight into the structure of these two languages. At +length I had learnt all that the book was capable of informing +me, yet was still far from the goal to which it had promised to +conduct me. “I wish I had a master!” I +exclaimed; and the master was at hand. In an old court of +the old town lived a certain elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or +thereabouts; he was rather tall, and something of a robust make, +with a countenance in which bluffness was singularly blended with +vivacity and grimace; and with a complexion which would have been +ruddy, but for a yellow hue which rather predominated. His +dress consisted of a snuff-coloured coat and drab pantaloons, the +former evidently seldom subjected to the annoyance of a brush, +and the latter exhibiting here and there spots of something +which, if not grease, bore a strong resemblance to it; add to +these articles an immense frill, seldom of the purest white, but +invariably of the finest French cambric, and you have some idea +of his dress. He had rather a remarkable stoop, but his +step was rapid and vigorous, and as he hurried along the streets, +he would glance to the right and left with a pair of big eyes +like plums, and on recognizing any one would exalt a pair of +grizzled eyebrows, and slightly kiss a tawny and ungloved +hand. At certain <!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 69</span>hours of the day he might be seen +entering the doors of female boarding-schools, generally with a +book in his hand, and perhaps another just peering from the +orifice of a capacious back pocket; and at a certain season of +the year he might be seen, dressed in white, before the altar of +a certain small popish chapel, chanting from the breviary in very +intelligible Latin, or perhaps reading from the desk in utterly +unintelligible English. Such was my preceptor in the French +and Italian tongues. “Exul sacerdos; vone banished +priest. I came into England twenty-five years ago, +‘my dear.’”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Monsieur Dante—Condemned +Musket—Sporting—Sweet Rivulet—The Earl’s +Home—The Pool—The Sonorous Voice—What dost Thou +Read?—Man of Peace—Zohar and Mishna—Money +Changers.</p> +<p>So I studied French and Italian under the tuition of the +banished priest, to whose house I went regularly every evening to +receive instruction. I made considerable progress in the +acquisition of the two languages. I found the French by far +the most difficult, chiefly on account of the accent, which my +master himself possessed in no great purity, being a Norman by +birth. The Italian was my favourite.</p> +<p>“<i>Vous serez un jour un grand philologue</i>, <i>mon +cher</i>,” said the old man, on our arriving at the +conclusion of Dante’s Hell.</p> +<p>“I hope I shall be something better,” said I, +“before I die, or I shall have lived to little +purpose.”</p> +<p>“That’s true, my dear! philologist—one small +poor dog. What would you wish to be?”</p> +<p>“Many things sooner than that; for example, I would +rather be like him who wrote this book.”</p> +<p>“<i>Quoi</i>, <i>Monsieur Dante</i>? He was a +vagabond, my dear, forced to fly from his country. No, my +dear, if you would be like one poet, be like Monsieur Boileau; he +is the poet.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“How, not think so? He wrote very respectable +verses; lived and died much respected by everybody. +T’other, one bad dog, forced to fly from his +country—died with not enough to pay his +undertaker.”</p> +<p>“Were you not forced to flee from your +country?”</p> +<p>“That very true; but there is much difference between me +and this Dante. He fled from country because he had one bad +tongue which he shook at his betters. I fly because +benefice gone, and head going; not on account of the badness of +my tongue.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “you can return now; the +Bourbons are restored.”</p> +<p>“I find myself very well here; not bad country. +<i>Il est vrai que la France sera toujours la France</i>; but all +are dead there who knew me. I find myself very well +here. Preach in popish chapel, teach schismatic, <!-- page +70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>that +is Protestant, child tongues and literature. I find myself +very well; and why? Because I know how to govern my tongue; +never call people hard names. <i>Ma foi</i>, <i>il y a +beaucoup de différence entre moi et ce sacre de +Dante</i>.”</p> +<p>Under this old man, who was well versed in the southern +languages, besides studying French and Italian, I acquired some +knowledge of Spanish. But I did not devote my time entirely +to philology; I had other pursuits. I had not forgotten the +roving life I had led in former days, nor its delights; neither +was I formed by Nature to be a pallid indoor student. No, +no! I was fond of other and, I say it boldly, better things +than study. I had an attachment to the angle, ay, and to +the gun likewise. In our house was a condemned musket, +bearing somewhere on its lock, in rather antique characters, +“Tower, 1746;” with this weapon I had already, in +Ireland, performed some execution among the rooks and choughs, +and it was now again destined to be a source of solace and +amusement to me, in the winter season, especially on occasions of +severe frost when birds abounded. Sallying forth with it at +these times, far into the country, I seldom returned at night +without a string of bullfinches, blackbirds, and linnets hanging +in triumph round my neck. When I reflect on the immense +quantity of powder and shot which I crammed down the muzzle of my +uncouth fowling-piece, I am less surprised at the number of birds +which I slaughtered, than that I never blew my hands, face, and +old honey-combed gun, at one and the same time, to pieces.</p> +<p>But the winter, alas! (I speak as a fowler) seldom lasts in +England more than three or four months; so, during the rest of +the year, when not occupied with my philological studies, I had +to seek for other diversions. I have already given a hint +that I was also addicted to the angle. Of course there is +no comparison between the two pursuits, the rod and line seeming +but very poor trumpery to one who has had the honour of carrying +a noble firelock. There is a time, however, for all things; +and we return to any favourite amusement with the greater zest, +from being compelled to relinquish it for a season. So, if +I shot birds in winter with my firelock, I caught fish in summer, +or attempted so to do, with my angle. I was not quite so +successful, it is true, with the latter as with the former; +possibly because it afforded me less pleasure. It was, +indeed, too much of a listless pastime to inspire me with any +great interest. I not unfrequently fell into a doze whilst +sitting on the bank, and more than once let my rod drop from my +hands into the water.</p> +<p>At some distance from the city, behind a range of hilly ground +which rises towards the south-west, is a small river, the waters +of which, after many meanderings, eventually enter the principal +river of the district, and assist to swell the tide which it +rolls down to the ocean. It is a sweet rivulet, and +pleasant it is to trace its course from its spring-head, high up +in the remote regions of Eastern Anglia, till it arrives in the +valley behind yon rising ground; and pleasant is that valley, +truly a goodly spot, but most lovely where yonder bridge crosses +the little stream. Beneath its arch the waters rush +garrulously into a blue pool, and are there stilled for a time, +for the pool is deep, and they appear to <!-- page 71--><a +name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>have sunk to +sleep. Farther on, however, you hear their voice again, +where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly shallow. On the +left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin of the +stream. On the right is a green level, a smiling meadow, +grass of the richest decks the side of the slope; mighty trees +also adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of which, when the sun is +nigh its meridian, fling a broad shadow upon the face of the +pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient brick +of an old English hall. It has a stately look, that old +building, indistinctly seen, as it is, among those umbrageous +trees; you might almost suppose it an earl’s home; and such +it was, or rather upon its site stood an earl’s home, in +days of old, for there some old Kemp, some Sigurd, or Thorkild, +roaming in quest of a hearthstead, settled down in the gray old +time, when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a +portentous name. Yon old hall is still called the +Earl’s Home, though the hearth of Sigurd is now no more, +and the bones of the old Kemp, and of Sigrith his dame, have been +mouldering for a thousand years in some neighbouring knoll; +perhaps yonder, where those tall Norwegian pines shoot up so +boldly into the air. It is said that the old Earl’s +galley was once moored where is now that blue pool, for the +waters of that valley were not always sweet; yon valley was once +an arm of the sea, a salt lagoon, to which the war-barks of +“Sigurd, in search of a home,” found their way.</p> +<p>I was in the habit of spending many an hour on the banks of +that rivulet with my rod in my hand, and, when tired with +angling, would stretch myself on the grass, and gaze upon the +waters as they glided past, and not unfrequently, divesting +myself of my dress, I would plunge into the deep pool which I +have already mentioned, for I had long since learned to +swim. And it came to pass, that on one hot summer’s +day, after bathing in the pool, I passed along the meadow till I +came to a shallow part, and, wading over to the opposite side, I +adjusted my dress, and commenced fishing in another pool, beside +which was a small clump of hazels.</p> +<p>And there I sat upon the bank, at the bottom of the hill which +slopes down from “the Earl’s home;” my float +was on the waters, and my back was towards the old hall. I +drew up many fish, small and great, which I took from off the +hook mechanically, and flung upon the bank, for I was almost +unconscious of what I was about, for my mind was not with my +fish. I was thinking of my earlier years—of the +Scottish crags and the heaths of Ireland—and sometimes my +mind would dwell on my studies—on the sonorous stanzas of +Dante, rising and falling like the waves of the sea—or +would strive to remember a couplet or two of poor Monsieur +Boileau.</p> +<p>“Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all +those fish out of the water, and leaving them to gasp in the +sun?” said a voice, clear and sonorous as a bell.</p> +<p>I started, and looked round. Close behind me stood the +tall figure of a man, dressed in raiment of quaint and singular +fashion, but of goodly materials. He was in the prime and +vigour of manhood; his features handsome and noble, but full of +calmness and benevolence; <!-- page 72--><a +name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>at least I +thought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest +beaver, with broad drooping eaves.</p> +<p>“Surely that is a very cruel diversion in which thou +indulgest, my young friend?” he continued.</p> +<p>“I am sorry for it, if it be, sir,” said I, +rising; “but I do not think it cruel to fish.”</p> +<p>“What are thy reasons for not thinking so?”</p> +<p>“Fishing is mentioned frequently in Scripture. +Simon Peter was a fisherman.”</p> +<p>“True; and Andrew and his brother. But thou +forgettest: they did not follow fishing as a diversion, as I fear +thou doest.—Thou readest the Scriptures?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Sometimes?—not daily?—that is to be +regretted. What profession dost thou make?—I mean to +what religious denomination dost thou belong, my young +friend?”</p> +<p>“Church.”</p> +<p>“It is a very good profession—there is much of +Scripture contained in its liturgy. Dost thou read aught +beside the Scriptures?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> +<p>“What dost thou read besides?”</p> +<p>“Greek, and Dante.”</p> +<p>“Indeed; then thou hast the advantage over myself; I can +only read the former. Well, I am rejoiced to find that thou +hast other pursuits beside thy fishing. Dost thou know +Hebrew?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Thou shouldest study it. Why dost thou not +undertake the study?”</p> +<p>“I have no books.”</p> +<p>“I will lend thee books, if thou wish to undertake the +study. I live yonder at the hall, as perhaps thou +knowest. I have a library there, in which are many curious +books, both in Greek and Hebrew, which I will show to thee, +whenever thou mayest find it convenient to come and see me. +Farewell! I am glad to find that thou hast pursuits more +satisfactory than thy cruel fishing.”</p> +<p>And the man of peace departed, and left me on the bank of the +stream. Whether from the effect of his words, or from want +of inclination to the sport, I know not, but from that day I +became less and less a practitioner of that “cruel +fishing.” I rarely flung line and angle into the +water, but I not unfrequently wandered by the banks of the +pleasant rivulet. It seems singular to me, on reflection, +that I never availed myself of his kind invitation. I say +singular, for the extraordinary, under whatever form, had long +had no slight interest for me: and I had discernment enough to +perceive that yon was no common man. Yet I went not near +him, certainly not from bashfulness, or timidity, feelings to +which I had long been an entire stranger. Am I to regret +this? perhaps, for I might have learned both wisdom and +righteousness from those calm, quiet lips, and my after-course +might have been widely different. As it was, I fell in with +other guess companions, from whom I received widely different +impressions than those I might have derived <!-- page 73--><a +name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>from +him. When many years had rolled on, long after I had +attained manhood, and had seen and suffered much, and when our +first interview had long since been effaced from the mind of the +man of peace, I visited him in his venerable hall, and partook of +the hospitality of his hearth. And there I saw his gentle +partner and his fair children, and on the morrow he showed me the +books of which he had spoken years before, by the side of the +stream. In the low, quiet chamber, whose one window, shaded +by a gigantic elm, looks down the slope towards the pleasant +stream, he took from the shelf his learned books, Zohar and +Mishna, Toldoth Jesu and Abarbenel.</p> +<p>“I am fond of these studies,” said he, +“which, perhaps, is not to be wondered at, seeing that our +people have been compared to the Jews. In one respect I +confess we are similar to them: we are fond of getting +money. I do not like this last author, this Abarbenel, the +worse for having been a money-changer. I am a banker +myself, as thou knowest.”</p> +<p>And would there were many like him, amidst the money-changers +of princes! The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty, the +palace of many a prelate the piety and learning, which adorn the +quiet Quaker’s home!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Fair of Horses—Looks of +Respect—The Fast Trotter—Pair of Eyes—Strange +Men—Jasper, Your Pal—Force of Blood—Young Lady +with Diamonds—Not Quite so Beautiful.</p> +<p>I was standing on the castle hill in the midst of a fair of +horses.</p> +<p>I have already had occasion to mention this castle. It +is the remains of what was once a Norman stronghold, and is +perched upon a round mound or monticle, in the midst of the old +city. Steep is this mound and scarped, evidently by the +hand of man; a deep gorge, over which is flung a bridge, +separates it, on the south, from a broad swell of open ground +called “the hill;” of old the scene of many a +tournament and feat of Norman chivalry, but now much used as a +show-place for cattle, where those who buy and sell beeves and +other beasts resort at stated periods.</p> +<p>So it came to pass that I stood upon this hill, observing a +fair of horses.</p> +<p>The reader is already aware that I had long since conceived a +passion for the equine race, a passion in which circumstances had +of late not permitted me to indulge. I had no horses to +ride, but I took pleasure in looking at them; and I had already +attended more than one of these fairs: the present was lively +enough, indeed horse fairs are seldom dull. There was +shouting and whooping, neighing and braying; there was galloping +and trotting; fellows with highlows and white stockings, and with +many a string dangling from the knees of their tight breeches, +were running desperately, holding horses by the halter, and in +some <!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>cases dragging them along; there were long-tailed +steeds, and dock-tailed steeds of every degree and breed; there +were droves of wild ponies, and long rows of sober cart horses; +there were donkeys, and even mules: the last rare things to be +seen in damp, misty England, for the mule pines in mud and rain, +and thrives best with a hot sun above and a burning sand +below. There were—oh, the gallant creatures! I +hear their neigh upon the wind; there were—goodliest sight +of all—certain enormous quadrupeds only seen to perfection +in our native isle, led about by dapper grooms, their manes +ribanded and their tails curiously clubbed and balled. Ha! +ha!—how distinctly do they say, ha! ha!</p> +<p>An old man draws nigh, he is mounted on a lean pony, and he +leads by the bridle one of these animals; nothing very remarkable +about that creature, unless in being smaller than the rest and +gentle, which they are not; he is not of the sightliest look; he +is almost dun, and over one eye a thick film has gathered. +But stay! there <i>is</i> something remarkable about that horse, +there is something in his action in which he differs from all the +rest: as he advances, the clamour is hushed! all eyes are turned +upon him—what looks of interest—of respect—and, +what is this? people are taking off their hats—surely not +to that steed! Yes, verily! men, especially old men, are +taking off their hats to that one-eyed steed, and I hear more +than one deep-drawn ah!</p> +<p>“What horse is that?” said I to a very old fellow, +the counterpart of the old man on the pony, save that the last +wore a faded suit of velveteen, and this one was dressed in a +white frock.</p> +<p>“The best in mother England,” said the very old +man, taking a knobbed stick from his mouth, and looking me in the +face, at first carelessly, but presently with something like +interest; “he is old like myself, but can still trot his +twenty miles an hour. You won’t live long, my swain; +tall and overgrown ones like thee never does; yet, if you should +chance to reach my years, you may boast to thy great grand boys, +thou hast seen Marshland Shales.”</p> +<p>Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl or +baron, doffed my hat; yes! I doffed my hat to the wondrous +horse, the fast trotter, the best in mother England; and I, too, +drew a deep ah! and repeated the words of the old fellows +around. “Such a horse as this we shall never see +again; a pity that he is so old.”</p> +<p>Now during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I +had been the object of some person’s observation; that eyes +were fastened upon me from somewhere in the crowd. +Sometimes I thought myself watched from before, sometimes from +behind; and occasionally methought that, if I just turned my head +to the right or left, I should meet a peering and inquiring +glance; and indeed once or twice I did turn, expecting to see +somebody whom I knew, yet always without success; though it +appeared to me that I was but a moment too late, and that some +one had just slipped away from the direction to which I turned, +like the figure in a magic lanthorn. Once I was quite sure +that there were a pair of eyes glaring over my right shoulder; my +attention, however, was so fully occupied with the objects which +I have attempted to <!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 75</span>describe, that I thought very little +of this coming and going, this flitting and dodging of I knew not +whom or what. It was, after all, a matter of sheer +indifference to me who was looking at me. I could only +wish, whomsoever it might be, to be more profitably employed; so +I continued enjoying what I saw; and now there was a change in +the scene, the wondrous old horse departed with his aged +guardian; other objects of interest are at hand; two or three men +on horseback are hurrying through the crowd, they are widely +different in their appearance from the other people of the fair; +not so much in dress, for they are clad something after the +fashion of rustic jockeys, but in their look—no light brown +hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet glances belong to +them; their features are dark, their locks long, black, and +shining, and their eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, +but they do not sit the saddle in the manner of common jockeys, +they seem to float or hover upon it, like gulls upon the waves; +two of them are mere striplings, but the third is a very tall man +with a countenance heroically beautiful, but wild, wild, +wild. As they rush along, the crowd give way on all sides, +and now a kind of ring or circus is formed, within which the +strange men exhibit their horsemanship, rushing past each other, +in and out, after the manner of a reel, the tall man occasionally +balancing himself upon the saddle, and standing erect on one +foot. He had just regained his seat after the latter feat, +and was about to push his horse to a gallop, when a figure +started forward close from beside me, and laying his hand on his +neck, and pulling him gently downward, appeared to whisper +something into his ear; presently the tall man raised his head, +and, scanning the crowd for a moment in the direction in which I +was standing, fixed his eyes full upon me, and anon the +countenance of the whisperer was turned, but only in part, and +the side-glance of another pair of wild eyes was directed towards +my face, but the entire visage of the big black man, half +stooping as he was, was turned full upon mine.</p> +<p>But now, with a nod to the figure who had stopped him, and +with another inquiring glance at myself, the big man once more +put his steed into motion, and, after riding round the ring a few +more times, darted through a lane in the crowd, and followed by +his two companions disappeared, whereupon the figure who had +whispered to him, and had subsequently remained in the middle of +the space, came towards me, and, cracking a whip which he held in +his hand so loudly that the report was nearly equal to that of a +pocket pistol, he cried in a strange tone:</p> +<p>“What! the sap-engro? Lor! the sap-engro upon the +hill!”</p> +<p>“I remember that word,” said I, “and I +almost think I remember you. You can’t +be—”</p> +<p>“Jasper, your pal! Truth, and no lie, +brother.”</p> +<p>“It is strange that you should have known me,” +said I. “I am certain, but for the word you used, I +should never have recognized you.”</p> +<p>“Not so strange as you may think, brother; there is +something in your face which would prevent people from forgetting +you, even though <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>they might wish it; and your face is +not much altered since the time you wot of, though you are so +much grown. I thought it was you, but to make sure I dodged +about, inspecting you. I believe you felt me, though I +never touched you; a sign, brother, that we are akin, that we are +dui palor—two relations. Your blood beat when mine +was near, as mine always does at the coming of a brother; and we +became brothers in that lane.”</p> +<p>“And where are you staying?” said I; “in +this town?”</p> +<p>“Not in the town; the like of us don’t find it +exactly wholesome to stay in towns, we keep abroad. But I +have little to do here—come with me, and I’ll show +you where we stay.”</p> +<p>We descended the hill in the direction of the north, and +passing along the suburb reached the old Norman bridge, which we +crossed; the chalk precipice, with the ruin on its top, was now +before us; but turning to the left we walked swiftly along, and +presently came to some rising ground, which ascending, we found +ourselves upon a wild moor or heath.</p> +<p>“You are one of them,” said I, “whom people +call—”</p> +<p>“Just so,” said Jasper; “but never mind what +people call us.”</p> +<p>“And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you +whispered? I suppose he’s one of ye. What is +his name?”</p> +<p>“Tawno Chikno,” said Jasper, “which means +the small one; we call him such because he is the biggest man of +all our nation. You say he is handsome, that is not the +word, brother; he’s the beauty of the world. Women +run wild at the sight of Tawno. An earl’s daughter, +near London—a fine young lady with diamonds round her +neck—fell in love with Tawno. I have seen that lass +on a heath, as this may be, kneel down to Tawno, clasp his feet, +begging to be his wife—or anything else—if she might +go with him. But Tawno would have nothing to do with her: +‘I have a wife of my own,’ said he, ‘a lawful +rommany wife, whom I love better than the whole world, jealous +though she sometimes be.’”</p> +<p>“And is she very beautiful?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why, you know, brother, beauty is frequently a matter +of taste; however, as you ask my opinion, I should say not quite +so beautiful as himself.”</p> +<p>We had now arrived at a small valley between two hills, or +downs, the sides of which were covered with furze; in the midst +of this valley were various carts and low tents forming a rude +kind of encampment; several dark children were playing about, who +took no manner of notice of us. As we passed one of the +tents, however, a canvas screen was lifted up, and a woman +supported on a crutch hobbled out. She was about the middle +age, and, besides being lame, was bitterly ugly; she was very +slovenly dressed, and on her swarthy features ill nature was most +visibly stamped. She did not deign me a look, but, +addressing Jasper in a tongue which I did not understand, +appeared to put some eager questions to him.</p> +<p>“He’s coming,” said Jasper, and passed +on. “Poor fellow,” said he to me, “he has +scarcely been gone an hour, and she’s jealous +already. <!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span>Well,” he continued, +“what do you think of her? you have seen her now, and can +judge for yourself—that ’ere woman is Tawno +Chikno’s wife!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Tents—Pleasant Discourse—I am +Pharaoh—Shifting for One’s Self—Horse +Shoes—This is Wonderful—Bless Your Wisdom—A +Pretty Manœuvre—Ill Day to the Romans—My Name +is Herne—Singular People—An Original +Speech—Word Master—Speaking Romanly.</p> +<p>We went to the farthest of the tents, which stood at a slight +distance from the rest, and which exactly resembled the one which +I have described on a former occasion; we went in and sat down +one on each side of a small fire, which was smouldering on the +ground, there was no one else in the tent but a tall tawny woman +of middle age, who was busily knitting. +“Brother,” said Jasper, “I wish to hold some +pleasant discourse with you.”</p> +<p>“As much as you please,” said I, “provided +you can find anything pleasant to talk about.”</p> +<p>“Never fear,” said Jasper; “and first of all +we will talk of yourself. Where have you been all this long +time?”</p> +<p>“Here and there,” said I, “and far and near, +going about with the soldiers; but there is no soldiering now, so +we have sat down, father and family, in the town +there.”</p> +<p>“And do you still hunt snakes?” said Jasper.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I have given up that long +ago; I do better now: read books and learn languages.”</p> +<p>“Well, I am sorry you have given up your snake-hunting; +many’s the strange talk I have had with our people about +your snake and yourself, and how you frightened my father and +mother in the lane.”</p> +<p>“And where are your father and mother?”</p> +<p>“Where I shall never see them, brother; at least, I hope +so.”</p> +<p>“Not dead?”</p> +<p>“No, not dead; they are bitchadey pawdel.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?”</p> +<p>“Sent across—banished.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I understand; I am sorry for them. And +so you are here alone?”</p> +<p>“Not quite alone, brother.”</p> +<p>“No, not alone; but with the rest—Tawno Chikno +takes care of you.”</p> +<p>“Takes care of me, brother!”</p> +<p>“Yes, stands to you in the place of a father—keeps +you out of harm’s way.”</p> +<p>“What do you take me for, brother?”</p> +<p>“For about three years older than myself.”</p> +<p><!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>“Perhaps; but you are of the Gorgios, and I am a +Rommany Chal. Tawno Chikno take care of Jasper +Petulengro!”</p> +<p>“Is that your name?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you like it?”</p> +<p>“Very much, I never heard a sweeter; it is something +like what you call me.”</p> +<p>“The horse-shoe master and the snake-fellow, I am the +first.”</p> +<p>“Who gave you that name?”</p> +<p>“Ask Pharaoh.”</p> +<p>“I would, if he were here, but I do not see +him.”</p> +<p>“I am Pharaoh.”</p> +<p>“Then you are a king.”</p> +<p>“Chachipen Pal.”</p> +<p>“I do not understand you.”</p> +<p>“Where are your languages? You want two things, +brother: mother sense, and gentle Rommany.”</p> +<p>“What makes you think that I want sense?”</p> +<p>“That, being so old, you can’t yet guide +yourself!”</p> +<p>“I can read Dante, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Anan, brother.”</p> +<p>“I can charm snakes, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“I know you can, brother.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and horses too; bring me the most vicious in the +land, if I whisper he’ll be tame.”</p> +<p>“Then the more shame for you—a +snake-fellow—a horse-witch—and a lil-reader—yet +you can’t shift for yourself. I laugh at you, +brother!”</p> +<p>“Then you can shift for yourself?”</p> +<p>“For myself and for others, brother.”</p> +<p>“And what does Chikno?”</p> +<p>“Sells me horses, when I bid him. Those horses on +the chong were mine.”</p> +<p>“And has he none of his own?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes he has; but he is not so well off as +myself. When my father and mother were bitchadey pawdel, +which, to tell you the truth, they were, for chiving wafodo +dloovu, they left me all they had, which was not a little, and I +became the head of our family, which was not a small one. I +was not older than you when that happened; yet our people said +they had never a better krallis to contrive and plan for them, +and to keep them in order. And this is so well known, that +many Rommany Chals, not of our family, come and join themselves +to us, living with us for a time, in order to better themselves, +more especially those of the poorer sort, who have little of +their own. Tawno is one of these.”</p> +<p>“Is that fine fellow poor?”</p> +<p>“One of the poorest, brother. Handsome as he is, +he has not a horse of his own to ride on. Perhaps we may +put it down to his wife, who cannot move about, being a cripple, +as you saw.”</p> +<p>“And you are what is called a Gypsy King?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay; a Rommany Kral.”</p> +<p><!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>“Are there other kings?”</p> +<p>“Those who call themselves so; but the true Pharaoh is +Petulengro.”</p> +<p>“Did Pharaoh make horse-shoes?”</p> +<p>“The first who ever did, brother.”</p> +<p>“Pharaoh lived in Egypt.”</p> +<p>“So did we once, brother.”</p> +<p>“And you left it?”</p> +<p>“My fathers did, brother.”</p> +<p>“And why did they come here?”</p> +<p>“They had their reasons, brother.”</p> +<p>“And you are not English?”</p> +<p>“We are not gorgios.”</p> +<p>“And you have a language of your own?”</p> +<p>“Avali.”</p> +<p>“This is wonderful.”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha!” cried the woman, who had hitherto sat +knitting, at the farther end of the tent, without saying a word, +though not inattentive to our conversation, as I could perceive, +by certain glances, which she occasionally cast upon us +both. “Ha, ha!” she screamed, fixing upon me +two eyes, which shone like burning coals, and which were filled +with an expression both of scorn and malignity; “It is +wonderful, is it, that we should have a language of our +own? What, you grudge the poor people the speech they talk +among themselves? That’s just like you gorgios, you +would have everybody stupid, single-tongued idiots, like +yourselves. We are taken before the Poknees of the gav, +myself and sister, to give an account of ourselves. So I +says to my sister’s little boy, speaking Rommany, I says to +the little boy who is with us, run to my son Jasper, and the +rest, and tell them to be off, there are hawks abroad. So +the Poknees questions us, and lets us go, not being able to make +anything of us; but, as we are going, he calls us back. +‘Good woman,’ says the Poknees, ‘what was that +I heard you say just now to the little boy?’ ‘I +was telling him, your worship, to go and see the time of day, +and, to save trouble, I said it in our own language.’ +‘Where did you get that language?’ says the Poknees, +‘’Tis our own language, sir,’ I tells him, +‘we did not steal it.’ ‘Shall I tell you +what it is, my good woman?’ says the Poknees. +‘I would thank you, sir,’ says I, ‘for +’tis often we are asked about it.’ ‘Well, +then,’ says the Poknees, ‘it is no language at all, +merely a made-up gibberish.’ ‘Oh, bless your +wisdom,’ says I, with a curtsey, ‘you can tell us +what our language is, without understanding it!’ +Another time we met a parson. ‘Good woman,’ he +says, ‘what’s that you are talking? Is it +broken language?’ ‘Of course, your +reverence,’ says I, ‘we are broken people; give a +shilling, your reverence, to the poor broken woman.’ +Oh, these gorgios! they grudge us our very language!”</p> +<p>“She called you her son, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“I am her son, brother.”</p> +<p>“I thought you said your parents were—”</p> +<p>“Bitchadey pawdel; you thought right, brother. +This is my wife’s mother.”</p> +<p><!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>“Then you are married, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Ay, truly; I am husband and father. You will see +wife and chabo anon.”</p> +<p>“Where are they now?”</p> +<p>“In the gav, penning dukkerin.”</p> +<p>“We were talking of language, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“True, brother.”</p> +<p>“Yours must be a rum one?”</p> +<p>“’Tis called Rommany.”</p> +<p>“I would gladly know it.”</p> +<p>“You need it sorely.”</p> +<p>“Would you teach it me?”</p> +<p>“None sooner.”</p> +<p>“Suppose we begin now?”</p> +<p>“Suppose we do, brother.”</p> +<p>“Not whilst I am here,” said the woman, flinging +her knitting down, and starting upon her feet; “not whilst +I am here shall this gorgio learn Rommany. A pretty +manœuvre, truly; and what would be the end of it? I +goes to the farming ker with my sister, to tell a fortune, and +earn a few sixpences for the chabes. I sees a jolly pig in +the yard, and I says to my sister, speaking Rommany, ‘Do so +and so,’ says I; which the farming man hearing, asks what +we are talking about. ‘Nothing at all, master,’ +says I; ‘something about the weather;’ when who +should start up from behind a pale, where he has been listening, +but this ugly gorgio, crying out, ‘They are after poisoning +your pigs, neighbour!’ so that we are glad to run, I and my +sister, with perhaps the farm-engro shouting after us. Says +my sister to me, when we have got fairly off, ‘How came +that ugly one to know what you said to me?’ Whereupon I +answers, ‘It all comes of my son Jasper, who brings the +gorgio to our fire, and must needs be teaching him.’ +‘Who was fool there?’ says my sister. +‘Who, indeed, but my son Jasper,’ I answers. +And here should I be a greater fool to sit still and suffer it; +which I will not do. I do not like the look of him; he +looks over-gorgeous. An ill day to the Romans when he +masters Rommany; and when I says that, I pens a true +dukkerin.”</p> +<p>“What do you call God, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“You had better be jawing,” said the woman, +raising her voice to a terrible scream; “you had better be +moving off, my gorgio; hang you for a keen one, sitting there by +the fire, and stealing my language before my face. Do you +know whom you have to deal with? Do you know that I am +dangerous? My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy +ones!”</p> +<p>And a hairy one she looked! She wore her hair clubbed +upon her head, fastened with many strings and ligatures; but now, +tearing these off, her locks, originally jet black, but now +partially grizzled with age, fell down on every side of her, +covering her face and back as far down as her knees. No +she-bear from Lapland ever looked more fierce and hairy than did +that woman, as, standing in the open part of the tent, with her +head bent down, and her shoulders drawn up, seemingly about to +precipitate herself upon me, she repeated, again and +again,—</p> +<p><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>“My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy +ones!—”</p> +<p>“I call God Duvel, brother.”</p> +<p>“It sounds very like Devil.”</p> +<p>“It doth, brother, it doth.”</p> +<p>“And what do you call divine, I mean godly?”</p> +<p>“Oh! I call that duvelskoe.”</p> +<p>“I am thinking of something, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“What are you thinking of, brother?”</p> +<p>“Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were +originally one and the same word?”</p> +<p>“It would, brother, it would—”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper, +sometimes in his tent, sometimes on the heath, about which we +would roam for hours, discoursing on various matters. +Sometimes mounted on one of his horses, of which he had several, +I would accompany him to various fairs and markets in the +neighbourhood, to which he went on his own affairs, or those of +his tribe. I soon found that I had become acquainted with a +most singular people, whose habits and pursuits awakened within +me the highest interest. Of all connected with them, +however, their language was doubtless that which exercised the +greatest influence over my imagination. I had at first some +suspicion that it would prove a mere made-up gibberish. But +I was soon undeceived. Broken, corrupted, and half in ruins +as it was, it was not long before I found that it was an original +speech, far more so, indeed, than one or two others of high name +and celebrity, which, up to that time, I had been in the habit of +regarding with respect and veneration. Indeed, many obscure +points connected with the vocabulary of these languages, and to +which neither classic nor modern lore afforded any clue, I +thought I could now clear up by means of this strange broken +tongue, spoken by people who dwelt among thickets and furze +bushes, in tents as tawny as their faces, and whom the generality +of mankind designated, and with much semblance of justice, as +thieves and vagabonds. But where did this speech come from, +and who were they who spoke it? These were questions which +I could not solve, and which Jasper himself, when pressed, +confessed his inability to answer. “But, whoever we +be, brother,” said he, “we are an old people, and not +what folks in general imagine, broken gorgios; and, if we are not +Egyptians, we are at any rate Rommany Chals!”</p> +<p>“Rommany Chals! I should not wonder after +all,” said I, “that these people had something to do +with the founding of Rome. Rome, it is said, was built by +vagabonds, who knows but that some tribe of the kind settled down +thereabouts, and called the town which they built after their +name; but whence did they come originally? ah! there is the +difficulty.”</p> +<p>But abandoning these questions, which at that time were far +too profound for me, I went on studying the language, and at the +same time the characters and manners of these strange +people. My rapid progress in the former astonished, while +it delighted, Jasper. “We’ll <!-- page 82--><a +name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>no longer +call you Sap-engro, brother,” said he; “but rather +Lav-engro, which in the language of the gorgios meaneth Word +Master.” “Nay, brother,” said Tawno +Chikno, with whom I had become very intimate, “you had +better call him Cooro-mengro, I have put on <i>the gloves</i> +with him, and find him a pure fist master; I like him for that, +for I am a Cooro-mengro myself, and was born at +Brummagem.”</p> +<p>“I likes him for his modesty,” said Mrs. Chikno; +“I never hears any ill words come from his mouth, but, on +the contrary, much sweet language. His talk is golden, and +he has taught my eldest to say his prayers in Rommany, which my +rover had never the grace to do.” “He is the +pal of my rom,” said Mrs. Petulengro, who was a very +handsome woman, “and therefore I likes him, and not less +for his being a rye; folks calls me high-minded, and perhaps I +have reason to be so; before I married Pharaoh I had an offer +from a lord—I likes the young rye, and, if he chooses to +follow us, he shall have my sister. What say you, mother? +should not the young rye have my sister Ursula?”</p> +<p>“I am going to my people,” said Mrs. Herne, +placing a bundle upon a donkey, which was her own peculiar +property; “I am going to Yorkshire, for I can stand this no +longer. You say you like him: in that we differs: I hates +the gorgio, and would like, speaking Romanly, to mix a little +poison with his waters. And now go to Lundra, my children, +I goes to Yorkshire. Take my blessing with ye, and a little +bit of a gillie to cheer your hearts with when ye are +weary. In all kinds of weather have we lived together; but +now we are parted. I goes broken-hearted—I +can’t keep you company; ye are no longer Rommany. To +gain a bad brother, ye have lost a good mother.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">What Profession—Not Fitted for a +Churchman—Erratic Course—The Bitter +Draught—Principle of Woe—Thou Wouldst be +Joyous—What Ails You?—Poor Child of Clay.</p> +<p>So the gypsies departed: Mrs. Herne to Yorkshire, and the rest +to London: as for myself, I continued in the house of my parents, +passing my time in much the same manner as I have already +described, principally in philological pursuits: but I was now +sixteen, and it was highly necessary that I should adopt some +profession, unless I intended to fritter away my existence, and +to be a useless burden to those who had given me birth: but what +profession was I to choose? there being none in the wide world +perhaps for which I was suited; nor was there any one for which I +felt any decided inclination, though perhaps there existed within +me a lurking penchant for the profession of arms, which was +natural enough, as, from my earliest infancy, I had been +accustomed to military sights and sounds; but this profession was +then closed, as I have already hinted, and, as I believe, it has +since continued, <!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 83</span>to those who, like myself, had no +better claims to urge than the services of a father.</p> +<p>My father, who, for certain reasons of his own, had no very +high opinion of the advantages resulting from this career, would +have gladly seen me enter the Church. His desire was, +however, considerably abated by one or two passages of my life, +which occurred to his recollection. He particularly dwelt +on the unheard-of manner in which I had picked up the Irish +language, and drew from thence the conclusion that I was not +fitted by nature to cut a respectable figure at an English +university. “He will fly off in a tangent,” +said he, “and, when called upon to exhibit his skill in +Greek, will be found proficient in Irish; I have observed the +poor lad attentively, and really do not know what to make of him; +but I am afraid he will never make a churchman!” And +I have no doubt that my excellent father was right, both in his +premises and the conclusion at which he arrived. I had +undoubtedly, at one period of my life, forsaken Greek for Irish, +and the instructions of a learned Protestant divine for those of +a Papist gassoon, the card-fancying Murtagh; and of late, though +I kept it a strict secret, I had abandoned in a great measure the +study of the beautiful Italian, and the recitation of the +sonorous terzets of the Divine Comedy, in which at one time I +took the greatest delight, in order to become acquainted with the +broken speech, and yet more broken songs, of certain houseless +wanderers whom I had met at a horse fair. Such an erratic +course was certainly by no means in consonance with the sober and +unvarying routine of college study. And my father, who was +a man of excellent common sense, displayed it, in not pressing me +to adopt a profession which required qualities of mind which he +saw I did not possess.</p> +<p>Other professions were talked of, amongst which the law; but +now an event occurred which had nearly stopped my career, and +merged all minor points of solicitude in anxiety of my +life. My strength and appetite suddenly deserted me, and I +began to pine and droop. Some said that I had overgrown +myself, and that these were the symptoms of a rapid decline; I +grew worse and worse, and was soon stretched upon my bed, from +which it seemed scarcely probable that I should ever more rise, +the physicians themselves giving but slight hopes of my recovery: +as for myself, I made up my mind to die, and felt quite +resigned. I was sadly ignorant at that time, and, when I +thought of death, it appeared to me little else than a pleasant +sleep, and I wished for sleep, of which I got but little. +It was well that I did not die that time, for I repeat that I was +sadly ignorant of many important things. I did not die, for +somebody coming, gave me a strange, bitter draught; a decoction, +I believe, of a bitter root which grows on commons and desolate +places: and the person who gave it me was an ancient female, a +kind of doctress, who had been my nurse in my infancy, and who, +hearing of my state, had come to see me; so I drank the draught, +and became a little better, and I continued taking draughts made +from the bitter root till I manifested symptoms of +convalescence.</p> +<p>But how much more quickly does strength desert the human frame +<!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>than return to it! I had become convalescent, it +is true, but my state of feebleness was truly pitiable. I +believe it is in that state that the most remarkable feature of +human physiology frequently exhibits itself. Oh, how dare I +mention the dark feeling of mysterious dread which comes over the +mind, and which the lamp of reason, though burning bright the +while, is unable to dispel! Art thou, as leeches say, the +concomitant of disease—the result of shattered +nerves? Nay, rather the principle of woe itself, the +fountain head of all sorrow coexistent with man, whose influence +he feels when yet unborn, and whose workings he testifies with +his earliest cries, when, “drowned in tears,” he +first beholds the light; for, as the sparks fly upward, so is man +born to trouble, and woe doth he bring with him into the world, +even thyself, dark one, terrible one, causeless, unbegotten, +without a father. Oh, how unfrequently dost thou break down +the barriers which divide thee from the poor soul of man, and +overcast its sunshine with thy gloomy shadow. In the +brightest days of prosperity—in the midst of health and +wealth—how sentient is the poor human creature of thy +neighbourhood! how instinctively aware that the floodgates of +horror may be cast open, and the dark stream engulf him for ever +and ever! Then is it not lawful for man to exclaim, +“Better that I had never been born!” Fool, for +thyself thou wast not born, but to fulfil the inscrutable decrees +of thy Creator; and how dost thou know that this dark principle +is not, after all, thy best friend; that it is not that which +tempers the whole mass of thy corruption? It may be, for +what thou knowest, the mother of wisdom, and of great works: it +is the dread of the horror of the night that makes the pilgrim +hasten on his way. When thou feelest it nigh, let thy +safety word be “Onward;” if thou tarry, thou art +overwhelmed. Courage! build great works—’tis +urging thee—it is ever nearest the favourites of +God—the fool knows little of it. Thou wouldst be +joyous, wouldst thou? then be a fool. What great work was +ever the result of joy, the puny one? Who have been the +wise ones, the mighty ones, the conquering ones of this earth? +the joyous? I believe not. The fool is happy, or +comparatively so—certainly the least sorrowful, but he is +still a fool; and whose notes are sweetest, those of the +nightingale, or of the silly lark?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“What ails you, my child?” said a mother to her +son, as he lay on a couch under the influence of the dreadful +one; “what ails you? you seem afraid!”</p> +<p><i>Boy</i>. And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me.</p> +<p><i>Mother</i>. But of what? there is no one can harm +you; of what are you apprehensive?</p> +<p><i>Boy</i>. Of nothing that I can express; I know not +what I am afraid of, but afraid I am.</p> +<p><i>Mother</i>. Perhaps you see sights and visions; I +knew a lady once who was continually thinking that she saw an +armed man threaten her, but it was only an imagination, a phantom +of the brain.</p> +<p><i>Boy</i>. No armed man threatens me; and ’tis +not a thing that would cause me any fear. Did an armed man +threaten me, I would get up and <!-- page 85--><a +name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>fight him; +weak as I am, I would wish for nothing better, for then, perhaps, +I should lose this fear; mine is a dread of I know not what, and +there the horror lies.</p> +<p><i>Mother</i>. Your forehead is cool, and your speech +collected. Do you know where you are?</p> +<p><i>Boy</i>. I know where I am, and I see things just as +they are; you are beside me, and upon the table there is a book +which was written by a Florentine; all this I see, and that there +is no ground for being afraid. I am, moreover, quite cool, +and feel no pain—but, but—</p> +<p>And then there was a burst of “gemiti, sospiri ed alti +guai.” Alas, alas, poor child of clay! as the sparks +fly upward, so wast thou born to sorrow—Onward!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Agreeable Delusions—Youth—A +Profession—Ab Gwilym—Glorious English Law—There +They Pass—My Dear Old Master—The Deal +Desk—Language of the Tents—Where is Morfydd—Go +to—Only Once.</p> +<p>It has been said by this or that writer, I scarcely know by +whom, that in proportion as we grow old, and our time becomes +short, the swifter does it pass, until at last, as we approach +the borders of the grave, it assumes all the speed and +impetuosity of a river about to precipitate itself into an abyss; +this is doubtless the case, provided we can carry to the grave +those pleasant thoughts and delusions which alone render life +agreeable, and to which even to the very last we would gladly +cling; but what becomes of the swiftness of time, when the mind +sees the vanity of human pursuits? which is sure to be the case +when its fondest, dearest hopes have been blighted at the very +moment when the harvest was deemed secure. What becomes +from that moment, I repeat, of the shortness of time? I put +not the question to those who have never known that trial, they +are satisfied with themselves and all around them, with what they +have done, and yet hope to do; some carry their delusions with +them to the borders of the grave, ay, to the very moment when +they fall into it; a beautiful golden cloud surrounds them to the +last, and such talk of the shortness of time: through the medium +of that cloud the world has ever been a pleasant world to them; +their only regret is that they are so soon to quit it; but oh, ye +dear deluded hearts, it is not every one who is so fortunate!</p> +<p>To the generality of mankind there is no period like +youth. The generality are far from fortunate; but the +period of youth, even to the least so, offers moments of +considerable happiness, for they are not only disposed, but able +to enjoy most things within their reach. With what trifles +at that period are we content; the things from which in +after-life we should turn away in disdain please us then, for we +are in the midst of a golden cloud, and everything seems decked +with a golden hue. Never during any portion of my life did +time flow <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 86</span>on more speedily than during the two +or three years immediately succeeding the period to which we +arrived in the preceding chapter: since then it has flagged often +enough; sometimes it has seemed to stand entirely still; and the +reader may easily judge how it fares at the present, from the +circumstance of my taking pen in hand, and endeavouring to write +down the passages of my life—a last resource with most +people. But at the period to which I allude I was just, as +I may say, entering upon life; I had adopted a profession, +and—to keep up my character, simultaneously with that +profession—the study of a new language—I speedily +became a proficient in the one, but ever remained a novice in the +other: a novice in the law, but a perfect master in the Welsh +tongue.</p> +<p>Yes! very pleasant times were those, when within the womb of a +lofty deal desk, behind which I sat for some eight hours every +day, transcribing (when I imagined eyes were upon me) documents +of every description in every possible hand, Blackstone kept +company with Ab Gwilym—the polished English lawyer of the +last century, who wrote long and prosy chapters on the rights of +things—with a certain wild Welshman, who some four hundred +years before that time indited immortal cowydds and odes to the +wives of Cambrian chieftains—more particularly to one +Morfydd, the wife of a certain hunchbacked dignitary called by +the poet facetiously Bwa Bach—generally terminating with +the modest request of a little private parlance beneath the green +wood bough, with no other witness than the eos, or nightingale, a +request which, if the poet himself may be believed, rather a +doubtful point, was seldom, very seldom, denied. And by +what strange chance had Ab Gwilym and Blackstone, two personages +so exceedingly different, been thus brought together? From +what the reader already knows of me, he may be quite prepared to +find me reading the former; but what could have induced me to +take up Blackstone, or rather the law?</p> +<p>I have ever loved to be as explicit as possible; on which +account, perhaps, I never attained to any proficiency in the law, +the essence of which is said to be ambiguity; most questions may +be answered in a few words, and this among the rest, though +connected with the law. My parents deemed it necessary that +I should adopt some profession, they named the law; the law was +as agreeable to me as any other profession within my reach, so I +adopted the law, and the consequence was, that Blackstone, +probably for the first time, found himself in company with Ab +Gwilym. By adopting the law I had not ceased to be +Lav-engro.</p> +<p>So I sat behind a desk many hours in a day, ostensibly engaged +in transcribing documents of various kinds; the scene of my +labours was a strange old house, occupying one side of a long and +narrow court, into which, however, the greater number of the +windows looked not, but into an extensive garden, filled with +fruit trees, in the rear of a large, handsome house, belonging to +a highly respectable gentleman, who, <i>moyennant une douceur +considerable</i>, had consented to instruct my father’s +youngest son in the mysteries of glorious English law. Ah! +<!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>would that I could describe the good gentleman in the +manner which he deserves; he has long since sunk to his place in +a respectable vault, in the aisle of a very respectable church, +whilst an exceedingly respectable marble slab against the +neighbouring wall tells on a Sunday some eye wandering from its +prayer-book that his dust lies below; to secure such +respectabilities in death, he passed a most respectable +life. Let no one sneer, he accomplished much; his life was +peaceful, so was his death. Are these trifles? I wish +I could describe him, for I loved the man, and with reason, for +he was ever kind to me, to whom kindness has not always been +shown; and he was, moreover, a choice specimen of a class which +no longer exists—a gentleman lawyer of the old +school. I would fain describe him, but figures with which +he has nought to do press forward and keep him from my +mind’s eye; there they pass, Spaniard and Moor, Gypsy, +Turk, and livid Jew. But who is that? what that thick pursy +man in the loose, snuff-coloured great-coat, with the white +stockings, drab breeches, and silver buckles on his shoes; that +man with the bull neck, and singular head, immense in the lower +part, especially about the jaws, but tapering upward like a pear; +the man with the bushy brows, small grey eyes, replete with +cat-like expression, whose grizzled hair is cut close, and whose +ear-lobes are pierced with small golden rings? Oh! that is +not my dear old master, but a widely different personage. +<i>Bon jour</i>, <i>Monsieur Vidocq</i>! <i>expressions de ma +part à Monsieur Le Baron Taylor</i>. But here comes +at last my veritable old master!</p> +<p>A more respectable-looking individual was never seen; he +really looked what he was, a gentleman of the law—there was +nothing of the pettifogger about him: somewhat under the middle +size, and somewhat rotund in person, he was always dressed in a +full suit of black, never worn long enough to become +threadbare. His face was rubicund, and not without +keenness; but the most remarkable thing about him was the crown +of his head, which was bald, and shone like polished ivory, +nothing more white, smooth, and lustrous. Some people have +said that he wore false calves, probably because his black silk +stockings never exhibited a wrinkle; they might just as well have +said that he waddled, because his shoes creaked; for these last, +which were always without a speck, and polished as his crown, +though of a different hue, did creak, as he walked rather +slowly. I cannot say that I ever saw him walk fast.</p> +<p>He had a handsome practice, and might have died a very rich +man, much richer than he did, had he not been in the habit of +giving rather expensive dinners to certain great people, who gave +him nothing in return, except their company; I could never +discover his reasons for doing so, as he always appeared to me a +remarkably quiet man, by nature averse to noise and bustle; but +in all dispositions there are anomalies: I have already said that +he lived in a handsome house, and I may as well here add that he +had a very handsome wife, who both dressed and talked exceedingly +well.</p> +<p>So I sat behind the deal desk, engaged in copying documents of +various kinds; and in the apartment in which I sat, and in the +adjoining <!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 88</span>ones, there were others, some of them +likewise copied documents, while some were engaged in the yet +more difficult task of drawing them up; and some of these, sons +of nobody, were paid for the work they did, whilst others, like +myself, sons of somebody, paid for being permitted to work, +which, as our principal observed, was but reasonable, forasmuch +as we not unfrequently utterly spoiled the greater part of the +work intrusted to our hands.</p> +<p>There was one part of the day when I generally found myself +quite alone, I mean at the hour when the rest went home to their +principal meal; I, being the youngest, was left to take care of +the premises, to answer the bell, and so forth, till relieved, +which was seldom before the expiration of an hour and a half, +when I myself went home; this period, however, was anything but +disagreeable to me, for it was then that I did what best pleased +me, and, leaving off copying the documents, I sometimes indulged +in a fit of musing, my chin resting on both my hands, and my +elbows planted on the desk; or, opening the desk aforesaid, I +would take out one of the books contained within it, and the book +which I took out was almost invariably, not Blackstone, but Ab +Gwilym.</p> +<p>Ah, that Ab Gwilym! I am much indebted to him, and it +were ungrateful on my part not to devote a few lines to him and +his songs in this my history. Start not, reader, I am not +going to trouble you with a poetical dissertation; no, no! +I know my duty too well to introduce anything of the kind; but I, +who imagine I know several things, and amongst others the +workings of your mind at this moment, have an idea that you are +anxious to learn a little, a very little, more about Ab Gwilym +than I have hitherto told you, the two or three words that I have +dropped having awakened within you a languid kind of +curiosity. I have no hesitation in saying that he makes one +of the some half-dozen really great poets whose verses, in +whatever language they wrote, exist at the present day, and are +more or less known. It matters little how I first became +acquainted with the writings of this man, and how the short thick +volume, stuffed full with his immortal imaginings, first came +into my hands. I was studying Welsh, and I fell in with Ab +Gwilym by no very strange chance. But before I say more +about Ab Gwilym, I must be permitted—I really must—to +say a word or two about the language in which he wrote, that same +“Sweet Welsh.” If I remember right, I found the +language a difficult one; in mastering it, however, I derived +unexpected assistance from what of Irish remained in my head, and +I soon found that they were cognate dialects, springing from some +old tongue which itself, perhaps, had sprung from one much +older. And here I cannot help observing cursorily that I +every now and then, whilst studying this Welsh, generally +supposed to be the original tongue of Britain, encountered words +which, according to the lexicographers, were venerable words, +highly expressive, showing the wonderful power and originality of +the Welsh, in which, however, they were no longer used in common +discourse, but were relics, precious relics, of the first speech +of Britain, perhaps of the world; with which words, however, I +was already well acquainted, and which <!-- page 89--><a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>I had picked +up, not in learned books, classic books, and in tongues of old +renown, but whilst listening to Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno +talking over their everyday affairs in the language of the tents; +which circumstance did not fail to give rise to deep reflection +in those moments when, planting my elbows on the deal desk, I +rested my chin upon my hands. But it is probable that I +should have abandoned the pursuit of the Welsh language, after +obtaining a very superficial acquaintance with it, had it not +been for Ab Gwilym.</p> +<p>A strange songster was that who, pretending to be captivated +by every woman he saw, was, in reality, in love with nature +alone—wild, beautiful, solitary nature—her mountains +and cascades, her forests and streams, her birds, fishes, and +wild animals. Go to, Ab Gwilym, with thy pseudo-amatory +odes, to Morfydd, or this or that other lady, fair or ugly; +little didst thou care for any of them, Dame Nature was thy love, +however thou mayest seek to disguise the truth. Yes, yes, +send thy love-message to Morfydd, the fair wanton. By whom +dost thou send it, I would know? by the salmon, forsooth, which +haunts the rushing stream! the glorious salmon which bounds and +gambols in the flashing water, and whose ways and circumstances +thou so well describest—see, there he hurries upwards +through the flashing water. Halloo! what a glimpse of +glory—but where is Morfydd the while? What, another +message to the wife of Bwa Bach? Ay, truly; and by +whom?—the wind! the swift wind, the rider of the world, +whose course is not to be stayed; who gallops o’er the +mountain, and, when he comes to broadest river, asks neither for +boat nor ferry; who has described the wind so well—his +speed and power? But where is Morfydd? And now thou +art awaiting Morfydd, the wanton, the wife of the Bwa Bach; thou +art awaiting her beneath the tall trees, amidst the underwood; +but she comes not; no Morfydd is there. Quite right, Ab +Gwilym; what wantest thou with Morfydd? But another form is +nigh at hand, that of red Reynard, who, seated upon his chine at +the mouth of his cave, looks very composedly at thee; thou +startest, bendest thy bow, thy cross-bow, intending to hit +Reynard with the bolt just above the jaw; but the bow breaks, +Reynard barks and disappears into his cave, which by thine own +account reaches hell—and then thou ravest at the misfortune +of thy bow, and the non-appearance of Morfydd, and abusest +Reynard. Go to, thou carest neither for thy bow nor for +Morfydd, thou merely seekest an opportunity to speak of Reynard; +and who has described him like thee? the brute with the sharp +shrill cry, the black reverse of melody, whose face sometimes +wears a smile like the devil’s in the Evangile. But +now thou art actually with Morfydd; yes, she has stolen from the +dwelling of the Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath those +rocks—she is actually with thee, Ab Gwilym; but she is not +long with thee, for a storm comes on, and thunder shatters the +rocks—Morfydd flees! Quite right, Ab Gwilym; thou +hadst no need of her, a better theme for song is the voice of the +Lord—the rock shatterer—than the frail wife of the +Bwa Bach. Go to, Ab Gwilym, thou wast a wiser and a better +man than thou wouldst fain have had people believe.</p> +<p><!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>But enough of thee and thy songs! Those times +passed rapidly; with Ab Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of +enchanted ground, in which I experienced sensations akin to those +I had felt of yore whilst spelling my way through the wonderful +book—the delight of my childhood. I say akin, for +perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed wonder +and delight; and these I had already known.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Silver Gray—Good Word for +Everybody—A Remarkable Youth—Clients—Grades in +Society—The Archdeacon—Reading the Bible.</p> +<p>“I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in +putting this boy of ours to the law,” said my father to my +mother, as they sat together one summer evening in their little +garden, beneath the shade of some tall poplars.</p> +<p>Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned +against the wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had +sought rest, and, praise be to God, found it, after many a year +of poorly requited toil; there he sat, with locks of silver gray +which set off so nobly his fine bold but benevolent face, his +faithful consort at his side, and his trusty dog at his +feet—an eccentric animal of the genuine regimental breed, +who, born amongst red-coats, had not yet become reconciled to +those of any other hue, barking and tearing at them when they +drew near the door, but testifying his fond reminiscence of the +former by hospitable waggings of the tail whenever a uniform made +its appearance—at present a very unfrequent occurrence.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I have not done right in putting him to the +law,” said my father, resting his chin upon his gold-headed +bamboo cane.</p> +<p>“Why, what makes you think so?” said my +mother.</p> +<p>“I have been taking my usual evening walk up the road, +with the animal here,” said my father; “and, as I +walked along, I overtook the boy’s master, Mr. S---. +We shook hands, and, after walking a little way farther, we +turned back together, talking about this and that; the state of +the country, the weather, and the dog, which he greatly admired; +for he is a good-natured man, and has a good word for everybody, +though the dog all but bit him when he attempted to coax his +head; after the dog, we began talking about the boy; it was +myself who introduced that subject: I thought it was a good +opportunity to learn how he was getting on, so I asked what he +thought of my son; he hesitated at first, seeming scarcely to +know what to say; at length he came out with ‘Oh, a very +extraordinary youth, a most remarkable youth indeed, +captain!’ ‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘I am +glad to hear it, but I hope you find him steady?’ +‘Steady, steady,’ said he, ‘why, yes, +he’s steady, I cannot say that he is not +steady.’ ‘Come, come,’ said I, beginning +to be rather uneasy, ‘I see plainly that you are not +altogether satisfied with him; I was afraid you would not be, +for, though <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>he is my own son, I am anything but +blind to his imperfections: but do tell me what particular fault +you have to find with him; and I will do my best to make him +alter his conduct.’ ‘No fault to find with him, +captain, I assure you, no fault whatever; the youth is a +remarkable youth, an extraordinary youth, only’—As I +told you before, Mr. S--- is the best-natured man in the world, +and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get him +to say a single word to the disadvantage of the boy, for whom he +seems to entertain a very great regard. At last I forced +the truth from him, and grieved I was to hear it; though I must +confess that I was somewhat prepared for it. It appears +that the lad has a total want of discrimination.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand you,” said my +mother.</p> +<p>“You can understand nothing that would seem for a moment +to impugn the conduct of that child. I am not, however, so +blind; want of discrimination was the word, and it both sounds +well, and is expressive. It appears that, since he has been +placed where he is, he has been guilty of the grossest blunders; +only the other day, Mr. S--- told me, as he was engaged in close +conversation with one of his principal clients, the boy came to +tell him that a person wanted particularly to speak with him; +and, on going out, he found a lamentable figure with one eye, who +came to ask for charity; whom, nevertheless, the lad had ushered +into a private room, and installed in an arm chair, like a +justice of the peace, instead of telling him to go about his +business—now what did that show, but a total want of +discrimination?”</p> +<p>“I wish we may never have anything worse to reproach him +with,” said my mother.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what worse we could reproach him +with,” said my father: “I mean of course as far as +his profession is concerned: discrimination is the very +key-stone; if he treated all people alike, he would soon become a +beggar himself; there are grades in society as well as in the +army; and according to those grades we should fashion our +behaviour, else there would instantly be an end of all order and +discipline. I am afraid that the child is too condescending +to his inferiors, whilst to his superiors he is apt to be +unbending enough; I don’t believe that would do in the +world; I am sure it would not in the army. He told me +another anecdote with respect to his behaviour, which shocked me +more than the other had done. It appears that his wife, +who, by the by, is a very fine woman, and highly fashionable, +gave him permission to ask the boy to tea one evening, for she is +herself rather partial to the lad; there had been a great dinner +party there that day, and there were a great many fashionable +people, so the boy went and behaved very well and modestly for +some time, and was rather noticed, till, unluckily, a very great +gentleman, an archdeacon I think, put some questions to him, and, +finding that he understood the languages, began talking to him +about the classics. What do you think? the boy had the +impertinence to say that the classics were much overvalued, and +amongst other things that some horrid fellow or other, some +Welshman I think (thank God it was not an Irishman), was a better +poet than Ovid; the company were of course horrified; the +archdeacon, <!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>who is seventy years of age, and has +seven thousand a year, took snuff and turned away. Mrs. +S--- turned up her eyes, Mr. S---, however, told me with his +usual good-nature (I suppose to spare my feelings) that he rather +enjoyed the thing, and thought it a capital joke.”</p> +<p>“I think so too,” said my mother.</p> +<p>“I do not,” said my father; “that a boy of +his years should entertain an opinion of his own—I mean one +which militates against all established authority—is +astounding; as well might a raw recruit pretend to offer an +unfavourable opinion on the manual and platoon exercise; the idea +is preposterous; the lad is too independent by half. I +never yet knew one of an independent spirit get on in the army; +the secret of success in the army is the spirit of +subordination.”</p> +<p>“Which is a poor spirit after all,” said my +mother; “but the child is not in the army.”</p> +<p>“And it is well for him that he is not,” said my +father; “but you do not talk wisely, the world is a field +of battle, and he who leaves the ranks, what can he expect but to +be cut down? I call his present behaviour leaving the +ranks, and going vapouring about without orders; his only chance +lies in falling in again as quick as possible; does he think he +can carry the day by himself? an opinion of his own at these +years—I confess I am exceedingly uneasy about the +lad.”</p> +<p>“You make me uneasy too,” said my mother; +“but I really think you are too hard upon the child; after +all, though not, perhaps, all you could wish him; he is always +ready to read the Bible. Let us go in; he is in the room +above us; at least he was two hours ago, I left him there bending +over his books; I wonder what he has been doing all this time, it +is now getting late; let us go in, and he shall read to +us.”</p> +<p>“I am getting old,” said my father; “and I +love to hear the Bible read to me, for my own sight is something +dim; yet I do not wish the child to read to me this night, I +cannot so soon forget what I have heard; but I hear my eldest +son’s voice, he is now entering the gate; he shall read the +Bible to us this night. What say you?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Eldest Son—Saying of Wild +Finland—The Critical Time—Vaunting Polls—One +Thing Wanted—A Father’s Blessing—Miracle of +Art—The Pope’s House—Young +Enthusiast—Pictures of England—Persist and +Wrestle—The Little Dark Man.</p> +<p>The eldest son! The regard and affection which my father +entertained for his first-born were natural enough, and appeared +to none more so than myself, who cherished the same feelings +towards him. What he was as a boy the reader already knows, +for the reader has seen him as a boy; fain would I describe him +at the time of which I am now speaking, when he had attained the +verge of manhood, but the pen fails me, and I attempt not the +task; and yet it ought to be an <!-- page 93--><a +name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>easy one, for +how frequently does his form visit my mind’s eye in slumber +and in wakefulness, in the light of day, and in the night +watches; but last night I saw him in his beauty and his strength; +he was about to speak, and my ear was on the stretch, when at +once I awoke, and there was I alone, and the night storm was +howling amidst the branches of the pines which surround my lonely +dwelling: “Listen to the moaning of the pine, at whose root +thy hut is fastened,”—a saying that, of wild Finland, +in which there is wisdom; I listened, and thought of life and +death. . . . Of all human beings that I had ever known, that +elder brother was the most frank and generous, ay, and the +quickest and readiest, and the best adapted to do a great thing +needful at the critical time, when the delay of a moment would be +fatal. I have known him dash from a steep bank into a +stream in his full dress, and pull out a man who was drowning; +yet there were twenty others bathing in the water, who might have +saved him by putting out a hand, without inconvenience to +themselves, which, however, they did not do, but stared with +stupid surprise at the drowning one’s struggles. Yes, +whilst some shouted from the bank to those in the water to save +the drowning one, and those in the water did nothing, my brother +neither shouted nor stood still, but dashed from the bank and did +the one thing needful, which, under such circumstances, not one +man in a million would have done. Now, who can wonder that +a brave old man should love a son like this, and prefer him to +any other?</p> +<p>“My boy, my own boy, you are the very image of myself, +the day I took off my coat in the park to fight Big Ben,” +said my father, on meeting his son wet and dripping, immediately +after his bold feat. And who cannot excuse the honest pride +of the old man—the stout old man?</p> +<p>Ay, old man, that son was worthy of thee, and thou wast worthy +of such a son; a noble specimen wast thou of those strong +single-minded Englishmen who, without making a parade either of +religion or loyalty, feared God and honoured their king, and were +not particularly friendly to the French, whose vaunting polls +they occasionally broke, as at Minden and Malplaquet, to the +confusion vast of the eternal foes of the English land. I, +who was so little like thee that thou understoodest me not, and +in whom with justice thou didst feel so little pride, had yet +perception enough to see all thy worth, and to feel it an honour +to be able to call myself thy son; and if at some no distant +time, when the foreign enemy ventures to insult our shore, I be +permitted to break some vaunting poll, it will be a triumph to me +to think that, if thou hadst lived, thou wouldst have hailed the +deed, and mightest yet discover some distant resemblance to +thyself, the day when thou didst all but vanquish the mighty +Brain.</p> +<p>I have already spoken of my brother’s taste for +painting, and the progress he had made in that beautiful +art. It is probable that, if circumstances had not +eventually diverted his mind from the pursuit, he would have +attained excellence, and left behind him some enduring monument +of his powers, for he had an imagination to conceive, and that +yet rarer endowment, a hand capable of giving life, body, and +<!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>reality to the conceptions of his mind; perhaps he +wanted one thing, the want of which is but too often fatal to the +sons of genius, and without which genius is little more than a +splendid toy in the hands of the possessor—perseverance, +dogged perseverance, in his proper calling; otherwise, though the +grave had closed over him, he might still be living in the +admiration of his fellow-creatures. O ye gifted ones, +follow your calling, for, however various your talents may be, ye +can have but one calling capable of leading ye to eminence and +renown; follow resolutely the one straight path before you, it is +that of your good angel, let neither obstacles nor temptations +induce ye to leave it; bound along if you can; if not, on hands +and knees follow it, perish in it, if needful; but ye need not +fear that; no one ever yet died in the true path of his calling +before he had attained the pinnacle. Turn into other paths, +and for a momentary advantage or gratification ye have sold your +inheritance, your immortality. Ye will never be heard of +after death.</p> +<p>“My father has given me a hundred and fifty +pounds,” said my brother to me one morning, “and +something which is better—his blessing. I am going to +leave you.”</p> +<p>“And where are you going?”</p> +<p>“Where? to the great city; to London, to be +sure.”</p> +<p>“I should like to go with you.”</p> +<p>“Pooh,” said my brother, “what should you do +there? But don’t be discouraged, I dare say a time +will come when you too will go to London.”</p> +<p>And, sure enough, so it did, and all but too soon.</p> +<p>“And what do you purpose doing there?” I +demanded.</p> +<p>“Oh, I go to improve myself in art, to place myself +under some master of high name, at least I hope to do so +eventually. I have, however, a plan in my head, which I +should wish first to execute; indeed, I do not think I can rest +till I have done so; every one talks so much about Italy, and the +wondrous artists which it has produced, and the wondrous pictures +which are to be found there; now I wish to see Italy, or rather +Rome, the great city, for I am told that in a certain room there +is contained the grand miracle of art.”</p> +<p>“And what do you call it?”</p> +<p>“The Transfiguration, painted by one Rafael, and it is +said to be the greatest work of the greatest painter which the +world has ever known. I suppose it is because everybody +says so, that I have such a strange desire to see it. I +have already made myself well acquainted with its locality, and +think that I could almost find my way to it blindfold. When +I have crossed the Tiber, which, as you are aware, runs through +Rome, I must presently turn to the right, up a rather shabby +street, which communicates with a large square, the farther end +of which is entirely occupied by the front of an immense church, +with a dome, which ascends almost to the clouds, and this church +they call St. Peter’s.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said I, “I have read about that in +Keysler’s Travels.”</p> +<p>“Before the church, in the square, are two fountains, +one on either <!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 95</span>side, casting up water in showers; +between them, in the midst, is an obelisk, brought from Egypt, +and covered with mysterious writing; on your right rises an +edifice, not beautiful nor grand, but huge and bulky, where lives +a strange kind of priest whom men call the Pope, a very horrible +old individual, who would fain keep Christ in leading-strings, +calls the Virgin Mary the Queen of Heaven, and himself +God’s Lieutenant-General upon earth.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said I, “I have read of him in +Fox’s Book of Martyrs.”</p> +<p>“Well, I do not go straight forward up the flight of +steps conducting into the church, but I turn to the right, and, +passing under the piazza, find myself in a court of the huge +bulky house; and then ascend various staircases, and pass along +various corridors and galleries, all of which I could describe to +you, though I have never seen them; at last a door is unlocked, +and we enter a room rather high, but not particularly large, +communicating with another room, into which, however, I do not +go, though there are noble things in that second +room—immortal things, by immortal artists; amongst others, +a grand piece of Corregio; I do not enter it, for the grand +picture of the world is not there: but I stand still immediately +on entering the first room, and I look straight before me, +neither to the right nor left, though there are noble things both +on the right and left, for immediately before me at the farther +end, hanging against the wall, is a picture which arrests me, and +I can see nothing else, for that picture at the farther end +hanging against the wall is the picture of the world . . +.”</p> +<p>Yes, go thy way, young enthusiast, and, whether to London town +or to old Rome, may success attend thee; yet strange fears assail +me and misgivings on thy account. Thou canst not rest, thou +say’st, till thou hast seen the picture in the chamber at +old Rome hanging over against the wall; ay, and thus thou dost +exemplify thy weakness—thy strength too, it may +be—for the one idea, fantastic yet lovely, which now +possesses thee, could only have originated in a genial and +fervent brain. Well, go, if thou must go; yet it perhaps +were better for thee to bide in thy native land, and there, with +fear and trembling, with groanings, with straining eyeballs, +toil, drudge, slave, till thou hast made excellence thine own; +thou wilt scarcely acquire it by staring at the picture over +against the door in the high chamber of old Rome. Seekest +thou inspiration? thou needest it not, thou hast it already; and +it was never yet found by crossing the sea. What hast thou +to do with old Rome, and thou an Englishman? “Did thy +blood never glow at the mention of thy native land?” as an +artist merely? Yes, I trow, and with reason, for thy native +land need not grudge old Rome her “pictures of the +world;” she has pictures of her own, “pictures of +England;” and is it a new thing to toss up caps and +shout—England against the world? Yes, against the +world in all, in all; in science and in arms, in minstrel strain, +and not less in the art “which enables the hand to deceive +the intoxicated soul by means of pictures.” <a +name="citation95"></a><a href="#footnote95" +class="citation">[95]</a> Seek’st models? to +Gainsborough and Hogarth turn, not names of the world, may be, +but English names—and England against the world? A +living master? <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>why, there he comes! thou hast had +him long, he has long guided thy young hand towards the +excellence which is yet far from thee, but which thou canst +attain if thou shouldst persist and wrestle, even as he has done, +midst gloom and despondency—ay, and even contempt; he who +now comes up the creaking stair to thy little studio in the +second floor to inspect thy last effort before thou departest, +the little stout man whose face is very dark, and whose eye is +vivacious; that man has attained excellence, destined some day to +be acknowledged, though not till he is cold, and his mortal part +returned to its kindred clay. He has painted, not pictures +of the world, but English pictures, such as Gainsborough himself +might have done; beautiful rural pieces, with trees which might +well tempt the little birds to perch upon them: thou needest not +run to Rome, brother, where lives the old Mariolater, after +pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of +England; nor needest thou even go to London, the big city, in +search of a master, for thou hast one at home in the old East +Anglian town who can instruct thee whilst thou needest +instruction: better stay at home, brother, at least for a season, +and toil and strive ’midst groanings and despondency till +thou hast attained excellence even as he has done—the +little dark man with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name +will one day be considered the chief ornament of the old town, +and whose works will at no distant period rank amongst the +proudest pictures of England—and England against the +world!—thy master, my brother, thy, at present, all too +little considered master—Crome.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Desire for Novelty—Lives of the +Lawless—Countenances—Old Yeoman and Dame—We +Live near the Sea—Uncouth-looking Volume—The Other +Condition—Draoitheac—A Dilemma—The +Antinomian—Lodowick Muggleton—Almost +Blind—Anders Vedel.</p> +<p>But to proceed with my own story; I now ceased all at once to +take much pleasure in the pursuits which formerly interested me, +I yawned over Ab Gwilym; even as I now in my mind’s eye +perceive the reader yawning over the present pages. What +was the cause of this? Constitutional lassitude, or a +desire for novelty? Both it is probable had some influence +in the matter, but I rather think that the latter feeling was +predominant. The parting words of my brother had sunk into +my mind. He had talked of travelling in strange regions and +seeing strange and wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to +work and drew pictures of adventures wild and fantastic, and I +thought what a fine thing it must be to travel, and I wished that +my father would give me his blessing, and the same sum that he +had given my brother, and bid me go forth into the world; always +forgetting that I had neither talents nor energies at this period +which would enable me to make any successful figure on its +stage.</p> +<p><!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>And then I again sought up the book which had so +captivated me in my infancy, and I read it through; and I sought +up others of a similar character, and in seeking for them I met +books also of adventure, but by no means of a harmless +description, lives of wicked and lawless men, Murray and +Latroon—books of singular power, but of coarse and prurient +imagination—books at one time highly in vogue; now +deservedly forgotten, and most difficult to be found.</p> +<p>And when I had gone through these books, what was my state of +mind? I had derived entertainment from their perusal, but +they left me more listless and unsettled than before, and I +really knew not what to do to pass my time. My philological +studies had become distasteful, and I had never taken any +pleasure in the duties of my profession. I sat behind my +desk in a state of torpor, my mind almost as blank as the paper +before me, on which I rarely traced a line. It was always a +relief to hear the bell ring, as it afforded me an opportunity of +doing something which I was yet capable of doing, to rise and +open the door and stare in the countenances of the +visitors. All of a sudden I fell to studying countenances, +and soon flattered myself that I had made considerable progress +in the science.</p> +<p>“There is no faith in countenances,” said some +Roman of old; “trust anything but a person’s +countenance.” “Not trust a man’s +countenance?” say some moderns, “why, it is the only +thing in many people that we can trust; on which account they +keep it most assiduously out of the way. Trust not a +man’s words if you please, or you may come to very +erroneous conclusions; but at all times place implicit confidence +in a man’s countenance, in which there is no deceit; and of +necessity there can be none. If people would but look each +other more in the face, we should have less cause to complain of +the deception of the world; nothing so easy as physiognomy nor so +useful.” Somewhat in this latter strain I thought, at +the time of which I am speaking. I am now older, and, let +us hope, less presumptuous. It is true that in the course +of my life I have scarcely ever had occasion to repent placing +confidence in individuals whose countenances have prepossessed me +in their favour; though to how many I may have been unjust, from +whose countenances I may have drawn unfavourable conclusions, is +another matter.</p> +<p>But it had been decreed by that Fate which governs our every +action, that I was soon to return to my old pursuits. It +was written that I should not yet cease to be Lav-engro, though I +had become, in my own opinion, a kind of Lavater. It is +singular enough that my renewed ardour for philology seems to +have been brought about indirectly by my physiognomical +researches, in which had I not indulged, the event which I am +about to relate, as far as connected with myself, might never +have occurred. Amongst the various countenances which I +admitted during the period of my answering the bell, there were +two which particularly pleased me, and which belonged to an +elderly yeoman and his wife, whom some little business had +brought to our law sanctuary. I believe they experienced +from me some kindness and attention, which won the old +people’s hearts. So, one day, when their little +business <!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>had been brought to a conclusion, and +they chanced to be alone with me, who was seated as usual behind +the deal desk in the outer room, the old man with some confusion +began to tell me how grateful himself and dame felt for the many +attentions I had shown them, and how desirous they were to make +me some remuneration. “Of course,” said the old +man, “we must be cautious what we offer to so fine a young +gentleman as yourself; we have, however, something we think will +just suit the occasion, a strange kind of thing which people say +is a book, though no one that my dame or myself have shown it to +can make anything out of it; so as we are told that you are a +fine young gentleman, who can read all the tongues of the earth +and stars, as the Bible says, we thought, I and my dame, that it +would be just the thing you would like; and my dame has it now at +the bottom of her basket.”</p> +<p>“A book,” said I, “how did you come by +it?”</p> +<p>“We live near the sea,” said the old man; +“so near that sometimes our thatch is wet with the spray; +and it may now be a year ago that there was a fearful storm, and +a ship was driven ashore during the night, and ere the morn was a +complete wreck. When we got up at daylight, there were the +poor shivering crew at our door; they were foreigners, red-haired +men, whose speech we did not understand; but we took them in, and +warmed them, and they remained with us three days; and when they +went away they left behind them this thing, here it is, part of +the contents of a box which was washed ashore.”</p> +<p>“And did you learn who they were?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes; they made us understand that they were +Danes.”</p> +<p>Danes! thought I, Danes! and instantaneously, huge and +grizzly, appeared to rise up before my vision the skull of the +old pirate Dane, even as I had seen it of yore in the pent-house +of the ancient church to which, with my mother and my brother, I +had wandered on the memorable summer eve.</p> +<p>And now the old man handed me the book; a strange and +uncouth-looking volume enough. It was not very large, but +instead of the usual covering was bound in wood, and was +compressed with strong iron clasps. It was a printed book, +but the pages were not of paper, but vellum, and the characters +were black, and resembled those generally termed Gothic.</p> +<p>“It is certainly a curious book,” said I; +“and I should like to have it, but I can’t think of +taking it as a gift, I must give you an equivalent, I never take +presents from anybody.”</p> +<p>The old man whispered with his dame and chuckled, and then +turned his face to me, and said, with another chuckle, +“Well, we have agreed about the price; but, may be, you +will not consent.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said I; “what do you +demand?”</p> +<p>“Why, that you shake me by the hand, and hold out your +cheek to my old dame, she has taken an affection to +you.”</p> +<p>“I shall be very glad to shake you by the hand,” +said I, “but as for the other condition it requires +consideration.”</p> +<p>“No consideration at all,” said the old man, with +something like a sigh; “she thinks you like her son, our +only child, that was lost twenty years ago in the waves of the +North Sea.”</p> +<p><!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>“Oh, that alters the case altogether,” said +I, “and of course I can have no objection.”</p> +<p>And now, at once, I shook off my listlessness, to enable me to +do which nothing could have happened more opportune than the +above event. The Danes, the Danes! And I was at last +to become acquainted, and in so singular a manner, with the +speech of a people which had as far back as I could remember +exercised the strongest influence over my imagination, as how +should they not!—in infancy there was the summer-eve +adventure, to which I often looked back, and always with a kind +of strange interest, with respect to those to whom such gigantic +and wondrous bones could belong as I had seen on that occasion; +and, more than this, I had been in Ireland, and there, under +peculiar circumstances, this same interest was increased +tenfold. I had mingled much whilst there, with the genuine +Irish—a wild, but kind-hearted race, whose conversation was +deeply imbued with traditionary lore, connected with the early +history of their own romantic land, and from them I heard enough +of the Danes, but nothing commonplace, for they never mentioned +them but in terms which tallied well with my own preconceived +ideas. For at an early period the Danes had invaded +Ireland, and had subdued it, and, though eventually driven out, +had left behind them an enduring remembrance in the minds of the +people, who loved to speak of their strength and their stature, +in evidence of which they would point to the ancient raths or +mounds, where the old Danes were buried, and where bones of +extraordinary size were occasionally exhumed. And as the +Danes surpassed other people in strength, so, according to my +narrators, they also excelled all others in wisdom, or rather in +Draoitheac, or Magic, for they were powerful sorcerers, they +said, compared with whom the fairy men of the present day knew +nothing at all, at all; and, amongst other wonderful things, they +knew how to make strong beer from the heather that grows upon the +bogs. Little wonder if the interest, the mysterious +interest, which I had early felt about the Danes, was increased +tenfold by my sojourn in Ireland.</p> +<p>And now I had in my possession a Danish book, which, from its +appearance, might be supposed to have belonged to the very old +Danes indeed; but how was I to turn it to any account? I +had the book, it is true, but I did not understand the language, +and how was I to overcome that difficulty? hardly by poring over +the book; yet I did pore over the book, daily and nightly, till +my eyes were dim, and it appeared to me every now and then I +encountered words which I understood—English words, though +strangely disguised; and I said to myself, courage! English +and Danish are cognate dialects, a time will come when I shall +understand this Danish; and then I pored over the book again, but +with all my poring I could not understand it; and then I became +angry, and I bit my lips till the blood came; and I occasionally +tore a handful from my hair, and flung it upon the floor, but +that did not mend the matter, for still I did not understand the +book, which, however, I began to see was written in rhyme—a +circumstance rather difficult to discover at first, the +arrangement of the lines not differing <!-- page 100--><a +name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>from that +which is employed in prose; and its being written in rhyme made +me only the more eager to understand it.</p> +<p>But I toiled in vain, for I had neither grammar nor dictionary +of the language; and when I sought for them could procure +neither; and I was much dispirited, till suddenly a bright +thought came into my head, and I said, although I cannot obtain a +dictionary or grammar, I can perhaps obtain a Bible in this +language, and if I can procure a Bible, I can learn the language, +for the Bible in every tongue contains the same thing, and I have +only to compare the words of the Danish Bible with those of the +English, and, if I persevere, I shall in time acquire the +language of the Danes; and I was pleased with the thought, which +I considered to be a bright one, and I no longer bit my lips, or +tore my hair, but took my hat, and, going forth, I flung my hat +into the air.</p> +<p>And when my hat came down, I put it on my head and commenced +running, directing my course to the house of the Antinomian +preacher, who sold books, and whom I knew to have Bibles in +various tongues amongst the number, and I arrived out of breath, +and I found the Antinomian in his little library, dusting his +books; and the Antinomian clergyman was a tall man of about +seventy, who wore a hat with a broad brim and a shallow crown, +and whose manner of speaking was exceedingly nasal; and when I +saw him, I cried, out of breath, “Have you a Danish +Bible?” and he replied, “What do you want it for, +friend?” and I answered, “to learn Danish by;” +“and may be to learn thy duty,” replied the +Antinomian preacher. “Truly, I have it not; but, as +you are a customer of mine, I will endeavour to procure you one, +and I will write to that laudable society which men call the +Bible Society, an unworthy member of which I am, and I hope by +next week to procure what you desire.”</p> +<p>And when I heard these words of the old man, I was very glad, +and my heart yearned towards him, and I would fain enter into +conversation with him; and I said, “Why are you an +Antinomian? For my part, I would rather be a dog than +belong to such a religion.” “Nay, +friend,” said the Antinomian, “thou forejudgest us; +know that those who call us Antinomians call us so despitefully, +we do not acknowledge the designation.” “Then +you do not set all law at nought?” said I. “Far +be it from us,” said the old man, “we only hope that, +being sanctified by the Spirit from above, we have no need of the +law to keep us in order. Did you ever hear tell of Lodowick +Muggleton?” “Not I.” “That is +strange; know then that he was the founder of our poor society, +and after him we are frequently, though opprobriously, termed +Muggletonians, for we are Christians. Here is his book, +which, perhaps, you can do no better than purchase, you are fond +of rare books, and this is both curious and rare; I will sell it +cheap. Thank you, and now be gone, I will do all I can to +procure the Bible.”</p> +<p>And in this manner I procured the Danish Bible, and I +commenced my task; first of all, however, I locked up in a closet +the volume which had excited my curiosity, saying, “Out of +this closet thou comest not till I deem myself competent to read +thee,” and then I sat down in right earnest, comparing +every line in the one version with the corresponding <!-- page +101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>one in the other; and I passed entire nights in this +manner, till I was almost blind, and the task was tedious enough +at first, but I quailed not, and soon began to make progress: and +at first I had a misgiving that the old book might not prove a +Danish book, but was soon reassured by reading many words in the +Bible which I remembered to have seen in the book; and then I +went on right merrily, and I found that the language which I was +studying was by no means a difficult one, and in less than a +month I deemed myself able to read the book.</p> +<p>Anon, I took the book from the closet, and proceeded to make +myself master of its contents; I had some difficulty, for the +language of the book, though in the main the same as the language +of the Bible, differed from it in some points, being apparently a +more ancient dialect; by degrees, however, I overcame this +difficulty, and I understood the contents of the book, and well +did they correspond with all those ideas in which I had indulged +connected with the Danes. For the book was a book of +ballads, about the deeds of knights and champions, and men of +huge stature; ballads which from time immemorial had been sung in +the North, and which some two centuries before the time of which +I am speaking had been collected by one Anders Vedel, who lived +with a certain Tycho Brahe, and assisted him in making +observations upon the heavenly bodies, at a place called Uranias +Castle, on the little island of Hveen, in the Cattegat.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Two Individuals—The Long +Pipe—The Germans—Werther—The Female +Quaker—Suicide—Gibbon—Jesus of +Bethlehem—Fill Your Glass—Shakespeare—English +at Minden—Melancholy Swayne Vonved—The Fifth +Dinner—Strange Doctrines—Are You Happy?—Improve +Yourself in German.</p> +<p>It might be some six months after the events last recorded, +that two individuals were seated together in a certain room, in a +certain street of the old town which I have so frequently had +occasion to mention in the preceding pages; one of them was an +elderly, and the other a very young man, and they sat on either +side of the fire-place, beside a table, on which were fruit and +wine; the room was a small one, and in its furniture exhibited +nothing remarkable. Over the mantel-piece, however, hung a +small picture with naked figures in the foreground, and with much +foliage behind. It might not have struck every beholder, +for it looked old and smoke-dried; but a connoisseur, on +inspecting it closely, would have pronounced it to be a Judgment +of Paris, and a masterpiece of the Flemish school.</p> +<p>The forehead of the elder individual was high, and perhaps +appeared more so than it really was, from the hair being +carefully brushed back, as if for the purpose of displaying to +the best advantage that part of the cranium; his eyes were large +and full, and of a light brown, and might <!-- page 102--><a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>have been +called heavy and dull, had they not been occasionally lighted up +by a sudden gleam—not so brilliant however as that which at +every inhalation shone from the bowl of the long clay pipe which +he was smoking, but which, from a certain sucking sound which, +about this time, began to be heard from the bottom, appeared to +be giving notice that it would soon require replenishment from a +certain canister, which, together with a lighted taper, stood +upon the table beside him.</p> +<p>“You do not smoke?” said he, at length, laying +down his pipe, and directing his glance to his companion.</p> +<p>Now there was at least one thing singular connected with this +last, the colour of his hair, which, notwithstanding his extreme +youth, appeared to be rapidly becoming grey. He had very +long limbs, and was apparently tall of stature, in which he +differed from his elderly companion, who must have been somewhat +below the usual height.</p> +<p>“No, I can’t smoke,” said the youth in reply +to the observation of the other. “I have often tried, +but could never succeed to my satisfaction.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible to become a good German without +smoking?” said the senior, half speaking to himself.</p> +<p>“I daresay not,” said the youth; “but I +shan’t break my heart on that account.”</p> +<p>“As for breaking your heart, of course you would never +think of such a thing; he is a fool who breaks his heart on any +account; but it is good to be a German, the Germans are the most +philosophic people in the world, and the greatest smokers: now I +trace their philosophy to their smoking.”</p> +<p>“I have heard say their philosophy is all smoke—is +that your opinion?”</p> +<p>“Why, no; but smoking has a sedative effect upon the +nerves, and enables a man to bear the sorrows of this life (of +which every one has his share) not only decently, but +dignifiedly. Suicide is not a national habit in Germany, as +it is in England.”</p> +<p>“But that poor creature, Werther, who committed suicide, +was a German.”</p> +<p>“Werther is a fictitious character, and by no means a +felicitous one; I am no admirer either of Werther or his +author. But I should say that, if there ever was a Werther +in Germany, he did not smoke. Werther, as you very justly +observe, was a poor creature.”</p> +<p>“And a very sinful one; I have heard my parents say that +suicide is a great crime.”</p> +<p>“Broadly, and without qualification, to say that suicide +is a crime, is speaking somewhat unphilosophically. No +doubt suicide, under many circumstances, is a crime, a very +heinous one. When the father of a family, for example, to +escape from certain difficulties, commits suicide, he commits a +crime; there are those around him who look to him for support, by +the law of nature, and he has no right to withdraw himself from +those who have a claim upon his exertions; he is a person who +decamps with other people’s goods as well as his own. +Indeed, there can be no crime which is not founded upon the +depriving others of something which belongs to them. A man +is hanged for setting fire to <!-- page 103--><a +name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>his house +in a crowded city, for he burns at the same time or damages those +of other people; but if a man who has a house on a heath sets +fire to it, he is not hanged, for he has not damaged or +endangered any other individual’s property, and the +principle of revenge, upon which all punishment is founded, has +not been aroused. Similar to such a case is that of the man +who, without any family ties, commits suicide; for example, were +I to do the thing this evening, who would have a right to call me +to account? I am alone in the world, have no family to +support, and, so far from damaging any one, should even benefit +my heir by my accelerated death. However, I am no advocate +for suicide under any circumstances; there is something +undignified in it, unheroic, un-Germanic. But if you must +commit suicide—and there is no knowing to what people may +be brought—always contrive to do it as decorously as +possible; the decencies, whether of life or of death, should +never be lost sight of. I remember a female Quaker who +committed suicide by cutting her throat, but she did it +decorously and decently: kneeling down over a pail, so that not +one drop fell upon the floor; thus exhibiting in her last act +that nice sense of sweetness for which Quakers are +distinguished. I have always had a respect for that +woman’s memory.”</p> +<p>And here, filling his pipe from the canister, and lighting it +at the taper, he recommenced smoking calmly and sedately.</p> +<p>“But is not suicide forbidden in the Bible?” the +youth demanded.</p> +<p>“Why, no; but what though it were!—the Bible is a +respectable book, but I should hardly call it one whose +philosophy is of the soundest. I have said that it is a +respectable book; I mean respectable from its antiquity, and from +containing, as Herder says, ‘the earliest records of the +human race,’ though those records are far from being +dispassionately written, on which account they are of less value +than they otherwise might have been. There is too much +passion in the Bible, too much violence; now, to come to all +truth, especially historic truth, requires cool dispassionate +investigation, for which the Jews do not appear to have ever been +famous. We are ourselves not famous for it, for we are a +passionate people; the Germans are not—they are not a +passionate people—a people celebrated for their oaths: we +are. The Germans have many excellent historic writers, +we—’tis true we have Gibbon. You have been +reading Gibbon—what do you think of him?”</p> +<p>“I think him a very wonderful writer.”</p> +<p>“He is a wonderful writer—one <i>sui +generis</i>—uniting the perspicuity of the +English—for we are perspicuous—with the cool +dispassionate reasoning of the Germans. Gibbon sought after +the truth, found it, and made it clear.”</p> +<p>“Then you think Gibbon a truthful writer?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes; who shall convict Gibbon of falsehood? +Many people have endeavoured to convict Gibbon of falsehood; they +have followed him in his researches, and have never found him +once tripping. Oh, he’s a wonderful writer! his power +of condensation is admirable; the lore of the whole world is to +be found in his pages. Sometimes in a single note he has +given us the result of the study of years; or, to <!-- page +104--><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>speak metaphorically, ‘he has ransacked a +thousand Gulistans, and has condensed all his fragrant booty into +a single drop of otto.’”</p> +<p>“But was not Gibbon an enemy to the Christian +faith?”</p> +<p>“Why, no; he was rather an enemy to priestcraft, so am +I; and when I say the philosophy of the Bible is in many respects +unsound, I always wish to make an exception in favour of that +part of it which contains the life and sayings of Jesus of +Bethlehem, to which I must always concede my unqualified +admiration—of Jesus, mind you; for with his followers and +their dogmas I have nothing to do. Of all historic +characters, Jesus is the most beautiful and the most +heroic. I have always been a friend to hero-worship, it is +the only rational one, and has always been in use amongst +civilized people—the worship of spirits is synonymous with +barbarism—it is mere fetish; the savages of West Africa are +all spirit worshippers. But there is something philosophic +in the worship of the heroes of the human race, and the true hero +is the benefactor. Brahma, Jupiter, Bacchus, were all +benefactors, and, therefore, entitled to the worship of their +respective peoples. The Celts worshipped Hesus, who taught +them to plough, a highly useful art. We, who have attained +a much higher state of civilization than the Celts ever did, +worship Jesus, the first who endeavoured to teach men to behave +decently and decorously under all circumstances; who was the foe +of vengeance, in which there is something highly indecorous; who +had first the courage to lift his voice against that violent +dogma, ‘an eye for an eye;’ who shouted conquer, but +conquer with kindness; who said put up the sword, a violent +unphilosophic weapon; and who finally died calmly and decorously +in defence of his philosophy. He must be a savage who +denies worship to the hero of Golgotha.”</p> +<p>“But he was something more than a hero; he was the son +of God, wasn’t he?”</p> +<p>The elderly individual made no immediate answer; but, after a +few more whiffs from his pipe, exclaimed, “Come, fill your +glass! How do you advance with your translation of +Tell?”</p> +<p>“It is nearly finished; but I do not think I shall +proceed with it; I begin to think the original somewhat +dull.”</p> +<p>“There you are wrong; it is the masterpiece of Schiller, +the first of German poets.”</p> +<p>“It may be so,” said the youth. “But, +pray excuse me, I do not think very highly of German +poetry. I have lately been reading Shakespeare, and, when I +turn from him to the Germans—even the best of +them—they appear mere pigmies. You will pardon the +liberty I perhaps take in saying so.”</p> +<p>“I like that every one should have an opinion of his +own,” said the elderly individual; “and, what is +more, declare it. Nothing displeases me more than to see +people assenting to everything that they hear said; I at once +come to the conclusion that they are either hypocrites, or there +is nothing in them. But, with respect to Shakespeare, whom +I have not read for thirty years, is he not rather given to +bombast, ‘crackling bombast,’ as I think I have said +in one of my essays?”</p> +<p><!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>“I daresay he is,” said the youth; +“but I can’t help thinking him the greatest of all +poets, not even excepting Homer. I would sooner have +written that series of plays, founded on the fortunes of the +House of Lancaster, than the Iliad itself. The events +described are as lofty as those sung by Homer in his great work, +and the characters brought upon the stage still more +interesting. I think Hotspur as much of a hero as Hector, +and young Henry more of a man than Achilles; and then there is +the fat knight, the quintessence of fun, wit, and +rascality. Falstaff is a creation beyond the genius even of +Homer.”</p> +<p>“You almost tempt me to read Shakespeare again—but +the Germans?”</p> +<p>“I don’t admire the Germans,” said the +youth, somewhat excited. “I don’t admire them +in any point of view. I have heard my father say that, +though good sharpshooters, they can’t much be depended upon +as soldiers; and that old Sergeant Meredith told him that Minden +would never have been won but for the two English regiments, who +charged the French with fixed bayonets, and sent them to the +right-about in double-quick time. With respect to poetry, +setting Shakespeare and the English altogether aside, I think +there is another Gothic nation, at least, entitled to dispute +with them the palm. Indeed, to my mind, there is more +genuine poetry contained in the old Danish book which I came so +strangely by, than has been produced in Germany from the period +of the Niebelungen lay to the present.”</p> +<p>“Ah, the Kœmpe Viser?” said the elderly +individual, breathing forth an immense volume of smoke, which he +had been collecting during the declamation of his young +companion. “There are singular things in that book, I +must confess; and I thank you for showing it to me, or rather +your attempt at translation. I was struck with that ballad +of Orm Ungarswayne, who goes by night to the grave-hill of his +father to seek for counsel. And then, again, that strange +melancholy Swayne Vonved, who roams about the world propounding +people riddles; slaying those who cannot answer, and rewarding +those who can with golden bracelets. Were it not for the +violence, I should say that ballad has a philosophic +tendency. I thank you for making me acquainted with the +book, and I thank the Jew Mousha for making me acquainted with +you.”</p> +<p>“That Mousha was a strange customer,” said the +youth, collecting himself.</p> +<p>“He <i>was</i> a strange customer,” said the elder +individual, breathing forth a gentle cloud. “I love +to exercise hospitality to wandering strangers, especially +foreigners; and when he came to this place, pretending to teach +German and Hebrew, I asked him to dinner. After the first +dinner, he asked me to lend him five pounds; I <i>did</i> lend +him five pounds. After the fifth dinner, he asked me to +lend him fifty pounds; I did <i>not</i> lend him the fifty +pounds.”</p> +<p>“He was as ignorant of German as of Hebrew,” said +the youth; “on which account he was soon glad, I suppose, +to transfer his pupil to some one else.”</p> +<p>“He told me,” said the elder individual, +“that he intended to leave a <!-- page 106--><a +name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>town where +he did not find sufficient encouragement; and, at the same time, +expressed regret at being obliged to abandon a certain +extraordinary pupil, for whom he had a particular regard. +Now I, who have taught many people German from the love which I +bear to it, and the desire which I feel that it should be +generally diffused, instantly said, that I should be happy to +take his pupil off his hands, and afford him what instruction I +could in German, for, as to Hebrew, I have never taken much +interest in it. Such was the origin of our +acquaintance. You have been an apt scholar. Of late, +however, I have seen little of you—what is the +reason?”</p> +<p>The youth made no answer.</p> +<p>“You think, probably, that you have learned all I can +teach you? Well, perhaps you are right.”</p> +<p>“Not so, not so,” said the young man eagerly; +“before I knew you I knew nothing, and am still very +ignorant; but of late my father’s health has been very much +broken, and he requires attention; his spirits also have become +low, which, to tell you the truth, he attributes to my +misconduct. He says that I have imbibed all kinds of +strange notions and doctrines, which will, in all probability, +prove my ruin, both here and hereafter; +which—which—”</p> +<p>“Ah, I understand,” said the elder, with another +calm whiff. “I have always had a kind of respect for +your father, for there is something remarkable in his appearance, +something heroic, and I would fain have cultivated his +acquaintance; the feeling, however, has not been +reciprocated. I met him, the other day, up the road, with +his cane and dog, and saluted him; he did not return my +salutation.”</p> +<p>“He has certain opinions of his own,” said the +youth, “which are widely different from those which he has +heard that you profess.”</p> +<p>“I respect a man for entertaining an opinion of his +own,” said the elderly individual. “I hold +certain opinions; but I should not respect an individual the more +for adopting them. All I wish for is tolerance, which I +myself endeavour to practise. I have always loved the +truth, and sought it; if I have not found it, the greater my +misfortune.”</p> +<p>“Are you happy?” said the young man.</p> +<p>“Why, no. And, between ourselves, it is that which +induces me to doubt sometimes the truth of my opinions. My +life, upon the whole, I consider a failure; on which account, I +would not counsel you, or any one, to follow my example too +closely. It is getting late, and you had better be going, +especially as your father, you say, is anxious about you. +But, as we may never meet again, I think there are three things +which I may safely venture to press upon you. The first is, +that the decencies and gentlenesses should never be lost sight +of, as the practice of the decencies and gentlenesses is at all +times compatible with independence of thought and action. +The second thing which I would wish to impress upon you is, that +there is always some eye upon us; and that it is impossible to +keep anything we do from the world, as it will assuredly be +divulged by somebody as soon as it is his interest to do +so. The third thing which I would wish to press upon +you—”</p> +<p><!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>“Yes,” said the youth, eagerly bending +forward.</p> +<p>“Is”—and here the elderly individual laid +down his pipe upon the table—“that it will be as well +to go on improving yourself in German!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Alehouse Keeper—Compassion for the +Rich—Old English Gentleman—How is +this?—Madeira—The Greek Parr—Twenty +Languages—Whiter’s Health—About the +Fight—A Sporting Gentleman—The Flattened +Nose—Lend us that Pightle—The Surly Nod.</p> +<p>“Holloa, master! can you tell us where the fight is +likely to be?”</p> +<p>Such were the words shouted out to me by a short thick fellow, +in brown top-boots, and bare-headed, who stood, with his hands in +his pockets, at the door of a country alehouse as I was passing +by.</p> +<p>Now, as I knew nothing about the fight, and as the appearance +of the man did not tempt me greatly to enter into conversation +with him, I merely answered in the negative, and continued my +way.</p> +<p>It was a fine, lovely morning in May, the sun shine bright +above, and the birds were carolling in the hedgerows. I was +wont to be cheerful at such seasons, for, from my earliest +recollection, sunshine and the song of birds have been dear to +me; yet, about that period, I was not cheerful, my mind was not +at rest; I was debating within myself, and the debate was dreary +and unsatisfactory enough. I sighed, and, turning my eyes +upward, I ejaculated, “What is truth?” But +suddenly, by a violent effort, breaking away from my meditations, +I hastened forward; one mile, two miles, three miles were +speedily left behind; and now I came to a grove of birch and +other trees, and opening a gate I passed up a kind of avenue, and +soon arriving before a large brick house, of rather antique +appearance, knocked at the door. In this house there lived +a gentleman with whom I had business. He was said to be a +genuine old English gentleman, and a man of considerable +property; at this time, however, he wanted a thousand pounds, as +gentlemen of considerable property every now and then do. I +had brought him a thousand pounds in my pocket, for it is +astonishing how many eager helpers the rich find, and with what +compassion people look upon their distresses. He was said +to have good wine in his cellar.</p> +<p>“Is your master at home?” said I, to a servant who +appeared at the door.</p> +<p>“His worship is at home, young man,” said the +servant, as he looked at my shoes, which bore evidence that I had +come walking. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he +added, as he looked me in the face.</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, servants,” thought I, as I followed the +man into the house, “always look people in the face when +you open the door, and do so before you look at their shoes, or +you may mistake the heir of a Prime Minister for a +shopkeeper’s son.”</p> +<p><!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>I found his worship a jolly red-faced gentleman, of +about fifty-five; he was dressed in a green coat, white corduroy +breeches, and drab gaiters, and sat on an old-fashioned leather +sofa, with two small, thorough-bred English terriers, one on each +side of him. He had all the appearance of a genuine old +English gentleman who kept good wine in his cellar.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said I, “I have brought you a +thousand pounds”; and I said this after the servant had +retired, and the two terriers had ceased their barking, which is +natural to all such dogs at the sight of a stranger.</p> +<p>And when the magistrate had received the money, and signed and +returned a certain paper which I handed to him, he rubbed his +hands, and looking very benignantly at me, exclaimed,—</p> +<p>“And now, young gentleman, that our business is over, +perhaps you can tell me where the fight is to take +place?”</p> +<p>“I am sorry, sir,” said I, “that I +can’t inform you; but everybody seems to be anxious about +it”; and then I told him what had occurred to me on the +road with the alehouse keeper.</p> +<p>“I know him,” said his worship; “he’s +a tenant of mine, and a good fellow, somewhat too much in my +debt, though. But how is this, young gentleman, you look as +if you had been walking; you did not come on foot?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, I came on foot.”</p> +<p>“On foot! why, it is sixteen miles.”</p> +<p>“I sha’n’t be tired when I have walked +back.”</p> +<p>“You can’t ride, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Better than I can walk.”</p> +<p>“Then why do you walk?”</p> +<p>“I have frequently to make journeys connected with my +profession; sometimes I walk, sometimes I ride, just as the whim +takes me.”</p> +<p>“Will you take a glass of wine?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“That’s right; what shall it be?”</p> +<p>“Madeira!”</p> +<p>The magistrate gave a violent slap on his knee; “I like +your taste,” said he; “I am fond of a glass of +Madeira myself, and can give you such a one as you will not drink +every day. Sit down, young gentleman, you shall have a +glass of Madeira, and the best I have.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he got up, and, followed by his two terriers, walked +slowly out of the room.</p> +<p>I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me +much amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train +of thought.</p> +<p>“What is truth?” said I.</p> +<p>“Here it is,” said the magistrate, returning at +the end of a quarter of an hour, followed by the servant, with a +tray; “here’s the true thing, or I am no judge, far +less a justice. It has been thirty years in my cellar last +Christmas. There,” said he to the servant, “put +it down, and leave my young friend and me to ourselves. +Now, what do you think of it?”</p> +<p><!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>“It is very good,” said I.</p> +<p>“Did you ever taste better Madeira?”</p> +<p>“I never before tasted Madeira.”</p> +<p>“Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it +is?”</p> +<p>“I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it +is.”</p> +<p>“Well, there is logic in that, as Parr would say; you +have heard of Parr?”</p> +<p>“Old Parr?”</p> +<p>“Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, +I the Greek Parr, as people call him.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know him.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps not—rather too young for that; but were +you of my age, you might have cause to know him, coming from +where you do. He kept school there, I was his first +scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved him—and he +loved me; he came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; I +honour Parr—he knows much, and is a sound man.”</p> +<p>“Does he know the truth?”</p> +<p>“Know the truth! he knows what’s good, from an +oyster to an ostrich—he’s not only sound but +round.”</p> +<p>“Suppose we drink his health?”</p> +<p>“Thank you, boy: here’s Parr’s health, and +Whiter’s.”</p> +<p>“Who is Whiter?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you know Whiter? I thought everybody +knew Reverend Whiter the philologist, though I suppose you +scarcely know what that means. A man fond of tongues and +languages, quite out of your way—he understands some +twenty; what do you say to that?”</p> +<p>“Is he a sound man?”</p> +<p>“Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say: he has +got queer notions in his head—wrote a book to prove that +all words came originally from the earth—who knows? +Words have roots, and roots, live in the earth; but, upon the +whole, I should not call him altogether a sound man, though he +can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr.”</p> +<p>“Is he a round man?”</p> +<p>“Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I’ll sing you a song, +if you like, which will let you into his character:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Give me the haunch of a buck to eat, +and to drink Madeira old,<br /> +And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold,<br /> +An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride,<br /> +And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river +side;<br /> +With such good things around me, and blessed with good health +withal,<br /> +Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not +call.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here’s to Whiter’s health—so you know +nothing about the fight?”</p> +<p>“No, sir; the truth is, that of late I have been very +much occupied with various matters, otherwise I should, perhaps, +have been able to afford you some information—boxing is a +noble art.”</p> +<p>“Can you box?”</p> +<p>“A little.”</p> +<p><!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>“I tell you what, my boy; I honour you, and, +provided your education had been a little less limited, I should +have been glad to see you here in company with Parr and Whiter; +both can box. Boxing is, as you say, a noble art—a +truly English art; may I never see the day when Englishmen shall +feel ashamed of it, or blacklegs and blackguards bring it into +disgrace! I am a magistrate, and, of course, cannot +patronise the thing very openly, yet I sometimes see a +prize-fight: I saw the Game Chicken beat Gulley.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever see Big Ben?”</p> +<p>“No, why do you ask?” But here we heard a +noise, like that of a gig driving up to the door, which was +immediately succeeded by a violent knocking and ringing, and +after a little time, the servant who had admitted me made his +appearance in the room.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said he, with a certain eagerness of +manner, “here are two gentlemen waiting to speak to +you.”</p> +<p>“Gentlemen waiting to speak to me! who are +they?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, sir,” said the servant; +“but they look like sporting gentlemen, +and—and”—here he hesitated; “from a word +or two they dropped, I almost think that they come about the +fight.”</p> +<p>“About the fight,” said the magistrate. +“No! that can hardly be; however, you had better show them +in.”</p> +<p>Heavy steps were now heard ascending the stairs, and the +servant ushered two men into the apartment. Again there was +a barking, but louder than that which had been directed against +myself, for here were two intruders; both of them were remarkable +looking men, but to the foremost of them the most particular +notice may well be accorded: he was a man somewhat under thirty, +and nearly six feet in height. He was dressed in a blue +coat, white corduroy breeches, fastened below the knee with small +golden buttons; on his legs he wore white lamb’s-wool +stockings, and on his feet shoes reaching to the ankles; round +his neck was a handkerchief of the blue and bird’s eye +pattern; he wore neither whiskers nor moustaches, and appeared +not to delight in hair, that of his head, which was of a light +brown, being closely cropped; the forehead was rather high, but +somewhat narrow; the face neither broad nor sharp, perhaps rather +sharp than broad; the nose was almost delicate; the eyes were +grey, with an expression in which there was sternness blended +with something approaching to feline; his complexion was +exceedingly pale, relieved, however, by certain pock-marks, which +here and there studded his countenance; his form was athletic, +but lean; his arms long. In the whole appearance of the man +there was a blending of the bluff and the sharp. You might +have supposed him a bruiser; his dress was that of one in all its +minutiæ; something was wanting, however, in his +manner—the quietness of the professional man; he rather +looked like one performing the part—well—very +well—but still performing a part. His +companion!—there, indeed, was the bruiser—no mistake +about him: a tall massive man, with a broad countenance and a +flattened nose; dressed like a bruiser, but not like a bruiser +going into the ring; he wore white topped boots, and a loose +brown jockey coat. As the first advanced towards the table, +behind which the magistrate <!-- page 111--><a +name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>sat, he +doffed a white castor from his head, and made rather a genteel +bow; looking at me, who sat somewhat on one side, he gave a kind +of nod of recognition.</p> +<p>“May I request to know who you are, gentlemen?” +said the magistrate.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the man in a deep, but not unpleasant +voice, “allow me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. ---, +the celebrated pugilist;” and he motioned with his hand +towards the massive man with the flattened nose.</p> +<p>“And your own name, sir?” said the magistrate.</p> +<p>“My name is no matter,” said the man; “were +I to mention it to you, it would awaken within you no feeling of +interest. It is neither Kean nor Belcher, and I have as yet +done nothing to distinguish myself like either of those +individuals, or even like my friend here. However, a time +may come—we are not yet buried; and whensoever my hour +arrives, I hope I shall prove myself equal to my destiny, however +high—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Like a bird that’s bred amongst the +Helicons.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And here a smile half theatrical passed over his features.</p> +<p>“In what can I oblige you, sir?” said the +magistrate.</p> +<p>“Well, sir; the soul of wit is brevity; we want a place +for an approaching combat between my friend here and a brave from +town. Passing by your broad acres this fine morning we saw +a pightle, which we deemed would suit. Lend us that +pightle, and receive our thanks; ’twould be a favour, +though not much to grant: we neither ask for Stonehenge nor for +Tempe.”</p> +<p>My friend looked somewhat perplexed; after a moment, however, +he said, with a firm but gentlemanly air, “Sir, I am sorry +that I cannot comply with your request.”</p> +<p>“Not comply!” said the man, his brow becoming dark +as midnight; and with a hoarse and savage tone, “Not +comply! why not?”</p> +<p>“It is impossible, sir; utterly impossible!”</p> +<p>“Why so?”</p> +<p>“I am not compelled to give my reason to you, sir, nor +to any man.”</p> +<p>“Let me beg of you to alter your decision,” said +the man, in a tone of profound respect.</p> +<p>“Utterly impossible, sir; I am a magistrate.”</p> +<p>“Magistrate! then fare ye well, for a green-coated +buffer and a Harmanbeck.”</p> +<p>“Sir!” said the magistrate, springing up with a +face fiery with wrath.</p> +<p>But, with a surly nod to me, the man left the apartment; and +in a moment more the heavy footsteps of himself and his companion +were heard descending the staircase.</p> +<p>“Who is that man?” said my friend, turning towards +me.</p> +<p>“A sporting gentleman, well known in the place from +which I come.”</p> +<p>“He appeared to know you.”</p> +<p>“I have occasionally put on the gloves with +him.”</p> +<p>“What is his name?”</p> +<h2><!-- page 112--><a name="page112"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 112</span>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Doubts—Wise King of Jerusalem—Let +Me See—A Thousand Years—Nothing New—The +Crowd—The Hymn—Faith—Charles Wesley—There +He Stood—Farewell, Brother—Death—Sun, Moon, and +Stars—Wind on the Heath.</p> +<p>There was one question which I was continually asking myself +at this period, and which has more than once met the eyes of the +reader who has followed me through the last chapter. +“What is truth?” I had involved myself imperceptibly +in a dreary labyrinth of doubt, and, whichever way I turned, no +reasonable prospect of extricating myself appeared. The +means by which I had brought myself into this situation may be +very briefly told; I had inquired into many matters, in order +that I might become wise, and I had read and pondered over the +words of the wise, so called, till I had made myself master of +the sum of human wisdom; namely, that everything is enigmatical +and that man is an enigma to himself; thence the cry of +“What is truth?” I had ceased to believe in the truth +of that in which I had hitherto trusted, and yet could find +nothing in which I could put any fixed or deliberate +belief. I was, indeed, in a labyrinth! In what did I +not doubt? With respect to crime and virtue I was in doubt; +I doubted that the one was blameable and the other +praiseworthy. Are not all things subjected to the law of +necessity? Assuredly; time and chance govern all things: +yet how can this be? alas!</p> +<p>Then there was myself; for what was I born? Are not all +things born to be forgotten? That’s incomprehensible: +yet is it not so? Those butterflies fall and are +forgotten. In what is man better than a butterfly? +All then is born to be forgotten. Ah! that was a pang +indeed; ’tis at such a moment that a man wishes to +die. The wise king of Jerusalem, who sat in his shady +arbours beside his sunny fishpools, saying so many fine things, +wished to die, when he saw that not only all was vanity, but that +he himself was vanity. Will a time come when all will be +forgotten that now is beneath the sun? If so, of what +profit is life?</p> +<p>In truth, it was a sore vexation of spirit to me when I saw, +as the wise man saw of old, that whatever I could hope to perform +must necessarily be of very temporary duration; and if so, why do +it? I said to myself, whatever name I can acquire, will it +endure for eternity? scarcely so. A thousand years? +Let me see! What have I done already? I have learnt +Welsh, and have translated the songs of Ab Gwilym, some ten +thousand lines, into English rhyme; I have also learnt Danish, +and have rendered the old book of ballads cast by the tempest +upon the beach into corresponding English metre. Good! have +I done enough already to secure myself a reputation of a thousand +years? No, no! certainly not; I have not the slightest +ground for hoping that my translations from the Welsh and Danish +will be read at the end of a thousand years. Well, but I am +only eighteen, and I have <!-- page 113--><a +name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>not stated +all that I have done; I have learnt many other tongues, and have +acquired some knowledge even of Hebrew and Arabic. Should I +go on in this way till I am forty, I must then be very learned; +and perhaps, among other things, may have translated the Talmud, +and some of the great works of the Arabians. Pooh! all this +is mere learning and translation, and such will never secure +immortality. Translation is at best an echo, and it must be +a wonderful echo to be heard after the lapse of a thousand +years. No! all I have already done, and all I may yet do in +the same way, I may reckon as nothing—mere pastime; +something else must be done. I must either write some grand +original work, or conquer an empire; the one just as easy as the +other. But am I competent to do either? Yes, I think +I am, under favourable circumstances. Yes, I think I may +promise myself a reputation of a thousand years, if I do but give +myself the necessary trouble. Well! but what’s a +thousand years after all, or twice a thousand years? Woe is +me! I may just as well sit still.</p> +<p>“Would I had never been born!” I said to myself; +and a thought would occasionally intrude. But was I ever +born? Is not all that I see a lie—a deceitful +phantom? Is there a world, and earth, and sky? +Berkeley’s doctrine—Spinosa’s doctrine! +Dear reader, I had at that time never read either Berkeley or +Spinosa. I have still never read them; who are they, men of +yesterday? “All is a lie—all a deceitful +phantom,” are old cries; they come naturally from the +mouths of those who, casting aside that choicest shield against +madness, simplicity, would fain be wise as God, and can only know +that they are naked. This doubting in the “universal +all” is most coeval with the human race: wisdom, so called, +was early sought after. All is a lie—a deceitful +phantom—was said when the world was yet young; its surface, +save a scanty portion, yet untrodden by human foot, and when the +great tortoise yet crawled about. All is a lie, was the +doctrine of Buddh; and Buddh lived thirty centuries before the +wise king of Jerusalem, who sat in his arbours, beside his sunny +fishpools, saying many fine things, and, amongst others, +“There is nothing new under the sun!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>One day, whilst I bent my way to the heath of which I have +spoken on a former occasion, at the foot of the hills which +formed it I came to a place where a wagon was standing, but +without horses, the shafts resting on the ground; there was a +crowd about it, which extended halfway up the side of the +neighbouring hill. The wagon was occupied by some +half-a-dozen men; some sitting, others standing—they were +dressed in sober-coloured habiliments of black or brown, cut in a +plain and rather uncouth fashion, and partially white with dust; +their hair was short, and seemed to have been smoothed down by +the application of the hand; all were bare-headed—sitting +or standing, all were bare-headed. One of them, a tall man, +was speaking as I arrived; ere, however, I could distinguish what +he was saying, he left off, and then there was a cry for a hymn +“to the glory of God”—that was the word. +It was a strange sounding hymn, as well it might be, for +everybody <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>joined in it: there were voices of +all kinds, of men, of women, and of children—of those who +could sing, and of those who could not—a thousand voices +all joined, and all joined heartily; no voice of all the +multitude was silent save mine. The crowd consisted +entirely of the lower classes, labourers and mechanics, and their +wives and children—dusty people, unwashed people, people of +no account whatever, and yet they did not look a mob. And +when that hymn was over—and here let me observe that, +strange as it sounded, I have recalled that hymn to mind, and it +has seemed to tingle in my ears on occasions when all that pomp +and art could do to enhance religious solemnity was being +done—in the Sistine Chapel, what time the papal band was in +full play, and the choicest choristers of Italy poured forth +their melodious tones in presence of Batuschca and his +cardinals—on the ice of the Neva, what time the long train +of stately priests, with their noble beards and their flowing +robes of crimson and gold, with their ebony and ivory staves, +stalked along, chanting their Sclavonian litanies in advance of +the mighty Emperor of the North and his Priberjensky guard of +giants, towards the orifice through which the river, running +below in its swiftness, is to receive the baptismal +lymph:—when the hymn was over, another man in the wagon +proceeded to address the people; he was a much younger man than +the last speaker; somewhat square built and about the middle +height; his face was rather broad, but expressive of much +intelligence, and with a peculiar calm and serious look; the +accent in which he spoke indicated that he was not of these +parts, but from some distant district. The subject of his +address was faith, and how it could remove mountains. It +was a plain address, without any attempt at ornament, and +delivered in a tone which was neither loud nor vehement. +The speaker was evidently not a practised one—once or twice +he hesitated as if for words to express his meaning, but still he +held on, talking of faith, and how it could remove mountains: +“It is the only thing we want, brethren, in this world; if +we have that, we are indeed rich, as it will enable us to do our +duty under all circumstances, and to bear our lot, however hard +it may be—and the lot of all mankind is hard—the lot +of the poor is hard, brethren—and who knows more of the +poor than I?—a poor man myself, and the son of a poor man: +but are the rich better off? not so, brethren, for God is +just. The rich have their trials too: I am not rich myself, +but I have seen the rich with careworn countenances; I have also +seen them in mad-houses; from which you may learn, brethren, that +the lot of all mankind is hard; that is, till we lay hold of +faith, which makes us comfortable under all circumstances; +whether we ride in gilded chariots or walk bare-footed in quest +of bread; whether we be ignorant, whether we be wise—for +riches and poverty, ignorance and wisdom, brethren, each brings +with it its peculiar temptations. Well, under all these +troubles, the thing which I would recommend you to seek is one +and the same—faith; faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, who +made us, and allotted to each his station. Each has +something to do, brethren. Do it, therefore, but always in +faith; without faith we shall find ourselves sometimes at fault; +but with faith never—for faith <!-- page 115--><a +name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>can remove +the difficulty. It will teach us to love life, brethren, +when life is becoming bitter, and to prize the blessings around +us; for as every man has his cares, brethren, so has each man his +blessings. It will likewise teach us not to love life over +much, seeing that we must one day part with it. It will +teach us to face death with resignation, and will preserve us +from sinking amidst the swelling of the river Jordan.”</p> +<p>And when he had concluded his address, he said, “Let us +sing a hymn, one composed by Master Charles Wesley—he was +my countryman, brethren.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Jesus, I cast my soul on thee,<br /> +Mighty and merciful to save;<br /> +Thou shalt to death go down with me,<br /> +And lay me gently in the grave.</p> +<p>This body then shall rest in hope,<br /> +This body which the worms destroy;<br /> +For thou shalt surely raise me up,<br /> +To glorious life and endless joy.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Farewell, preacher with the plain coat, and the calm serious +look! I saw thee once again, and that was lately—only +the other day. It was near a fishing hamlet, by the +seaside, that I saw the preacher again. He stood on the top +of a steep monticle, used by pilots as a look-out for vessels +approaching that coast, a dangerous one, abounding in rocks and +quicksands. There he stood on the monticle, preaching to +weather-worn fishermen and mariners gathered below upon the +sand. “Who is he?” said I to an old fisherman +who stood beside me with a book of hymns in his hand; but the old +man put his hand to his lips, and that was the only answer I +received. Not a sound was heard but the voice of the +preacher and the roaring of the waves; but the voice was heard +loud above the roaring of the sea, for the preacher now spoke +with power, and his voice was not that of one who +hesitates. There he stood—no longer a young man, for +his black locks were become gray, even like my own; but there was +the intelligent face, and the calm serious look which had struck +me of yore. There stood the preacher, one of those +men—and, thank God, their number is not few—who, +animated by the spirit of Christ, amidst much poverty, and, alas! +much contempt, persist in carrying the light of the Gospel amidst +the dark parishes of what, but for their instrumentality, would +scarcely be Christian England. I should have waited till he +had concluded, in order that I might speak to him and endeavour +to bring back the ancient scene to his recollection, but suddenly +a man came hurrying towards the monticle, mounted on a speedy +horse, and holding by the bridle one yet more speedy, and he +whispered to me, “Why loiterest thou here?—knowest +thou not all that is to be done before midnight?” and he +flung me the bridle; and I mounted on the horse of great speed, +and I followed the other, who had already galloped off. And +as I departed, I waved my hand to him on the monticle, and I +shouted, “Farewell, brother! the <!-- page 116--><a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>seed came +up at last, after a long period!” and then I gave the +speedy horse his way, and leaning over the shoulder of the +galloping horse, I said, “Would that my life had been like +his—even like that man’s.”</p> +<p>I now wandered along the heath, until I came to a place where, +beside a thick furze, sat a man, his eyes fixed intently on the +red ball of the setting sun.</p> +<p>“That’s not you, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Indeed, brother!”</p> +<p>“I’ve not seen you for years.”</p> +<p>“How should you, brother?”</p> +<p>“What brings you here?”</p> +<p>“The fight, brother.”</p> +<p>“Where are the tents?”</p> +<p>“On the old spot, brother.”</p> +<p>“Any news since we parted?”</p> +<p>“Two deaths, brother.”</p> +<p>“Who are dead, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Father and mother, brother.”</p> +<p>“Where did they die?”</p> +<p>“Where they were sent, brother.”</p> +<p>“And Mrs. Herne?”</p> +<p>“She’s alive, brother.”</p> +<p>“Where is she now?”</p> +<p>“In Yorkshire, brother.”</p> +<p>“What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?” +said I, as I sat down beside him.</p> +<p>“My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that +in the old song of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam +sing—</p> +<blockquote><p>Canna marel o manus chivios andé puv,<br /> +Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and +child sorrow over him. If he has neither wife nor child, +then his father and mother, I suppose; and if he is quite alone +in the world, why, then, he is cast into the earth, and there is +an end of the matter.”</p> +<p>“And do you think that is the end of man?”</p> +<p>“There’s an end of him, brother, more’s the +pity.”</p> +<p>“Why do you say so?”</p> +<p>“Life is sweet, brother.”</p> +<p>“Do you think so?”</p> +<p>“Think so!—There’s night and day, brother, +both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet +things; there’s likewise a wind on the heath. Life is +very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?”</p> +<p>“I would wish to die—”</p> +<p>“You talk like a gorgio—which is the same as +talking like a fool—were you a Rommany Chal you would talk +wiser. Wish to die, indeed!—A Rommany Chal would wish +to live for ever!”</p> +<p>“In sickness, Jasper?”</p> +<p><!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>“There’s the sun and stars, +brother.”</p> +<p>“In blindness, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I +could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever. Dosta, +we’ll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and +I’ll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be +alive, brother!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Flower of the Grass—Days of +Pugilism—The Rendezvous—Jews—Bruisers of +England—Winter Spring—Well-earned Bays—The +Fight—Huge Black Cloud—Frame of Adamant—The +Storm—Dukkeripens—The Barouche—The Rain +Gushes.</p> +<p>How for everything there is a time and a season, and then how +does the glory of a thing pass from it, even like the flower of +the grass. This is a truism, but it is one of those which +are continually forcing themselves upon the mind. Many +years have not passed over my head, yet, during those which I can +call to remembrance, how many things have I seen flourish, pass +away, and become forgotten, except by myself, who, in spite of +all my endeavours, never can forget anything. I have known +the time when a pugilistic encounter between two noted champions +was almost considered in the light of a national affair; when +tens of thousands of individuals, high and low, meditated and +brooded upon it, the first thing in the morning and the last at +night, until the great event was decided. But the time is +past, and many people will say, thank God that it is; all I have +to say is, that the French still live on the other side of the +water, and are still casting their eyes hitherward—and that +in the days of pugilism it was no vain boast to say, that one +Englishman was a match for two of t’other race; at present +it would be a vain boast to say so, for these are not the days of +pugilism.</p> +<p>But those to which the course of my narrative has carried me +were the days of pugilism; it was then at its height, and +consequently near its decline, for corruption had crept into the +ring; and how many things, states and sects among the rest, owe +their decline to this cause! But what a bold and vigorous +aspect pugilism wore at that time! and the great battle was just +then coming off: the day had been decided upon, and the +spot—a convenient distance from the old town; and to the +old town were now flocking the bruisers of England, men of +tremendous renown. Let no one sneer at the bruisers of +England—what were the gladiators of Rome, or the +bull-fighters of Spain, in its palmiest days, compared to +England’s bruisers? Pity that ever corruption should +have crept in amongst them—but of that I wish not to talk; +let us still hope that a spark of the old religion, of which they +were the priests, still lingers in the breasts of +Englishmen. There they come, the bruisers, from far London, +or from wherever else they might chance to <!-- page 118--><a +name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>be at the +time, to the great rendezvous in the old city; some came one way, +some another; some of tip-top reputation came with peers in their +chariots, for glory and fame are such fair things, that even +peers are proud to have those invested therewith by their sides; +others came in their own gigs, driving their own bits of blood, +and I heard one say: “I have driven through at a heat the +whole hundred and eleven miles, and only stopped to bait +twice.” Oh, the blood-horses of old England! but they +too have had their day—for everything beneath the sun there +is a season and a time. But the greater number come just as +they can contrive; on the tops of coaches, for example; and +amongst these there are fellows with dark sallow faces, and sharp +shining eyes; and it is these that have planted rottenness in the +core of pugilism, for they are Jews, and, true to their kind, +have only base lucre in view.</p> +<p>It was fierce old Cobbett, I think, who first said that the +Jews first introduced bad faith amongst pugilists. He did +not always speak the truth, but at any rate he spoke it when he +made that observation. Strange people the +Jews—endowed with every gift but one, and that the highest, +genius divine,—genius which can alone make of men demigods, +and elevate them above earth and what is earthy and grovelling; +without which a clever nation—and who more clever than the +Jews?—may have Rambams in plenty, but never a Fielding nor +a Shakespeare. A Rothschild and a Mendoza, yes—but +never a Kean nor a Belcher.</p> +<p>So the bruisers of England are come to be present at the grand +fight speedily coming off; there they are met in the precincts of +the old town, near the field of the chapel, planted with tender +saplings at the restoration of sporting Charles, which are now +become venerable elms, as high as many a steeple; there they are +met at a fitting rendezvous, where a retired coachman, with one +leg, keeps an hotel and a bowling-green. I think I now see +them upon the bowling-green, the men of renown, amidst hundreds +of people with no renown at all, who gaze upon them with timid +wonder. Fame, after all, is a glorious thing, though it +lasts only for a day. There’s Cribb, the champion of +England, and perhaps the best man in England; there he is, with +his huge massive figure, and face wonderfully like that of a +lion. There is Belcher, the younger, not the mighty one, +who is gone to his place, but the Teucer Belcher, the most +scientific pugilist that ever entered a ring, only wanting +strength to be, I won’t say what. He appears to walk +before me now, as he did that evening, with his white hat, white +great coat, thin genteel figure, springy step, and keen, +determined eye. Crosses him, what a contrast! grim, savage +Shelton, who has a civil word for nobody, and a hard blow for +anybody—hard! one blow, given with the proper play of his +athletic arm, will unsense a giant. Yonder individual, who +strolls about with his hands behind him, supporting his brown +coat lappets, under-sized, and who looks anything but what he is, +is the king of the light weights, so called—Randall! the +terrible Randall, who has Irish blood in his veins; not the +better for that, nor the worse; and not far from him is his last +antagonist, Ned Turner, who, though beaten by him, still thinks +himself as good a man, in which he is, perhaps, right, for it was +a near thing; and “a better shentleman,” in which he +is quite right, for he is a <!-- page 119--><a +name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>Welshman. But how shall I name them all? they +were there by dozens, and all tremendous in their way. +There was Bulldog Hudson, and fearless Scroggins, who beat the +conqueror of Sam the Jew. There was Black +Richmond—no, he was not there, but I knew him well; he was +the most dangerous of blacks, even with a broken thigh. +There was Purcell, who could never conquer till all seemed over +with him. There was—what! shall I name thee last? ay, +why not? I believe that thou art the last of all that +strong family still above the sod, where mayst thou long +continue—true piece of English stuff, Tom of +Bedford—sharp as Winter, kind as Spring.</p> +<p>Hail to thee, Tom of Bedford, or by whatever name it may +please thee to be called, Spring or Winter. Hail to thee, +six-foot Englishman of the brown eye, worthy to have carried a +six-foot bow at Flodden, where England’s yeomen triumphed +over Scotland’s king, his clans and chivalry. Hail to +thee, last of England’s bruisers, after all the many +victories which thou hast achieved—true English victories, +unbought by yellow gold; need I recount them? nay, nay! they are +already well known to fame—sufficient to say that +Bristol’s Bull and Ireland’s Champion were vanquished +by thee, and one mightier still, gold itself, thou didst +overcome; for gold itself strove in vain to deaden the power of +thy arm; and thus thou didst proceed till men left off +challenging thee, the unvanquishable, the incorruptible. +’Tis a treat to see thee, Tom of Bedford, in thy +“public” in Holborn way, whither thou hast retired +with thy well-earned bays. ’Tis Friday night, and +nine by Holborn clock. There sits the yeoman at the end of +his long room, surrounded by his friends: glasses are filled, and +a song is the cry, and a song is sung well suited to the place; +it finds an echo in every heart—fists are clenched, arms +are waved, and the portraits of the mighty fighting men of yore, +Broughton, and Slack, and Ben, which adorn the walls, appear to +smile grim approbation, whilst many a manly voice joins in the +bold chorus:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here’s a health to old honest John +Bull,<br /> +When he’s gone we shan’t find such another,<br /> +And with hearts and with glasses brim full,<br /> +We will drink to old England, his mother.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But the fight! with respect to the fight, what shall I +say? Little can be said about it—it was soon over; +some said that the brave from town, who was reputed the best man +of the two, and whose form was a perfect model of athletic +beauty, allowed himself, for lucre vile, to be vanquished by the +massive champion with the flattened nose. One thing is +certain, that the former was suddenly seen to sink to the earth +before a blow of by no means extraordinary power. Time, +time! was called; but there he lay upon the ground apparently +senseless, and from thence he did not lift his head till several +seconds after the umpires had declared his adversary victor.</p> +<p>There were shouts; indeed, there’s never a lack of +shouts to celebrate a victory, however acquired; but there was +also much grinding of teeth, especially amongst the fighting men +from town. “Tom has sold us,” <!-- page +120--><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>said they, “sold us to the yokels; who would have +thought it?” Then there was fresh grinding of teeth, +and scowling brows were turned to the heaven; but what is this? +is it possible, does the heaven scowl too? why, only a quarter of +an hour ago—but what may not happen in a quarter of an +hour? For many weeks the weather had been of the most +glorious description, the eventful day, too, had dawned +gloriously, and so it had continued till some two hours after +noon; the fight was then over; and about that time I looked +up—what a glorious sky of deep blue, and what a big fierce +sun swimming high above in the midst of that blue; not a +cloud—there had not been one for weeks—not a cloud to +be seen, only in the far west, just on the horizon, something +like the extremity of a black wing; that was only a quarter of an +hour ago, and now the whole northern side of the heaven is +occupied by a huge black cloud, and the sun is only occasionally +seen amidst masses of driving vapour; what a change! but another +fight is at hand, and the pugilists are clearing the outer +ring;—how their huge whips come crashing upon the heads of +the yokels; blood flows, more blood than in the fight: those +blows are given with right good-will, those are not sham blows, +whether of whip or fist; it is with fist that grim Shelton +strikes down the big yokel; he is always dangerous, grim Shelton, +but now particularly so, for he has lost ten pounds betted on the +brave who sold himself to the yokels; but the outer ring is +cleared: and now the second fight commences; it is between two +champions of less renown than the others, but is perhaps not the +worse on that account. A tall thin boy is fighting in the +ring with a man somewhat under the middle size, with a frame of +adamant; that’s a gallant boy! he’s a yokel, but he +comes from Brummagem, he does credit to his extraction; but his +adversary has a frame of adamant: in what a strange light they +fight, but who can wonder, on looking at that frightful cloud +usurping now one-half of heaven, and at the sun struggling with +sulphurous vapour; the face of the boy, which is turned towards +me, looks horrible in that light, but he is a brave boy, he +strikes his foe on the forehead, and the report of the blow is +like the sound of a hammer against a rock; but there is a rush +and a roar over head, a wild commotion, the tempest is beginning +to break loose; there’s wind and dust, a crash, rain and +hail; is it possible to fight amidst such a commotion? yes! the +fight goes on; again the boy strikes the man full on the brow, +but it is of no use striking that man, his frame is of +adamant. “Boy, thy strength is beginning to give way, +thou art becoming confused”; the man now goes to work, +amidst rain and hail. “Boy, thou wilt not hold out +ten minutes longer against rain, hail, and the blows of such an +antagonist.”</p> +<p>And now the storm was at its height; the black thunder-cloud +had broken into many, which assumed the wildest shapes and the +strangest colours, some of them unspeakably glorious; the rain +poured in a deluge, and more than one water-spout was seen at no +great distance: an immense rabble is hurrying in one direction; a +multitude of men of all ranks, peers and yokels, prize-fighters +and Jews, and the last came to plunder, and are now plundering +amidst that wild confusion of hail and rain, men and horses, +carts and carriages. But all hurry in one <!-- page +121--><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>direction, through mud and mire; there’s a town +only three miles distant, which is soon reached, and soon filled, +it will not contain one-third of that mighty rabble; but +there’s another town farther on—the good old city is +farther on, only twelve miles; what’s that! who’ll +stay here? onward to the old town.</p> +<p>Hurry skurry, a mixed multitude of men and horses, carts and +carriages, all in the direction of the old town; and, in the +midst of all that mad throng, at a moment when the rain gushes +were coming down with particular fury, and the artillery of the +sky was pealing as I had never heard it peal before, I felt some +one seize me by the arm—I turned round and beheld Mr. +Petulengro.</p> +<p>“I can’t hear you, Mr. Petulengro,” said I; +for the thunder drowned the words which he appeared to be +uttering.</p> +<p>“Dearginni,” I heard Mr. Petulengro say, “it +thundereth. I was asking, brother, whether you believe in +dukkeripens?”</p> +<p>“I do not, Mr. Petulengro; but this is strange weather +to be asking me whether I believe in fortunes.”</p> +<p>“Grondinni,” said Mr. Petulengro, “it +haileth. I believe in dukkeripens, brother.”</p> +<p>“And who has more right,” said I, “seeing +that you live by them? But this tempest is truly +horrible.”</p> +<p>“Dearginni, grondinni ta villaminni! It +thundereth, it haileth, and also flameth,” said Mr. +Petulengro. “Look up there, brother!”</p> +<p>I looked up. Connected with this tempest there was one +feature to which I have already alluded—the wonderful +colours of the clouds. Some were of vivid green; others of +the brightest orange; others as black as pitch. The +gipsy’s finger was pointed to a particular part of the +sky.</p> +<p>“What do you see there, brother?”</p> +<p>“A strange kind of cloud.”</p> +<p>“What does it look like, brother?”</p> +<p>“Something like a stream of blood.”</p> +<p>“That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen.”</p> +<p>“A bloody fortune!” said I. “And whom +may it betide?”</p> +<p>“Who knows!” said the gypsy.</p> +<p>Down the way, dashing and splashing, and scattering man, +horse, and cart to the left and right, came an open barouche, +drawn by four smoking steeds, with postillions in scarlet +jackets, and leather skull-caps. Two forms were conspicuous +in it; that of the successful bruiser, and of his friend and +backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance.</p> +<p>“His!” said the gypsy, pointing to the latter, +whose stern features wore a smile of triumph, as, probably +recognising me in the crowd, he nodded in the direction of where +I stood, as the barouche hurried by.</p> +<p>There went the barouche, dashing through the rain gushes, and +in it one whose boast it was that he was equal to “either +fortune.” Many have heard of that man—many may +be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I have nothing to +do with that man’s after life—he fulfilled his +dukkeripen. “A bad, violent man!” Softly, +friend; when thou wouldst speak harshly of the dead, remember +that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy own dukkeripen!</p> +<h2><!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 122</span>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">My Father—Premature Decay—The Easy +Chair—A Few Questions—So You Told Me—A +Difficult Language—They Call it Haik—Misused +Opportunities—Saul—Want of Candour—Don’t +Weep—Heaven Forgive Me—Dated from Paris—I Wish +He were Here—A Father’s Reminiscences—Farewell +to Vanities.</p> +<p>My father, as I have already informed the reader, had been +endowed by nature with great corporeal strength; indeed, I have +been assured that, at the period of his prime, his figure had +denoted the possession of almost Herculean powers. The +strongest forms, however, do not always endure the longest, the +very excess of the noble and generous juices which they contain +being the cause of their premature decay. But, be that as +it may, the health of my father, some few years after his +retirement from the service to the quiet of domestic life, +underwent a considerable change; his constitution appeared to be +breaking up; and he was subject to severe attacks from various +disorders, with which, till then, he had been utterly +unacquainted. He was, however, wont to rally, more or less, +after his illnesses, and might still occasionally be seen taking +his walk, with his cane in his hand, and accompanied by his dog, +who sympathized entirely with him, pining as he pined, improving +as he improved, and never leaving the house save in his company; +and in this manner matters went on for a considerable time, no +very great apprehension with respect to my father’s state +being raised either in my mother’s breast or my own. +But, about six months after the period at which I have arrived in +my last chapter, it came to pass that my father experienced a +severer attack than on any previous occasion.</p> +<p>He had the best medical advice; but it was easy to see, from +the looks of his doctors, that they entertained but slight hopes +of his recovery. His sufferings were great, yet he +invariably bore them with unshaken fortitude. There was one +thing remarkable connected with his illness; notwithstanding its +severity, it never confined him to his bed. He was wont to +sit in his little parlour, in his easy chair, dressed in a faded +regimental coat, his dog at his feet, who would occasionally lift +his head from the hearth-rug on which he lay, and look his master +wistfully in the face. And thus my father spent the greater +part of his time, sometimes in prayer, sometimes in meditation, +and sometimes in reading the Scriptures. I frequently sat +with him, though, as I entertained a great awe for my father, I +used to feel rather ill at ease, when, as sometimes happened, I +found myself alone with him.</p> +<p>“I wish to ask you a few questions,” said he to +me, one day, after my mother had left the room.</p> +<p>“I will answer anything you may please to ask me, my +dear father.”</p> +<p>“What have you been about lately?”</p> +<p>“I have been occupied as usual, attending at the office +at the appointed hours.”</p> +<p><!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>“And what do you there?”</p> +<p>“Whatever I am ordered.”</p> +<p>“And nothing else?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! sometimes I read a book.”</p> +<p>“Connected with your profession?”</p> +<p>“Not always; I have been lately reading Armenian . . +.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?”</p> +<p>“The language of a people whose country is a region on +the other side of Asia Minor.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“A region abounding with mountains.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Amongst which is Mount Ararat.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Upon which, as the Bible informs us, the ark +rested.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“It is the language of the people of those +regions.”</p> +<p>“So you told me.”</p> +<p>“And I have been reading the Bible in their +language.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Or rather, I should say, in the ancient language of +these people; from which I am told the modern Armenian differs +considerably.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“As much as the Italian from the Latin.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“So I have been reading the Bible in ancient +Armenian.”</p> +<p>“You told me so before.”</p> +<p>“I found it a highly difficult language.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Differing widely from the languages in general with +which I am acquainted.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Exhibiting, however, some features in common with +them.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And sometimes agreeing remarkably in words with a +certain strange wild speech with which I became +acquainted—”</p> +<p>“Irish?”</p> +<p>“No, father, not Irish—with which I became +acquainted by the greatest chance in the world.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But of which I need say nothing further at present, and +which I should not have mentioned but for that fact.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Which I consider remarkable.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The Armenian is copious.”</p> +<p>“Is it?”</p> +<p>“With an alphabet of thirty-nine letters, but it is +harsh and guttural.”</p> +<p><!-- page 124--><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Like the language of most mountainous people—the +Armenians call it Haik.”</p> +<p>“Do they?”</p> +<p>“And themselves, Haik, also; they are a remarkable +people, and, though their original habitation is the Mountain of +Ararat, they are to be found, like the Jews, all over the +world.”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Well, father, that’s all I can tell you about +Haiks, or Armenians.”</p> +<p>“And what does it all amount to?”</p> +<p>“Very little, father; indeed, there is very little known +about the Armenians; their early history, in particular, is +involved in considerable mystery.”</p> +<p>“And, if you knew all that it was possible to know about +them, to what would it amount? to what earthly purpose could you +turn it? have you acquired any knowledge of your +profession?”</p> +<p>“Very little, father.”</p> +<p>“Very little! Have you acquired all in your +power?”</p> +<p>“I can’t say that I have, father.”</p> +<p>“And yet it was your duty to have done so. But I +see how it is, you have shamefully misused your opportunities; +you are like one, who, sent into the field to labour, passes his +time in flinging stones at the birds of heaven.”</p> +<p>“I would scorn to fling a stone at a bird, +father.”</p> +<p>“You know what I mean, and all too well, and this +attempt to evade deserved reproof by feigned simplicity is quite +in character with your general behaviour. I have ever +observed about you a want of frankness, which has distressed me; +you never speak of what you are about, your hopes, or your +projects, but cover yourself with mystery. I never knew +till the present moment that you were acquainted with +Armenian.”</p> +<p>“Because you never asked me, father; there’s +nothing to conceal in the matter—I will tell you in a +moment how I came to learn Armenian. A lady whom I met at +one of Mrs. ---’s parties took a fancy to me, and has done +me the honour to allow me to go and see her sometimes. She +is the widow of a rich clergyman, and on her husband’s +death came to this place to live, bringing her husband’s +library with her: I soon found my way to it, and examined every +book. Her husband must have been a learned man, for amongst +much Greek and Hebrew I found several volumes in Armenian, or +relating to the language.”</p> +<p>“And why did you not tell me of this before?”</p> +<p>“Because you never questioned me; but I repeat there is +nothing to conceal in the matter. The lady took a fancy to +me, and, being fond of the arts, drew my portrait; she said the +expression of my countenance put her in mind of Alfieri’s +Saul.”</p> +<p>“And do you still visit her?”</p> +<p>“No, she soon grew tired of me, and told people that she +found me very stupid; she gave me the Armenian books, +however.”</p> +<p>“Saul,” said my father, musingly, “Saul, I +am afraid she was only too right there; he disobeyed the commands +of his master, and brought <!-- page 125--><a +name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>down on his +head the vengeance of Heaven—he became a maniac, +prophesied, and flung weapons about him.”</p> +<p>“He was, indeed, an awful character—I hope I +shan’t turn out like him.”</p> +<p>“God forbid!” said my father solemnly; “but +in many respects you are headstrong and disobedient like +him. I placed you in a profession, and besought you to make +yourself master of it, by giving it your undivided +attention. This, however, you did not do, you know nothing +of it, but tell me that you are acquainted with Armenian; but +what I dislike most is your want of candour—you are my son, +but I know little of your real history, you may know fifty things +for what I am aware; you may know how to shoe a horse, for what I +am aware.”</p> +<p>“Not only to shoe a horse, father, but to make +horse-shoes.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps so,” said my father; “and it only +serves to prove what I am just saying, that I know little about +you.”</p> +<p>“But you easily may, my dear father; I will tell you +anything that you may wish to know—shall I inform you how I +learnt to make horse-shoes?”</p> +<p>“No,” said my father; “as you kept it a +secret so long, it may as well continue so still. Had you +been a frank, open-hearted boy, like one I could name, you would +have told me all about it of your own accord. But I now +wish to ask you a serious question—what do you propose to +do?”</p> +<p>“To do, father?”</p> +<p>“Yes! the time for which you were articled to your +profession will soon be expired, and I shall be no +more.”</p> +<p>“Do not talk so, my dear father; I have no doubt that +you will soon be better.”</p> +<p>“Do not flatter yourself; I feel that my days are +numbered, I am soon going to my rest, and I have need of rest, +for I am weary. There, there, don’t weep! Tears +will help me as little as they will you, you have not yet +answered my question. Tell me what you intend to +do?”</p> +<p>“I really do not know what I shall do.”</p> +<p>“The military pension which I enjoy will cease with my +life. The property which I shall leave behind me will be +barely sufficient for the maintenance of your mother +respectably. I again ask you what you intend to do. +Do you think you can support yourself by your Armenian or your +other acquirements?”</p> +<p>“Alas! I think little at all about it; but I +suppose I must push into the world, and make a good fight, as +becomes the son of him who fought Big Ben: if I can’t +succeed, and am driven to the worst, it is but +dying—”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by dying?”</p> +<p>“Leaving the world; my loss would scarcely be +felt. I have never held life in much value, and every one +has a right to dispose as he thinks best of that which is his +own.”</p> +<p>“Ah! now I understand you; and well I know how and where +you imbibed that horrible doctrine, and many similar ones which I +have heard from your mouth; but I wish not to reproach +you—I view in <!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 126</span>your conduct a punishment for my own +sins, and I bow to the will of God. Few and evil have been +my days upon the earth; little have I done to which I can look +back with satisfaction. It is true I have served my king +fifty years, and I have fought with—Heaven forgive me, what +was I about to say!—but you mentioned the man’s name, +and our minds willingly recall our ancient follies. Few and +evil have been my days upon earth, I may say with Jacob of old, +though I do not mean to say that my case is so hard as his; he +had many undutiful children, whilst I have only—; but I +will not reproach you. I have also like him a son to whom I +can look with hope, who may yet preserve my name when I am gone, +so let me be thankful; perhaps, after all, I have not lived in +vain. Boy, when I am gone, look up to your brother, and may +God bless you both. There, don’t weep; but take the +Bible, and read me something about the old man and his +children.”</p> +<p>My brother had now been absent for the space of three +years. At first his letters had been frequent, and from +them it appeared that he was following his profession in London +with industry; they then became rather rare, and my father did +not always communicate their contents. His last letter, +however, had filled him and our whole little family with joy; it +was dated from Paris, and the writer was evidently in high +spirits. After describing in eloquent terms the beauties +and gaieties of the French capital, he informed us how he had +plenty of money, having copied a celebrated picture of one of the +Italian masters for a Hungarian nobleman, for which he had +received a large sum. “He wishes me to go with him to +Italy,” added he; “but I am fond of independence, +and, if ever I visit old Rome, I will have no patrons near me to +distract my attention.” But six months had now +elapsed from the date of this letter, and we had heard no farther +intelligence of my brother. My father’s complaint +increased; the gout, his principal enemy, occasionally mounted +high up in his system, and we had considerable difficulty in +keeping it from the stomach, where it generally proves +fatal. I now devoted almost the whole of my time to my +father, on whom his faithful partner also lavished every +attention and care. I read the Bible to him, which was his +chief delight; and also occasionally such other books as I +thought might prove entertaining to him. His spirits were +generally rather depressed. The absence of my brother +appeared to prey upon his mind. “I wish he were +here,” he would frequently exclaim; “I can’t +imagine what can have become of him; I trust, however, he will +arrive in time.” He still sometimes rallied; and I +took advantage of those moments of comparative ease, to question +him upon the events of his early life. My attentions to him +had not passed unnoticed, and he was kind, fatherly, and +unreserved. I had never known my father so entertaining as +at these moments, when his life was but too evidently drawing to +a close. I had no idea that he knew and had seen so much; +my respect for him increased, and I looked upon him almost with +admiration. His anecdotes were in general highly curious; +some of them related to people in the highest stations, and to +men whose names were closely connected with some of the brightest +glories of our native land. He had frequently +conversed—almost on <!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>terms of +familiarity—with good old George. He had known the +conqueror of Tippoo Saib; and was the friend of Townshend, who, +when Wolfe fell, led the British grenadiers against the shrinking +regiments of Montcalm. “Pity,” he added, +“that when old—old as I am now—he should have +driven his own son mad by robbing him of his plighted bride; but +so it was; he married his son’s bride. I saw him lead +her to the altar; if ever there was an angelic countenance, it +was that girl’s; she was almost too fair to be one of the +daughters of women. Is there anything, boy, that you would +wish to ask me? now is the time.”</p> +<p>“Yes, father; there is one about whom I would fain +question you.”</p> +<p>“Who is it; shall I tell you about Elliot?”</p> +<p>“No, father, not about Elliot; but pray don’t be +angry; I should like to know something about Big Ben.”</p> +<p>“You are a strange lad,” said my father; +“and, though of late I have begun to entertain a more +favourable opinion than heretofore, there is still much about you +that I do not understand. Why do you bring up that +name? Don’t you know that it is one of my +temptations; you wish to know something about him. Well, I +will oblige you this once, and then farewell to such +vanities—something about him. I will tell +you—his skin when he flung off his clothes—and he had +a particular knack in doing so—his skin, when he bared his +mighty chest and back for combat, and when he fought he stood, +so—if I remember right—his skin, I say, was brown and +dusky as that of a toad. Oh me! I wish my elder son +was here.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">My Brother’s Arrival—The +Interview—Night—A Dying Father—Christ.</p> +<p>At last my brother arrived; he looked pale and unwell; I met +him at the door. “You have been long absent!” +said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said he, “perhaps too long; but how +is my father?”</p> +<p>“Very poorly,” said I, “he has had a fresh +attack; but where have you been of late?”</p> +<p>“Far and wide,” said my brother; “but I +can’t tell you anything now, I must go to my father. +It was only by chance that I heard of his illness.”</p> +<p>“Stay a moment,” said I. “Is the world +such a fine place as you supposed it to be before you went +away?”</p> +<p>“Not quite,” said my brother, “not quite; +indeed I wish—but ask me no questions now, I must hasten to +my father.”</p> +<p>There was another question on my tongue, but I forbore; for +the eyes of the young man were full of tears. I pointed +with my finger, and the young man hastened past me to the arms of +his father.</p> +<p>I forbore to ask my brother whether he had been to old +Rome.</p> +<p>What passed between my father and brother I do not know; the +interview, no doubt, was tender enough, for they tenderly loved +each <!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>other; but my brother’s +arrival did not produce the beneficial effect upon my father +which I at first hoped it would; it did not even appear to have +raised his spirits. He was composed enough, however: +“I ought to be grateful,” said he; “I wished to +see my son, and God has granted me my wish; what more have I to +do now than to bless my little family and go?”</p> +<p>My father’s end was evidently at hand.</p> +<p>And did I shed no tears? did I breathe no sighs? did I never +wring my hands at this period? the reader will perhaps be +asking. Whatever I did and thought is best known to God and +myself; but it will be as well to observe, that it is possible to +feel deeply, and yet make no outward sign.</p> +<p>And now for the closing scene.</p> +<p>At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was +awakened from sleep by a cry which sounded from the room +immediately below that in which I slept. I knew the cry, it +was the cry of my mother; and I also knew its import, yet I made +no effort to rise, for I was for the moment paralyzed. +Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay motionless—the +stupidity of horror was upon me. A third time, and it was +then that, by a violent effort, bursting the spell which appeared +to bind me, I sprang from the bed and rushed down stairs. +My mother was running wildly about the room; she had woke and +found my father senseless in the bed by her side. I essayed +to raise him, and after a few efforts supported him in the bed in +a sitting posture. My brother now rushed in, and, snatching +up a light that was burning, he held it to my father’s +face. “The surgeon, the surgeon!” he cried; +then dropping the light, he ran out of the room followed by my +mother; I remained alone, supporting the senseless form of my +father; the light had been extinguished by the fall, and an +almost total darkness reigned in the room. The form pressed +heavily against my bosom—at last methought it moved. +Yes, I was right, there was a heaving of the breast, and then a +gasping. Were those words which I heard? Yes, they +were words, low and indistinct at first, and then audible. +The mind of the dying man was reverting to former scenes. I +heard him mention names which I had often heard him mention +before. It was an awful moment; I felt stupified, but I +still contrived to support my dying father. There was a +pause, again my father spoke: I heard him speak of Minden, and of +Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he uttered another +name, which at one period of his life was much in his lips, the +name of—but this is a solemn moment! There was a deep +gasp: I shook, and thought all was over; but I was +mistaken—my father moved, and revived for a moment; he +supported himself in bed without my assistance. I make no +doubt that for a moment he was perfectly sensible, and it was +then that, clasping his hands, he uttered another name clearly, +distinctly—it was the name of Christ. With that name +upon his lips, the brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom, +and, with his hands still clasped, yielded up his soul.</p> +<h2><!-- page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 129</span>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Greeting—Queer Figure—Cheer +Up—The Cheerful Fire—It Will Do—The Sally +Forth—Trepidation—Let Him Come In.</p> +<p>“One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have +brought with you will be taken away from you!”</p> +<p>Such were the first words which greeted my ears, one damp +misty morning in March, as I dismounted from the top of a coach +in the yard of a London inn.</p> +<p>I turned round, for I felt that the words were addressed to +myself. Plenty of people were in the yard—porters, +passengers, coachmen, ostlers, and others, who appeared to be +intent on anything but myself, with the exception of one +individual, whose business appeared to lie with me, and who now +confronted me at the distance of about two yards.</p> +<p>I looked hard at the man—and a queer kind of individual +he was to look at—a rakish figure, about thirty, and of the +middle size, dressed in a coat smartly cut, but threadbare, very +tight pantaloons of blue stuff, tied at the ankles, dirty white +stockings, and thin shoes, like those of a dancing-master; his +features were not ugly, but rather haggard, and he appeared to +owe his complexion less to nature than carmine; in fact, in every +respect, a very queer figure.</p> +<p>“One-and-ninepence, sir, or your things will be taken +away from you!” he said, in a kind of lisping tone, coming +yet nearer to me.</p> +<p>I still remained staring fixedly at him, but never a word +answered. Our eyes met; whereupon he suddenly lost the easy +impudent air which he before wore. He glanced, for a +moment, at my fist, which I had by this time clenched, and his +features became yet more haggard; he faltered; a fresh +“one-and-ninepence,” which he was about to utter, +died on his lips; he shrank back, disappeared behind a coach, and +I saw no more of him.</p> +<p>“One-and-ninepence, or my things will be taken away from +me!” said I to myself, musingly, as I followed the porter +to whom I had delivered my scanty baggage; “am I to expect +many of these greetings in the big world? Well, never +mind! I think I know the counter-sign!” And I +clenched my fist yet harder than before.</p> +<p>So I followed the porter, through the streets of London, to a +lodging which had been prepared for me by an acquaintance. +The morning, as I have before said, was gloomy, and the streets +through which I passed were dank and filthy; the people, also, +looked dank and filthy; and so, probably, did I, for the night +had been rainy, and I had come upwards of a hundred miles on the +top of a coach; my heart had sunk within me, by the time we +reached a dark narrow street, in which was the lodging.</p> +<p>“Cheer up, young man,” said the porter, “we +shall have a fine afternoon!”</p> +<p><!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>And presently I found myself in the lodging which had +been prepared for me. It consisted of a small room, up two +pair of stairs, in which I was to sit, and another still smaller +above it, in which I was to sleep. I remember that I sat +down, and looked disconsolate about me—everything seemed so +cold and dingy. Yet how little is required to make a +situation—however cheerless at first sight—cheerful +and comfortable. The people of the house, who looked kindly +upon me, lighted a fire in the dingy grate; and, then, what a +change!—the dingy room seemed dingy no more! Oh, the +luxury of a cheerful fire after a chill night’s +journey! I drew near to the blazing grate, rubbed my hands, +and felt glad.</p> +<p>And, when I had warmed myself, I turned to the table, on +which, by this time, the people of the house had placed my +breakfast; and I ate and I drank; and, as I ate and drank, I +mused within myself, and my eyes were frequently directed to a +small green box, which constituted part of my luggage, and which, +with the rest of my things, stood in one corner of the room, till +at last, leaving my breakfast unfinished, I rose, and, going to +the box, unlocked it, and took out two or three bundles of papers +tied with red tape, and, placing them on the table, I resumed my +seat and my breakfast, my eyes intently fixed upon the bundles of +papers all the time.</p> +<p>And when I had drained the last cup of tea out of a dingy +teapot, and ate the last slice of the dingy loaf, I untied one of +the bundles, and proceeded to look over the papers, which were +closely written over in a singular hand, and I read for some +time, till at last I said to myself, “It will +do.” And then I looked at the other bundle for some +time, without untying it; and at last I said, “It will do +also.” And then I turned to the fire, and, putting my +feet against the sides of the grate, I leaned back on my chair, +and, with my eyes upon the fire, fell into deep thought.</p> +<p>And there I continued in thought before the fire, until my +eyes closed, and I fell asleep; which was not to be wondered at, +after the fatigue and cold which I had lately undergone on the +coach-top; and, in my sleep, I imagined myself still there, +amidst darkness and rain, hurrying now over wild heaths, and now +along roads overhung with thick and umbrageous trees, and +sometimes methought I heard the horn of the guard, and sometimes +the voice of the coachman, now chiding, now encouraging his +horses, as they toiled through the deep and miry ways. At +length a tremendous crack of a whip saluted the tympanum of my +ear, and I started up broad awake, nearly oversetting the chair +on which I reclined—and, lo! I was in the dingy room +before the fire, which was by this time half extinguished. +In my dream I had confounded the noise of the street with those +of my night-journey; the crack which had aroused me I soon found +proceeded from the whip of a carter, who, with many oaths, was +flogging his team below the window.</p> +<p>Looking at a clock which stood upon the mantel-piece, I +perceived that it was past eleven; whereupon I said to myself, +“I am wasting my time foolishly and unprofitably, +forgetting that I am now in the big world, without anything to +depend upon save my own exertions;” and <!-- page 131--><a +name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>then I +adjusted my dress, and, locking up the bundle of papers which I +had not read, I tied up the other, and, taking it under my arm, I +went down stairs; and, after asking a question or two of the +people of the house, I sallied forth into the street with a +determined look, though at heart I felt somewhat timorous at the +idea of venturing out alone into the mazes of the mighty city, of +which I had heard much, but of which, of my own knowledge, I knew +nothing.</p> +<p>I had, however, no great cause for anxiety in the present +instance; I easily found my way to the place which I was in quest +of—one of the many new squares on the northern side of the +metropolis, and which was scarcely ten minutes’ walk from +the street in which I had taken up my abode. Arriving +before the door of a tolerably large house which bore a certain +number, I stood still for a moment in a kind of trepidation, +looking anxiously at the door; I then slowly passed on till I +came to the end of the square, where I stood still, and pondered +for awhile. Suddenly, however, like one who has formed a +resolution, I clenched my right hand, flinging my hat somewhat on +one side, and, turning back with haste to the door before which I +had stopped, I sprang up the steps, and gave a loud rap, ringing +at the same time the bell of the area. After the lapse of a +minute the door was opened by a maid-servant of no very cleanly +or prepossessing appearance, of whom I demanded, in a tone of +some hauteur, whether the master of the house was at home. +Glancing for a moment at the white paper bundle beneath my arm, +the handmaid made no reply in words, but, with a kind of toss of +her head, flung the door open, standing on one side as if to let +me enter. I did enter; and the handmaid, having opened +another door on the right hand, went in, and said something which +I could not hear: after a considerable pause, however, I heard +the voice of a man say, “Let him come in;” whereupon +the handmaid, coming out, motioned me to enter, and, on my +obeying, instantly closed the door behind me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Sinister Glance—Excellent +Correspondent—Quite Original—My System—A Losing +Trade—Merit—Starting a Review—What Have You +Got?—Stop!—Dairyman’s Daughter—Oxford +Principles—More Conversation—How is This?</p> +<p>There were two individuals in the room in which I now found +myself; it was a small study, surrounded with bookcases, the +window looking out upon the square. Of these individuals he +who appeared to be the principal stood with his back to the +fireplace. He was a tall stout man, about sixty, dressed in +a loose morning gown. The expression of his countenance +would have been bluff but for a certain sinister glance, and his +complexion might have been called rubicund but for a considerable +tinge of bilious yellow. He eyed me askance as I +entered. The other, a pale, shrivelled-looking person, sat +at a table apparently <!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 132</span>engaged with an account-book; he +took no manner of notice of me, never once lifting his eyes from +the page before him.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, what is your pleasure?” said the big +man, in a rough tone, as I stood there, looking at him +wistfully—as well I might—for upon that man, at the +time of which I am speaking, my principal, I may say my only +hopes, rested.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said I, “my name is so-and-so, and I +am the bearer of a letter to you from Mr. so-and-so, an old +friend and correspondent of yours.”</p> +<p>The countenance of the big man instantly lost the suspicious +and lowering expression which it had hitherto exhibited; he +strode forward and, seizing me by the hand, gave me a violent +squeeze.</p> +<p>“My dear sir,” said he, “I am rejoiced to +see you in London. I have been long anxious for the +pleasure—we are old friends, though we have never before +met. Taggart,” said he to the man who sat at the +desk, “this is our excellent correspondent, the friend and +pupil of our other excellent correspondent.”</p> +<p>The pale, shrivelled-looking man slowly and deliberately +raised his head from the account-book, and surveyed me for a +moment or two; not the slightest emotion was observable in his +countenance. It appeared to me, however, that I could +detect a droll twinkle in his eye; his curiosity, if he had any, +was soon gratified; he made me a kind of bow, pulled out a +snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and again bent his head over +the page.</p> +<p>“And now, my dear sir,” said the big man, +“pray sit down, and tell me the cause of your visit. +I hope you intend to remain here a day or two.”</p> +<p>“More than that,” said I, “I am come to take +up my abode in London.”</p> +<p>“Glad to hear it; and what have you been about of late? +got anything which will suit me? Sir, I admire your style +of writing, and your manner of thinking; and I am much obliged to +my good friend and correspondent for sending me some of your +productions. I inserted them all, and wished there had been +more of them—quite original, sir, quite: took with the +public, especially the essay about the non-existence of +anything. I don’t exactly agree with you, though; I +have my own peculiar ideas about matter—as you know, of +course, from the book I have published. Nevertheless, a +very pretty piece of speculative philosophy—no such thing +as matter—impossible that there should be—<i>ex +nihilo</i>—what is the Greek? I have +forgot—very pretty indeed; very original.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid, sir, it was very wrong to write such +trash, and yet more to allow it to be published.”</p> +<p>“Trash! not at all; a very pretty piece of speculative +philosophy; of course you were wrong in saying there is no +world. The world must exist, to have the shape of a pear; +and that the world is shaped like a pear, and not like an apple, +as the fools of Oxford say, I have satisfactorily proved in my +book. Now, if there were no world, what would become of my +system? But what do you propose to do in London?”</p> +<p><!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>“Here is the letter, sir,” said I, +“of our good friend, which I have not yet given to you; I +believe it will explain to you the circumstances under which I +come.”</p> +<p>He took the letter, and perused it with attention. +“Hem!” said he, with a somewhat altered manner, +“my friend tells me that you are come up to London with the +view of turning your literary talents to account, and desires me +to assist you in my capacity of publisher in bringing forth two +or three works which you have prepared. My good friend is +perhaps not aware that for some time past I have given up +publishing—was obliged to do so—had many severe +losses—do nothing at present in that line, save sending out +the Magazine once a month; and, between ourselves, am thinking of +disposing of that—wish to retire—high time at my +age—so you see—”</p> +<p>“I am very sorry, sir, to hear that you cannot assist +me” (and I remember that I felt very nervous); “I had +hoped—”</p> +<p>“A losing trade, I assure you, sir; literature is a +drug. Taggart, what o’clock is it?”</p> +<p>“Well, sir!” said I, rising, “as you cannot +assist me, I will now take my leave; I thank you sincerely for +your kind reception, and will trouble you no longer.”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t go. I wish to have some further +conversation with you; and perhaps I may hit upon some plan to +benefit you. I honour merit, and always make a point to +encourage it when I can; but,—Taggart, go to the bank, and +tell them to dishonour the bill twelve months after date for +thirty pounds which becomes due to-morrow. I am +dissatisfied with that fellow who wrote the fairy tales, and +intend to give him all the trouble in my power. Make +haste.”</p> +<p>Taggart did not appear to be in any particular haste. +First of all, he took a pinch of snuff, then, rising from his +chair, slowly and deliberately drew his wig, for he wore a wig of +a brown colour, rather more over his forehead than it had +previously been, buttoned his coat, and, taking his hat, and an +umbrella which stood in a corner, made me a low bow, and quitted +the room.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, where were we? Oh, I remember, we were +talking about merit. Sir, I always wish to encourage merit, +especially when it comes so highly recommended as in the present +instance. Sir, my good friend and correspondent speaks of +you in the highest terms. Sir, I honour my good friend, and +have the highest respect for his opinion in all matters connected +with literature—rather eccentric though. Sir, my good +friend has done my periodical more good and more harm than all +the rest of my correspondents. Sir, I shall never forget +the sensation caused by the appearance of his article about a +certain personage whom he proved—and I think +satisfactorily—to have been a legionary +soldier—rather startling, was it not? The S--- of the +world a common soldier, in a marching regiment—original, +but startling; sir, I honour my good friend.”</p> +<p>“So you have renounced publishing, sir,” said I, +“with the exception of the Magazine?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes; except now and then, under the rose; the old +coachman, <!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 134</span>you know, likes to hear the +whip. Indeed, at the present moment, I am thinking of +starting a Review on an entirely new and original principle; and +it just struck me that you might be of high utility in the +undertaking—what do you think of the matter?”</p> +<p>“I should be happy, sir, to render you any assistance, +but I am afraid the employment you propose requires other +qualifications than I possess; however, I can make the +essay. My chief intention in coming to London was to lay +before the world what I had prepared; and I had hoped by your +assistance—”</p> +<p>“Ah! I see, ambition! Ambition is a very +pretty thing; but, sir, we must walk before we run, according to +the old saying—what is that you have got under your +arm?”</p> +<p>“One of the works to which I was alluding; the one, +indeed, which I am most anxious to lay before the world, as I +hope to derive from it both profit and reputation.”</p> +<p>“Indeed! what do you call it?”</p> +<p>“Ancient songs of Denmark, heroic and romantic, +translated by myself; with notes philological, critical, and +historical.”</p> +<p>“Then, sir, I assure you that your time and labour have +been entirely flung away; nobody would read your ballads, if you +were to give them to the world to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“I am sure, sir, that you would say otherwise, if you +would permit me to read one to you;” and, without waiting +for the answer of the big man, nor indeed so much as looking at +him, to see whether he was inclined or not to hear me, I undid my +manuscript, and with a voice trembling with eagerness, I read to +the following effect:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Buckshank bold and Elfinstone,<br /> +And more than I can mention here,<br /> +They caused to be built so stout a ship,<br /> +And unto Iceland they would steer.</p> +<p>They launched the ship upon the main,<br /> +Which bellowed like a wrathful bear;<br /> +Down to the bottom the vessel sank,<br /> +A laidly Trold has dragged it there.</p> +<p>Down to the bottom sank young Roland,<br /> +And round about he groped awhile;<br /> +Until he found the path which led<br /> +Unto the bower of Ellenlyle.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Stop!” said the publisher; “very pretty +indeed, and very original; beats Scott hollow, and Percy too: +but, sir, the day for these things is gone by; nobody at present +cares for Percy, nor for Scott, either, save as a novelist; sorry +to discourage merit, sir, but what can I do! What else have +you got?”</p> +<p>“The songs of Ab Gwilym, the Welsh bard, also translated +by myself, with notes critical, philological, and +historical.”</p> +<p>“Pass on—what else?”</p> +<p><!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>“Nothing else,” said I, folding up my +manuscript with a sigh, “unless it be a romance in the +German style; on which, I confess, I set very little +value.”</p> +<p>“Wild?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, very wild.”</p> +<p>“Like the Miller of the Black Valley?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, very much like the Miller of the Black +Valley.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s better,” said the publisher; +“and yet, I don’t know, I question whether any one at +present cares for the miller himself. No, sir, the time for +those things is also gone by; German, at present, is a drug; and, +between ourselves, nobody has contributed to make it so more than +my good friend and correspondent;—but, sir, I see you are a +young gentleman of infinite merit, and I always wish to encourage +merit. Don’t you think you could write a series of +evangelical tales?”</p> +<p>“Evangelical tales, sir?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, evangelical novels.”</p> +<p>“Something in the style of Herder?”</p> +<p>“Herder is a drug, sir; nobody cares for +Herder—thanks to my good friend. Sir, I have in yon +drawer a hundred pages about Herder, which I dare not insert in +my periodical; it would sink it, sir. No, sir, something in +the style of the ‘Dairyman’s +Daughter.’”</p> +<p>“I never heard of the work till the present +moment.”</p> +<p>“Then, sir, procure it by all means. Sir, I could +afford as much as ten pounds for a well-written tale in the style +of the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter;’ that is the kind +of literature, sir, that sells at the present day! It is +not the Miller of the Black Valley—no, sir, nor Herder +either, that will suit the present taste; the evangelical body is +becoming very strong, sir; the canting +scoundrels—”</p> +<p>“But, sir, surely you would not pander to a scoundrelly +taste?”</p> +<p>“Then, sir, I must give up business altogether. +Sir, I have a great respect for the goddess Reason—an +infinite respect, sir; indeed, in my time, I have made a great +many sacrifices for her; but, sir, I cannot altogether ruin +myself for the goddess Reason. Sir, I am a friend to +Liberty, as is well known; but I must also be a friend to my own +family. It is with the view of providing for a son of mine +that I am about to start the review of which I am speaking. +He has taken into his head to marry, sir, and I must do something +for him, for he can do but little for himself. Well, sir, I +am a friend to Liberty, as I said before, and likewise a friend +to Reason; but I tell you frankly that the Review which I intend +to get up under the rose, and present him with when it is +established, will be conducted on Oxford principles.”</p> +<p>“Orthodox principles, I suppose you mean, +sir?”</p> +<p>“I do, sir; I am no linguist, but I believe the words +are synonymous.”</p> +<p>Much more conversation passed between us, and it was agreed +that I should become a contributor to the Oxford Review. I +stipulated, however, that, as I knew little of politics, and +cared less, no other articles should be required from me than +such as were connected with belles-lettres and philology; to this +the big man readily assented. “Nothing will be +required from you,” said he, “but what you mention; +<!-- page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>and now and then, perhaps, a paper on +metaphysics. You understand German, and perhaps it would be +desirable that you should review Kant; and in a review of Kant, +sir, you could introduce to advantage your peculiar notions about +<i>ex nihilo</i>.” He then reverted to the subject of +the “Dairyman’s Daughter,” which I promised to +take into consideration. As I was going away, he invited me +to dine with him on the ensuing Sunday.</p> +<p>“That’s a strange man!” said I to myself, +after I had left the house, “he is evidently very clever; +but I cannot say that I like him much, with his Oxford Reviews +and Dairyman’s Daughters. But what can I do? I +am almost without a friend in the world. I wish I could +find some one who would publish my ballads, or my songs of Ab +Gwilym. In spite of what the big man says, I am convinced +that, once published, they would bring me much fame and +profit. But how is this?—what a beautiful +sun!—the porter was right in saying that the day would +clear up—I will now go to my dingy lodging, lock up my +manuscripts, and then take a stroll about the big +city.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Walk—London’s +Cheape—Street of the Lombards—Strange +Bridge—Main Arch—The Roaring Gulf—The +Boat—Cly-Faking—A Comfort—The Book—The +Blessed Woman—No Trap.</p> +<p>So I set out on my walk to see the wonders of the big city, +and, as chance would have it, I directed my course to the +east. The day, as I have already said, had become very +fine, so that I saw the great city to advantage, and the wonders +thereof: and much I admired all I saw; and, amongst other things, +the huge cathedral, standing so proudly on the most commanding +ground in the big city; and I looked up to the mighty dome, +surmounted by a golden cross, and I said within myself, +“That dome must needs be the finest in the world;” +and I gazed upon it till my eyes reeled, and my brain became +dizzy, and I thought that the dome would fall and crush me; and I +shrank within myself, and struck yet deeper into the heart of the +big city.</p> +<p>“O Cheapside! Cheapside!” said I, as I +advanced up that mighty thoroughfare, “truly thou art a +wonderful place for hurry, noise, and riches! Men talk of +the bazaars of the East—I have never seen them—but I +dare say that, compared with thee, they are poor places, silent +places, abounding with empty boxes, O thou pride of +London’s east!—mighty mart of old renown!—for +thou art not a place of yesterday:—long before the Roses +red and white battled in fair England, thou didst exist—a +place of throng and bustle—a place of gold and silver, +perfumes and fine linen. Centuries ago thou couldst extort +the praises even of the fiercest foes of England. Fierce +bards of Wales, sworn foes of England, sang thy praises centuries +ago; and even the fiercest of them all, Red Julius himself, wild +Glendower’s bard, had a word of praise <!-- page 137--><a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>for +London’s “Cheape,” for so the bards of Wales +styled thee in their flowing odes. Then, if those who were +not English, and hated England, and all connected therewith, had +yet much to say in thy praise, when thou wast far inferior to +what thou art now, why should true-born Englishmen, or those who +call themselves so, turn up their noses at thee, and scoff thee +at the present day, as I believe they do? But, let others +do as they will, I, at least, who am not only an Englishman, but +an East Englishman, will not turn up my nose at thee, but will +praise and extol thee, calling thee mart of the world—a +place of wonder and astonishment!—and, were it right and +fitting to wish that anything should endure for ever, I would say +prosperity to Cheapside, throughout all ages—may it be the +world’s resort for merchandise, world without +end.”</p> +<p>And when I had passed through the Cheape I entered another +street, which led up a kind of ascent, and which proved to be the +street of the Lombards, called so from the name of its founders; +and I walked rapidly up the street of the Lombards, neither +looking to the right nor left, for it had no interest for me, +though I had a kind of consciousness that mighty things were +being transacted behind its walls; but it wanted the throng, +bustle, and outward magnificence of the Cheape, and it had never +been spoken of by “ruddy bards!” And, when I +had got to the end of the street of the Lombards, I stood still +for some time, deliberating within myself whether I should turn +to the right or the left, or go straight forward, and at last I +turned to the right, down a street of rapid descent, and +presently found myself upon a bridge which traversed the river +which runs by the big city.</p> +<p>A strange kind of bridge it was; huge and massive, and +seemingly of great antiquity. It had an arched back, like +that of a hog, a high balustrade, and at either side, at +intervals, were stone bowers bulking over the river, but open on +the other side, and furnished with a semicircular bench. +Though the bridge was wide—very wide—it was all too +narrow for the concourse upon it. Thousands of human beings +were pouring over the bridge. But what chiefly struck my +attention was a double row of carts and waggons, the generality +drawn by horses as large as elephants, each row striving hard in +a different direction, and not unfrequently brought to a +standstill. Oh the cracking of whips, the shouts and oaths +of the carters, and the grating of wheels upon the enormous +stones that formed the pavement! In fact, there was a wild +hurly-burly upon the bridge, which nearly deafened me. But, +if upon the bridge there was a confusion, below it there was a +confusion ten times confounded. The tide, which was fast +ebbing, obstructed by the immense piers of the old bridge, poured +beneath the arches with a fall of several feet, forming in the +river below as many whirlpools as there were arches. Truly +tremendous was the roar of the descending waters, and the bellow +of the tremendous gulfs, which swallowed them for a time, and +then cast them forth, foaming and frothing from their horrid +wombs. Slowly advancing along the bridge, I came to the +highest point, and there I stood still, close beside one of the +stone bowers, in which, beside a fruitstall, sat an old woman, +with a pan of charcoal at her feet, and a book in her hand, in +which she appeared to be reading <!-- page 138--><a +name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>intently. There I stood, just above the principal +arch, looking through the balustrade at the scene that presented +itself—and such a scene! Towards the left bank of the +river, a forest of masts, thick and close, as far as the eye +could reach; spacious wharfs, surmounted with gigantic edifices; +and, far away, Cæsar’s Castle, with its White +Tower. To the right, another forest of masts, and a maze of +buildings, from which, here and there, shot up to the sky +chimneys taller than Cleopatra’s Needle, vomiting forth +huge wreaths of that black smoke which forms the +canopy—occasionally a gorgeous one—of the more than +Babel city. Stretching before me, the troubled breast of +the mighty river, and, immediately below, the main whirlpool of +the Thames—the Maëlstrom of the bulwarks of the middle +arch—a grisly pool, which, with its superabundance of +horror, fascinated me. Who knows but I should have leapt +into its depths?—I have heard of such things—but for +a rather startling occurrence which broke the spell. As I +stood upon the bridge, gazing into the jaws of the pool, a small +boat shot suddenly through the arch beneath my feet. There +were three persons in it; an oarsman in the middle, whilst a man +and woman sat at the stern. I shall never forget the thrill +of horror which went through me at this sudden apparition. +What!—a boat—a small boat—passing beneath that +arch into yonder roaring gulf! Yes, yes, down through that +awful water-way, with more than the swiftness of an arrow, shot +the boat, or skiff, right into the jaws of the pool. A +monstrous breaker curls over the prow—there is no hope; the +boat is swamped, and all drowned in that strangling vortex. +No! the boat, which appeared to have the buoyancy of a feather, +skipped over the threatening horror, and the next moment was out +of danger, the boatman—a true boatman of Cockaigne, +that—elevating one of his sculls in sign of triumph, the +man hallooing, and the woman, a true Englishwoman that—of a +certain class—waving her shawl. Whether any one +observed them save myself, or whether the feat was a common one, +I know not; but nobody appeared to take any notice of them. +As for myself, I was so excited, that I strove to clamber up the +balustrade of the bridge, in order to obtain a better view of the +daring adventurers. Before I could accomplish my design, +however, I felt myself seized by the body, and, turning my head, +perceived the old fruit-woman, who was clinging to me.</p> +<p>“Nay, dear! don’t—don’t!” said +she. “Don’t fling yourself over—perhaps +you may have better luck next time!”</p> +<p>“I was not going to fling myself over,” said I, +dropping from the balustrade; “how came you to think of +such a thing?”</p> +<p>“Why, seeing you clamber up so fiercely, I thought you +might have had ill luck, and that you wished to make away with +yourself.”</p> +<p>“Ill luck,” said I, going into the stone bower and +sitting down. “What do you mean? ill luck in +what?”</p> +<p>“Why, no great harm, dear! cly-faking, +perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Are you coming over me with dialects,” said I, +“speaking unto me in fashions I wot nothing of?”</p> +<p>“Nay, dear! don’t look so strange with those eyes +of your’n, nor talk so strangely; I don’t understand +you.”</p> +<p><!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>“Nor I you; what do you mean by +cly-faking?”</p> +<p>“Lor, dear! no harm; only taking a handkerchief now and +then.”</p> +<p>“Do you take me for a thief?”</p> +<p>“Nay, dear! don’t make use of bad language; we +never calls them thieves here, but prigs and fakers: to tell you +the truth, dear, seeing you spring at that railing put me in mind +of my own dear son, who is now at Bot’ny: when he had bad +luck, he always used to talk of flinging himself over the bridge; +and, sure enough, when the traps were after him, he did fling +himself into the river, but that was off the bank; nevertheless, +the traps pulled him out, and he is now suffering his sentence; +so you see you may speak out, if you have done anything in the +harmless line, for I am my son’s own mother, I assure +you.”</p> +<p>“So you think there’s no harm in +stealing?”</p> +<p>“No harm in the world, dear! Do you think my own +child would have been transported for it, if there had been any +harm in it? and what’s more, would the blessed woman in the +book here have written her life as she has done, and given it to +the world, if there had been any harm in faking? She, too, +was what they call a thief and a cut-purse; ay, and was +transported for it, like my dear son; and do you think she would +have told the world so, if there had been any harm in the +thing? Oh, it is a comfort to me that the blessed woman was +transported, and came back—for come back she did, and rich +too—for it is an assurance to me that my dear son, who was +transported too, will come back like her.”</p> +<p>“What was her name?”</p> +<p>“Her name, blessed Mary Flanders.”</p> +<p>“Will you let me look at the book?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear, that I will, if you promise me not to run +away with it.”</p> +<p>I took the book from her hand; a short thick volume, at least +a century old, bound with greasy black leather. I turned +the yellow and dog’s-eared pages, reading here and there a +sentence. Yes, and no mistake! <i>His</i> pen, his +style, his spirit might be observed in every line of the +uncouth-looking old volume—the air, the style, the spirit +of the writer of the book which first taught me to read. I +covered my face with my hand, and thought of my +childhood—</p> +<p>“This is a singular book,” said I at last; +“but it does not appear to have been written to prove that +thieving is no harm, but rather to show the terrible consequences +of crime: it contains a deep moral.”</p> +<p>“A deep what, dear?”</p> +<p>“A—but no matter, I will give you a crown for this +volume.”</p> +<p>“No, dear, I will not sell the volume for a +crown.”</p> +<p>“I am poor,” said I; “but I will give you +two silver crowns for your volume.”</p> +<p>“No, dear, I will not sell my volume for two silver +crowns; no, nor for the golden one in the king’s tower down +there; without my book I should mope and pine, and perhaps fling +myself into the river; but I am glad you like it, which shows +that I was right about you, after all; you are one of our party, +and you have a flash about that eye of yours which puts me just +in mind of my dear son. No, dear, I won’t sell you +<!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>my book; but, if you like, you may have a peep into it +whenever you come this way. I shall be glad to see you; you +are one of the right sort, for if you had been a common one, you +would have run away with the thing; but you scorn such behaviour, +and, as you are so flash of your money, though you say you are +poor, you may give me a tanner to buy a little baccy with; I love +baccy, dear, more by token that it comes from the plantations to +which the blessed woman was sent.”</p> +<p>“What’s a tanner?” said I.</p> +<p>“Lor’! don’t you know, dear? Why, a +tanner is sixpence; and, as you were talking just now about +crowns, it will be as well to tell you that those of our trade +never calls them crowns, but bulls; but I am talking nonsense, +just as if you did not know all that already, as well as myself; +you are only shamming—I’m no trap, dear, nor more was +the blessed woman in the book. Thank you, dear—thank +you for the tanner; if I don’t spend it, I’ll keep it +in remembrance of your sweet face. What, you are +going?—well, first let me whisper a word to you. If +you have any clies to sell at any time, I’ll buy them of +you; all safe with me; I never ’peach, and scorns a trap; +so now, dear, God bless you! and give you good luck. Thank +you for your pleasant company, and thank you for the +tanner.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Tanner—The Hotel—Drinking +Claret—London Journal—New +Field—Common-placeness—The Three +Individuals—Botheration—Frank and Ardent.</p> +<p>“Tanner!” said I musingly, as I left the bridge; +“Tanner! what can the man who cures raw skins by means of a +preparation of oak-bark and other materials have to do with the +name which these fakers, as they call themselves, bestow on the +smallest silver coin in these dominions? Tanner! I +can’t trace the connection between the man of bark and the +silver coin, unless journeymen tanners are in the habit of +working for sixpence a day. But I have it,” I +continued, flourishing my hat over my head, “tanner, in +this instance, is not an English word.” Is it not +surprising that the language of Mr. Petulengro and of Tawno +Chikno, is continually coming to my assistance whenever I appear +to be at a nonplus with respect to the derivation of crabbed +words? I have made out crabbed words in Æschylus by +means of the speech of Chikno and Petulengro; and even in my +Biblical researches I have derived no slight assistance from +it. It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, +Tanner—Tawno! the one is but a modification of the other; +they were originally identical, and have still much the same +signification. Tanner, in the language of the apple-woman, +meaneth the smallest of English silver coins; and Tawno, in the +language of the Petulengros, though bestowed upon the biggest of +the Romans, according to strict interpretation, signifieth a +little child.</p> +<p><!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>So I left the bridge, retracing my steps for a +considerable way, as I thought I had seen enough in the direction +in which I had hitherto been wandering; I should say that I +scarcely walked less than thirty miles about the big city on the +day of my first arrival. Night came on, but still I was +walking about, my eyes wide open, and admiring everything that +presented itself to them. Everything was new to me, for +everything is different in London from what it is +elsewhere—the people, their language, the horses, the +<i>tout ensemble</i>—even the stones of London are +different from others—at least, it appeared to me that I +had never walked with the same ease and facility on the +flagstones of a country town as on those of London; so I +continued roving about till night came on, and then the splendour +of some of the shops particularly struck me. “A +regular Arabian Nights’ entertainment!” said I, as I +looked into one on Cornhill, gorgeous with precious merchandise, +and lighted up with lustres, the rays of which were reflected +from a hundred mirrors.</p> +<p>But, notwithstanding the excellence of the London pavement, I +began about nine o’clock to feel myself thoroughly tired; +painfully and slowly did I drag my feet along. I also felt +very much in want of some refreshment, and I remembered that +since breakfast I had taken nothing. I was now in the +Strand, and, glancing about, I perceived that I was close by an +hotel, which bore over the door the somewhat remarkable name of +Holy Lands. Without a moment’s hesitation I entered a +well-lighted passage, and, turning to the left, I found myself in +a well-lighted coffee-room, with a well-dressed and frizzled +waiter before me. “Bring me some claret,” said +I, for I was rather faint than hungry, and I felt ashamed to give +a humbler order to so well-dressed an individual. The +waiter looked at me for a moment; then, making a low bow, he +bustled off, and I sat myself down in the box nearest to the +window. Presently the waiter returned, bearing beneath his +left arm a long bottle, and between the fingers of his right hand +two large purple glasses; placing the latter on the table, he +produced a cork-screw, drew the cork in a twinkling, set the +bottle down before me with a bang, and then, standing still, +appeared to watch my movements. You think I don’t +know how to drink a glass of claret, thought I to myself. +I’ll soon show you how we drink claret where I come from; +and, filling one of the glasses to the brim, I flickered it for a +moment between my eyes and the lustre, and then held it to my +nose; having given that organ full time to test the bouquet of +the wine, I applied the glass to my lips, taking a large mouthful +of the wine, which I swallowed slowly and by degrees, that the +palate might likewise have an opportunity of performing its +functions. A second mouthful I disposed of more summarily; +then, placing the empty glass upon the table, I fixed my eyes +upon the bottle, and said—nothing; whereupon the waiter, +who had been observing the whole process with considerable +attention, made me a bow yet more low than before, and turning on +his heel, retired with a smart chuck of his head, as much as to +say, It is all right; the young man is used to claret.</p> +<p>And when the waiter had retired I took a second glass of the +wine, which I found excellent; and, observing a newspaper lying +near me, I <!-- page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 142</span>took it up and began perusing +it. It has been observed somewhere that people who are in +the habit of reading newspapers every day are not unfrequently +struck with the excellence of style and general talent which they +display. Now, if that be the case, how must I have been +surprised, who was reading a newspaper for the first time, and +that one of the best of the London journals! Yes, strange +as it may seem, it was nevertheless true, that, up to the moment +of which I am speaking, I had never read a newspaper of any +description. I of course had frequently seen journals, and +even handled them; but, as for reading them, what were they to +me?—I cared not for news. But here I was now, with my +claret before me, perusing, perhaps, the best of all the London +journals—it was not the --- and I was astonished: an +entirely new field of literature appeared to be opened to my +view. It was a discovery, but I confess rather an +unpleasant one; for I said to myself, if literary talent is so +very common in London, that the journals, things which, as their +very name denotes, are ephemeral, are written in a style like the +article I have been perusing, how can I hope to distinguish +myself in this big town, when, for the life of me, I don’t +think I could write anything half so clever as what I have been +reading. And then I laid down the paper, and fell into deep +musing; rousing myself from which, I took a glass of wine, and +pouring out another, began musing again. What I have been +reading, thought I, is certainly very clever and very talented; +but talent and cleverness I think I have heard some one say are +very commonplace things, only fitted for everyday +occasions. I question whether the man who wrote the book I +saw this day on the bridge was a clever man; but, after all, was +he not something much better? I don’t think he could +have written this article, but then he wrote the book which I saw +on the bridge. Then, if he could not have written the +article on which I now hold my forefinger—and I do not +believe he could—why should I feel discouraged at the +consciousness that I, too, could not write it? I certainly +could no more have written the article than he could; but then, +like him, though I would not compare myself to the man who wrote +the book I saw upon the bridge, I think I could—and here I +emptied the glass of claret—write something better.</p> +<p>Thereupon I resumed the newspaper; and, as I was before struck +with the fluency of style and the general talent which it +displayed, I was now equally so with its common-placeness and +want of originality on every subject; and it was evident to me +that, whatever advantage these newspaper-writers might have over +me in some points, they had never studied the Welsh bards, +translated Kæmpe Viser, or been under the pupilage of Mr. +Petulengro and Tawno Chikno.</p> +<p>And as I sat conning the newspaper, three individuals entered +the room, and seated themselves in the box at the farther end of +which I was. They were all three very well dressed; two of +them elderly gentlemen, the third a young man about my own age, +or perhaps a year or two older: they called for coffee; and, +after two or three observations, the two eldest commenced a +conversation in French, which, however, though they spoke it +fluently enough, I perceived at once was <!-- page 143--><a +name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>not their +native language; the young man, however, took no part in their +conversation, and when they addressed a portion to him, which +indeed was but rarely, merely replied by a monosyllable. I +have never been a listener, and I paid but little heed to their +discourse, nor indeed to themselves; as I occasionally looked up, +however, I could perceive that the features of the young man, who +chanced to be seated exactly opposite to me, wore an air of +constraint and vexation. This circumstance caused me to +observe him more particularly than I otherwise should have done: +his features were handsome and prepossessing; he had dark brown +hair, and a high-arched forehead. After the lapse of half +an hour, the two elder individuals, having finished their coffee, +called for the waiter, and then rose as if to depart, the young +man, however, still remaining seated in the box. The +others, having reached the door, turned round, and finding that +the youth did not follow them, one of them called to him with a +tone of some authority; whereupon the young man rose, and, +pronouncing half audibly the word “botheration,” rose +and followed them. I now observed that he was remarkably +tall. All three left the house. In about ten minutes, +finding nothing more worth reading in the newspaper, I laid it +down, and, though the claret was not yet exhausted, I was +thinking of betaking myself to my lodgings, and was about to call +the waiter, when I heard a step in the passage, and in another +moment, the tall young man entered the room, advanced to the same +box, and, sitting down nearly opposite to me, again pronounced to +himself, but more audibly than before, the same word.</p> +<p>“A troublesome world this, sir,” said I, looking +at him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the young man, looking fixedly at me; +“but I am afraid we bring most of our troubles on our own +heads—at least I can say so of myself,” he added, +laughing. Then after a pause, “I beg pardon,” +he said, “but am I not addressing one of my own +country?”</p> +<p>“Of what country are you?” said I.</p> +<p>“Ireland.”</p> +<p>“I am not of your country, sir; but I have an infinite +veneration for your country, as Strap said to the French +soldier. Will you take a glass of wine?”</p> +<p>“Ah, <i>de tout mon cœur</i>, as the parasite said +to Gil Blas,” cried the young man, laughing. +“Here’s to our better acquaintance!”</p> +<p>And better acquainted we soon became; and I found that, in +making the acquaintance of the young man, I had indeed made a +valuable acquisition; he was accomplished, highly connected, and +bore the name of Francis Ardry. Frank and ardent he was, +and in a very little time had told me much that related to +himself, and in return I communicated a general outline of my own +history; he listened with profound attention, but laughed +heartily when I told him some particulars of my visit in the +morning to the publisher, whom he had frequently heard of.</p> +<p>We left the house together.</p> +<p>“We shall soon see each other again,” said he, as +we separated at the door of my lodging.</p> +<h2><!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 144</span>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Dine with the +Publisher—Religions—No Animal Food—Unprofitable +Discussions—Principles of Criticism—The Book +Market—Newgate Lives—Goethe a Drug—German +Acquirements—Moral Dignity.</p> +<p>On the Sunday I was punctual to my appointment to dine with +the publisher. As I hurried along the square in which his +house stood, my thoughts were fixed so intently on the great man, +that I passed by him without seeing him. He had observed +me, however, and joined me just as I was about to knock at the +door. “Let us take a turn in the square,” said +he; “we shall not dine for half an hour.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said he, as we were walking in the square, +“what have you been doing since I last saw you?”</p> +<p>“I have been looking about London,” said I, +“and I have bought the ‘Dairyman’s +Daughter’; here it is.”</p> +<p>“Pray put it up,” said the publisher; “I +don’t want to look at such trash. Well, do you think +you could write anything like it?”</p> +<p>“I do not,” said I.</p> +<p>“How is that?” said the publisher, looking at +me.</p> +<p>“Because,” said I, “the man who wrote it +seems to be perfectly well acquainted with his subject; and, +moreover, to write from the heart.”</p> +<p>“By the subject you mean—”</p> +<p>“Religion.”</p> +<p>“And a’n’t you acquainted with +religion?”</p> +<p>“Very little.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry for that,” said the publisher +seriously, “for he who sets up for an author ought to be +acquainted not only with religion, but religions, and indeed with +all subjects, like my good friend in the country. It is +well that I have changed my mind about the +‘Dairyman’s Daughter,’ or I really don’t +know whom I could apply to on the subject at the present moment, +unless to himself; and after all I question whether his style is +exactly suited for an evangelical novel.”</p> +<p>“Then you do not wish for an imitation of the +‘Dairyman’s Daughter?’”</p> +<p>“I do not, sir; I have changed my mind, as I told you +before; I wish to employ you in another line, but will +communicate to you my intentions after dinner.”</p> +<p>At dinner, beside the publisher and myself, were present his +wife and son, with his newly-married bride; the wife appeared a +quiet respectable woman, and the young people looked very happy +and good-natured; not so the publisher, who occasionally eyed +both with contempt and dislike. Connected with this dinner +there was one thing remarkable; the publisher took no animal +food, but contented himself with feeding voraciously on rice and +vegetables, prepared in various ways.</p> +<p>“You eat no animal food, sir?” said I.</p> +<p>“I do not, sir,” said he; “I have forsworn +it upwards of twenty <!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 145</span>years. In one respect, sir, I +am a Brahmin. I abhor taking away life—the brutes +have as much right to live as ourselves.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “if the brutes were not +killed, there would be such a superabundance of them, that the +land would be overrun with them.”</p> +<p>“I do not think so, sir; few are killed in India, and +yet there is plenty of room.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “Nature intended that they +should be destroyed, and the brutes themselves prey upon one +another, and it is well for themselves and the world that they do +so. What would be the state of things if every insect, +bird, and worm were left to perish of old age?”</p> +<p>“We will change the subject,” said the publisher; +“I have never been a friend of unprofitable +discussions.”</p> +<p>I looked at the publisher with some surprise, I had not been +accustomed to be spoken to so magisterially; his countenance was +dressed in a portentous frown, and his eye looked more sinister +than ever; at that moment he put me in mind of some of those +despots of whom I had read in the history of Morocco, whose word +was law. He merely wants power, thought I to myself, to be +a regular Muley Mehemet; and then I sighed, for I remembered how +very much I was in the power of that man.</p> +<p>The dinner over, the publisher nodded to his wife, who +departed, followed by her daughter-in-law. The son looked +as if he would willingly have attended them; he, however, +remained seated; and, a small decanter of wine being placed on +the table, the publisher filled two glasses, one of which he +handed to myself, and the other to his son; saying, +“Suppose you two drink to the success of the Review. +I would join you,” said he, addressing himself to me, +“but I drink no wine; if I am a Brahmin with respect to +meat, I am a Mahometan with respect to wine.”</p> +<p>So the son and I drank success to the Review, and then the +young man asked me various questions; for example—How I +liked London?—Whether I did not think it a very fine +place?—Whether I was at the play the night +before?—and whether I was in the park that afternoon? +He seemed preparing to ask me some more questions; but, receiving +a furious look from his father, he became silent, filled himself +a glass of wine, drank it off, looked at the table for about a +minute, then got up, pushed back his chair, made me a bow, and +left the room.</p> +<p>“Is that young gentleman, sir,” said I, +“well versed in the principles of criticism?”</p> +<p>“He is not, sir,” said the publisher; “and, +if I place him at the head of the Review ostensibly, I do it +merely in the hope of procuring him a maintenance; of the +principle of a thing he knows nothing, except that the principle +of bread is wheat, and that the principle of that wine is +grape. Will you take another glass?”</p> +<p>I looked at the decanter; but not feeling altogether so sure +as the publisher’s son with respect to the principle of +what it contained, I declined taking any more.</p> +<p>“No, sir,” said the publisher, adjusting himself +in his chair, “he <!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>knows +nothing about criticism, and will have nothing more to do with +the reviewals than carrying about the books to those who have to +review them; the real conductor of the Review will be a widely +different person, to whom I will, when convenient, introduce +you. And now we will talk of the matter which we touched +upon before dinner: I told you then that I had changed my mind +with respect to you; I have been considering the state of the +market, sir, the book market, and I have come to the conclusion +that, though you might be profitably employed upon evangelical +novels, you could earn more money for me, sir, and consequently +for yourself, by a compilation of Newgate lives and +trials.”</p> +<p>“Newgate lives and trials!”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the publisher, “Newgate +lives and trials; and now, sir, I will briefly state to you the +services which I expect you to perform, and the terms I am +willing to grant. I expect you, sir, to compile six volumes +of Newgate lives and trials, each volume to contain by no manner +of means less than one thousand pages; the remuneration which you +will receive when the work is completed will be fifty pounds, +which is likewise intended to cover any expenses you may incur in +procuring books, papers, and manuscripts necessary for the +compilation. Such will be one of your employments, +sir,—such the terms. In the second place, you will be +expected to make yourself useful in the Review—generally +useful, sir—doing whatever is required of you; for it is +not customary, at least with me, to permit writers, especially +young writers, to choose their subjects. In these two +departments, sir, namely, compilation and reviewing, I had +yesterday, after due consideration, determined upon employing +you. I had intended to employ you no further, sir—at +least for the present; but, sir, this morning I received a letter +from my valued friend in the country, in which he speaks in terms +of strong admiration (I don’t overstate) of your German +acquirements. Sir, he says that it would be a thousand +pities if your knowledge of the German language should be lost to +the world, or even permitted to sleep, and he entreats me to +think of some plan by which it may be turned to account. +Sir, I am at all times willing, if possible, to oblige my worthy +friend, and likewise to encourage merit and talent; I have, +therefore, determined to employ you in German.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said I, rubbing my hands, “you are +very kind, and so is our mutual friend; I shall be happy to make +myself useful in German; and if you think a good translation from +Goethe—his ‘Sorrows’ for example, or more +particularly his ‘Faust’—”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the publisher, “Goethe is a +drug; his ‘Sorrows,’ are a drug, so is his +‘Faustus,’ more especially the last, since that fool +--- rendered him into English. No, sir, I do not want you +to translate Goethe or anything belonging to him; nor do I want +you to translate anything from the German; what I want you to do, +is to translate into German. I am willing to encourage +merit, sir, and, as my good friend in his last letter has spoken +very highly of your German acquirements, I have determined that +you shall translate my book of philosophy into German.”</p> +<p><!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>“Your book of philosophy into German, +sir?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir; my book of philosophy into German. I am +not a drug, sir, in Germany, as Goethe is here, no more is my +book. I intend to print the translation at Leipzig, sir; +and if it turns out a profitable speculation, as I make no doubt +it will, provided the translation be well executed, I will make +you some remuneration. Sir, your remuneration will be +determined by the success of your translation.”</p> +<p>“But, sir—”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the publisher, interrupting me, +“you have heard my intentions. I consider that you +ought to feel yourself highly gratified by my intentions towards +you; it is not frequently that I deal with a writer, especially a +young writer, as I have done with you. And now, sir, permit +me to inform you that I wish to be alone. This is Sunday +afternoon, sir; I never go to church, but I am in the habit of +spending part of every Sunday afternoon alone—profitably, I +hope, sir—in musing on the magnificence of nature, and the +moral dignity of man.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Two Volumes—A Young +Author—Intended Editor—Quintilian—Loose +Money.</p> +<p>“What can’t be cured must be endured,” and +“it is hard to kick against the pricks.”</p> +<p>At the period to which I have brought my history, I bethought +me of the proverbs with which I have headed this chapter, and +determined to act up to their spirit. I determined not to +fly in the face of the publisher, and to bear—what I could +not cure—his arrogance and vanity. At present, at the +conclusion of nearly a quarter of a century, I am glad that I +came to that determination, which I did my best to carry into +effect.</p> +<p>Two or three days after our last interview, the publisher made +his appearance in my apartment; he bore two tattered volumes +under his arm, which he placed on the table. “I have +brought you two volumes of lives, sir,” said he, +“which I yesterday found in my garret; you will find them +of service for your compilation. As I always wish to behave +liberally and encourage talent, especially youthful talent, I +shall make no charge for them, though I should be justified in so +doing, as you are aware that, by our agreement, you are to +provide any books and materials which may be necessary. +Have you been in quest of any?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “not yet.”</p> +<p>“Then, sir, I would advise you to lose no time in doing +so; you must visit all the bookstalls, sir, especially those in +the by-streets and blind alleys. It is in such places that +you will find the description of literature you are in want +of. You must be up and doing, sir; it will not do for an +author, especially a young author, to be idle in this town. +To-night you will receive my book of philosophy, and likewise +books for the <!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 148</span>Review. And, by-the-bye, sir, +it will be as well for you to review my book of philosophy for +the Review; the other reviews not having noticed it. Sir, +before translating it, I wish you to review my book of philosophy +for the Review.”</p> +<p>“I shall be happy to do my best, sir.”</p> +<p>“Very good, sir; I should be unreasonable to expect +anything beyond a person’s best. And now, sir, if you +please, I will conduct you to the future editor of the +Review. As you are to co-operate, sir, I deem it right to +make you acquainted.”</p> +<p>The intended editor was a little old man, who sat in a kind of +wooden pavilion in a small garden behind a house in one of the +purlieus of the city, composing tunes upon a piano. The +walls of the pavilion were covered with fiddles of various sizes +and appearances, and a considerable portion of the floor occupied +by a pile of books all of one size. The publisher +introduced him to me as a gentleman scarcely less eminent in +literature than in music, and me to him as an aspirant +critic—a young gentleman scarcely less eminent in +philosophy than in philology. The conversation consisted +entirely of compliments till just before we separated, when the +future editor inquired of me whether I had ever read Quintilian; +and, on my replying in the negative, expressed his surprise that +any gentleman should aspire to become a critic who had never read +Quintilian, with the comfortable information, however, that he +could supply me with a Quintilian at half-price, that is, a +translation made by himself some years previously, of which he +had, pointing to the heap on the floor, still a few copies +remaining unsold. For some reason or other, perhaps a poor +one, I did not purchase the editor’s translation of +Quintilian.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the publisher, as we were returning +from our visit to the editor, “you did right in not +purchasing a drug. I am not prepared, sir, to say that +Quintilian is a drug, never having seen him; but I am prepared to +say that man’s translation is a drug, judging from the heap +of rubbish on the floor; besides, sir, you will want any loose +money you may have to purchase the description of literature +which is required for your compilation.”</p> +<p>The publisher presently paused before the entrance of a very +forlorn-looking street. “Sir,” said he, after +looking down it with attention, “I should not wonder if in +that street you find works connected with the description of +literature which is required for your compilation. It is in +streets of this description, sir, and blind alleys, where such +works are to be found. You had better search that street, +sir, whilst I continue my way.”</p> +<p>I searched the street to which the publisher had pointed, and, +in the course of the three succeeding days, many others of a +similar kind. I did not find the description of literature +alluded to by the publisher to be a drug, but, on the contrary, +both scarce and dear. I had expended much more than my +loose money long before I could procure materials even for the +first volume of my compilation.</p> +<h2><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 149</span>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Francis Ardry—Certain +Sharpers—Brave and Eloquent—Opposites—Flinging +the Bones—Strange Places—Dog Fighting—Learning +and Letters—Batch of Dogs—Redoubled Application.</p> +<p>One evening I was visited by the tall young gentleman, Francis +Ardry, whose acquaintance I had formed at the coffee-house. +As it is necessary that the reader should know something more +about this young man, who will frequently appear in the course of +these pages, I will state in a few words who and what he +was. He was born of an ancient Roman Catholic family in +Ireland; his parents, whose only child he was, had long been +dead. His father, who had survived his mother several +years, had been a spendthrift, and at his death had left the +family property considerably embarrassed. Happily, however, +the son and the estate fell into the hands of careful guardians, +near relations of the family, by whom the property was managed to +the best advantage, and every means taken to educate the young +man in a manner suitable to his expectations. At the age of +sixteen he was taken from a celebrated school in England at which +he had been placed, and sent to a small French University, in +order that he might form an intimate and accurate acquaintance +with the grand language of the continent. There he +continued three years, at the end of which he went, under the +care of a French abbé, to Germany and Italy. It was +in this latter country that he first began to cause his guardians +serious uneasiness. He was in the hey-day of youth when he +visited Italy, and he entered wildly into the various delights of +that fascinating region, and, what was worse, falling into the +hands of certain sharpers, not Italian, but English, he was +fleeced of considerable sums of money. The abbé, +who, it seems, was an excellent individual of the old French +school, remonstrated with his pupil on his dissipation and +extravagance; but, finding his remonstrances vain, very properly +informed the guardians of the manner of life of his charge. +They were not slow in commanding Francis Ardry home; and, as he +was entirely in their power, he was forced to comply. He +had been about three months in London when I met him in the +coffee-room, and the two elderly gentlemen in his company were +his guardians. At this time they were very solicitous that +he should choose for himself a profession, offering to his choice +either the army or law—he was calculated to shine in either +of these professions—for, like many others of his +countrymen, he was brave and eloquent; but he did not wish to +shackle himself with a profession. As, however, his +minority did not terminate till he was three-and-twenty, of which +age he wanted nearly two years, during which he would be entirely +dependent on his guardians, he deemed it expedient to conceal, to +a certain degree, his sentiments, temporising with the old +gentlemen, with whom, notwithstanding his many irregularities, he +was a great favourite, and at whose death he expected to come +into a yet greater property than that which he inherited from his +parents.</p> +<p><!-- page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>Such is a brief account of Francis Ardry—of my +friend Francis Ardry; for the acquaintance, commenced in the +singular manner with which the reader is acquainted, speedily +ripened into a friendship which endured through many long years +of separation, and which still endures certainly on my part, and +on his—if he lives; but it is many years since I have heard +from Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>And yet many people would have thought it impossible for our +friendship to have lasted a week—for in many respects no +two people could be more dissimilar. He was an +Irishman—I, an Englishman;—he, fiery, enthusiastic, +and open-hearted;—I, neither fiery, enthusiastic, nor +open-hearted;—he, fond of pleasure and +dissipation;—I, of study and reflection. Yet it is of +such dissimilar elements that the most lasting friendships are +formed: we do not like counterparts of ourselves. +“Two great talkers will not travel far together,” is +a Spanish saying; I will add, “Nor two silent +people;” we naturally love our opposites.</p> +<p>So Francis Ardry came to see me, and right glad I was to see +him, for I had just flung my books and papers aside, and was +wishing for a little social converse; and when we had conversed +for some little time together, Francis Ardry proposed that we +should go to the play to see Kean; so we went to the play, and +saw—not Kean, who at that time was ashamed to show himself, +but—a man who was not ashamed to show himself, and who +people said was a much better man than Kean—as I have no +doubt he was—though whether he was a better actor I cannot +say, for I never saw Kean.</p> +<p>Two or three evenings after, Francis Ardry came to see me +again, and again we went out together, and Francis Ardry took me +to—shall I say?—why not?—a gaming house, where +I saw people playing, and where I saw Francis Ardry play and lose +five guineas, and where I lost nothing, because I did not play, +though I felt somewhat inclined; for a man with a white hat and a +sparkling eye held up a box which contained something which +rattled, and asked me to fling the bones. “There is +nothing like flinging the bones!” said he, and then I +thought I should like to know what kind of thing flinging the +bones was; I however, restrained myself. “There is +nothing like flinging the bones!” shouted the man, as my +friend and myself left the room.</p> +<p>Long life and prosperity to Francis Ardry! but for him I +should not have obtained knowledge which I did of the strange and +eccentric places of London. Some of the places to which he +took me were very strange places indeed; but, however strange the +places were, I observed that the inhabitants thought there were +no places like their several places, and no occupations like +their several occupations; and, among other strange places to +which Francis Ardry conducted me, was a place not far from the +abbey church of Westminster.</p> +<p>Before we entered this place our ears were greeted by a +confused hubbub of human voices, squealing of rats, barking of +dogs, and the cries of various other animals. Here we +beheld a kind of cock-pit, around which a great many people, +seeming of all ranks, but chiefly of the lower, were gathered, +and in it we saw a dog destroy a great many <!-- page 151--><a +name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>rats in a +very small period; and when the dog had destroyed the rats, we +saw a fight between a dog and a bear, then a fight between two +dogs, then—</p> +<p>After the diversions of the day were over, my friend +introduced me to the genius of the place, a small man of about +five feet high, with a very sharp countenance, and dressed in a +brown jockey coat, and top boots. “Joey,” said +he, “this is a friend of mine.” Joey nodded to +me with a patronizing air. “Glad to see you, +sir!—want a dog?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I.</p> +<p>“You have got one, then—want to match +him?”</p> +<p>“We have a dog at home,” said I, “in the +country; but I can’t say I should like to match him. +Indeed, I do not like dog-fighting.”</p> +<p>“Not like dog-fighting!” said the man, +staring.</p> +<p>“The truth is, Joe, that he is just come to +town.”</p> +<p>“So I should think; he looks rather green—not like +dog-fighting!”</p> +<p>“Nothing like it, is there, Joey?”</p> +<p>“I should think not; what is like it? A time will +come, and that speedily, when folks will give up everything else, +and follow dog-fighting.”</p> +<p>“Do you think so?” said I.</p> +<p>“Think so? Let me ask what there is that a man +wouldn’t give up for it?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said I, modestly, “there’s +religion.”</p> +<p>“Religion! How you talk. Why, there’s +myself, bred and born an Independent, and intended to be a +preacher, didn’t I give up religion for dog-fighting? +Religion, indeed! If it were not for the rascally law, my +pit would fill better on Sundays than any other time. Who +would go to church when they could come to my pit? +Religion! why, the parsons themselves come to my pit; and I have +now a letter in my pocket from one of them, asking me to send him +a dog.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, politics,” said I.</p> +<p>“Politics! Why, the gemmen in the House would +leave Pitt himself, if he were alive, to come to my pit. +There were three of the best of them here to-night, all great +horators.—Get on with you, what comes next?”</p> +<p>“Why, there’s learning and letters.”</p> +<p>“Pretty things, truly, to keep people from +dog-fighting. Why, there’s the young gentlemen from +the Abbey School comes here in shoals, leaving books, and +letters, and masters too. To tell you the truth, I rather +wish they would mind their letters, for a more precious set of +young blackguards I never seed. It was only the other day I +was thinking of calling in a constable for my own protection, for +I thought my pit would have been torn down by them.”</p> +<p>Scarcely knowing what to say, I made an observation at +random. “You show by your own conduct,” said I, +“that there are other things worth following besides +dog-fighting. You practise rat-catching and badger-baiting +as well.”</p> +<p>The dog-fancier eyed me with supreme contempt.</p> +<p>“Your friend here,” said he, “might well +call you a new one. When <!-- page 152--><a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>I talks of +dog-fighting, I of course means rat-catching and badger-baiting, +ay, and bull-baiting too, just as when I speaks religiously, when +I says one I means not one but three. And talking of +religion puts me in mind that I have something else to do besides +chaffing here, having a batch of dogs to send off by this +night’s packet to the Pope of Rome.”</p> +<p>But at last I had seen enough of what London had to show, +whether strange or commonplace, so at least I thought, and I +ceased to accompany my friend in his rambles about town, and to +partake of his adventures. Our friendship, however, still +continued unabated, though I saw, in consequence, less of +him. I reflected that time was passing on—that the +little money I had brought to town was fast consuming, and that I +had nothing to depend upon but my own exertions for a fresh +supply; and I returned with redoubled application to my +pursuits.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Occupations—Traduttore +Traditore—Ode to the Mist—Apple and +Pear—Reviewing—Current Literature—Oxford-like +Manner—A Plain Story—Ill-regulated +Mind—Unsnuffed Candle—Strange Dreams.</p> +<p>I compiled the Chronicles of Newgate; I reviewed books for the +Review established on an entirely new principle; and I +occasionally tried my best to translate into German portions of +the publisher’s philosophy. In this last task I +experienced more than one difficulty. I was a tolerable +German scholar, it is true, and I had long been able to translate +German into English with considerable facility; but to translate +from a foreign language into your own, is a widely different +thing from translating from your own into a foreign language; +and, in my first attempt to render the publisher into German, I +was conscious of making miserable failures, from pure ignorance +of German grammar; however, by the assistance of grammars and +dictionaries, and by extreme perseverance, I at length overcame +all the difficulties connected with the German language. +But, alas! another difficulty remained, far greater than any +connected with German—a difficulty connected with the +language of the publisher—the language which the great man +employed in his writings was very hard to understand; I say in +his writings—for his colloquial English was plain +enough. Though not professing to be a scholar, he was much +addicted, when writing, to the use of Greek and Latin terms, not +as other people used them, but in a manner of his own, which set +the authority of dictionaries at defiance; the consequence was, +that I was sometimes utterly at a loss to understand the meaning +of the publisher. Many a quarter of an hour did I pass at +this period, staring at periods of the publisher, and wondering +what he could mean, but in vain, till at last, with a shake of +the head, I would snatch up the pen, and render the publisher +literally into <!-- page 153--><a name="page153"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 153</span>German. Sometimes I was almost +tempted to substitute something of my own for what the publisher +had written, but my conscience interposed; the awful words, +Traduttore traditore, commenced ringing in my ears, and I asked +myself whether I should be acting honourably towards the +publisher, who had committed to me the delicate task of +translating him into German; should I be acting honourably +towards him, in making him speak in German in a manner different +from that in which he expressed himself in English? No, I +could not reconcile such conduct with any principle of honour; by +substituting something of my own in lieu of these mysterious +passages of the publisher, I might be giving a fatal blow to his +whole system of philosophy. Besides, when translating into +English, had I treated foreign authors in this manner? Had +I treated the minstrels of the Kæmpe Viser in this +manner?—No. Had I treated Ab Gwilym in this +manner? Even when translating his Ode to the Mist, in which +he is misty enough, had I attempted to make Ab Gwilym less +misty? No; on referring to my translation, I found that Ab +Gwilym in my hands was quite as misty as in his own. Then, +seeing that I had not ventured to take liberties with people who +had never put themselves into my hands for the purpose of being +rendered, how could I venture to substitute my own thoughts and +ideas for the publisher’s, who had put himself into my +hands for that purpose? Forbid it every proper +feeling!—so I told the Germans in the publisher’s own +way, the publisher’s tale of an apple and a pear.</p> +<p>I at first felt much inclined to be of the publisher’s +opinion with respect to the theory of the pear. After all, +why should the earth be shaped like an apple, and not like a +pear?—it would certainly gain in appearance by being shaped +like a pear. A pear being a handsomer fruit than an apple, +the publisher is probably right, thought I, and I will say that +he is right on this point in the notice which I am about to write +of his publication for the Review. And yet I don’t +know—said I, after a long fit of musing—I don’t +know but what there is more to be said for the Oxford +theory. The world may be shaped like a pear, but I +don’t know that it is; but one thing I know, which is, that +it does not taste like a pear; I have always liked pears, but I +don’t like the world. The world to me tastes much +more like an apple, and I have never liked apples. I will +uphold the Oxford theory—besides, I am writing in an Oxford +Review, and am in duty bound to uphold the Oxford theory. +So in my notice I asserted that the world was round; I quoted +Scripture, and endeavoured to prove that the world was typified +by the apple in Scripture, both as to shape and properties. +“An apple is round,” said I, “and the world is +round—the apple is a sour, disagreeable fruit; and who has +tasted much of the world without having his teeth set on +edge?” I, however, treated the publisher, upon the +whole, in the most urbane and Oxford-like manner; complimenting +him upon his style, acknowledging the general soundness of his +views, and only differing with him in the affair of the apple and +pear.</p> +<p>I did not like reviewing at all—it was not to my taste; +it was not in my way; I liked it far less than translating the +publisher’s philosophy <!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>for that +was something in the line of one whom a competent judge had +surnamed Lavengro. I never could understand why reviews +were instituted; works of merit do not require to be reviewed, +they can speak for themselves, and require no praising; works of +no merit at all will die of themselves, they require no +killing. The review to which I was attached was, as has +been already intimated, established on an entirely new plan; it +professed to review all new publications, which certainly no +review had ever professed to do before, other reviews never +pretending to review more than one-tenth of the current +literature of the day. When I say it professed to review +all new publications, I should add, which should be sent to it; +for, of course, the review would not acknowledge the existence of +publications, the authors of which did not acknowledge the +existence of the review. I don’t think, however, that +the review had much cause to complain of being neglected; I have +reason to believe that at least nine-tenths of the publications +of the day were sent to the review, and in due time +reviewed. I had good opportunity of judging—I was +connected with several departments of the review, though more +particularly with the poetical and philosophic ones. An +English translation of Kant’s philosophy made its +appearance on my table the day before its publication. In +my notice of this work, I said that the English shortly hoped to +give the Germans a <i>quid pro quo</i>. I believe at that +time authors were much in the habit of publishing at their own +expense. All the poetry which I reviewed appeared to be +published at the expense of the authors. If I am asked how +I comported myself, under all circumstances, as a +reviewer—I answer—I did not forget that I was +connected with a review established on Oxford principles, the +editor of which had translated Quintilian. All the +publications which fell under my notice I treated in a +gentlemanly and Oxford-like manner, no personalities—no +vituperation—no shabby insinuations; decorum, decorum was +the order of the day. Occasionally a word of admonition, +but gently expressed, as an Oxford undergraduate might have +expressed it, or master of arts. How the authors whose +publications were consigned to my colleagues were treated by them +I know not; I suppose they were treated in an urbane and +Oxford-like manner, but I cannot say; I did not read the +reviewals of my colleagues, I did not read my own after they were +printed. I did not like reviewing.</p> +<p>Of all my occupations at this period I am free to confess I +liked that of compiling the “Newgate Lives and +Trials” the best; that is, after I had surmounted a kind of +prejudice which I originally entertained. The trials were +entertaining enough; but the lives—how full were they of +wild and racy adventures, and in what racy, genuine language were +they told. What struck me most with respect to these lives +was the art which the writers, whoever they were, possessed of +telling a plain story. It is no easy thing to tell a story +plainly and distinctly by mouth; but to tell one on paper is +difficult indeed, so many snares lie in the way. People are +afraid to put down what is common on paper, they seek to +embellish their narratives, as they think, by philosophic +speculations and reflections; they are anxious to shine, and +people who <!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 155</span>are anxious to shine, can never tell +a plain story. “So I went with them to a music booth, +where they made me almost drunk with gin, and began to talk their +flash language, which I did not understand,” says, or is +made to say, Henry Simms, executed at Tyburn some seventy years +before the time of which I am speaking. I have always +looked upon this sentence as a masterpiece of the narrative +style, it is so concise and yet so very clear. As I gazed +on passages like this, and there were many nearly as good in the +Newgate lives, I often sighed that it was not my fortune to have +to render these lives into German rather than the +publisher’s philosophy—his tale of an apple and +pear.</p> +<p>Mine was an ill-regulated mind at this period. As I read +over the lives of these robbers and pickpockets, strange doubts +began to arise in my mind about virtue and crime. Years +before, when quite a boy, as in one of the early chapters I have +hinted, I had been a necessitarian; I had even written an essay +on crime (I have it now before me, penned in a round boyish +hand), in which I attempted to prove that there is no such thing +as crime or virtue, all our actions being the result of +circumstances or necessity. These doubts were now again +reviving in my mind; I could not, for the life of me, imagine +how, taking all circumstances into consideration, these +highwaymen, these pickpockets, should have been anything else +than highwaymen and pickpockets; any more than how, taking all +circumstances into consideration, Bishop Latimer (the reader is +aware that I had read “Fox’s Book of Martyrs”) +should have been anything else than Bishop Latimer. I had a +very ill-regulated mind at that period.</p> +<p>My own peculiar ideas with respect to everything being a lying +dream began also to revive. Sometimes at midnight, after +having toiled for hours at my occupations, I would fling myself +back on my chair, look about the poor apartment, dimly lighted by +an unsnuffed candle, or upon the heaps of books and papers before +me, and exclaim,—“Do I exist? Do these things, +which I think I see about me, exist, or do they not? Is not +every thing a dream—a deceitful dream? Is not this +apartment a dream—the furniture a dream? The +publisher a dream—his philosophy a dream? Am I not +myself a dream—dreaming about translating a dream? I +can’t see why all should not be a dream; what’s the +use of the reality?” And then I would pinch myself, +and snuff the burdened smoky light. “I can’t +see, for the life of me, the use of all this; therefore why +should I think that it exists? If there was a chance, a +probability of all this tending to anything, I might believe; +but—” and then I would stare and think, and after +some time shake my head and return again to my occupations for an +hour or two; and then I would perhaps shake, and shiver, and +yawn, and look wistfully in the direction of my sleeping +apartment; and then, but not wistfully, at the papers and books +before me; and sometimes I would return to my papers and books; +but oftener I would arise, and, after another yawn and shiver, +take my light, and proceed to my sleeping chamber.</p> +<p>They say that light fare begets light dreams; my fare at that +time was light enough; but I had anything but light dreams, for +at that period I <!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 156</span>had all kind of strange and +extravagant dreams, and amongst other things I dreamt that the +whole world had taken to dog-fighting; and that I, myself, had +taken to dog-fighting, and that in a vast circus I backed an +English bulldog against the bloodhound of the Pope of Rome.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">My Brother—Fits of Crying—Mayor +Elect—The Committee—The Norman Arch—A Word of +Greek—Church and State—At My Own Expense—If You +Please.</p> +<p>One morning I arose somewhat later than usual, having been +occupied during the greater part of the night with my literary +toil. On descending from my chamber into the sitting room I +found a person seated by the fire, whose glance was directed +sideways to the table, on which were the usual preparations for +my morning’s meal. Forthwith I gave a cry, and sprang +forward to embrace the person; for the person by the fire, whose +glance was directed to the table, was no one else than my +brother.</p> +<p>“And how are things going on at home?” said I to +my brother, after we had kissed and embraced. “How is +my mother, and how is the dog?”</p> +<p>“My mother, thank God, is tolerably well,” said my +brother, “but very much given to fits of crying. As +for the dog, he is not so well; but we will talk more of these +matters anon,” said my brother, again glancing at the +breakfast things: “I am very hungry, as you may suppose, +after having travelled all night.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I exerted myself to the best of my ability to +perform the duties of hospitality, and I made my brother +welcome—I may say more than welcome; and, when the rage of +my brother’s hunger was somewhat abated we recommenced +talking about the matters of our little family, and my brother +told me much about my mother; he spoke of her fits of crying, but +said that of late the said fits of crying had much diminished, +and she appeared to be taking comfort; and, if I am not much +mistaken, my brother told me that my mother had of late the +prayer book frequently in her hand, and yet oftener the +Bible.</p> +<p>We were silent for a time—at last I opened my mouth and +mentioned the dog.</p> +<p>“The dog,” said my brother, “is, I am +afraid, in a very poor way; ever since the death he has done +nothing but pine and take on. A few months ago, you +remember, he was as plump and fine as any dog in the town; but at +present he is little more than skin and bone. Once we lost +him for two days, and never expected to see him again, imagining +that some mischance had befallen him; at length I found +him—where do you think? Chancing to pass by the +churchyard, I found him seated on the grave!”</p> +<p><!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>“Very strange,” said I; “but let us +talk of something else. It was very kind of you to come and +see me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, as for that matter, I did not come up to see you, +though of course I am very glad to see you, having been rather +anxious about you, like my mother, who has received only one +letter from you since your departure. No, I did not come up +on purpose to see you; but on quite a different account. +You must know that the corporation of our town have lately +elected a new mayor, a person of many qualifications—big +and portly, with a voice like Boanerges; a religious man, the +possessor of an immense pew; loyal, so much so that I once heard +him say that he would at any time go three miles to hear any one +sing ‘God save the King;’ moreover, a giver of +excellent dinners. Such is our present mayor; who, owing to +his loyalty, his religion, and a little, perhaps, to his dinners, +is a mighty favourite; so much so that the town is anxious to +have his portrait painted in a superior style, so that remote +posterity may know what kind of man he was, the colour of his +hair, his air and gait. So a committee was formed some time +ago, which is still sitting; that is, they dine with the mayor +every day to talk over the subject. A few days since, to my +great surprise, they made their appearance in my poor studio, and +desired to be favoured with a sight of some of my paintings; +well, I showed them some, and, after looking at them with great +attention, they went aside and whispered. +‘He’ll do,’ I heard one say; ‘Yes, +he’ll do,’ said another; and then they came to me, +and one of them, a little man with a hump on his back, who is a +watchmaker, assumed the office of spokesman, and made a long +speech—(the old town has been always celebrated for +orators)—in which he told me how much they had been pleased +with my productions—(the old town has been always +celebrated for its artistic taste) and, what do you think? +offered me the painting of the mayor’s portrait, and a +hundred pounds for my trouble. Well, of course I was much +surprised, and for a minute or two could scarcely speak; +recovering myself, however, I made a speech, not so eloquent as +that of the watchmaker, of course, being not so accustomed to +speaking; but not so bad either, taking everything into +consideration, telling them how flattered I felt by the honour +which they had conferred in proposing to me such an undertaking; +expressing, however, my fears that I was not competent to the +task, and concluding by saying what a pity it was that Crome was +dead. ‘Crome,’ said the little man, +‘Crome; yes, he was a clever man, a very clever man in his +way; he was good at painting landscapes and farm-houses, but he +would not do in the present instance, were he alive. He had +no conception of the heroic, sir. We want some person +capable of representing our mayor striding under the Norman arch +out of the cathedral.’ At the mention of the heroic, +an idea came at once into my head. ‘Oh,’ said +I, ‘if you are in quest of the heroic, I am glad that you +came to me; don’t mistake me,’ I continued, ‘I +do not mean to say that I could do justice to your subject, +though I am fond of the heroic; but I can introduce you to a +great master of the heroic, fully competent to do justice to your +mayor. Not to me, therefore, be the painting of the picture +given, but <!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 158</span>to a friend of mine, the great +master of the heroic, to the best, the strongest, τω +κρατιστω,’ I +added, for, being amongst orators, I thought a word of Greek +would tell.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and what did the orators +say?”</p> +<p>“They gazed dubiously at me and at one another,” +said my brother; “at last the watchmaker asked me who this +Mr. Christo was; adding, that he had never heard of such a +person; that, from my recommendation of him, he had no doubt that +he was a very clever man; but that they should like to know +something more about him before giving the commission to +him. That he had heard of Christie the great auctioneer, +who was considered to be an excellent judge of pictures; but he +supposed that I scarcely—Whereupon, interrupting the +watchmaker, I told him that I alluded neither to Christo nor to +Christie; but to the painter of Lazarus rising from the grave, a +painter under whom I had myself studied during some months that I +had spent in London, and to whom I was indebted for much +connected with the heroic.”</p> +<p>“I have heard of him,” said the watchmaker, +“and his paintings too; but I am afraid that he is not +exactly the gentleman by whom our mayor would wish to be +painted. I have heard say that he is not a very good friend +to Church and State. Come, young man,” he added, +“it appears to me that you are too modest; I like your +style of painting, so do we all, and—why should I mince the +matter?—the money is to be collected in the town, why +should it go into a stranger’s pocket, and be spent in +London?”</p> +<p>“Thereupon I made them a speech, in which I said that +art had nothing to do with Church and State, at least with +English Church and State, which had never encouraged it; and +that, though Church and State were doubtless very fine things, a +man might be a very good artist who cared not a straw for +either. I then made use of more Greek words, and told them +how painting was one of the Nine Muses, and one of the most +independent creatures alive, inspiring whom she pleased, and +asking leave of nobody; that I should be quite unworthy of the +favours of the Muse if, on the present occasion, I did not +recommend them a man whom I considered to be a much greater +master of the heroic than myself; and that, with regard to the +money being spent in the city, I had no doubt that they would not +weigh for a moment such a consideration against the chance of +getting a true heroic picture for the city. I never talked +so well in my life, and said so many flattering things to the +hunchback and his friends, that at last they said that I should +have my own way; and that if I pleased to go up to London, and +bring down the painter of Lazarus to paint the mayor, I might; so +they then bade me farewell, and I have come up to +London.”</p> +<p>“To put a hundred pounds into the hands +of—”</p> +<p>“A better man than myself,” said my brother, +“of course.”</p> +<p>“And have you come up at your own expense?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said my brother, “I have come up at +my own expense.”</p> +<p>I made no answer, but looked in my brother’s face. +We then returned to the former subjects of conversation, talking +of the dead, my mother, and the dog.</p> +<p><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>After some time my brother said, “I will now go +to the painter, and communicate to him the business which has +brought me to town; and, if you please, I will take you with me +and introduce you to him.” Having expressed my +willingness, we descended into the street.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Painter of the Heroic—I’ll +Go!—A Modest Peep—Who is this?—A Capital +Pharaoh—Disproportionably Short—Imaginary +Picture—English Figures.</p> +<p>The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the +western end of the town. We had some difficulty in +obtaining admission to him; a maid-servant, who opened the door, +eyeing us somewhat suspiciously: it was not until my brother had +said that he was a friend of the painter that we were permitted +to pass the threshold. At length we were shown into the +studio, where we found the painter, with an easel and brush, +standing before a huge piece of canvas, on which he had lately +commenced painting a heroic picture. The painter might be +about thirty-five years old; he had a clever, intelligent +countenance, with a sharp grey eye—his hair was dark brown, +and cut à-la-Rafael, as I was subsequently told, that is, +there was little before and much behind—he did not wear a +neckcloth; but, in its stead, a black riband, so that his neck, +which was rather fine, was somewhat exposed—he had a broad +muscular breast, and I make no doubt that he would have been a +very fine figure, but unfortunately his legs and thighs were +somewhat short. He recognised my brother, and appeared glad +to see him.</p> +<p>“What brings you to London?” said he.</p> +<p>Whereupon my brother gave him a brief account of his +commission. At the mention of the hundred pounds, I +observed the eyes of the painter glisten. +“Really,” said he, when my brother had concluded, +“it was very kind to think of me. I am not very fond +of painting portraits; but a mayor is a mayor, and there is +something grand in that idea of the Norman arch. I’ll +go; moreover, I am just at this moment confoundedly in need of +money, and when you knocked at the door, I don’t mind +telling you, I thought it was some dun. I don’t know +how it is, but in the capital they have no taste for the heroic, +they will scarce look at a heroic picture; I am glad to hear that +they have better taste in the provinces. I’ll go; +when shall we set off?”</p> +<p>Thereupon it was arranged between the painter and my brother +that they should depart the next day but one; they then began to +talk of art. “I’ll stick to the heroic,” +said the painter; “I now and then dabble in the comic, but +what I do gives me no pleasure, the comic is so low; there is +nothing like the heroic. I am engaged here on a heroic +picture,” said he, pointing to the canvas; “the +subject is ‘Pharaoh dismissing Moses from Egypt,’ +after the last plague—the death of the first-born,—it +is not far advanced—that finished figure is <!-- page +160--><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>Moses:” they both looked at the canvas, and I, +standing behind, took a modest peep. The picture, as the +painter said, was not far advanced, the Pharaoh was merely in +outline; my eye was, of course, attracted by the finished figure, +or rather what the painter had called the finished figure; but, +as I gazed upon it, it appeared to me that there was some thing +defective—something unsatisfactory in the figure. I +concluded, however, that the painter, notwithstanding what he had +said, had omitted to give it the finishing touch. “I +intend this to be my best picture,” said the painter; +“what I want now is a face for Pharaoh; I have long been +meditating on a face for Pharaoh.” Here, chancing to +cast his eye upon my countenance, of whom he had scarcely taken +any manner of notice, he remained with his mouth open for some +time. “Who is this?” said he at last. +“Oh, this is my brother, I forgot to introduce +him—”</p> +<p>We presently afterwards departed; my brother talked much about +the painter. “He is a noble fellow,” said my +brother; “but, like many other noble fellows, has a great +many enemies; he is hated by his brethren of the brush—all +the land and waterscape painters hate him—but, above all, +the race of portrait painters, who are ten times more numerous +than the other two sorts, detest him for his heroic +tendencies. It will be a kind of triumph to the last, I +fear, when they hear he has condescended to paint a portrait; +however, that Norman arch will enable him to escape from their +malice—that is a capital idea of the watchmaker, that +Norman arch.”</p> +<p>I spent a happy day with my brother. On the morrow he +went again to the painter, with whom he dined; I did not go with +him. On his return he said, “The painter has been +asking a great many questions about you, and expressed a wish +that you would sit to him as Pharaoh; he thinks you would make a +capital Pharaoh.” “I have no wish to appear on +canvas,” said I; “moreover, he can find much better +Pharaohs than myself; and, if he wants a real Pharaoh, there is a +certain Mr. Petulengro.” “Petulengro?” +said my brother; “a strange kind of fellow came up to me +some time ago in our town, and asked me about you; when I +inquired his name, he told me Petulengro. No, he will not +do, he is too short; by-the-bye, do you not think that figure of +Moses is somewhat short?” And then it appeared to me +that I had thought the figure of Moses somewhat short, and I told +my brother so. “Ah!” said my brother.</p> +<p>On the morrow my brother departed with the painter for the old +town, and there the painter painted the mayor. I did not +see the picture for a great many years, when, chancing to be at +the old town, I beheld it.</p> +<p>The original mayor was a mighty, portly man, with a +bull’s head, black hair, body like that of a dray horse, +and legs and thighs corresponding; a man six foot high at the +least. To his bull’s head, black hair, and body the +painter had done justice; there was one point, however, in which +the portrait did not correspond with the original—the legs +were disproportionably short, the painter having substituted his +own legs for those of the mayor, which when I perceived I +rejoiced <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 161</span>that I had not consented to be +painted as Pharaoh, for, if I had, the chances are that he would +have served me in exactly a similar way as he had served Moses +and the mayor.</p> +<p>Short legs in a heroic picture will never do; and, upon the +whole, I think the painter’s attempt at the heroic in +painting the mayor of the old town a decided failure. If I +am now asked whether the picture would have been a heroic one +provided the painter had not substituted his own legs for those +of the mayor—I must say, I am afraid not. I have no +idea of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, even with +the assistance of Norman arches; yet I am sure that capital +pictures might be made out of English mayors, not issuing from +Norman arches, but rather from the door of the +“Checquers” or the “Brewers Three.” +The painter in question had great comic power, which he scarcely +ever cultivated; he would fain be a Rafael, which he never could +be, when he might have been something quite as good—another +Hogarth; the only comic piece which he ever presented to the +world being something little inferior to the best of that +illustrious master. I have often thought what a capital +picture might have been made by my brother’s friend, if, +instead of making the mayor issue out of the Norman arch, he had +painted him moving under the sign of the “Checquers,” +or the “Three Brewers,” with mace—yes, with +mace,—the mace appears in the picture issuing out of the +Norman arch behind the mayor,—but likewise with Snap, and +with whiffler, quart pot, and frying pan, Billy Blind, and +Owlenglass, Mr. Petulengro and Pakomovna;—then, had he +clapped his own legs upon the mayor, or any one else in the +concourse, what matter? But I repeat that I have no hope of +making heroic pictures out of English mayors, or, indeed, out of +English figures in general. England may be a land of heroic +hearts, but it is not, properly, a land of heroic figures, or +heroic posture-making.—Italy—what was I going to say +about Italy?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">No Authority +Whatever—Interference—Wondrous Farrago—Brandt +and Struensee—What a Life!—The Hearse—Mortal +Relics—Great Poet—Fashion and Fame—What a +Difference!—Oh, Beautiful!—Good for Nothing.</p> +<p>And now once more to my pursuits, to my Lives and +Trials. However partial at first I might be to these lives +and trials, it was not long before they became regular trials to +me, owing to the whims and caprices of the publisher. I had +not been long connected with him before I discovered that he was +wonderfully fond of interfering with other people’s +business—at least with the business of those who were under +his control. What a life did his unfortunate authors +lead! He had many in his employ toiling at all kinds of +subjects—I call them authors because there is something +respectable in the term author, though they <!-- page 162--><a +name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>had little +authorship in, and no authority whatever over, the works on which +they were engaged. It is true the publisher interfered with +some colour of reason, the plan of all and every of the works +alluded to having originated with himself; and, be it observed, +many of his plans were highly clever and promising, for, as I +have already had occasion to say, the publisher in many points +was a highly clever and sagacious person; but he ought to have +been contented with planning the works originally, and have left +to other people the task of executing them, instead of which he +marred everything by his rage for interference. If a book +of fairy tales was being compiled, he was sure to introduce some +of his philosophy, explaining the fairy tale by some theory of +his own. Was a book of anecdotes on hand, it was sure to be +half filled with sayings and doings of himself during the time +that he was common councilman of the City of London. Now, +however fond the public might be of fairy tales, it by no means +relished them in conjunction with the publisher’s +philosophy; and however fond of anecdotes in general, or even of +the publisher in particular—for indeed there were a great +many anecdotes in circulation about him which the public both +read and listened to very readily—it took no pleasure in +such anecdotes as he was disposed to relate about himself. +In the compilation of my Lives and Trials, I was exposed to +incredible mortification, and ceaseless trouble, from this same +rage for interference. It is true he could not introduce +his philosophy into the work, nor was it possible for him to +introduce anecdotes of himself, having never had the good or evil +fortune to be tried at the bar; but he was continually +introducing—what, under a less apathetic government than +the one then being, would have infallibly subjected him, and +perhaps myself, to a trial,—his politics; not his Oxford or +pseudo politics, but the politics which he really entertained, +and which were of the most republican and violent kind. But +this was not all; when about a moiety of the first volume had +been printed, he materially altered the plan of the work; it was +no longer to be a collection of mere Newgate lives and trials, +but of lives and trials of criminals in general, foreign as well +as domestic. In a little time the work became a wondrous +farrago, in which Königsmark the robber figured by the side +of Sam Lynn, and the Marchioness de Brinvilliers was placed in +contact with a Chinese outlaw. What gave me the most +trouble and annoyance was the publisher’s remembering some +life or trial, foreign or domestic, which he wished to be +inserted, and which I was forthwith to go in quest of and +purchase at my own expense: some of those lives and trials were +by no means easy to find. “Where is Brandt and +Struensee?” cries the publisher; “I am sure I +don’t know,” I replied; whereupon the publisher falls +to squealing like one of Joey’s rats. “Find me +up Brandt and Struensee by next morning, or—” +“Have you found Brandt and Struensee?” cried the +publisher, on my appearing before him next morning. +“No,” I reply, “I can hear nothing about +them;” whereupon the publisher falls to bellowing like +Joey’s bull. By dint of incredible diligence, I at +length discover the dingy volume containing the lives and trials +of the celebrated two who had brooded treason <!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>dangerous +to the state of Denmark. I purchase the dingy volume, and +bring it in triumph to the publisher, the perspiration running +down my brow. The publisher takes the dingy volume in his +hand, he examines it attentively, then puts it down; his +countenance is calm for a moment, almost benign. Another +moment and there is a gleam in the publisher’s sinister +eye; he snatches up the paper containing the names of the +worthies which I have intended shall figure in the forthcoming +volumes—he glances rapidly over it, and his countenance +once more assumes a terrific expression. “How is +this?” he exclaims; “I can scarcely believe my +eyes—the most important life and trial omitted to be found +in the whole criminal record—what gross, what utter +negligence! Where’s the life of Farmer Patch? +where’s the trial of Yeoman Patch?”</p> +<p>“What a life! what a dog’s life!” I would +frequently exclaim, after escaping from the presence of the +publisher.</p> +<p>One day, after a scene with the publisher similar to that +which I have described above, I found myself about noon at the +bottom of Oxford Street, where it forms a right angle with the +road which leads or did lead to Tottenham Court. Happening +to cast my eyes around, it suddenly occurred to me that something +uncommon was expected; people were standing in groups on the +pavement—the upstair windows of the houses were thronged +with faces, especially those of women, and many of the shops were +partly, and not a few entirely closed. What could be the +reason of all this? All at once I bethought me that this +street of Oxford was no other than the far-famed Tyburn +way. Oh, oh, thought I, an execution; some handsome young +robber is about to be executed at the farther end; just so, see +how earnestly the women are peering; perhaps another Harry +Symms—Gentleman Harry as they called him—is about to +be carted along this street to Tyburn tree; but then I remembered +that Tyburn tree had long since been cut down, and that +criminals, whether young or old, good-looking or ugly, were +executed before the big stone gaol, which I had looked at with a +kind of shudder during my short rambles in the city. What +could be the matter? Just then I heard various voices cry +“There it comes!” and all heads were turned up Oxford +Street, down which a hearse was slowly coming: nearer and nearer +it drew; presently it was just opposite the place where I was +standing, when, turning to the left, it proceeded slowly along +Tottenham Road; immediately behind the hearse were three or four +mourning coaches, full of people, some of which, from the partial +glimpse which I caught of them, appeared to be foreigners; behind +these came a very long train of splendid carriages, all of which, +without one exception, were empty.</p> +<p>“Whose body is in that hearse?” said I to a +dapper-looking individual, seemingly a shopkeeper, who stood +beside me on the pavement, looking at the procession.</p> +<p>“The mortal relics of Lord Byron,” said the +dapper-looking individual mouthing his words and +smirking—“the illustrious poet, which have been just +brought from Greece, and are being conveyed to the family vault +in ---shire.”</p> +<p><!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>“An illustrious poet, was he?” said I.</p> +<p>“Beyond all criticism,” said the dapper man; +“all we of the rising generation are under incalculable +obligation to Byron; I myself, in particular, have reason to say +so; in all my correspondence my style is formed on the Byronic +model.”</p> +<p>I looked at the individual for a moment, who smiled and +smirked to himself applause, and then I turned my eyes upon the +hearse proceeding slowly up the almost endless street. This +man, this Byron, had for many years past been the demigod of +England, and his verses the daily food of those who read, from +the peer to the draper’s assistant; all were admirers, or +rather worshippers, of Byron, and all doated on his verses; and +then I thought of those who, with genius as high as his, or +higher, had lived and died neglected. I thought of Milton +abandoned to poverty and blindness; of witty and ingenious Butler +consigned to the tender mercies of bailiffs; and starving Otway: +they had lived, neglected and despised, and, when they died, a +few poor mourners only had followed them to the grave; but this +Byron had been made a half god of when living, and now that he +was dead he was followed by worshipping crowds, and the very sun +seemed to come out on purpose to grace his funeral. And, +indeed, the sun, which for many days past had hidden its face in +clouds, shone out that morning with wonderful brilliancy, flaming +upon the black hearse and its tall ostrich plumes, the mourning +coaches, and the long train of aristocratic carriages which +followed behind.</p> +<p>“Great poet, sir,” said the dapper-looking man, +“great poet, but unhappy.”</p> +<p>Unhappy? yes, I had heard that he had been unhappy; that he +had roamed about a fevered, distempered man, taking pleasure in +nothing—that I had heard; but was it true? was he really +unhappy? was not this unhappiness assumed, with the view of +increasing the interest which the world took in him? and yet who +could say? He might be unhappy, and with reason. Was +he a real poet, after all? might he not doubt himself? might he +not have a lurking consciousness that he was undeserving of the +homage which he was receiving? that it could not last? that he +was rather at the top of fashion than of fame? He was a +lordling, a glittering, gorgeous lordling: and he might have had +a consciousness that he owed much of his celebrity to being so; +he might have felt that he was rather at the top of fashion than +of fame. Fashion soon changes, thought I, eagerly to +myself—a time will come, and that speedily, when he will be +no longer in the fashion; when this idiotic admirer of his, who +is still grinning at my side, shall have ceased to mould his +style on Byron’s; and this aristocracy, squirearchy, and +what not, who now send their empty carriages to pay respect to +the fashionable corpse, shall have transferred their empty +worship to some other animate or inanimate thing. Well, +perhaps after all it was better to have been mighty Milton in his +poverty and blindness—witty and ingenious Butler consigned +to the tender mercies of bailiffs, and starving Otway; they might +enjoy more real pleasure than this lordling; they must have been +aware that the world would one day do them justice—fame +<!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>after death is better than the top of fashion in +life. They have left a fame behind them which shall never +die, whilst this lordling—a time will come when he will be +out of fashion and forgotten. And yet I don’t know; +didn’t he write Childe Harold and that ode? Yes, he +wrote Childe Harold and that ode. Then a time will scarcely +come when he will be forgotten. Lords, squires, and +cockneys may pass away, but a time will scarcely come when Childe +Harold and that ode will be forgotten. He was a poet, after +all, and he must have known it; a real poet, equal +to—to—what a destiny! Rank, beauty, fashion, +immortality,—he could not be unhappy; what a difference in +the fate of men—I wish I could think he was +unhappy—</p> +<p>I turned away.</p> +<p>“Great poet, sir,” said the dapper man, turning +away too, “but unhappy—fate of genius, sir; I, too, +am frequently unhappy.”</p> +<p>Hurrying down a street to the right, I encountered Francis +Ardry.</p> +<p>“What means the multitude yonder?” he +demanded.</p> +<p>“They are looking after the hearse which is carrying the +remains of Byron up Tottenham Road.”</p> +<p>“I have seen the man,” said my friend, as he +turned back the way he had come, “so I can dispense with +seeing the hearse—I saw the living man at Venice—ah, +a great poet.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “a great poet, it must be so, +everybody says so—what a destiny! What a difference +in the fate of men; but ’tis said he was unhappy; you have +seen him, how did he look?”</p> +<p>“Oh, beautiful!”</p> +<p>“But did he look happy?”</p> +<p>“Why, I can’t say he looked very unhappy; I saw +him with two—very fair ladies; but what is it to you +whether the man was unhappy or not? Come, where shall we +go—to Joey’s? His hugest bear—”</p> +<p>“O, I have had enough of bears, I have just been worried +by one.”</p> +<p>“The publisher?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then come to Joey’s, three dogs are to be +launched at his bear: as they pin him, imagine him to be the +publisher.”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I am good for nothing; I +think I shall stroll to London Bridge.”</p> +<p>“That’s too far for me—farewell!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">London Bridge—Why not?—Every Heart +has its Bitters—Wicked Boys—Give me my +Book—Such a Fright—Honour Bright.</p> +<p>So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the +spot by the booth where I had stood on the former occasion. +The booth, however, was empty; neither the apple-woman nor her +stall was to be seen. I looked over the balustrade upon the +river; the tide was now <!-- page 166--><a +name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>as before, +rolling beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I +gazed upon the eddies of the whirlpool, I thought within myself +how soon human life would become extinct there; a plunge, a +convulsive flounder, and all would be over. When I last +stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse—a +fascination; I had resisted it—I did not plunge into +it. At present I felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the +impulse was of a different kind; it proceeded from a loathing of +life. I looked wistfully at the eddies—what had I to +live for?—what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and +Struensee, and Yeoman Patch—should I yield to the +impulse—why not? My eyes were fixed on the +eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I saw heads +in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up to +heaven with hopeless horror; was that water, or—Where was +the impulse now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked +no more upon it—I looked forward, far down the stream in +the far distance. “Ha! what is that? I thought +I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a +rustic home; but in the far distance—I stared—I +stared—a Fata Morgana—it was gone—”</p> +<p>I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the +bridge, where I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I +then passed over to the other side with the intention of +returning home; just half way over the bridge, in a booth +immediately opposite to the one in which I had formerly beheld +her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up behind her +stall.</p> +<p>“Well, mother,” said I, “how are +you?” The old woman lifted her head with a startled +look.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know me?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, I think I do. Ah, yes,” said she, as +her features beamed with recollection, “I know you, dear; +you are the young lad that gave me the tanner. Well, child, +got anything to sell?”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all,” said I.</p> +<p>“Bad luck?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “bad enough, and ill +usage.”</p> +<p>“Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, +better luck next time; I am glad to see you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said I, sitting down on the stone +bench; “I thought you had left the bridge—why have +you changed your side?”</p> +<p>The old woman shook.</p> +<p>“What is the matter with you,” said I, “are +you ill?”</p> +<p>“No, child, no; only—”</p> +<p>“Only what? Any bad news of your son?”</p> +<p>“No, child, no; nothing about my son. Only low, +child—every heart has its bitters.”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” said I; “well, I +don’t want to know your sorrows; come, where’s the +book?”</p> +<p>The apple-woman shook more violently than before, bent herself +down, and drew her cloak more closely about her than +before. “Book, child, what book?”</p> +<p>“Why, blessed Mary, to be sure.”</p> +<p><!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>“Oh, that; I ha’n’t got it, +child—I have lost it, have left it at home.”</p> +<p>“Lost it,” said I; “left it at +home—what do you mean? Come, let me have +it.”</p> +<p>“I ha’n’t got it, child.”</p> +<p>“I believe you have got it under your cloak.”</p> +<p>“Don’t tell any one, dear; +don’t—don’t,” and the apple-woman burst +into tears.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” said I, +staring at her.</p> +<p>“You want to take my book from me?”</p> +<p>“Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, +only tell me what’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“Why, all about that book.”</p> +<p>“The book?”</p> +<p>“Yes, they wanted to take it from me.”</p> +<p>“Who did?”</p> +<p>“Why, some wicked boys. I’ll tell you all +about it. Eight or ten days ago, I sat behind my stall, +reading my book; all of a sudden I felt it snatched from my hand; +up I started, and see three rascals of boys grinning at me; one +of them held the book in his hand. ‘What book is +this?’ said he, grinning at it. ‘What do you +want with my book?’ said I, clutching at it over my stall, +‘give me my book.’ ‘What do you want a +book for?’ said he, holding it back; ‘I have a good +mind to fling it into the Thames.’ ‘Give me my +book,’ I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell over my +stall, and all my fruit was scattered about. Off ran the +boys—off ran the rascal with my book. Oh dear, I +thought I should have died; up I got, however, and ran after them +as well as I could; I thought of my fruit, but I thought more of +my book. I left my fruit and ran after my book. +‘My book! my book!’ I shrieked, ‘murder! theft! +robbery!’ I was near being crushed under the wheels +of a cart; but I didn’t care—I followed the +rascals. ‘Stop them! stop them!’ I ran +nearly as fast as they—they couldn’t run very fast on +account of the crowd. At last some one stopped the rascal, +whereupon he turned round, and flinging the book at me, it fell +into the mud; well, I picked it up and kissed it, all muddy as it +was. ‘Has he robbed you?’ said the man. +‘Robbed me, indeed; why, he had got my book.’ +‘Oh, your book,’ said the man, and laughed, and let +the rascal go. Ah, he might laugh, but—”</p> +<p>“Well, go on.”</p> +<p>“My heart beats so. Well, I went back to my booth +and picked up my stall and my fruits, what I could find of +them. I couldn’t keep my stall for two days I got +such a fright, and when I got round I couldn’t bide the +booth where the thing had happened, so I came over to the other +side. Oh, the rascals, if I could but see them +hanged.”</p> +<p>“For what?”</p> +<p>“Why, for stealing my book.”</p> +<p>“I thought you didn’t dislike stealing,—that +you were ready to buy things—there was your son, you +know—”</p> +<p>“Yes, to be sure.”</p> +<p>“He took things.”</p> +<p><!-- page 168--><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>“To be sure he did.”</p> +<p>“But you don’t like a thing of yours to be +taken.”</p> +<p>“No, that’s quite a different thing; what’s +stealing handkerchiefs, and that kind of thing, to do with taking +my book; there’s a wide difference—don’t you +see?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I see.”</p> +<p>“Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I’m glad +you do. Would you like to look at the book?”</p> +<p>“Well, I think I should.”</p> +<p>“Honour bright?” said the apple-woman, looking me +in the eyes.</p> +<p>“Honour bright,” said I, looking the apple-woman +in the eyes.</p> +<p>“Well then, dear, here it is,” said she, taking it +from under her cloak; “read it as long as you like, only +get a little farther into the booth—Don’t sit so near +the edge—you might—”</p> +<p>I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her +chair round, almost confronted me. I commenced reading the +book, and was soon engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or +twice I lifted up my eyes, the apple-woman was still confronting +me: at last my eyes began to ache, whereupon I returned the book +to the apple-woman, and giving her another tanner, walked +away.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Decease of the Review—Homer +Himself—Bread and Cheese—Finger and +Thumb—Impossible to Find—Something +Grand—Universal Mixture—Some Other Publisher.</p> +<p>Time passed away, and with it the review, which, contrary to +the publisher’s expectation, did not prove a successful +speculation. About four months after the period of its +birth it expired, as all reviews must for which there is no +demand. Authors had ceased to send their publications to +it, and, consequently, to purchase it; for I have already hinted +that it was almost entirely supported by authors of a particular +class, who expected to see their publications foredoomed to +immortality in its pages. The behaviour of these authors +towards this unfortunate publication I can attribute to no other +cause than to a report which was industriously circulated, +namely, that the review was low, and that to be reviewed in it +was an infallible sign that one was a low person, who could be +reviewed nowhere else. So authors took fright; and no +wonder, for it will never do for an author to be considered +low. Homer himself has never yet entirely recovered from +the injury he received by Lord Chesterfield’s remark, that +the speeches of his heroes were frequently exceedingly low.</p> +<p>So the review ceased, and the reviewing corps no longer +existed as such; they forthwith returned to their proper +avocations—the editor to compose tunes on his piano, and to +the task of disposing of the remaining copies of his +Quintilian—the inferior members to working <!-- page +169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>for the publisher, being to a man dependents of his; +one, to composing fairy tales; another, to collecting miracles of +Popish saints; and a third, Newgate lives and trials. Owing +to the bad success of the review, the publisher became more +furious than ever. My money was growing short, and I one +day asked him to pay me for my labours in the deceased +publication.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the publisher, “what do you want +the money for?”</p> +<p>“Merely to live on,” I replied; “it is very +difficult to live in this town without money.”</p> +<p>“How much money did you bring with you to town?” +demanded the publisher.</p> +<p>“Some twenty or thirty pounds,” I replied.</p> +<p>“And you have spent it already?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “not entirely; but it is fast +disappearing.”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the publisher, “I believe you to +be extravagant; yes, sir, extravagant!”</p> +<p>“On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the publisher; “you eat +meat.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I eat meat sometimes: what +should I eat?”</p> +<p>“Bread, sir,” said the publisher; “bread and +cheese.”</p> +<p>“So I do, sir, when I am disposed to indulge; but I +cannot often afford it—it is very expensive to dine on +bread and cheese, especially when one is fond of cheese, as I +am. My last bread and cheese dinner cost me fourteen +pence. There is drink, sir; with bread and cheese one must +drink porter, sir.”</p> +<p>“Then, sir, eat bread—bread alone. As good +men as yourself have eaten bread alone; they have been glad to +get it, sir. If with bread and cheese you must drink +porter, sir, with bread alone you can, perhaps, drink water, +sir.”</p> +<p>However, I got paid at last for my writings in the review, +not, it is true, in the current coin of the realm, but in certain +bills; there were two of them, one payable at twelve, and the +other at eighteen months after date. It was a long time +before I could turn these bills to any account; at last I found a +person who, at a discount of only thirty per cent., consented to +cash them; not, however, without sundry grimaces, and, what was +still more galling, holding, more than once, the unfortunate +papers high in air between his forefinger and thumb. So +ill, indeed, did I like this last action, that I felt much +inclined to snatch them away. I restrained myself, however, +for I remembered that it was very difficult to live without +money, and that, if the present person did not discount the +bills, I should probably find no one else that would.</p> +<p>But if the treatment which I had experienced from the +publisher, previous to making this demand upon him, was difficult +to bear, that which I subsequently underwent was far more so; his +great delight seemed to consist in causing me misery and +mortification; if, on former occasions, he was continually +sending me in quest of lives and trials difficult to find, he now +was continually demanding lives and trials which it was +impossible to find; the personages whom he mentioned <!-- page +170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>never having lived, nor consequently been tried. +Moreover, some of my best lives and trials which I had corrected +and edited with particular care, and on which I prided myself no +little, he caused to be cancelled after they had passed through +the press. Amongst these was the life of “Gentleman +Harry.” “They are drugs, sir,” said the +publisher, “drugs; that life of Harry Simms has long been +the greatest drug in the calendar—has it not, +Taggart?”</p> +<p>Taggart made no answer save by taking a pinch of snuff. +The reader has, I hope, not forgotten Taggart, whom I mentioned +whilst giving an account of my first morning’s visit to the +publisher. I beg Taggart’s pardon for having been so +long silent about him; but he was a very silent man—yet +there was much in Taggart—and Taggart had always been civil +and kind to me in his peculiar way.</p> +<p>“Well, young gentleman,” said Taggart to me one +morning, when we chanced to be alone a few days after the affair +of the cancelling, “how do you like authorship?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely call authorship the drudgery I am engaged +in,” said I.</p> +<p>“What do you call authorship?” said Taggart.</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” said I; “that is, I can +scarcely express what I think it.”</p> +<p>“Shall I help you out?” said Taggart, turning +round his chair, and looking at me.</p> +<p>“If you like,” said I.</p> +<p>“To write something grand,” said Taggart, taking +snuff; “to be stared at—lifted on people’s +shoulders—”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “that is something like +it.”</p> +<p>Taggart took snuff. “Well,” said he, +“why don’t you write something grand?”</p> +<p>“I have,” said I.</p> +<p>“What?” said Taggart.</p> +<p>“Why,” said I, “there are those +ballads.”</p> +<p>Taggart took snuff.</p> +<p>“And those wonderful versions from Ab Gwilym.”</p> +<p>Taggart took snuff again.</p> +<p>“You seem to be very fond of snuff,” said I; +looking at him angrily.</p> +<p>Taggart tapped his box.</p> +<p>“Have you taken it long?”</p> +<p>“Three-and-twenty years.”</p> +<p>“What snuff do you take?”</p> +<p>“Universal mixture.”</p> +<p>“And you find it of use?”</p> +<p>Taggart tapped his box.</p> +<p>“In what respect?” said I.</p> +<p>“In many—there is nothing like it to get a man +through; but for snuff I should scarcely be where I am +now.”</p> +<p>“Have you been long here?”</p> +<p>“Three-and-twenty years.”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I; “and snuff brought you +through? Give me a pinch—pah, I don’t like +it,” and I sneezed.</p> +<p><!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>“Take another pinch,” said Taggart.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I don’t like +snuff.”</p> +<p>“Then you will never do for authorship; at least for +this kind.”</p> +<p>“So I begin to think—what shall I do?”</p> +<p>Taggart took snuff.</p> +<p>“You were talking of a great work—what shall it +be?”</p> +<p>Taggart took snuff.</p> +<p>“Do you think I could write one?”</p> +<p>Taggart uplifted his two forefingers as if to tap, he did not, +however.</p> +<p>“It would require time,” said I, with half a +sigh.</p> +<p>Taggart tapped his box.</p> +<p>“A great deal of time; I really think that my +ballads—”</p> +<p>Taggart took snuff.</p> +<p>“If published, would do me credit. I’ll make +an effort, and offer them to some other publisher.”</p> +<p>Taggart took a double quantity of snuff.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Francis Ardry—That Won’t do, +Sir—Observe My Gestures—I Think You +Improve—Better than Politics—Delightful Young +Frenchwoman—A Burning Shame—Magnificent +Impudence—Paunch—Voltaire—Lump of Sugar.</p> +<p>Occasionally I called on Francis Ardry. This young +gentleman resided in handsome apartments in the neighbourhood of +a fashionable square, kept a livery servant, and, upon the whole, +lived in very good style. Going to see him one day, between +one and two, I was informed by the servant that his master was +engaged for the moment, but that, if I pleased to wait a few +minutes, I should find him at liberty. Having told the man +that I had no objection, he conducted me into a small apartment +which served as antechamber to a drawing-room; the door of this +last being half open, I could see Francis Ardry at the farther +end, speechifying and gesticulating in a very impressive +manner. The servant, in some confusion, was hastening to +close the door; but, ere he could effect his purpose, Francis +Ardry, who had caught a glimpse of me, exclaimed, “Come +in—come in by all means;” and then proceeded, as +before, speechifying and gesticulating. Filled with some +surprise, I obeyed his summons.</p> +<p>On entering the room I perceived another individual, to whom +Francis Ardry appeared to be addressing himself; this other was a +short spare man of about sixty; his hair was of badger grey, and +his face was covered with wrinkles—without vouchsafing me a +look, he kept his eye, which was black and lustrous, fixed full +on Francis Ardry, as if paying the deepest attention to his +discourse. All of a sudden, however, he cried with a sharp, +cracked voice, “That won’t do, sir; that won’t +do—more vehemence—your argument is at present +particularly <!-- page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 172</span>weak; therefore, more +vehemence—you must confuse them, stun them, stultify them, +sir;” and, at each of these injunctions, he struck the back +of his right hand sharply against the palm of the left. +“Good, sir—good!” he occasionally uttered, in +the same sharp, cracked tone, as the voice of Francis Ardry +became more and more vehement. “Infinitely +good!” he exclaimed, as Francis Ardry raised his voice to +the highest pitch; “and now, sir, abate; let the tempest of +vehemence decline—gradually, sir; not too fast. Good, +sir—very good!” as the voice of Francis Ardry +declined gradually in vehemence. “And now a little +pathos, sir—try them with a little pathos. That +won’t do, sir—that won’t do,”—as +Francis Ardry made an attempt to become +pathetic,—“that will never pass for pathos—with +tones and gesture of that description you will never redress the +wrongs of your country. Now, sir, observe my gestures, and +pay attention to the tone of my voice, sir.”</p> +<p>Thereupon, making use of nearly the same terms which Francis +Ardry had employed, the individual in black uttered several +sentences in tones and with gestures which were intended to +express a considerable degree of pathos, though it is possible +that some people would have thought both the one and the other +highly ludicrous. After a pause, Francis Ardry recommenced +imitating the tones and the gestures of his monitor in the most +admirable manner. Before he had proceeded far, however, he +burst into a fit of laughter, in which I should, perhaps, have +joined, provided it were ever my wont to laugh. “Ha, +ha!” said the other, good humouredly, “you are +laughing at me. Well, well, I merely wished to give you a +hint; but you saw very well what I meant; upon the whole I think +you improve. But I must now go, having two other pupils to +visit before four.”</p> +<p>Then taking from the table a kind of three-cornered hat, and a +cane headed with amber, he shook Francis Ardry by the hand; and, +after glancing at me for a moment, made me a half bow, attended +with a strange grimace, and departed.</p> +<p>“Who is that gentleman?” said I to Francis Ardry, +as soon as we were alone.</p> +<p>“Oh, that is ---,” said Frank smiling, “the +gentleman who gives me lessons in elocution.”</p> +<p>“And what need have you of elocution?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I merely obey the commands of my guardians,” +said Francis, “who insist that I should, with the +assistance of ---, qualify myself for Parliament; for which they +do me the honour to suppose that I have some natural +talent. I dare not disobey them; for, at the present +moment, I have particular reasons for wishing to keep on good +terms with them.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “you are a Roman Catholic; +and I thought that persons of your religion were excluded from +Parliament?”</p> +<p>“Why, upon that very thing the whole matter hinges; +people of our religion are determined to be no longer excluded +from Parliament, but to have a share in the government of the +nation. Not that I care anything about the matter; I merely +obey the will of my guardians; my thoughts are fixed on something +better than politics.”</p> +<p><!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>“I understand you,” said I; +“dog-fighting—well, I can easily conceive that to +some minds dog-fighting—”</p> +<p>“I was not thinking of dog-fighting,” said Francis +Ardry, interrupting me.</p> +<p>“Not thinking of dog-fighting!” I ejaculated.</p> +<p>“No,” said Francis Ardry, “something higher +and much more rational than dog-fighting at present occupies my +thoughts.”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “I thought I had heard +you say, that there was nothing like it!”</p> +<p>“Like what?” said Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>“Dog-fighting, to be sure,” said I.</p> +<p>“Pooh,” said Francis Ardry; “who but the +gross and unrefined care anything for dog-fighting? That +which at present engages my waking and sleeping thoughts is +love—divine love—there is nothing like +<i>that</i>. Listen to me, I have a secret to confide to +you.”</p> +<p>And then Francis Ardry proceeded to make me his +confidant. It appeared that he had had the good fortune to +make the acquaintance of the most delightful young Frenchwoman +imaginable, Annette La Noire by name, who had just arrived from +her native country with the intention of obtaining the situation +of governess in some English family; a position which, on account +of her many accomplishments, she was eminently qualified to +fill. Francis Ardry had, however, persuaded her to +relinquish her intention for the present, on the ground that, +until she had become acclimated in England, her health would +probably suffer from the confinement inseparable from the +occupation in which she was desirous of engaging; he had, +moreover—for it appeared that she was the most frank and +confiding creature in the world—succeeded in persuading her +to permit him to hire for her a very handsome first floor in his +own neighbourhood, and to accept a few inconsiderable presents in +money and jewellery. “I am looking out for a handsome +gig and horse,” said Francis Ardry, at the conclusion of +his narration; “it were a burning shame that so divine a +creature should have to go about a place like London on foot, or +in a paltry hackney coach.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “will not the pursuit of +politics prevent your devoting much time to this fair +lady?”</p> +<p>“It will prevent me devoting all my time,” said +Francis Ardry, “as I gladly would; but what can I do? +My guardians wish me to qualify myself for a political orator, +and I dare not offend them by a refusal. If I offend my +guardians, I should find it impossible—unless I have +recourse to Jews and money-lenders—to support Annette; +present her with articles of dress and jewellery, and purchase a +horse and cabriolet worthy of conveying her angelic person +through the streets of London.”</p> +<p>After a pause, in which Francis Ardry appeared lost in +thought, his mind being probably occupied with the subject of +Annette, I broke silence by observing, “So your +fellow-religionists are really going to make a serious attempt to +procure their emancipation?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Francis Ardry, starting from his +reverie; “everything has been arranged; even a leader has +been chosen, at least for us of Ireland, upon the whole the most +suitable man in the world for the occasion—a <!-- page +174--><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>barrister of considerable talent, mighty voice, and +magnificent impudence. With emancipation, liberty, and +redress for the wrongs of Ireland in his mouth, he is to force +his way into the British House of Commons, dragging myself and +others behind him—he will succeed, and when he is in he +will cut a figure; I have heard --- himself, who has heard him +speak, say that he will cut a figure.”</p> +<p>“And is --- competent to judge?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Who but he?” said Francis Ardry; “no one +questions his judgment concerning what relates to +elocution. His fame on that point is so well established, +that the greatest orators do not disdain occasionally to consult +him; C--- himself, as I have been told, when anxious to produce +any particular effect in the House, is in the habit of calling in +--- for consultation.”</p> +<p>“As to matter, or manner?” said I.</p> +<p>“Chiefly the latter,” said Francis Ardry, +“though he is competent to give advice as to both, for he +has been an orator in his day, and a leader of the people; though +he confessed to me that he was not exactly qualified to play the +latter part—‘I want paunch,’ said +he.”</p> +<p>“It is not always indispensable,” said I; +“there is an orator in my town, a hunchback and watchmaker, +without it, who not only leads the people, but the mayor too; +perhaps he has a succedaneum in his hunch: but, tell me, is the +leader of your movement in possession of that which --- +wants?”</p> +<p>“No more deficient in it than in brass,” said +Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “whatever his qualifications +may be, I wish him success in the cause which he has taken +up—I love religious liberty.”</p> +<p>“We shall succeed,” said Francis Ardry; +“John Bull upon the whole is rather indifferent on the +subject, and then we are sure to be backed by the radical party, +who, to gratify their political prejudices, would join with Satan +himself.”</p> +<p>“There is one thing,” said I, “connected +with this matter which surprises me—your own +lukewarmness. Yes, making every allowance for your natural +predilection for dog-fighting, and your present enamoured state +of mind, your apathy at the commencement of such a movement is to +me unaccountable.”</p> +<p>“You would not have cause to complain of my +indifference,” said Frank, “provided I thought my +country would be benefited by this movement; but I happen to know +the origin of it. The priests are the originators, +‘and what country was ever benefited by a movement which +owed its origin to them?’ so says Voltaire, a page of whom +I occasionally read. By the present move they hope to +increase their influence, and to further certain designs which +they entertain both with regard to this country and +Ireland. I do not speak rashly or unadvisedly. A +strange fellow—a half Italian, half English +priest,—who was recommended to me by my guardians, partly +as a spiritual—partly as a temporal guide, has let me into +a secret or two; he is fond of a glass of gin and water—and +over a glass of gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it, +he has been more communicative, perhaps, than was altogether +prudent. Were I my own master, I would kick him, <!-- page +175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>politics, and religious movements, to a considerable +distance. And now, if you are going away, do so quickly; I +have an appointment with Annette, and must make myself fit to +appear before her.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Progress—Glorious John—Utterly +Unintelligible—What a Difference!</p> +<p>By the month of October I had, in spite of all difficulties +and obstacles, accomplished about two-thirds of the principal +task which I had undertaken, the compiling of the Newgate lives; +I had also made some progress in translating the +publisher’s philosophy into German. But about this +time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that our +connection should prove of long duration; yet, in the event of my +leaving the big man, what other resource had I—another +publisher? But what had I to offer? There were my +ballads, my Ab Gwilym, but then I thought of Taggart and his +snuff, his pinch of snuff. However, I determined to see +what could be done, so I took my ballads under my arm, and went +to various publishers; some took snuff, others did not, but none +took my ballads or Ab Gwilym, they would not even look at +them. One asked me if I had anything else—he was a +snuff-taker—I said yes; and going home returned with my +translation of the German novel, to which I have before +alluded. After keeping it for a fortnight, he returned it +to me on my visiting him, and, taking a pinch of snuff, told me +it would not do. There were marks of snuff on the outside +of the manuscript, which was a roll of paper bound with red tape, +but there were no marks of snuff on the interior of the +manuscript, from which I concluded that he had never opened +it.</p> +<p>I had often heard of one Glorious John, who lived at the +western end of the town; on consulting Taggart, he told me that +it was possible that Glorious John would publish my ballads and +Ab Gwilym, that is, said he, taking a pinch of snuff, provided +you can see him; so I went to the house where Glorious John +resided, and a glorious house it was, but I could not see +Glorious John—I called a dozen times, but I never could see +Glorious John. Twenty years after, by the greatest chance +in the world, I saw Glorious John, and sure enough Glorious John +published my books, but they were different books from the first; +I never offered my ballads or Ab Gwilym to Glorious John. +Glorious John was no snuff-taker. He asked me to dinner, +and treated me with superb Rhenish wine. Glorious John is +now gone to his rest, but I—what was I going to +say?—the world will never forget Glorious John.</p> +<p>So I returned to my last resource for the time then +being—to the publisher, persevering doggedly in my +labour. One day, on visiting the publisher, I found him +stamping with fury upon certain fragments of paper.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said he, “you know nothing of German; +I have shown your translation of the first chapter of my +Philosophy to several Germans: <!-- page 176--><a +name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>it is +utterly unintelligible to them.” “Did they see +the Philosophy?” I replied. “They did, sir, but +they did not profess to understand English.” +“No more do I,” I replied, “if that Philosophy +be English.”</p> +<p>The publisher was furious—I was silent. For want +of a pinch of snuff, I had recourse to something which is no bad +substitute for a pinch of snuff to those who can’t take it, +silent contempt; at first it made the publisher more furious, as +perhaps a pinch of snuff would; it, however, eventually calmed +him, and he ordered me back to my occupations, in other words, +the compilation. To be brief, the compilation was +completed, I got paid in the usual manner, and forthwith left +him.</p> +<p>He was a clever man, but what a difference in clever men!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Old Spot—A Long History—Thou +Shalt Not Steal—No +Harm—Education—Necessity—Foam on Your +Lip—Apples and Pears—What Will You +Read—Metaphor—The Fur Cap—I Don’t Know +Him.</p> +<p>It was past mid-winter, and I sat on London Bridge, in company +with the old apple-woman: she had just returned from the other +side of the bridge, to her place in the booth where I had +originally found her. This she had done after repeated +conversations with me; “she liked the old place +best,” she said, which she would never have left but for +the terror which she experienced when the boys ran away with her +book. So I sat with her at the old spot, one afternoon past +mid-winter, reading the book, of which I had by this time come to +the last pages. I had observed that the old woman for some +time past had shown much less anxiety about the book than she had +been in the habit of doing. I was, however, not quite +prepared for her offering to make me a present of it, which she +did that afternoon; when, having finished it, I returned it to +her, with many thanks for the pleasure and instruction I had +derived from its perusal. “You may keep it, +dear,” said the old woman, with a sigh; “you may +carry it to your lodging, and keep it for your own.”</p> +<p>Looking at the old woman with surprise, I exclaimed, “Is +it possible that you are willing to part with the book which has +been your source of comfort so long?”</p> +<p>Whereupon the old woman entered into a long history, from +which I gathered that the book had become distasteful to her; she +hardly ever opened it of late, she said, or if she did, it was +only to shut it again; also, that other things which she had been +fond of, though of a widely different kind, were now distasteful +to her. Porter and beef-steaks were no longer grateful to +her palate, her present diet chiefly consisting of tea, and bread +and butter.</p> +<p>“Ah,” said I, “you have been ill, and when +people are ill, they seldom like the things which give them +pleasure when they are in health.” I learned, +moreover, that she slept little at night, and had all kinds of +strange thoughts; that as she lay awake many things connected +with <!-- page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 177</span>her youth, which she had quite +forgotten, came into her mind. There were certain words +that came into her mind the night before the last, which were +continually humming in her ears: I found that the words were, +“Thou shalt not steal.”</p> +<p>On inquiring where she had first heard these words, I learned +that she had read them at school, in a book called the primer; to +this school she had been sent by her mother, who was a poor +widow, who followed the trade of apple-selling in the very spot +where her daughter followed it now. It seems that the +mother was a very good kind of woman, but quite ignorant of +letters, the benefit of which she was willing to procure for her +child; and at the school the daughter learned to read, and +subsequently experienced the pleasure and benefit of letters, in +being able to read the book which she found in an obscure closet +of her mother’s house, and which had been her principal +companion and comfort for many years of her life.</p> +<p>But, as I have said before, she was now dissatisfied with the +book, and with most other things in which she had taken pleasure; +she dwelt much on the words, “Thou shalt not steal;” +she had never stolen things herself, but then she had bought +things which other people had stolen, and which she knew had been +stolen; and her dear son had been a thief, which he perhaps would +not have been but for the example which she set him in buying +things from characters, as she called them, who associated with +her.</p> +<p>On inquiring how she had become acquainted with these +characters, I learned that times had gone hard with her; that she +had married, but her husband had died after a long sickness, +which had reduced them to great distress; that her fruit trade +was not a profitable one, and that she had bought and sold things +which had been stolen to support herself and her son. That +for a long time she supposed there was no harm in doing so, as +her book was full of entertaining tales of stealing; but she now +thought that the book was a bad book, and that learning to read +was a bad thing; her mother had never been able to read, but had +died in peace, though poor.</p> +<p>So here was a woman who attributed the vices and follies of +her life to being able to read; her mother, she said, who could +not read, lived respectably, and died in peace; and what was the +essential difference between the mother and daughter, save that +the latter could read? But for her literature she might in +all probability have lived respectably and honestly, like her +mother, and might eventually have died in peace, which at present +she could scarcely hope to do. Education had failed to +produce any good in this poor woman; on the contrary, there could +be little doubt that she had been injured by it. Then was +education a bad thing? Rousseau was of opinion that it was; +but Rousseau was a Frenchman, at least wrote in French, and I +cared not the snap of my fingers for Rousseau. But +education has certainly been of benefit in some instances; well, +what did that prove, but that partiality existed in the +management of the affairs of the world—if education was a +benefit to some, why was it not a benefit to others? Could +some avoid abusing it, any more than others could avoid turning +it to a profitable account? I did not see how <!-- page +178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>they could; this poor simple woman found a book in her +mother’s closet; a book, which was a capital book for those +who could turn it to the account for which it was intended; a +book, from the perusal of which I felt myself wiser and better, +but which was by no means suited to the intellect of this poor +simple woman, who thought that it was written in praise of +thieving; yet she found it, she read it, and—and I felt +myself getting into a maze, what is right, thought I? what is +wrong? Do I exist? Does the world exist? if it does, +every action is bound up with necessity.</p> +<p>“Necessity!” I exclaimed, and cracked my finger +joints.</p> +<p>“Ah, it is a bad thing,” said the old woman.</p> +<p>“What is a bad thing?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why, to be poor, dear.”</p> +<p>“You talk like a fool,” said I, “riches and +poverty are only different forms of necessity.”</p> +<p>“You should not call me a fool, dear; you should not +call your own mother a fool.”</p> +<p>“You are not my mother,” said I.</p> +<p>“Not your mother, dear?—no, no more I am; but your +calling me fool put me in mind of my dear son, who often used to +call me fool—and you just now looked as he sometimes did, +with a blob of foam on your lip.”</p> +<p>“After all, I don’t know that you are not my +mother.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you, dear? I’m glad of it; I +wish you would make it out.”</p> +<p>“How shall I make it out? who can speak from his own +knowledge as to the circumstances of his birth? Besides, +before attempting to establish our relationship, it would be +necessary to prove that such people exist.”</p> +<p>“What people, dear?”</p> +<p>“You and I.”</p> +<p>“Lord, child, you are mad; that book has made you +so.”</p> +<p>“Don’t abuse it,” said I; “the book is +an excellent one, that is, provided it exists.”</p> +<p>“I wish it did not,” said the old woman; +“but it sha’n’t long; I’ll burn it, or +fling it into the river—the voices at night tell me to do +so.”</p> +<p>“Tell the voices,” said I, “that they talk +nonsense; the book, if it exists, is a good book, it contains a +deep moral; have you read it all?”</p> +<p>“All the funny parts, dear; all about taking things, and +the manner it was done; as for the rest, I could not exactly make +it out.”</p> +<p>“Then the book is not to blame; I repeat that the book +is a good book, and contains deep morality, always supposing that +there is such a thing as morality, which is the same thing as +supposing that there is anything at all.”</p> +<p>“Anything at all! Why, a’n’t we here +on this bridge, in my booth, with my stall and +my—”</p> +<p>“Apples and pears, baked hot, you would say—I +don’t know; all is a mystery, a deep question. It is +a question, and probably always will be, whether there is a +world, and consequently apples and pears; <!-- page 179--><a +name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>and, +provided there be a world, whether that world be like an apple or +a pear.”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk so, dear.”</p> +<p>“I won’t; we will suppose that we all +exist—world, ourselves, apples, and pears: so you wish to +get rid of the book?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear, I wish you would take it.”</p> +<p>“I have read it, and have no farther use for it; I do +not need books: in a little time, perhaps, I shall not have a +place wherein to deposit myself, far less books.”</p> +<p>“Then I will fling it into the river.”</p> +<p>“Don’t do that; here, give it me. Now what +shall I do with it? you were so fond of it.”</p> +<p>“I am so no longer.”</p> +<p>“But how will you pass your time; what will you +read?”</p> +<p>“I wish I had never learned to read, or, if I had, that +I had only read the books I saw at school: the primer or the +other.”</p> +<p>“What was the other?”</p> +<p>“I think they called it the Bible: all about God, and +Job, and Jesus.”</p> +<p>“Ah, I know it.”</p> +<p>“You have read it; it is a nice book—all +true?”</p> +<p>“True, true—I don’t know what to say; but if +the world be true, and not a lie, a fiction, I don’t see +why the Bible, as they call it, should not be true. +By-the-bye, what do you call Bible in your tongue, or, indeed, +book of any kind? as Bible merely means a book.”</p> +<p>“What do I call the Bible in my language, +dear?”</p> +<p>“Yes, the language of those who bring you +things.”</p> +<p>“The language of those who <i>did</i>, dear; they bring +them now no longer. They call me a fool, as you did, dear, +just now; they call kissing the Bible, which means taking a false +oath, smacking calf-skin.”</p> +<p>“That’s metaphor,” said I, “English, +but metaphorical; what an odd language! So you would like +to have a Bible,—shall I buy you one?”</p> +<p>“I am poor, dear—no money since I left off the +other trade.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I’ll buy you one.”</p> +<p>“No, dear, no; you are poor, and may soon want the +money; but if you can take me one conveniently on the sly, you +know—I think you may, for, as it is a good book, I suppose +there can be no harm in taking it.”</p> +<p>“That will never do,” said I, “more +especially as I should be sure to be caught, not having made +taking of things my trade; but I’ll tell you what +I’ll do—try and exchange this book of yours for a +Bible; who knows for what great things this same book of yours +may serve?”</p> +<p>“Well, dear,” said the old woman, “do as you +please; I should like to see the—what do you call +it?—Bible, and to read it, as you seem to think it +true.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “seem; that is the way to +express yourself in this maze of doubt—I seem to +think—these apples and pears seem to be—and <!-- page +180--><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>here seems to be a gentleman who wants to purchase +either one or the other.”</p> +<p>A person had stopped before the apple-woman’s stall, and +was glancing now at the fruit, now at the old woman and myself; +he wore a blue mantle, and had a kind of fur cap on his head; he +was somewhat above the middle stature; his features were keen but +rather hard; there was a slight obliquity in his vision. +Selecting a small apple, he gave the old woman a penny; then, +after looking at me scrutinizingly for a moment, he moved from +the booth in the direction of Southwark.</p> +<p>“Do you know who that man is?” said I to the old +woman.</p> +<p>“No,” said she, “except that he is one of my +best customers: he frequently stops, takes an apple, and gives me +a penny; his is the only piece of money I have taken this blessed +day. I don’t know him, but he has once or twice sat +down in the booth with two strange-looking men—Mulattos, or +Lascars, I think they call them.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Bought and Exchanged—Quite Empty—A +New Firm—Bibles—Countenance of a Lion—Clap of +Thunder—A Truce with This—I Have Lost +It—Clearly a Right—Goddess of the Mint.</p> +<p>In pursuance of my promise to the old woman, I set about +procuring her a Bible with all convenient speed, placing the book +which she had intrusted to me for the purpose of exchange in my +pocket. I went to several shops and asked if Bibles were to +be had: I found that there were plenty. When, however, I +informed the people that I came to barter, they looked blank, and +declined treating with me; saying that they did not do business +in that way. At last I went into a shop over the window of +which I saw written, “Books bought and exchanged:” +there was a smartish young fellow in the shop, with black hair +and whiskers; “You exchange?” said I. +“Yes,” said he, “sometimes, but we prefer +selling; what book do you want?” “A +Bible,” said I. “Ah,” said he, +“there’s a great demand for Bibles just now; all +kinds of people are becoming very pious of late,” he added, +grinning at me; “I am afraid I can’t do business with +you, more especially as the master is not at home. What +book have you brought?” Taking the book out of my +pocket, I placed it on the counter: the young fellow opened the +book, and inspecting the title-page, burst into a loud +laugh. “What do you laugh for?” said I, +angrily, and half clenching my fist. “Laugh!” +said the young fellow; “laugh! who could help +laughing?” “I could,” said I; “I +see nothing to laugh at; I want to exchange this book for a +Bible.” “You do?” said the young fellow; +“well, I daresay there are plenty who would be willing to +exchange, that is, if they dared. I wish master were at +home; but that would never do, either. Master’s a +family man, the Bibles are not mine, and master being a <!-- page +181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>family man, is sharp, and knows all his stock; +I’d buy it of you, but, to tell you the truth, I am quite +empty here,” said he, pointing to his pocket, “so I +am afraid we can’t deal.”</p> +<p>Whereupon, looking anxiously at the young man, “what am +I to do?” said I; “I really want a Bible.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you buy one?” said the young man; +“have you no money?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I have some, but I am merely +the agent of another; I came to exchange, not to buy; what am I +to do?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said the young man, +thoughtfully, laying down the book on the counter; “I +don’t know what you can do; I think you will find some +difficulty in this bartering job, the trade are rather +precise.” All at once he laughed louder than before; +suddenly stopping, however, he put on a very grave look. +“Take my advice,” said he; “there is a firm +established in this neighbourhood which scarcely sells any books +but Bibles; they are very rich, and pride themselves on selling +their books at the lowest possible price; apply to them, who +knows but what they will exchange with you?”</p> +<p>Thereupon I demanded with some eagerness of the young man the +direction to the place where he thought it possible that I might +effect the exchange—which direction the young fellow +cheerfully gave me, and, as I turned away, had the civility to +wish me success.</p> +<p>I had no difficulty in finding the house to which the young +fellow had directed me; it was a very large house, situated in a +square; and upon the side of the house was written in large +letters, “Bibles, and other religious books.”</p> +<p>At the door of the house were two or three tumbrils, in the +act of being loaded with chests, very much resembling tea-chests; +one of the chests falling down, burst, and out flew, not tea, but +various books, in a neat, small size, and in neat leather covers; +Bibles, said I,—Bibles, doubtless. I was not quite +right, nor quite wrong; picking up one of the books, I looked at +it for a moment, and found it to be the New Testament. +“Come, young lad,” said a man who stood by, in the +dress of a porter, “put that book down, it is none of +yours; if you want a book, go in and deal for one.”</p> +<p>Deal, thought I, deal,—the man seems to know what I am +coming about,—and going in, I presently found myself in a +very large room. Behind a counter two men stood with their +backs to a splendid fire, warming themselves, for the weather was +cold.</p> +<p>Of these men one was dressed in brown, and the other was +dressed in black; both were tall men—he who was dressed in +brown was thin, and had a particularly ill-natured countenance; +the man dressed in black was bulky, his features were noble, but +they were those of a lion.</p> +<p>“What is your business, young man?” said the +precise personage, as I stood staring at him and his +companion.</p> +<p>“I want a Bible,” said I.</p> +<p>“What price, what size?” said the precise-looking +man.</p> +<p>“As to size,” said I, “I should like to have +a large one—that is, if you can afford me one—I do +not come to buy.”</p> +<p><!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>“Oh, friend,” said the precise-looking man, +“if you come here expecting to have a Bible for nothing, +you are mistaken—we—”</p> +<p>“I would scorn to have a Bible for nothing,” said +I, “or anything else; I came not to beg, but to barter; +there is no shame in that, especially in a country like this, +where all folks barter.”</p> +<p>“Oh, we don’t barter,” said the precise man, +“at least Bibles; you had better depart.”</p> +<p>“Stay, brother,” said the man with the countenance +of a lion, “let us ask a few questions; this may be a very +important case; perhaps the young man has had +convictions.”</p> +<p>“Not I,” I exclaimed, “I am convinced of +nothing, and with regard to the Bible—I don’t +believe—”</p> +<p>“Hey!” said the man with the lion countenance, and +there he stopped. But with that “Hey” the walls +of the house seemed to shake, the windows rattled, and the porter +whom I had seen in front of the house came running up the steps, +and looked into the apartment through the glass of the door.</p> +<p>There was silence for about a minute—the same kind of +silence which succeeds a clap of thunder.</p> +<p>At last the man with the lion countenance, who had kept his +eyes fixed upon me, said calmly, “Were you about to say +that you don’t believe in the Bible, young man?”</p> +<p>“No more than in anything else,” said I; +“you were talking of convictions—I have no +convictions. It is not easy to believe in the Bible till +one is convinced that there is a Bible.”</p> +<p>“He seems to be insane,” said the prim-looking +man, “we had better order the porter to turn him +out.”</p> +<p>“I am by no means certain,” said I, “that +the porter could turn me out; always provided there is a porter, +and this system of ours be not a lie, and a dream.”</p> +<p>“Come,” said the lion-looking man, impatiently, +“a truce with this nonsense. If the porter cannot +turn you out, perhaps some other person can; but to the +point—you want a Bible?”</p> +<p>“I do,” said I, “but not for myself; I was +sent by another person to offer something in exchange for +one.”</p> +<p>“And who is that person?”</p> +<p>“A poor old woman, who has had what you call +convictions,—heard voices, or thought she heard +them—I forgot to ask her whether they were loud +ones.”</p> +<p>“What has she sent to offer in exchange?” said the +man, without taking any notice of the concluding part of my +speech.</p> +<p>“A book,” said I.</p> +<p>“Let me see it.”</p> +<p>“Nay, brother,” said the precise man, “this +will never do; if we once adopt the system of barter, we shall +have all the holders of useless rubbish in the town applying to +us.”</p> +<p>“I wish to see what he has brought,” said the +other; “perhaps Baxter, or Jewell’s Apology, either +of which would make a valuable addition to our collection. +Well, young man, what’s the matter with you?”</p> +<p><!-- page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>I stood like one petrified; I had put my hand into my +pocket—the book was gone.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” repeated the man with +the lion countenance, in a voice very much resembling +thunder.</p> +<p>“I have it not—I have lost it!”</p> +<p>“A pretty story, truly,” said the precise-looking +man, “lost it!”</p> +<p>“You had better retire,” said the other.</p> +<p>“How shall I appear before the party who intrusted me +with the book? She will certainly think that I have +purloined it, notwithstanding all that I can say; nor, indeed, +can I blame her,—appearances are certainly against +me.”</p> +<p>“They are so—you had better retire.”</p> +<p>I moved towards the door. “Stay, young man, one +word more; there is only one way of proceeding which would induce +me to believe that you are sincere.”</p> +<p>“What is that?” said I, stopping and looking at +him anxiously.</p> +<p>“The purchase of a Bible.”</p> +<p>“Purchase!” said I, “purchase! I came +not to purchase, but to barter; such was my instruction, and how +can I barter if I have lost the book?”</p> +<p>The other made no answer, and turning away I made for the +door; all of a sudden I started, and turning round, “Dear +me,” said I, “it has just come into my head, that if +the book was lost by my negligence, as it must have been, I have +clearly a right to make it good.”</p> +<p>No answer.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I repeated, “I have clearly a right +to make it good; how glad I am! see the effect of a little +reflection. I will purchase a Bible instantly, that is, if +I have not lost—” and with considerable agitation I +felt in my pocket.</p> +<p>The prim-looking man smiled: “I suppose,” said he, +“that he has lost his money as well as book.”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I have not;” and +pulling out my hand I displayed no less a sum than three +half-crowns.</p> +<p>“O, noble goddess of the Mint!” as Dame Charlotta +Nordenflycht, the Swede, said a hundred and fifty years ago, +“great is thy power; how energetically the possession of +thee speaks in favour of man’s character!”</p> +<p>“Only half-a-crown for this Bible?” said I, +putting down the money, “it is worth three;” and +bowing to the man of noble features, I departed with my +purchase.</p> +<p>“Queer customer,” said the prim-looking man, as I +was about to close the door—“don’t like +him.”</p> +<p>“Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say,” +said he of the countenance of a lion.</p> +<h2><!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 184</span>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Pickpocket—Strange +Rencounter—Drag Him Along—A Great +Service—Things of Importance—Philological +Matters—Mother of Languages—Zhats!</p> +<p>A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the +last chapter, as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my +footsteps to an alley leading from one narrow street to another +in the neighbourhood of Cheapside. Just before I reached +the mouth of the alley, a man in a great coat, closely followed +by another, passed it; and, at the moment in which they were +passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from the +pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized +the hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the +other, “My good friend, this person has just picked your +pocket.”</p> +<p>The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, +glanced at me, and then at the person whom I held. London +is the place for strange rencounters. It appeared to me +that I recognised both individuals—the man whose pocket had +been picked and the other; the latter now began to struggle +violently; “I have picked no one’s pocket,” +said he. “Rascal,” said the other, “you +have got my pocket-book in your bosom.” “No, I +have not,” said the other; and struggling more violently +than before, the pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the +ground.</p> +<p>The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was +still struggling. “You had better take up your +book,” said I; “I can hold him.” He +followed my advice; and, taking up his pocket-book, surveyed my +prisoner with a ferocious look, occasionally glaring at me. +Yes, I had seen him before—it was the stranger whom I had +observed on London Bridge, by the stall of the old apple-woman, +with the cap and cloak; but, instead of these, he now wore a hat +and great coat. “Well,” said I, at last, +“what am I to do with this gentleman of ours?” +nodding to the prisoner, who had now left off struggling. +“Shall I let him go?”</p> +<p>“Go!” said the other, “go! The +knave—the rascal; let him go, indeed! Not so, he +shall go before the Lord Mayor. Bring him along.”</p> +<p>“Oh, let me go,” said the other: “let me go; +this is the first offence, I assure ye—the first time I +ever thought to do anything wrong.”</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue,” said I, “or I shall be +angry with you. If I am not very much mistaken, you once +attempted to cheat me.”</p> +<p>“I never saw you before in all my life,” said the +fellow, though his countenance seemed to belie his words.</p> +<p>“That is not true,” said I; “you are the man +who attempted to cheat me of one-and-ninepence in the coach-yard, +on the first morning of my arrival in London.”</p> +<p>“I don’t doubt it,” said the other; “a +confirmed thief;” and here <!-- page 185--><a +name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>his tones +became peculiarly sharp; “I would fain see him +hanged—crucified. Drag him along.”</p> +<p>“I am no constable,” said I; “you have got +your pocket-book,—I would rather you would bid me let him +go.”</p> +<p>“Bid you let him go!” said the other almost +furiously, “I command—stay, what was I going to +say? I was forgetting myself,” he observed more +gently; “but he stole my pocket-book;—if you did but +know what it contained.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “if it contains anything +valuable, be the more thankful that you have recovered it; as for +the man, I will help you to take him where you please; but I wish +you would let him go.”</p> +<p>The stranger hesitated, and there was an extraordinary play of +emotion in his features: he looked ferociously at the pickpocket, +and, more than once, somewhat suspiciously at myself; at last his +countenance cleared, and, with a good grace, he said, +“Well, you have done me a great service, and you have my +consent to let him go; but the rascal shall not escape with +impunity,” he exclaimed suddenly, as I let the man go, and +starting forward, before the fellow could escape, he struck him a +violent blow on the face. The man staggered, and had nearly +fallen; recovering himself, however, he said, “I tell you +what, my fellow; if I ever meet you in this street in a dark +night, and I have a knife about me, it shall be the worse for +you; as for you, young man,” said he to me; but, observing +that the other was making towards him, he left whatever he was +about to say unfinished, and, taking to his heels, was out of +sight in a moment.</p> +<p>The stranger and myself walked in the direction of Cheapside, +the way in which he had been originally proceeding; he was silent +for a few moments, at length he said, “You have really done +me a great service, and I should be ungrateful not to acknowledge +it. I am a merchant; and a merchant’s pocket-book, as +you perhaps know, contains many things of importance; but, young +man,” he exclaimed, “I think I have seen you before; +I thought so at first, but where I cannot exactly say: where was +it?” I mentioned London Bridge and the old +apple-woman. “Oh,” said he, and smiled, and +there was something peculiar in his smile, “I remember +now. Do you frequently sit on London Bridge?” +“Occasionally,” said I; “that old woman is an +old friend of mine.” “Friend?” said the +stranger, “I am glad of it, for I shall know where to find +you. At present I am going to ’Change; time, you +know, is precious to a merchant.” We were by this +time close to Cheapside. “Farewell,” said he, +“I shall not forget this service. I trust we shall +soon meet again.” He then shook me by the hand and +went his way.</p> +<p>The next day, as I was seated beside the old woman in the +booth, the stranger again made his appearance, and, after a word +or two, sat down beside me; the old woman was sometimes reading +the Bible, which she had already had two or three days in her +possession, and sometimes discoursing with me. Our +discourse rolled chiefly on philological matters.</p> +<p>“What do you call bread in your language?” said +I.</p> +<p><!-- page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>“You mean the language of those who bring me +things to buy, or who did; for, as I told you before, I +sha’n’t buy any more, it’s no language of mine, +dear—they call bread pannam in their language.”</p> +<p>“Pannam!” said I, “pannam! evidently +connected with, if not derived from, the Latin panis; even as the +word tanner, which signifieth a sixpence, is connected with, if +not derived from, the Latin tener, which is itself connected +with, if not derived from, tawno or tawner, which, in the +language of Mr. Petulengro, signifieth a sucking child. Let +me see, what is the term for bread in the language of Mr. +Petulengro? Morro, or manro, as I have sometimes heard it +called; is there not some connection between these words and +panis? Yes, I think there is; and I should not wonder if +morro, manro, and panis were connected, perhaps derived from the +same root; but what is that root? I don’t +know—I wish I did; though, perhaps, I should not be the +happier. Morro—manro! I rather think morro is +the oldest form; it is easier to say morro than manro. +Morro! Irish, aran; Welsh, bara; English, bread. I +can see a resemblance between all the words, and pannam too; and +I rather think that the Petulengrian word is the elder. How +odd it would be if the language of Mr. Petulengro should +eventually turn out to be the mother of all the languages in the +world; yet it is certain that there are some languages in which +the terms for bread have no connection with the word used by Mr. +Petulengro, notwithstanding those languages, in many other +points, exhibit a close affinity to the language of the +horse-shoe master: for example, bread, in Hebrew, is Laham, which +assuredly exhibits little similitude to the word used by the +aforesaid Petulengro. In Armenian it is—”</p> +<p>“Zhats!” said the stranger, starting up. +“By the Patriarch and the Three Holy Churches, this is +wonderful! How came you to know aught of +Armenian?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">New Acquaintance—Wired Cases—Bread +and Wine—Armenian Colonies—Learning Without +Money—What a Language—The Tide—Your +Foible—Learning of the Haiks—Old +Proverb—Pressing Invitation.</p> +<p>Just as I was about to reply to the interrogation of my +new-formed acquaintance, a man, with a dusky countenance, +probably one of the Lascars, or Mulattos, of whom the old woman +had spoken, came up and whispered to him, and with this man he +presently departed, not however before he had told me the place +of his abode, and requested me to visit him.</p> +<p>After the lapse of a few days, I called at the house, which he +had indicated. It was situated in a dark and narrow street, +in the heart of the city, at no great distance from the +Bank. I entered a counting-room, in which a solitary clerk, +with a foreign look, was writing. The stranger was not at +home; returning the next day, however, I met him <!-- page +187--><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>at +the door as he was about to enter; he shook me warmly by the +hand. “I am glad to see you,” said he, +“follow me, I was just thinking of you.” He led +me through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of +stairs; before ascending, however, he looked into the book in +which the foreign-visaged clerk was writing, and, seemingly not +satisfied with the manner in which he was executing his task, he +gave him two or three cuffs, telling him at the same time that he +deserved crucifixion.</p> +<p>The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, +with three windows which opened upon the street. The walls +were hung with wired cases, apparently containing books. +There was a table and two or three chairs; but the principal +article of furniture was a long sofa, extending from the door by +which we entered to the farther end of the apartment. +Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance motioned to me +to sit beside him, and then, looking me full in the face, +repeated his former inquiry, “In the name of all that is +wonderful, how came you to know aught of my language?”</p> +<p>“There is nothing wonderful in that,” said I; +“we are at the commencement of a philological age, every +one studies languages; that is, every one who is fit for nothing +else; philology being the last resource of dulness and ennui, I +have got a little in advance of the throng, by mastering the +Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time when every +unmarriageable miss, and desperate blockhead, will likewise have +acquired the letters of Mesroub, and will know the term for +bread, in Armenian, and perhaps that for wine.”</p> +<p>“Kini,” said my companion; and that and the other +word put me in mind of the duties of hospitality. +“Will you eat bread and drink wine with me?”</p> +<p>“Willingly,” said I. Whereupon my companion, +unlocking a closet, produced, on a silver salver, a loaf of +bread, with a silver-handled knife, and wine in a silver flask, +with cups of the same metal. “I hope you like my +fare,” said he, after we had both eaten and drunk.</p> +<p>“I like your bread,” said I, “for it is +stale; I like not your wine, it is sweet, and I hate sweet +wine.”</p> +<p>“It is wine of Cyprus,” said my entertainer; and +when I found that it was wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, and +the second taste pleased me much better than the first, +notwithstanding that I still thought it somewhat sweet. +“So,” said I, after a pause, looking at my companion, +“you are an Armenian.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said he, “an Armenian born in London, +but not less an Armenian on that account. My father was a +native of Ispahan, one of the celebrated Armenian colony which +was established there shortly after the time of the dreadful +hunger, which drove the children of Haik in swarms from their +original country, and scattered them over most parts of the +eastern and western world. In Ispahan he passed the greater +portion of his life, following mercantile pursuits with +considerable success. Certain enemies, however, having +accused him to the despot of the place, of using seditious +language, he was compelled to flee, leaving most of his property +behind. Travelling in the direction <!-- page 188--><a +name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>of the +west, he came at last to London, where he established himself, +and eventually died, leaving behind a large property and myself, +his only child, the fruit of a marriage with an Armenian English +woman, who did not survive my birth more than three +months.”</p> +<p>The Armenian then proceeded to tell me that he had carried on +the business of his father, which seemed to embrace most matters, +from buying silks of Lascars to speculating in the funds, and +that he had considerably increased the property which his father +had left him. He candidly confessed that he was wonderfully +fond of gold, and said there was nothing like it for giving a +person respectability and consideration in the world; to which +assertion I made no answer, being not exactly prepared to +contradict it.</p> +<p>And, when he had related to me his history, he expressed a +desire to know something more of myself, whereupon I gave him the +outline of my history, concluding with saying, “I am now a +poor author, or rather a philologist, upon the streets of London, +possessed of many tongues, which I find of no use in the +world.”</p> +<p>“Learning without money is anything but +desirable,” said the Armenian, “as it unfits a man +for humble occupations. It is true that it may occasionally +beget him friends; I confess to you that your understanding +something of my language weighs more with me than the service you +rendered me in rescuing my pocket-book the other day from the +claws of that scoundrel whom I yet hope to see hanged, if not +crucified, notwithstanding there were in that pocket-book papers +and documents of considerable value. Yes, that circumstance +makes my heart warm towards you, for I am proud of my +language—as I indeed well may be—what a language, +noble and energetic! quite original, differing from all others +both in words and structure.”</p> +<p>“You are mistaken,” said I; “many languages +resemble the Armenian both in structure and words.”</p> +<p>“For example?” said the Armenian.</p> +<p>“For example?” said I, “the +English.”</p> +<p>“The English,” said the Armenian; “show me +one word in which the English resembles the Armenian.”</p> +<p>“You walk on London Bridge,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Armenian.</p> +<p>“I saw you look over the balustrade the other +morning.”</p> +<p>“True,” said the Armenian.</p> +<p>“Well, what did you see rushing up through the arches +with noise and foam?”</p> +<p>“What was it?” said the Armenian. +“What was it?—you don’t mean the +<i>tide</i>?”</p> +<p>“Do I not?” said I.</p> +<p>“Well, what has the tide to do with the +matter?”</p> +<p>“Much,” said I; “what is the +tide?”</p> +<p>“The ebb and flow of the sea,” said the +Armenian.</p> +<p>“The sea itself; what is the Haik word for +sea?”</p> +<p>The Armenian gave a strong gasp; then, nodding his head +thrice, “you are right,” said he, “the English +word tide is the Armenian for <!-- page 189--><a +name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>sea; and +now I begin to perceive that there are many English words which +are Armenian; there is --- and --- and there again in French +there is --- and --- derived from the Armenian. How +strange, how singular—I thank you. It is a proud +thing to see that the language of my race has had so much +influence over the languages of the world.”</p> +<p>I saw that all that related to his race was the weak point of +the Armenian. I did not flatter the Armenian with respect +to his race or language. “An inconsiderable +people,” said I, “shrewd and industrious, but still +an inconsiderable people. A language bold and expressive, +and of some antiquity, derived, though perhaps not immediately, +from some much older tongue. I do not think that the +Armenian has had any influence over the formation of the +languages of the world. I am not much indebted to the +Armenian for the solution of any doubts; whereas to the language +of Mr. Petulengro—”</p> +<p>“I have heard you mention that name before,” said +the Armenian; “who is Mr. Petulengro?”</p> +<p>And then I told the Armenian who Mr. Petulengro was. The +Armenian spoke contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro and his +race. “Don’t speak contemptuously of Mr. +Petulengro,” said I, “nor of anything belonging to +him. He is a dark, mysterious personage; all connected with +him is a mystery, especially his language; but I believe that his +language is doomed to solve a great philological +problem—Mr. Petulengro—”</p> +<p>“You appear agitated,” said the Armenian; +“take another glass of wine; you possess a great deal of +philological knowledge, but it appears to me that the language of +this Petulengro is your foible: but let us change the subject; I +feel much interested in you, and would fain be of service to +you. Can you cast accounts?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“Keep books?”</p> +<p>“I have an idea that I could write books,” said I; +“but, as to keeping them—” and here again I +shook my head.</p> +<p>The Armenian was silent some time; all at once, glancing at +one of the wire cases, with which, as I have already said, the +walls of the room were hung, he asked me if I was well acquainted +with the learning of the Haiks. “The books in these +cases,” said he, “contain the masterpieces of Haik +learning.”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “all I know of the learning of +the Haiks is their translation of the Bible.”</p> +<p>“You have never read Z---?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I have never read +Z---.”</p> +<p>“I have a plan,” said the Armenian; “I think +I can employ you agreeably and profitably; I should like to see +Z--- in an English dress; you shall translate Z---. If you +can read the Scriptures in Armenian, you can translate +Z---. He is our Esop, the most acute and clever of all our +moral writers—his philosophy—”</p> +<p>“I will have nothing to do with him,” said I.</p> +<p>“Wherefore?” said the Armenian.</p> +<p>“There is an old proverb,” said I, +“‘that a burnt child avoids the <!-- page 190--><a +name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>fire.’ I have burnt my hands sufficiently +with attempting to translate philosophy, to make me cautious of +venturing upon it again;” and then I told the Armenian how +I had been persuaded by the publisher to translate his philosophy +into German, and what sorry thanks I had received; “and who +knows,” said I, “but the attempt to translate +Armenian philosophy into English might be attended with yet more +disagreeable consequences.”</p> +<p>The Armenian smiled. “You would find me very +different from the publisher.”</p> +<p>“In many points I have no doubt I should,” I +replied; “but at the present moment I feel like a bird +which has escaped from a cage, and, though hungry, feels no +disposition to return. Of what nation is the dark man below +stairs, whom I saw writing at the desk?”</p> +<p>“He is a Moldave,” said the Armenian; “the +dog (and here his eyes sparkled) deserves to be crucified, he is +continually making mistakes.”</p> +<p>The Armenian again renewed his proposition about Z---, which I +again refused, as I felt but little inclination to place myself +beneath the jurisdiction of a person who was in the habit of +cuffing those whom he employed, when they made mistakes. I +presently took my departure; not, however, before I had received +from the Armenian a pressing invitation to call upon him whenever +I should feel disposed.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">What to do—Strong Enough—Fame and +Profit—Alliterative Euphony—Excellent +Fellow—Listen to Me—A Plan—Bagnigge Wells.</p> +<p>Anxious thoughts frequently disturbed me at this time with +respect to what I was to do, and how support myself in the Great +City. My future prospects were gloomy enough, and I looked +forward and feared; sometimes I felt half disposed to accept the +offer of the Armenian, and to commence forthwith, under his +superintendence, the translation of the Haik Esop; but the +remembrance of the cuffs which I had seen him bestow upon the +Moldavian, when glancing over his shoulder into the ledger or +whatever it was on which he was employed, immediately drove the +inclination from my mind. I could not support the idea of +the possibility of his staring over my shoulder upon my +translation of the Haik Esop, and, dissatisfied with my attempts, +treating me as he had treated the Moldavian clerk; placing myself +in a position which exposed me to such treatment, would indeed be +plunging into the fire after escaping from the frying pan. +The publisher, insolent and overbearing as he was, whatever he +might have wished or thought, had never lifted his hand against +me, or told me that I merited crucifixion.</p> +<p>What was I to do? turn porter? I was strong; but there +was something besides strength required to ply the trade of a +porter—a mind of a particularly phlegmatic temperament, +which I did not possess. What should I do?—enlist as +a soldier? I was tall enough; but something <!-- page +191--><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>besides height is required to make a man play with +credit the part of soldier, I mean a private one—a spirit, +if spirit it can be called, which would not only enable a man to +submit with patience to insolence and abuse, and even to cuffs +and kicks, but occasionally to the lash. I felt that I was +not qualified to be a soldier, at least a private one; far better +be a drudge to the most ferocious of publishers, editing Newgate +lives and writing in eighteenpenny reviews—better to +translate the Haik Esop, under the superintendence of ten +Armenians, than be a private soldier in the English service; I +did not decide rashly—I knew something of soldiering. +What should I do? I thought that I would make a last and +desperate attempt to dispose of the ballads and of Ab Gwilym.</p> +<p>I had still an idea that, provided I could persuade any +spirited publisher to give these translations to the world, I +should acquire both considerable fame and profit; not, perhaps, a +world-embracing fame, such as Byron’s; but a fame not to be +sneered at, which would last me a considerable time, and would +keep my heart from breaking;—profit, not equal to that +which Scott had made by his wondrous novels, but which would +prevent me from starving, and enable me to achieve some other +literary enterprise. I read and re-read my ballads, and the +more I read them the more I was convinced that the public, in the +event of their being published, would freely purchase, and hail +them with the merited applause. Were not the deeds and +adventures wonderful and heart-stirring, from which it is true I +could claim no merit, being but the translator; but had I not +rendered them into English, with all their original fire? +Yes, I was confident I had; and I had no doubt that the public +would say so. And then, with respect to Ab Gwilym, had I +not done as much justice to him as to the Danish ballads; not +only rendering faithfully his thoughts, imagery, and phraseology, +but even preserving in my translation the alliterative euphony +which constitutes one of the most remarkable features of Welsh +prosody? Yes, I had accomplished all this; and I doubted +not that the public would receive my translations from Ab Gwilym +with quite as much eagerness as my version of the Danish +ballads. But I found the publishers as untractable as ever, +and to this day the public has never had an opportunity of doing +justice to the glowing fire of my ballad versification, and the +alliterative euphony of my imitations of Ab Gwilym.</p> +<p>I had not seen Francis Ardry since the day I had seen him +taking lessons in elocution. One afternoon, as I was seated +at my table, my head resting on my hands, he entered my +apartment; sitting down, he inquired of me why I had not been to +see him.</p> +<p>“I might ask the same question of you,” I +replied. “Wherefore have you not been to see +me?” Whereupon Francis Ardry told me that he had been +much engaged in his oratorical exercises, also in escorting the +young Frenchwoman about to places of public amusement; he then +again questioned me as to the reason of my not having been to see +him.</p> +<p>I returned an evasive answer. The truth was, that for +some time past my appearance, owing to the state of my finances, +had been rather shabby; and I did not wish to expose a +fashionable young man like <!-- page 192--><a +name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Francis +Ardry, who lived in a fashionable neighbourhood, to the +imputation of having a shabby acquaintance. I was aware +that Francis Ardry was an excellent fellow; but, on that very +account, I felt, under existing circumstances, a delicacy in +visiting him.</p> +<p>It is very possible that he had an inkling of how matters +stood, as he presently began to talk of my affairs and +prospects. I told him of my late ill success with the +booksellers, and inveighed against their blindness to their own +interest in refusing to publish my translations. “The +last that I addressed myself to,” said I, “told me +not to trouble him again, unless I could bring him a decent novel +or a tale.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Frank, “and why did you not +carry him a decent novel or a tale?”</p> +<p>“Because I have neither,” said I; “and to +write them is, I believe, above my capacity. At present I +feel divested of all energy—heartless, and almost +hopeless.”</p> +<p>“I see how it is,” said Francis Ardry, “you +have overworked yourself, and, worst of all, to no purpose. +Take my advice; cast all care aside, and only think of diverting +yourself for a month at least.”</p> +<p>“Divert myself,” said I; “and where am I to +find the means?”</p> +<p>“Be that care on my shoulders,” said Francis +Ardry. “Listen to me—my uncles have been so +delighted with the favourable accounts which they have lately +received from T--- of my progress in oratory, that, in the warmth +of their hearts, they made me a present yesterday of two hundred +pounds. This is more money than I want, at least for the +present; do me the favour to take half of it as a loan—hear +me,” said he, observing that I was about to interrupt him, +“I have a plan in my head—one of the prettiest in the +world. The sister of my charmer is just arrived from +France; she cannot speak a word of English; and, as Annette and +myself are much engaged in our own matters, we cannot pay her the +attention which we should wish, and which she deserves, for she +is a truly fascinating creature, although somewhat differing from +my charmer, having blue eyes and flaxen hair; whilst Annette, on +the contrary—But I hope you will shortly see Annette. +Now my plan is this—Take the money, dress yourself +fashionably, and conduct Annette’s sister to Bagnigge +Wells.”</p> +<p>“And what should we do at Bagnigge Wells?”</p> +<p>“Do!” said Francis Ardry. +“Dance!”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “I scarcely know anything of +dancing.”</p> +<p>“Then here’s an excellent opportunity of improving +yourself. Like most Frenchwomen, she dances divinely; +however, if you object to Bagnigge Wells and dancing, go to +Brighton, and remain there a month or two, at the end of which +time you can return with your mind refreshed and invigorated, and +materials, perhaps, for a tale or novel.”</p> +<p>“I never heard a more foolish plan,” said I, +“or one less likely to terminate profitably or +satisfactorily. I thank you, however, for your offer, which +is, I dare say, well meant. If I am to escape from my cares +and troubles, and find my mind refreshed and invigorated, I must +adopt other means than conducting a French demoiselle to Brighton +or Bagnigge Wells, defraying the expense by borrowing from a +friend.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 193--><a name="page193"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 193</span>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Singular Personage—A Large +Sum—Papa of Rome—We are Christians—Degenerate +Armenians—Roots of Ararat—Regular Features.</p> +<p>The Armenian! I frequently saw this individual, availing +myself of the permission which he had given me to call upon +him. A truly singular personage was he, with his love of +amassing money, and his nationality so strong as to be akin to +poetry. Many an Armenian I have subsequently known fond of +money-getting, and not destitute of national spirit; but never +another who, in the midst of his schemes of lucre, was at all +times willing to enter into a conversation on the structure of +the Haik language, or whoever offered me money to render into +English the fables of Z--- in the hope of astonishing the +stock-jobbers of the Exchange with the wisdom of the Haik +Esop.</p> +<p>But he was fond of money, very fond. Within a little +time I had won his confidence to such a degree that he informed +me that the grand wish of his heart was to be possessed of two +hundred thousand pounds.</p> +<p>“I think you might satisfy yourself with the +half,” said I. “One hundred thousand pounds is +a large sum.”</p> +<p>“You are mistaken,” said the Armenian, “a +hundred thousand pounds is nothing. My father left me that +or more at his death. No; I shall never be satisfied with +less than two.”</p> +<p>“And what will you do with your riches,” said I, +“when you have obtained them? Will you sit down and +muse upon them, or will you deposit them in a cellar, and go down +once a day to stare at them? I have heard say that the +fulfilment of one’s wishes is invariably the precursor of +extreme misery, and forsooth I can scarcely conceive a more +horrible state of existence than to be without a hope or +wish.”</p> +<p>“It is bad enough, I dare say,” said the Armenian; +“it will, however, be time enough to think of disposing of +the money when I have procured it. I still fall short by a +vast sum of the two hundred thousand pounds.”</p> +<p>I had occasionally much conversation with him on the state and +prospects of his nation, especially of that part of it which +still continued in the original country of the Haiks—Ararat +and its confines, which, it appeared, he had frequently +visited. He informed me that since the death of the last +Haik monarch, which occurred in the eleventh century, Armenia had +been governed both temporally and spiritually by certain +personages called patriarchs; their temporal authority, however, +was much circumscribed by the Persian and Turk, especially the +former, of whom the Armenian spoke with much hatred, whilst their +spiritual authority had at various times been considerably +undermined by the emissaries of the Papa of Rome, as the Armenian +called him.</p> +<p>“The Papa of Rome sent his emissaries at an early period +amongst us,” said the Armenian, “seducing the minds +of weak-headed people, <!-- page 194--><a +name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>persuading +them that the hillocks of Rome are higher than the ridges of +Ararat; that the Roman Papa has more to say in heaven than the +Armenian patriarch, and that puny Latin is a better language than +nervous and sonorous Haik.”</p> +<p>“They are both dialects,” said I, “of the +language of Mr. Petulengro, one of whose race I believe to have +been the original founder of Rome; but, with respect to religion, +what are the chief points of your faith? you are Christians, I +believe.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Armenian, “we are Christians +in our way; we believe in God, the Holy Spirit, and Saviour, +though we are not prepared to admit that the last personage is +not only himself, but the other two. We +believe—” and then the Armenian told me of several +things which the Haiks believed or disbelieved. “But +what we find most hard of all to believe,” said he, +“is that the man of the mole-hills is entitled to our +allegiance, he not being a Haik, or understanding the Haik +language.”</p> +<p>“But, by your own confession,” said I, “he +has introduced a schism in your nation, and has amongst you many +that believe in him.”</p> +<p>“It is true,” said the Armenian, “that even +on the confines of Ararat there are a great number who consider +that mountain to be lower than the hillocks of Rome; but the +greater number of degenerate Armenians are to be found amongst +those who have wandered to the west; most of the Haik churches of +the west consider Rome to be higher than Ararat—most of the +Armenians of this place hold that dogma; I, however, have always +stood firm in the contrary opinion.”</p> +<p>“Ha! ha!”—here the Armenian laughed in his +peculiar manner—“talking of this matter puts me in +mind of an adventure which lately befell me, with one of the +emissaries of the Papa of Rome, for the Papa of Rome has at +present many emissaries in this country, in order to seduce the +people from their own quiet religion to the savage heresy of +Rome; this fellow came to me partly in the hope of converting me, +but principally to extort money for the purpose of furthering the +designs of Rome in this country. I humoured the fellow at +first, keeping him in play for nearly a month, deceiving and +laughing at him. At last he discovered that he could make +nothing of me, and departed with the scowl of Caiaphas, whilst I +cried after him, ‘The roots of Ararat are <i>deeper</i> +than those of Rome.’”</p> +<p>The Armenian had occasionally reverted to the subject of the +translation of the Haik Esop, which he had still a lurking desire +that I should execute; but I had invariably declined the +undertaking, without, however, stating my reasons. On one +occasion, when we had been conversing on the subject, the +Armenian, who had been observing my countenance for some time +with much attention, remarked, “Perhaps, after all, you are +right, and you might employ your time to better advantage. +Literature is a fine thing, especially Haik literature, but +neither that nor any other would be likely to serve as a +foundation to a man’s fortune; and to make a fortune should +be the principal aim of every one’s life; therefore listen +to me. Accept a seat at the desk opposite to my Moldavian +clerk, and receive the rudiments of a merchant’s <!-- page +195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>education. You shall be instructed in the +Armenian way of doing business—I think you would make an +excellent merchant.”</p> +<p>“Why do you think so?”</p> +<p>“Because you have something of the Armenian +look.”</p> +<p>“I understand you,” said I; “you mean to say +that I squint?”</p> +<p>“Not exactly,” said the Armenian, “but there +is certainly a kind of irregularity in your features. One +eye appears to me larger than the other—never mind, but +rather rejoice; in that irregularity consists your +strength. All people with regular features are fools; it is +very hard for them, you’ll say, but there is no help: all +we can do, who are not in such a predicament, is to pity those +who are. Well! will you accept my offer? No! you are +a singular individual; but I must not forget my own +concerns. I must now go forth, having an appointment by +which I hope to make money.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Wish Fulfilled—Extraordinary +Figure—Bueno—Noah—The Two Faces—I +don’t Blame Him—Too Fond of Money—Were I an +Armenian.</p> +<p>The fulfilment of the Armenian’s grand wish was nearer +at hand than either he or I had anticipated. Partly owing +to the success of a bold speculation, in which he had some time +previously engaged, and partly owing to the bequest of a large +sum of money by one of his nation who died at this period in +Paris, he found himself in the possession of a fortune somewhat +exceeding two hundred thousand pounds; this fact he communicated +to me one evening about an hour after the close of ’Change; +the hour at which I generally called, and at which I mostly found +him at home.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and what do you intend to +do next?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” said the Armenian. +“I was thinking of that when you came in. I +don’t see anything that I can do, save going on in my +former course. After all, I was perhaps too moderate in +making the possession of two hundred thousand pounds the summit +of my ambition; there are many individuals in this town who +possess three times that sum, and are not yet satisfied. +No, I think I can do no better than pursue the old career; who +knows but I may make the two hundred thousand three or +four?—there is already a surplus, which is an +encouragement; however, we will consider the matter over a goblet +of wine; I have observed of late that you have become partial to +my Cyprus.”</p> +<p>And it came to pass that, as we were seated over the Cyprus +wine, we heard a knock at the door. “Adelante!” +cried the Armenian; whereupon the door opened, and in walked a +somewhat extraordinary figure—a man in a long loose tunic +of a stuff striped with black and yellow; breeches of plush +velvet, silk stockings, and shoes with silver <!-- page 196--><a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>buckles. On his head he wore a high-peaked hat; +he was tall, had a hooked nose, and in age was about fifty.</p> +<p>“Welcome, Rabbi Manasseh,” said the +Armenian. “I know your knock—you are welcome; +sit down.”</p> +<p>“I am welcome,” said Manasseh, sitting down; +“he—he—he! you know my knock—I bring you +money—<i>bueno</i>!”</p> +<p>There was something very peculiar in the sound of that +<i>bueno</i>—I never forgot it.</p> +<p>Thereupon a conversation ensued between Rabbi Manasseh and the +Armenian, in a language which I knew to be Spanish, though a +peculiar dialect. It related to a mercantile +transaction. The Rabbi sighed heavily as he delivered to +the other a considerable sum of money.</p> +<p>“It is right,” said the Armenian, handing a +receipt. “It is right; and I am quite +satisfied.”</p> +<p>“You are satisfied—you have taken money. +<i>Bueno</i>, I have nothing to say against your being +satisfied.”</p> +<p>“Come, Rabbi,” said the Armenian, “do not +despond; it may be your turn next to take money; in the meantime, +can’t you be persuaded to taste my Cyprus?”</p> +<p>“He—he—he! señor, you know I do not +love wine. I love Noah when he is himself; but, as Janus, I +love him not. But you are merry; <i>bueno</i>, you have a +right to be so.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” said I; “but does Noah ever +appear as Janus?”</p> +<p>“He—he—he!” said the Rabbi, “he +only appeared as Janus once—una vez quando estuvo borracho; +which means—”</p> +<p>“I understand,” said I; “when he +was—” and I drew the side of my right hand sharply +across my left wrist.</p> +<p>“Are you one of our people?” said the Rabbi.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I am one of the Goyim; but I +am only half enlightened. Why should Noah be Janus, when he +was in that state?”</p> +<p>“He—he—he! you must know that in Lasan +akhades wine is janin.”</p> +<p>“In Armenian, kini,” said I; “in Welsh, +gwin; Latin, vinum; but do you think that Janus and janin are +one?”</p> +<p>“Do I think? Don’t the commentators say +so? Does not Master Leo Abarbenel say so, in his +‘Dialogues of Divine Love’?”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “I always thought that Janus +was a god of the ancient Romans, who stood in a temple open in +time of war, and shut in time of peace; he was represented with +two faces, which—which—”</p> +<p>“He—he—he!” said the Rabbi, rising +from his seat; “he had two faces, had he? And what +did those two faces typify? You do not know; no, nor did +the Romans who carved him with two faces know why they did so; +for they were only half enlightened, like you and the rest of the +Goyim. Yet they were right in carving him with two faces +looking from each other—they were right, though they knew +not why; there was a tradition among them that the Janinoso had +two faces, but they knew not that one was for the world which was +gone, and the other for the world before him—for the +drowned world, and for the present, as Master Leo Abarbenel says +in his ‘Dialogues of Divine <!-- page 197--><a +name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>Love.’ He—he—he!” +continued the Rabbi, who had by this time advanced to the door, +and, turning round, waved the two forefingers of his right hand +in our faces; “the Goyims and Epicouraiyim are clever men, +they know how to make money better than we of Israel. My +good friend there is a clever man, I bring him money, he never +brought me any; <i>bueno</i>, I do not blame him, he knows much, +very much; but one thing there is my friend does not know, nor +any of the Epicureans, he does not know the sacred thing—he +has never received the gift of interpretation which God alone +gives to the seed—he has his gift, I have mine—he is +satisfied, I don’t blame him, <i>bueno</i>.”</p> +<p>And with this last word in his mouth, he departed.</p> +<p>“Is that man a native of Spain?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Not a native of Spain,” said the Armenian, +“though he is one of those who call themselves Spanish +Jews, and who are to be found scattered throughout Europe, +speaking the Spanish language transmitted to them by their +ancestors, who were expelled from Spain in the time of Ferdinand +and Isabella.”</p> +<p>“The Jews are a singular people,” said I.</p> +<p>“A race of cowards and dastards,” said the +Armenian, “without a home or country; servants to servants; +persecuted and despised by all.”</p> +<p>“And what are the Haiks?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Very different from the Jews,” replied the +Armenian; “the Haiks have a home—a country, and can +occasionally use a good sword; though it is true they are not +what they might be.”</p> +<p>“Then it is a shame that they do not become so,” +said I; “but they are too fond of money. There is +yourself, with two hundred thousand pounds in your pocket, +craving for more, whilst you might be turning your wealth to the +service of your country.”</p> +<p>“In what manner?” said the Armenian.</p> +<p>“I have heard you say that the grand oppressor of your +country is the Persian; why not attempt to free your country from +his oppression—you have two hundred thousand pounds, and +money is the sinew of war?”</p> +<p>“Would you, then, have me attack the Persian?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know what to say; fighting is a rough trade, +and I am by no means certain that you are calculated for the +scratch. It is not every one who has been brought up in the +school of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno. All I can say +is, that if I were an Armenian, and had two hundred thousand +pounds to back me, I would attack the Persian.”</p> +<p>“Hem!” said the Armenian.</p> +<h2><!-- page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 198</span>CHAPTER LI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The One Half-Crown—Merit in +Patience—Cementer of Friendship—Dreadful +Perplexity—The Usual Guttural—Armenian +Letters—Much Indebted to You—Pure +Helplessness—Dumb People.</p> +<p>One morning on getting up I discovered that my whole worldly +wealth was reduced to one half-crown—throughout that day I +walked about in considerable distress of mind; it was now +requisite that I should come to a speedy decision with respect to +what I was to do; I had not many alternatives, and, before I had +retired to rest on the night of the day in question, I had +determined that I could do no better than accept the first +proposal of the Armenian, and translate, under his +superintendence, the Haik Esop into English.</p> +<p>I reflected, for I made a virtue of necessity, that, after +all, such an employment would be an honest and honourable one; +honest, inasmuch as by engaging in it I should do harm to nobody; +honourable, inasmuch as it was a literary task, which not every +one was capable of executing. It was not everyone of the +booksellers’ writers of London who was competent to +translate the Haik Esop. I determined to accept the offer +of the Armenian.</p> +<p>Once or twice the thought of what I might have to undergo in +the translation from certain peculiarities of the +Armenian’s temper almost unsettled me; but a mechanical +diving of my hand into my pocket, and the feeling of the solitary +half-crown, confirmed me; after all, this was a life of trial and +tribulation, and I had read somewhere or other that there was +much merit in patience, so I determined to hold fast in my +resolution of accepting the offer of the Armenian.</p> +<p>But all of a sudden I remembered that the Armenian appeared to +have altered his intentions towards me: he appeared no longer +desirous that I should render the Haik Esop into English for the +benefit of the stock-jobbers on Exchange, but rather that I +should acquire the rudiments of doing business in the Armenian +fashion, and accumulate a fortune, which would enable me to make +a figure upon ’Change with the best of the +stock-jobbers. “Well,” thought I, withdrawing +my hand from my pocket, whither it had again mechanically dived, +“after all, what would the world, what would this city be, +without commerce? I believe the world, and particularly +this city, would cut a very poor figure without commerce; and +there is something poetical in the idea of doing business after +the Armenian fashion, dealing with dark-faced Lascars and Rabbins +of the Sephardim. Yes, should the Armenian insist upon it, +I would accept a seat at the desk, opposite the Moldavian +clerk. I do not like the idea of cuffs similar to those the +Armenian bestowed upon the Moldavian clerk; whatever merit there +may be in patience, I do not think that my estimation of the +merit of patience would be sufficient to induce me to remain +quietly sitting under the infliction of cuffs. I think I +should, in the event of his cuffing me, knock the Armenian +down. Well, I think I have heard it said somewhere, that a +knock-down blow is a great cementer of friendship; I think I <!-- +page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>have heard of two people being better friends than ever +after the one had received from the other a knock-down +blow.”</p> +<p>That night I dreamed I had acquired a colossal fortune, some +four hundred thousand pounds, by the Armenian way of doing +business, but suddenly woke in dreadful perplexity as to how I +should dispose of it.</p> +<p>About nine o’clock next morning I set off to the house +of the Armenian; I had never called upon him so early before, and +certainly never with a heart beating with so much eagerness; but +the situation of my affairs had become very critical, and I +thought that I ought to lose no time in informing the Armenian +that I was at length perfectly willing either to translate the +Haik Esop under his superintendence, or to accept a seat at the +desk opposite to the Moldavian clerk, and acquire the secrets of +Armenian commerce. With a quick step I entered the +counting-room, where, notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, +I found the clerk, busied as usual at his desk.</p> +<p>He had always appeared to me a singular being, this same +Moldavian clerk. A person of fewer words could scarcely be +conceived: provided his master were at home, he would, on my +inquiring, nod his head; and, provided he were not, he would +invariably reply with the monosyllable, “no,” +delivered in a strange guttural tone. On the present +occasion, being full of eagerness and impatience, I was about to +pass by him to the apartment above, without my usual inquiry, +when he lifted his head from the ledger in which he was writing, +and, laying down his pen, motioned to me with his forefinger, as +if to arrest my progress; whereupon I stopped, and, with a +palpitating heart, demanded whether the master of the house was +at home? The Moldavian clerk replied with his usual +guttural, and, opening his desk, ensconced his head therein.</p> +<p>“It does not much matter,” said I, “I +suppose I shall find him at home after ’Change; it does not +much matter, I can return.”</p> +<p>I was turning away with the intention of leaving the room; at +this moment, however, the head of the Moldavian clerk became +visible, and I observed a letter in his hand, which he had +inserted in the desk at the same time with his head; this he +extended towards me, making at the same time a side-long motion +with his head, as much as to say that it contained something +which interested me.</p> +<p>I took the letter, and the Moldavian clerk forthwith resumed +his occupation. The back of the letter bore my name, +written in Armenian characters: with a trembling hand I broke the +seal, and, unfolding the letter, I beheld several lines also +written in the letters of Mesroub, the Cadmus of the +Armenians.</p> +<p>I stared at the lines, and at first could not make out a +syllable of their meaning; at last, how ever, by continued +staring, I discovered that, though the letters were Armenian, the +words were English; in about ten minutes I had contrived to +decipher the sense of the letter; it ran somewhat in this +style:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dear +friend</span>,—</p> +<p>“The words which you uttered in our last conversation +have made a profound impression upon me; I have thought them over +day and night, and have come to the conclusion that it is my +bounden duty to <!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 200</span>attack the Persians. When +these lines are delivered to you, I shall be on the route to +Ararat. A mercantile speculation will be to the world the +ostensible motive of my journey, and it is singular enough that +one which offers considerable prospect of advantage has just +presented itself on the confines of Persia. Think not, +however, that motives of lucre would have been sufficiently +powerful to tempt me to the East at the present moment. I +may speculate, it is true; but I should scarcely have undertaken +the journey but for your pungent words inciting me to attack the +Persians. Doubt not that I will attack them on the first +opportunity. I thank you heartily for putting me in mind of +my duty. I have hitherto, to use your own words, been too +fond of money-getting, like all my countrymen. I am much +indebted to you; farewell! and may every prosperity await +you.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For some time after I had deciphered the epistle, I stood as +if rooted to the floor. I felt stunned—my last hope +was gone; presently a feeling arose in my mind—a feeling of +self-reproach. Whom had I to blame but myself for the +departure of the Armenian? Would he have ever thought of +attacking the Persians had I not put the idea into his head? he +had told me in his epistle that he was indebted to me for the +idea. But for that, he might at the present moment have +been in London, increasing his fortune by his usual methods, and +I might be commencing under his auspices the translation of the +Haik Esop, with the promise, no doubt, of a considerable +remuneration for my trouble; or I might be taking a seat opposite +the Moldavian clerk, and imbibing the first rudiments of doing +business after the Armenian fashion, with the comfortable hope of +realizing, in a short time, a fortune of three or four hundred +thousand pounds; but the Armenian was now gone, and farewell to +the fine hopes I had founded upon him the day before. What +was I to do? I looked wildly around, till my eyes rested on +the Moldavian clerk, who was writing away in his ledger with +particular vehemence. Not knowing what to do or say, I +thought I might as well ask the Moldavian clerk when the Armenian +had departed, and when he thought that he would return. It +is true it mattered little to me when he departed, seeing that he +was gone, and it was evident that he would not be back soon; but +I knew not what to do, and in pure helplessness thought I might +as well ask; so I went up to the Moldavian clerk, and asked him +when the Armenian had departed, and whether he had been gone two +days or three? Whereupon the Moldavian clerk, looking up +from his ledger, made certain signs, which I could by no means +understand. I stood astonished, but, presently recovering +myself, inquired when he considered it probable that the master +would return, and whether he thought it would be two months +or—my tongue faltered—two years; whereupon the +Moldavian clerk made more signs than before, and yet more +unintelligible; as I persisted, however, he flung down his pen, +and, putting his thumb into his mouth, moved it rapidly, causing +the nail to sound against the lower jaw; whereupon I saw that he +was dumb, and hurried away, for I had always entertained a horror +of dumb people, having once heard my mother say, when I was a +child, that dumb people were half demoniacs, or little +better.</p> +<h2><!-- page 201--><a name="page201"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 201</span>CHAPTER LII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Kind of Stupor—Peace of God—Divine +Hand—Farewell, Child—The Fair—Massive +Edifice—Battered Tars—Lost! Lost!—Good +Day, Gentlemen.</p> +<p>Leaving the house of the Armenian, I strolled about for some +time; almost mechanically my feet conducted me to London Bridge, +to the booth in which stood the stall of the old apple-woman; the +sound of her voice aroused me, as I sat in a kind of stupor on +the stone bench beside her; she was inquiring what was the matter +with me.</p> +<p>At first, I believe, I answered her very incoherently, for I +observed alarm beginning to depict itself upon her +countenance. Rousing myself, however, I in my turn put a +few questions to her upon her present condition and +prospects. The old woman’s countenance cleared up +instantly; she informed me that she had never been more +comfortable in her life; that her trade, her <i>honest</i> +trade—laying an emphasis on the word honest—had +increased of late wonderfully; that her health was better, and, +above all, that she felt no fear and horror “here,” +laying her hand on her breast.</p> +<p>On my asking her whether she still heard voices in the night, +she told me that she frequently did; but that the present were +mild voices, sweet voices, encouraging voices, very different +from the former ones; that a voice only the night previous, had +cried out about “the peace of God,” in particularly +sweet accents; a sentence which she remembered to have read in +her early youth in the primer, but which she had clean forgotten +till the voice the night before had brought it to her +recollection.</p> +<p>After a pause, the old woman said to me, “I believe, +dear, that it is the blessed book you brought me which has +wrought this goodly change. How glad I am now that I can +read; but oh what a difference between the book you brought to me +and the one you took away. I believe the one you brought is +written by the finger of God, and the other by—”</p> +<p>“Don’t abuse the book,” said I, “it is +an excellent book for those who can understand it; it was not +exactly suited to you, and perhaps it had been better had you +never read it—and yet, who knows? Peradventure, if +you had not read that book, you would not have been fitted for +the perusal of the one which you say is written by the finger of +God;” and, pressing my hand to my head, I fell into a deep +fit of musing. “What, after all,” thought I, +“if there should be more order and system in the working of +the moral world than I have thought? Does there not seem in +the present instance to be something like the working of a Divine +hand? I could not conceive why this woman, better educated +than her mother, should have been, as she certainly was, a worse +character than her mother. Yet perhaps this woman may be +better and happier than her mother ever was; perhaps she is so +already—perhaps this world is not a wild, lying dream, as I +have occasionally supposed it to be.”</p> +<p>But the thought of my own situation did not permit me to +abandon <!-- page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>myself much longer to these +musings. I started up. “Where are you going, +child?” said the woman anxiously. “I scarcely +know,” said I; “anywhere.” “Then +stay here, child,” said she; “I have much to say to +you.” “No,” said I, “I shall be +better moving about;” and I was moving away, when it +suddenly occurred to me that I might never see this woman again; +and turning round offered her my hand, and bade her +good-bye. “Farewell, child,” said the old +woman, “and God bless you!” I then moved along the +bridge until I reached the Southwark side, and, still holding on +my course, my mind again became quickly abstracted from all +surrounding objects.</p> +<p>At length I found myself in a street or road, with terraces on +either side, and seemingly of interminable length, leading, as it +would appear, to the south-east. I was walking at a great +rate—there were likewise a great number of people, also +walking at a great rate; also carts and carriages driving at a +great rate; and all, men, carts, and carriages, going in the +selfsame direction, namely, to the south-east. I stopped +for a moment and deliberated whether or not I should +proceed. What business had I in that direction? I +could not say that I had any particular business in that +direction, but what could I do were I to turn back? only walk +about well-known streets; and, if I must walk, why not continue +in the direction in which I was to see whither the road and its +terraces led? I was here in a <i>terra incognita</i>, and +an unknown place had always some interest for me; moreover, I had +a desire to know whither all this crowd was going, and for what +purpose. I thought they could not be going far, as crowds +seldom go far, especially at such a rate; so I walked on more +lustily than before, passing group after group of the crowd, and +almost vieing in speed with some of the carriages, especially the +hackney-coaches; and by dint of walking at this rate, the +terraces and houses becoming somewhat less frequent as I +advanced, I reached in about three quarters of an hour a kind of +low dingy town, in the neighbourhood of the river; the streets +were swarming with people, and I concluded, from the number of +wild-beast shows, caravans, gingerbread stalls, and the like, +that a fair was being held. Now, as I had always been +partial to fairs, I felt glad that I had fallen in with the crowd +which had conducted me to the present one, and, casting away as +much as I was able all gloomy thoughts, I did my best to enter +into the diversions of the fair; staring at the wonderful +representations of animals on canvas hung up before the shows of +wild beasts, which, by-the-bye, are frequently found much more +worthy of admiration than the real beasts themselves; listening +to the jokes of the merry-andrews from the platforms in front of +the temporary theatres, or admiring the splendid tinsel dresses +of the performers who thronged the stages in the intervals of the +entertainments; and in this manner, occasionally gazing and +occasionally listening, I passed through the town till I came in +front of a large edifice looking full upon the majestic bosom of +the Thames.</p> +<p>It was a massive stone edifice, built in an antique style, and +black with age, with a broad esplanade between it and the river, +on which, mixed with a few people from the fair, I observed +moving about a great <!-- page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 203</span>many individuals in quaint dresses +of blue, with strange three-cornered hats on their heads; most of +them were mutilated; this had a wooden leg—this wanted an +arm; some had but one eye; and as I gazed upon the edifice, and +the singular-looking individuals who moved before it, I guessed +where I was. “I am at ---” said I; “these +individuals are battered tars of Old England, and this edifice, +once the favourite abode of Glorious Elizabeth, is the refuge +which a grateful country has allotted to them. Here they +can rest their weary bodies; at their ease talk over the actions +in which they have been injured; and, with the tear of enthusiasm +flowing from their eyes, boast how they have trod the deck of +fame with Rodney, or Nelson, or others whose names stand +emblazoned in the naval annals of their country.”</p> +<p>Turning to the right, I entered a park or wood consisting of +enormous trees, occupying the foot, sides, and top of a hill, +which rose behind the town; there were multitudes of people among +the trees, diverting themselves in various ways. Coming to +the top of the hill, I was presently stopped by a lofty wall, +along which I walked, till, coming to a small gate, I passed +through, and found myself on an extensive green plain, on one +side bounded in part by the wall of the park, and on the others, +in the distance, by extensive ranges of houses; to the south-east +was a lofty eminence, partially clothed with wood. The +plain exhibited an animated scene, a kind of continuation of the +fair below; there were multitudes of people upon it, many tents, +and shows; there was also horse-racing, and much noise and +shouting, the sun shining brightly overhead. After gazing +at the horse-racing for a little time, feeling myself somewhat +tired, I went up to one of the tents, and laid myself down on the +grass. There was much noise in the tent. “Who +will stand me?” said a voice with a slight tendency to +lisp. “Will you, my lord?” +“Yes,” said another voice. Then there was a +sound as of a piece of money banging on a table. +“Lost! lost! lost!” cried several voices; and then +the banging down of the money, and the “lost! lost! +lost!” were frequently repeated; at last the second voice +exclaimed, “I will try no more; you have cheated +me.” “Never cheated any one in my life, my +lord—all fair—all chance. Them that finds, +wins—them that can’t finds, loses. Any one else +try? Who’ll try? Will you, my lord?” and +then it appeared that some other lord tried, for I heard more +money flung down. Then again the cry of “Lost! +lost!”—then again the sound of money, and so +on. Once or twice, but not more, I heard “Won! +won!” but the predominant cry was “Lost! +lost!” At last there was a considerable hubbub, and +the words “Cheat!” “Rogue!” and +“You filched away the pea!” were used freely by more +voices than one, to which the voice with the tendency to lisp +replied, “Never filched a pea in my life; would scorn +it. Always glad when folks wins; but, as those here +don’t appear to be civil, nor to wish to play any more, I +shall take myself off with my table; so, good day, +gentlemen.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 204</span>CHAPTER LIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Singular Table—No Money—Out of +Employ—My Bonnet—We of the Thimble—Good +Wages—Wisely Resolved—Strangest Way in the +World—Fat Gentleman—Not Such Another—First +Edition—Not Very Easy—Won’t Close—Avella +Gorgio—Alarmed Look.</p> +<p>Presently a man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a +rather singular table; it appeared to be of white deal, was +exceedingly small at the top, and with very long legs. At a +few yards from the entrance he paused, and looked round, as if to +decide on the direction which he should take; presently, his eye +glancing on me as I lay upon the ground, he started, and appeared +for a moment inclined to make off as quick as possible, table and +all. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover assurance, +and, coming up to the place where I was, the long legs of the +table projecting before him, he cried, “Glad to see you +here, my lord.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said I, “it’s a fine +day.”</p> +<p>“Very fine, my lord; will your lordship play? Them +that finds, wins—them that don’t finds, +loses.”</p> +<p>“Play at what?” said I.</p> +<p>“Only at the thimble and pea, my lord.”</p> +<p>“I never heard of such a game.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you? Well, I’ll soon teach +you,” said he, placing the table down. “All you +have to do is to put a sovereign down on my table, and to find +the pea, which I put under one of my thimbles. If you can +find it,—and it is easy enough to find it,—I give you +a sovereign besides your own: for them that finds, +wins.”</p> +<p>“And them that don’t find, loses,” said I; +“no, I don’t wish to play.”</p> +<p>“Why not, my lord?”</p> +<p>“Why, in the first place, I have no money.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you have no money; that of course alters the +case. If you have no money, you can’t play. +Well, I suppose I must be seeing after my customers,” said +he, glancing over the plain.</p> +<p>“Good day,” said I.</p> +<p>“Good day,” said the man slowly, but without +moving, and as if in reflection. After a moment or two, +looking at me inquiringly, he added, “Out of +employ?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “out of employ.”</p> +<p>The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground. +At length he said, “May I speak a word or two to you, my +lord?”</p> +<p>“As many as you please,” said I.</p> +<p>“Then just come a little out of hearing, a little +farther on the grass, if you please, my lord.”</p> +<p>“Why do you call me my lord?” said I, as I arose +and followed him.</p> +<p>“We of the thimble always calls our customers +lords,” said the <!-- page 205--><a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>man; +“but I won’t call you such a foolish name any more; +come along.”</p> +<p>The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a +dry pit, when, looking round to see that no one was nigh, he laid +his table on the grass, and, sitting down with his legs over the +side of the pit, he motioned me to do the same. “So +you are in want of employ,” said he, after I had sat down +beside him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I am very much in want of +employ.”</p> +<p>“I think I can find you some.”</p> +<p>“What kind?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why,” said the man, “I think you would do +to be my bonnet.”</p> +<p>“Bonnet!” said I, “what is that?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you know? However, no wonder, as you +had never heard of the thimble-and-pea game, but I will tell +you. We of the game are very much exposed; folks when they +have lost their money, as those who play with us mostly do, +sometimes uses rough language, calls us cheats, and sometimes +knocks our hats over our eyes; and what’s more, with a kick +under our table, causes the top deals to fly off; this is the +third table I have used this day, the other two being broken by +uncivil customers: so we of the game generally like to have +gentlemen go about with us to take our part, and encourage us, +though pretending to know nothing about us; for example, when the +customer says, ‘I’m cheated,’ the bonnet must +say, ‘No, you a’n’t, it is all right;’ +or, when my hat is knocked over my eyes, the bonnet must square +and say, ‘I never saw the man before in all my life, but I +won’t see him ill-used;’ and so, when they kicks at +the table, the bonnet must say, ‘I won’t see the +table ill-used, such a nice table too; besides, I want to play +myself;’ and then I would say to the bonnet, ‘Thank +you, my lord, them that finds, wins;’ and then the bonnet +plays, and I lets the bonnet win.”</p> +<p>“In a word,” said I, “the bonnet means the +man who covers you, even as the real bonnet covers the +head.”</p> +<p>“Just so,” said the man, “I see you are +awake, and would soon make a first-rate bonnet.”</p> +<p>“Bonnet,” said I, musingly; “bonnet; it is +metaphorical.”</p> +<p>“Is it?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “like the cant +words—”</p> +<p>“Bonnet is cant,” said the man; “we of the +thimble, as well as all clyfakers and the like, understand cant, +as, of course, must every bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, +you had better learn it as soon as you can, that we may discourse +together without being understood by every one. Besides +covering his principal, a bonnet must have his eyes about him, +for the trade of the pea, though a strictly honest one, is not +altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet, if he sees +the constable coming, to say, the gorgio’s +welling.”</p> +<p>“That is not cant,” said I, “that is the +language of the Rommany Chals.”</p> +<p>“Do you know those people?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Perfectly,” said I, “and their language +too.”</p> +<p><!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>“I wish I did,” said the man, “I +would give ten pounds and more to know the language of the +Rommany Chals. There’s some of it in the language of +the pea and thimble; how it came there I don’t know, but so +it is. I wish I knew it, but it is difficult. +You’ll make a capital bonnet; shall we close?”</p> +<p>“What would the wages be?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would +prove, I could afford to give from forty to fifty shillings a +week.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible?” said I.</p> +<p>“Good wages, a’n’t they?” said the +man.</p> +<p>“First rate,” said I; “bonneting is more +profitable than reviewing.”</p> +<p>“Anan?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Or translating; I don’t think the Armenian would +have paid me at that rate for translating his Esop.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Esop?”</p> +<p>“No, I know what that is, Esop’s cant for a +hunchback; but t’other?”</p> +<p>“You should know,” said I.</p> +<p>“Never saw the man in all my life.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you have,” said I, “and felt him too; +don’t you remember the individual from whom you took the +pocket-book?”</p> +<p>“Oh, that was he; well, the less said about that matter +the better; I have left off that trade, and taken to this, which +is a much better. Between ourselves, I am not sorry that I +did not carry off that pocket-book; if I had, it might have +encouraged me in the trade, in which, had I remained, I might +have been lagged, sent abroad, as I had been already imprisoned; +so I determined to leave it off at all hazards, though I was hard +up, not having a penny in the world.”</p> +<p>“And wisely resolved,” said I, “it was a bad +and dangerous trade; I wonder you should ever have embraced +it.”</p> +<p>“It is all very well talking,” said the man, +“but there is a reason for everything; I am the son of a +Jewess, by a military officer,”—and then the man told +me his story. I shall not repeat the man’s story, it +was a poor one, a vile one; at last he observed, “So that +affair which you know of determined me to leave the filching +trade, and take up with a more honest and safe one; so at last I +thought of the pea and thimble, but I wanted funds, especially to +pay for lessons at the hands of a master, for I knew little about +it.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “how did you get over that +difficulty?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said the man, “I thought I should +never have got over it. What funds could I raise? I +had nothing to sell; the few clothes I had I wanted, for we of +the thimble must always appear decent, or nobody would come near +us. I was at my wits’ ends; at last I got over my +difficulty in the strangest way in the world.”</p> +<p>“What was that?”</p> +<p>“By an old thing which I had picked up some time +before—a book.”</p> +<p>“A book?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, which I had taken out of your lordship’s +pocket one day as you were walking the streets in a great +hurry. I thought it was a <!-- page 207--><a +name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 207</span>pocket-book +at first, full of bank notes, perhaps,” continued he, +laughing. “It was well for me, however, that it was +not, for I should have soon spent the notes; as it was, I had +flung the old thing down with an oath, as soon as I brought it +home. When I was so hard up, however, after the affair with +that friend of yours, I took it up one day, and thought I might +make something by it to support myself a day with. Chance +or something else led me into a grand shop; there was a man there +who seemed to be the master, talking to a jolly, portly old +gentleman, who seemed to be a country squire. Well, I went +up to the first, and offered it for sale; he took the book, +opened it at the title-page, and then all of a sudden his eyes +glistened, and he showed it to the fat, jolly gentleman, and his +eyes glistened too, and I heard him say, ‘How +singular!’ and then the two talked together in a speech I +didn’t understand—I rather thought it was French, at +any rate it wasn’t cant; and presently the first asked me +what I would take for the book. Now I am not altogether a +fool nor am I blind, and I had narrowly marked all that passed, +and it came into my head that now was the time for making a man +of myself, at any rate I could lose nothing by a little +confidence; so I looked the man boldly in the face, and said, +‘I will have five guineas for that book, there +a’n’t such another in the whole world.’ +‘Nonsense,’ said the first man, ‘there are +plenty of them, there have been nearly fifty editions to my +knowledge; I will give you five shillings.’ +‘No,’ said I, ‘I’ll not take it, for I +don’t like to be cheated, so give me my book again;’ +and I attempted to take it away from the fat gentleman’s +hand. ‘Stop,’ said the younger man, ‘are +you sure that you won’t take less?’ ‘Not +a farthing,’ said I; which was not altogether true, but I +said so. ‘Well,’ said the fat gentleman, +‘I will give you what you ask;’ and sure enough he +presently gave me the money; so I made a bow, and was leaving the +shop, when it came into my head that there was something odd in +all this, and, as I had got the money in my pocket, I turned +back, and, making another bow, said, ‘May I be so bold as +to ask why you gave me all this money for that ’ere dirty +book? When I came into the shop, I should have been glad to +get a shilling for it; but I saw you wanted it, and asked five +guineas.’ Then they looked at one another, and +smiled, and shrugged up their shoulders. Then the first +man, looking at me, said, ‘Friend, you have been a little +too sharp for us; however, we can afford to forgive you, as my +friend here has long been in quest of this particular book; there +are plenty of editions, as I told you, and a common copy is not +worth five shillings; but this is a first edition, and a copy of +the first edition is worth its weight in gold.’”</p> +<p>“So, after all, they outwitted you,” I +observed.</p> +<p>“Clearly,” said the man; “I might have got +double the price, had I known the value; but I don’t care, +much good may it do them, it has done me plenty. By means +of it I have got into an honest respectable trade, in which +there’s little danger and plenty of profit, and got out of +one which would have got me lagged sooner or later.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “you ought to remember that +the thing was not yours; you took it from me, who had been +requested by a poor old apple-woman to exchange it for a +Bible.”</p> +<p><!-- page 208--><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>“Well,” said the man, “did she ever +get her Bible?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “she got her +Bible.”</p> +<p>“Then she has no cause to complain; and, as for you, +chance or something else has sent you to me, that I may make you +reasonable amends for any loss you may have had. Here am I +ready to make you my bonnet, with forty or fifty shillings a +week, which you say yourself are capital wages.”</p> +<p>“I find no fault with the wages,” said I, +“but I don’t like the employ.”</p> +<p>“Not like bonneting,” said the man; “ah, I +see, you would like to be principal; well, a time may +come—those long white fingers of yours would just serve for +the business.”</p> +<p>“Is it a difficult one?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Why, it is not very easy: two things are +needful—natural talent, and constant practice; but +I’ll show you a point or two connected with the +game;” and, placing his table between his knees as he sat +over the side of the pit, he produced three thimbles, and a small +brown pellet, something resembling a pea. He moved the +thimble and pellet about, now placing it to all appearance under +one, and now under another; “Under which is it now?” +he said at last. “Under that,” said I, pointing +to the lowermost of the thimbles, which, as they stood, formed a +kind of triangle. “No,” said he, “it is +not, but lift it up;” and, when I lifted up the thimble, +the pellet, in truth, was not under it. “It was under +none of them,” said he, “it was pressed by my little +finger against my palm;” and then he showed me how he did +the trick, and asked me if the game was not a funny one; and, on +my answering in the affirmative, he said, “I am glad you +like it, come along and let us win some money.”</p> +<p>Thereupon, getting up, he placed the table before him, and was +moving away; observing, however, that I did not stir, he asked me +what I was staying for. “Merely for my own +pleasure,” said I, “I like sitting here very +well.” “Then you won’t close?” said +the man. “By no means,” I replied, “your +proposal does not suit me.” “You may be +principal in time,” said the man. “That makes +no difference,” said I; and, sitting with my legs over the +pit, I forthwith began to decline an Armenian noun. +“That a’n’t cant,” said the man, +“no, nor gypsy, either. Well, if you won’t +close, another will, I can’t lose any more time,” and +forthwith he departed.</p> +<p>And after I had declined four Armenian nouns, of different +declensions, I rose from the side of the pit, and wandered about +amongst the various groups of people scattered over the +green. Presently I came to where the man of the thimbles +was standing, with the table before him, and many people about +him. “Them who finds, wins, and them who can’t +find, loses,” he cried. Various individuals tried to +find the pellet, but all were unsuccessful, till at last +considerable dissatisfaction was expressed, and the terms rogue +and cheat were lavished upon him. “Never cheated +anybody in all my life,” he cried; and, observing me at +hand, “didn’t I play fair, my lord?” he +inquired. But I made no answer. Presently some more +played, and he permitted one or two to win, and the eagerness to +play with him became greater. After I had looked on for +some time, I was moving away: just then I perceived a <!-- page +209--><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>short, thick personage, with a staff in his hand, +advancing in a great hurry; whereupon, with a sudden impulse, I +exclaimed—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Shoon thimble engro;<br /> + Avella gorgio.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The man who was in the midst of his pea-and-thimble process, +no sooner heard the last word of the distich, than he turned an +alarmed look in the direction of where I stood; then, glancing +around, and perceiving the constable, he slipped forthwith his +pellet and thimbles into his pocket, and, lifting up his table, +he cried to the people about him, “Make way!” and +with a motion with his head to me, as if to follow him, he darted +off with a swiftness which the short, pursy constable could by no +means rival; and whither he went, or what became of him, I know +not, inasmuch as I turned away in another direction.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Mr. Petulengro—Rommany Rye—Lil +Writers—One’s Own Horn—Lawfully-earnt +Money—The Wooded Hill—A Great Favourite—The +Shop Window—Much Wanted.</p> +<p>And, as I wandered along the green, I drew near to a place +where several men, with a cask beside them, sat carousing in the +neighbourhood of a small tent. “Here he comes,” +said one of them, as I advanced, and standing up he raised his +voice and sang:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here the Gypsy gemman see,<br /> +With his Roman jib and his rome and dree—<br /> +Rome and dree, rum and dry<br /> +Rally round the Rommany Rye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was Mr. Petulengro, who was here diverting himself with +several of his comrades; they all received me with considerable +frankness. “Sit down, brother,” said Mr. +Petulengro, “and take a cup of good ale.”</p> +<p>I sat down. “Your health, gentlemen,” said +I, as I took the cup which Mr. Petulengro handed to me.</p> +<p>“Aukko tu pios adrey Rommanis. Here is your health +in Rommany, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro; who, having +refilled the cup, now emptied it at a draught.</p> +<p>“Your health in Rommany, brother,” said Tawno +Chikno, to whom the cup came next.</p> +<p>“The Rommany Rye,” said a third.</p> +<p>“The Gypsy gentleman,” exclaimed a fourth, +drinking.</p> +<p>And then they all sang in chorus,—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here the Gypsy gemman see,<br /> +With his Roman jib and his rome and dree—<br /> +Rome and dree, rum and dry<br /> +Rally round the Rommany Rye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“And now, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, +“seeing that you have <!-- page 210--><a +name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>drunk and +been drunken, you will perhaps tell us where you have been, and +what about?”</p> +<p>“I have been in the Big City,” said I, +“writing lils.”</p> +<p>“How much money have you got in your pocket, +brother?” said Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>“Eighteen pence,” said I; “all I have in the +world.”</p> +<p>“I have been in the Big City, too,” said Mr. +Petulengro; “but I have not written lils—I have +fought in the ring—I have fifty pounds in my pocket—I +have much more in the world. Brother, there is considerable +difference between us.”</p> +<p>“I would rather be the lil-writer, after all,” +said the tall, handsome, black man; “indeed, I would wish +for nothing better.”</p> +<p>“Why so?” said Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>“Because they have so much to say for themselves,” +said the black man, “even when dead and gone. When +they are laid in the churchyard, it is their own fault if people +a’n’t talking of them. Who will know, after I +am dead, or bitchadey pawdel, that I was once the beauty of the +world, or that you, Jasper, were—”</p> +<p>“The best man in England of my inches. +That’s true, Tawno—however, here’s our brother +will perhaps let the world know something about us.”</p> +<p>“Not he,” said the other, with a sigh; +“he’ll have quite enough to do in writing his own +lils, and telling the world how handsome and clever he was; and +who can blame him? Not I. If I could write lils, +every word should be about myself and my own tacho +Rommanis—my own lawful wedded wife, which is the same +thing. I tell you what, brother, I once heard a wise man +say in Brummagem, that ‘there is nothing like blowing +one’s own horn,’ which I conceive to be much the same +thing as writing one’s own lil.”</p> +<p>After a little more conversation, Mr. Petulengro arose, and +motioned me to follow him. “Only eighteen pence in +the world, brother!” said he, as we walked together.</p> +<p>“Nothing more, I assure you. How came you to ask +me how much money I had?”</p> +<p>“Because there was something in your look, brother, +something very much resembling that which a person showeth who +does not carry much money in his pocket. I was looking at +my own face this morning in my wife’s looking-glass—I +did not look as you do, brother.”</p> +<p>“I believe your sole motive for inquiring,” said +I, “was to have an opportunity of venting a foolish boast, +and to let me know that you were in possession of fifty +pounds.”</p> +<p>“What is the use of having money unless you let people +know you have it?” said Mr. Petulengro. “It is +not everyone can read faces, brother; and, unless you knew I had +money, how could you ask me to lend you any?”</p> +<p>“I am not going to ask you to lend me any.”</p> +<p>“Then you may have it without asking; as I said before, +I have fifty pounds, all lawfully-earnt money, got by fighting in +the ring—I will lend you that, brother.”</p> +<p><!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>“You are very kind,” said I; “but I +will not take it.”</p> +<p>“Then the half of it?”</p> +<p>“Nor the half of it; but it is getting towards evening, +I must go back to the Great City.”</p> +<p>“And what will you do in the Boro Foros?”</p> +<p>“I know not,” said I.</p> +<p>“Earn money?”</p> +<p>“If I can.”</p> +<p>“And if you can’t?”</p> +<p>“Starve!”</p> +<p>“You look ill, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>“I do not feel well; the Great City does not agree with +me. Should I be so fortunate as to earn some money, I would +leave the Big City, and take to the woods and fields.”</p> +<p>“You may do that, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, +“whether you have money or not. Our tents and horses +are on the other side of yonder wooded hill, come and stay with +us; we shall all be glad of your company, but more especially +myself and my wife Pakomovna.”</p> +<p>“What hill is that?” I demanded.</p> +<p>And then Mr. Petulengro told me the name of the hill. +“We stay on t’other side of the hill a +fortnight,” he continued; “and as you are fond of lil +writing, you may employ yourself profitably whilst there. +You can write the lil of him whose dook gallops down that hill +every night, even as the living man was wont to do long +ago.”</p> +<p>“Who was he?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Jemmy Abershaw,” said Mr. Petulengro; “one +of those whom we call Boro drom engroes, and the gorgios +highwaymen. I once heard a rye say that the life of that +man would fetch much money; so come to the other side of the +hill, and write the lil in the tent of Jasper and his wife +Pakomovna.”</p> +<p>At first I felt inclined to accept the invitation of Mr. +Petulengro; a little consideration, however, determined me to +decline it. I had always been on excellent terms with Mr. +Petulengro, but I reflected that people might be excellent +friends when they met occasionally in the street, or on the +heath, or in the wood; but that these very people when living +together in a house, to say nothing of a tent, might +quarrel. I reflected, moreover, that Mr. Petulengro had a +wife. I had always, it is true, been a great favourite with +Mrs. Petulengro, who had frequently been loud in her commendation +of the young rye, as she called me, and his turn of conversation; +but this was at a time when I stood in need of nothing, lived +under my parents’ roof, and only visited at the tents to +divert and to be diverted. The times were altered, and I +was by no means certain that Mrs. Petulengro, when she should +discover that I was in need both of shelter and subsistence, +might not alter her opinion both with respect to the individual +and what he said—stigmatizing my conversation as saucy +discourse, and myself as a scurvy companion; and that she might +bring over her husband to her own way of thinking, provided, +indeed, he should need any conducting. I therefore, though +without declaring my reasons, declined the offer of Mr. +Petulengro, and <!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 212</span>presently, after shaking him by the +hand, bent again my course towards the Great City.</p> +<p>I crossed the river at a bridge considerably above that hight +of London; for, not being acquainted with the way, I missed the +turning which should have brought me to the latter. +Suddenly I found myself in a street of which I had some +recollection, and mechanically stopped before the window of a +shop at which various publications were exposed; it was that of +the bookseller to whom I had last applied in the hope of selling +my ballads or Ab Gwilym, and who had given me hopes that, in the +event of my writing a decent novel, or a tale, he would prove a +purchaser. As I stood listlessly looking at the window, and +the publications which it contained, I observed a paper affixed +to the glass by wafers with something written upon it. I +drew yet nearer for the purpose of inspecting it; the writing was +in a fair round hand—“A Novel or Tale is much +wanted,” was what was written.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Bread and Water—Fair +Play—Fashionable Life—Colonel B---—Joseph +Sell—The Kindly Glow—Easiest Manner Imaginable.</p> +<p>“I must do something,” said I, as I sat that night +in my lonely apartment, with some bread and a pitcher of water +before me.</p> +<p>Thereupon taking some of the bread, and eating it, I +considered what I was to do. “I have no idea what I +am to do,” said I, as I stretched my hand towards the +pitcher, “unless”—and here I took a +considerable draught—“I write a tale or a +novel—That bookseller,” I continued, speaking to +myself, “is certainly much in need of a tale or a novel, +otherwise he would not advertise for one. Suppose I write +one, I appear to have no other chance of extricating myself from +my present difficulties; surely it was Fate that conducted me to +his window.”</p> +<p>“I will do it,” said I, as I struck my hand +against the table; “I will do it.” Suddenly a +heavy cloud of despondency came over me. Could I do +it? Had I the imagination requisite to write a tale or a +novel? “Yes, yes,” said I, as I struck my hand +again against the table, “I can manage it; give me fair +play, and I can accomplish anything.”</p> +<p>But should I have fair play? I must have something to +maintain myself with whilst I wrote my tale, and I had but +eighteen pence in the world. Would that maintain me whilst +I wrote my tale? Yes, I thought it would, provided I ate +bread, which did not cost much, and drank water, which cost +nothing; it was poor diet, it was true, but better men than +myself had written on bread and water; had not the big man told +me so? or something to that effect, months before?</p> +<p>It was true there was my lodging to pay for; but up to the +present time I owed nothing, and perhaps, by the time the people +of the house asked me for money, I should have written a tale or +a novel, which would bring me in money; I had paper, pens, and +ink, and, let me not forget <!-- page 213--><a +name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>them, I had +candles in my closet, all paid for, to light me during my night +work. Enough, I would go doggedly to work upon my tale or +novel.</p> +<p>But what was the tale or novel to be about? Was it to be +a tale of fashionable life, about Sir Harry Somebody, and the +Countess Something? But I knew nothing about fashionable +people, and cared less; therefore how should I attempt to +describe fashionable life? What should the tale consist +of? The life and adventures of some one. +Good—but of whom? Did not Mr. Petulengro mention one +Jemmy Abershaw? Yes. Did he not tell me that the life +and adventures of Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much money to the +writer? Yes, but I knew nothing of that worthy. I +heard, it is true, from Mr. Petulengro, that when alive he +committed robberies on the hill, on the side of which Mr. +Petulengro had pitched his tents, and that his ghost still +haunted the hill at midnight; but those were scant materials out +of which to write the man’s life. It is probable, +indeed, that Mr. Petulengro would be able to supply me with +further materials if I should apply to him, but I was in a hurry, +and could not afford the time which it would be necessary to +spend in passing to and from Mr. Petulengro, and consulting +him. Moreover, my pride revolted at the idea of being +beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials of the +history. No, I would not write the history of +Abershaw. Whose then—Harry Simms? Alas, the +life of Harry Simms had been already much better written by +himself than I could hope to do it; and, after all, Harry Simms, +like Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber. Both, though bold +and extraordinary men, were merely highwaymen. I questioned +whether I could compose a tale likely to excite any particular +interest out of the exploits of a mere robber. I want a +character for my hero, thought I, something higher than a mere +robber; some one like—like Colonel B---. By the way, +why should I not write the life and adventures of Colonel B--- of +Londonderry, in Ireland?</p> +<p>A truly singular man was this same Colonel B--- of +Londonderry, in Ireland; a personage of most strange and +incredible feats and daring, who had been a partizan soldier, a +bravo—who, assisted by certain discontented troopers, +nearly succeeded in stealing the crown and regalia from the Tower +of London; who attempted to hang the Duke of Ormond, at Tyburn; +and whose strange eventful career did not terminate even with his +life, his dead body, on the circulation of an unfounded report +that he did not come to his death by fair means, having been +exhumed by the mob of his native place, where he had retired to +die, and carried in a coffin through the streets.</p> +<p>Of his life I had inserted an account in the Newgate Lives and +Trials; it was bare and meagre, and written in the stiff awkward +style of the seventeenth century; it had, however, strongly +captivated my imagination, and I now thought that out of it +something better could be made; that, if I added to the +adventures, and purified the style, I might fashion out of it a +very decent tale or novel. On a sudden, however, the +proverb of mending old garments with new cloth occurred to +me. “I am afraid,” said I, “any new +adventures which I can invent <!-- page 214--><a +name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>will not +fadge well with the old tale; one will but spoil the +other.” I had better have nothing to do with Colonel +B---, thought I, but boldly and independently sit down and write +the life of Joseph Sell.</p> +<p>This Joseph Sell, dear reader, was a fictitious personage who +had just come into my head. I had never even heard of the +name, but just at that moment it happened to come into my head; I +would write an entirely fictitious narrative, called the Life and +Adventures of Joseph Sell, the great traveller.</p> +<p>I had better begin at once, thought I; and removing the bread +and the jug, which latter was now empty, I seized pen and paper, +and forthwith essayed to write the life of Joseph Sell, but soon +discovered that it was much easier to resolve upon a thing than +to achieve it, or even to commence it; for the life of me I did +not know how to begin, and, after trying in vain to write a line, +I thought it would be as well to go to bed, and defer my +projected undertaking till the morrow.</p> +<p>So I went to bed, but not to sleep. During the greater +part of the night I lay awake, musing upon the work which I had +determined to execute. For a long time my brain was dry and +unproductive; I could form no plan which appeared feasible. +At length I felt within my brain a kindly glow; it was the +commencement of inspiration; in a few minutes I had formed my +plan; I then began to imagine the scenes and the incidents. +Scenes and incidents flitted before my mind’s eye so +plentifully, that I knew not how to dispose of them; I was in a +regular embarrassment. At length I got out of the +difficulty in the easiest manner imaginable, namely, by +consigning to the depths of oblivion all the feebler and less +stimulant scenes and incidents, and retaining the better and more +impressive ones. Before morning I had sketched the whole +work on the tablets of my mind, and then resigned myself to sleep +in the pleasing conviction that the most difficult part of my +undertaking was achieved.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Considerably Sobered—Power of +Writing—The Tempter—Hungry Talent—Work +Concluded.</p> +<p>Rather late in the morning I awoke; for a few minutes I lay +still, perfectly still; my imagination was considerably sobered; +the scenes and situations which had pleased me so much over night +appeared to me in a far less captivating guise that +morning. I felt languid and almost hopeless—the +thought, however, of my situation soon roused me,—I must +make an effort to improve the posture of my affairs; there was no +time to be lost; so I sprang out of bed, breakfasted on bread and +water, and then sat down doggedly to write the life of Joseph +Sell.</p> +<p>It was a great thing to have formed my plan, and to have +arranged the scenes in my head, as I had done on the preceding +night. The chief thing requisite at present was the mere +mechanical act of committing <!-- page 215--><a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>them to +paper. This I did not find at first so easy as I could +wish—I wanted mechanical skill; but I persevered; and +before evening I had written ten pages. I partook of some +bread and water; and, before I went to bed that night, I had +completed fifteen pages of my life of Joseph Sell.</p> +<p>The next day I resumed my task—I found my power of +writing considerably increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the +paper—my brain was in a wonderfully teeming state; many +scenes and visions which I had not thought of before were +evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written down; they seemed to be +more pat to my purpose, and more natural to my history, than many +others which I had imagined before, and which I made now give +place to these newer creations: by about midnight I had added +thirty fresh pages to my “Life and Adventures of Joseph +Sell.”</p> +<p>The third day arose—it was dark and dreary out of doors, +and I passed it drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have +lost much of its former glow, and my pen much of its power; I, +however, toiled on, but at midnight had only added seven pages to +my history of Joseph Sell.</p> +<p>On the fourth day the sun shone brightly—I arose, and +having breakfasted as usual, I fell to work. My brain was +this day wonderfully prolific, and my pen never before or since +glided so rapidly over the paper; towards night I began to feel +strangely about the back part of my head, and my whole system was +extraordinarily affected. I likewise occasionally saw +double—a tempter now seemed to be at work within me.</p> +<p>“You had better leave off now for a short space,” +said the tempter, “and go out and drink a pint of beer; you +have still one shilling left—if you go on at this rate, you +will go mad—go out and spend sixpence, you can afford it, +more than half your work is done.” I was about to +obey the suggestion of the tempter, when the idea struck me that, +if I did not complete the work whilst the fit was on me, I should +never complete it; so I held on. I am almost afraid to +state how many pages I wrote that day of the life of Joseph +Sell.</p> +<p>From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely +manner; but, as I drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my +task, dreadful fears and despondencies came over me. It +will be too late, thought I; by the time I have finished the +work, the bookseller will have been supplied with a tale or a +novel. Is it probable that, in a town like this, where +talent is so abundant—hungry talent too—a bookseller +can advertise for a tale or a novel, without being supplied with +half a dozen in twenty-four hours? I may as well fling down +my pen—I am writing to no purpose. And these thoughts +came over my mind so often, that at last, in utter despair, I +flung down the pen. Whereupon the tempter within me +said—“And, now you have flung down the pen, you may +as well fling yourself out of the window; what remains for you to +do?” Why, to take it up again, thought I to myself, +for I did not like the latter suggestion at all—and then +forthwith I resumed the pen, and wrote with greater vigour than +before, from about six o’clock in the evening <!-- page +216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>until I could hardly see, when I rested for awhile, +when the tempter within me again said, or appeared to +say—“All you have been writing is stuff, it will +never do—a drug—a mere drug:” and methought +these last words were uttered in the gruff tones of the big +publisher. “A thing merely to be sneered at,” a +voice like that of Taggart added; and then I seemed to hear a +sternutation,—as I probably did, for, recovering from a +kind of swoon, I found myself shivering with cold. The next +day I brought my work to a conclusion.</p> +<p>But the task of revision still remained; for an hour or two I +shrank from it, and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper +which I had written over. I was all but exhausted, and I +dreaded, on inspecting the sheets, to find them full of +absurdities which I had paid no regard to in the furor of +composition. But the task, however trying to my nerves, +must be got over; at last, in a kind of desperation, I entered +upon it. It was far from an easy one; there were, however, +fewer errors and absurdities than I had anticipated. About +twelve o’clock at night I had got over the task of +revision. “To-morrow, for the bookseller,” said +I, as my hand sank on the pillow. “Oh me!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Nervous Look—The Bookseller’s +Wife—The Last Stake—Terms—God +Forbid!—Will You Come to Tea?—A Light Heart.</p> +<p>On arriving at the bookseller’s shop, I cast a nervous +look at the window, for the purpose of observing whether the +paper had been removed or not. To my great delight the +paper was in its place; with a beating heart I entered, there was +nobody in the shop; as I stood at the counter, however, +deliberating whether or not I should call out, the door of what +seemed to be a back-parlour opened, and out came a well-dressed +lady-like female, of about thirty, with a good-looking and +intelligent countenance. “What is your business, +young man?” said she to me, after I had made her a polite +bow. “I wish to speak to the gentleman of the +house,” said I. “My husband is not within at +present,” she replied; “what is your +business?” “I have merely brought something to +show him,” said I, “but I will call +again.” “If you are the young gentleman who has +been here before,” said the lady, “with poems and +ballads, as, indeed, I know you are,” she added, smiling, +“for I have seen you through the glass door, I am afraid it +will be useless; that is,” she added with another smile, +“if you bring us nothing else.” “I have +not brought you poems and ballads now,” said I, “but +something widely different; I saw your advertisement for a tale +or a novel, and have written something which I think will suit; +and here it is,” I added, showing the roll of paper which I +held in my hand. “Well,” said the +bookseller’s wife, “you may leave it, though I cannot +promise you much chance of its being accepted. My husband +has already had several offered to him; however, you may leave +it; give it me. Are you afraid <!-- page 217--><a +name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>to intrust +it to me?” she demanded somewhat hastily, observing that I +hesitated. “Excuse me,” said I, “but it +is all I have to depend upon in the world; I am chiefly +apprehensive that it will not be read.” “On +that point I can reassure you,” said the good lady, +smiling, and there was now something sweet in her smile. +“I give you my word that it shall be read; come again +to-morrow morning at eleven, when, if not approved, it shall be +returned to you.”</p> +<p>I returned to my lodging, and forthwith betook myself to bed, +notwithstanding the earliness of the hour. I felt tolerably +tranquil; I had now cast my last stake, and was prepared to abide +by the result. Whatever that result might be, I could have +nothing to reproach myself with; I had strained all the energies +which nature had given me in order to rescue myself from the +difficulties which surrounded me. I presently sank into a +sleep, which endured during the remainder of the day, and the +whole of the succeeding night. I awoke about nine on the +morrow, and spent my last threepence on a breakfast somewhat more +luxurious than the immediately preceding ones, for one penny of +the sum was expended on the purchase of milk.</p> +<p>At the appointed hour I repaired to the house of the +bookseller; the bookseller was in his shop. +“Ah,” said he, as soon as I entered, “I am glad +to see you.” There was an unwonted heartiness in the +bookseller’s tones, an unwonted benignity in his +face. “So,” said he, after a pause, “you +have taken my advice, written a book of adventure; nothing like +taking the advice, young man, of your superiors in age. +Well, I think your book will do, and so does my wife, for whose +judgment I have a great regard; as well I may, as she is the +daughter of a first-rate novelist, deceased. I think I +shall venture on sending your book to the press.” +“But,” said I, “we have not yet agreed upon +terms.” “Terms, terms,” said the +bookseller; “ahem! well, there is nothing like coming to +terms at once. I will print the book, and allow you half +the profit when the edition is sold.” “That +will not do,” said I; “I intend shortly to leave +London; I must have something at once.” “Ah, I +see,” said the bookseller, “in distress; frequently +the case with authors, especially young ones. Well, I +don’t care if I purchase it of you, but you must be +moderate; the public are very fastidious, and the speculation may +prove a losing one, after all. Let me see, will +five—hem”—he stopped. I looked the +bookseller in the face; there was something peculiar in it. +Suddenly it appeared to me as if the voice of him of the thimble +sounded in my ear, “Now is your time, ask enough, never +such another chance of establishing yourself; respectable trade, +pea and thimble.” “Well,” said I at last, +“I have no objection to take the offer which you were about +to make, though I really think five-and-twenty guineas to be +scarcely enough, everything considered.” +“Five-and-twenty guineas!” said the bookseller; +“are you—what was I going to say—I never meant +to offer half as much—I mean a quarter; I was going to say +five guineas—I mean pounds; I will, however, make it up +guineas.” “That will not do,” said I; +“but, as I find we shall not deal, return me my manuscript, +that I may carry it to some one else.” The bookseller +looked blank. “Dear me,” said he, “I +should never <!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 218</span>have supposed that you would have +made any objection to such an offer; I am quite sure that you +would have been glad to take five pounds for either of the two +huge manuscripts of songs and ballads that you brought me on a +former occasion.” “Well,” said I, +“if you will engage to publish either of those two +manuscripts, you shall have the present one for five +pounds.” “God forbid that I should make any +such bargain,” said the bookseller; “I would publish +neither on any account; but, with respect to this last book, I +have really an inclination to print it, both for your sake and +mine; suppose we say ten pounds.” “No,” +said I, “ten pounds will not do; pray restore me my +manuscript.” “Stay,” said the bookseller, +“my wife is in the next room, I will go and consult +her.” Thereupon he went into his back room, where I +heard him conversing with his wife in a low tone; in about ten +minutes he returned. “Young gentleman,” said +he, “perhaps you will take tea with us this evening, when +we will talk further over the matter.”</p> +<p>That evening I went and took tea with the bookseller and his +wife, both of whom, particularly the latter, overwhelmed me with +civility. It was not long before I learned that the work +had been already sent to the press, and was intended to stand at +the head of a series of entertaining narratives, from which my +friends promised themselves considerable profit. The +subject of terms was again brought forward. I stood firm to +my first demand for a long time; when, however, the +bookseller’s wife complimented me on my production in the +highest terms, and said that she discovered therein the germs of +genius, which she made no doubt would some day prove ornamental +to my native land, I consented to drop my demand to twenty +pounds, stipulating, however, that I should not be troubled with +the correction of the work.</p> +<p>Before I departed I received the twenty pounds, and departed +with a light heart to my lodgings.</p> +<p>Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, +should you ever be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter +chapters of the life of Lavengro. There are few positions, +however difficult, from which dogged resolution and perseverance +may not liberate you.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Indisposition—A Resolution—Poor +Equivalents—The Piece of Gold—Flashing Eyes—How +Beautiful!—Bon Jour, Monsieur.</p> +<p>I had long ago determined to leave London as soon as the means +should be in my power, and, now that they were, I determined to +leave the Great City; yet I felt some reluctance to go. I +would fain have pursued the career of original authorship which +had just opened itself to me, and have written other tales of +adventure. The bookseller had given me encouragement enough +to do so; he had assured me that he should be always happy to +deal with me for an article (that was <!-- page 219--><a +name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>the word) +similar to the one I had brought him, provided my terms were +moderate; and the bookseller’s wife, by her complimentary +language, had given me yet more encouragement. But for some +months past I had been far from well, and my original +indisposition, brought on partly by the peculiar atmosphere of +the Big City, partly by anxiety of mind, had been much increased +by the exertions which I had been compelled to make during the +last few days. I felt that, were I to remain where I was, I +should die, or become a confirmed valetudinarian. I would +go forth into the country, travelling on foot, and, by exercise +and inhaling pure air, endeavour to recover my health, leaving my +subsequent movements to be determined by Providence.</p> +<p>But whither should I bend my course? Once or twice I +thought of walking home to the old town, stay some time with my +mother and my brother, and enjoy the pleasant walks in the +neighbourhood; but, though I wished very much to see my mother +and my brother, and felt much disposed to enjoy the said pleasant +walks, the old town was not exactly the place to which I wished +to go at this present juncture. I was afraid the people +would ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your +alliterative translations from Ab Gwilym—of which you were +always talking, and with which you promised to astonish the +world? Now, in the event of such interrogations, what could +I answer? It is true I had compiled Newgate Lives and +Trials, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was afraid +that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as +equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab +Gwilym. I would go forth and wander in any direction but +that of the old town.</p> +<p>But how one’s sensibility on any particular point +diminishes with time; at present, I enter the old town perfectly +indifferent as to what the people may be thinking on the subject +of the songs and ballads. With respect to the people +themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their curiosity has +altogether evaporated, or whether, which is at least equally +probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that +never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks +on the subject of the songs and ballads.</p> +<p>As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a +stick, I despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and +books to the old town. My preparations were soon made; in +about three days I was in readiness to start.</p> +<p>Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the +apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might +be labouring under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a +piece of gold by the hands of a young maiden in the house in +which I lived. The latter punctually executed her +commission, but brought me back the piece of gold. The old +woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said. +“Tell the poor thin lad,” she added, “to keep +it for himself, he wants it more than I.”</p> +<p>Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my +stick in one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my +course to the south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more +than a year <!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 220</span>before, I had entered the city by +the north-east. As I was not going home, I determined to +take my departure in the direction the very opposite to home.</p> +<p>Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, +at the lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, +came dashing along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the +curb-stone where I was, a sudden pull of the reins nearly +bringing the spirited animal upon its haunches. The Jehu +who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A small +beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of +fashion, sat beside him.</p> +<p>“Holloa, friend,” said Francis Ardry, +“whither bound?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” said I; “all I can say is, +that I am about to leave London.”</p> +<p>“And the means?” said Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>“I have them,” said I, with a cheerful smile.</p> +<p>“<i>Qui est celui-ci</i>?” demanded the small +female, impatiently.</p> +<p>“<i>C’est</i>—<i>mon ami le plus intime</i>; +so you were about to leave London without telling me a +word,” said Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily.</p> +<p>“I intended to have written to you,” said I: +“what a splendid mare that is!”</p> +<p>“Is she not?” said Francis Ardry, who was holding +in the mare with difficulty; “she cost a hundred +guineas.”</p> +<p>“<i>Qu’est-ce qu’il dit</i>?” demanded +his companion.</p> +<p>“<i>Il dit que le jument est bien beau</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Allons</i>, <i>mon ami</i>, <i>il est +tard</i>,” said the beauty, with a scornful toss of her +head; “<i>allons</i>!”</p> +<p>“<i>Encore un moment</i>,” said Francis Ardry; +“and when shall I see you again?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” I replied: “I never saw a +more splendid turn out.”</p> +<p>“<i>Qu’est-ce qu’il dit</i>?” said the +lady again.</p> +<p>“<i>Il dit que tout l’équipage est en assez +bon goût</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Allons</i>, <i>c’est un ours</i>,” said +the lady; “<i>le cheval même en a peur</i>,” +added she, as the mare reared up on high.</p> +<p>“Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and +the equipage?” said Francis Ardry, reproachfully, after he +had with some difficulty brought the mare to order.</p> +<p>Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my +hat. “How beautiful!” said I, looking the lady +full in the face.</p> +<p>“<i>Comment</i>?” said the lady, inquiringly.</p> +<p>“<i>Il dit que vous êtes belle comme un +ange</i>,” said Francis Ardry, emphatically.</p> +<p>“<i>Mais</i>, <i>à la bonne heure! +arrêtez</i>, <i>mon ami</i>,” said the lady to +Francis Ardry, who was about to drive off; “<i>je voudrais +bien causer un moment avec lui</i>; <i>arrêtez</i>, <i>il +est délicieux</i>.—<i>Est-ce bien ainsi que vous +traitez vos amis</i>?” said she, passionately, as Francis +Ardry lifted up his whip. “<i>Bon jour</i>, +<i>Monsieur</i>, <i>bon jour</i>,” said she, thrusting her +head from the side and looking back, as Francis Ardry drove off +at the rate of thirteen miles an hour.</p> +<h2><!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 221</span>CHAPTER LIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Milestone—The Meditation—Want +to Get Up?—The Off-hand Leader—Sixteen +Shillings—The Near-hand Wheeler—All Right.</p> +<p>In about two hours I had cleared the Great City, and got +beyond the suburban villages, or rather towns, in the direction +in which I was travelling; I was in a broad and excellent road, +leading I knew not whither. I now slackened my pace, which +had hitherto been great. Presently, coming to a milestone +on which was graven nine miles, I rested against it, and looking +round towards the vast city, which had long ceased to be visible, +I fell into a train of meditation.</p> +<p>I thought of all my ways and doings since the day of my first +arrival in that vast city—I had worked and toiled, and, +though I had accomplished nothing at all commensurate with the +hopes which I had entertained previous to my arrival, I had +achieved my own living, preserved my independence, and become +indebted to no one. I was now quitting it, poor in purse, +it is true, but not wholly empty; rather ailing, it may be, but +not broken in health; and, with hope within my bosom, had I not +cause upon the whole to be thankful? Perhaps there were +some who, arriving at the same time under not more favourable +circumstances, had accomplished much more, and whose future was +far more hopeful—Good! But there might be others who, +in spite of all their efforts, had been either trodden down in +the press, never more to be heard of, or were quitting that +mighty town broken in purse, broken in health, and, oh! with not +one dear hope to cheer them. Had I not, upon the whole, +abundant cause to be grateful? Truly, yes!</p> +<p>My meditation over, I left the milestone and proceeded on my +way in the same direction as before until the night began to +close in. I had always been a good pedestrian; but now, +whether owing to indisposition or to not having for some time +past been much in the habit of taking such lengthy walks, I began +to feel not a little weary. Just as I was thinking of +putting up for the night at the next inn or public-house I should +arrive at, I heard what sounded like a coach coming up rapidly +behind me. Induced, perhaps, by the weariness which I felt, +I stopped and looked wistfully in the direction of the sound; +presently up came a coach, seemingly a mail, drawn by four +bounding horses—there was no one upon it but the coachman +and the guard; when nearly parallel with me it stopped. +“Want to get up?” sounded a voice, in the true +coachman-like tone—half querulous, half +authoritative. I hesitated; I was tired, it is true, but I +had left London bound on a pedestrian excursion, and I did not +much like the idea of having recourse to a coach after +accomplishing so very inconsiderable a distance. +“Come, we can’t be staying here all night,” +said the voice, more sharply than before. “I can ride +a little way, and get down whenever I like,” thought I; and +springing forward I clambered up the coach, and was going to sit +down upon the box, next the coachman. “No, no,” +said the coachman, who was a man about thirty, with a hooked nose +and red face, <!-- page 222--><a name="page222"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 222</span>dressed in a fashionably cut great +coat, with a fashionable black castor on his head. +“No, no, keep behind—the box a’n’t for +the like of you,” said he, as he drove off; “the box +is for lords, or gentlemen at least.” I made no +answer. “D--- that off-hand leader,” said the +coachman, as the right-hand front horse made a desperate start at +something he saw in the road; and, half rising, he with great +dexterity hit with his long whip the off-hand leader a cut on the +off cheek. “These seem to be fine horses,” said +I. The coachman made no answer. “Nearly +thorough-bred,” I continued; the coachman drew his breath, +with a kind of hissing sound, through his teeth. +“Come, young fellow, none of your chaff. Don’t +you think, because you ride on my mail, I’m going to talk +to you about ’orses. I talk to nobody about +’orses except lords.” “Well,” said +I, “I have been called a lord in my time.” +“It must have been by a thimble-rigger, then,” said +the coachman, bending back, and half turning his face round with +a broad leer. “You have hit the mark +wonderfully,” said I. “You coachmen, whatever +else you may be, are certainly no fools.” “We +a’n’t, a’n’t we?” said the +coachman. “There you are right; and, to show you that +you are, I’ll now trouble you for your fare. If you +have been amongst the thimble-riggers you must be tolerably well +cleared out. Where are you going?—to ---? I +think I have seen you there. The fare is sixteen +shillings. Come, tip us the blunt; them that has no money +can’t ride on my mail.”</p> +<p>Sixteen shillings was a large sum, and to pay it would make a +considerable inroad on my slender finances; I thought, at first, +that I would say I did not want to go so far; but then the fellow +would ask at once where I wanted to go, and I was ashamed to +acknowledge my utter ignorance of the road. I determined, +therefore, to pay the fare, with a tacit determination not to +mount a coach in future without knowing whither I was +going. So I paid the man the money, who, turning round, +shouted to the guard—“All right, Jem; got fare to +---;” and forthwith whipped on his horses, especially the +off-hand leader, for whom he seemed to entertain a particular +spite, to greater speed than before—the horses flew.</p> +<p>A young moon gave a feeble light, partially illuminating a +line of road which, appearing by no means interesting, I the less +regretted having paid my money for the privilege of being hurried +along it in the flying vehicle. We frequently changed +horses; and at last my friend the coachman was replaced by +another, the very image of himself—hawk nose, red face, +with narrow-rimmed hat and fashionable benjamin. After he +had driven about fifty yards, the new coachman fell to whipping +one of the horses. “D--- this near-hand +wheeler,” said he, “the brute has got a +corn.” “Whipping him won’t cure him of +his corn,” said I. “Who told you to +speak?” said the driver, with an oath; “mind your own +business; ’tisn’t from the like of you I am to learn +to drive ’orses.” Presently I fell into a +broken kind of slumber. In an hour or two I was aroused by +a rough voice—“Got to --- young man; get down if you +please.” I opened my eyes—there was a dim and +indistinct light, like that which precedes dawn; the coach was +standing still in something <!-- page 223--><a +name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>like a +street; just below me stood the guard. “Do you mean +to get down,” said he, “or will you keep us here till +morning? other fares want to get up.” Scarcely +knowing what I did, I took my bundle and stick and descended, +whilst two people mounted. “All right, John,” +said the guard to the coachman, springing up behind; whereupon +off whisked the coach, one or two individuals who were standing +by disappeared, and I was left alone.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Still Hour—A Thrill—The +Wondrous Circle—The Shepherd—Heaps and +Barrows—What do you Mean?—Milk of the +Plains—Hengist spared it—No Presents.</p> +<p>After standing still a minute or two, considering what I +should do, I moved down what appeared to be the street of a small +straggling town; presently I passed by a church, which rose +indistinctly on my right hand; anon there was the rustling of +foliage and the rushing of waters. I reached a bridge, +beneath which a small stream was running in the direction of the +south. I stopped and leaned over the parapet, for I have +always loved to look upon streams, especially at the still +hours. “What stream is this, I wonder?” said I, +as I looked down from the parapet into the water, which whirled +and gurgled below.</p> +<p>Leaving the bridge, I ascended a gentle acclivity, and +presently reached what appeared to be a tract of moory undulating +ground. It was now tolerably light, but there was a mist or +haze abroad which prevented my seeing objects with much +precision. I felt chill in the damp air of the early morn, +and walked rapidly forward. In about half an hour I arrived +where the road divided into two, at an angle or tongue of dark +green sward. “To the right or the left?” said +I, and forthwith took, without knowing why, the left-hand road, +along which I proceeded about a hundred yards, when, in the midst +of the tongue of sward formed by the two roads, collaterally with +myself, I perceived what I at first conceived to be a small grove +of blighted trunks of oaks, barked and grey. I stood still +for a moment, and then, turning off the road, advanced slowly +towards it over the sward; as I drew nearer, I perceived that the +objects which had attracted my curiosity, and which formed a kind +of circle, were not trees, but immense upright stones. A +thrill pervaded my system; just before me were two, the mightiest +of the whole, tall as the stems of proud oaks, supporting on +their tops a huge transverse stone, and forming a wonderful +doorway. I knew now where I was, and, laying down my stick +and bundle, and taking off my hat, I advanced slowly, and cast +myself—it was folly, perhaps, but I could not help what I +did—cast myself, with my face on the dewy earth, in the +middle of the portal of giants, beneath the transverse stone.</p> +<p><!-- page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me!</p> +<p>And after I had remained with my face on the ground for some +time, I arose, placed my hat on my head, and, taking up my stick +and bundle, wandered around the wondrous circle, examining each +individual stone, from the greatest to the least; and then, +entering by the great door, seated myself upon an immense broad +stone, one side of which was supported by several small ones, and +the other slanted upon the earth; and there in deep meditation, I +sat for an hour or two, till the sun shone in my face above the +tall stones of the eastern side.</p> +<p>And as I still sat there, I heard the noise of bells, and +presently a large number of sheep came browzing past the circle +of stones; two or three entered, and grazed upon what they could +find, and soon a man also entered the circle at the northern +side.</p> +<p>“Early here, sir,” said the man, who was tall, and +dressed in a dark green slop, and had all the appearance of a +shepherd; “a traveller, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I am a traveller; are these +sheep yours?”</p> +<p>“They are, sir; that is, they are my +master’s. A strange place this, sir,” said he, +looking at the stones; “ever here before?”</p> +<p>“Never in body, frequently in mind.”</p> +<p>“Heard of the stones, I suppose; no wonder—all the +people of the plain talk of them.”</p> +<p>“What do the people of the plain say of them?”</p> +<p>“Why, they say—How did they ever come +here?”</p> +<p>“Do they not suppose them to have been +brought?”</p> +<p>“Who should have brought them?”</p> +<p>“I have read that they were brought by many thousand +men.”</p> +<p>“Where from?”</p> +<p>“Ireland.”</p> +<p>“How did they bring them?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“And what did they bring them for?”</p> +<p>“To form a temple, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“What is that?”</p> +<p>“A place to worship God in.”</p> +<p>“A strange place to worship God in.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“It has no roof.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it has.”</p> +<p>“Where?” said the man, looking up.</p> +<p>“What do you see above you?”</p> +<p>“The sky.”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Have you anything to say?”</p> +<p>“How did those stones come here?”</p> +<p>“Are there other stones like these on the plains?” +said I.</p> +<p>“None; and yet there are plenty of strange things on +these downs.”</p> +<p>“What are they?”</p> +<p><!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>“Strange heaps, and barrows, and great walls of +earth built on the top of hills.”</p> +<p>“Do the people of the plain wonder how they came +there?”</p> +<p>“They do not.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“They were raised by hands.”</p> +<p>“And these stones?”</p> +<p>“How did they ever come here?”</p> +<p>“I wonder whether they are here?” said I.</p> +<p>“These stones?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“So sure as the world,” said the man; “and +as the world, they will stand as long.”</p> +<p>“I wonder whether there is a world.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“An earth and sea, moon and stars, sheep and +men.”</p> +<p>“Do you doubt it?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> +<p>“I never heard it doubted before.”</p> +<p>“It is impossible there should be a world.”</p> +<p>“It ain’t possible there shouldn’t be a +world.”</p> +<p>“Just so.” At this moment a fine ewe +attended by a lamb, rushed into the circle and fondled the knees +of the shepherd. “I suppose you would not care to +have some milk,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Why do you suppose so?”</p> +<p>“Because, so be, there be no sheep, no milk, you know; +and what there ben’t is not worth having.”</p> +<p>“You could not have argued better,” said I; +“that is, supposing you have argued; with respect to the +milk you may do as you please.”</p> +<p>“Be still, Nanny,” said the man; and producing a +tin vessel from his scrip, he milked the ewe into it. +“Here is milk of the plains, master,” said the man, +as he handed the vessel to me.</p> +<p>“Where are those barrows and great walls of earth you +were speaking of,” said I, after I had drunk some of the +milk; “are there any near where we are?”</p> +<p>“Not within many miles; the nearest is yonder +away,” said the shepherd, pointing to the south-east. +“It’s a grand place, that, but not like this; quite +different, and from it you have a sight of the finest spire in +the world.”</p> +<p>“I must go to it,” said I, and I drank the +remainder of the milk; “yonder, you say.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yonder; but you cannot get to it in that +direction, the river lies between.”</p> +<p>“What river?”</p> +<p>“The Avon.”</p> +<p>“Avon is British,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the man, “we are all British +here.”</p> +<p>“No, we are not,” said I.</p> +<p>“What are we then?”</p> +<p><!-- page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +226</span>“English.”</p> +<p>“A’n’t they one?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Who were the British?”</p> +<p>“The men who are supposed to have worshipped God in this +place, and who raised these stones.”</p> +<p>“Where are they now?”</p> +<p>“Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood +all about, especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their +pleasant places, and left not, to use their own words, one stone +upon another.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they did,” said the shepherd, looking aloft +at the transverse stone.</p> +<p>“And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, +which English hands never raised, is by English hands thrown +down, woe, woe, woe to the English race; spare it, English! +Hengist spared it!—Here is sixpence.”</p> +<p>“I won’t have it,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to +know all about them.”</p> +<p>“I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I +say with yourself, How did they ever come here?”</p> +<p>“How did they ever come here?” said the +shepherd.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The River—Arid Downs—A +Prospect.</p> +<p>Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed +out by him as that in which the most remarkable of the strange +remains of which he had spoken lay. I proceeded rapidly, +making my way over the downs covered with coarse grass and fern; +with respect to the river of which he had spoken, I reflected +that, either by wading or swimming, I could easily transfer +myself and what I bore to the opposite side. On arriving at +its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow, with here +and there a deep place, where the water ran dark and still.</p> +<p>Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into +one of these gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a +glow, and tingling with delicious sensations. After +conveying my clothes and scanty baggage to the farther side, I +dressed, and then with hurried steps bent my course in the +direction of some lofty ground; I at length found myself on a +high road, leading over wide and arid downs; following the road +for some miles without seeing anything remarkable, I supposed at +length that I had taken the wrong path, and wended on slowly and +disconsolately for some time, till, having nearly surmounted a +steep hill, I knew at once, from certain appearances, that I was +near <!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 227</span>the object of my search. +Turning to the right near the brow of the hill, I proceeded along +a path which brought me to a causeway leading over a deep ravine, +and connecting the hill with another which had once formed part +of it, for the ravine was evidently the work of art. I +passed over the causeway, and found myself in a kind of gateway +which admitted me into a square space of many acres, surrounded +on all sides by mounds or ramparts of earth. Though I had +never been in such a place before, I knew that I stood within the +precincts of what had been a Roman encampment, and one probably +of the largest size, for many thousand warriors might have found +room to perform their evolutions in that space, in which corn was +now growing, the green ears waving in the morning wind.</p> +<p>After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the +gateway formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the +left hand, and on the top of that mound I found myself at a great +altitude; beneath, at the distance of a mile, was a fair old +city, situated amongst verdant meadows, watered with streams, and +from the heart of that old city, from amidst mighty trees, I +beheld towering to the sky the finest spire in the world.</p> +<p>After I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I +hurried away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, +regained the road, and, passing over the brow of the hill, +descended to the city of the spire.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Hostelry—Life Uncertain—Open +Countenance—The Grand Point—Thank You, Master—A +Hard Mother—Poor Dear!—Considerable Odds—The +Better Country—English Fashion—Landlord-looking +Person.</p> +<p>And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I +best could—inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating +and drinking when I felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the +digestive organs having assumed a tone to which for many months +they had been strangers—enjoying at night balmy sleep in a +large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a corridor, in a certain +hostelry in which I had taken up my quarters—receiving from +the people of the hostelry such civility and condescension as +people who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who +nevertheless are perceived to be not altogether destitute of +coin, are in the habit of receiving. On the third day, on a +fine sunny afternoon, I departed from the city of the spire.</p> +<p>As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a +sudden, a respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several +persons hastened to her assistance. “She is +dead,” said one. “No, she is not,” said +another. “I am afraid she is,” said a +third. “Life is very uncertain,” said a +fourth. “It is Mrs. ---,” said a fifth; +“let us carry her to her own house.” Not being +able to render any assistance, I left the poor <!-- page 228--><a +name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>female in +the hands of her townsfolk, and proceeded on my way. I had +chosen a road in the direction of the north-west, it led over +downs where corn was growing, but where neither tree nor hedge +was to be seen; two or three hours’ walking brought me to a +beautiful valley, abounding with trees of various kinds, with a +delightful village at its farthest extremity; passing through it +I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of which I sat down on a +bank, and taking off my hat, permitted a breeze, which swept +coolly and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair, dripping +from the effects of exercise and the heat of the day.</p> +<p>And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the +downs before me, a man came along the road in the direction in +which I had hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he +stopped, and, looking at me, cried—“Am I right for +London, master?”</p> +<p>He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between +twenty-five and thirty years of age—he had an open manly +countenance, and there was a bold and fearless expression in his +eye.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, in reply to his question; +“this is one of the ways to London. Do you come from +far?”</p> +<p>“From ---,” said the man, naming a well-known +sea-port.</p> +<p>“Is this the direct road to London from that +place?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“No,” said the man; “but I had to visit two +or three other places on certain commissions I was entrusted +with; amongst others to ---, where I had to take a small sum of +money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you please, I +will sit down beside you.”</p> +<p>“You have as much right to sit down here as I +have,” said I, “the road is free for every one; as +for sitting down beside me, you have the look of an honest man, +and I have no objection to your company.”</p> +<p>“Why, as for being honest, master,” said the man, +laughing and sitting down beside me, “I hav’n’t +much to say—many is the wild thing I have done when I was +younger; however, what is done, is done. To learn, one must +live, master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand +point of wisdom.”</p> +<p>“What is that?” said I.</p> +<p>“That honesty is the best policy, master.”</p> +<p>“You appear to be a sailor,” said I, looking at +his dress.</p> +<p>“I was not bred a sailor,” said the man, +“though, when my foot is on the salt water, I can play the +part—and play it well too. I am now from a long +voyage.”</p> +<p>“From America?” said I.</p> +<p>“Farther than that,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Have you any objection to tell me?” said I.</p> +<p>“From New South Wales,” said the man, looking me +full in the face.</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I.</p> +<p>“Why do you say ‘Dear me’?” said the +man.</p> +<p>“It is a very long way off,” said I.</p> +<p>“Was that your reason for saying so?” said the +man.</p> +<p>“Not exactly,” said I.</p> +<p>“No,” said the man, with something of a bitter +smile; “it was something else that made you say so; you +were thinking of the convicts.”</p> +<p><!-- page 229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>“Well,” said I, “what then—you +are no convict.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“You do not look like one.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, master,” said the man cheerfully; +“and, to a certain extent, you are right,—bygones are +bygones—I am no longer what I was, nor ever will be again; +the truth, however, is the truth—a convict I have +been—a convict at Sydney Cove.”</p> +<p>“And you have served out the period for which you were +sentenced, and are now returned?”</p> +<p>“As to serving out my sentence,” replied the man, +“I can’t say that I did; I was sentenced for fourteen +years, and I was in Sydney Cove little more than half that +time. The truth is that I did the Government a +service. There was a conspiracy amongst some of the +convicts to murder and destroy—I overheard and informed the +Government; mind one thing, however, I was not concerned in it; +those who got it up were no comrades of mine, but a bloody gang +of villains. Well, the Government, in consideration of the +service I had done them, remitted the remainder of my sentence; +and some kind gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave me +good books and good advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct, +procured me employ in an exploring expedition, by which I earned +money. In fact, the being sent to Sydney was the best thing +that ever happened to me in all my life.”</p> +<p>“And you have now returned to your native country. +Longing to see home brought you from New South Wales.”</p> +<p>“There you are mistaken,” said the man. +“Wish to see England again would never have brought me so +far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England was a hard +mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see +another kind of mother—a poor old woman whose son I +am—has brought me back.”</p> +<p>“You have a mother, then?” said I. +“Does she reside in London?”</p> +<p>“She used to live in London,” said the man; +“but I am afraid she is long since dead.”</p> +<p>“How did she support herself?” said I.</p> +<p>“Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to +keep a small stall on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am +afraid she is dead, and that she died perhaps in misery. +She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved her, and she loved +me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of seeing +her.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever write to her,” said I, “or +cause others to write to her?”</p> +<p>“I wrote to her myself,” said the man, +“about two years ago; but I never received an answer. +I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the assistance +of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do +that very well before I went—my poor mother taught me to +read, out of a book that she was very fond of; a strange book it +was, I remember. Poor dear!—what would I give only to +know that she is alive.”</p> +<p>“Life is very uncertain,” said I.</p> +<p>“That is true,” said the man, with a sigh.</p> +<p><!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>“We are here one moment, and gone the +next,” I continued. “As I passed through the +streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman drop +down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she +too had a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very +time.”</p> +<p>“Who knows, indeed,” said the man. +“Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead. Well, God’s +will be done.”</p> +<p>“However,” said I, “I should not wonder at +your finding your mother alive.”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t?” said the man, looking at me +wistfully.</p> +<p>“I should not wonder at all,” said I; +“indeed something within me seems to tell me you will; I +should not much mind betting five shillings to five pence that +you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend, five +shillings to five pence—”</p> +<p>“Is very considerable odds,” said the man, rubbing +his hands; “sure you must have good reason to hope, when +you are willing to give such odds.”</p> +<p>“After all,” said I, “it not unfrequently +happens that those who lay the long odds lose. Let us hope, +however. What do you mean to do in the event of finding +your mother alive?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” said the man; “I have +frequently thought that if I found my mother alive I would +attempt to persuade her to accompany me to the country which I +have left—it is a better country for a man—that is a +free man—to live in than this; however, let me first find +my mother—if I could only find my mother—”</p> +<p>“Farewell,” said I, rising. “Go your +way, and God go with you—I will go mine.” +“I have but one thing to ask you,” said the +man. “What is that?” I inquired. +“That you would drink with me before we part—you have +done me so much good.” “How should we +drink?” said I; “we are on the top of a hill where +there is nothing to drink.” “But there is a +village below,” said the man; “do let us drink before +we part.” “I have been through that village +already,” said I, “and I do not like turning +back.” “Ah,” said the man sorrowfully, +“you will not drink with me because I told you I +was—”</p> +<p>“You are quite mistaken,” said I, “I would +as soon drink with a convict as with a judge. I am by no +means certain that, under the same circumstances, the judge would +be one whit better than the convict. Come along! I +will go back to oblige you. I have an odd sixpence in my +pocket, which I will change, that I may drink with +you.” So we went down the hill together to the +village through which I had already passed, where, finding a +public-house, we drank together in true English fashion, after +which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I +mine.</p> +<p>After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I +rested for the night. The next morning I set out again in +the direction of the north-west. I continued journeying for +four days, my daily journeys varying from twenty to twenty-five +miles. During this time nothing occurred to me worthy of +any especial notice. The weather was brilliant, and I +rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On the <!-- +page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +231</span>fifth day, about two o’clock, I arrived at a +small town. Feeling hungry, I entered a decent-looking +inn—within a kind of bar I saw a huge, fat, +landlord-looking person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed +maiden. Addressing myself to the fat man, +“House!” said I, “house! Can I have +dinner, house?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Primitive Habits—Rosy-faced +Damsel—A Pleasant Moment—Suit of Black—The +Furtive Glance—The Mighty Round—Degenerate +Times—The Newspaper—The Evil Chance—I +Congratulate You.</p> +<p>“Young gentleman,” said the huge fat landlord, +“you are come at the right time; dinner will be taken up in +a few minutes, and such a dinner,” he continued, rubbing +his hands, “as you will not see every day in these +times.”</p> +<p>“I am hot and dusty,” said I, “and should +wish to cool my hands and face.”</p> +<p>“Jenny!” said the huge landlord, with the utmost +gravity, “show the gentleman into number seven, that he may +wash his hands and face.”</p> +<p>“By no means,” said I, “I am a person of +primitive habits, and there is nothing like the pump in weather +like this.”</p> +<p>“Jenny!” said the landlord, with the same gravity +as before, “go with the young gentleman to the pump in the +back kitchen, and take a clean towel along with you.”</p> +<p>Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a +drawer, and producing a large, thick, but snowy-white towel, she +nodded to me to follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a +long passage into the back kitchen.</p> +<p>And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and +going to it I placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, +“Pump, Jenny;” and Jenny incontinently, without +laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and I washed and +cooled my heated hands.</p> +<p>And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my +neckcloth, and unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head +beneath the spout of the pump, and I said unto Jenny, “Now, +Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump for your life.”</p> +<p>Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the +handle of the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as +handmaid had never pumped before; so that the water poured in +torrents from my head, my face, and my hair down upon the brick +floor.</p> +<p>And after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called +out with a half-strangled voice, “Hold, Jenny!” and +Jenny desisted. I stood for a few moments to recover my +breath, then taking the towel which Jenny proffered, I dried +composedly my hands and head, my face and hair; then, returning +the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said, “Surely +this is one of the pleasant moments of life.”</p> +<p><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair +with a pocket comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back +through the long passage, and showed me into a neat sanded +parlour on the ground floor.</p> +<p>I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; +presently in came the handmaid, and commenced laying the +table-cloth. “Shall I spread the table for one, +sir,” said she, “or do you expect anybody to dine +with you?”</p> +<p>“I can’t say that I expect anybody,” said I, +laughing inwardly to myself; “however, if you please you +can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance of mine should +chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for +him.”</p> +<p>So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty +street, and now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which +adorned the wall over against me. I fell into a kind of +doze, from which I was almost instantly awakened by the opening +of the door. Dinner, thought I; and I sat upright in my +chair. No, a man of the middle age, and rather above the +middle height dressed in a plain suit of black, made his +appearance, and sat down in a chair at some distance from me, but +near to the table, and appeared to be lost in thought.</p> +<p>“The weather is very warm, sir,” said I.</p> +<p>“Very,” said the stranger, laconically, looking at +me for the first time.</p> +<p>“Would you like to see the newspaper?” said I, +taking up one which lay upon the window seat.</p> +<p>“I never read newspapers,” said the stranger, +“nor, indeed—.” Whatever it might be that +he had intended to say he left unfinished. Suddenly he +walked to the mantel-piece at the farther end of the room, before +which he placed himself with his back towards me. There he +remained motionless for some time; at length, raising his hand, +he touched the corner of the mantel-piece with his finger, +advanced towards the chair which he had left, and again seated +himself.</p> +<p>“Have you come far?” said he, suddenly looking +towards me, and speaking in a frank and open manner, which +denoted a wish to enter into conversation. “You do +not seem to be of this place.”</p> +<p>“I come from some distance,” said I; “indeed +I am walking for exercise, which I find as necessary to the mind +as the body. I believe that by exercise people would escape +much mental misery.”</p> +<p>Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his +hand, with seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the +glasses; after a moment or two he touched the glass as if +inadvertently, then, glancing furtively at me, he withdrew his +hand and looked towards the window.</p> +<p>“Are you from these parts?” said I at last, with +apparent carelessness.</p> +<p>“From this vicinity,” replied the stranger. +“You think, then, that it is as easy to walk off the bad +humours of the mind as of the body?”</p> +<p>“I, at least, am walking in that hope,” said +I.</p> +<p>“I wish you may be successful,” said the stranger; +and here he touched one of the forks which lay on the table near +him.</p> +<p><!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>Here the door, which was slightly ajar, was suddenly +pushed open with some fracas, and in came the stout landlord, +supporting with some difficulty an immense dish, in which was a +mighty round mass of smoking meat garnished all round with +vegetables; so high was the mass that it probably obstructed his +view, for it was not until he had placed it upon the table that +he appeared to observe the stranger; he almost started, and quite +out of breath exclaimed, “God bless me, your honour; is +your honour the acquaintance that the young gentleman was +expecting?”</p> +<p>“Is the young gentleman expecting an +acquaintance?” said the stranger.</p> +<p>There is nothing like putting a good face upon these matters, +thought I to myself; and, getting up, I bowed to the +unknown. “Sir,” said I, “when I told +Jenny that she might lay the table-cloth for two, so that in the +event of any acquaintance dropping in he might find a knife and +fork ready for him, I was merely jocular, being an entire +stranger in these parts, and expecting no one. Fortune, +however, it would seem, has been unexpectedly kind to me; I +flatter myself, sir, that since you have been in this room I have +had the honour of making your acquaintance; and in the strength +of that hope I humbly entreat you to honour me with your company +to dinner, provided you have not already dined.”</p> +<p>The stranger laughed outright.</p> +<p>“Sir,” I continued, “the round of beef is a +noble one, and seems exceedingly well boiled, and the landlord +was just right when he said I should have such a dinner as is not +seen every day. A round of beef, at any rate such a round +of beef as this, is seldom seen smoking upon the table in these +degenerate times. Allow me, sir,” said I, observing +that the stranger was about to speak, “allow me another +remark. I think I saw you just now touch the fork, I +venture to hail it as an omen that you will presently seize it, +and apply it to its proper purpose, and its companion the knife +also.”</p> +<p>The stranger changed colour, and gazed upon me in silence.</p> +<p>“Do, sir,” here put in the landlord; “do, +sir, accept the young gentleman’s invitation. Your +honour has of late been looking poorly, and the young gentleman +is a funny young gentleman, and a clever young gentleman; and I +think it will do your honour good to have a dinner’s chat +with the young gentleman.”</p> +<p>“It is not my dinner hour,” said the stranger; +“I dine considerably later; taking anything now would only +discompose me; I shall, however, be most happy to sit down with +the young gentleman; reach me that paper, and, when the young +gentleman has satisfied his appetite, we may perhaps have a +little chat together.”</p> +<p>The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, +retired with his maid Jenny. I helped myself to a portion +of the smoking round, and commenced eating with no little +appetite. The stranger appeared to be soon engrossed with +the newspaper. We continued thus a considerable +time—the one reading and the other dining. Chancing +suddenly to cast my eyes upon the stranger, I saw his brow +contract; he gave a slight stamp with his foot, and flung the +newspaper <!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 234</span>to the ground, then stooping down he +picked it up, first moving his fore finger along the floor, +seemingly slightly scratching it with his nail.</p> +<p>“Do you hope, sir,” said I, “by that +ceremony with the finger to preserve yourself from the evil +chance?”</p> +<p>The stranger started; then, after looking at me for some time +in silence, he said, “Is it possible that +you—?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said I, helping myself to some more of +the round, “I have touched myself in my younger days, both +for the evil chance and the good. Can’t say, though, +that I ever trusted much in the ceremony.”</p> +<p>The stranger made no reply, but appeared to be in deep +thought; nothing further passed between us until I had concluded +the dinner, when I said to him, “I shall now be most happy, +sir, to have the pleasure of your conversation over a pint of +wine.”</p> +<p>The stranger rose; “No, my young friend,” said he, +smiling, “that would scarce be fair. It is my turn +now—pray do me the favour to go home with me, and accept +what hospitality my poor roof can offer; to tell you the truth, I +wish to have some particular discourse with you which would +hardly be possible in this place. As for wine, I can give +you some much better than you can get here: the landlord is an +excellent fellow, but he is an inn-keeper, after all. I am +going out for a moment, and will send him in, so that you may +settle your account; I trust you will not refuse me, I only live +about two miles from here.”</p> +<p>I looked in the face of the stranger—it was a fine +intelligent face, with a cast of melancholy in it. +“Sir,” said I, “I would go with you though you +lived four miles instead of two.”</p> +<p>“Who is that gentleman?” said I to the landlord, +after I had settled his bill; “I am going home with +him.”</p> +<p>“I wish I were going too,” said the fat landlord, +laying his hand upon his stomach. “Young gentleman, I +shall be a loser by his honour’s taking you away; but, +after all, the truth is the truth—there are few gentlemen +in these parts like his honour, either for learning or welcoming +his friends. Young gentleman, I congratulate +you.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">New Acquaintance—Old French +Style—The Portrait—Taciturnity—The Evergreen +Tree—The Dark Hour—The Flash—Ancestors—A +Fortunate Man—A Posthumous Child—Antagonistic +Ideas—The Hawks—Flaws—The +Pony—Irresistible Impulse—Favourable Crisis—The +Topmost Branch—Twenty Feet—Heartily Ashamed.</p> +<p>I found the stranger awaiting me at the door of the inn. +“Like yourself, I am fond of walking,” said he, +“and when any little business calls me to this place I +generally come on foot.”</p> +<p>We were soon out of the town, and in a very beautiful +country. After proceeding some distance on the high road, +we turned off, and were presently in one of those mazes of lanes +for which England is <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>famous; the stranger at first seemed +inclined to be taciturn; a few observations, however, which I +made, appeared to rouse him, and he soon exhibited not only +considerable powers of observation, but stores of information +which surprised me. So pleased did I become with my new +acquaintance, that I soon ceased to pay the slightest attention +either to place or distance. At length the stranger was +silent, and I perceived that we had arrived at a handsome iron +gate and lodge; the stranger having rung a bell, the gate was +opened by an old man, and we proceeded along a gravel path, which +in about five minutes brought us to a large brick house, built +something in the old French style, having a spacious lawn before +it, and immediately in front a pond in which were golden fish, +and in the middle a stone swan discharging quantities of water +from its bill. We ascended a spacious flight of steps to +the door, which was at once flung open, and two servants with +powdered hair, and in livery of blue plush, came out and stood +one on either side as we passed the threshold. We entered a +large hall, and the stranger, taking me by the hand, welcomed me +to his poor home, as he called it, and then gave orders to +another servant, but out of livery, to show me to an apartment, +and give me whatever assistance I might require in my +toilette. Notwithstanding the plea as to primitive habits +which I had lately made to my other host in the town, I offered +no objection to this arrangement, but followed the bowing +domestic to a spacious and airy chamber, where he rendered me all +those little nameless offices which the somewhat neglected state +of my dress required. When everything had been completed to +my perfect satisfaction, he told me that if I pleased he would +conduct me to the library, where dinner would be speedily +served.</p> +<p>In the library I found a table laid for two; my host was not +there, having as I supposed not been quite so speedy with his +toilette as his guest. Left alone, I looked round the +apartment with inquiring eyes; it was long and tolerably lofty, +the walls from the top to the bottom were lined with cases +containing books of all sizes and bindings; there were a globe or +two, a couch, and an easy chair. Statues and busts there +were none, and only one painting, a portrait, that of my host, +but not him of the mansion. Over the mantel-piece, the +features staringly like, but so ridiculously exaggerated that +they scarcely resembled those of a human being, daubed evidently +by the hand of the commonest sign-artist, hung a half-length +portrait of him of round of beef celebrity—my sturdy host +of the town.</p> +<p>I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as +I best could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed +his taciturnity—scarce a word escaped his lips till dinner +was served, when he said, smiling, “I suppose it would be +merely a compliment to ask you to partake?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said I, seating myself; +“your first course consists of troutlets, I am fond of +troutlets, and I always like to be companionable.”</p> +<p>The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to +it from the circumstance of having already dined; the stranger +also, though without <!-- page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 236</span>my excuse, partook but slightly of +the good cheer; he still continued taciturn, and appeared lost in +thought, and every attempt which I made to induce him to converse +was signally unsuccessful.</p> +<p>And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I +remember that the wine was good, and fully justified the +encomiums of my host of the town. Over the wine I made sure +that my entertainer would have loosened the chain which seemed to +tie his tongue—but no! I endeavoured to tempt him by +various topics, and talked of geometry and the use of the globes, +of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter, which I said I had +heard was a very large star, also of the evergreen tree, which, +according to Olaus, stood of old before the heathen temple of +Upsal, and which I affirmed was a yew—but no, nothing that +I said could induce my entertainer to relax his taciturnity.</p> +<p>It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable. “I must +presently be going,” I at last exclaimed.</p> +<p>At these words he gave a sudden start; “Going,” +said he, “are you not my guest, and an honoured +one?”</p> +<p>“You know best,” said I; “but I was +apprehensive I was an intruder; to several of my questions you +have returned no answer.”</p> +<p>“Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed, seizing me +by the hand; “but you cannot go now, I have much to talk to +you about—there is one thing in +particular—”</p> +<p>“If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal,” said I, +interrupting him, “I hold it to have been a yew—what +else? The evergreens of the south, as the old bishop +observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted for +such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it +have been but the yew—the sacred yew which our ancestors +were in the habit of planting in their churchyards? +Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the honour of the +tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would have +one growing before my front window.”</p> +<p>“You would do right; the yew is indeed a venerable tree, +but it is not about the yew.”</p> +<p>“The star Jupiter, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation +which escaped you at the inn has made a considerable impression +upon me.”</p> +<p>“But I really must take my departure,” said I; +“the dark hour is at hand.”</p> +<p>And as I uttered these last words, the stranger touched +rapidly something which lay near him I forget what it was. +It was the first action of the kind which I had observed on his +part since we sat down to table.</p> +<p>“You allude to the evil chance,” said I; +“but it is getting both dark and late.”</p> +<p>“I believe we are going to have a storm,” said my +friend, “but I really hope that you will give me your +company for a day or two; I have, as I said before, much to talk +to you about.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I shall be most happy to be +your guest for this night; I am ignorant of the country, and it +is not pleasant to travel unknown paths by night—dear me, +what a flash of lightning!”</p> +<p><!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet +lightning illumed the room. By the momentary light I +distinctly saw my host touch another object upon the table.</p> +<p>“Will you allow me to ask you a question or two?” +said he at last.</p> +<p>“As many as you please,” said I; “but shall +we not have lights?”</p> +<p>“Not unless you particularly wish it,” said my +entertainer; “I rather like the dark, and though a storm is +evidently at hand, neither thunder nor lightning has any terrors +for me. It is other things I quake at—I should rather +say ideas. Now permit me to ask you—”</p> +<p>And then my entertainer asked me various questions, to all of +which I answered unreservedly; he was then silent for some time, +at last he exclaimed, “I should wish to tell you the +history of my life—though not an adventurous one, I think +it contains some things which will interest you.”</p> +<p>Without waiting for my reply he began. Amidst darkness +and gloom, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning, the +stranger related to me, as we sat at the table in the library, +his truly touching history.</p> +<p>“Before proceeding to relate the events of my life, it +will not be amiss to give you some account of my ancestors. +My great grandfather on the male side was a silk mercer, in +Cheapside, who, when he died, left his son, who was his only +child, a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds, and a splendid +business; the son, however, had no inclination for trade, the +summit of his ambition was to be a country gentleman, to found a +family, and to pass the remainder of his days in rural ease and +dignity, and all this he managed to accomplish; he disposed of +his business, purchased a beautiful and extensive estate for four +score thousand pounds, built upon it the mansion to which I had +the honour of welcoming you to-day, married the daughter of a +neighbouring squire, who brought him a fortune of five thousand +pounds, became a magistrate, and only wanted a son and heir to +make him completely happy; this blessing, it is true, was for a +long time denied him; it came, however, at last, as is usual, +when least expected. His lady was brought to bed of my +father, and then who so happy a man as my grandsire; he gave away +two thousand pounds in charities, and in the joy of his heart +made a speech at the next quarter sessions; the rest of his life +was spent in ease, tranquillity, and rural dignity; he died of +apoplexy on the day that my father became of age; perhaps it +would be difficult to mention a man who in all respects was so +fortunate as my grandfather; his death was sudden, it is true, +but I am not one of those who pray to be delivered from a sudden +death.</p> +<p>“I should not call my father a fortunate man; it is true +that he had the advantage of a first-rate education; that he made +the grand tour with a private tutor, as was the fashion at that +time; that he came to a splendid fortune on the very day that he +came of age; that for many years he tasted all the diversions of +the capital; that, at last determined to settle, he married the +sister of a baronet, an amiable and accomplished lady, with a +large fortune; that he had the best stud of hunters in the +county, on which, during the season, he followed the fox +gallantly; had he been a fortunate man he would never have cursed +his fate, as he was <!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 238</span>frequently known to do; ten months +after his marriage his horse fell upon him, and so injured him, +that he expired in a few days in great agony. My +grandfather was, indeed, a fortunate man; when he died he was +followed to the grave by the tears of the poor—my father +was not.</p> +<p>“Two remarkable circumstances are connected with my +birth—I am a posthumous child, and came into the world some +weeks before the usual time, the shock which my mother +experienced at my father’s death having brought on the +pangs of premature labour; both my mother’s life and my own +were at first despaired of; we both, however, survived the +crisis. My mother loved me with the most passionate +fondness, and I was brought up in this house under her own +eye—I was never sent to school.</p> +<p>“I have already told you that mine is not a tale of +adventure; my life has not been one of action, but of wild +imaginings and strange sensations; I was born with excessive +sensibility, and that has been my bane. I have not been a +fortunate man.</p> +<p>“No one is fortunate unless he is happy, and it is +impossible for a being constructed like myself to be happy for an +hour, or even enjoy peace and tranquillity; most of our pleasures +and pains are the effects of imagination, and wherever the +sensibility is great, the imagination is great also. No +sooner has my imagination raised up an image of pleasure, than it +is sure to conjure up one of distress and gloom; these two +antagonistic ideas instantly commence a struggle in my mind, and +the gloomy one generally, I may say invariably, prevails. +How is it possible that I should be a happy man?</p> +<p>“It has invariably been so with me from the earliest +period that I can remember; the first playthings that were given +me caused me for a few minutes excessive pleasure; they were +pretty and glittering; presently, however, I became anxious and +perplexed; I wished to know their history, how they were made, +and what of—were the materials precious; I was not +satisfied with their outward appearance. In less than an +hour I had broken the playthings in an attempt to discover what +they were made of.</p> +<p>“When I was eight years of age my uncle the baronet, who +was also my godfather, sent me a pair of Norway hawks, with +directions for managing them; he was a great fowler. Oh, +how rejoiced was I with the present which had been made me, my +joy lasted for at least five minutes; I would let them breed, I +would have a house of hawks; yes, that I +would—but—and here came the unpleasant +idea—suppose they were to fly away, how very +annoying! Ah, but, said hope, there’s little fear of +that; feed them well and they will never fly away, or if they do +they will come back, my uncle says so; so sunshine triumphed for +a little time. Then the strangest of all doubts came into +my head; I doubted the legality of my tenure of these hawks; how +did I come by them? why, my uncle gave them to me, but how did +they come into his possession? what right had he to them? after +all, they might not be his to give.—I passed a sleepless +night. The next morning I found that the man who brought +the hawks had not departed. ‘How came my uncle by +these hawks?’ I anxiously inquired. ‘They were +sent to <!-- page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 239</span>him from Norway, master, with +another pair.’ ‘And who sent them?’ +‘That I don’t know, master, but I suppose his honour +can tell you.’ I was even thinking of scrawling a +letter to my uncle to make inquiry on this point, but shame +restrained me, and I likewise reflected that it would be +impossible for him to give my mind entire satisfaction; it is +true he could tell who sent him the hawks, but how was he to know +how the hawks came into the possession of those who sent them to +him, and by what right they possessed them or the parents of the +hawks. In a word, I wanted a clear valid title, as lawyers +would say, to my hawks, and I believe no title would have +satisfied me that did not extend up to the time of the first +hawk, that is, prior to Adam; and, could I have obtained such a +title, I make no doubt that, young as I was, I should have +suspected that it was full of flaws.</p> +<p>“I was now disgusted with the hawks, and no wonder, +seeing all the disquietude they had caused me; I soon totally +neglected the poor birds, and they would have starved had not +some of the servants taken compassion upon them and fed +them. My uncle, soon hearing of my neglect, was angry, and +took the birds away; he was a very good-natured man, however, and +soon sent me a fine pony; at first I was charmed with the pony, +soon, however, the same kind of thoughts arose which had +disgusted me on a former occasion. How did my uncle become +possessed of the pony? This question I asked him the first +time I saw him. Oh, he had bought it of a gypsy, that I +might learn to ride upon it. A gypsy; I had heard that +gypsies were great thieves, and I instantly began to fear that +the gypsy had stolen the pony, and it is probable that for this +apprehension I had better grounds than for many others. I +instantly ceased to set any value upon the pony, but for that +reason, perhaps, I turned it to some account; I mounted it and +rode it about, which I don’t think I should have done had I +looked upon it as a secure possession. Had I looked upon my +title as secure, I should have prized it so much, that I should +scarcely have mounted it for fear of injuring the animal; but +now, caring not a straw for it, I rode it most unmercifully, and +soon became a capital rider. This was very selfish in me, +and I tell the fact with shame. I was punished, however, as +I deserved; the pony had a spirit of its own, and, moreover, it +had belonged to gypsies; once, as I was riding it furiously over +the lawn, applying both whip and spur, it suddenly lifted up its +heels, and flung me at least five yards over its head. I +received some desperate contusions, and was taken up for dead; it +was many months before I perfectly recovered.</p> +<p>“But it is time for me to come to the touching part of +my story. There was one thing that I loved better than the +choicest gift which could be bestowed upon me, better than life +itself—my mother;—at length she became unwell, and +the thought that I might possibly lose her now rushed into my +mind for the first time; it was terrible, and caused me +unspeakable misery, I may say horror. My mother became +worse, and I was not allowed to enter her apartment, lest by my +frantic exclamations of grief I might aggravate her +disorder. I rested neither day nor night, but roamed about +the house like one distracted. <!-- page 240--><a +name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>Suddenly I +found myself doing that which even at the time struck me as being +highly singular; I found myself touching particular objects that +were near me, and to which my fingers seemed to be attracted by +an irresistible impulse. It was now the table or the chair +that I was compelled to touch; now the bell-rope; now the handle +of the door; now I would touch the wall, and the next moment +stooping down, I would place the point of my finger upon the +floor: and so I continued to do day after day; frequently I would +struggle to resist the impulse, but invariably in vain. I +have even rushed away from the object, but I was sure to return, +the impulse was too strong to be resisted: I quickly hurried +back, compelled by the feeling within me to touch the +object. Now I need not tell you that what impelled me to +these actions was the desire to prevent my mother’s death; +whenever I touched any particular object, it was with the view of +baffling the evil chance, as you would call it—in this +instance my mother’s death.</p> +<p>“A favourable crisis occurred in my mother’s +complaint, and she recovered; this crisis took place about six +o’clock in the morning; almost simultaneously with it there +happened to myself a rather remarkable circumstance connected +with the nervous feeling which was rioting in my system. I +was lying in bed in a kind of uneasy doze, the only kind of rest +which my anxiety, on account of my mother, permitted me at this +time to take, when all at once I sprang up as if electrified, the +mysterious impulse was upon me, and it urged me to go without +delay, and climb a stately elm behind the house, and touch the +topmost branch; otherwise—you know the rest—the evil +chance would prevail. Accustomed for some time as I had +been, under this impulse, to perform extravagant actions, I +confess to you that the difficulty and peril of such a feat +startled me; I reasoned against the feeling, and strove more +strenuously than I had ever done before; I even made a solemn vow +not to give way to the temptation, but I believe nothing less +than chains, and those strong ones, could have restrained +me. The demoniac influence, for I can call it nothing else, +at length prevailed; it compelled me to rise, to dress myself, to +descend the stairs, to unbolt the door, and to go forth; it drove +me to the foot of the tree, and it compelled me to climb the +trunk; this was a tremendous task, and I only accomplished it +after repeated falls and trials. When I had got amongst the +branches, I rested for a time, and then set about accomplishing +the remainder of the ascent; this for some time was not so +difficult, for I was now amongst the branches; as I approached +the top, however, the difficulty became greater, likewise the +danger; but I was a light boy, and almost as nimble as a +squirrel, and, moreover, the nervous feeling was within me, +impelling me upward. It was only by means of a spring, +however, that I was enabled to touch the top of the tree; I +sprang, touched the top of the tree, and fell a distance of at +least twenty feet, amongst the branches; had I fallen to the +bottom I must have been killed, but I fell into the middle of the +tree, and presently found myself astride upon one of the boughs; +scratched and bruised all over, I reached the ground, and +regained my chamber unobserved; I flung myself on my bed quite +exhausted; presently they came to tell me <!-- page 241--><a +name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>that my +mother was better—they found me in the state which I have +described, and in a fever besides. The favourable crisis +must have occurred just about the time that I performed the magic +touch; it certainly was a curious coincidence, yet I was not weak +enough, even though a child, to suppose that I had baffled the +evil chance by my daring feat.</p> +<p>“Indeed, all the time that I was performing these +strange feats, I knew them to be highly absurd, yet the impulse +to perform them was irresistible—a mysterious dread hanging +over me till I had given way to it; even at that early period I +frequently used to reason within myself as to what could be the +cause of my propensity to touch, but of course I could come to no +satisfactory conclusion respecting it; being heartily ashamed of +the practice, I never spoke of it to any one, and was at all +times highly solicitous that no one should observe my +weakness.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Maternal Anxiety—The +Baronet—Little Zest—Country Life—Mr. +Speaker!—The Craving—Spirited Address—An +Author.</p> +<p>After a short pause my host resumed his narration. +“Though I was never sent to school, my education was not +neglected on that account; I had tutors in various branches of +knowledge, under whom I made a tolerable progress; by the time I +was eighteen I was able to read most of the Greek and Latin +authors with facility; I was likewise, to a certain degree, a +mathematician. I cannot say that I took much pleasure in my +studies; my chief aim in endeavouring to accomplish my tasks was +to give pleasure to my beloved parent, who watched my progress +with anxiety truly maternal. My life at this period may be +summed up in a few words; I pursued my studies, roamed about the +woods, walked the green lanes occasionally, cast my fly in a +trout stream, and sometimes, but not often, rode a hunting with +my uncle. A considerable part of my time was devoted to my +mother, conversing with her and reading to her; youthful +companions I had none, and as to my mother, she lived in the +greatest retirement, devoting herself to the superintendence of +my education, and the practice of acts of charity; nothing could +be more innocent than this mode of life, and some people say that +in innocence there is happiness, yet I can’t say that I was +happy. A continual dread overshadowed my mind, it was the +dread of my mother’s death. Her constitution had +never been strong, and it had been considerably shaken by her +last illness; this I knew, and this I saw—for the eyes of +fear are marvellously keen. Well, things went on in this +way till I had come of age; my tutors were then dismissed, and my +uncle the baronet took me in hand, telling my mother that it was +high time for him to exert his authority; that I must see +something of the world, for that, if I remained much longer with +her, I should be ruined. ‘You must consign him to +me,’ said he, ‘and I will introduce him to the +world.’ My mother sighed and consented; so my uncle +the baronet <!-- page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 242</span>introduced me to the world, took me +to horse races and to London, and endeavoured to make a man of me +according to his idea of the term, and in part succeeded. I +became moderately dissipated—I say moderately, for +dissipation had but little zest for me.</p> +<p>“In this manner four years passed over. It +happened that I was in London in the height of the season with my +uncle, at his house; one morning he summoned me into the parlour, +he was standing before the fire, and looked very serious. +‘I have had a letter,’ said he; ‘your mother is +very ill.’ I staggered, and touched the nearest +object to me; nothing was said for two or three minutes, and then +my uncle put his lips to my ear and whispered something. I +fell down senseless. My mother was—I remember nothing +for a long time—for two years I was out of my mind; at the +end of this time I recovered, or partly so. My uncle the +baronet was very kind to me; he advised me to travel, he offered +to go with me. I told him he was very kind, but I would +rather go by myself. So I went abroad, and saw, amongst +other things, Rome and the Pyramids. By frequent change of +scene my mind became not happy, but tolerably tranquil. I +continued abroad some years, when, becoming tired of travelling, +I came home, found my uncle the baronet alive, hearty, and +unmarried, as he still is. He received me very kindly, took +me to Newmarket, and said that he hoped by this time I was become +quite a man of the world; by his advice I took a house in town, +in which I lived during the season. In summer I strolled +from one watering-place to another; and, in order to pass the +time, I became very dissipated.</p> +<p>“At last I became as tired of dissipation as I had +previously been of travelling, and I determined to retire to the +country, and live on my paternal estate; this resolution I was +not slow in putting into effect; I sold my house in town, +repaired and refurnished my country house, and, for at least ten +years, lived a regular country life; I gave dinner parties, +prosecuted poachers, was charitable to the poor, and now and then +went into my library; during this time I was seldom or never +visited by the magic impulse, the reason being, that there was +nothing in the wide world for which I cared sufficiently to move +a finger to preserve it. When the ten years, however, were +nearly ended, I started out of bed one morning in a fit of +horror, exclaiming, ‘Mercy, mercy! what will become of +me? I am afraid I shall go mad. I have lived +thirty-five years and upwards without doing anything; shall I +pass through life in this manner? Horror!’ And +then in rapid succession I touched three different objects.</p> +<p>“I dressed myself and went down, determining to set +about something; but what was I to do?—there was the +difficulty. I ate no breakfast, but walked about the room +in a state of distraction; at last I thought that the easiest way +to do something was to get into Parliament, there would be no +difficulty in that. I had plenty of money, and could buy a +seat; but what was I to do in Parliament? Speak, of +course—but could I speak? ‘I’ll try at +once,’ said I, and forthwith I rushed into the largest +dining room, and, locking the door, I commenced speaking; +‘Mr. Speaker,’ said I, and then I went on speaking +for about ten minutes as I best could, and then I left off, for I +was talking nonsense. <!-- page 243--><a +name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>No, I was +not formed for Parliament; I could do nothing there. +What—what was I to do?</p> +<p>“Many, many times I thought this question over, but was +unable to solve it; a fear now stole over me that I was unfit for +anything in the world, save the lazy life of vegetation which I +had for many years been leading; yet, if that were the case, +thought I, why the craving within me to distinguish myself? +Surely it does not occur fortuitously, but is intended to rouse +and call into exercise certain latent powers that I possess? and +then with infinite eagerness I set about attempting to discover +these latent powers. I tried an infinity of pursuits, +botany and geology amongst the rest, but in vain; I was fitted +for none of them. I became very sorrowful and despondent, +and at one time I had almost resolved to plunge again into the +whirlpool of dissipation; it was a dreadful resource, it was +true, but what better could I do?</p> +<p>“But I was not doomed to return to the dissipation of +the world. One morning a young nobleman, who had for some +time past shown a wish to cultivate my acquaintance, came to me +in a considerable hurry. ‘I am come to beg an +important favour of you,’ said he; ‘one of the county +memberships is vacant—I intend to become a candidate; what +I want immediately is a spirited address to the electors. I +have been endeavouring to frame one all the morning, but in vain; +I have, therefore, recourse to you as a person of infinite +genius; pray, my dear friend, concoct me one by the +morning.’ ‘What you require of me,’ I +replied, ‘is impossible; I have not the gift of words; did +I possess it I would stand for the county myself, but I +can’t speak. Only the other day I attempted to make a +speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed, although I was +quite alone, of the nonsense I was uttering.’ +‘It is not a speech that I want,’ said my friend, +‘I can talk for three hours without hesitating, but I want +an address to circulate through the county, and I find myself +utterly incompetent to put one together; do oblige me by writing +one for me, I know you can; and, if at any time you want a person +to speak for you, you may command me not for three but for six +hours. Good morning; to-morrow I will breakfast with +you.’ In the morning he came again. +‘Well,’ said he, ‘what success?’ +‘Very poor,’ said I; ‘but judge for +yourself;’ and I put into his hand a manuscript of several +pages. My friend read it through with considerable +attention. ‘I congratulate you,’ said he, +‘and likewise myself; I was not mistaken in my opinion of +you; the address is too long by at least two-thirds, or I should +rather say it is longer by two-thirds than addresses generally +are; but it will do—I will not curtail it of a word. +I shall win my election.’ And in truth he did win his +election; and it was not only his own but the general opinion +that he owed it to the address.</p> +<p>“But, however that might be, I had, by writing the +address, at last discovered what had so long eluded my +search—what I was able to do. I, who had neither the +nerve nor the command of speech necessary to constitute the +orator—who had not the power of patient research required +by those who would investigate the secrets of nature, had, +nevertheless, a ready pen and teeming imagination. This +discovery decided my fate—from that moment I became an +author.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 244</span>CHAPTER LXVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Trepidations—Subtle +Principle—Perverse Imagination—Are they +Mine?—Another Book—How Hard!—Agricultural +Dinner—Incomprehensible Actions—Inmost +Bosom—Give it Up—Chance Resemblance—Rascally +Newspaper.</p> +<p>“An author,” said I, addressing my host; “is +it possible that I am under the roof of an author?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said my host, sighing, “my name is so +and so, and I am the author of so and so; it is more than +probable that you have heard both of my name and works. I +will not detain you much longer with my history; the night is +advancing, and the storm appears to be upon the increase. +My life since the period of my becoming an author may be summed +briefly as an almost uninterrupted series of doubts, anxieties, +and trepidations. I see clearly that it is not good to love +anything immoderately in this world, but it has been my +misfortune to love immoderately everything on which I have set my +heart. This is not good, I repeat—but where is the +remedy? The ancients were always in the habit of saying, +‘Practise moderation,’ but the ancients appear to +have considered only one portion of the subject. It is very +possible to practise moderation in some things, in drink and the +like—to restrain the appetites—but can a man restrain +the affections of his mind, and tell them, so far you shall go, +and no farther? Alas, no! for the mind is a subtle +principle, and cannot be confined. The winds may be +imprisoned; Homer says that Odysseus carried certain winds in his +ship, confined in leathern bags, but Homer never speaks of +confining the affections. It were but right that those who +exhort us against inordinate affections, and setting our hearts +too much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us how to +avoid doing so.</p> +<p>“I need scarcely tell you, that no sooner did I become +an author, than I gave myself up immoderately to my +vocation. It became my idol, and, as a necessary +consequence, it has proved a source of misery and disquietude to +me, instead of pleasure and blessing. I had trouble enough +in writing my first work, and I was not long in discovering that +it was one thing to write a stirring and spirited address to a +set of county electors, and another widely different to produce a +work at all calculated to make an impression upon the great +world. I felt, however, that I was in my proper sphere, and +by dint of unwearied diligence and exertion I succeeded in +evolving from the depths of my agitated breast a work which, +though it did not exactly please me, I thought would serve to +make an experiment upon the public; so I laid it before the +public, and the reception which it met with was far beyond my +wildest expectations. The public were delighted with it, +but what were my feelings? Anything, alas! but those of +delight. No sooner did the public express its satisfaction +at the result of my endeavours, than my perverse imagination +began to conceive a thousand chimerical doubts; forthwith I sat +down to analyse it; and my worst enemy, and <!-- page 245--><a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>all people +have their enemies, especially authors—my worst enemy could +not have discovered or sought to discover a tenth part of the +faults which I, the author and creator of the unfortunate +production, found or sought to find in it. It has been said +that love makes us blind to the faults of the loved +object—common love does, perhaps—the love of a father +to his child, or that of a lover to his mistress, but not the +inordinate love of an author to his works, at least not the love +which one like myself bears to his works: to be brief, I +discovered a thousand faults in my work, which neither public nor +critics discovered. However, I was beginning to get over +this misery, and to forgive my work all its imperfections, +when—and I shake when I mention it—the same kind of +idea which perplexed me with regard to the hawks and the gypsy +pony rushed into my mind, and I forthwith commenced touching the +objects around me, in order to baffle the evil chance, as you +call it; it was neither more nor less than a doubt of the +legality of my claim to the thoughts, expressions, and situations +contained in the book; that is, to all that constituted the +book. How did I get them? How did they come into my +mind? Did I invent them? Did they originate with +myself? Are they my own, or are they some other +body’s? You see into what difficulty I had got; I +won’t trouble you by relating all that I endured at that +time, but will merely say that after eating my own heart, as the +Italians say, and touching every object that came in my way for +six months, I at length flung my book, I mean the copy of it +which I possessed, into the fire, and began another.</p> +<p>“But it was all in vain; I laboured at this other, +finished it, and gave it to the world; and no sooner had I done +so, than the same thought was busy in my brain, poisoning all the +pleasure which I should otherwise have derived from my +work. How did I get all the matter which composed it? +Out of my own mind, unquestionably; but how did it come +there—was it the indigenous growth of the mind? And +then I would sit down and ponder over the various scenes and +adventures in my book, endeavouring to ascertain how I came +originally to devise them, and by dint of reflecting I remembered +that to a single word in conversation, or some simple accident in +a street, or on a road, I was indebted for some of the happiest +portions of my work; they were but tiny seeds, it is true, which +in the soil of my imagination had subsequently become stately +trees, but I reflected that without them no stately trees would +have been produced, and that, consequently, only a part in the +merit of these compositions which charmed the world—for +they did charm the world—was due to myself. Thus, a +dead fly was in my phial, poisoning all the pleasure which I +should otherwise have derived from the result of my brain +sweat. ‘How hard!’ I would exclaim, looking up +to the sky, ‘how hard! I am like Virgil’s +sheep, bearing fleeces not for themselves.’ But, not +to tire you, it fared with my second work as it did with my +first; I flung it aside, and in order to forget it I began a +third, on which I am now occupied; but the difficulty of writing +it is immense, my extreme desire to be original sadly cramping +the powers of my mind; my fastidiousness being so great that I +invariably reject whatever ideas I do not think to be +legitimately <!-- page 246--><a name="page246"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 246</span>my own. But there is one +circumstance to which I cannot help alluding here, as it serves +to show what miseries this love of originality must needs bring +upon an author. I am constantly discovering that, however +original I may wish to be, I am continually producing the same +things which other people say or write. Whenever, after +producing something which gives me perfect satisfaction, and +which has cost me perhaps days and nights of brooding, I chance +to take up a book for the sake of a little relaxation, a book +which I never saw before, I am sure to find in it something more +or less resembling some part of what I have been just +composing. You will easily conceive the distress which then +comes over me; ’tis then that I am almost tempted to +execrate the chance which, by discovering my latent powers, +induced me to adopt a profession of such anxiety and misery.</p> +<p>“For some time past I have given up reading almost +entirely, owing to the dread which I entertain of lighting upon +something similar to what I myself have written. I scarcely +ever transgress without having almost instant reason to +repent. To-day, when I took up the newspaper, I saw in a +speech of the Duke of Rhododendron, at an agricultural dinner, +the very same ideas, and almost the same expressions which I had +put into the mouth of an imaginary personage of mine, on a widely +different occasion; you saw how I dashed the newspaper +down—you saw how I touched the floor; the touch was to +baffle the evil chance, to prevent the critics detecting any +similarity between the speech of the Duke of Rhododendron at the +agricultural dinner, and the speech of my personage. My +sensibility on the subject of my writings is so great, that +sometimes a chance word is sufficient to unman me, I apply it to +them in a superstitious sense; for example, when you said some +time ago that the dark hour was coming on, I applied it to my +works—it appeared to bode them evil fortune; you saw how I +touched, it was to baffle the evil chance; but I do not confine +myself to touching when the fear of the evil chance is upon +me. To baffle it I occasionally perform actions which must +appear highly incomprehensible; I have been known, when riding in +company with other people, to leave the direct road, and make a +long circuit by a miry lane to the place to which we were +going. I have also been seen attempting to ride across a +morass, where I had no business whatever, and in which my horse +finally sank up to its saddle-girths, and was only extricated by +the help of a multitude of hands. I have, of course, +frequently been asked the reason of such conduct, to which I have +invariably returned no answer, for I scorn duplicity; whereupon +people have looked mysteriously, and sometimes put their fingers +to their foreheads. ‘And yet it can’t +be,’ I once heard an old gentleman say; ‘don’t +we know what he is capable of?’ and the old man was right; +I merely did these things to avoid the evil chance, impelled by +the strange feeling within me; and this evil chance is invariably +connected with my writings, the only things at present which +render life valuable to me. If I touch various objects, and +ride into miry places, it is to baffle any mischance befalling me +as an author, to prevent my books <!-- page 247--><a +name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>getting +into disrepute; in nine cases out of ten to prevent any +expressions, thoughts, or situations in any work which I am +writing from resembling the thoughts, expressions, and situations +of other authors, for my great wish, as I told you before, is to +be original.</p> +<p>“I have now related my history, and have revealed to you +the secrets of my inmost bosom. I should certainly not have +spoken so unreservedly as I have done, had I not discovered in +you a kindred spirit. I have long wished for an opportunity +of discoursing on the point which forms the peculiar feature of +my history with a being who could understand me; and truly it was +a lucky chance which brought you to these parts; you who seem to +be acquainted with all things strange and singular, and who are +as well acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as with +all that relates to the star Jupiter, or the mysterious tree at +Upsal.”</p> +<p>Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, +amidst the darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of +lightning. Both of us remained silent for some time after +it was concluded.</p> +<p>“It is a singular story,” said I, at last, +“though I confess that I was prepared for some part of +it. Will you permit me to ask you a question?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said my host.</p> +<p>“Did you never speak in public?” said I.</p> +<p>“Never.”</p> +<p>“And when you made this speech of yours in the +dining-room, commencing with Mr. Speaker, no one was +present?”</p> +<p>“None in the world, I double-locked the door; what do +you mean?”</p> +<p>“An idea came into my head—dear me how the rain is +pouring—but, with respect to your present troubles and +anxieties, would it not be wise, seeing that authorship causes +you so much trouble and anxiety, to give it up +altogether?”</p> +<p>“Were you an author yourself,” replied my host, +“you would not talk in this manner; once an author, ever an +author—besides, what could I do? return to my former state +of vegetation? no, much as I endure, I do not wish that; besides, +every now and then my reason tells me that these troubles and +anxieties of mine are utterly without foundation; that whatever I +write is the legitimate growth of my own mind, and that it is the +height of folly to afflict myself at any chance resemblance +between my own thoughts and those of other writers, such +resemblance being inevitable from the fact of our common human +origin. In short—”</p> +<p>“I understand you,” said I; “notwithstanding +your troubles and anxieties you find life very tolerable; has +your originality ever been called in question?”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, every one declares that originality +constitutes the most remarkable feature of my writings; the man +has some faults, they say, but want of originality is certainly +not one of them. He is quite different from others—a +certain newspaper, it is true, the --- I think, once insinuated +that in a certain work of mine I had taken a hint or two from the +writings of a couple of authors which it mentioned; it <!-- page +248--><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>happened, however, that I had never even read one +syllable of the writings of either, and of one of them had never +even heard the name; so much for the discrimination of the +---—By-the-bye, what a rascally newspaper that +is!”</p> +<p>“A very rascally newspaper,” said I.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Disturbed Slumbers—The +Bed-Post—Two Wizards—What can I Do?—Real +Library—The Rev. Mr. Platitude—Toleration to +Dissenters—Paradox—Sword of St. Peter—Enemy to +Humbug—High Principles—False Concord—The +Damsel—What Religion?—Farther Conversation—That +would never Do!—May you Prosper.</p> +<p>During the greater part of that night my slumbers were +disturbed by strange dreams. Amongst other things, I +fancied that I was my host; my head appeared to be teeming with +wild thoughts and imaginations, out of which I was endeavouring +to frame a book. And now the book was finished and given to +the world, and the world shouted; and all eyes were turned upon +me, and I shrunk from the eyes of the world. And, when I +got into retired places, I touched various objects in order to +baffle the evil chance. In short, during the whole night, I +was acting over the story which I had heard before I went to +bed.</p> +<p>At about eight o’clock I awoke. The storm had long +since passed away, and the morning was bright and shining; my +couch was so soft and luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I +lay some time, my eyes wandering about the magnificent room to +which fortune had conducted me in so singular a manner; at last I +heaved a sigh; I was thinking of my own homeless condition, and +imagining where I should find myself on the following +morning. Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy +thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress myself, and, +whilst dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination to touch the +bed-post.</p> +<p>I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, +however, as I left it, to touch the lintel of the door. Is +it possible, thought I, that from what I have lately heard the +long-forgotten influence should have possessed me again? but I +will not give way to it; so I hurried down stairs, resisting as I +went a certain inclination which I occasionally felt to touch the +rail of the banister. I was presently upon the gravel walk +before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning. I stood +for some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters +of the pond, and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of +the park; the beauty and freshness of the morning—for the +air had been considerably cooled by the late storm—soon +enabled me to cast away the gloomy ideas which had previously +taken possession of my mind, and, after a stroll of about half an +hour, I returned towards the house in high spirits. It is +true that once I felt very much inclined to go and touch the +leaves of a flowery shrub which I saw at some distance, and had +even moved two <!-- page 249--><a name="page249"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 249</span>or three paces towards it; but, +bethinking myself, I manfully resisted the temptation. +“Begone!” I exclaimed, “ye sorceries, in which +I formerly trusted—begone for ever vagaries which I had +almost forgotten; good luck is not to be obtained, or bad +averted, by magic touches; besides, two wizards in one parish +would be too much, in all conscience.”</p> +<p>I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast +was laid on the table, and my friend was standing before the +portrait which I have already said hung above the mantel-piece; +so intently was he occupied in gazing at it that he did not hear +me enter, nor was aware of my presence till I advanced close to +him and spoke, when he turned round and shook me by the hand.</p> +<p>“What can possibly have induced you to hang that +portrait up in your library? it is a staring likeness, it is +true, but it appears to me a wretched daub.”</p> +<p>“Daub as you call it,” said my friend, smiling, +“I would not part with it for the best piece of +Raphael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to that +picture—it is my principal source of inspiration; when my +imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare +upon those features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and +drollery begin to flow into my mind; these I round, amplify, or +combine into goodly creations, and bring forth as I find an +opportunity. It is true that I am occasionally tormented by +the thought that, by doing this, I am committing plagiarism; +though, in that case, all thoughts must be plagiarisms, all that +we think being the result of what we hear, see, or feel. +What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source +or other; and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from the +features of my landlord than from the works of Butler and +Cervantes. My works, as you are aware, are of a serio-comic +character. My neighbours are of opinion that I am a great +reader, and so I am, but only of those features—my real +library is that picture.”</p> +<p>“But how did you obtain it?” said I.</p> +<p>“Some years ago a travelling painter came into this +neighbourhood, and my jolly host, at the request of his wife, +consented to sit for his portrait; she highly admired the +picture, but she soon died, and then my fat friend, who is of an +affectionate disposition, said he could not bear the sight of it, +as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it of +him for five pounds—I would not take five thousand for it; +when you called that picture a daub, you did not see all the +poetry of it.”</p> +<p>We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in +much better spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe +him touch once; ere breakfast was over a servant +entered—“The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,” said +he.</p> +<p>A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my +host. “What does the silly pestilent fellow mean by +coming here?” said he, half to himself; “let him come +in,” said he to the servant.</p> +<p>The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing +the Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, +having what is <!-- page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 250</span>vulgarly called a game leg, came +shambling into the room; he was about thirty years of age, and +about five feet three inches high; his face was of the colour of +pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg grater; his hair was +black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips, +which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of +teeth; he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of +spotless black, and a neckerchief of spotless white.</p> +<p>The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my +entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; +nothing daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat +by the table, and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, +grinned, and consented.</p> +<p>In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is +generally called absence; my mind takes flight and returns to +former scenes, or presses forward into the future. One of +these fits of absence came over me at this time—I looked at +the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a word or two that +proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, “You are no +man for me,” fell into a fit of musing—into the same +train of thought as in the morning, no very pleasant one—I +was thinking of the future.</p> +<p>I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should +have continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the +voice of Mr. Platitude raised to a very high key. +“Yes, my dear sir,” said he, “it is but too +true; I have it on good authority—a gone church—a +lost church—a ruined church—a demolished church is +the Church of England. Toleration to Dissenters! oh, +monstrous!”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said my host, “that the repeal +of the Test Acts will be merely a precursor of the emancipation +of the Papists?”</p> +<p>“Of the Catholics,” said the Reverend Mr. +Platitude. “Ahem. There was a time, as I +believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed to +the emancipation of the Catholics as it was possible for any one +to be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, labouring under a cloud +of most unfortunate prejudice; but I thank my Maker I am so no +longer. I have travelled, as you are aware. It is +only by travelling that one can rub off prejudices; I think you +will agree with me there. I am speaking to a +traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in Italy. +The Catholics are at least our fellow-Christians. I thank +Heaven that I am no longer an enemy to Catholic +emancipation.”</p> +<p>“And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?”</p> +<p>“Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class +such a set as the Dissenters with Catholics?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps it would be unjust,” said my host, +“though to which of the two parties is another thing; but +permit me to ask you a question: Does it not smack somewhat of +paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit there are +Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be +Catholics?”</p> +<p>“It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,” +said the Reverend Mr. Platitude; “if I had my will I would +neither admit there were any, nor permit any to be.”</p> +<p><!-- page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>“Of course you would admit there were such as +long as they existed; but how would you get rid of +them?”</p> +<p>“I would have the Church exert its authority.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by exerting its authority?”</p> +<p>“I would not have the Church bear the sword in +vain.”</p> +<p>“What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember what +the founder of the religion which you profess said about the +sword, ‘He who striketh with it—’ I think +those who have called themselves the Church have had enough of +the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. +Platitude. The Church of Rome tried the sword with the +Lutherans: how did it fare with the Church of Rome? The +Church of England tried the sword, Mr. Platitude, with the +Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?”</p> +<p>“Oh, as for the Church of England,” said Mr. +Platitude, “I have little to say. Thank God I left +all my Church of England prejudices in Italy. Had the +Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago +have sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. +If the Church of England had not been in some degree a schismatic +church, it would not have fared so ill at the time of which you +are speaking; the rest of the Church would have come to its +assistance. The Irish would have helped it, so would the +French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always been +the bane of the Church.”</p> +<p>Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to +the past; methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted +with oak; I was seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a +table on which were wine and fruit; on the other side of the fire +sat a man in a plain suit of brown, with the hair combed back +from his somewhat high forehead; he had a pipe in his mouth, +which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly, without +saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time +rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and emitting an +accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured +tone, “As I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have +always been an enemy to humbug.”</p> +<p>When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was +quitting the apartment.</p> +<p>“Who is that person?” said I to my entertainer, as +the door closed behind him.</p> +<p>“Who is he?” said my host; “why, the Rev. +Mr. Platitude.”</p> +<p>“Does he reside in this neighbourhood?”</p> +<p>“He holds a living about three miles from here; his +history, as far as I am acquainted with it, is as follows. +His father was a respectable tanner in the neighbouring town, +who, wishing to make his son a gentleman, sent him to +college. Having never been at college myself, I cannot say +whether he took the wisest course; I believe it is more easy to +unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many gentlemanly +youths go to college, and return anything but what they +went. Young Mr. Platitude did not go to college a +gentleman, but neither did he return one; he went to college an +ass, and returned a prig; to his original folly was superadded a +vast quantity of conceit. <!-- page 252--><a +name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>He told his +father that he had adopted high principles, and was determined to +discountenance everything low and mean; advised him to eschew +trade, and to purchase him a living. The old man retired +from business, purchased his son a living, and shortly after +died, leaving him what remained of his fortune. The first +thing the Reverend Mr. Platitude did, after his father’s +decease, was to send his mother and sister into Wales to live +upon a small annuity, assigning as a reason that he was averse to +anything low, and that they talked ungrammatically. Wishing +to shine in the pulpit, he now preached high sermons, as he +called them, interspersed with scraps of learning. His +sermons did not, however, procure him much popularity; on the +contrary, his church soon became nearly deserted, the greater +part of his flock going over to certain dissenting preachers, who +had shortly before made their appearance in the +neighbourhood. Mr. Platitude was filled with wrath, and +abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms. Coming in +contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was +rash enough to enter into argument with them. Poor +Platitude! he had better have been quiet, he appeared like a +child, a very infant, in their grasp; he attempted to take +shelter under his college learning, but found, to his dismay, +that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin than himself. +These illiterate boors, as he supposed them, caught him at once +in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink home +overwhelmed with shame. To avenge himself he applied to the +ecclesiastical court, but was told that the Dissenters could not +be put down by the present ecclesiastical law. He found the +Church of England, to use his own expression, a poor, powerless, +restricted Church. He now thought to improve his +consequence by marriage, and made up to a rich and beautiful +young lady in the neighbourhood; the damsel measured him from +head to foot with a pair of very sharp eyes, dropped a curtsey, +and refused him. Mr. Platitude, finding England a very +stupid place, determined to travel; he went to Italy; how he +passed his time there he knows best, to other people it is a +matter of little importance. At the end of two years he +returned with a real or assumed contempt for everything English, +and especially for the Church to which he belongs, and out of +which he is supported. He forthwith gave out that he had +left behind him all his Church of England prejudices, and, as a +proof thereof, spoke against sacerdotal wedlock and the +toleration of schismatics. In an evil hour for myself he +was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and from +that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least +once a week. I seldom enter into any discussion with him, +but fix my eyes on the portrait over the mantel-piece, and +endeavour to conjure up some comic idea or situation, whilst he +goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour about Church authority, +schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal wedlock; +occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, whose +acquaintance he says he made in Italy. I believe he is some +sharking priest, who has come over to proselytize and +plunder. This being has some powers of conversation and +some learning, but he carries the countenance of an arch villain; +Platitude is evidently his tool.”</p> +<p><!-- page 253--><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +253</span>“Of what religion are you?” said I to my +host.</p> +<p>“That of the Vicar of Wakefield—good, quiet, +Church of England, which would live and let live, practises +charity, and rails at no one; where the priest is the husband of +one wife, takes care of his family and his parish—such is +the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto thought too +little of religious matters. When, however, I have +completed this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be +able to devote more attention to them.”</p> +<p>After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I +remember right, college education, priggism, church authority, +tomfoolery, and the like, I rose and said to my host, “I +must now leave you.”</p> +<p>“Whither are you going?”</p> +<p>“I do not know.”</p> +<p>“Stay here, then—you shall be welcome as many +days, months, and years as you please to stay.”</p> +<p>“Do you think I would hang upon another man? No, +not if he were Emperor of all the Chinas. I will now make +my preparations, and then bid you farewell.”</p> +<p>I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things +which I carried with me on my travels.</p> +<p>“I will walk a little way with you,” said my +friend on my return.</p> +<p>He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said +anything by the way. When we had come upon the road I said, +“Farewell now; I will not permit you to give yourself any +further trouble on my account. Receive my best thanks for +your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish to ask you +a question. Do you think you shall ever grow tired of +authorship?”</p> +<p>“I have my fears,” said my friend, advancing his +hand to one of the iron bars of the gate.</p> +<p>“Don’t touch,” said I, “it is a bad +habit. I have but one word to add: should you ever grow +tired of authorship follow your first idea of getting into +Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you want +manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a +teacher, you must take lessons of a master of +elocution.”</p> +<p>“That would never do!” said my host; “I know +myself too well to think of applying for assistance to any +one. Were I to become a parliamentary orator, I should wish +to be an original one, even if not above mediocrity. What +pleasure should I take in any speech I might make, however +original as to thought, provided the gestures I employed and the +very modulation of my voice were not my own? Take lessons, +indeed! why, the fellow who taught me, the professor, might be +standing in the gallery whilst I spoke; and, at the best parts of +my speech, might say to himself, ‘That gesture is +mine—that modulation is mine.’ I could not bear +the thought of such a thing.”</p> +<p>“Farewell,” said I, “and may you +prosper. I have nothing more to say.”</p> +<p>I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned +round suddenly; my friend was just withdrawing his finger from +the bar of the gate.</p> +<p>“He has been touching,” said I, as I proceeded on +my way; “I wonder what was the evil chance he wished to +baffle.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 254--><a name="page254"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 254</span>CHAPTER LXVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Elastic Step—Disconsolate +Party—Not the Season—Mend your Draught—Good +Ale—Crotchet—Hammer and +Tongs—Schoolmaster—True Eden Life—Flaming +Tinman—Twice my Size—Hard at Work—My Poor +Wife—Grey Moll—A Bible—Half and Half—What +to do—Half Inclined—In No Time—On One +Condition—Don’t Stare—Like the Wind.</p> +<p>After walking some time, I found myself on the great road, at +the same spot where I had turned aside the day before with my +new-made acquaintance, in the direction of his house. I now +continued my journey as before, towards the north. The +weather, though beautiful, was much cooler than it had been for +some time past; I walked at a great rate, with a springing and +elastic step. In about two hours I came to where a kind of +cottage stood a little way back from the road, with a huge oak +before it, under the shade of which stood a little pony and a +cart, which seemed to contain various articles. I was going +past—when I saw scrawled over the door of the cottage, +“Good beer sold here;” upon which, feeling myself all +of a sudden very thirsty, I determined to go in and taste the +beverage.</p> +<p>I entered a well-sanded kitchen, and seated myself on a bench, +on one side of a long white table; the other side, which was +nearest the wall, was occupied by a party, or rather family, +consisting of a grimy-looking man, somewhat under the middle +size, dressed in faded velveteens, and wearing a leather +apron—a rather pretty-looking woman, but sun-burnt, and +meanly dressed, and two ragged children, a boy and girl, about +four or five years old. The man sat with his eyes fixed +upon the table, supporting his chin with both his hands; the +woman, who was next to him, sat quite still, save that +occasionally she turned a glance upon her husband with eyes that +appeared to have been lately crying. The children had none +of the vivacity so general at their age. A more +disconsolate family I had never seen; a mug, which, when filled, +might contain half-a-pint, stood empty before them; a very +disconsolate party indeed.</p> +<p>“House!” said I; “House!” and then as +nobody appeared, I cried again as loud as I could, “House! +do you hear me, House!”</p> +<p>“What’s your pleasure, young man?” said an +elderly woman, who now made her appearance from a side +apartment.</p> +<p>“To taste your ale,” said I.</p> +<p>“How much?” said the woman, stretching out her +hand towards the empty mug upon the table.</p> +<p>“The largest measure-full in your house,” said I, +putting back her hand gently. “This is not the season +for half-pint mugs.”</p> +<p>“As you will, young man,” said the landlady; and +presently brought in an earthen pitcher which might contain about +three pints, and which foamed and frothed withal.</p> +<p>“Will this pay for it?” said I, putting down +sixpence.</p> +<p>“I have to return you a penny,” said the landlady, +putting her hand into her pocket.</p> +<p><!-- page 255--><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +255</span>“I want no change,” said I, flourishing my +hand with an air.</p> +<p>“As you please, young gentleman,” said the +landlady, and then making a kind of curtsey, she again retired to +the side apartment.</p> +<p>“Here is your health, sir,” said I to the +grimy-looking man, as I raised the pitcher to my lips.</p> +<p>The tinker, for such I supposed him to be, without altering +his posture, raised his eyes, looked at me for a moment, gave a +slight nod, and then once more fixed his eyes upon the +table. I took a draught of the ale, which I found +excellent; “won’t you drink?” said I, holding +the pitcher to the tinker.</p> +<p>The man again lifted his eyes, looked at me, and then at the +pitcher, and then at me again. I thought at one time that +he was about to shake his head in sign of refusal, but no, he +looked once more at the pitcher, and the temptation was too +strong. Slowly removing his head from his arms, he took the +pitcher, sighed, nodded, and drank a tolerable quantity, and then +set the pitcher down before me upon the table.</p> +<p>“You had better mend your draught,” said I to the +tinker, “it is a sad heart that never rejoices.”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” said the tinker, and again +raising the pitcher to his lips, he mended his draught as I had +bidden him, drinking a larger quantity than before.</p> +<p>“Pass it to your wife,” said I.</p> +<p>The poor woman took the pitcher from the man’s hand; +before, however, raising it to her lips, she looked at the +children. True mother’s heart, thought I to myself, +and taking the half-pint mug, I made her fill it, and then held +it to the children, causing each to take a draught. The +woman wiped her eyes with the corner of her gown, before she +raised the pitcher and drank to my health.</p> +<p>In about five minutes none of the family looked half so +disconsolate as before, and the tinker and I were in deep +discourse.</p> +<p>Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true +and proper drink of Englishmen. He is not deserving of the +name of Englishman who speaketh against ale, that is good ale, +like that which has just made merry the hearts of this poor +family; and yet there are beings, calling themselves Englishmen, +who say that it is a sin to drink a cup of ale, and who, on +coming to this passage will be tempted to fling down the book and +exclaim, “The man is evidently a bad man, for behold, by +his own confession, he is not only fond of ale himself, but is in +the habit of tempting other people with it.” Alas! +alas! what a number of silly individuals there are in this world; +I wonder what they would have had me do in this +instance—given the afflicted family a cup of cold water? go +to! They could have found water in the road, for there was +a pellucid spring only a few yards distant from the house, as +they were well aware—but they wanted not water; what should +I have given them? meat and bread? go to! They were not +hungry; there was stifled sobbing in their bosoms, and the first +mouthful of strong meat would have choked them. What should +I have given them? Money! what right had I to insult them +by offering them money? Advice! words, words, words; +friends, there is a time for everything; <!-- page 256--><a +name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>there is a +time for a cup of cold water; there is a time for strong meat and +bread; there is a time for advice, and there is a time for ale; +and I have generally found that the time for advice is after a +cup of ale. I do not say many cups; the tongue then +speaketh more smoothly, and the ear listeneth more benignantly; +but why do I attempt to reason with you? do I not know you for +conceited creatures, with one idea—and that a foolish +one;—a crotchet, for the sake of which ye would sacrifice +anything, religion if required—country? There, fling +down my book, I do not wish ye to walk any farther in my company, +unless you cast your nonsense away, which ye will never do, for +it is the breath of your nostrils; fling down my book, it was not +written to support a crotchet, for know one thing, my good +people, I have invariably been an enemy to humbug.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the tinker, after we had discoursed +some time, “I little thought when I first saw you, that you +were of my own trade.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Nor am I, at least not exactly. +There <i>is</i> not much difference, ’tis true, between a +tinker and a smith.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—You are a whitesmith, then?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Not I, I’d scorn to be anything so +mean; no, friend, black’s the colour; I am a brother of the +horseshoe. Success to the hammer and tongs.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Well, I shouldn’t have thought you +had been a blacksmith by your hands.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I have seen them, however, as black as +yours. The truth is, I have not worked for many a day.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Where did you serve first?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—In Ireland.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—That’s a good way off, isn’t +it?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Not very far; over those mountains to the +left, and the run of salt water that lies behind them, +there’s Ireland.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—It’s a fine thing to be a +scholar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Not half so fine as to be a tinker.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—How you talk!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Nothing but the truth; what can be better +than to be one’s own master? Now a tinker is his own +master, a scholar is not? Let us suppose the best of +scholars, a schoolmaster, for example, for I suppose you will +admit that no one can be higher in scholarship than a +schoolmaster; do you call his a pleasant life? I +don’t; we should call him a school-slave, rather than a +schoolmaster. Only conceive him in blessed weather like +this, in his close school, teaching children to write in +copy-books, “Evil communication corrupts good +manners,” or “You cannot touch pitch without +defilement,” or to spell out of Abedariums, or to read out +of Jack Smith, or Sandford and Merton. Only conceive him, I +say, drudging in such guise from morning till night, without any +rational enjoyment but to beat the children. Would you +compare such a dog’s life as that with your own—the +happiest under heaven—true Eden life, as the Germans would +say,—pitching your tent under the pleasant hedge-rows, +listening to the song of the feathered tribes, collecting all the +leaky kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and <!-- page +257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>joining, earning your honest bread by the wholesome +sweat of your brow—making ten holes—hey, what’s +this? what’s the man crying for?</p> +<p>Suddenly the tinker had covered his face with his hands, and +begun to sob and moan like a man in the deepest distress; the +breast of his wife was heaved with emotion; even the children +were agitated, the youngest began to roar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—What’s the matter with you; what +are you all crying about?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i> (uncovering his face).—Lord, why to hear +you talk; isn’t that enough to make anybody cry—even +the poor babes? Yes, you said right, ’tis life in the +garden of Eden—the tinker’s; I see so now that +I’m about to give it up.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Give it up! you must not think of such a +thing.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—No, I can’t bear to think of it, +and yet I must; what’s to be done? How hard to be +frightened to death, to be driven off the roads.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Who has driven you off the roads?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Who! the Flaming Tinman.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Who is he?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—The biggest rogue in England, and the +cruellest, or he wouldn’t have served me as he has +done—I’ll tell you all about it. I was born +upon the roads, and so was my father before me, and my mother +too; and I worked with them as long as they lived, as a dutiful +child, for I have nothing to reproach myself with on their +account; and when my father died I took up the business, and went +his beat, and supported my mother for the little time she lived; +and when she died I married this young woman, who was not born +upon the roads, but was a small tradesman’s daughter, at +Glo’ster. She had a kindness for me, and, +notwithstanding her friends were against the match, she married +the poor tinker, and came to live with him upon the roads. +Well, young man, for six or seven years I was the happiest fellow +breathing, living just the life you described just +now—respected by everybody in this beat; when in an evil +hour comes this Black Jack, this flaming tinman, into these +parts, driven as they say out of Yorkshire—for no good, you +may be sure. Now there is no beat will support two tinkers, +as you doubtless know; mine was a good one, but it would not +support the flying tinker and myself, though if it would have +supported twenty it would have been all the same to the flying +villain, who’ll brook no one but himself; so he presently +finds me out, and offers to fight me for the beat. Now, +being bred upon the roads, I can fight a little, that is with +anything like my match, but I was not going to fight him, who +happens to be twice my size, and so I told him; whereupon he +knocks me down, and would have done me further mischief had not +some men been nigh and prevented him; so he threatened to cut my +throat, and went his way. Well, I did not like such usage +at all, and was woundily frightened, and tried to keep as much +out of his way as possible, going anywhere but where I thought I +was likely to meet him; and sure enough for several months I +contrived to keep out of his way. At last somebody told me +that he was gone back to Yorkshire, whereupon I was glad at +heart, and ventured to show myself, going here and there as I did +before. Well, young man, it was yesterday that I and mine +set <!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 258</span>ourselves down in a lane, about five +miles from here, and lighted our fire, and had our dinner, and +after dinner I sat down to mend three kettles and a frying pan +which the people in the neighbourhood had given me to +mend—for, as I told you before, I have a good connection, +owing to my honesty. Well, as I sat there hard at work, +happy as the day’s long, and thinking of anything but what +was to happen, who should come up but this Black Jack, this king +of the tinkers, rattling along in his cart, with his wife, that +they call Grey Moll, by his side—for the villain has got a +wife, and a maid-servant too; the last I never saw, but they that +has, says that she is as big as a house, and young, and well to +look at, which can’t be all said of Moll, who, though +she’s big enough in all conscience, is neither young nor +handsome. Well, no sooner does he see me and mine, than +giving the reins to Grey Moll, he springs out of his cart, and +comes straight at me; not a word did he say, but on he comes +straight at me like a wild bull. I am a quiet man, young +fellow, but I saw now that quietness would be of no use, so I +sprang up upon my legs, and being bred upon the roads, and able +to fight a little, I squared as he came running in upon me, and +had a round or two with him. Lord bless you, young man, it +was like a fly fighting with an elephant—one of those big +beasts the show-folks carry about. I had not a chance with +the fellow, he knocked me here, he knocked me there, knocked me +into the hedge, and knocked me out again. I was at my last +shifts, and my poor wife saw it. Now my poor wife, though +she is as gentle as a pigeon, has yet a spirit of her own, and +though she wasn’t bred upon the roads, can scratch a +little, so when she saw me at my last shifts, she flew at the +villain—she couldn’t bear to see her partner +murdered—and scratched the villain’s face. Lord +bless you, young man, she had better have been quiet: Grey Moll +no sooner saw what she was about, than springing out of the cart, +where she had sat all along perfectly quiet, save a little +whooping and screeching to encourage her blade:—Grey Moll, +I say (my flesh creeps when I think of it—for I am a kind +husband, and love my poor wife)—</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Take another draught of the ale; you look +frightened, and it will do you good. Stout liquor makes +stout heart, as the man says in the play.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—That’s true, young man; +here’s to you—where was I? Grey Moll no sooner +saw what my wife was about, than springing out of the cart, she +flew at my poor wife, clawed off her bonnet in a moment, and +seized hold of her hair. Lord bless you, young man, my poor +wife, in the hands of Grey Moll, was nothing better than a pigeon +in the claws of a buzzard hawk, or I in the hands of the Flaming +Tinman, which when I saw, my heart was fit to burst, and I +determined to give up everything—everything to save my poor +wife out of Grey Moll’s claws. “Hold!” I +shouted. “Hold, both of you—Jack, Moll. +Hold, both of you, for God’s sake, and I’ll do what +you will: give up trade, and business, connection, bread, and +everything, never more travel the roads, and go down on my knees +to you in the bargain.” Well, this had some effect: +Moll let go my wife, and the Blazing Tinman stopped <!-- page +259--><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>for a moment; it was only for a moment, however, that +he left off—all of a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me +against a tree; and what did the villain then? why the flying +villain seized me by the throat, and almost throttled me, +roaring—what do you think, young man, that the flaming +villain roared out?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I really don’t know—something +horrible, I suppose.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Horrible, indeed; you may well say +horrible, young man; neither more nor less than the +bible—“a bible, a bible!” roared the Blazing +Tinman; and he pressed my throat so hard against the tree that my +senses began to dwaul away—a bible, a bible, still ringing +in my ears. Now, young man, my poor wife is a Christian +woman, and, though she travels the roads, carries a bible with +her at the bottom of her sack, with which sometimes she teaches +the children to read—it was the only thing she brought with +her from the place of her kith and kin, save her own body and the +clothes on her back; so my poor wife, half distracted, runs to +her sack, pulls out the bible, and puts it into the hand of the +Blazing Tinman, who then thrusts the end of it into my mouth with +such fury that it made my lips bleed, and broke short one of my +teeth which happened to be decayed. “Swear,” +said he, “swear, you mumping villain, take your bible oath +that you will quit and give up the beat altogether, or +I’ll”—and then the hard-hearted villain made me +swear by the bible, and my own damnation, half-throttled as I +was—to—to—I can’t go on—</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Take another draught—stout +liquor—</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—I can’t, young man, my +heart’s too full, and what’s more, the pitcher is +empty.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—And so he swore you, I suppose, on the +bible, to quit the roads?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—You are right, he did so, the gypsy +villain.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Gypsy! Is he a gypsy?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Not exactly; what they call a half and +half. His father was a gypsy, and his mother, like mine, +one who walked the roads.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Is he of the Smiths—the +Petulengres?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—I say, young man, you know a thing or +two; one would think, to hear you talk, you had been bred upon +the roads. I thought none but those bred upon the roads +knew anything of that name—Petulengres! No, not he, +he fights the Petulengres whenever he meets them; he likes nobody +but himself, and wants to be king of the roads. I believe +he is a Boss, or a --- at any rate he’s a bad one, as I +know to my cost.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—And what are you going to do?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Do! you may well ask that; I don’t +know what to do. My poor wife and I have been talking of +that all the morning, over that half-pint mug of beer; we +can’t determine on what’s to be done. All we +know is, that we must quit the roads. The villain swore +that the next time he saw us on the roads he’d cut all our +throats, and seize our horse and bit of cart that are now +standing out there under the tree.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—And what do you mean to do with your +horse and cart?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Another question! What shall we do +with our cart and <!-- page 260--><a name="page260"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 260</span>pony? they are of no use to us +now. Stay on the roads I will not, both for my oath’s +sake and my own. If we had a trifle of money, we were +thinking of going to Bristol, where I might get up a little +business, but we have none; our last three farthings we spent +about the mug of beer.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—But why don’t you sell your horse +and cart?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Sell them, and who would buy them, unless +some one who wished to set up in my line; but there’s no +beat, and what’s the use of the horse and cart and the few +tools without the beat?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—I’m half inclined to buy your cart +and pony, and your beat too.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—You! How came you to think of such +a thing?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Why, like yourself, I hardly know what to +do. I want a home and work. As for a home, I suppose +I can contrive to make a home out of your tent and cart; and as +for work, I must learn to be a tinker, it would not be hard for +one of my trade to learn to tinker; what better can I do? +Would you have me go to Chester and work there now? I +don’t like the thoughts of it. If I go to Chester and +work there, I can’t be my own man; I must work under a +master, and perhaps he and I should quarrel, and when I quarrel I +am apt to hit folks, and those that hit folks are sometimes sent +to prison; I don’t like the thought either of going to +Chester or to Chester prison. What do you think I could +earn at Chester?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—A matter of eleven shillings a week, if +anybody would employ you, which I don’t think they would +with those hands of yours. But whether they would or not, +if you are of a quarrelsome nature, you must not go to Chester; +you would be in the castle in no time. I don’t know +how to advise you. As for selling you my stock, I’d +see you farther first, for your own sake.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Why?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>.—Why! you would get your head knocked +off. Suppose you were to meet him?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Pooh, don’t be afraid on my +account; if I were to meet him I could easily manage him one way +or other. I know all kinds of strange words and names, and, +as I told you before, I sometimes hit people when they put me +out.</p> +<p>Here the tinker’s wife, who for some minutes past had +been listening attentively to our discourse, interposed, saying, +in a low soft tone: “I really don’t see, John, why +you shouldn’t sell the young man the things, seeing that he +wishes for them, and is so confident; you have told him plainly +how matters stand, and if anything ill should befall him, people +couldn’t lay the blame on you; but I don’t think any +ill will befall him, and who knows but God has sent him to our +assistance in time of need.”</p> +<p>“I’ll hear of no such thing,” said the +tinker; “I have drunk at the young man’s expense, and +though he says he’s quarrelsome, I would not wish to sit in +pleasanter company. A pretty fellow I should be, now, if I +were to let him follow his own will. If he once sets up on +my beat, he’s a lost man, his ribs will be stove in, and +his head knocked <!-- page 261--><a name="page261"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 261</span>off his shoulders. There, you +are crying, but you shan’t have your will, though; I +won’t be the young man’s destruction—If, +indeed, I thought he could manage the tinker—but he never +can; he says he can hit, but it’s no use hitting the +tinker;—crying still! you are enough to drive one +mad. I say, young man, I believe you understand a thing or +two, just now you were talking of knowing hard words and +names—I don’t wish to send you to your +mischief—you say you know hard words and names; let us +see. Only on one condition I’ll sell you the pony and +things; as for the beat it’s gone, isn’t +mine—sworn away by my mouth. Tell me what’s my +name; if you can’t, may I—”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>.—Don’t swear, it’s a bad +habit, neither pleasant nor profitable. Your name is +Slingsby—Jack Slingsby. There, don’t stare, +there’s nothing in my telling you your name: I’ve +been in these parts before, at least not very far from +here. Ten years ago, when I was little more than a child, I +was about twenty miles from here in a post chaise, at the door of +an inn, and as I looked from the window of the chaise, I saw you +standing by a gutter, with a big tin ladle in your hand, and +somebody called you Jack Slingsby. I never forget anything +I hear or see; I can’t, I wish I could. So +there’s nothing strange in my knowing your name; indeed, +there’s nothing strange in anything, provided you examine +it to the bottom. Now what am I to give you for the +things?</p> +<p>I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in +trade, cart, and pony—purchased sundry provisions of the +landlady, also a wagoner’s frock, which had belonged to a +certain son of hers, deceased, gave my little animal a feed of +corn, and prepared to depart.</p> +<p>“God bless you, young man,” said Slingsby, shaking +me by the hand, “you are the best friend I’ve had for +many a day: I have but one thing to tell you, Don’t cross +that fellow’s path if you can help it; and +stay—should the pony refuse to go, just touch him so, and +he’ll fly like the wind.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Effects of Corn—One Night +Longer—The Hoofs—A Stumble—Are you +Hurt?—What a Difference!—Drowsy—Maze of +Bushes—Housekeeping—Sticks and Furze—The +Driftway—Account of Stock—Anvil and +Bellows—Twenty Years.</p> +<p>It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure +from the place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my +little cart; the pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was +probably not much accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far +from having to hasten him forward by the particular application +which the tinker had pointed out to me, I had rather to repress +his eagerness, being, though an excellent pedestrian, not +unfrequently left behind. The country through which I +passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary: few +habitations appeared. As it was quite a matter of +indifference <!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 262</span>to me in what direction I went, the +whole world being before me, I allowed the pony to decide upon +the matter; it was not long before he left the high road, being +probably no friend to public places. I followed him I knew +not whither, but, from subsequent observation, have reason to +suppose that our course was in a north-west direction. At +length night came upon us, and a cold wind sprang up, which was +succeeded by a drizzling rain.</p> +<p>I had originally intended to pass the night in the cart, or to +pitch my little tent on some convenient spot by the road’s +side; but, owing to the alteration in the weather, I thought that +it would be advisable to take up my quarters in any hedge +alehouse at which I might arrive. To tell the truth, I was +not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the night once more +beneath a roof. I had determined to live quite independent, +but I had never before passed a night by myself abroad, and felt +a little apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, however, on the +morrow, to be a little more prepared for the step, so I +determined for one night—only for one night longer—to +sleep like a Christian; but human determinations are not always +put into effect, such a thing as opportunity is frequently +wanting, such was the case here. I went on for a +considerable time, in expectation of coming to some rustic +hostelry, but nothing of the kind presented itself to my eyes; +the country in which I now was seemed almost uninhabited, not a +house of any kind was to be seen—at least I saw +none—though it is true houses might be near without my +seeing them, owing to the darkness of the night, for neither moon +nor star was abroad. I heard, occasionally, the bark of +dogs; but the sound appeared to come from an immense +distance. The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my +feet was wet and miry; in short, it was a night in which even a +tramper by profession would feel more comfortable in being housed +than abroad. I followed in the rear of the cart, the pony +still proceeding at a sturdy pace, till methought I heard other +hoofs than those of my own nag; I listened for a moment, and +distinctly heard the sound of hoofs approaching at a great rate, +and evidently from the quarter towards which I and my little +caravan were moving. We were in a dark lane—so dark +that it was impossible for me to see my own hand. +Apprehensive that some accident might occur, I ran forward, and, +seizing the pony by the bridle, drew him as near as I could to +the hedge. On came the hoofs—trot, trot, trot; and +evidently more than those of one horse; their speed as they +advanced appeared to slacken—it was only, however, for a +moment. I heard a voice cry, “Push on,—this is +a desperate robbing place,—never mind the dark;” and +the hoofs came on quicker than before. “Stop!” +said I, at the top of my voice; “stop! +or—” Before I could finish what I was about to +say there was a stumble, a heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and +putting out my foot I felt what I conjectured to be the head of a +horse stretched upon the road. “Lord have mercy upon +us! what’s the matter?” exclaimed a voice. +“Spare my life,” cried another voice, apparently from +the ground; “only spare my life, and take all I +have.” “Where are you, Master Wise?” +cried the other voice. “Help! here, Master +Bat,” cried the voice from the ground, “help me up or +I shall be murdered.” <!-- page 263--><a +name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>“Why, +what’s the matter?” said Bat. “Some one +has knocked me down, and is robbing me,” said the voice +from the ground. “Help! murder!” cried Bat; +and, regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that +he would stay and help him up, he urged his horse forward and +galloped away as fast as he could. I remained for some time +quiet, listening to various groans and exclamations uttered by +the person on the ground; at length I said, “Holloa! are +you hurt?” “Spare my life, and take all I +have!” said the voice from the ground. “Have +they not done robbing you yet?” said I; “when they +have finished let me know, and I will come and help +you.” “Who is that?” said the voice; +“pray come and help me, and do me no mischief.” +“You were saying that some one was robbing you,” said +I; “don’t think I shall come till he is gone +away.” “Then you ben’t he?” said +the voice. “Ar’n’t you robbed?” +said I. “Can’t say I be,” said the voice; +“not yet at any rate; but who are you? I don’t +know you.” “A traveller whom you and your +partner were going to run over in this dark lane; you almost +frightened me out of my senses.” +“Frightened!” said the voice, in a louder tone; +“frightened! oh!” and thereupon I heard somebody +getting upon his legs. This accomplished, the individual +proceeded to attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty +raised him upon his legs also. “Ar’n’t +you hurt?” said I. “Hurt!” said the +voice; “not I; don’t think it, whatever the horse may +be. I tell you what, my fellow, I thought you were a +robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good +mind—” “To do what?” +“To serve you out; ar’n’t you +ashamed—?” “At what?” said I; +“not to have robbed you? Shall I set about it +now?” “Ha, ha!” said the man, dropping +the bullying tone which he had assumed; “you are +joking—robbing! who talks of robbing? I wonder how my +horse’s knees are; not much hurt, I think—only +mired.” The man, whoever he was, then got upon his +horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, “Good +night, friend; where are you?” “Here I +am,” said I, “just behind you.” +“You are, are you? Take that.” I know not +what he did, but probably pricking his horse with the spur the +animal kicked out violently; one of his heels struck me on the +shoulder, but luckily missed my face; I fell back with the +violence of the blow, whilst the fellow scampered off at a great +rate. Stopping at some distance, he loaded me with abuse, +and then, continuing his way at a rapid trot, I heard no more of +him.</p> +<p>“What a difference!” said I, getting up; +“last night I was fêted in the hall of a rich genius, +and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark lane by the +heel of Master Wise’s horse—I wonder who gave him +that name? And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge +upon me, and I was not wise enough to keep out of his way. +Well, I am not much hurt, so it is of little +consequence.”</p> +<p>I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I +might as well make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, +taking the reins in my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, +whereupon the sturdy little animal started again at as brisk a +pace as if he had not already come many a long mile. I lay +half reclining in the cart, holding the <!-- page 264--><a +name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 264</span>reins +lazily, and allowing the animal to go just where he pleased, +often wondering where he would conduct me. At length I felt +drowsy, and my head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself, +but it was only to doze again; this occurred several times. +Opening my eyes after a doze somewhat longer than the others, I +found that the drizzling rain had ceased, a corner of the moon +was apparent in the heavens, casting a faint light; I looked +around for a moment or two, but my eyes and brain were heavy with +slumber, and I could scarcely distinguish where we were. I +had a kind of dim consciousness that we were traversing an +uninclosed country—perhaps a heath; I thought, however, +that I saw certain large black objects looming in the distance, +which I had a confused idea might be woods or plantations; the +pony still moved at his usual pace. I did not find the +jolting of the cart at all disagreeable; on the contrary, it had +quite a somniferous effect upon me. Again my eyes closed; I +opened them once more, but with less perception in them than +before, looked forward, and, muttering something about woodlands, +I placed myself in an easier posture than I had hitherto done, +and fairly fell asleep.</p> +<p>How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I +believe for a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the +ceasing of the jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of +which I was perfectly sensible in my sleep. I started up +and looked around me, the moon was still shining, and the face of +the heaven was studded with stars; I found myself amidst a haze +of bushes of various kinds, but principally hazel and holly, +through which was a path or driftway with grass growing on either +side, upon which the pony was already diligently browsing. +I conjectured that this place had been one of the haunts of his +former master, and, on dismounting and looking about, was +strengthened in that opinion by finding a spot under an ash tree +which, from its burnt and blackened appearance, seemed to have +been frequently used as a fire-place. I will take up my +quarters here, thought I; it is an excellent spot for me to +commence my new profession in; I was quite right to trust myself +to the guidance of the pony. Unharnessing the animal +without delay, I permitted him to browse at free will on the +grass, convinced that he would not wander far from a place to +which he was so much attached; I then pitched the little tent +close beside the ash tree to which I have alluded, and conveyed +two or three articles into it, and instantly felt that I had +commenced housekeeping for the first time in my life. +Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair, +something like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses; +of this I was the more sensible from feeling very cold and +shivering, owing to my late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in +the night air. Collecting, therefore, all the dry sticks +and furze I could find, I placed them upon the fire-place, adding +certain chips and a billet which I found in the cart, it having +apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry with him a small +store of fuel. Having then struck a spark in a tinder-box +and lighted a match, I set fire to the combustible heap, and was +not slow in raising a cheerful blaze; I then drew my cart near +the fire, and, seating myself on one of the shafts, hung over the +warmth with feelings of <!-- page 265--><a +name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>intense +pleasure and satisfaction. Having continued in the posture +for a considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven in the +direction of a particular star; I, however, could not find the +star, nor indeed many of the starry train, the greater number +having fled, from which circumstance, and from the appearance of +the sky, I concluded that morning was nigh. About this time +I again began to feel drowsy; I therefore arose, and having +prepared for myself a kind of couch in the tent, I flung myself +upon it and went to sleep.</p> +<p>I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by the +carolling of birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a novel; +I awoke because, to use vulgar language, I had slept my sleep +out, not because the birds were carolling around me in numbers, +as they had probably been for hours without my hearing +them. I got up and left my tent; the morning was yet more +bright than that of the preceding day. Impelled by +curiosity, I walked about, endeavouring to ascertain to what +place chance, or rather the pony, had brought me; following the +driftway for some time, amidst bushes and stunted trees, I came +to a grove of dark pines, through which it appeared to lead; I +tracked it a few hundred yards, but seeing nothing but trees, and +the way being wet and sloughy, owing to the recent rain, I +returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in another +direction, came to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless +the one I had traversed the preceding night. My curiosity +satisfied, I returned to my little encampment, and on the way +beheld a small footpath on the left winding through the bushes, +which had before escaped my observation. Having reached my +tent and cart, I breakfasted on some of the provisions which I +had procured the day before, and then proceeded to take a regular +account of the stock formerly possessed by Slingsby the tinker, +but now become my own by right of lawful purchase.</p> +<p>Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was +possessed of a mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a +blanket to cover me, the last quite clean and nearly new; then +there was a frying pan and a kettle, the first for cooking any +food which required cooking, and the second for heating any water +which I might wish to heat. I likewise found an earthen +teapot and two or three cups; of the first I should rather say I +found the remains, it being broken in three parts, no doubt since +it came into my possession, which would have precluded the +possibility of my asking anybody to tea for the present, should +anybody visit me, even supposing I had tea and sugar, which was +not the case. I then overhauled what might more strictly be +called the stock in trade; this consisted of various tools, an +iron ladle, a chafing pan and small bellows, sundry pans and +kettles, the latter being of tin, with the exception of one which +was of copper, all in a state of considerable +dilapidation—if I may use the term; of these first Slingsby +had spoken in particular, advising me to mend them as soon as +possible, and to endeavour to sell them, in order that I might +have the satisfaction of receiving some return upon the outlay +which I had made. There was likewise a small quantity of +block tin, sheet tin, and solder. “This +Slingsby,” said I, “is certainly a very honest man, +he has sold me more <!-- page 266--><a name="page266"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 266</span>than my money’s worth; I +believe, however, there is something more in the +cart.” Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the +cart, and, amidst a quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and +bellows of that kind which are used in forges, and two hammers +such as smiths use, one great, and the other small.</p> +<p>The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, +as no word which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby have +given me reason to suppose that he had ever followed the +occupation of a smith; yet, if he had not, how did he come by +them? I sat down upon the shaft, and pondered the question +deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded that he had come +by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur upon the +roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, must have a +very imperfect conception; honestly, of course—for I +scouted the idea that Slingsby would have stolen this +blacksmith’s gear—for I had the highest opinion of +his honesty, which opinion I still retain at the present day, +which is upwards of twenty years from the time of which I am +speaking, during the whole of which period I have neither seen +the poor fellow, nor received any intelligence of him.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">New Profession—Beautiful +Night—Jupiter—Sharp and Shrill—The Rommany +Chi—All Alone—Three and Sixpence—What is +Rommany?—Be Civil—Parraco Tute—Slight +Start—She Will Be Grateful—The Rustling.</p> +<p>I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach +myself the mysteries of my new profession. I cannot say +that I was very successful, but the time passed agreeably, and +was therefore not ill spent. Towards evening I flung my +work aside, took some refreshment, and afterwards a walk.</p> +<p>This time I turned up the small footpath, of which I have +already spoken. It led in a zigzag manner through thickets +of hazel, elder, and sweet briar; after following its windings +for somewhat better than a furlong, I heard a gentle sound of +water, and presently came to a small rill, which ran directly +across the path. I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had +already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be +nigh at hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally +frequented by wandering people, who I was aware never take up +their quarters in places where water is difficult to be +obtained. Forthwith I stretched myself on the ground, and +took a long and delicious draught of the crystal stream, and +then, seating myself in a bush, I continued for some time gazing +on the water as it purled tinkling away in its channel through an +opening in the hazels, and should have probably continued much +longer had not the thought that I had left my property +unprotected compelled me to rise and return to my encampment.</p> +<p>Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, +and <!-- page 267--><a name="page267"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 267</span>innumerable stars decked the +firmament of heaven. I sat on the shaft, my eyes turned +upwards. I had found it: there it was twinkling millions of +miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we belong: +of all stars, the one which has the most interest for +me—the star Jupiter.</p> +<p>Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter? +I know nothing about thee, save what every child knows, that thou +art a big star, whose only light is derived from moons. And +is not that knowledge enough to make me feel an interest in +thee? Ay, truly, I never look at thee without wondering +what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter? That +there is life in Jupiter who can doubt? There is life in +our own little star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, +which is not a little star. But how different must life be +in Jupiter from what it is in our own little star! Life +here is life beneath the dear sun—life in Jupiter is life +beneath moons—four moons—no single moon is able to +illumine that vast bulk. All know what life is in our own +little star; it is anything but a routine of happiness here, +where the dear sun rises to us every day: then how sad and moping +must life be in mighty Jupiter, on which no sun ever shines, and +which is never lighted save by pale moonbeams! The thought +that there is more sadness and melancholy in Jupiter than in this +world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, has always +made me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star.</p> +<p>Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the +first. During the morning I worked upon my kettles, and +employed the remaining part of the day as I best could. The +whole of this time I only saw two individuals, rustics, who +passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me a glance; they +probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps they +were.</p> +<p>One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good +spirits, for by this time I had actually mended in a very +creditable way, as I imagined, two kettles and a frying pan, I +heard a voice which seemed to proceed from the path leading to +the rivulet; at first it sounded from a considerable distance, +but drew nearer by degrees. I soon remarked that the tones +were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet something of +childhood in them. Once or twice I distinguished certain +words in the song which the voice was singing; the words +were—but no, I thought again I was probably +mistaken—and then the voice ceased for a time; presently I +heard it again, close to the entrance of the footpath; in another +moment I heard it in the lane or glade in which stood my tent, +where it abruptly stopped, but not before I had heard the very +words which I at first thought I had distinguished.</p> +<p>I turned my head: at the entrance of the footpath, which might +be about thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I +perceived the figure of a young girl; her face was turned towards +me, and she appeared to be scanning me and my encampment; after a +little time she looked in the other direction, only for a moment, +however; probably observing nothing in that quarter, she again +looked towards me and almost immediately stepped forward; and, as +she advanced, sang the song <!-- page 268--><a +name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>which I had +heard in the wood, the first words of which were those which I +have already alluded to.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany chi<br /> +And the Rommany chal,<br /> +Shall jaw tasaulor<br /> +To drab the bawlor,<br /> +And dook the gry<br /> +Of the farming rye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon +my kettle; a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much +good. Let them look to their cattle.</p> +<p>“All alone here, brother?” said a voice close by +me, in sharp but not disagreeable tones.</p> +<p>I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with +the gravity which became one of my profession. I allowed at +least half a minute to elapse before I even lifted up my +eyes.</p> +<p>A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features +were very pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion +was a clear olive, and her jet black hair hung back upon her +shoulders. She was rather scantily dressed, and her arms +and feet were bare; round her neck, however, was a handsome +string of corals, with ornaments of gold; in her hand she held a +bulrush.</p> +<p>“All alone here, brother?” said the girl, as I +looked up; “all alone here, in the lane; where are your +wife and children?”</p> +<p>“Why do you call me brother?” said I; “I am +no brother of yours. Do you take me for one of your +people? I am no gypsy; not I, indeed!”</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid, brother, you are no +Roman—Roman indeed, you are not handsome enough to be a +Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. If I called +you brother, it was because I didn’t know what else to call +you. Marry, come up, brother, I should be very sorry to +have you for a brother.”</p> +<p>“Then you don’t like me?”</p> +<p>“Neither like you, nor dislike you, brother; what will +you have for that kekaubi?”</p> +<p>“What’s the use of talking to me in that +un-Christian way; what do you mean, young gentlewoman?”</p> +<p>“Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows +what a kekaubi is. I was asking you what you would have for +that kettle.”</p> +<p>“Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn’t it +well mended?”</p> +<p>“Well mended! I could have done it better myself; +three-and-sixpence! it’s only fit to be played at football +with.”</p> +<p>“I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has +caused me a world of trouble.”</p> +<p>“I never saw a worse mended kettle. I say, +brother, your hair is white.”</p> +<p>“’Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing +but nature.”</p> +<p>“I am young, brother; my hair is +black—that’s nature: you are young, brother; your +hair is white—that’s not nature.”</p> +<p><!-- page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +269</span>“I can’t help it if it be not, but it is +nature after all; did you never see grey hair on the +young?”</p> +<p>“Never! I have heard it is true of a grey lad, and +a bad one he was. Oh, so bad.”</p> +<p>“Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, +sister; do to oblige me, pretty sister.”</p> +<p>“Hey, brother, you don’t speak as you +did—you don’t speak like a gorgio, you speak like one +of us, you call me sister.”</p> +<p>“As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person +after all, sister.”</p> +<p>“I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the +face—there—do you speak Rommany?”</p> +<p>“Rommany! Rommany! what is Rommany?”</p> +<p>“What is Rommany? our language, to be sure; tell me, +brother, only one thing, you don’t speak +Rommany?”</p> +<p>“You say it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t say it, I wish to know. Do you +speak Rommany?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean thieves’ slang—cant? no, I +don’t speak cant, I don’t like it, I only know a few +words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don’t +they?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said the girl, sitting down +on the ground, “I was almost thinking—well, never +mind, you don’t know Rommany. I say, brother, I think +I should like to have the kekaubi.”</p> +<p>“I thought you said it was badly mended?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, brother, but—”</p> +<p>“I thought you said it was only fit to be played at +football with?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, brother, but—”</p> +<p>“What will you give for it?”</p> +<p>“Brother, I am the poor person’s child, I will +give you sixpence for the kekaubi.”</p> +<p>“Poor person’s child; how came you by that +necklace?”</p> +<p>“Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?”</p> +<p>“Not for sixpence; isn’t the kettle nicely +mended?”</p> +<p>“I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to +have the kekaubi, brother?”</p> +<p>“You like me then?”</p> +<p>“I don’t dislike you—I dislike no one; +there’s only one, and him I don’t dislike, him I +hate.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know, I never saw him, but ’tis no +affair of yours, you don’t speak Rommany; you will let me +have the kekaubi, pretty brother?”</p> +<p>“You may have it, but not for sixpence, I’ll give +it to you.”</p> +<p>“Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the +rikkeni kekaubi is now mine. O, rare! I thank you +kindly, brother.”</p> +<p>Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had +hitherto held in her hand, and seizing the kettle, she looked at +it for a moment, and then began a kind of dance, flourishing the +kettle over her head the while, and singing—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 270--><a name="page270"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 270</span>“The Rommany chi<br /> +And the Rommany chal,<br /> +Shall jaw tasaulor<br /> +To drab the bawlor,<br /> +And dook the gry<br /> +Of the farming rye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Good by, brother I must be going.”</p> +<p>“Good by, sister; why do you sing that wicked +song?”</p> +<p>“Wicked song, hey, brother! you don’t understand +the song!”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha! gypsy daughter,” said I, starting up and +clapping my hands, “I don’t understand Rommany, +don’t I? You shall see; here’s the answer to +your gillie—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Rommany chi<br /> +And the Rommany chal<br /> +Love Luripen<br /> +And dukkeripen,<br /> +And hokkeripen,<br /> +And every pen<br /> +But Lachipen<br /> +And tatchipen.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained +for some time after I had concluded the song, standing motionless +as a statue, with the kettle in her hand. At length she +came towards me, and stared me full in the face. +“Grey, tall, and talks Rommany,” said she to +herself. In her countenance there was an expression which I +had not seen before—an expression which struck me as being +composed of fear, curiosity, and the deepest hate. It was +momentary, however, and was succeeded by one smiling, frank, and +open. “Ha, ha, brother,” said she, “well, +I like you all the better for talking Rommany; it is a sweet +language, isn’t it? especially as you sing it. How +did you pick it up? But you picked it up upon the roads, no +doubt? Ha, it was funny in you to pretend not to know it, +and you so flush with it all the time; it was not kind in you, +however, to frighten the poor person’s child so by +screaming out, but it was kind in you to give the rikkeni kekaubi +to the child of the poor person. She will be grateful to +you; she will bring you her little dog to show you, her pretty +juggal; the poor person’s child will come and see you +again; you are not going away to-day, I hope, or to-morrow, +pretty brother, grey-hair’d brother—you are not going +away to-morrow, I hope?”</p> +<p>“Nor the next day,” said I, “only to take a +stroll to see if I can sell a kettle; good by, little sister, +Rommany sister, dingy sister.”</p> +<p>“Good by, tall brother,” said the girl, as she +departed, singing</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany chi,” etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“There’s something about that girl that I +don’t understand,” said I to myself; “something +mysterious. However, it is nothing to me, she knows not who +I am, and if she did, what then?”</p> +<p>Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep +meditation, with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in +the bushes over against me. I turned my eyes in that +direction, but saw nothing. <!-- page 271--><a +name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 271</span>“Some +bird,” said I; “an owl, perhaps;” and once more +I fell into meditation; my mind wandered from one thing to +another—musing now on the structure of the Roman +tongue—now on the rise and fall of the Persian +power—and now on the powers vested in recorders at quarter +sessions. I was thinking what a fine thing it must be to be +a recorder of the peace, when lifting up my eyes, I saw right +opposite, not a culprit at the bar, but, staring at me through a +gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half covered with grey +hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had disappeared.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Friend of Slingsby—All +Quiet—Danger—The Two Cakes—Children in the +Wood—Don’t be Angry—In Deep +Thought—Temples Throbbing—Deadly Sick—Another +Blow—No Answer—How Old are You?—Play and +Sacrament—Heavy Heart—Song of Poison—Drow of +Gypsies—The Dog—Ely’s Church—Get up, +Bebee—The Vehicle—Can you Speak?—The Oil.</p> +<p>The next day at an early hour, I harnessed my little pony, +and, putting my things in my cart, I went on my projected +stroll. Crossing the moor, I arrived in about an hour at a +small village, from which, after a short stay, I proceeded to +another, and from thence to a third. I found that the name +of Slingsby was well known in these parts.</p> +<p>“If you are a friend of Slingsby you must be an honest +lad,” said an ancient crone; “you shall never want +for work whilst I can give it you. Here, take my kettle, +the bottom came out this morning, and lend me that of yours till +you bring it back. I’m not afraid to trust +you—not I. Don’t hurry yourself, young man, if +you don’t come back for a fortnight I shan’t have the +worse opinion of you.”</p> +<p>I returned to my quarters at evening, tired but rejoiced at +heart; I had work before me for several days, having collected +various kekaubies which required mending, in place of those which +I left behind—those which I had been employed upon during +the last few days. I found all quiet in the lane or glade, +and, unharnessing my little horse, I once more pitched my tent in +the old spot beneath the ash, lighted my fire, ate my frugal +meal, and then, after looking for some time at the heavenly +bodies, and more particularly at the star Jupiter, I entered my +tent, lay down upon my pallet, and went to sleep.</p> +<p>Nothing occurred on the following day which requires any +particular notice, nor indeed on the one succeeding that. +It was about noon on the third day that I sat beneath the shade +of the ash tree; I was not at work, for the weather was +particularly hot, and I felt but little inclination to make any +exertion. Leaning my back against the tree, I was not long +in falling into a slumber; I particularly remember that slumber +of mine beneath the ash tree, for it was about the sweetest +slumber that I ever enjoyed; how long I continued in it I do not +know; I could <!-- page 272--><a name="page272"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 272</span>almost have wished that it had +lasted to the present time. All of a sudden it appeared to +me that a voice cried in my ear, “Danger! danger! +danger!” Nothing seemingly could be more distinct +than the words which I heard; then an uneasy sensation came over +me, which I strove to get rid of, and at last succeeded, for I +awoke. The gypsy girl was standing just opposite to me, +with her eyes fixed upon my countenance; a singular kind of +little dog stood beside her.</p> +<p>“Ha!” said I, “was it you that cried +danger? What danger is there?”</p> +<p>“Danger, brother, there is no danger; what danger should +there be? I called to my little dog, but that was in the +wood; my little dog’s name is not danger, but stranger; +what danger should there be, brother?”</p> +<p>“What, indeed, except in sleeping beneath a tree; what +is that you have got in your hand?”</p> +<p>“Something for you,” said the girl, sitting down +and proceeding to untie a white napkin; “a pretty manricli, +so sweet, so nice; when I went home to my people I told my +grandbebee how kind you had been to the poor person’s +child, and when my grandbebee saw the kekaubi, she said, +‘Hir mi devlis, it won’t do for the poor people to be +ungrateful; by my God, I will bake a cake for the young harko +mescro.’”</p> +<p>“But there are two cakes.”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, two cakes, both for you; my grandbebee +meant them both for you—but list, brother, I will have one +of them for bringing them. I know you will give me one, +pretty brother, grey-haired brother—which shall I have, +brother?”</p> +<p>In the napkin were two round cakes, seemingly made of rich and +costly compounds, and precisely similar in form, each weighing +about half a pound.</p> +<p>“Which shall I have, brother?” said the gypsy +girl.</p> +<p>“Whichever you please.”</p> +<p>“No, brother, no, the cakes are yours, not mine, it is +for you to say.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, give me the one nearest you, and take the +other.”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, yes,” said the girl; and taking the +cakes, she flung them into the air two or three times, catching +them as they fell, and singing the while. “Pretty +brother, grey-haired brother—here, brother,” said +she, “here is your cake, this other is mine.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure,” said I, taking the cake, +“that this is the one I chose?”</p> +<p>“Quite sure, brother; but if you like you can have mine; +there’s no difference, however—shall I +eat?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sister, eat.”</p> +<p>“See, brother, I do; now, brother, eat, pretty brother, +grey-haired brother.”</p> +<p>“I am not hungry.”</p> +<p>“Not hungry! well, what then—what has being hungry +to do with the matter? It is my grandbebee’s cake +which was sent because you were kind to the poor person’s +child; eat, brother, eat, and we shall be like the children in +the wood that the gorgios speak of.”</p> +<p><!-- page 273--><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +273</span>“The children in the wood had nothing to +eat.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they had hips and haws; we have better. Eat, +brother.”</p> +<p>“See, sister, I do,” and I ate a piece of the +cake.</p> +<p>“Well, brother, how do you like it?” said the +girl, looking fixedly at me.</p> +<p>“It is very rich and sweet, and yet there is something +strange about it; I don’t think I shall eat any +more.”</p> +<p>“Fie, brother, fie, to find fault with the poor +person’s cake; see, I have nearly eaten mine.”</p> +<p>“That’s a pretty little dog.”</p> +<p>“Is it not, brother? that’s my juggal, my little +sister, as I call her.”</p> +<p>“Come here, juggal,” said I to the animal.</p> +<p>“What do you want with my juggal?” said the +girl.</p> +<p>“Only to give her a piece of cake,” said I, +offering the dog a piece which I had just broken off.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” said the girl, snatching the +dog away; “my grandbebee’s cake is not for +dogs.”</p> +<p>“Why, I just now saw you give the animal a piece of +yours.”</p> +<p>“You lie, brother, you saw no such thing; but I see how +it is, you wish to affront the poor person’s child. I +shall go to my house.”</p> +<p>“Keep still, and don’t be angry; see, I have eaten +the piece which I offered the dog. I meant no +offence. It is a sweet cake after all.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it, brother? I am glad you like +it. Offence! brother, no offence at all! I am so glad +you like my grandbebee’s cake, but she will be wanting me +at home. Eat one piece more of grandbebee’s cake, and +I will go.”</p> +<p>“I am not hungry, I will put the rest by.”</p> +<p>“One piece more before I go, handsome brother, +grey-haired brother.”</p> +<p>“I will not eat any more, I have already eaten more than +I wished to oblige you; if you must go, good day to +you.”</p> +<p>The girl rose upon her feet, looked hard at me, then at the +remainder of the cake which I held in my hand, and then at me +again, and then stood for a moment or two, as if in deep thought; +presently an air of satisfaction came over her countenance, she +smiled and said, “Well, brother, well, do as you please, I +merely wished you to eat because you have been so kind to the +poor person’s child. She loves you so, that she could +have wished to have seen you eat it all; good by, brother, I dare +say when I am gone you will eat some more of it, and if you +don’t I dare say you have eaten enough +to—to—show your love for us. After all it was a +poor person’s cake, a Rommany manricli, and all you gorgios +are somewhat gorgious. Farewell, brother, pretty brother, +grey-haired brother. Come, juggal.”</p> +<p>I remained under the ash tree seated on the grass for a minute +or two, and endeavoured to resume the occupation in which I had +been engaged before I fell asleep, but I felt no inclination for +labour. I then thought I would sleep again, and once more +reclined against the tree, and slumbered for some little time, +but my sleep was more agitated than before. Something +appeared to bear heavy on my breast, I struggled in my sleep, +fell on the grass, and awoke; my <!-- page 274--><a +name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 274</span>temples +were throbbing, there was a burning in my eyes, and my mouth felt +parched; the oppression about the chest which I had felt in my +sleep still continued. “I must shake off these +feelings,” said I, “and get upon my +legs.” I walked rapidly up and down upon the green +sward; at length, feeling my thirst increase, I directed my steps +down the narrow path to the spring which ran amidst the bushes; +arriving there, I knelt down and drank of the water, but on +lifting up my head I felt thirstier than before; again I drank, +but with the like results; I was about to drink for the third +time, when I felt a dreadful qualm which instantly robbed me of +nearly all my strength. What can be the matter with me, +thought I; but I suppose I have made myself ill by drinking cold +water. I got up and made the best of my way back to my +tent; before I reached it the qualm had seized me again, and I +was deadly sick. I flung myself on my pallet, qualm +succeeded qualm, but in the intervals my mouth was dry and +burning, and I felt a frantic desire to drink, but no water was +at hand, and to reach the spring once more was impossible: the +qualms continued, deadly pains shot through my whole frame; I +could bear my agonies no longer, and I fell into a trance or +swoon. How long I continued therein I know not; on +recovering, however, I felt somewhat better, and attempted to +lift my head off my couch; the next moment, however, the qualms +and pains returned, if possible, with greater violence than +before. I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without any +help; and then methought I heard a sound at a distance like +people singing, and then once more I relapsed into my swoon.</p> +<p>I revived just as a heavy blow sounded, upon the canvas of the +tent. I started, but my condition did not permit me to +rise; again the same kind of blow sounded upon the canvas; I +thought for a moment of crying out and requesting assistance, but +an inexplicable something chained my tongue, and now I heard a +whisper on the outside of the tent. “He does not +move, bebee,” said a voice which I knew. “I +should not wonder if it has done for him already; however, strike +again with your ran;” and then there was another blow, +after which another voice cried aloud in a strange tone, +“Is the gentleman of the house asleep, or is he taking his +dinner?” I remained quite silent and motionless, and +in another moment the voice continued, “What, no answer? +what can the gentleman of the house be about that he makes no +answer? perhaps the gentleman of the house may be darning his +stockings?” Thereupon a face peered into the door of +the tent, at the farther extremity of which I was +stretched. It was that of a woman, but owing to the posture +in which she stood, with her back to the light, and partly owing +to a large straw bonnet, I could distinguish but very little of +the features of her countenance. I had, however, recognised +her voice; it was that of my old acquaintance, Mrs. Herne. +“Ho, ho, sir!” said she, “here you are. +Come here, Leonora,” said she to the gypsy girl, who +pressed in at the other side of the door; “here is the +gentleman, not asleep, but only stretched out after dinner. +Sit down on your ham, child, at the door, I shall do the +same. There—you have seen me before, sir, have you +not?”</p> +<p><!-- page 275--><a name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +275</span>“The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he +does not know you.”</p> +<p>“I have known him of old, Leonora,” said Mrs. +Herne; “and, to tell you the truth, though I spoke to him +just now, I expected no answer.”</p> +<p>“It’s a way he has, bebee, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Yes, child, it’s a way he has.”</p> +<p>“Take off your bonnet, bebee, perhaps he cannot see your +face.”</p> +<p>“I do not think that will be of much use, child; +however, I will take off my bonnet—there—and shake +out my hair—there—you have seen this hair before, +sir, and this face—”</p> +<p>“No answer, bebee.”</p> +<p>“Though the one was not quite so grey, nor the other so +wrinkled.”</p> +<p>“How came they so, bebee?”</p> +<p>“All along of this gorgio, child.”</p> +<p>“The gentleman in the house, you mean, bebee.”</p> +<p>“Yes, child, the gentleman in the house. God grant +that I may preserve my temper. Do you know, sir, my +name? My name is Herne, which signifies a hairy individual, +though neither grey-haired nor wrinkled. It is not the +nature of the Hernes to be grey or wrinkled, even when they are +old, and I am not old.”</p> +<p>“How old are you, bebee?”</p> +<p>“Sixty-five years, child—an inconsiderable +number. My mother was a hundred and one—a +considerable age—when she died, yet she had not one grey +hair, and not more than six wrinkles—an inconsiderable +number.”</p> +<p>“She had no griefs, bebee?”</p> +<p>“Plenty, child, but not like mine.”</p> +<p>“Not quite so hard to bear, bebee?”</p> +<p>“No, child, my head wanders when I think of them. +After the death of my husband, who came to his end untimeously, I +went to live with a daughter of mine, married out among certain +Romans who walk about the eastern counties, and with whom for +some time I found a home and pleasant society, for they lived +right Romanly, which gave my heart considerable satisfaction, who +am a Roman born, and hope to die so. When I say right +Romanly, I mean that they kept to themselves, and were not much +given to blabbing about their private matters in promiscuous +company. Well, things went on in this way for some time, +when one day my son-in-law brings home a young gorgio of singular +and outrageous ugliness, and, without much preamble, says to me +and mine, ‘This is my pal, a’n’t he a beauty? +fall down and worship him.’ ‘Hold,’ said +I, ‘I for one will never consent to such +foolishness.’”</p> +<p>“That was right, bebee, I think I should have done the +same.”</p> +<p>“I think you would, child; but what was the profit of +it? The whole party makes an almighty of this gorgio, lets +him into their ways, says prayers of his making, till things come +to such a pass that my own daughter says to me, ‘I shall +buy myself a veil and fan, and treat myself to a play and +sacrament.’ ‘Don’t,’ says I; says +she, ‘I should like for once in my life to be courtesied to +as a Christian gentlewoman.’”</p> +<p><!-- page 276--><a name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +276</span>“Very foolish of her, bebee.”</p> +<p>“Wasn’t it, child? Where was I? At the +fan and sacrament; with a heavy heart I put seven score miles +between us, came back to the hairy ones, and found them +over-given to gorgious companions; said I, ‘foolish manners +is catching, all this comes of that there gorgio.’ +Answers the child Leonora, ‘Take comfort, bebee, I hate the +gorgios as much as you do.’”</p> +<p>“And I say so again, bebee, as much or more.”</p> +<p>“Time flows on, I engage in many matters, in most +miscarry. Am sent to prison; says I to myself, I am become +foolish. Am turned out of prison, and go back to the hairy +ones, who receive me not over courteously; says I, for their +unkindness, and my own foolishness, all the thanks to that +gorgio. Answers to me the child, ‘I wish I could set +my eyes upon him, bebee.’”</p> +<p>“I did so, bebee; go on.”</p> +<p>“‘How shall I know him, bebee?’ says the +child. ‘Young and grey, tall, and speaks +Romanly.’ Runs to me the child, and says, +‘I’ve found him, bebee.’ ‘Where, +child?’ says I. ‘Come with me, bebee,’ +says the child. ‘That’s he,’ says I, as I +looked at my gentleman through the hedge.”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha! bebee, and here he lies, poisoned like a +hog.”</p> +<p>“You have taken drows, sir,” said Mrs. Herne; +“do you hear, sir? drows; tip him a stave, child, of the +song of poison.”</p> +<p>And thereupon the girl clapped her hands, and sang—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany churl<br /> +And the Rommany girl<br /> +To-morrow shall hie<br /> +To poison the sty,<br /> +And bewitch on the mead<br /> +The farmer’s steed.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Do you hear that, sir?” said Mrs. Herne; +“the child has tipped you a stave of the song of poison: +that is, she has sung it Christianly, though perhaps you would +like to hear it Romanly; you were always fond of what was +Roman. Tip it him Romanly, child.”</p> +<p>“He has heard it Romanly already, bebee; ’twas by +that I found him out, as I told you.”</p> +<p>“Halloo, sir, are you sleeping? you have taken drows; +the gentleman makes no answer. God give me +patience!”</p> +<p>“And what if he doesn’t, bebee; isn’t he +poisoned like a hog? Gentleman! indeed, why call him +gentleman? if he ever was one he’s broke, and is now a +tinker, and a worker of blue metal.”</p> +<p>“That’s his way, child, to-day a tinker, to-morrow +something else; and as for being drabbed, I don’t know what +to say about it.”</p> +<p>“Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, +bebee; ha, ha, look at the gentleman’s motions.”</p> +<p>“He is sick, child, sure enough. Ho, ho! sir, you +have taken drows; what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe, the +hog died by the drow of gypsies; I saw him stretched at +even. That’s yourself, sir. There is no hope, +sir, no help, you have taken drow; shall I tell you your fortune, +<!-- page 277--><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +277</span>sir, your dukkerin? God bless you, pretty +gentleman, much trouble will you have to suffer, and much water +to cross; but never mind, pretty gentleman, you shall be +fortunate at the end, and those who hate shall take off their +hats to you.”</p> +<p>“Hey, bebee!” cried the girl; “what is this? +what do you mean? you have blessed the gorgio!”</p> +<p>“Blessed him! no, sure; what did I say? Oh, I +remember, I’m mad; well, I can’t help it, I said what +the dukkerin dook told me; woe’s me, he’ll get up +yet.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, bebee! Look at his motions, he’s +drabbed, spite of dukkerin.”</p> +<p>“Don’t say so, child; he’s sick, ’tis +true, but don’t laugh at dukkerin, only folks do that that +know no better. I, for one, will never laugh at the +dukkerin dook. Sick again; I wish he was gone.”</p> +<p>“He’ll soon be gone, bebee; let’s leave +him. He’s as good as gone; look there, he’s +dead.”</p> +<p>“No, he’s not, he’ll get up—I feel it; +can’t we hasten him?”</p> +<p>“Hasten him! yes, to be sure; set the dog upon +him. Here, juggal, look in there, my dog.”</p> +<p>The dog made its appearance at the door of the tent, and began +to bark and tear up the ground.</p> +<p>“At him, juggal, at him; he wished to poison, to drab +you. Halloo!”</p> +<p>The dog barked violently, and seemed about to spring at my +face, but retreated.</p> +<p>“The dog won’t fly at him, child; he flashed at +the dog with his eye, and scared him. He’ll get +up.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, bebee! you make me angry; how should he get +up?”</p> +<p>“The dook tells me so, and, what’s more, I had a +dream. I thought I was at York, standing amidst a crowd to +see a man hung, and the crowd shouted ‘There he +comes!’ and I looked, and, lo! it was the tinker; before I +could cry with joy I was whisked away, and I found myself in +Ely’s big church, which was chock full of people to hear +the dean preach, and all eyes were turned to the big pulpit; and +presently I heard them say, ‘There he mounts!’ and I +looked up to the big pulpit, and, lo! the tinker was in the +pulpit, and he raised his arm and began to preach. Anon, I +found myself at York again, just as the drop fell, and I looked +up, and I saw, not the tinker, but my own self hanging in the +air.”</p> +<p>“You are going mad, bebee; if you want to hasten him, +take your stick and poke him in the eye.”</p> +<p>“That will be of no use, child, the dukkerin tells me +so; but I will try what I can do. Halloo, tinker! you must +introduce yourself into a quiet family, and raise +confusion—must you? You must steal its language, and, +what was never done before, write it down Christianly—must +you? Take that—and that;” and she stabbed +violently with her stick towards the end of the tent.</p> +<p>“That’s right, bebee, you struck his face; now +once more, and let it be in the eye. Stay, what’s +that? get up, bebee.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, child?”</p> +<p><!-- page 278--><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +278</span>“Some one is coming, come away.”</p> +<p>“Let me make sure of him, child; he’ll be up +yet.” And thereupon Mrs. Herne, rising, leaned +forward into the tent, and supporting herself against the pole, +took aim in the direction of the farther end. “I will +thrust out his eye,” said she; and, lunging with her stick, +she would probably have accomplished her purpose had not at that +moment the pole of the tent given way, whereupon she fell to the +ground, the canvas falling upon her and her intended victim.</p> +<p>“Here’s a pretty affair, bebee,” screamed +the girl.</p> +<p>“He’ll get up yet,” said Mrs. Herne, from +beneath the canvas.</p> +<p>“Get up!—get up yourself; where are you? where is +your—Here, there, bebee, here’s the door; there, make +haste, they are coming.”</p> +<p>“He’ll get up yet,” said Mrs. Herne, +recovering her breath, “the dook tells me so.”</p> +<p>“Never mind him or the dook; he is drabbed; come away, +or we shall be grabbed—both of us.”</p> +<p>“One more blow, I know where his head lies.”</p> +<p>“You are mad, bebee; leave the fellow—gorgio +avella.”</p> +<p>And thereupon the females hurried away.</p> +<p>A vehicle of some kind was evidently drawing nigh; in a little +time it came alongside of the place where lay the fallen tent, +and stopped suddenly. There was a silence for a moment, and +then a parley ensued between two voices, one of which was that of +a woman. It was not in English, but in a deep guttural +tongue.</p> +<p>“Peth yw hono sydd yn gorwedd yna ar y ddaear?” +said a masculine voice.</p> +<p>“Yn wirionedd—I do not know what it can be,” +said the female voice, in the same tongue.</p> +<p>“Here is a cart, and there are tools; but what is that +on the ground?”</p> +<p>“Something moves beneath it; and what was that—a +groan?”</p> +<p>“Shall I get down?”</p> +<p>“Of course, Peter, some one may want your +help.”</p> +<p>“Then I will get down, though I do not like this place, +it is frequented by Egyptians, and I do not like their yellow +faces nor their clibberty clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn +says. Now I am down. It is a tent, Winifred, and see, +here is a boy beneath it. Merciful father! what a +face!”</p> +<p>A middle-aged man, with a strongly marked and serious +countenance, dressed in sober-coloured habiliments, had lifted up +the stifling folds of the tent and was bending over me. +“Can you speak, my lad?” said he in English, +“what is the matter with you? if you could but tell me, I +could perhaps help you—” “What is it that +you say? I can’t hear you. I will kneel +down;” and he flung himself on the ground, and placed his +ear close to my mouth. “Now speak if you can. +Hey! what! no, sure, God forbid!” then starting up, he +cried to a female who sat in the cart, anxiously looking +on—“Gwenwyn! gwenwyn! yw y gwas wedi ei +gwenwynaw. The oil! Winifred, the oil!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 279--><a name="page279"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 279</span>CHAPTER LXXII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Desired Effect—The Three +Oaks—Winifred—Things of Time—With God’s +Will—The Preacher—Creature +Comforts—Croesaw—Welsh and English—Mayor of +Chester.</p> +<p>The oil, which the strangers compelled me to take, produced +the desired effect, though, during at least two hours, it was +very doubtful whether or not my life would be saved. At the +end of that period the man said, that with the blessing of God, +he would answer for my life. He then demanded whether I +thought I could bear to be removed from the place in which we +were? “for I like it not,” he continued, “as +something within me tells me that it is not good for any of us to +be here.” I told him, as well as I was able, that I, +too, should be glad to leave the place; whereupon, after +collecting my things, he harnessed my pony, and, with the +assistance of the woman, he contrived to place me in the cart; he +then gave me a draught out of a small phial, and we set forward +at a slow pace, the man walking by the side of the cart in which +I lay. It is probable that the draught consisted of a +strong opiate, for after swallowing it I fell into a deep +slumber; on my awaking, I found that the shadows of night had +enveloped the earth—we were still moving on. Shortly, +however, after descending a declivity, we turned into a lane, at +the entrance of which was a gate. This lane conducted to a +meadow, through the middle of which ran a small brook; it stood +between two rising grounds, that on the left, which was on the +farther side of the water, was covered with wood, whilst the one +on the right, which was not so high, was crowned with the white +walls of what appeared to be a farm-house.</p> +<p>Advancing along the meadow, we presently came to a place where +grew three immense oaks, almost on the side of the brook, over +which they flung their arms, so as to shade it as with a canopy; +the ground beneath was bare of grass, and nearly as hard and +smooth as the floor of a barn. Having led his own cart on +one side of the midmost tree, and my own on the other, the +stranger said to me, “This is the spot where my wife and +myself generally tarry in the summer season, when we come into +these parts. We are about to pass the night here. I +suppose you will have no objection to do the same? Indeed, +I do not see what else you could do under present +circumstances.” After receiving my answer, in which +I, of course, expressed my readiness to assent to his proposal, +he proceeded to unharness his horse, and, feeling myself much +better, I got down, and began to make the necessary preparations +for passing the night beneath the oak.</p> +<p>Whilst thus engaged, I felt myself touched on the shoulder, +and, looking round, perceived the woman, whom the stranger called +Winifred, standing close to me. The moon was shining +brightly upon her, and I observed that she was very good-looking, +with a composed, yet cheerful expression of countenance; her +dress was plain and primitive, very much resembling that of a +Quaker. She held a straw bonnet in her <!-- page 280--><a +name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>hand. +“I am glad to see thee moving about, young man,” said +she, in a soft, placid tone; “I could scarcely have +expected it. Thou must be wondrous strong; many, after what +thou hast suffered, would not have stood on their feet for weeks +or months. What do I say?—Peter, my husband, who is +skilled in medicine, just now told me that not one in five +hundred would have survived what thou hast this day undergone; +but allow me to ask thee one thing, Hast thou returned thanks to +God for thy deliverance?” I made no answer, and the +woman, after a pause, said, “Excuse me, young man, but do +you know anything of God?” “Very little,” +I replied, “but I should say he must be a wondrous strong +person, if he made all those big bright things up above there, to +say nothing of the ground on which we stand, which bears beings +like these oaks, each of which is fifty times as strong as +myself, and will live twenty times as long.” The +woman was silent for some moments, and then said, “I +scarcely know in what spirit thy words are uttered. If thou +art serious, however, I would caution thee against supposing that +the power of God is more manifested in these trees, or even in +those bright stars above us, than in thyself—they are +things of time, but thou art a being destined to an eternity; it +depends upon thyself whether thy eternity shall be one of joy or +sorrow.”</p> +<p>Here she was interrupted by the man, who exclaimed from the +other side of the tree, “Winifred, it is getting late, you +had better go up to the house on the hill to inform our friends +of our arrival, or they will have retired for the +night.” “True,” said Winifred, and +forthwith wended her way to the house in question, returning +shortly with another woman, whom the man, speaking in the same +language which I had heard him first use, greeted by the name of +Mary; the woman replied in the same tongue, but almost +immediately said in English, “We hoped to have heard you +speak to-night, Peter, but we cannot expect that now, seeing that +it is so late, owing to your having been detained by the way, as +Winifred tells me; nothing remains for you to do now but to +sup—to-morrow, with God’s will, we shall hear +you.” “And to-night, also, with God’s +will, providing you be so disposed. Let those of your +family come hither.” “They will be hither +presently,” said Mary, “for knowing that thou art +arrived, they will, of course, come and bid thee +welcome.” And scarcely had she spoke, when I beheld a +party of people descending the moonlit side of the hill. +They soon arrived at the place where we were; they might amount +in all to twelve individuals. The principal person was a +tall, athletic man, of about forty, dressed like a plain country +farmer; this was, I soon found, the husband of Mary; the rest of +the group consisted of the children of these two, and their +domestic servants. One after another they all shook Peter +by the hand, men and women, boys and girls, and expressed their +joy at seeing him. After which, he said, “Now, +friends, if you please, I will speak a few words to +you.” A stool was then brought him from the cart, +which he stepped on, and the people arranging themselves round +him, some standing, some seated on the ground, he forthwith began +to address them in a clear, distinct voice; and the subject of +his discourse was the necessity, in all human beings, of a change +of heart.</p> +<p><!-- page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +281</span>The preacher was better than his promise, for, instead +of speaking a few words, he preached for at least three quarters +of an hour; none of the audience, however, showed the slightest +symptom of weariness; on the contrary, the hope of each +individual appeared to hang upon the words which proceeded from +his mouth. At the conclusion of the sermon or discourse, +the whole assembly again shook Peter by the hand, and returned to +their house, the mistress of the family saying, as she departed, +“I shall soon be back, Peter, I go but to make arrangements +for the supper of thyself and company;” and, in effect, she +presently returned, attended by a young woman, who bore a tray in +her hands. “Set it down, Jessy,” said the +mistress to the girl, “and then betake thyself to thy rest, +I shall remain here for a little time to talk with my +friends.” The girl departed, and the preacher and the +two females placed themselves on the ground about the tray. +The man gave thanks, and himself and his wife appeared to be +about to eat, when the latter suddenly placed her hand upon his +arm, and said something to him in a low voice, whereupon he +exclaimed, “Ay, truly, we were both forgetful;” and +then getting up, he came towards me, who stood a little way off, +leaning against the wheel of my cart; and, taking me by the hand, +he said, “Pardon us, young man, we were both so engaged in +our own creature-comforts, that we forgot thee, but it is not too +late to repair our fault; wilt thou not join us, and taste our +bread and milk?” “I cannot eat,” I +replied, “but I think I could drink a little milk;” +whereupon he led me to the rest, and seating me by his side, he +poured some milk into a horn cup, saying, +“‘Croesaw.’ That,” added he, with a +smile, “is Welsh for welcome.”</p> +<p>The fare upon the tray was of the simplest description, +consisting of bread, cheese, milk, and curds. My two +friends partook with a good appetite. “Mary,” +said the preacher, addressing himself to the woman of the house, +“every time I come to visit thee, I find thee less inclined +to speak Welsh. I suppose, in a little time, thou wilt +entirely have forgotten it; hast thou taught it to any of thy +children?” “The two eldest understand a few +words,” said the woman, “but my husband does not wish +them to learn it; he says sometimes, jocularly, that though it +pleased him to marry a Welsh wife, it does not please him to have +Welsh children. ‘Who,’ I have heard him say, +‘would be a Welshman, if he could be an +Englishman?’” “I for one,” said the +preacher, somewhat hastily; “not to be king of all England +would I give up my birthright as a Welshman. Your husband +is an excellent person, Mary, but I am afraid he is somewhat +prejudiced.” “You do him justice, Peter, in +saying that he is an excellent person,” said the woman; +“as to being prejudiced, I scarcely know what to say, but +he thinks that two languages in the same kingdom are almost as +bad as two kings.” “That’s no bad +observation,” said the preacher, “and it is generally +the case; yet, thank God, the Welsh and English go on very well, +side by side, and I hope will do so till the Almighty calls all +men to their long account.” “They jog on very +well now,” said the woman; “but I have heard my +husband say that it was not always so, and that the Welsh, in old +times, were a violent and ferocious people, <!-- page 282--><a +name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>for that +once they hanged the mayor of Chester.” “Ha, +ha!” said the preacher, and his eyes flashed in the +moonlight; “he told you that, did he?” +“Yes,” said Mary; “once, when the mayor of +Chester, with some of his people, was present at one of the fairs +over the border, a quarrel arose between the Welsh and English, +and the Welsh beat the English, and hanged the +mayor.” “Your husband is a clever man,” +said Peter, “and knows a great deal; did he tell you the +name of the leader of the Welsh? No! then I will: the +leader of the Welsh on that occasion was ---. He was a +powerful chieftain, and there was an old feud between him and the +men of Chester. Afterwards, when two hundred of the men of +Chester invaded his country to take revenge for their mayor, he +enticed them into a tower, set fire to it, and burnt them +all. That --- was a very fine, noble—God forgive me, +what was I about to say!—a very bad, violent man; but, +Mary, this is very carnal and unprofitable conversation, and in +holding it we set a very bad example to the young man +here—let us change the subject.”</p> +<p>They then began to talk on religious matters. At length +Mary departed to her abode, and the preacher and his wife retired +to their tilted cart.</p> +<p>“Poor fellow, he seems to be almost brutally +ignorant,” said Peter, addressing his wife in their own +native language, after they had bidden me farewell for the +night.</p> +<p>“I am afraid he is,” said Winifred, “yet my +heart warms to the poor lad, he seems so forlorn.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Morning Hymn—Much Alone—John +Bunyan—Beholden to Nobody—Sixty-five—Sober +Greeting—Early Sabbaths—Finny Brood—The +Porch—No Fortune-telling—The Master’s +Niece—Doing Good—Two or Three Things—Groans and +Voices—Pechod Ysprydd Glan.</p> +<p>I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the +influence of the opiate. Early in the morning I was +awakened by the voices of Peter and his wife, who were singing a +morning hymn in their own language. Both subsequently +prayed long and fervently. I lay still till their devotions +were completed, and then left my tent. “Good +morning,” said Peter, “how dost thou +feel?” “Much better,” said I, “than +I could have expected.” “I am glad of +it,” said Peter. “Art thou hungry? yonder comes +our breakfast,” pointing to the same young woman I had seen +the preceding night, who was again descending the hill, bearing +the tray upon her head.</p> +<p>“What dost thou intend to do, young man, this +day?” said Peter, when we had about half finished +breakfast. “Do,” said I; “as I do other +days, what I can.” “And dost thou pass this day +as thou dost <!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 283</span>other days?” said Peter. +“Why not?” said I; “what is there in this day +different from the rest? it seems to be of the same colour as +yesterday.” “Art thou aware,” said the +wife, interposing, “what day it is? that it is Sabbath? +that it is Sunday?” “No,” said I, +“I did not know that it was Sunday.” “And +how did that happen?” said Winifred, with a sigh. +“To tell you the truth,” said I, “I live very +much alone, and pay very little heed to the passing of +time.” “And yet of what infinite importance is +time,” said Winifred. “Art thou not aware that +every year brings thee nearer to thy end?” “I +do not think,” said I, “that I am so near my end as I +was yesterday.” “Yes thou art,” said the +woman; “thou wast not doomed to die yesterday; an invisible +hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will come, +therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved +yesterday; and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died +yesterday, where wouldst thou have been now?” +“Cast into the earth, perhaps,” said I. +“I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast into the +earth is the natural end of man.” “Who is Mr. +Petulengro?” said Peter, interrupting his wife, as she was +about to speak. “Master of the horseshoe,” said +I, “and, according to his own account, king of +Egypt.” “I understand,” said Peter, +“head of some family of wandering Egyptians—they are +a race utterly godless. Art thou of them?—but no, +thou art not, thou hast not their yellow blood. I suppose +thou belongest to the family of wandering artizans called +---. I do not like you the worse for belonging to +them. A mighty speaker of old sprang up from amidst that +family.” “Who was he?” said I. +“John Bunyan,” replied Peter, reverently, “and +the mention of his name reminds me that I have to preach this +day; wilt thou go and hear? the distance is not great, only half +a mile.” “No,” said I, “I will not +go and hear.” “Wherefore?” said +Peter. “I belong to the church,” said I, +“and not to the congregations.” “Oh! the +pride of that church,” said Peter, addressing his wife in +their own tongue, “exemplified even in the lowest and most +ignorant of its members.” “Then thou, +doubtless, meanest to go to church,” said Peter, again +addressing me; “there is a church on the other side of that +wooded hill.” “No,” said I, “I do +not mean to go to church.” “May I ask thee +wherefore?” said Peter. “Because,” said +I, “I prefer remaining beneath the shade of these trees, +listening to the sound of the leaves, and tinkling of the +waters.”</p> +<p>“Then thou intendest to remain here?” said Peter, +looking fixedly at me. “If I do not intrude,” +said I; “but if I do, I will wander away; I wish to be +beholden to nobody—perhaps you wish me to go?” +“On the contrary,” said Peter, “I wish you to +stay. I begin to see something in thee which has much +interest for me; but we must now bid thee farewell for the rest +of the day, the time is drawing nigh for us to repair to the +place of preaching; before we leave thee alone, however, I should +wish to ask thee a question—Didst thou seek thy own +destruction yesterday, and didst thou wilfully take that +poison?” “No,” said I; “had I known +there had been poison in the cake, I certainly should not have +taken it.” “And who gave it thee?” said +Peter. “An enemy of mine,” I replied. +“Who is thy enemy?” “An Egyptian +sorceress <!-- page 284--><a name="page284"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 284</span>and poisonmonger.” +“Thy enemy is a female. I fear thou hadst given her +cause to hate thee—of what did she complain?” +“That I had stolen the tongue out of her head.” +“I do not understand thee—is she young?” +“About sixty-five.”</p> +<p>Here Winifred interposed. “Thou didst call her +just now by hard names, young man,” said she; “I +trust thou dost bear no malice against her.” +“No,” said I, “I bear no malice against +her.” “Thou art not wishing to deliver her into +the hand of what is called justice?” “By no +means,” said I; “I have lived long enough upon the +roads not to cry out for the constable when my finger is +broken. I consider this poisoning as an accident of the +roads; one of those to which those who travel are occasionally +subject.” “In short, thou forgivest thine +adversary?” “Both now and for ever,” said +I. “Truly,” said Winifred, “the spirit +which the young man displayeth pleases me much: I should be loth +that he left us yet. I have no doubt that, with the +blessing of God, and a little of thy exhortation, he will turn +out a true Christian before he leaveth us.” “My +exhortation!” said Peter, and a dark shade passed over his +countenance; “thou forgettest what I +am—I—I—but I am forgetting myself; the +Lord’s will be done; and now put away the things, for I +perceive that our friends are coming to attend us to the place of +meeting.”</p> +<p>Again the family which I had seen the night before descended +the hill from their abode. They were now dressed in their +Sunday’s best. The master of the house led the +way. They presently joined us, when a quiet sober greeting +ensued on each side. After a little time Peter shook me by +the hand and bade me farewell till the evening; Winifred did the +same, adding, that she hoped I should be visited by sweet and +holy thoughts. The whole party then moved off in the +direction by which we had come the preceding night, Peter and the +master leading the way, followed by Winifred and the mistress of +the family. As I gazed on their departing forms, I felt +almost inclined to follow them to their place of worship. I +did not stir, however, but remained leaning against my oak with +my hands behind me.</p> +<p>And after a time I sat me down at the foot of the oak with my +face turned towards the water, and, folding my hands, I fell into +deep meditation. I thought on the early Sabbaths of my +life, and the manner in which I was wont to pass them. How +carefully I said my prayers when I got up on the Sabbath morn, +and how carefully I combed my hair and brushed my clothes in +order that I might do credit to the Sabbath day. I thought +of the old church at pretty D---, the dignified rector, and yet +more dignified clerk. I thought of England’s grand +Liturgy, and Tate and Brady’s sonorous minstrelsy. I +thought of the Holy Book, portions of which I was in the habit of +reading between service. I thought, too, of the evening +walk which I sometimes took in fine weather like the present, +with my mother and brother—a quiet sober walk, during which +I would not break into a run, even to chase a butterfly, or yet +more a honey-bee, being fully convinced of the dread importance +of the day which God had hallowed. And how glad I was when +I had got over the Sabbath day without having done anything to +profane it. And how <!-- page 285--><a +name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 285</span>soundly I +slept on the Sabbath night after the toil of being very good +throughout the day.</p> +<p>And when I had mused on those times a long while, I sighed and +said to myself, I am much altered since then; am I altered for +the better? And then I looked at my hands and my apparel, +and sighed again. I was not wont of yore to appear thus on +the Sabbath day.</p> +<p>For a long time I continued in a state of deep meditation, +till at last I lifted up my eyes to the sun, which, as usual +during that glorious summer, was shining in unclouded majesty; +and then I lowered them to the sparkling water, in which hundreds +of the finny brood were disporting themselves, and then I thought +what a fine thing it was to be a fish on such a fine summer day, +and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst the fishes; and +then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over the +water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started +when I saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable.</p> +<p>Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to +bathe and cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late +hard life and by Mrs. Herne’s drow. I wonder if there +is any harm in bathing on the Sabbath day. I will ask +Winifred when she comes home; in the mean time I will bathe, +provided I can find a fitting place.</p> +<p>But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to +disport in, was shallow, and by no means adapted for the +recreation of so large a being as myself; it was, moreover, +exposed, though I saw nobody at hand, nor heard a single human +voice or sound. Following the winding of the brook I left +the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets, came to a +place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark, and +there I bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid and +exhausted frame.</p> +<p>Having put on my clothes, I returned by the way I had come to +my vehicle beneath the oak tree. From thence, for want of +something better to do, I strolled up the hill, on the top of +which stood the farm-house; it was a large and commodious +building built principally of stone, and seeming of some +antiquity, with a porch, on either side of which was an oaken +bench. On the right was seated a young woman with a book in +her hand, the same who had brought the tray to my friends and +myself.</p> +<p>“Good day,” said I, “pretty damsel, sitting +in the farm porch.”</p> +<p>“Good day,” said the girl, looking at me for a +moment, and then fixing her eyes on her book.</p> +<p>“That’s a nice book you are reading,” said +I.</p> +<p>The girl looked at me with surprise. “How do you +know what book it is?” said she.</p> +<p>“How do I know—never mind; but a nice book it +is—no love, no fortune-telling in it.”</p> +<p>The girl looked at me half offended. +“Fortune-telling!” said she, “I should think +not. But you know nothing about it;” and she bent her +head once more over the book.</p> +<p>“I tell you what, young person,” said I, “I +know all about that book; what will you wager that I do +not?”</p> +<p>“I never wager,” said the girl.</p> +<p><!-- page 286--><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span>“Shall I tell you the name of it,” said I, +“O daughter of the dairy?”</p> +<p>The girl half started. “I should never have +thought,” said she, half timidly, “that you could +have guessed it.”</p> +<p>“I did not guess it,” said I, “I knew it; +and meet and proper it is that you should read it.”</p> +<p>“Why so?” said the girl.</p> +<p>“Can the daughter of the dairy read a more fitting book +than the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter’?”</p> +<p>“Where do you come from?” said the girl.</p> +<p>“Out of the water,” said I. +“Don’t start, I have been bathing; are you fond of +the water?”</p> +<p>“No,” said the girl, heaving a sigh; “I am +not fond of the water, that is, of the sea;” and here she +sighed again.</p> +<p>“The sea is a wide gulf,” said I, “and +frequently separates hearts.”</p> +<p>The girl sobbed.</p> +<p>“Why are you alone here?” said I.</p> +<p>“I take my turn with the rest,” said the girl, +“to keep at home on Sunday.”</p> +<p>“And you are—” said I.</p> +<p>“The master’s niece!” said the girl. +“How came you to know it? But why did you not go with +the rest and with your friends?”</p> +<p>“Who are those you call my friends?” said I.</p> +<p>“Peter and his wife.”</p> +<p>“And who are they?” said I.</p> +<p>“Do you not know?” said the girl; “you came +with them.”</p> +<p>“They found me ill by the way,” said I; “and +they relieved me: I know nothing about them.”</p> +<p>“I thought you knew everything,” said the +girl.</p> +<p>“There are two or three things which I do not know, and +this is one of them. Who are they?”</p> +<p>“Did you never hear of the great Welsh preacher, Peter +Williams?”</p> +<p>“Never,” said I.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the girl, “this is he, and +Winifred is his wife, and a nice person she is. Some people +say, indeed, that she is as good a preacher as her husband, +though of that matter I can say nothing, having never heard her +preach. So these two wander over all Wales and the greater +part of England, comforting the hearts of the people with their +doctrine, and doing all the good they can. They frequently +come here, for the mistress is a Welsh woman, and an old friend +of both, and then they take up their abode in the cart beneath +the old oaks down there by the stream.”</p> +<p>“And what is their reason for doing so?” said I; +“would it not be more comfortable to sleep beneath a +roof?”</p> +<p>“I know not their reasons,” said the girl, +“but so it is; they never sleep beneath a roof unless the +weather is very severe. I once heard the mistress say that +Peter had something heavy upon his mind; perhaps that is the +cause. If he is unhappy, all I can say is, that I wish him +otherwise, for he is a good man and a kind—”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said I, “I will now +depart.”</p> +<p><!-- page 287--><a name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +287</span>“Hem!” said the girl, “I was +wishing—”</p> +<p>“What? to ask me a question?”</p> +<p>“Not exactly; but you seem to know everything; you +mentioned, I think, fortune-telling.”</p> +<p>“Do you wish me to tell your fortune?”</p> +<p>“By no means; but I have a friend at a distance at sea, +and I should wish to know—”</p> +<p>“When he will come back? I have told you already +there are two or three things which I do not know—this is +another of them. However, I should not be surprised if he +were to come back some of these days; I would, if I were in his +place. In the mean time be patient, attend to the dairy, +and read the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter’ when you +have nothing better to do.”</p> +<p>It was late in the evening when the party of the morning +returned. The farmer and his family repaired at once to +their abode, and my two friends joined me beneath the tree. +Peter sat down at the foot of the oak, and said nothing. +Supper was brought by a servant, not the damsel of the +porch. We sat round the tray, Peter said grace, but +scarcely anything else; he appeared sad and dejected, his wife +looked anxiously upon him. I was as silent as my friends; +after a little time we retired to our separate places of +rest.</p> +<p>About midnight I was awakened by a noise; I started up and +listened; it appeared to me that I heard voices and groans. +In a moment I had issued from my tent—all was +silent—but the next moment I again heard groans and voices; +they proceeded from the tilted cart where Peter and his wife lay; +I drew near, again there was a pause, and then I heard the voice +of Peter, in an accent of extreme anguish, exclaim, “Pechod +Ysprydd Glan—O pechod Ysprydd Glan!” and then he +uttered a deep groan. Anon, I heard the voice of Winifred, +and never shall I forget the sweetness and gentleness of the +tones of her voice in the stillness of that night. I did +not understand all she said—she spoke in her native +language, and I was some way apart; she appeared to endeavour to +console her husband, but he seemed to refuse all comfort, and, +with many groans, repeated—“Pechod Ysprydd +Glan—O pechod Ysprydd Glan!” I felt I had no +right to pry into their afflictions, and retired.</p> +<p>Now “pechod Ysprydd Glan,” interpreted, is the sin +against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Following Day—Pride—Thriving +Trade—Tylwyth Teg—Ellis Wyn—Sleeping +Bard—Incalculable Good—Fearful Agony—The +Tale.</p> +<p>Peter and his wife did not proceed on any expedition during +the following day. The former strolled gloomily about the +fields, and the latter passed many hours in the farmhouse. +Towards evening, without <!-- page 288--><a +name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 288</span>saying a +word to either, I departed with my vehicle, and finding my way to +a small town at some distance, I laid in a store of various +articles, with which I returned. It was night, and my two +friends were seated beneath the oak; they had just completed +their frugal supper. “We waited for thee some +time,” said Winifred, “but finding that thou didst +not come, we began without thee; but sit down, I pray thee, there +is still enough for thee.” “I will sit +down,” said I, “but I require no supper, for I have +eaten where I have been;” nothing more particular occurred +at the time. Next morning the kind pair invited me to share +their breakfast. “I will not share your +breakfast,” said I. “Wherefore not?” said +Winifred, anxiously. “Because,” said I, +“it is not proper that I be beholden to you for meat and +drink.” “But we are beholden to other +people,” said Winifred. “Yes,” said I, +“but you preach to them, and give them ghostly advice, +which considerably alters the matter; not that I would receive +anything from them, if I preached to them six times a +day.” “Thou art not fond of receiving favours, +then, young man,” said Winifred. “I am +not,” said I. “And of conferring +favours?” “Nothing affords me greater +pleasure,” said I, “than to confer +favours.” “What a disposition!” said +Winifred, holding up her hands; “and this is pride, genuine +pride—that feeling which the world agrees to call so +noble. Oh, how mean a thing is pride! never before did I +see all the meanness of what is called pride!”</p> +<p>“But how wilt thou live, friend,” said Peter, +“dost thou not intend to eat?” “When I +went out last night,” said I, “I laid in a +provision.” “Thou hast laid in a +provision!” said Peter, “pray let us see it. +Really, friend,” said he, after I had produced it, +“thou must drive a thriving trade; here are provisions +enough to last three people for several days. Here are +butter and eggs, here is tea, here is sugar, and there is a +flitch. I hope thou wilt let us partake of some of thy +fare.” “I should be very happy if you +would,” said I. “Doubt not but we shall,” +said Peter; “Winifred shall have some of thy flitch cooked +for dinner. In the meantime, sit down, young man, and +breakfast at our expense—we will dine at thine.”</p> +<p>On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat alone beneath +the oak. We fell into conversation; Peter was at first +melancholy, but he soon became more cheerful, fluent, and +entertaining. I spoke but little; but I observed that +sometimes what I said surprised the good Methodist. We had +been silent some time. At length, lifting up my eyes to the +broad and leafy canopy of the trees, I said, having nothing +better to remark, “What a noble tree! I wonder if the +fairies ever dance beneath it?”</p> +<p>“Fairies!” said Peter, “fairies! how came +you, young man, to know anything about the fair +family?”</p> +<p>“I am an Englishman,” said I, “and of course +know something about fairies; England was once a famous place for +them.”</p> +<p>“Was once, I grant you,” said Peter, “but is +so no longer. I have travelled for years about England, and +never heard them mentioned before; the belief in them has died +away, and even their name seems to be forgotten. If you had +said you were a Welshman, I should not <!-- page 289--><a +name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>have been +surprised. The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, +or fair family, and many believe in them.”</p> +<p>“And do you believe in them?” said I.</p> +<p>“I scarcely know what to say. Wise and good men +have been of opinion that they are nothing but devils, who, under +the form of pretty and amiable spirits, would fain allure poor +human beings; I see nothing irrational in the +supposition.”</p> +<p>“Do you believe in devils, then?”</p> +<p>“Do I believe in devils, young man!” said Peter, +and his frame was shaken as if by convulsions. “If I +do not believe in devils, why am I here at the present +moment?”</p> +<p>“You know best,” said I; “but I don’t +believe the fairies are devils, and I don’t wish to hear +them insulted. What learned men have said they are +devils?”</p> +<p>“Many have said it, young man, and, amongst others, +Master Ellis Wyn, in that wonderful book of his, the ‘Bardd +Cwsg.’”</p> +<p>“The ‘Bardd Cwsg,’” said I; +“what kind of book is that? I have never heard of +that book before.”</p> +<p>“Heard of it before; I suppose not; how should you have +heard of it before! By-the-bye, can you read?”</p> +<p>“Very tolerably,” said I; “so there are +fairies in this book. What do you call it—the +‘Bardd Cwsg?’”</p> +<p>“Yes, the ‘Bardd Cwsg.’ You pronounce +Welsh very fairly; have you ever been in Wales?”</p> +<p>“Never,” said I.</p> +<p>“Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don’t +understand Welsh; but we were talking of the ‘Bardd +Cwsg,’—yes, there are fairies in the ‘Bardd +Cwsg,’ the author of it, Master Ellis Wyn, was carried away +in his sleep by them over mountains and valleys, rivers and great +waters, incurring mighty perils at their hands, till he was +rescued from them by an angel of the Most High, who subsequently +showed him many wonderful things.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said I, “but what were +those wonderful things?”</p> +<p>“I see, young man,” said Peter, smiling, +“that you are not without curiosity; but I can easily +pardon any one for being curious about the wonders contained in +the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The angel showed him the +course of this world, its pomps and vanities, its cruelty and its +pride, its crimes and deceits. On another occasion, the +angel showed him Death in his nether palace, surrounded by his +grisly ministers, and by those who are continually falling +victims to his power. And, on a third occasion, the state +of the condemned in their place of everlasting +torment.”</p> +<p>“But this was all in his sleep,” said I, +“was it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Peter, “in his sleep; and on +that account the book is called ‘Gweledigaethau y Bardd +Cwsg,’ or, Visions of the Sleeping Bard.”</p> +<p>“I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep,” +said I. “I prefer real ones; and perhaps, +notwithstanding what he says, the man had no visions at +all—they are probably of his own invention.”</p> +<p><!-- page 290--><a name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +290</span>“They are substantially true, young man,” +said Peter; “like the dreams of Bunyan, they are founded on +three tremendous facts, Sin, Death, and Hell; and, like his, they +have done incalculable good, at least in my own country, in the +language in which they are written. Many a guilty +conscience has the ‘Bardd Cwsg’ aroused with its +dreadful sights, its strong sighs, its puffs of smoke from the +pit, and its showers of sparks from the mouth of the yet lower +gulf of—Unknown—were it not for the ‘Bardd +Cwsg’ perhaps I might not be here.”</p> +<p>“I would sooner hear your own tale,” said I, +“than all the visions of the ‘Bardd +Cwsg.’”</p> +<p>Peter shook, bent his form nearly double, and covered his face +with his hands. I sat still and motionless, with my eyes +fixed upon him. Presently Winifred descended the hill, and +joined us. “What is the matter?” said she, +looking at her husband, who still remained in the posture I have +described. He made no answer; whereupon, laying her hand +gently on his shoulder, she said, in the peculiar soft and tender +tone which I had heard her use on a former occasion, “Take +comfort, Peter; what has happened now to afflict +thee?” Peter removed his hands from his face. +“The old pain, the old pain,” said he; “I was +talking with this young man, and he would fain know what brought +me here, he would fain hear my tale, Winifred—my sin: O +pechod Ysprydd Glan! O pechod Ysprydd Glan!” and the +poor man fell into a more fearful agony than before. Tears +trickled down Winifred’s face, I saw them trickling by the +moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing form of her afflicted +husband. I arose from my seat; “I am the cause of all +this,” said I, “by my folly and imprudence, and it is +thus I have returned your kindness and hospitality, I will depart +from you and wander my way.” I was retiring, but +Peter sprang up and detained me. “Go not,” said +he, “you were not in fault; if there be any fault in the +case, it was mine; if I suffer, I am but paying the penalty of my +own iniquity;” he then paused, and appeared to be +considering: at length he said, “Many things which thou +hast seen and heard connected with me require explanation; thou +wishest to know my tale, I will tell it thee, but not now, not +to-night; I am too much shaken.”</p> +<p>Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, +Peter took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones +broken and almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his +tale—the tale of the Pechod Ysprydd Glan.</p> +<h2><!-- page 291--><a name="page291"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 291</span>CHAPTER LXXV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Taking a Cup—Getting to +Heaven—After Breakfast—Wooden +Gallery—Mechanical Habit—Reserved and +Gloomy—Last Words—A Long Time—From the +Clouds—Ray of Hope—Momentary Chill—Pleasing +Anticipation.</p> +<p>“I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a +respectable farmer, and am the youngest of seven brothers.</p> +<p>“My father was a member of the Church of England, and +was what is generally called a serious man. He went to +church regularly, and read the Bible every Sunday evening; in his +moments of leisure he was fond of holding religious discourse +both with his family and his neighbours.</p> +<p>“One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father sat with +one of his neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our +stone kitchen. I sat near them, and listened to their +discourse. I was at that time seven years of age. +They were talking of religious matters. ‘It is a hard +matter to get to heaven,’ said my father. +‘Exceedingly so,’ said the other. +‘However, I don’t despond, none need despair of +getting to heaven, save those who have committed the sin against +the Holy Ghost.’</p> +<p>“‘Ah!’ said my father, ‘thank God I +never committed that—how awful must be the state of a +person who has committed the sin against the Holy Ghost! I +can scarcely think of it without my hair standing on end;’ +and then my father and his friend began talking of the nature of +the sin against the Holy Ghost, and I heard them say what it was, +as I sat with greedy ears listening to their discourse.</p> +<p>“I lay awake the greater part of the night musing upon +what I had heard. I kept wondering to myself what must be +the state of a person who had committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost, and how he must feel. Once or twice I felt a strong +inclination to commit it, a strange kind of fear, however, +prevented me; at last I determined not to commit it, and having +said my prayers, I fell asleep.</p> +<p>“When I awoke in the morning the first thing I thought +of was the mysterious sin, and a voice within me seemed to say, +‘Commit it;’ and I felt a strong temptation to do so, +even stronger than in the night. I was just about to yield, +when the same dread, of which I have already spoken, came over +me, and, springing out of bed, I went down on my knees. I +slept in a small room alone, to which I ascended by a wooden +stair, open to the sky. I have often thought since that it +is not a good thing for children to sleep alone.</p> +<p>“After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured to +employ myself upon my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of +nothing but the sin against the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of +being fixed upon my book, wandered in vacancy. My master +observed my inattention, and chid me. The time came for +saying my task, and I had not acquired it. <!-- page +292--><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>My +master reproached me, and, yet more, he beat me; I felt shame and +anger, and I went home with a full determination to commit the +sin against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“But when I got home my father ordered me to do +something connected with the farm, so that I was compelled to +exert myself; I was occupied till night, and was so busy that I +almost forgot the sin and my late resolution. My work +completed, I took my supper, and went to my room; I began my +prayers, and, when they were ended, I thought of the sin, but the +temptation was slight, I felt very tired, and was presently +asleep.</p> +<p>“Thus, you see, I had plenty of time allotted me by a +gracious and kind God to reflect on what I was about to do. +He did not permit the enemy of souls to take me by surprise, and +to hurry me at once into the commission of that which was to be +my ruin here and hereafter. Whatever I did was of my own +free will, after I had had time to reflect. Thus God is +justified; he had no hand in my destruction, but, on the +contrary, he did all that was compatible with justice to prevent +it. I hasten to the fatal moment. Awaking in the +night, I determined that nothing should prevent my committing the +sin. Arising from my bed, I went out upon the wooden +gallery; and having stood for a few moments looking at the stars, +with which the heavens were thickly strewn, I laid myself down, +and supporting my face with my hand, I murmured out words of +horror—words not to be repeated, and in this manner I +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“When the words were uttered I sat up upon the topmost +step of the gallery; for some time I felt stunned in somewhat the +same manner as I once subsequently felt after being stung by an +adder. I soon arose, however, and retired to my bed, where, +notwithstanding what I had done, I was not slow in falling +asleep.</p> +<p>“I awoke several times during the night, each time with +a dim idea that something strange and monstrous had occurred, but +I presently fell asleep again; in the morning I awoke with the +same vague feeling, but presently recollection returned, and I +remembered that I had committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost. I lay musing for some time on what I had done, and I +felt rather stunned, as before; at last I arose and got out of +bed, dressed myself, and then went down on my knees, and was +about to pray from the force of mechanical habit; before I said a +word, however, I recollected myself, and got up again. What +was the use of praying? I thought; I had committed the sin +against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“I went to school, but sat stupified. I was again +chidden, again beaten by my master. I felt no anger this +time, and scarcely heeded the strokes. I looked, however, +at my master’s face, and thought to myself, you are beating +me for being idle, as you suppose; poor man, what would you do if +you knew I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?</p> +<p>“Days and weeks passed by. I had once been +cheerful, and fond of the society of children of my own age; but +I was now reserved and gloomy. It seemed to me that a gulf +separated me from all my fellow-creatures. <!-- page +293--><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 293</span>I +used to look at my brothers and schoolfellows, and think how +different I was from them; they had not done what I had. I +seemed, in my own eyes, a lone monstrous being, and yet, strange +to say, I felt a kind of pride in being so. I was unhappy, +but I frequently thought to myself, I have done what no one else +would dare to do; there was something grand in the idea; I had +yet to learn the horror of my condition.</p> +<p>“Time passed on, and I began to think less of what I had +done; I began once more to take pleasure in my childish sports; I +was active, and excelled at football and the like all the lads of +my age. I likewise began, what I had never done before, to +take pleasure in the exercises of the school. I made great +progress in Welsh and English grammar, and learnt to construe +Latin. My master no longer chid or beat me, but one day +told my father that he had no doubt that one day I should be an +honour to Wales.</p> +<p>“Shortly after this my father fell sick; the progress of +the disorder was rapid; feeling his end approaching, he called +his children before him. After tenderly embracing us, he +said, ‘God bless you, my children; I am going from you, but +take comfort, I trust that we shall all meet again in +heaven.’</p> +<p>“As he uttered these last words, horror took entire +possession of me. Meet my father in heaven,—how could +I ever hope to meet him there? I looked wildly at my +brethren and at my mother; they were all bathed in tears, but how +I envied them! They might hope to meet my father in heaven, +but how different were they from me, they had never committed the +unpardonable sin.</p> +<p>“In a few days my father died; he left his family in +comfortable circumstances, at least such as would be considered +so in Wales, where the wants of the people are few. My +elder brother carried on the farm for the benefit of my mother +and us all. In course of time my brothers were put out to +various trades. I still remained at school, but without +being a source of expense to my relations, as I was by this time +able to assist my master in the business of the school.</p> +<p>“I was diligent both in self-improvement and in the +instruction of others; nevertheless, a horrible weight pressed +upon my breast; I knew I was a lost being; that for me there was +no hope; that, though all others might be saved, I must of +necessity be lost: I had committed the unpardonable sin, for +which I was doomed to eternal punishment, in the flaming gulf, as +soon as life was over!—and how long could I hope to live? +perhaps fifty years; at the end of which I must go to my place; +and then I would count the months and the days, nay, even the +hours which yet intervened between me and my doom. +Sometimes I would comfort myself with the idea that a long time +would elapse before my time would be out; but then again I +thought that, however long the term might be, it must be out at +last; and then I would fall into an agony, during which I would +almost wish that the term were out, and that I were in my place; +the horrors of which I thought could scarcely be worse than what +I then endured.</p> +<p>“There was one thought about this time which caused me +unutterable <!-- page 294--><a name="page294"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 294</span>grief and shame, perhaps more shame +than grief. It was that my father, who was gone to heaven, +and was there daily holding communion with his God, was by this +time aware of my crime. I imagined him looking down from +the clouds upon his wretched son, with a countenance of +inexpressible horror. When this idea was upon me, I would +often rush to some secret place to hide myself,—to some +thicket, where I would cast myself on the ground, and thrust my +head into a thick bush, in order to escape from the horror-struck +glance of my father above in the clouds; and there I would +continue groaning till the agony had, in some degree, passed +away.</p> +<p>“The wretchedness of my state increasing daily, it at +last became apparent to the master of the school, who questioned +me earnestly and affectionately. I, however, gave him no +satisfactory answer, being apprehensive that, if I unbosomed +myself, I should become as much an object of horror to him as I +had long been to myself. At length he suspected that I was +unsettled in my intellects; and, fearing probably the ill effect +of my presence upon his scholars, he advised me to go home; which +I was glad to do, as I felt myself every day becoming less +qualified for the duties of the office which I had +undertaken.</p> +<p>“So I returned home to my mother and my brother, who +received me with the greatest kindness and affection. I now +determined to devote myself to husbandry, and assist my brother +in the business of the farm. I was still, however, very +much distressed. One fine morning, however, as I was at +work in the field, and the birds were carolling around me, a ray +of hope began to break upon my poor dark soul. I looked at +the earth and looked at the sky, and felt as I had not done for +many a year; presently a delicious feeling stole over me. I +was beginning to enjoy existence. I shall never forget that +hour. I flung myself on the soil, and kissed it; then, +springing up with a sudden impulse, I rushed into the depths of a +neighbouring wood, and, falling upon my knees, did what I had not +done for a long time—prayed to God.</p> +<p>“A change, an entire change, seemed to have come over +me. I was no longer gloomy and despairing, but gay and +happy. My slumbers were light and easy; not disturbed, as +before, by frightful dreams. I arose with the lark, and +like him uttered a cheerful song of praise to God, frequently and +earnestly, and was particularly cautious not to do anything which +I considered might cause His displeasure.</p> +<p>“At church I was constant, and when there listened with +deepest attention to every word which proceeded from the mouth of +the minister. In a little time it appeared to me that I had +become a good, very good young man. At times the +recollection of the sin would return, and I would feel a +momentary chill; but the thought quickly vanished, and I again +felt happy and secure.</p> +<p>“One Sunday morning, after I had said my prayers, I felt +particularly joyous. I thought of the innocent and virtuous +life I was leading; and when the recollection of the sin intruded +for a moment, I said, ‘I am sure God will never utterly +cast away so good a creature as myself.’ I went to +church, and was as usual attentive. The subject of the +sermon was on the duty of searching the Scriptures: all I knew of +them was <!-- page 295--><a name="page295"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 295</span>from the Liturgy. I now, +however, determined to read them, and perfect the good work which +I had begun. My father’s Bible was upon the shelf, +and on that evening I took it with me to my chamber. I +placed it on the table, and sat down. My heart was filled +with pleasing anticipation. I opened the book at random, +and began to read; the first passage on which my eyes lighted was +the following:—</p> +<p>“‘He who committeth the sin against the Holy Ghost +shall not be forgiven, either in this world or the +next.’”</p> +<p>Here Peter was seized with convulsive tremors. Winifred +sobbed violently. I got up, and went away. Returning +in about a quarter of an hour, I found him more calm; he motioned +me to sit down; and, after a short pause, continued his +narration.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Hasty Farewell—Lofty +Rock—Wrestlings of Jacob—No Rest—Ways of +Providence—Two Females—Foot of the Cross—Enemy +of Souls—Perplexed—Lucky +Hour—Valetudinarian—Methodists—Fervent in +Prayer—You Saxons—Weak Creatures—Very +Agreeable—Almost Happy—Kindness and Solicitude.</p> +<p>“Where was I, young man? Oh, I remember, at the +fatal passage which removed all hope. I will not dwell on +what I felt. I closed my eyes, and wished that I might be +dreaming; but it was no dream, but a terrific reality: I will not +dwell on that period, I should only shock you. I could not +bear my feelings; so, bidding my friends a hasty farewell, I +abandoned myself to horror and despair, and ran wild through +Wales, climbing mountains and wading streams.</p> +<p>“Climbing mountains and wading streams, I ran wild +about, I was burnt by the sun, drenched by the rain, and had +frequently at night no other covering than the sky, or the humid +roof of some cave; but nothing seemed to affect my constitution; +probably the fire which burned within me counteracted what I +suffered from without. During the space of three years I +scarcely knew what befel me; my life was a dream—a wild, +horrible dream; more than once I believe I was in the hands of +robbers, and once in the hands of gypsies. I liked the last +description of people least of all; I could not abide their +yellow faces, or their ceaseless clabber. Escaping from +these beings, whose countenances and godless discourse brought to +my mind the demons of the deep Unknown, I still ran wild through +Wales, I know not how long. On one occasion, coming in some +degree to my recollection, I felt myself quite unable to bear the +horrors of my situation; looking round I found myself near the +sea; instantly the idea came into my head that I would cast +myself into it, and thus anticipate my final doom. I +hesitated a moment, but a voice within me seemed to tell me that +I could do no better; the sea was near, and I could not swim, so +I determined to fling myself into the sea. As I was running +along at <!-- page 296--><a name="page296"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 296</span>great speed, in the direction of a +lofty rock, which beetled over the waters, I suddenly felt myself +seized by the coat. I strove to tear myself away, but in +vain; looking round, I perceived a venerable hale old man, who +had hold of me. ‘Let me go!’ said I, +fiercely. ‘I will not let thee go,’ said the +old man; and now, instead of with one, he grappled me with both +hands. ‘In whose name dost thou detain me?’ +said I, scarcely knowing what I said. ‘In the name of +my Master, who made thee and yonder sea; and has said to the sea, +so far shalt thou come, and no farther, and to thee, thou shalt +do no murder.’ ‘Has not a man a right to do +what he pleases with his own?’ said I. ‘He +has,’ said the old man, ‘but thy life is not thy own; +thou art accountable for it to thy God. Nay, I will not let +thee go,’ he continued, as I again struggled; ‘if +thou struggle with me the whole day I will not let thee go, as +Charles Wesley says, in his ‘Wrestlings of Jacob;’ +and see, it is of no use struggling, for I am, in the strength of +my Master, stronger than thou;’ and, indeed, all of a +sudden I had become very weak and exhausted; whereupon the old +man, beholding my situation, took me by the arm and led me gently +to a neighbouring town, which stood behind a hill, and which I +had not before observed; presently he opened the door of a +respectable-looking house, which stood beside a large building +having the appearance of a chapel, and conducted me into a small +room, with a great many books in it. Having caused me to +sit down, he stood looking at me for some time, occasionally +heaving a sigh. I was, indeed, haggard and forlorn. +‘Who art thou?’ he said at last. ‘A +miserable man,’ I replied. ‘What makes thee +miserable?’ said the old man. ‘A hideous +crime,’ I replied. ‘I can find no rest; like +Cain, I wander here and there.’ The old man turned +pale. ‘Hast thou taken another’s life?’ +said he; ‘if so, I advise thee to surrender thyself to the +magistrate; thou canst do no better; thy doing so will be the +best proof of thy repentance; and though there be no hope for +thee in this world there may be much in the next.’ +‘No,’ said I, ‘I have never taken +another’s life.’ ‘What then, +another’s goods? If so, restore them seven-fold, if +possible: or, if it be not in thy power, and thy conscience +accuse thee, surrender thyself to the magistrate, and make the +only satisfaction thou art able.’ ‘I have taken +no one’s goods,’ said I. ‘Of what art +thou guilty, then?’ said he. ‘Art thou a +drunkard? a profligate?’ ‘Alas, no,’ said +I; ‘I am neither of these; would that I were no +worse!’</p> +<p>“Thereupon the old man looked steadfastly at me for some +time; then, after appearing to reflect, he said, ‘Young +man, I have a great desire to know your name.’ +‘What matters it to you what is my name?’ said I; +‘you know nothing of me.’ ‘Perhaps you +are mistaken,’ said the old man, looking kindly at me; +‘but at all events tell me your name.’ I +hesitated a moment, and then told him who I was, whereupon he +exclaimed with much emotion, ‘I thought so; how wonderful +are the ways of Providence! I have heard of thee, young +man, and know thy mother well. Only a month ago, when upon +a journey, I experienced much kindness from her. She was +speaking to me of her lost child, with tears; she told me that +you were one of the best of sons, but that <!-- page 297--><a +name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 297</span>some +strange idea appeared to have occupied your mind. Despair +not, my son. If thou hast been afflicted, I doubt not but +that thy affliction will eventually turn out to thy benefit; I +doubt not but that thou wilt be preserved, as an example of the +great mercy of God. I will now kneel down and pray for +thee, my son.’</p> +<p>“He knelt down, and prayed long and fervently. I +remained standing for some time; at length I knelt down +likewise. I scarcely knew what he was saying, but when he +concluded I said ‘Amen.’</p> +<p>“And when we had risen from our knees, the old man left +me for a short time, and on his return led me into another room, +where were two females; one was an elderly person, the wife of +the old man,—the other was a young woman of very +prepossessing appearance (hang not down thy head, Winifred), who +I soon found was a distant relation of the old man,—both +received me with great kindness, the old man having doubtless +previously told them who I was.</p> +<p>“I staid several days in the good man’s +house. I had still the greater portion of a small sum which +I happened to have about me when I departed on my dolorous +wandering, and with this I purchased clothes, and altered my +appearance considerably. On the evening of the second day, +my friend said, ‘I am going to preach, perhaps you will +come and hear me.’ I consented, and we all went, not +to a church, but to the large building next the house; for the +old man, though a clergyman, was not of the established +persuasion, and there the old man mounted a pulpit, and began to +preach. ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are +heavy laden,’ etc., etc., was his text. His sermon +was long, but I still bear the greater portion of it in my +mind.</p> +<p>“The substance of it was that Jesus was at all times +ready to take upon himself the burden of our sins, provided we +came to him with a humble and contrite spirit, and begged his +help. This doctrine was new to me; I had often been at +church, but had never heard it preached before, at least so +distinctly. When he said that all men might be saved, I +shook, for I expected he would add, all except those who had +committed the mysterious sin; but no, all men were to be saved +who with a humble and contrite spirit would come to Jesus, cast +themselves at the foot of his cross, and accept pardon through +the merits of his blood-shedding alone. ‘Therefore, +my friends,’ said he, in conclusion, ‘despair +not—however guilty you may be, despair not—however +desperate your condition may seem,’ said he, fixing his +eyes upon me, ‘despair not. There is nothing more +foolish and more wicked than despair; overweening confidence is +not more foolish than despair; both are the favourite weapons of +the enemy of souls.’</p> +<p>“This discourse gave rise in my mind to no slight +perplexity. I had read in the Scriptures that he who +committeth a certain sin shall never be forgiven, and that there +is no hope for him either in this world or the next. And +here was a man, a good man certainly, and one who, of necessity, +was thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures, who told me that +any one might be forgiven, however wicked, who would only trust +in Christ and in the merits of his blood-shedding. Did I +believe in Christ? Ay, truly. Was I willing to be +saved by Christ? Ay, <!-- page 298--><a +name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>truly. Did I trust in Christ? I trusted +that Christ would save every one but myself. And why not +myself? simply because the Scriptures had told me that he who has +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost can never be saved, and +I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost,—perhaps the +only one who ever had committed it. How could I hope? +The Scriptures could not lie, and yet here was this good old man, +profoundly versed in the Scriptures, who bade me hope; would he +lie? No. But did the old man know my case? Ah, +no, he did not know my case! but yet he had bid me hope, whatever +I had done, provided I would go to Jesus. But how could I +think of going to Jesus, when the Scriptures told me plainly that +all would be useless? I was perplexed, and yet a ray of +hope began to dawn in my soul. I thought of consulting the +good man, but I was afraid he would drive away the small +glimmer. I was afraid he would say, ‘O, yes, every +one is to be saved, except a wretch like you; I was not aware +before that there was anything so +horrible,—begone!’ Once or twice the old man +questioned me on the subject of my misery, but I evaded him; +once, indeed, when he looked particularly benevolent, I think I +should have unbosomed myself to him, but we were +interrupted. He never pressed me much; perhaps he was +delicate in probing my mind, as we were then of different +persuasions. Hence he advised me to seek the advice of some +powerful minister in my own church; there were many such in it, +he said.</p> +<p>“I staid several days in the family, during which time I +more than once heard my venerable friend preach; each time he +preached, he exhorted his hearers not to despair. The whole +family were kind to me; his wife frequently discoursed with me, +and also the young person to whom I have already alluded. +It appeared to me that the latter took a peculiar interest in my +fate.</p> +<p>“At last my friend said to me, ‘It is now time +thou shouldst return to thy mother and thy brother.’ +So I arose, and departed to my mother and my brother; and at my +departure my old friend gave me his blessing, and his wife and +the young person shed tears, the last especially. And when +my mother saw me, she shed tears, and fell on my neck and kissed +me, and my brother took me by the hand and bade me welcome; and +when our first emotions were subsided, my mother said, ‘I +trust thou art come in a lucky hour. A few weeks ago my +cousin (whose favourite thou always wast) died and left thee his +heir—left thee the goodly farm in which he lived. I +trust, my son, that thou wilt now settle, and be a comfort to me +in my old days.’ And I answered, ‘I will, if so +please the Lord;’ and I said to myself, ‘God grant +that this bequest be a token of the Lord’s +favour.’</p> +<p>“And in a few days I departed to take possession of my +farm; it was about twenty miles from my mother’s house, in +a beautiful but rather wild district; I arrived at the fall of +the leaf. All day long I busied myself with my farm, and +thus kept my mind employed. At night, however, I felt +rather solitary, and I frequently wished for a companion. +Each night and morning I prayed fervently unto the Lord; for His +hand had been very heavy upon me, and I feared Him.</p> +<p><!-- page 299--><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +299</span>“There was one thing connected with my new abode, +which gave me considerable uneasiness—the want of spiritual +instruction. There was a church, indeed, close at hand, in +which service was occasionally performed, but in so hurried and +heartless a manner that I derived little benefit from it. +The clergyman to whom the benefice belonged was a valetudinarian, +who passed his time in London, or at some watering place, +entrusting the care of his flock to the curate of a distant +parish, who gave himself very little trouble about the +matter. Now I wanted every Sunday to hear from the pulpit +words of consolation and encouragement, similar to those which I +had heard uttered from the pulpit by my good and venerable +friend, but I was debarred from this privilege. At length, +one day being in conversation with one of my labourers, a staid +and serious man, I spoke to him of the matter which lay heavy +upon my mind; whereupon, looking me wistfully in the face, he +said, ‘Master, the want of religious instruction in my +church was what drove me to the Methodists.’ +‘The Methodists,’ said I; ‘are there any in +these parts?’ ‘There is a chapel,’ said +he, ‘only half a mile distant, at which there are two +services every Sunday, and other two during the +week.’ Now it happened that my venerable friend was +of the Methodist persuasion, and when I heard the poor man talk +in this manner, I said to him, ‘May I go with you next +Sunday?’ ‘Why not?’ said he; so I went +with the labourer on the ensuing Sabbath to the meeting of the +Methodists.</p> +<p>“I liked the preaching which I heard at the chapel very +well, though it was not quite so comfortable as that of my old +friend, the preacher being in some respects a different kind of +man. It, however, did me good, and I went again, and +continued to do so, though I did not become a regular member of +the body at that time.</p> +<p>“I had now the benefit of religious instruction, and +also to a certain extent of religious fellowship, for the +preacher and various members of his flock frequently came to see +me. They were honest plain men, not exactly of the +description which I wished for, but still good sort of people, +and I was glad to see them. Once on a time, when some of +them were with me, one of them enquired whether I was fervent in +prayer. ‘Very fervent,’ said I. +‘And do you read the Scriptures often?’ said +he. ‘No,’ said I. ‘Why not?’ +said he. ‘Because I am afraid to see there my own +condemnation.’ They looked at each other, and said +nothing at the time. On leaving me, however, they all +advised me to read the Scriptures with fervency and prayer.</p> +<p>“As I had told these honest people, I shrank from +searching the Scriptures; the remembrance of the fatal passage +was still too vivid in my mind to permit me. I did not wish +to see my condemnation repeated, but I was very fervent in +prayer, and almost hoped that God would yet forgive me by virtue +of the blood-shedding of the Lamb. Time passed on, my +affairs prospered, and I enjoyed a certain portion of +tranquillity. Occasionally, when I had nothing else to do, +I renewed my studies. Many is the book I read, especially +in my native language, for I was always fond of my native +language, and proud of being a Welshman. Amongst the books +I read were the odes of the great Ab <!-- page 300--><a +name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 300</span>Gwilym, +whom thou, friend, hast never heard of; no, nor any of thy +countrymen, for you are an ignorant race, you Saxons, at least +with respect to all that relates to Wales and Welshmen. I +likewise read the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The latter work +possessed a singular fascination for me, on account of its +wonderful delineations of the torments of the nether world.</p> +<p>“But man does not love to be alone; indeed, the +Scripture says that it is not good for man to be alone. I +occupied my body with the pursuits of husbandry, and I improved +my mind with the perusal of good and wise books; but, as I have +already said, I frequently sighed for a companion with whom I +could exchange ideas, and who could take an interest in my +pursuits; the want of such a one I more particularly felt in the +long winter evenings. It was then that the image of the +young person whom I had seen in the house of the preacher +frequently rose up distinctly before my mind’s eye, decked +with quiet graces—hang not down your head, +Winifred—and I thought that of all the women in the world I +should wish her to be my partner, and then I considered whether +it would be possible to obtain her. I am ready to +acknowledge, friend, that it was both selfish and wicked in me to +wish to fetter any human being to a lost creature like myself, +conscious of having committed a crime for which the Scriptures +told me there is no pardon. I had, indeed, a long struggle +as to whether I should make the attempt or not—selfishness +however prevailed. I will not detain your attention with +relating all that occurred at this period—suffice it to say +that I made my suit and was successful; it is true that the old +man, who was her guardian, hesitated, and asked several questions +respecting my state of mind. I am afraid that I partly +deceived him, perhaps he partly deceived himself; he was pleased +that I had adopted his profession—we are all weak +creatures. With respect to the young person, she did not +ask many questions; and I soon found that I had won her +heart. To be brief, I married her; and here she is, the +truest wife that ever man had, and the kindest. Kind I may +well call her, seeing that she shrinks not from me, who so +cruelly deceived her, in not telling her at first what I +was. I married her, friend; and brought her home to my +little possession, where we passed our time very agreeably. +Our affairs prospered, our garners were full, and there was coin +in our purse. I worked in the field; Winifred busied +herself with the dairy. At night I frequently read books to +her, books of my own country, friend; I likewise read to her +songs of my own, holy songs and carols which she admired, and +which yourself would perhaps admire, could you understand them; +but I repeat, you Saxons are an ignorant people with respect to +us, and a perverse, inasmuch as you despise Welsh without +understanding it. Every night I prayed fervently, and my +wife admired my gift of prayer.</p> +<p>“One night, after I had been reading to my wife a +portion of Ellis Wyn, my wife said, ‘This is a wonderful +book, and containing much true and pleasant doctrine; but how is +it that you, who are so fond of good books, and good things in +general, never read the Bible? You read me the book of +Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of <!-- page 301--><a +name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 301</span>your own +composition, you edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet you +never read the Bible.’ And when I heard her mention +the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own condemnation. +However, I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I +commenced on that very night reading the Bible. All went on +smoothly for a long time; for months and months I did not find +the fatal passage, so that I almost thought that I had imagined +it. My affairs prospered much the while, so that I was +almost happy,—taking pleasure in everything around +me,—in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions, and +the Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible, +feeling particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into +my head that I would print some of my compositions, and purchase +a particular field of a neighbour—oh, God—God! +I came to the fatal passage.</p> +<p>“Friend, friend, what shall I say? I rushed +out. My wife followed me, asking me what was the +matter. I could only answer with groans—for three +days and three nights I did little else than groan. Oh, the +kindness and solicitude of my wife! ‘What is the +matter, husband, dear husband?’ she was continually +saying. I became at last more calm. My wife still +persisted in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm. It is +hard to keep a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as +mine, so I told my wife the tale, as we sat one night—it +was a mid-winter night—over the dying brands of our hearth, +after the family had retired to rest, her hand locked in mine, +even as it is now.</p> +<p>“I thought she would have shrunk from me with horror; +but she did not; her hand, it is true, trembled once or twice; +but that was all. At last she gave mine a gentle pressure; +and, looking up in my face, she said—what do you think my +wife said, young man?”</p> +<p>“It is impossible for me to guess,” said I.</p> +<p>“‘Let us go to rest, my love; your fears are all +groundless.’”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Getting Late—Seven Years +Old—Chastening—Go Forth—London +Bridge—Same Eyes—Common Occurrence—Very +Sleepy.</p> +<p>“And so I still say,” said Winifred, +sobbing. “Let us retire to rest, dear husband; your +fears are groundless. I had hoped long since that your +affliction would have passed away, and I still hope that it +eventually will; so take heart, Peter, and let us retire to rest, +for it is getting late.”</p> +<p>“Rest!” said Peter; “there is no rest for +the wicked!”</p> +<p>“We are all wicked,” said Winifred; “but you +are afraid of a shadow. How often have I told you that the +sin of your heart is not the sin against the Holy Ghost: the sin +of your heart is its natural pride, of which you are scarcely +aware, to keep down which God in His mercy permitted you to be +terrified with the idea of having committed a sin which you never +committed.”</p> +<p><!-- page 302--><a name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +302</span>“Then you will still maintain,” said Peter, +“that I never committed the sin against the Holy +Spirit?”</p> +<p>“I will,” said Winifred; “you never +committed it. How should a child seven years old commit a +sin like that?”</p> +<p>“Have I not read my own condemnation?” said +Peter. “Did not the first words which I read in the +Holy Scripture condemn me? ‘He who committeth the sin +against the Holy Ghost shall never enter into the kingdom of +God.’”</p> +<p>“You never committed it,” said Winifred.</p> +<p>“But the words! the words! the words!” said +Peter.</p> +<p>“The words are true words,” said Winifred, +sobbing; “but they were not meant for you, but for those +who have broken their profession, who, having embraced the cross, +have receded from their Master.”</p> +<p>“And what sayst thou to the effect which the words +produced upon me?” said Peter. “Did they not +cause me to run wild through Wales for years, like Merddin Wyllt +of yore? thinkest thou that I opened the book at that particular +passage by chance?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Winifred, “not by chance; it was +the hand of God directed you, doubtless for some wise +purpose. You had become satisfied with yourself. The +Lord wished to rouse thee from thy state of carnal security, and +therefore directed your eyes to that fearful passage.”</p> +<p>“Does the Lord then carry out His designs by means of +guile?” said Peter, with a groan. “Is not the +Lord true? Would the Lord impress upon me that I had +committed a sin of which I am guiltless? Hush, Winifred! +hush! thou knowest that I have committed the sin.”</p> +<p>“Thou hast not committed it,” said Winifred, +sobbing yet more violently. “Were they my last words, +I would persist that thou hast not committed it, though, perhaps, +thou wouldst, but for this chastening; it was not to convince +thee that thou hast committed the sin, but rather to prevent thee +from committing it, that the Lord brought that passage before thy +eyes. He is not to blame, if thou art wilfully blind to the +truth and wisdom of His ways.”</p> +<p>“I see thou wouldst comfort me,” said Peter, +“as thou hast often before attempted to do. I would +fain ask the young man his opinion.”</p> +<p>“I have not yet heard the whole of your history,” +said I.</p> +<p>“My story is nearly told,” said Peter; “a +few words will complete it. My wife endeavoured to console +and reassure me, using the arguments which you have just heard +her use, and many others, but in vain. Peace nor comfort +came to my breast. I was rapidly falling into the depths of +despair; when one day Winifred said to me, ‘I see thou wilt +be lost if we remain here. One resource only remains. +Thou must go forth, my husband, into the wide world, and to +comfort thee I will go with thee.’ ‘And what +can I do in the wide world?’ said I, despondingly. +‘Much,’ replied Winifred, ‘if you will but +exert yourself; much good canst thou do with the blessing of +God.’ Many things of the same kind she said to me; +and at last I arose from the earth to which God had smitten me, +and disposed of my property in the best way I could, and went +into the world. We did all the good <!-- page 303--><a +name="page303"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 303</span>we were +able, visiting the sick, ministering to the sick, and praying +with the sick. At last I became celebrated as the possessor +of a great gift of prayer. And people urged me to preach, +and Winifred urged me too, and at last I consented, and I +preached. I—I—outcast Peter, became the +preacher, Peter Williams. I, the lost one, attempted to +show others the right road. And in this way I have gone on +for thirteen years, preaching and teaching, visiting the sick, +and ministering to them, with Winifred by my side hearkening me +on. Occasionally I am visited with fits of indescribable +agony, generally on the night before the Sabbath; for I then ask +myself, how dare I, the outcast, attempt to preach the word of +God? Young man, my tale is told; you seem in +thought!”</p> +<p>“I am thinking of London Bridge,” said I.</p> +<p>“Of London Bridge!” said Peter and his wife.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “of London Bridge. I am +indebted for much wisdom to London Bridge; it was there that I +completed my studies. But to the point. I was once +reading on London Bridge a book which an ancient gentlewoman, who +kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending me; and there I +found written, ‘Each one carries in his breast the +recollection of some sin which presses heavy upon him. O! +if men could but look into each other’s hearts, what +blackness would they find there!’”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” said Peter. “What +is the name of the book?”</p> +<p>“‘The Life of Blessed Mary +Flanders.’”</p> +<p>“Some popish saint, I suppose,” said Peter.</p> +<p>“As much of a saint, I dare say,” said I, +“as most popish ones; but you interrupted me. One +part of your narrative brought the passage which I have quoted +into my mind. You said that after you had committed this +same sin of yours you were in the habit, at school, of looking +upon your schoolfellows with a kind of gloomy superiority, +considering yourself a lone monstrous being who had committed a +sin far above the daring of any of them. Are you sure that +many others of your schoolfellows were not looking upon you and +the others with much the same eyes with which you were looking +upon them!”</p> +<p>“How!” said Peter, “dost thou think that +they had divined my secret?”</p> +<p>“Not they,” said I; “they were, I dare say, +thinking too much of themselves and of their own concerns to have +divined any secrets of yours. All I mean to say is, they +had probably secrets of their own, and who knows that the secret +sin of more than one of them was not the very sin which caused +you so much misery?”</p> +<p>“Dost thou then imagine,” said Peter, “the +sin against the Holy Ghost to be so common an +occurrence?”</p> +<p>“As you have described it,” said I, “of very +common occurrence, especially amongst children, who are, indeed, +the only beings likely to commit it.”</p> +<p>“Truly,” said Winifred, “the young man talks +wisely.”</p> +<p>Peter was silent for some moments, and appeared to be +reflecting; at last, suddenly raising his head, he looked me full +in the face, and, <!-- page 304--><a name="page304"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 304</span>grasping my hand with vehemence, he +said, “Tell me, young man, only one thing, hast thou, too, +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?”</p> +<p>“I am neither Papist nor Methodist,” said I, +“but of the Church, and, being so, confess myself to no +one, but keep my own counsel; I will tell thee, however, had I +committed, at the same age, twenty such sins as that which you +committed, I should feel no uneasiness at these years—but I +am sleepy, and must go to rest.”</p> +<p>“God bless thee, young man,” said Winifred.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Low and Calm—Much Better—Blessed +Effect—No Answer—Such a Sermon.</p> +<p>Before I sank to rest I heard Winifred and her husband +conversing in the place where I had left them; both their voices +were low and calm. I soon fell asleep, and slumbered for +some time. On my awakening I again heard them conversing, +but they were now in their cart; still the voices of both were +calm. I heard no passionate bursts of wild despair on the +part of the man. Methought I occasionally heard the word +Pechod proceeding from the lips of each, but with no particular +emphasis. I supposed they were talking of the innate sin of +both their hearts.</p> +<p>“I wish that man were happy,” said I to myself, +“were it only for his wife’s sake, and yet he +deserves to be happy for his own.”</p> +<p>The next day Peter was very cheerful, more cheerful than I had +ever seen him. At breakfast his conversation was animated, +and he smiled repeatedly. I looked at him with the greatest +interest, and the eyes of his wife were almost constantly fixed +upon him. A shade of gloom would occasionally come over his +countenance, but it almost instantly disappeared; perhaps it +proceeded more from habit than anything else. After +breakfast he took his Welsh Bible and sat down beneath a +tree. His eyes were soon fixed intently on the volume; now +and then he would call his wife, show her some passage, and +appeared to consult with her. The day passed quickly and +comfortably.</p> +<p>“Your husband seems much better,” said I, at +evening fall, to Winifred, as we chanced to be alone.</p> +<p>“He does,” said Winifred, “and that on the +day of the week when he was wont to appear most melancholy, for +to-morrow is the Sabbath. He now no longer looks forward to +the Sabbath with dread, but appears to reckon on it. What a +happy change! and to think that this change should have been +produced by a few words, seemingly careless ones, proceeding from +the mouth of one who is almost a stranger to him. Truly, it +is wonderful.”</p> +<p>“To whom do you allude,” said I; “and to +what words?”</p> +<p>“To yourself, and to the words which came from your lips +last night, after you had heard my poor husband’s +history. Those strange words, drawn out with so much +seeming indifference, have produced in my <!-- page 305--><a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>husband the +blessed effect which you have observed. They have altered +the current of his ideas. He no longer thinks himself the +only being in the world doomed to destruction,—the only +being capable of committing the never-to-be-forgiven sin. +Your supposition that that which harrowed his soul is of frequent +occurrence amongst children, has tranquillized him; the mist +which hung over his mind has cleared away, and he begins to see +the groundlessness of his apprehensions. The Lord has +permitted him to be chastened for a season, but his lamp will +only burn the brighter for what he has undergone.”</p> +<p>Sunday came, fine and glorious as the last. Again my +friends and myself breakfasted together—again the good +family of the house on the hill above, headed by the respectable +master, descended to the meadow. Peter and his wife were +ready to receive them. Again Peter placed himself at the +side of the honest farmer, and Winifred by the side of her +friend. “Wilt thou not come?” said Peter, +looking towards me with a face in which there was much +emotion. “Wilt thou not come?” said Winifred, +with a face beaming with kindness. But I made no answer, +and presently the party moved away, in the same manner in which +it had moved on the preceding sabbath, and I was again left +alone.</p> +<p>The hours of the sabbath passed slowly away. I sat +gazing at the sky, the trees, and the water. At last I +strolled up to the house and sat down in the porch. It was +empty; there was no modest maiden there, as on the preceding +sabbath. The damsel of the book had accompanied the +rest. I had seen her in the procession, and the house +appeared quite deserted. The owners had probably left it to +my custody, so I sat down in the porch, quite alone. The +hours of the sabbath passed heavily away.</p> +<p>At last evening came, and with it the party of the morning, I +was now at my place beneath the oak. I went forward to meet +them. Peter and his wife received me with a calm and quiet +greeting, and passed forward. The rest of the party had +broke into groups. There was a kind of excitement amongst +them, and much eager whispering. I went to one of the +groups; the young girl of whom I have spoken more than once, was +speaking: “Such a sermon,” said she, “it has +never been our lot to hear; Peter never before spoke as he has +done this day—he was always a powerful preacher; but oh, +the unction of the discourse of this morning, and yet more of +that of the afternoon, which was the continuation of +it.” “What was the subject?” said I, +interrupting her. “Ah! you should have been there, +young man, to have heard it; it would have made a lasting +impression upon you. I was bathed in tears all the time; +those who heard it will never forget the preaching of the good +Peter Williams on the Power, Providence, and Goodness of +God.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 306--><a name="page306"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 306</span>CHAPTER LXXIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Deep Interest—Goodly Country—Two +Mansions—Welshman’s Candle—Beautiful +Universe—Godly Discourse—Fine Church—Points of +Doctrine—Strange Adventures—Paltry Cause—Roman +Pontiff—Evil Spirit.</p> +<p>On the morrow I said to my friends, “I am about to +depart; farewell!” “Depart!” said Peter +and his wife, simultaneously, “whither wouldst thou +go?” “I can’t stay here all my +days,” I replied. “Of course not,” said +Peter; “but we had no idea of losing thee so soon: we had +almost hoped that thou wouldst join us, become one of us. +We are under infinite obligations to thee.” +“You mean I am under infinite obligations to you,” +said I. “Did you not save my life?” +“Perhaps so, under God,” said Peter; “and what +hast thou not done for me? Art thou aware that, under God, +thou hast preserved my soul from despair? But, independent +of that, we like thy company, and feel a deep interest in thee, +and would fain teach thee the way that is right. Hearken, +to-morrow we go into Wales; go with us.” “I +have no wish to go into Wales,” said I. “Why +not?” said Peter, with animation, “Wales is a goodly +country; as the Scripture says—a land of brooks of water, +of fountains and depths, that spring out of valleys and hills, a +land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest +dig lead.”</p> +<p>“I dare say it is a very fine country,” said I, +“but I have no wish to go there just now; my destiny seems +to point in another direction, to say nothing of my +trade.” “Thou dost right to say nothing of thy +trade,” said Peter, smiling, “for thou seemest to +care nothing about it; which has led Winifred and myself to +suspect that thou art not altogether what thou seemest; but, +setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou wouldst go +with us into Wales.” “I cannot promise to go +with you into Wales,” said I; “but, as you depart +to-morrow, I will stay with you through the day, and on the +morrow accompany you part of the way.” +“Do,” said Peter. “I have many people to +see to-day, and so has Winifred; but we will both endeavour to +have some serious discourse with thee, which, perhaps, will turn +to thy profit in the end.”</p> +<p>In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was +seated beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced +addressing me in the following manner:—</p> +<p>“I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing +to admit, that the most important thing which a human being +possesses is his soul; it is of infinite more importance than the +body, which is a frail substance, and cannot last for many years; +but not so the soul, which, by its nature, is imperishable. +To one of two mansions the soul is destined to depart, after its +separation from the body, to heaven or hell: to the halls of +eternal bliss, where God and His holy angels dwell, or to the +place of endless misery, inhabited by Satan and his grisly +companions. My friend, if the joys of heaven are great, +unutterably great, so are the torments of hell unutterably +so. I wish not to <!-- page 307--><a +name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 307</span>speak of +them, I wish not to terrify your imagination with the torments of +hell; indeed, I like not to think of them; but it is necessary to +speak of them sometimes, and to think of them sometimes, lest you +should sink into a state of carnal security. Authors, +friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as to the +particulars of hell. They all agree, however, in +considering it a place of exceeding horror. Master Ellis +Wyn, who by-the-bye was a churchman, calls it, amongst other +things, a place of strong sighs, and of flaming sparks. +Master Rees Pritchard, who was not only a churchman, but Vicar of +Llandovery, and flourished about two hundred years ago—I +wish many like him flourished now—speaking of hell, in his +collection of sweet hymns, called the ‘Welshman’s +Candle,’ observes,</p> +<p>“‘The pool is continually blazing; it is very +deep, without any known bottom, and the walls are so high, that +there is neither hope nor possibility of escaping over +them.’</p> +<p>“But, I told you just now, I have no great pleasure in +talking of hell. No, friend, no; I would sooner talk of the +other place, and of the goodness and hospitality of God amongst +His saints above.”</p> +<p>And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of +heaven, and the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions +above; explaining to me, in the clearest way, how I might get +there.</p> +<p>And when he had finished what he had to say, he left me, +whereupon Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me, began to +address me. “I do not think,” said she, +“from what I have observed of thee, that thou wouldst wish +to be ungrateful, and yet, is not thy whole life a series of +ingratitude, and to whom?—to thy Maker. Has He not +endowed thee with a goodly and healthy form; and senses which +enable thee to enjoy the delights of His beautiful +universe—the work of His hands? Canst thou not enjoy, +even to rapture, the brightness of the sun, the perfume of the +meads, and the song of the dear birds, which inhabit among the +trees? Yes, thou canst; for I have seen thee, and observed +thee doing so. Yet, during the whole time that I have known +thee, I have not heard proceed from thy lips one single word of +praise or thanksgiving to—”</p> +<p>And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a +considerable time, and to all her discourse I listened with +attention; and when she had concluded I took her hand and said, +“I thank you,” and that was all.</p> +<p>On the next day everything was ready for our departure. +The good family of the house came to bid us farewell. There +were shaking of hands, and kisses, as on the night of our +arrival.</p> +<p>And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have +spoken so often, came up to me, and holding out her hand said, +“Farewell, young man, wherever thou goest.” +Then, after looking around her, she said, “It was all true +you told me. Yesterday I received a letter from him thou +wottest of, he is coming soon. God bless you, young man; +who would have thought thou knewest so much!”</p> +<p>So after we had taken our farewell of the good family, we +departed, proceeding in the direction of Wales. Peter was +very cheerful, and <!-- page 308--><a name="page308"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 308</span>enlivened the way with godly +discourse and spiritual hymns, some of which were in the Welsh +language. At length I said, “It is a pity that you +did not continue in the church; you have a turn for Psalmody, and +I have heard of a man becoming a bishop, by means of a less +qualification.”</p> +<p>“Very probably,” said Peter; “more the +pity. But I have told you the reason of my forsaking +it. Frequently, when I went to the church door, I found it +barred, and the priest absent; what was I to do? My heart +was bursting for want of some religious help and comfort; what +could I do? as good Master Rees Pritchard observes in his +‘Candle for Welshmen.’</p> +<p>“‘It is a doleful thing to see little children +burning on the hot coals for want of help; but yet more doleful +to see a flock of souls falling into the burning lake for want of +a priest.’”</p> +<p>“The Church of England is a fine church,” said I; +“I would not advise any one to speak ill of the Church of +England before me.”</p> +<p>“I have nothing to say against the church,” said +Peter; “all I wish is that it would fling itself a little +more open, and that its priests would a little more bestir +themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the cross and +become a missionary church.”</p> +<p>“It is too proud for that,” said Winifred.</p> +<p>“You are much more of a Methodist,” said I, +“than your husband. But tell me,” said I, +addressing myself to Peter, “do you not differ from the +church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true +member of the church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar opinions +of wandering sectaries!”</p> +<p>“Oh, the pride of that church!” said Winifred, +half to herself; “wandering sectaries!”</p> +<p>“We differ in no points of doctrine,” said Peter: +“we believe all the church believes, though we are not so +fond of vain and superfluous ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths +and surplices, as the church is. We likewise think that +there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in holding free +discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker,” he +added, smiling; “it was those superfluous ceremonies, those +surplices and white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of +strictly regulating his words and conversation, which drove John +Wesley out of the church, and sent him wandering up and down as +you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do.”</p> +<p>Nothing further passed for some time; we were now drawing near +the hills: at last I said, “You must have met with a great +many strange adventures since you took up this course of +life?”</p> +<p>“Many,” said Peter, “it has been my lot to +meet with; but none more strange than one which occurred to me +only a few weeks ago. You were asking me, not long since, +whether I believed in devils? Ay, truly, young man; and I +believe that the abyss and the yet deeper unknown do not contain +them all; some walk about upon the green earth. So it +happened, some weeks ago, that I was exercising my ministry, +about forty miles from here. I was alone, Winifred being +slightly indisposed, staying for a few days at the house of an +acquaintance; I had <!-- page 309--><a name="page309"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 309</span>finished afternoon’s +worship—the people had dispersed, and I was sitting +solitary by my cart under some green trees in a quiet retired +place; suddenly a voice said to me, ‘Good evening, +Pastor;’ I looked up, and before me stood a man, at least +the appearance of a man, dressed in a black suit of rather a +singular fashion. He was about my own age, or somewhat +older. As I looked upon him, it appeared to me that I had +seen him twice before whilst preaching. I replied to his +salutation, and perceiving that he looked somewhat fatigued, I +took out a stool from the cart, and asked him to sit down. +We began to discourse; I at first supposed that he might be one +of ourselves, some wandering minister; but I was soon +undeceived. Neither his language nor his ideas were those +of any one of our body. He spoke on all kinds of matters +with much fluency; till at last he mentioned my preaching, +complimenting me on my powers. I replied, as well I might, +that I could claim no merit of my own, and that if I spoke with +any effect, it was only by the grace of God. As I uttered +these last words, a horrible kind of sneer came over his +countenance, which made me shudder, for there was something +diabolical in it. I said little more, but listened +attentively to his discourse. At last he said that ‘I +was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy of one of my +powers.’ ‘How can that be,’ said I, +‘even if I possessed all the powers in the world, seeing +that I am engaged in the cause of our Lord Jesus?’</p> +<p>“The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, +but he almost instantly observed that if I chose to forsake this +same miserable cause, from which nothing but contempt and +privation were to be expected, he would enlist me into another, +from which I might expect both profit and renown. An idea +now came into my head, and I told him firmly, that if he wished +me to forsake my present profession and become a member of the +Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that I had no +ill-will against that church, but I thought I could do most good +in my present position, which I would not forsake to be +Archbishop of Canterbury. Thereupon he burst into a strange +laughter, and went away, repeating to himself, ‘Church of +England! Archbishop of Canterbury!’ A few days +after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again +appeared before me, and asked me whether I had thought over his +words, and whether I was willing to enlist under the banners of +his master, adding, that he was eager to secure me, as he +conceived that I might be highly useful to the cause. I +then asked him who his master was; he hesitated for a moment, and +then answered, ‘The Roman Pontiff.’ ‘If +it be he,’ said I, ‘I can have nothing to do with +him, I will serve no one who is an enemy of Christ.’ +Thereupon he drew near to me and told me not to talk so much like +a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that no such +person ever existed, but that if he ever did, he was the greatest +impostor the world ever saw. How long he continued in this +way I know not, for I now considered that an evil spirit was +before me, and shrank within myself, shivering in every limb; +when I recovered myself and looked about me, he was gone. +Two days after, he again stood before me, in the same place, and +about the same hour, renewing his propositions, and speaking more +horribly <!-- page 310--><a name="page310"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 310</span>than before. I made him no +answer; whereupon he continued; but suddenly hearing a noise +behind him, he looked round and beheld Winifred, who had returned +to me on the morning of that day. ‘Who are +you?’ said he, fiercely. ‘This man’s +wife,’ said she, calmly fixing her eyes upon him. +‘Begone from him, unhappy one, thou temptest him in +vain.’ He made no answer, but stood as if transfixed: +at length recovering himself, he departed, muttering ‘Wife! +wife! If the fool has a wife, he will never do for +us.’”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Border—Thank you Both—Pipe and +Fiddle—Taliesin.</p> +<p>We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, +“If you are to go into Wales, you must presently decide, +for we are close upon the border.”</p> +<p>“Which is the border?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yon small brook,” said Peter, “into which +the man on horseback who is coming towards us, is now +entering.”</p> +<p>“I see it,” said I, “and the man; he stops +in the middle of it, as if to water his steed.”</p> +<p>We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. +“Well,” said Peter, “will you go into +Wales?”</p> +<p>“What should I do in Wales?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Do!” said Peter, smiling, “learn +Welsh.”</p> +<p>I stopped my little pony. “Then I need not go into +Wales; I already know Welsh.”</p> +<p>“Know Welsh!” said Peter, staring at me.</p> +<p>“Know Welsh!” said Winifred, stopping her +cart.</p> +<p>“How and when did you learn it?” said Peter.</p> +<p>“From books, in my boyhood.”</p> +<p>“Read Welsh!” said Peter, “is it +possible?”</p> +<p>“Read Welsh!” said Winifred, “is it +possible?”</p> +<p>“Well, I hope you will come with us,” said +Peter.</p> +<p>“Come with us, young man,” said Winifred; +“let me, on the other side of the brook, welcome you into +Wales.”</p> +<p>“Thank you both,” said I, “but I will not +come.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore?” exclaimed both, simultaneously.</p> +<p>“Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into +Wales at this time, and in this manner. When I go into +Wales, I should wish to go in a new suit of superfine black, with +hat and beaver, mounted on a powerful steed, black and glossy, +like that which bore Greduv to the fight of Catraeth. I +should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen assembled on the +border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and much +whooping and shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as +far as Machynllaith, where I should wish to be invited to a <!-- +page 311--><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +311</span>dinner at which all the bards should be present, and to +be seated at the right hand of the president, who, when the cloth +was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of silence, +exclaim—‘Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose +the health of my most respectable friend the translator of the +odes of the great Ab Gwilym, the pride and glory of +Wales.’”</p> +<p>“How!” said Peter, “hast thou translated the +works of the mighty Dafydd?”</p> +<p>“With notes critical, historical, and +explanatory.”</p> +<p>“Come with us, friend,” said Peter. “I +cannot promise such a dinner as thou wishest, but neither pipe +nor fiddle shall be wanting.”</p> +<p>“Come with us, young man,” said Winifred, +“even as thou art, and the daughters of Wales shall bid +thee welcome.”</p> +<p>“I will not go with you,” said I. +“Dost thou see that man in the ford?”</p> +<p>“Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet +done drinking? Of course I see him.”</p> +<p>“I shall turn back with him. God bless +you!”</p> +<p>“Go back with him not,” said Peter, “he is +one of those whom I like not, one of the clibberty-clabber, as +Master Ellis Wyn observes—turn not with that +man.”</p> +<p>“Go not back with him,” said Winifred. +“If thou goest with that man, thou wilt soon forget all our +profitable counsels; come with us.”</p> +<p>“I cannot; I have much to say to him. Kosko +Divous, Mr. Petulengro.”</p> +<p>“Kosko Divous, Pal,” said Mr. Petulengro, riding +through the water; “are you turning back?”</p> +<p>I turned back with Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>Peter came running after me: “One moment, young man, who +and what are you?”</p> +<p>“I must answer in the words of Taliesin,” said I; +“none can say with positiveness whether I be fish or flesh, +least of all myself. God bless you both!”</p> +<p>“Take this,” said Peter; and he thrust his Welsh +Bible into my hand.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">At a Funeral—Two Days Ago—Very +Coolly—Roman Woman—Well and Hearty—Somewhat +Dreary—Plum Pudding—Roman Fashion—Quite +Different—The Dark Lane—Beyond the Time—Fine +Fellow—Such a Struggle—Like a Wild Cat—Fair +Play—Pleasant Enough Spot—No Gloves.</p> +<p>So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. We travelled for +some time in silence; at last we fell into discourse. +“You have been in Wales, Mr. Petulengro?”</p> +<p>“Ay, truly, brother.”</p> +<p><!-- page 312--><a name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +312</span>“What have you been doing there?”</p> +<p>“Assisting at a funeral.”</p> +<p>“At whose funeral?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Herne’s, brother.”</p> +<p>“Is she dead, then?”</p> +<p>“As a nail, brother.”</p> +<p>“How did she die?”</p> +<p>“By hanging, brother.”</p> +<p>“I am lost in astonishment,” said I; whereupon Mr. +Petulengro, lifting his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, +and adjusting himself sideways in the saddle, replied, with great +deliberation, “Two days ago, I happened to be at a fair not +very far from here; I was all alone by myself, for our party were +upwards of forty miles off, when who should come up but a chap +that I knew, a relation, or rather, a connection of mine; one of +those Hernes. ‘Ar’n’t you going to the +funeral?’ said he; and then, brother, there passed between +him and me, in the way of questioning and answering, much the +same as has just now passed between I and you; but when he +mentioned hanging, I thought I could do no less than ask who +hanged her, which you forgot to do. ‘Who hanged +her?’ said I; and then the man told me that she had done it +herself; been her own hinjiri; and then I thought to myself what +a sin and shame it would be if I did not go to the funeral, +seeing that she was my own mother-in-law. I would have +brought my wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but there +was no time for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to +be buried early the next morning, so I went with the man, and he +led me into Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when +there, through many wild and desolate places to their encampment, +and there I found the Hernes, and the dead body—the last +laid out on a mattress, in a tent, dressed Romaneskoenæs in +a red cloak, and big bonnet of black beaver. I must say for +the Hernes that they took the matter very coolly, some were +eating, others drinking, and some were talking about their small +affairs; there was one, however, who did not take the matter so +coolly, but took on enough for the whole family, sitting beside +the dead woman, tearing her hair, and refusing to take either +meat or drink; it was the child Leonora. I arrived at +night-fall, and the burying was not to take place till the +morning, which I was rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of +them Hernes, who are not very fond of anybody. They never +asked me to eat or drink, notwithstanding I had married into the +family; one of them, however, came up and offered to fight me for +five shillings; had it not been for them I should have come back +as empty as I went—he didn’t stand up five +minutes. Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, +beneath a tree, for the tents were full, and not over clean; I +slept little, and had my eyes about me, for I knew the kind of +people I was among.</p> +<p>“Early in the morning the funeral took place. The +body was placed not in a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to +a churchyard but to a deep dell close by; and there it was buried +beneath a rock, dressed just as I have told you; and this was +done by the bidding of Leonora, <!-- page 313--><a +name="page313"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 313</span>who had +heard her bebee say that she wished to be buried, not in gorgeous +fashion, but like a Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko puro +rati, brother. When it was over, and we had got back to the +encampment, I prepared to be going. Before mounting my gry, +however, I bethought me to ask what could have induced the dead +woman to make away with herself, a thing so uncommon amongst +Romanies; whereupon one squinted with his eyes, a second spirted +saliver into the air, and a third said that he neither knew nor +cared; she was a good riddance, having more than once been nearly +the ruin of them all, from the quantity of brimstone she carried +about her. One, however, I suppose, rather ashamed of the +way in which they had treated me, said at last, that if I wanted +to know all about the matter, none could tell me better than the +child, who was in all her secrets, and was not a little like her; +so I looked about for the child, but could find her +nowhere. At last the same man told me that he +shouldn’t wonder if I found her at the grave; so I went +back to the grave, and sure enough there I found the child, +Leonora, seated on the ground above the body, crying and taking +on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, ‘How came all this, +Leonora? tell me all about it.’ It was a long time +before I could get any answer; at last she opened her mouth, and +spoke, and these were the words she said, ‘It was all along +of your Pal;’ and then she told me all about the +matter. How Mrs. Herne could not abide you, which I knew +before, and that she had sworn your destruction, which I did not +know before. And then she told me how she found you living +in the wood by yourself, and how you were enticed to eat a +poisoned cake; and she told me many other things that you wot of, +and she told me what perhaps you don’t wot, namely, that +finding that you had been removed, she, the child, had tracked +you a long way, and found you at last well and hearty, and no +ways affected by the poison, and heard you, as she stood +concealed, disputing about religion with a Welsh Methody. +Well, brother, she told me all this; and moreover, that when Mrs. +Herne heard of it, she said that a dream of hers had come to +pass. I don’t know what it was, but something about +herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she added, that it was +all up with her, and that she must take a long journey. +Well, brother, that same night Leonora, waking from her sleep in +the tent, where Mrs. Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her +bebee, and, becoming alarmed, went in search of her, and at last +found her hanging from a branch; and when the child had got so +far, she took on violently, and I could not get another word from +her; so I left her, and here I am.”</p> +<p>“And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is +sad news which you tell me about Mrs. Herne.”</p> +<p>“Somewhat dreary, brother; yet perhaps, after all, it is +a good thing that she is removed; she carried so much +Devil’s tinder about with her, as the man said.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry for her,” said I; “more +especially as I am the cause of her death—though the +innocent one.”</p> +<p>“She could not bide you, brother, that’s certain; +but that is no reason”—said Mr. Petulengro, balancing +himself upon the saddle—“that is no reason why she +should prepare drow to take away your <!-- page 314--><a +name="page314"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 314</span>essence of +life; and, when disappointed, to hang herself upon a tree: if she +was dissatisfied with you, she might have flown at you, and +scratched your face; or, if she did not judge herself your match, +she might have put down five shillings for a turn-up between you +and some one she thought could beat you—myself, for +example, and so the matter might have ended comfortably; but she +was always too fond of covert wars, drows, and brimstones. +This is not the first poisoning affair she has been engaged +in.”</p> +<p>“You allude to drabbing bawlor.”</p> +<p>“Bah!” said Mr. Petulengro; “there’s +no harm in that. No, no! she has cast drows in her time for +other guess things than bawlor; both Gorgios and Romans have +tasted of them, and died. Did you never hear of the +poisoned plum pudding?”</p> +<p>“Never.”</p> +<p>“Then I will tell you about it. It happened about +six years ago, a few months after she had quitted us—she +had gone first amongst her own people, as she called them; but +there was another small party of Romans, with whom she soon +became very intimate. It so happened that this small party +got into trouble; whether it was about a horse or an ass, or +passing bad money, no matter to you and me, who had no hand in +the business; three or four of them were taken and lodged in --- +Castle, and amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro, or +principal man of the party, and who it seems had most hand in the +affair, was still at large. All of a sudden a rumour was +spread abroad that the woman was about to play false, and to +peach the rest. Said the principal man, when he heard it, +‘If she does, I am nashkado.’ Mrs. Herne was +then on a visit to the party, and when she heard the principal +man take on so, she said, ‘But I suppose you know what to +do?’ ‘I do not,’ said he. +‘Then hir mi devlis,’ said she, ‘you are a +fool. But leave the matter to me, I know how to dispose of +her in Roman fashion.’ Why she wanted to interfere in +the matter, brother, I don’t know, unless it was from pure +brimstoneness of disposition—she had no hand in the matter +which had brought the party into trouble—she was only on a +visit, and it had happened before she came; but she was always +ready to give dangerous advice. Well, brother, the +principal man listened to what she had to say, and let her do +what she would; and she made a pudding, a very nice one, no +doubt—for, besides plums, she put in drows and all the +Roman condiments that she knew of; and she gave it to the +principal man, and the principal man put it into a basket and +directed it to the woman in --- Castle, and the woman in the +castle took it and—”</p> +<p>“Ate of it,” said I, “just like my +case?”</p> +<p>“Quite different, brother, she took it, it is true; but +instead of giving way to her appetite as you might have done, she +put it before the rest whom she was going to +impeach—perhaps she wished to see how they liked it before +she tasted it herself—and all the rest were poisoned, and +one died, and there was a precious outcry, and the woman cried +the loudest of all; and she said, ‘it was my death was +sought for; I know the man, and I’ll be revenged,’ +and then the Poknees spoke to her <!-- page 315--><a +name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>and said, +‘Where can we find him?’ and she said, ‘I am +awake to his motions; three weeks from hence, the night before +the full moon, at such and such an hour, he will pass down such a +lane with such a man.’”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and what did the Poknees +do?”</p> +<p>“Do, brother, sent for a plastramengro from Bow Street, +quite secretly, and told him what the woman had said; and the +night before the full moon, the plastramengro went to the place +which the juwa had pointed out, all alone, brother; and, in order +that he might not be too late, he went two hours before his +time. I know the place well, brother, where the +plastramengro placed himself behind a thick holly-tree, at the +end of a lane, where a gate leads into various fields, through +which there is a path for carts and horses. The lane is +called the dark lane by the Gorgios, being much shaded by trees; +so the plastramengro placed himself in the dark lane behind the +holly tree; it was a cold February night, dreary, though; the +wind blew in gusts, and the moon had not yet risen, and the +plastramengro waited behind the tree till he was tired, and +thought he might as well sit down; so he sat down, and was not +long in falling to sleep, and there he slept for some hours; and +when he awoke, the moon had risen, and was shining bright, so +that there was a kind of moonlight even in the dark lane; and the +plastramengro pulled out his watch, and contrived to make out +that it was just two hours beyond the time when the men should +have passed by. Brother, I do not know what the +plastramengro thought of himself, but I know, brother, what I +should have thought of myself in his situation. I should +have thought, brother, that I was a drowsy scoppelo, and that I +had let the fellow pass by whilst I was sleeping behind a +bush. As it turned out, however, his going to sleep did no +harm, but quite the contrary: just as he was going away, he heard +a gate slam in the direction of the fields, and then he heard the +low stumping of horses, as if on soft ground, for the path in +those fields is generally soft, and at that time it had been +lately ploughed up. Well, brother, presently he saw two men +on horseback coming towards the lane through the field behind the +gate; the man who rode foremost was a tall big fellow, the very +man he was in quest of; the other was a smaller chap, not so +small either, but a light, wiry fellow, and a proper master of +his hands when he sees occasion for using them. Well, +brother, the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank, +undid it, and rode through, holding it open for the other. +Before, however, the other could follow into the lane, out bolted +the plastramengro from behind the tree, kicked the gate too with +his foot, and, seizing the big man on horseback, ‘You are +my prisoner,’ said he. I am of opinion, brother, that +plastramengro, notwithstanding he went to sleep, must have been a +regular fine fellow.”</p> +<p>“I am entirely of your opinion,” said I; +“but what happened then?”</p> +<p>“Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat +recovered from his surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be +laid hold of at night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more +especially when you <!-- page 316--><a name="page316"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 316</span>happen to have two or three things +on your mind, which, if proved against you, would carry you to +the nashky. The Rommany chal, I say, clubbed his whip, and +aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had hit him on +the skull, as was intended, would very likely have cracked +it. The plastramengro, however, received it partly on his +staff, so that it did him no particular damage. Whereupon +seeing what kind of customer he had to deal with, he dropped his +staff, and seized the chal with both his hands, who forthwith +spurred his horse, hoping by doing so, either to break away from +him, or fling him down; but it would not do—the +plastramengro held on like a bulldog, so that the Rommany chal, +to escape being hauled to the ground, suddenly flung himself off +the saddle, and then happened in that lane, close by the gate, +such a struggle between those two—the chal and the +runner—as I suppose will never happen again. But you +must have heard of it; every one has heard of the fight between +the Bow Street engro and the Rommany chal.”</p> +<p>“I never heard of it till now.”</p> +<p>“All England rung of it, brother. There never was +a better match than between those two. The runner was +somewhat the stronger of the two—all these engroes are +strong fellows—and a great deal cooler, for all of that +sort are wondrous cool people—he had, however, to do with +one who knew full well how to take his own part. The chal +fought the engro, brother, in the old Roman fashion. He +bit, he kicked, and screamed like a wild cat of Benygant; casting +foam from his mouth, and fire from his eyes. Sometimes he +was beneath the engro’s legs, and sometimes he was upon his +shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult, was to +get a firm hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal +by any part of his wearing apparel, than the chal either tore +himself away, or contrived to slip out of it; so that in a little +time the chal was three parts naked; and as for holding him by +the body, it was out of the question, for he was as slippery as +an eel. At last the engro seized the chal by the +Belcher’s handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his +neck, and do whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; +and when the engro saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt; +‘It’s of no use,’ said he; ‘you had +better give in; hold out your hands for the darbies, or I will +throttle you.’”</p> +<p>“And what did the other fellow do, who came with the +chal?” said I.</p> +<p>“I sat still on my horse, brother.”</p> +<p>“You,” said I. “Were you the +man?”</p> +<p>“I was he, brother.”</p> +<p>“And why did you not help your comrade?”</p> +<p>“I have fought in the ring, brother.”</p> +<p>“And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting +in the lane?”</p> +<p>“You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it +taught me to prize fair play. When I fought Staffordshire +Dick, t’other side of London, I was alone, brother. +Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his brother pals +about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat +Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn’t have done had they put +one finger on his side the scale; for he was as good a man as +<!-- page 317--><a name="page317"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +317</span>myself, or nearly so. Now, brother, had I but +bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal, the plastramengro +would never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not, for I +thought to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see, +brother—”</p> +<p>“That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro; I see that +clearly; and now, pray proceed with your narration; it is both +moral and entertaining.”</p> +<p>But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither +did he proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his +eyes were intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some +lofty trees, on the left side of the road. It was a +pleasant enough spot, and seemed to invite wayfaring people, such +as we were, to rest from the fatigues of the road, and the heat +and vehemence of the sun. After examining it for a +considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, “I say, brother, +that would be a nice place for a tuzzle!”</p> +<p>“I dare say it would,” said I, “if two +people were inclined to fight.”</p> +<p>“The ground is smooth,” said Mr. Petulengro; +“without holes or ruts, and the trees cast much +shade. I don’t think, brother, that we could find a +better place,” said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his +horse.</p> +<p>“But you and I don’t want to fight!”</p> +<p>“Speak for yourself, brother,” said Mr. +Petulengro. “However, I will tell you how the matter +stands. There is a point at present between us. There +can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Herne’s +death, innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, +I shouldn’t like it to be known that I went up and down the +country with a pal who was the cause of my mother-in-law’s +death, that’s to say, unless he gave me satisfaction. +Now, if I and my pal have a tuzzle, he gives me satisfaction; +and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can’t do, +it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he +who says to the contrary, knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a +dinelo into the bargain.”</p> +<p>“But we have no gloves!”</p> +<p>“Gloves!” said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, +“gloves! I tell you what, brother, I always thought +you were a better hand at the gloves than the naked fist; and, to +tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for Mrs. +Herne’s death, I wish to see what you can do with your +morleys; so now is your time, brother, and this is your place, +grass and shade, no ruts or holes; come on, brother, or I shall +think you what I should not like to call you.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 318--><a name="page318"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 318</span>CHAPTER LXXXII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Offence and Defence—I’m +Satisfied—Fond of Solitude—Possession of +Property—Chal Devlehi—Winding Path.</p> +<p>And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I +had never heard him do before, and which I can only account for +by his being fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other +alternative than to accept his challenge; so I put myself into a +posture which I deemed the best both for offence and defence, and +the tuzzle commenced; and when it had endured for about half an +hour, Mr. Petulengro said, “Brother, there is much blood on +your face; you had better wipe it off;” and when I had +wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr. +Petulengro said, “I think enough has been done, brother, in +the affair of the old woman; I have, moreover, tried what you are +able to do, and find you as I thought, less apt with the naked +morleys than the stuffed gloves; nay, brother, put your hands +down; I’m satisfied; blood has been shed, which is all that +can be reasonably expected for an old woman, who carried so much +brimstone about with her as Mrs. Herne.”</p> +<p>So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. +Petulengro sitting sideways upon his horse as before, and I +driving my little pony-cart; and when he had proceeded about +three miles, we came to a small public-house, which bore the sign +of the Silent Woman, where we stopped to refresh our cattle and +ourselves; and as we sat over our bread and ale, it came to pass +that Mr. Petulengro asked me various questions, and amongst +others, how I intended to dispose of myself; I told him that I +did not know; whereupon with considerable frankness, he invited +me to his camp, and told me that if I chose to settle down +amongst them, and become a Rommany chal, I should have his +wife’s sister, Ursula, who was still unmarried, and +occasionally talked of me.</p> +<p>I declined his offer, assigning as a reason the recent death +of Mrs. Herne, of which I was the cause, although innocent. +“A pretty life I should lead with those two,” said I, +“when they came to know it.” +“Pooh,” said Mr. Petulengro, “they will never +know it. I shan’t blab, and as for Leonora, that girl +has a head on her shoulders.” “Unlike the woman +in the sign,” said I, “whose head is cut off. +You speak nonsense, Mr. Petulengro; as long as a woman has a head +on her shoulders she’ll talk,—but, leaving women out +of the case, it is impossible to keep anything a secret; an old +master of mine told me so long ago. I have moreover another +reason for declining your offer. I am at present not +disposed for society. I am become fond of solitude. I +wish I could find some quiet place to which I could retire to +hold communion with my own thoughts, and practise, if I thought +fit, either of my trades.” “What trades?” +said Mr. Petulengro. “Why, the one which I have +lately been engaged in, or my original one, which I confess I +should like better, that of a kaulomescro.” +“Ah, I have frequently heard you talk of making +horse-shoes,” said Mr. Petulengro. “I, <!-- +page 319--><a name="page319"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +319</span>however, never saw you make one, and no one else that I +am aware, I don’t believe—come, brother, don’t +be angry, it’s quite possible that you may have done things +which neither I nor any one else has seen you do, and that such +things may some day or other come to light, as you say nothing +can be kept secret. Be that, however, as it may, pay the +reckoning and let us be going, I think I can advise you to just +such a kind of place as you seem to want.”</p> +<p>“And how do you know that I have got wherewithal to pay +the reckoning?” I demanded. “Brother,” +said Mr. Petulengro, “I was just now looking in your face, +which exhibited the very look of a person conscious of the +possession of property; there was nothing hungry or sneaking in +it. Pay the reckoning, brother.”</p> +<p>And when we were once more upon the road Mr. Petulengro began +to talk of the place which he conceived would serve me as a +retreat under present circumstances. “I tell you +frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of place, and I am not +very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so surprisingly +dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field, +on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years +past. I dare say you will be quiet enough, for the nearest +town is five miles distant, and there are only a few huts and +hedge public-houses in the neighbourhood. Brother, I am +fond of solitude myself, but not that kind of solitude; I like a +quiet heath, where I can pitch my house, but I always like to +have a gay stirring place not far off, where the women can pen +dukkerin, and I myself can sell or buy a horse, if +needful—such a place as the Chong Gav. I never feel +so merry as when there, brother, or on the heath above it, where +I taught you Rommany.”</p> +<p>Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few +yards from the milestone, on the left hand, was a +cross-road. Thereupon Mr. Petulengro said, “Brother, +my path lies to the left; if you choose to go with me to my camp, +good, if not Chal Devlehi.” But I again refused Mr. +Petulengro’s invitation, and, shaking him by the hand, +proceeded forward alone, and about ten miles farther on I reached +the town of which he had spoken, and following certain directions +which he had given, discovered, though not without some +difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned. It was a +deep hollow in the midst of a wide field, the shelving sides were +overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it +on the top, a steep winding path led down into the depths, +practicable, however, for a light cart, like mine; at the bottom +was an open space, and there I pitched my tent, and there I +contrived to put up my forge. “I will here ply the +trade of kaulomescro,” said I.</p> +<h2><!-- page 320--><a name="page320"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 320</span>CHAPTER LXXXIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Highly Poetical—Volundr—Grecian +Mythology—Making a Petul—Tongues of +Flame—Hammering—Spite of +Dukkerin—Heaviness.</p> +<p>It has always struck me that there is something highly +poetical about a forge. I am not singular in this opinion: +various individuals have assured me that they can never pass by +one, even in the midst of a crowded town, without experiencing +sensations which they can scarcely define, but which are highly +pleasurable. I have a decided <i>penchant</i> for forges, +especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot—a +dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting +of four roads, which is still more so; for how many a +superstition—and superstition is the soul of +poetry—is connected with these cross roads! I love to +light upon such a one, especially after nightfall, as everything +about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer sounds +more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered +by the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst +the sooty visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow, and half +illumined by the red and partial blaze of the forge, looks more +mysterious and strange. On such occasions I draw in my +horse’s rein, and, seated in the saddle, endeavour to +associate with the picture before me—in itself a picture of +romance—whatever of the wild and wonderful I have read of +in books, or have seen with my own eyes in connection with +forges.</p> +<p>I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, +would afford materials for a highly poetical history. I do +not speak unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, +and therefore fully competent to give an opinion as to what might +be made out of the forge by some dextrous hand. Certainly, +the strangest and most entertaining life ever written is that of +a blacksmith of the olden north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, +who lived in woods and thickets, made keen swords, so keen, +indeed, that if placed in a running stream, they would fairly +divide an object, however slight, which was borne against them by +the water, and who eventually married a king’s daughter, by +whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father was a +cunning blacksmith. I never see a forge at night, when +seated on the back of my horse at the bottom of a dark lane, but +I somehow or other associate it with the exploits of this +extraordinary fellow, with many other extraordinary things, +amongst which, as I have hinted before, are particular passages +of my own life, one or two of which I shall perhaps relate to the +reader.</p> +<p>I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a +forge. These gentry would be the very last people in the +world to flit across my mind whilst gazing at the forge from the +bottom of the dark lane. The truth is, they are highly +unpoetical fellows, as well they may be, connected as they are +with the Grecian mythology. At the very mention of their +names the forge burns dull and dim, as if snow-balls had been +suddenly flung into it; the only remedy is to ply the bellows, an +operation which I now hasten to perform.</p> +<p><!-- page 321--><a name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +321</span>I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe. Having no +other horses on whose hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my +first essay on those of my own horse, if that could be called +horse which horse was none, being only a pony. Perhaps if I +had sought all England, I should scarcely have found an animal +more in need of the kind offices of the smith. On three of +his feet there were no shoes at all, and on the fourth only a +remnant of one, on which account his hoofs were sadly broken and +lacerated by his late journeys over the hard and flinty +roads. “You belonged to a tinker before,” said +I, addressing the animal, “but now you belong to a +smith. It is said that the household of the shoemaker +invariably go worse shod than that of any other craft. That +may be the case of those who make shoes of leather, but it +shan’t be said of the household of him who makes shoes of +iron; at any rate, it shan’t be said of mine. I tell +you what, my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be +better shod, and better fed, than you were with your last +master.”</p> +<p>I am in the dingle making a petul; and I must here observe, +that whilst I am making a horse-shoe, the reader need not be +surprised if I speak occasionally in the language of the lord of +the horse-shoe—Mr. Petulengro. I have for some time +past been plying the peshota, or bellows, endeavouring to raise +up the yag, or fire, in my primitive forge. The angar, or +coals, are now burning fiercely, casting forth sparks and long +vagescoe chipes, or tongues of flame; a small bar of sastra, or +iron, is lying in the fire, to the length of ten or twelve +inches, and so far it is hot, very hot, exceedingly hot, +brother. And now you see me prala, snatch the bar of iron, +and place the heated end of it upon the covantza, or anvil, and +forthwith I commence cooring the sastra as hard as if I had been +just engaged by a master at the rate of dui caulor, or two +shillings a day, brother; and when I have beaten the iron till it +is nearly cool, and my arm tired, I place it again in the angar, +and begin again to rouse the fire with the pudamengro, which +signifies the blowing thing, and is another and more common word +for bellows, and whilst thus employed I sing a gypsy song, the +sound of which is wonderfully in unison with the hoarse moaning +of the pudamengro, and ere the song is finished, the iron is +again hot and malleable. Behold, I place it once more on +the covantza, and recommence hammering; and now I am somewhat at +fault; I am in want of assistance; I want you, brother, or some +one else, to take the bar out of my hand and support it upon the +covantza, whilst I, applying a chinomescro, or kind of chisel, to +the heated iron, cut off with a lusty stroke or two of the +shukaro baro, or big hammer, as much as is required for the +petul. But having no one to help me, I go on hammering till +I have fairly knocked off as much as I want, and then I place the +piece in the fire, and again apply the bellows, and take up the +song where I left it off; and when I have finished the song, I +take out the iron, but this time with my plaistra, or pincers, +and then I recommence hammering, turning the iron round and round +with my pincers: and now I bend the iron, and lo, and behold, it +has assumed something of the outline of a petul.</p> +<p>I am not going to enter into farther details with respect to +the process—<!-- page 322--><a name="page322"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 322</span>it was rather a wearisome one. +I had to contend with various disadvantages; my forge was a rude +one, my tools might have been better; I was in want of one or two +highly necessary implements, but, above all, manual +dexterity. Though free of the forge, I had not practised +the albeytarian art for very many years, never since—but +stay, it is not my intention to tell the reader, at least in this +place, how and when I became a blacksmith. There was one +thing, however, which stood me in good stead in my labour, the +same thing which through life has ever been of incalculable +utility to me, and has not unfrequently supplied the place of +friends, money, and many other things of almost equal +importance—iron perseverance, without which all the +advantages of time and circumstance are of very little avail in +any undertaking. I was determined to make a horse-shoe, and +a good one, in spite of every obstacle—ay, in spite of +dukkerin. At the end of four days, during which I had +fashioned and refashioned the thing at least fifty times, I had +made a petul such as no master of the craft need have been +ashamed of; with the second shoe I had less difficulty, and, by +the time I had made the fourth, I would have scorned to take off +my hat to the best smith in Cheshire.</p> +<p>But I had not yet shod my little gry; this I proceeded now to +do. After having first well pared the hoofs with my churi, +I applied each petul hot, glowing hot to the pindro. Oh, +how the hoofs hissed; and, oh, the pleasant pungent odour which +diffused itself through the dingle, an odour good for an ailing +spirit.</p> +<p>I shod the little horse bravely—merely pricked him once, +slightly, with a cafi, for doing which, I remember, he kicked me +down; I was not disconcerted, however, but, getting up, promised +to be more cautious in future; and having finished the operation, +I filed the hoof well with the rin baro; then dismissed him to +graze amongst the trees, and, putting my smaller tools into the +muchtar, I sat down on my stone, and, supporting my arm upon my +knee, leaned my head upon my hand. Heaviness had come over +me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Several Causes—Frogs and +Eftes—Gloom and Twilight—What should I +Do?—“Our Father”—Fellow Men—What a +Mercy!—Almost Calm—Fresh Store—History of +Saul—Pitch Dark.</p> +<p>Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and +of body also. I had accomplished the task which I had +imposed upon myself, and now that nothing more remained to do, my +energies suddenly deserted me, and I felt without strength, and +without hope. Several causes, perhaps, co-operated to bring +about the state in which I then felt myself. It is not +improbable that my energies had been overstrained during the +work, the progress of which I have attempted to describe; and +every one is aware that the results of overstrained <!-- page +323--><a name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +323</span>energies are feebleness and lassitude—want of +nourishment might likewise have something to do with it. +During my sojourn in the dingle, my food has been of the simplest +and most unsatisfying description, by no means calculated to +support the exertions which the labour I had been engaged upon +required; it had consisted of coarse oaten cakes, and hard +cheese, and for beverage I had been indebted to a neighbouring +pit, in which, in the heat of the day, I frequently saw, not +golden or silver fish, but frogs and eftes swimming about. +I am, however, inclined to believe that Mrs. Herne’s cake +had quite as much to do with the matter as insufficient +nourishment. I had never entirely recovered from the +effects of its poison, but had occasionally, especially at night, +been visited by a grinding pain in the stomach, and my whole body +had been suffused with cold sweat; and indeed these memorials of +the drow have never entirely disappeared—even at the +present time they display themselves in my system, especially +after much fatigue of body, and excitement of mind. So +there I sat in the dingle upon my stone, nerveless and hopeless, +by whatever cause or causes that state had been +produced—there I sat with my head leaning upon my hand, and +so I continued a long, long time. At last I lifted my head +from my hand, and began to cast anxious, unquiet looks about the +dingle—the entire hollow was now enveloped in deep +shade—I cast my eyes up; there was a golden gleam on the +tops of the trees which grew towards the upper parts of the +dingle; but lower down, all was gloom and twilight—yet, +when I first sat down on my stone, the sun was right above the +dingle, illuminating all its depths by the rays which it cast +perpendicularly down—so I must have sat a long, long time +upon my stone. And now, once more, I rested my head upon my +hand, but almost instantly lifted it again in a kind of fear, and +began looking at the objects before me, the forge, the tools, the +branches of the trees, endeavouring to follow their rows, till +they were lost in the darkness of the dingle; and now I found my +right hand grasping convulsively the three fore fingers of the +left, first collectively, and then successively, wringing them +till the joints cracked; then I became quiet, but not for +long.</p> +<p>Suddenly I started up, and could scarcely repress the shriek +which was rising to my lips. Was it possible? Yes, +all too certain; the evil one was upon me; the inscrutable horror +which I had felt in my boyhood had once more taken possession of +me. I had thought that it had forsaken me; that it would +never visit me again; that I had outgrown it; that I might almost +bid defiance to it; and I had even begun to think of it without +horror, as we are in the habit of doing of horrors of which we +conceive we run no danger; and, lo! when least thought of, it had +seized me again. Every moment I felt it gathering force, +and making me more wholly its own. What should I +do?—resist, of course; and I did resist. I grasped, I +tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were my +efforts? I could only have got rid of it by getting rid of +myself: it was a part of myself, or rather it was all +myself. I rushed amongst the trees, and struck at them with +my bare fists, and dashed my head against them, but I felt no +pain. How could I feel pain with that horror upon me! and +then I flung myself on the ground, <!-- page 324--><a +name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>gnawed the +earth, and swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost +total darkness in the dingle, and the darkness added to my +horror. I could no longer stay there; up I rose from the +ground, and attempted to escape; at the bottom of the winding +path which led up the acclivity I fell over something which was +lying on the ground; the something moved, and gave a kind of +whine. It was my little horse, which had made that place +its lair; my little horse; my only companion and friend, in that +now awful solitude. I reached the mouth of the dingle; the +sun was just sinking in the far west, behind me; the fields were +flooded with his last gleams. How beautiful everything +looked in the last gleams of the sun! I felt relieved for a +moment; I was no longer in the horrid dingle; in another minute +the sun was gone, and a big cloud occupied the place where he had +been; in a little time it was almost as dark as it had previously +been in the open part of the dingle. My horror increased; +what was I to do?—it was of no use fighting against the +horror; that I saw; the more I fought against it, the stronger it +became. What should I do: say my prayers? Ah! why +not? So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, “Our +Father;” but that was of no use; and now I could no longer +repress cries; the horror was too great to be borne. What +should I do: run to the nearest town or village, and request the +assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I was ashamed to do; +notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to do +that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I went +screaming amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a +maniac. Moreover, I knew that I was not a maniac, for I +possessed all my reasoning powers, only the horror was upon +me—the screaming horror! But how were indifferent +people to distinguish between madness and this screaming +horror? So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined +not to go amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might +be. I went to the mouth of the dingle, and there, placing +myself on my knees, I again said the Lord’s Prayer; but it +was of no use; praying seemed to have no effect over the horror; +the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than diminish; +and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive +they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring +road; I, therefore, went deeper into the dingle; I sat down with +my back against a thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh; and +when I felt them, I pressed harder against the bush; I thought +the pain of the flesh might in some degree counteract the mental +agony; presently I felt them no longer; the power of the mental +horror was so great that it was impossible, with that upon me, to +feel any pain from the thorns. I continued in this posture +a long time, undergoing what I cannot describe, and would not +attempt if I were able. Several times I was on the point of +starting up and rushing anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I +knew I could not escape from myself, so why should I not remain +in the dingle? so I thought and said to myself, for my reasoning +powers were still uninjured. At last it appeared to me that +the horror was not so strong, not quite so strong upon me. +Was it possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its +prey? O what a mercy! but it could not be—and <!-- +page 325--><a name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +325</span>yet I looked up to heaven, and clasped my hands, and +said “Our Father.” I said no more; I was too +agitated; and now I was almost sure that the horror had done its +worst.</p> +<p>After a little time I arose, and staggered down yet farther +into the dingle. I again found my little horse on the same +spot as before, I put my hand to his mouth; he licked my +hand. I flung myself down by him and put my arms round his +neck, the creature whinnied, and appeared to sympathize with me; +what a comfort to have any one, even a dumb brute, to sympathize +with me at such a moment! I clung to my little horse, as if +for safety and protection. I laid my head on his neck, and +felt almost calm; presently the fear returned, but not so wild as +before; it subsided, came again, again subsided; then drowsiness +came over me, and at last I fell asleep, my head supported on the +neck of the little horse. I awoke; it was dark, dark +night—not a star was to be seen—but I felt no fear, +the horror had left me. I arose from the side of the little +horse, and went into my tent, lay down, and again went to +sleep.</p> +<p>I awoke in the morning weak and sore, and shuddering at the +remembrance of what I had gone through on the preceding day; the +sun was shining brightly, but it had not yet risen high enough to +show its head above the trees which fenced the eastern side of +the dingle, on which account the dingle was wet and dank, from +the dews of the night. I kindled my fire, and, after +sitting by it for some time to warm my frame, I took some of the +coarse food which I have already mentioned; notwithstanding my +late struggle, and the coarseness of the fare, I ate with +appetite. My provisions had by this time been very much +diminished, and I saw that it would be speedily necessary, in the +event of my continuing to reside in the dingle, to lay in a fresh +store. After my meal I went to the pit, and filled a can +with water, which I brought to the dingle, and then again sat +down on my stone. I considered what I should next do; it +was necessary to do something, or my life in this solitude would +be insupportable. What should I do? rouse up my forge and +fashion a horse-shoe; but I wanted nerve and heart for such an +employment; moreover, I had no motive for fatiguing myself in +this manner; my own horse was shod, no other was at hand, and it +is hard to work for the sake of working. What should I do? +read? Yes, but I had no other book than the Bible which the +Welsh Methodist had given me; well, why not read the Bible? +I was once fond of reading the Bible; ay, but those days were +long gone by. However, I did not see what else I could do +on the present occasion—so I determined to read the +Bible—it was in Welsh; at any rate it might amuse me, so I +took the Bible out of the sack, in which it was lying in the +cart, and began to read at the place where I chanced to open +it. I opened it at that part where the history of Saul +commences. At first I read with indifference, but after +some time my attention was riveted, and no wonder, I had come to +the visitations of Saul, those dark moments of his, when he did +and said such unaccountable things; it almost appeared to me that +I was reading of myself; I, too, had my visitations, dark as ever +his were. O, how I sympathized with Saul, <!-- page +326--><a name="page326"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +326</span>the tall dark man! I had read his life before, +but it had made no impression on me; it had never occurred to me +that I was like him, but I now sympathized with Saul, for my own +dark hour was but recently passed, and, perhaps, would soon +return again; the dark hour came frequently on Saul.</p> +<p>Time wore away; I finished the book of Saul, and, closing the +volume, returned it to its place. I then returned to my +seat on the stone, and thought of what I had read, and what I had +lately undergone. All at once I thought I felt well-known +sensations, a cramping of the breast, and a tingling of the soles +of the feet—they were what I had felt on the preceding day; +they were the forerunners of the fear. I sat motionless on +my stone, the sensations passed away, and the fear came +not. Darkness was now coming again over the earth; the +dingle was again in deep shade; I roused the fire with the breath +of the bellows, and sat looking at the cheerful glow; it was +cheering and comforting. My little horse came now and lay +down on the ground beside the forge; I was not quite +deserted. I again ate some of the coarse food, and drank +plentifully of the water which I had fetched in the +morning. I then put fresh fuel on the fire, and sat for a +long time looking on the blaze; I then went into my tent.</p> +<p>I awoke, on my own calculation, about midnight—it was +pitch dark, and there was much fear upon me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Free and Independent—I Don’t See +Why—Oats—A Noise—Unwelcome +Visitors—What’s the Matter?—Good Day to +Ye—The Tall Girl—Dovrefeld—Blow on the +Face—Civil Enough—What’s This?—Vulgar +Woman—Hands off—Gasping for Breath—Long +Melford—A Pretty Manœuvre—A Long +Draught—Signs of Animation—It Won’t Do—No +Malice—Bad People.</p> +<p>Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the +reader in the preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom +of the dingle; I had just breakfasted, and had finished the last +morsel of food which I had brought with me to that solitude.</p> +<p>“What shall I now do?” said I, to myself; +“shall I continue here, or decamp—this is a sad +lonely spot—perhaps I had better quit it; but whither +should I go? the wide world is before me, but what can I do +therein? I have been in the world already without much +success. No, I had better remain here; the place is lonely, +it is true, but here I am free and independent, and can do what I +please; but I can’t remain here without food. Well, I +will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a fresh supply of +provision, and come back, turning my back upon the world, which +has turned its back upon me. I don’t see why I should +not write a little sometimes; I have pens and an ink-horn, and +for a writing-desk I can place the Bible on my knee. I +shouldn’t <!-- page 327--><a name="page327"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 327</span>wonder if I could write a capital +satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but first of all I +must think of supplying myself with food.”</p> +<p>I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to +go to the nearest town, with my little horse and cart, and +procure what I wanted—the nearest town, according to my +best calculation, lay about five miles distant; I had no doubt, +however, that by using ordinary diligence, I should be back +before evening. In order to go lighter, I determined to +leave my tent standing as it was, and all the things which I had +purchased of the tinker, just as they were. “I need +not be apprehensive on their account,” said I, to myself; +“nobody will come here to meddle with them—the great +recommendation of this place is its perfect solitude—I dare +say that I could live here six months without seeing a single +human visage. I will now harness my little gry and be off +to the town.”</p> +<p>At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding +on the bank near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running +to me, for by this time he had become so accustomed to me, that +he would obey my call for all the world as if he had been one of +the canine species. “Now,” said I to him, +“we are going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats +for you—I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you +to do your best, and to draw me and the cart to the town with all +possible speed, and to bring us back; if you do your best, I +promise you oats on your return. You know the meaning of +oats, Ambrol?”</p> +<p>Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood me +perfectly well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once fed +him during the time he had been in my possession without saying +the word in question to him. Now, Ambrol, in the Gypsy +tongue, signifieth a pear.</p> +<p>So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I +removed two or three things from out it into the tent; I then +lifted up the shafts, and was just going to call to the pony to +come and be fastened to them, when I thought I heard a noise.</p> +<p>I stood stock still supporting the shafts of the little cart +in my hand, and bending the right side of my face slightly +towards the ground; but I could hear nothing; the noise which I +thought I had heard was not one of those sounds which I was +accustomed to hear in that solitude, the note of a bird, or the +rustling of a bough; it was—there I heard it again, a sound +very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst gravel. +Could it proceed from the road? Oh no, the road was too far +distant for me to hear the noise of anything moving along +it. Again I listened, and now I distinctly heard the sound +of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the dingle; nearer and +nearer they drew, and presently the sound of wheels was blended +with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard a boisterous shout, +which seemed to proceed from the entrance of the dingle. +“Here are folks at hand,” said I, letting the shaft +of the cart fall to the ground, “is it possible that they +can be coming here?”</p> +<p>My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon +dispelled; the wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or +two, where once <!-- page 328--><a name="page328"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 328</span>again in motion, and were now +evidently moving down the winding path which led to my +retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself +near the entrance of the open space, with my eyes fixed on the +path down which my unexpected and I may say unwelcome visitors +were coming. Presently I heard a stamping or sliding, as if +of a horse in some difficulty; and then a loud curse, and the +next moment appeared a man and a horse and cart; the former +holding the head of the horse up to prevent him from falling, of +which he was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of the +path. Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted +from me. When, however, he had reached the bottom of the +descent, he turned his head, and perceiving me, as I stood +bareheaded, without either coat or waistcoat, about two yards +from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent, that the backward +motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon his +haunches.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you move forward?” said a voice +from behind, apparently that of a female, “you are stopping +up the way, and we shall be all down upon one another;” and +I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of the +cart.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you move forward, Jack?” said +another voice, also of a female, yet higher up the path.</p> +<p>The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture +which he had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much +drawn back, his left foot far in advance of his right, and with +his right hand still grasping the halter of the horse, which gave +way more and more, till it was clean down on its haunches.</p> +<p>“What is the matter?” said the voice which I had +last heard.</p> +<p>“Get back with you, Belle, Moll,” said the man, +still staring at me, “here’s something not over-canny +or comfortable.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” said the same voice; “let me +pass, Moll, and I’ll soon clear the way,” and I heard +a kind of rushing down the path.</p> +<p>“You need not be afraid,” said I, addressing +myself to the man, “I mean you no harm; I am a wanderer +like yourself—come here to seek for shelter—you need +not be afraid; I am a Rome chabo by matriculation—one of +the right sort, and no mistake—Good day to ye, brother; I +bids ye welcome.”</p> +<p>The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment—then, turning +to his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his +haunches, and led him and the cart farther down to one side of +the dingle, muttering as he passed me, “Afraid. +Hm!”</p> +<p>I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking +fellow; he was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic +frame; his face was black and bluff, and sported an immense pair +of whiskers, but with here and there a grey hair, for his age +could not be much under fifty. He wore a faded blue frock +coat, corduroys, and highlows—on his black head was a kind +of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona +handkerchief—I did not like the look of the man at all.</p> +<p>“Afraid,” growled the fellow, proceeding to +unharness his horse; “that was the word, I +think.”</p> +<p>But other figures were now already upon the scene. +Dashing past the <!-- page 329--><a name="page329"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 329</span>other horse and cart, which by this +time had reached the bottom of the pass, appeared an exceedingly +tall woman, or rather girl, for she could scarcely have been +above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight bodice and a blue +stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and her hair, which +was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her complexion +was fair, and her features handsome, with a determined but open +expression—she was followed by another female, about forty, +stout and vulgar-looking, at whom I scarcely glanced, my whole +attention being absorbed by the tall girl.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Jack?” said the latter, +looking at the man.</p> +<p>“Only afraid, that’s all,” said the man, +still proceeding with his work.</p> +<p>“Afraid at what—at that lad? why, he looks like a +ghost—I would engage to thrash him with one +hand.”</p> +<p>“You might beat me with no hands at all,” said I, +“fair damsel, only by looking at me—I never saw such +a face and figure, both regal—why, you look like Ingeborg, +Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could +lick them all, though they were heroes—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘On Dovrefeld in Norway,<br /> +Were once together seen,<br /> +The twelve heroic brothers<br /> +Of Ingeborg the queen.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“None of your chaffing, young fellow,” said the +tall girl, “or I will give you what shall make you wipe +your face; be civil, or you will rue it.”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps I was a peg too high,” said I, +“I ask your pardon—here’s something a bit +lower—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘As I was jawing to the gav yeck +divvus<br /> +I met on the drom miro Rommany chi—’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“None of your Rommany chies, young fellow,” said +the tall girl, looking more menacingly than before, and clenching +her fist, “you had better be civil, I am none of your +chies; and, though I keep company with gypsies, or, to speak more +proper, half and halfs, I would have you to know that I come of +Christian blood and parents, and was born in the great house of +Long Melford.”</p> +<p>“I have no doubt,” said I, “that it was a +great house; judging from your size, I shouldn’t wonder if +you were born in a church.”</p> +<p>“Stay, Belle,” said the man, putting himself +before the young virago, who was about to rush upon me, “my +turn is first”—then, advancing to me in a menacing +attitude, he said, with a look of deep malignity, +“‘Afraid’ was the word, wasn’t +it?”</p> +<p>“It was,” said I, “but I think I wronged +you; I should have said, aghast, you exhibited every symptom of +one labouring under uncontrollable fear.”</p> +<p>The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and +appeared to be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could +make up his mind, the tall girl stepped forward, crying, +“He’s chaffing; let me at him;” and, before I +could put myself on my guard, she struck me a blow on the face +which had nearly brought me to the ground.</p> +<p><!-- page 330--><a name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +330</span>“Enough,” said I, putting my hand to my +cheek; “you have now performed your promise, and made me +wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me fairly the ground of +this quarrel.”</p> +<p>“Grounds!” said the fellow; “didn’t +you say I was afraid; and if you hadn’t, who gave you leave +to camp on my ground?”</p> +<p>“Is it your ground?” said I.</p> +<p>“A pretty question,” said the fellow; “as if +all the world didn’t know that. Do you know who I +am?”</p> +<p>“I guess I do,” said I; “unless I am much +mistaken, you are he whom folks call the ‘Flaming +Tinman.’ To tell you the truth, I’m glad we +have met, for I wished to see you. These are your two +wives, I suppose; I greet them. There’s no harm +done—there’s room enough here for all of us—we +shall soon be good friends, I dare say; and when we are a little +better acquainted, I’ll tell you my history.”</p> +<p>“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” said the +fellow.</p> +<p>“I don’t think he’s chaffing now,” +said the girl, whose anger seemed to have subsided on a sudden; +“the young man speaks civil enough.”</p> +<p>“Civil,” said the fellow, with an oath; “but +that’s just like you; with you it is a blow, and all +over. Civil! I suppose you would have him stay here, +and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to my +two morts.”</p> +<p>“Two morts,” said the girl, kindling up, +“where are they? Speak for one, and no more. I +am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be. I tell +you one thing, Black John, or Anselo, for t’other +an’t your name, the same thing I told the young man here, +be civil, or you will rue it.”</p> +<p>The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon +quailed before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my +little horse, which was feeding amongst the trees. +“What’s this?” said he, rushing forward and +seizing the animal. “Why, as I am alive, this is the +horse of that mumping villain Slingsby.”</p> +<p>“It’s his no longer; I bought it and paid for +it.”</p> +<p>“It’s mine now,” said the fellow; “I +swore I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat; ay, +and beat the master too.”</p> +<p>“I am not Slingsby.”</p> +<p>“All’s one for that.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say you will beat me?”</p> +<p>“Afraid was the word.”</p> +<p>“I’m sick and feeble.”</p> +<p>“Hold up your fists.”</p> +<p>“Won’t the horse satisfy you?”</p> +<p>“Horse nor bellows either.”</p> +<p>“No mercy, then.”</p> +<p>“Here’s at you.”</p> +<p>“Mind your eyes, Jack. There, you’ve got +it. I thought so,” shouted the girl, as the fellow +staggered back from a sharp blow in the eye. “I +thought he was chaffing at you all along.”</p> +<p>“Never mind, Anselo. You know what to do—go +in,” said the vulgar woman, who had hitherto not spoken a +word, but who now came <!-- page 331--><a +name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 331</span>forward +with all the look of a fury; “go in apopli; you’ll +smash ten like he.”</p> +<p>The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on +smashing, but stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on +the nose.</p> +<p>“You’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that +way,” said the girl, looking at me doubtfully.</p> +<p>And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an +eye, the Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his frock-coat, +and dashing off his red night-cap, came rushing in more +desperately than ever. To a flush hit which he received in +the mouth he paid as little attention as a wild bull would have +done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in another, he had +hurled me down, falling heavily upon me. The fellow’s +strength appeared to be tremendous.</p> +<p>“Pay him off now,” said the vulgar woman. +The Flaming Tinman made no reply, but planting his knee on my +breast, seized my throat with two huge horny hands. I gave +myself up for dead, and probably should have been so in another +minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the handkerchief +which the fellow wore round his neck with a grasp nearly as +powerful as that with which he pressed my throat.</p> +<p>“Do you call that fair play?” said she.</p> +<p>“Hands off, Belle,” said the other woman; +“do you call it fair play to interfere? hands off, or +I’ll be down upon you myself.”</p> +<p>But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard +at the handkerchief, that the Flaming Tinman was nearly +throttled; suddenly relinquishing his hold of me, he started on +his feet, and aimed a blow at my fair preserver, who avoided it, +but said coolly:—</p> +<p>“Finish t’other business first, and then I’m +your woman whenever you like; but finish it fairly—no foul +play when I’m by—I’ll be the boy’s +second, and Moll can pick up you when he happens to knock you +down.”</p> +<p>The battle during the next ten minutes raged with considerable +fury, but it so happened that during this time I was never able +to knock the Flaming Tinman down, but on the contrary received +six knock-down blows myself. “I can never stand +this,” said I, as I sat on the knee of Belle, “I am +afraid I must give in; the Flaming Tinman hits very hard,” +and I spat out a mouthful of blood.</p> +<p>“Sure enough you’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman +in the way you fight—it’s of no use flipping at the +Flaming Tinman with your left hand; why don’t you use your +right?”</p> +<p>“Because I’m not handy with it,” said I; and +then getting up, I once more confronted the Flaming Tinman, and +struck him six blows for his one, but they were all left-handed +blows, and the blow which the Flaming Tinman gave me knocked me +off my legs.</p> +<p>“Now, will you use Long Melford?” said Belle, +picking me up.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean by Long +Melford,” said I, gasping for breath.</p> +<p>“Why, this long right of yours,” said Belle, +feeling my right arm—“if you do, I shouldn’t +wonder if you yet stand a chance.”</p> +<p>And now the Flaming Tinman was once more ready, much more <!-- +page 332--><a name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +332</span>ready than myself. I, however, rose from my +second’s knee as well as my weakness would permit me; on he +came, striking left and right, appearing almost as fresh as to +wind and spirit as when he first commenced the combat, though his +eyes were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in +two; on he came, striking left and right, and I did not like his +blows at all, or even the wind of them, which was anything but +agreeable, and I gave way before him. At last he aimed a +blow, which, had it taken full effect, would doubtless have ended +the battle, but owing to his slipping, the fist only grazed my +left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a tree, close +to which I had been driven; before the Tinman could recover +himself, I collected all my strength, and struck him beneath the +ear, and then fell to the ground completely exhausted, and it so +happened that the blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear +was a right-handed blow.</p> +<p>“Hurrah for Long Melford!” I heard Belle exclaim; +“there is nothing like Long Melford for shortness all the +world over.”</p> +<p>At these words, I turned round my head as I lay, and perceived +the Flaming Tinman stretched upon the ground apparently +senseless. “He is dead,” said the vulgar woman, +as she vainly endeavoured to raise him up; “he is dead; the +best man in all the north country, killed in this fashion, by a +boy.” Alarmed at these words, I made shift to get on +my feet; and, with the assistance of the woman, placed my fallen +adversary in a sitting posture. I put my hand to his heart, +and felt a slight pulsation—“He’s not +dead,” said I, “only stunned; if he were let blood, +he would recover presently.” I produced a penknife +which I had in my pocket, and, baring the arm of the Tinman, was +about to make the necessary incision, when the woman gave me a +violent blow, and, pushing me aside, exclaimed, “I’ll +tear the eyes out of your head, if you offer to touch him. +Do you want to complete your work, and murder him outright, now +he’s asleep? you have had enough of his blood +already.” “You are mad,” said I, “I +only seek to do him service. Well, if you won’t let +him be blooded, fetch some water and fling it into his face, you +know where the pit is.”</p> +<p>“A pretty manœuvre,” said the woman; +“leave my husband in the hands of you and that limmer, who +has never been true to us; I should find him strangled or his +throat cut when I came back.” “Do you +go,” said I, to the tall girl, “take the can and +fetch some water from the pit.” “You had better +go yourself,” said the girl, wiping a tear as she looked on +the yet senseless form of the tinker; “you had better go +yourself, if you think water will do him good.” I had +by this time somewhat recovered my exhausted powers, and, taking +the can, I bent my steps as fast as I could to the pit; arriving +there, I lay down on the brink, took a long draught, and then +plunged my head into the water; after which I filled the can, and +bent my way back to the dingle. Before I could reach the +path which led down into its depths, I had to pass some way along +its side; I had arrived at a part immediately over the scene of +the last encounter, where the bank, overgrown with trees, sloped +precipitously down. Here I heard a loud sound of voices in +the dingle; I stopped, and laying hold of a tree, <!-- page +333--><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +333</span>leaned over the bank and listened. The two women +appeared to be in hot dispute in the dingle. “It was +all owing to you, you limmer,” said the vulgar woman to the +other; “had you not interfered, the old man would soon have +settled the boy.”</p> +<p>“I’m for fair play and Long Melford,” said +the other. “If your old man, as you call him, could +have settled the boy fairly, he might, for all I should have +cared, but no foul work for me; and as for sticking the boy with +our gulleys when he comes back, as you proposed, I am not so fond +of your old man or you that I should oblige you in it, to my +soul’s destruction.” “Hold your tongue, +or I’ll—”; I listened no farther, but hastened +as fast as I could to the dingle. My adversary had just +begun to show signs of animation; the vulgar woman was still +supporting him, and occasionally cast glances of anger at the +tall girl who was walking slowly up and down. I lost no +time in dashing the greater part of the water into the +Tinman’s face, whereupon he sneezed, moved his hands, and +presently looked round him. At first his looks were dull +and heavy, and without any intelligence at all; he soon, however, +began to recollect himself, and to be conscious of his situation; +he cast a scowling glance at me, then one of the deepest +malignity at the tall girl, who was still walking about without +taking much notice of what was going forward. At last he +looked at his right hand, which had evidently suffered from the +blow against the tree, and a half-stifled curse escaped his +lips. The vulgar woman now said something to him in a low +tone, whereupon he looked at her for a moment, and then got upon +his legs. Again the vulgar woman said something to him; her +looks were furious, and she appeared to be urging him on to +attempt something. I observed that she had a clasped knife +in her hand. The fellow remained standing for some time as +if hesitating what to do, at last he looked at his hand, and, +shaking his head, said something to the woman which I did not +understand. The tall girl, however, appeared to overhear +him, and, probably repeating his words, said, “No, it +won’t do; you are right there, and now hear what I have to +say,—let bygones be bygones, and let us all shake hands, +and camp here, as the young man was saying just now.” +The man looked at her, and then, without any reply, went to his +horse, which was lying down among the trees, and kicking it up, +led it to the cart, to which he forthwith began to harness +it. The other cart and horse had remained standing +motionless during the whole affair which I have been recounting, +at the bottom of the pass. The woman now took the horse by +the head, and leading it with the cart into the open part of the +dingle turned both round, and then led them back, till the horse +and cart had mounted a little way up the ascent; she then stood +still and appeared to be expecting the man. During this +proceeding Belle had stood looking on without saying anything; at +last, perceiving that the man had harnessed his horse to the +other cart, and that both he and the woman were about to take +their departure, she said, “You are not going, are +you?” Receiving no answer, she continued: “I +tell you what, both of you, Black John, and you Moll, his mort, +this is not treating me over civilly,—however, I am ready +to put <!-- page 334--><a name="page334"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 334</span>up with it, and go with you if you +like, for I bear no malice. I’m sorry for what has +happened, but you have only yourselves to thank for it. +Now, shall I go with you, only tell me?” The man made +no manner of reply, but flogged his horse. The woman, +however, whose passions were probably under less control, +replied, with a screeching tone, “Stay where you are, you +jade, and may the curse of Judas cling to you,—stay with +the bit of a mullo whom you helped, and my only hope is that he +may gulley you before he comes to be—Have you with us, +indeed! after what’s past, no, nor nothing belonging to +you. Fetch down your mailla go-cart and live here with your +chabo.” She then whipped on the horse, and ascended +the pass, followed by the man. The carts were light, and +they were not long in ascending the winding path. I +followed to see that they took their departure. Arriving at +the top, I found near the entrance a small donkey-cart, which I +concluded belonged to the girl. The tinker and his mort +were already at some distance; I stood looking after them for a +little time, then taking the donkey by the reins I led it with +the cart to the bottom of the dingle. Arrived there, I +found Belle seated on the stone by the fireplace. Her hair +was all dishevelled, and she was in tears.</p> +<p>“They were bad people,” said she, “and I did +not like them, but they were my only acquaintance in the wide +world.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">At Tea—Vapours—Isopel +Berners—Softly and Kindly—Sweet Pretty +Creature—Bread and Water—Two Sailors—Truth and +Constancy—Very Strangely.</p> +<p>In the evening of that same day the tall girl and I sat at tea +by the fire, at the bottom of the dingle; the girl on a small +stool, and myself, as usual, upon my stone.</p> +<p>The water which served for the tea had been taken from a +spring of pellucid water in the neighbourhood, which I had not +had the good fortune to discover, though it was well known to my +companion, and to the wandering people who frequented the +dingle.</p> +<p>“This tea is very good,” said I, “but I +cannot enjoy it as much as if I were well: I feel very +sadly.”</p> +<p>“How else should you feel,” said the girl, +“after fighting with the Flaming Tinman? All I wonder +is that you can feel at all! As for the tea, it ought to be +good, seeing that it cost me ten shillings a pound.”</p> +<p>“That’s a great deal for a person in your station +to pay.”</p> +<p>“In my station! I’d have you to know, young +man—however, I haven’t the heart to quarrel with you, +you look so ill; and after all, it is a good sum to pay for one +who travels the roads; but if I must have tea, I like to have the +best; and tea I must have, for I am used to it, though I +can’t help thinking that it sometimes fills my head with +strange fancies—what some folk call vapours, making me weep +and cry.”</p> +<p><!-- page 335--><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +335</span>“Dear me,” said I, “I should never +have thought that one of your size and fierceness would weep and +cry!”</p> +<p>“My size and fierceness! I tell you what, young +man, you are not over civil, this evening; but you are ill, as I +said before, and I shan’t take much notice of your +language, at least for the present; as for my size, I am not so +much bigger than yourself; and as for being fierce, you should be +the last one to fling that at me. It is well for you that I +can be fierce sometimes. If I hadn’t taken your part +against blazing Bosville, you wouldn’t be now taking tea +with me.”</p> +<p>“It is true that you struck me in the face first; but +we’ll let that pass. So that man’s name is +Bosville; what’s your own?”</p> +<p>“Isopel Berners.”</p> +<p>“How did you get that name?”</p> +<p>“I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions! +will you have another cup of tea?”</p> +<p>“I was just going to ask for another.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as +for my name, I got it from my mother.”</p> +<p>“Your mother’s name, then, was Isopel?”</p> +<p>“Isopel Berners.”</p> +<p>“But had you never a father?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I had a father,” said the girl, sighing, +“but I don’t bear his name.”</p> +<p>“Is it the fashion, then, in your country for children +to bear their mother’s name?”</p> +<p>“If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry +with you. I have told you my name, and whether my +father’s or mother’s, I am not ashamed of +it.”</p> +<p>“It is a noble name.”</p> +<p>“There you are right, young man. The chaplain in +the great house, where I was born, told me it was a noble name; +it was odd enough, he said, that the only three noble names in +the county were to be found in the great house; mine was one; the +other two were Devereux and Bohun.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by the great house?”</p> +<p>“The workhouse.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible that you were born there?”</p> +<p>“Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, +I will tell you my whole tale. My father was an officer of +the sea, and was killed at sea, as he was coming home to marry my +mother, Isopel Berners. He had been acquainted with her, +and had left her; but after a few months he wrote her a letter, +to say that he had no rest, and that he repented, and that as +soon as his ship came to port he would do her all the reparation +in his power. Well, young man, the very day before they +reached port they met the enemy, and there was a fight, and my +father was killed, after he had struck down six of the +enemy’s crew on their own deck; for my father was a big +man, as I have heard, and knew tolerably well how to use his +hands. And when my mother heard the news, she became half +distracted, and ran away into the fields and <!-- page 336--><a +name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 336</span>forests, +totally neglecting her business, for she was a small milliner; +and so she ran demented about the meads and forests for a long +time, now sitting under a tree, and now by the side of a +river—at last she flung herself into some water, and would +have been drowned, had not some one been at hand and rescued her, +whereupon she was conveyed to the great house, lest she should +attempt to do herself further mischief, for she had neither +friends nor parents—and there she died three months after, +having first brought me into the world. She was a sweet +pretty creature, I’m told, but hardly fit for this world, +being neither large, nor fierce, nor able to take her own +part. So I was born and bred in the great house, where I +learnt to read and sew, to fear God, and to take my own +part. When I was fourteen I was put out to service to a +small farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I did not stay +long, for I was half starved, and otherwise ill-treated, +especially by my mistress, who one day attempting to knock me +down with a besom, I knocked her down with my fist, and went back +to the great house.”</p> +<p>“And how did they receive you in the great +house?”</p> +<p>“Not very kindly, young man—on the contrary, I was +put into a dark room, where I was kept a fortnight on bread and +water; I did not much care, however, being glad to have got back +to the great house at any rate, the place where I was born, and +where my poor mother died, and in the great house I continued two +years longer, reading and sewing, fearing God, and taking my own +part when necessary. At the end of the two years I was +again put out to service, but this time to a rich farmer and his +wife, with whom, however, I did not live long, less time, I +believe, than with the poor ones, being obliged to leave +for—”</p> +<p>“Knocking your mistress down?”</p> +<p>“No, young man, knocking my master down, who conducted +himself improperly towards me. This time I did not go back +to the great house, having a misgiving that they would not +receive me, so I turned my back to the great house where I was +born, and where my poor mother died, and wandered for several +days, I know not whither, supporting myself on a few halfpence +which I chanced to have in my pocket. It happened one day, +as I sat under a hedge crying, having spent my last farthing, +that a comfortable-looking elderly woman came up in a cart, and +seeing the state in which I was, she stopped and asked what was +the matter with me; I told her some part of my story, whereupon +she said, ‘Cheer up, my dear, if you like you shall go with +me, and wait upon me.’ Of course I wanted little +persuasion, so I got into the cart and went with her. She +took me to London and various other places, and I soon found that +she was a travelling woman, who went about the country with silks +and linen. I was of great use to her, more especially in +those places where we met evil company. Once, as we were +coming from Dover, we were met by two sailors, who stopped our +cart, and would have robbed and stripped us. ‘Let me +get down,’ said I; so I got down, and fought with them +both, till they turned round and ran away. Two years I +lived with the old gentlewoman, who was very kind to me, almost +as kind as a mother; at last she fell sick at a place in +Lincolnshire, and after a few days died, leaving me her cart and +stock in trade, praying <!-- page 337--><a +name="page337"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 337</span>me only to +see her decently buried, which I did, giving her a funeral fit +for a gentlewoman. After which I travelled the country +melancholy enough for want of company, but so far fortunate, that +I could take my own part when any body was uncivil to me. +At last, passing through the valley of Todmorden, I formed the +acquaintance of Blazing Bosville and his wife, with whom I +occasionally took journeys for company’s sake, for it is +melancholy to travel about alone, even when one can take +one’s own part. I soon found they were evil people; +but, upon the whole, they treated me civilly, and I sometimes +lent them a little money, so that we got on tolerably well +together. He and I, it is true, had once a dispute, and +nearly came to blows, for once, when we were alone, he wanted me +to marry him, promising, if I would, to turn off Grey Moll, or if +I liked it better, to make her wait upon me as a maid-servant; I +never liked him much, but from that hour less than ever. Of +the two, I believe Grey Moll to be the best, for she is at any +rate true and faithful to him, and I like truth and constancy, +don’t you, young man?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “they are very nice +things. I feel very strangely.”</p> +<p>“How do you feel, young man?”</p> +<p>“Very much afraid.”</p> +<p>“Afraid, at what? At the Flaming Tinman? +Don’t be afraid of him. He won’t come back, and +if he did, he shouldn’t touch you in this state. +I’d fight him for you, but he won’t come back, so you +needn’t be afraid of him.”</p> +<p>“I’m not afraid of the Flaming Tinman.”</p> +<p>“What, then, are you afraid of?”</p> +<p>“The evil one.”</p> +<p>“The evil one,” said the girl “where is +he?”</p> +<p>“Coming upon me.”</p> +<p>“Never heed,” said the girl, “I’ll +stand by you.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Hubbub of Voices—No +Offence—Nodding—The Guests.</p> +<p>The kitchen of the public-house was a large one, and many +people were drinking in it; there was a confused hubbub of +voices.</p> +<p>I sat down on a bench behind a deal table, of which there were +three or four in the kitchen; presently a bulky man, in a green +coat, of the Newmarket cut, and without a hat, entered, and +observing me, came up, and in rather a gruff tone cried, +“Want anything, young fellow?”</p> +<p>“Bring me a jug of ale,” said I; “if you are +the master, as I suppose you are, by that same coat of yours, and +your having no hat on your head.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be saucy, young fellow,” said the +landlord, for such he was, “don’t be saucy, +or—” Whatever he intended to say, he left +unsaid, for fixing his eyes upon one of my hands, which I had +placed by chance upon the table, he became suddenly still.</p> +<p><!-- page 338--><a name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +338</span>This was my left hand, which was raw and swollen, from +the blows dealt on a certain hard skull in a recent combat. +“What do you mean by staring at my hand so?” said I, +withdrawing it from the table.</p> +<p>“No offence, young man, no offence,” said the +landlord, in a quite altered tone; “but the sight of your +hand—,” then observing that our conversation began to +attract the notice of the guests in the kitchen, he interrupted +himself, saying in an under tone, “But mum’s the word +for the present, I will go and fetch the ale.”</p> +<p>In about a minute he returned, with a jug of ale foaming +high. “Here’s your health,” said he, +blowing off the foam, and drinking; but perceiving that I looked +rather dissatisfied, he murmured, “All’s right, I +glory in you; but mum’s the word.” Then placing +the jug on the table, he gave me a confidential nod, and +swaggered out of the room.</p> +<p>What can the silly impertinent fellow mean, thought I; but the +ale was now before me, and I hastened to drink, for my weakness +was great, and my mind was full of dark thoughts, the remains of +the indescribable horror of the preceding night. It may +kill me, thought I, as I drank deep, but who cares, anything is +better than what I have suffered. I drank deep, and then +leaned back against the wall; it appeared as if a vapour was +stealing up into my brain, gentle and benign, soothing and +stilling the horror and the fear; higher and higher it mounted, +and I felt nearly overcome; but the sensation was delicious, +compared with that I had lately experienced, and now I felt +myself nodding; and, bending down, I laid my head on the table on +my folded hands.</p> +<p>And in that attitude I remained some time, perfectly +unconscious. At length, by degrees, perception returned, +and I lifted up my head. I felt somewhat dizzy and +bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn itself from +me. And now, once more, I drank of the jug; this second +draught did not produce an overpowering effect upon me—it +revived and strengthened me—I felt a new man.</p> +<p>I looked around me: the kitchen had been deserted by the +greater part of the guests; besides myself, only four remained; +these were seated at the farther end. One was haranguing +fiercely and eagerly; he was abusing England, and praising +America. At last he exclaimed, “So when I gets to New +York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the King.”</p> +<p>That man must be a Radical, thought I.</p> +<h2><!-- page 339--><a name="page339"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 339</span>CHAPTER LXXXVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">A Radical—Simple-Looking +Man—Church of England—The +President—Aristocracy—Gin and Water—Mending the +Roads—Persecuting Church—Simon de +Montford—Broken Bells—Get Up—Not for the +Pope—Quay of New York—Mumpers’ Dingle—No +Wish to Fight—First Draught—A Poor +Pipe—Half-a-crown Broke.</p> +<p>The individual whom I supposed to be a Radical, after a short +pause, again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built +fellow of about thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white +hat on his head, a snuff-coloured coat on his back, and when he +was not speaking, a pipe in his mouth. “Who would +live in such a country as England?” he shouted.</p> +<p>“There is no country like America—” said his +nearest neighbour, a man also in a white hat, and of a very +ill-favoured countenance—“there is no country like +America,” said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth, +“I think I shall—” and here he took a draught +from a jug, the contents of which he appeared to have in common +with the other,—“go to America one of these days +myself.”</p> +<p>“Poor old England is not such a bad country, after +all,” said a third, a simple-looking man in a labouring +dress, who sat smoking a pipe without anything before him. +“If there was but a little more work to be got I should +have nothing to say against her. I hope, +however—”</p> +<p>“You hope, who cares what you hope?” interrupted +the first, in a savage tone; “you are one of those sneaking +hounds who are satisfied with dog’s wages, a bit of bread +and a kick. Work, indeed, who, with the spirit of a man, +would work for a country where there is neither liberty of +speech, nor of action, a land full of beggarly aristocracy, +hungry borough-mongers, insolent parsons, and ‘their wives +and daughters,’ as William Cobbett says, in his +‘Register.’”</p> +<p>“Ah, the Church of England has been a source of +incalculable mischief to these realms,” said another.</p> +<p>The person who uttered these words sat rather aloof from the +rest; he was dressed in a long black surtout. I could not +see much of his face, partly owing to his keeping it very much +directed to the ground, and partly owing to a large slouched hat, +which he wore; I observed, however, that his hair was of a +reddish tinge. On the table near him was a glass and +spoon.</p> +<p>“You are quite right,” said the first, alluding to +what this last had said, “the Church of England has done +incalculable mischief here. I value no religion three +halfpence, for I believe in none; but the one that I hate most is +the Church of England; so when I get to New York, after I have +shown the fine fellows on the quay a spice of me, by --- the +King, I’ll toss up my hat again, and the --- Church of +England too.”</p> +<p>“And suppose the people of New York should clap you in +the stocks?” said I.</p> +<p><!-- page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>These words drew upon me the attention of the whole +four. The Radical and his companion stared at me +ferociously; the man in black gave me a peculiar glance from +under his slouched hat; the simple-looking man in the labouring +dress laughed.</p> +<p>“What are you laughing at, you fool?” said the +Radical, turning and looking at the other, who appeared to be +afraid of him, “hold your noise; and a pretty fellow +you,” said he, looking at me, “to come here, and +speak against the great American nation.”</p> +<p>“I speak against the great American nation?” said +I, “I rather paid them a compliment.”</p> +<p>“By supposing they would put me in the stocks. +Well, I call it abusing them, to suppose they would do any such +thing—stocks, indeed!—there are no stocks in all the +land. Put me in the stocks? why, the President will come +down to the quay, and ask me to dinner, as soon as he hears what +I have said about the King and Church.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “if you +go to America, you will say of the President and country what now +you say of the King and Church, and cry out for somebody to send +you back to England.”</p> +<p>The Radical dashed his pipe to pieces against the table. +“I tell you what, young fellow, you are a spy of the +aristocracy, sent here to kick up a disturbance.”</p> +<p>“Kicking up a disturbance,” said I, “is +rather inconsistent with the office of spy. If I were a +spy, I should hold my head down, and say nothing.”</p> +<p>The man in black partially raised his head, and gave me +another peculiar glance.</p> +<p>“Well, if you ar’n’t sent to spy, you are +sent to bully, to prevent people speaking, and to run down the +great American nation; but you sha’n’t bully +me. I say down with the aristocracy, the beggarly British +aristocracy. Come, what have you to say to that?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” said I.</p> +<p>“Nothing!” repeated the Radical.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “down with them as soon as you +can.”</p> +<p>“As soon as I can! I wish I could. But I can +down with a bully of theirs. Come, will you fight for +them?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I.</p> +<p>“You won’t?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I; “though from what I have seen +of them I should say they are tolerably able to fight for +themselves.”</p> +<p>“You won’t fight for them,” said the Radical +triumphantly; “I thought so; all bullies, especially those +of the aristocracy, are cowards. Here, landlord,” +said he, raising his voice, and striking against the table with +the jug, “some more ale—he won’t fight for his +friends.”</p> +<p>“A white feather,” said his companion.</p> +<p>“He! he!” tittered the man in black.</p> +<p>“Landlord, landlord,” shouted the Radical, +striking the table with the jug louder than before. +“Who called?” said the landlord, coming in at +last. “Fill this jug again,” said the other, +“and be quick about it.” “Does any one +else want anything?” said the landlord. <!-- page +341--><a name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +341</span>“Yes,” said the man in black; “you +may bring me another glass of gin and water.” +“Cold?” said the landlord. “Yes,” +said the man in black, “with a lump of sugar in +it.”</p> +<p>“Gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it,” +said I, and struck the table with my fist.</p> +<p>“Take some?” said the landlord, inquiringly.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “only something came into my +head.”</p> +<p>“He’s mad,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Not he,” said the Radical. +“He’s only shamming; he knows his master is here, and +therefore has recourse to those manœuvres, but it +won’t do. Come, landlord, what are you staring +at? Why don’t you obey your orders? Keeping +your customers waiting in this manner is not the way to increase +your business.”</p> +<p>The landlord looked at the Radical, and then at me. At +last, taking the jug and glass, he left the apartment, and +presently returned with each filled with its respective +liquor. He placed the jug with beer before the Radical, and +the glass with the gin and water before the man in black, and +then, with a wink to me, he sauntered out.</p> +<p>“Here is your health, sir,” said the man of the +snuff-coloured coat, addressing himself to the man in black, +“I honour you for what you said about the Church of +England. Every one who speaks against the Church of England +has my warm heart. Down with it, I say, and may the stones +of it be used for mending the roads, as my friend William says in +his Register.”</p> +<p>The man in black, with a courteous nod of his head, drank to +the man in the snuff-coloured coat. “With respect to +the steeples,” said he, “I am not altogether of your +opinion; they might be turned to better account than to serve to +mend the roads; they might still be used as places of worship, +but not for the worship of the Church of England. I have no +fault to find with the steeples, it is the Church itself which I +am compelled to arraign, but it will not stand long, the +respectable part of its ministers are already leaving it. +It is a bad Church, a persecuting Church.”</p> +<p>“Whom does it persecute?” said I.</p> +<p>The man in black glanced at me slightly, and then replied +slowly, “The Catholics.”</p> +<p>“And do those whom you call Catholics never +persecute?” said I.</p> +<p>“Never,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Did you ever read ‘Fox’s Book of +Martyrs?’” said I.</p> +<p>“He! he!” tittered the man in black, “there +is not a word of truth in ‘Fox’s Book of +Martyrs.’”</p> +<p>“Ten times more than in the ‘Flos +Sanctorum,’” said I.</p> +<p>The man in black looked at me, but made no answer.</p> +<p>“And what say you to the Massacre of the Albigenses and +the Vaudois, ‘whose bones lie scattered on the cold +Alp,’ or the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes?”</p> +<p>The man in black made no answer.</p> +<p>“Go to,” said I, “it is because the Church +of England is not a persecuting Church, that those whom you call +the respectable part are <!-- page 342--><a +name="page342"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 342</span>leaving +her; it is because they can’t do with the poor Dissenters +what Simon de Montford did with the Albigenses, and the cruel +Piedmontese with the Vaudois, that they turn to bloody Rome; the +Pope will no doubt welcome them, for the Pope, do you see, being +very much in want, will welcome—”</p> +<p>“Hollo!” said the Radical, interfering. +“What are you saying about the Pope? I say hurrah for +the Pope: I value no religion three halfpence, as I said before, +but if I were to adopt any, it should be the Popish, as +it’s called, because I conceives the Popish to be the grand +enemy of the Church of England, of the beggarly aristocracy, and +the borough-monger system, so I won’t hear the Pope abused +while I am by. Come, don’t look fierce. You +won’t fight, you know, I have proved it; but I will give +you another chance—I will fight for the Pope, will you +fight against him?”</p> +<p>“O dear me, yes,” said I, getting up and stepping +forward. “I am a quiet peaceable young man, and, +being so, am always ready to fight against the Pope—the +enemy of all peace and quiet—to refuse fighting for the +aristocracy is a widely different thing from refusing to fight +against the Pope—so come on, if you are disposed to fight +for him. To the Pope broken bells, to Saint James broken +shells. No Popish vile oppression, but the Protestant +succession. Confusion to the Groyne, hurrah for the Boyne, +for the army at Clonmel, and the Protestant young gentlemen who +live there as well.”</p> +<p>“An Orangeman,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Not a Platitude,” said I.</p> +<p>The man in black gave a slight start.</p> +<p>“Amongst that family,” said I, “no doubt +something may be done, but amongst the Methodist preachers I +should conceive that the success would not be great.”</p> +<p>The man in black sat quite still.</p> +<p>“Especially amongst those who have wives,” I +added.</p> +<p>The man in black stretched his hand towards his gin and +water.</p> +<p>“However,” said I, “we shall see what the +grand movement will bring about, and the results of the lessons +in elocution.”</p> +<p>The man in black lifted the glass up to his mouth, and in +doing so, let the spoon fall.</p> +<p>“But what has this to do with the main question?” +said I, “I am waiting here to fight against the +Pope.”</p> +<p>“Come, Hunter,” said the companion of the man in +the snuff-coloured coat, “get up, and fight for the +Pope.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care for the young fellow,” said +the man in the snuff-coloured coat.</p> +<p>“I know you don’t,” said the other, +“so get up, and serve him out.”</p> +<p>“I could serve out three like him,” said the man +in the snuff-coloured coat.</p> +<p>“So much the better for you,” said the other, +“the present work will be all the easier for you, get up, +and serve him out at once.”</p> +<p>The man in the snuff-coloured coat did not stir.</p> +<p>“Who shows the white feather now?” said the +simple-looking man.</p> +<p><!-- page 343--><a name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +343</span>“He! he! he!” tittered the man in +black.</p> +<p>“Who told you to interfere?” said the Radical, +turning ferociously towards the simple-looking man; “say +another word, and I’ll—And you!” said he, +addressing himself to the man in black, “a pretty fellow +you to turn against me, after I had taken your part. I tell +you what, you may fight for yourself. I’ll see you +and your Pope in the pit of Eldon, before I fight for either of +you, so make the most of it.”</p> +<p>“Then you won’t fight?” said I.</p> +<p>“Not for the Pope,” said the Radical; +“I’ll see the Pope—”</p> +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “not fight for the Pope, +whose religion you would turn to, if you were inclined for +any. I see how it is, you are not fond of fighting; but +I’ll give you another chance—you were abusing the +Church of England just now. I’ll fight for +it—will you fight against it?”</p> +<p>“Come, Hunter,” said the other, “get up, and +fight against the Church of England.”</p> +<p>“I have no particular quarrel against the Church of +England,” said the man in the snuff-coloured coat, +“my quarrel is with the aristocracy. If I said +anything against the Church, it was merely for a bit of +corollary, as Master William Cobbett would say; the quarrel with +the Church belongs to this fellow in black; so let him carry it +on. However,” he continued suddenly, “I +won’t slink from the matter either; it shall never be said +by the fine fellows on the quay of New York, that I +wouldn’t fight against the Church of England. So down +with the beggarly aristocracy, the Church, and the Pope, to the +bottom of the pit of Eldon, and may the Pope fall first, and the +others upon him.”</p> +<p>Thereupon, dashing his hat on the table, he placed himself in +an attitude of offence, and rushed forward. He was, as I +have said before, a powerful fellow, and might have proved a +dangerous antagonist, more especially to myself, who, after my +recent encounter with the Flaming Tinman, and my wrestlings with +the evil one, was in anything but fighting order. Any +collision, however, was prevented by the landlord, who, suddenly +appearing, thrust himself between us. “There shall be +no fighting here,” said he, “no one shall fight in +this house, except it be with myself; so if you two have anything +to say to each other, you had better go into the field behind the +house. But you fool,” said he, pushing Hunter +violently on the breast, “do you know whom you are going to +tackle with—this is the young chap that beat Blazing +Bosville, only as late as yesterday, in Mumpers’ +Dingle. Grey Moll told me all about it last night, when she +came for some brandy for her husband, who, she said, had been +half killed; and she described the young man to me so closely, +that I knew him at once, that is, as soon as I saw how his left +hand was bruised, for she told me he was a left hand +hitter. Ar’n’t it all true, young man? +Ar’n’t you he that beat Flaming Bosville in +Mumpers’ Dingle?” “I never beat Flaming +Bosville,” said I, “he beat himself. Had he not +struck his hand against a tree, I shouldn’t be here at the +present moment.” “Hear! hear!” said the +landlord, “now that’s just as it should be; I like a +modest man, for, as the parson says, nothing sits better upon a +young man than modesty. I remember, when I was young, +fighting with Tom, of Hopton, the best man that ever pulled off +coat <!-- page 344--><a name="page344"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 344</span>in England. I remember, too, +that I won the battle; for I happened to hit Tom, of Hopton, in +the mark, as he was coming in, so that he lost his wind, and +falling squelch on the ground, do ye see, he lost the battle, +though I am free to confess that he was a better man than myself; +indeed, the best man that ever fought in England; yet still I won +the battle, as every customer of mine, and everybody within +twelve miles round, has heard over and over again. Now, Mr. +Hunter, I have one thing to say, if you choose to go into the +field behind the house, and fight the young man, you can. +I’ll back him for ten pounds; but no fighting in my +kitchen—because why? I keeps a decent kind of an +establishment.”</p> +<p>“I have no wish to fight the young man,” said +Hunter; “more especially as he has nothing to say for the +aristocracy. If he chose to fight for them, +indeed—but he won’t, I know; for I see he’s a +decent, respectable young man; and, after all, fighting is a +blackguard way of settling a dispute; so I have no wish to fight; +however, there is one thing I’ll do,” said he, +uplifting his fist; “I’ll fight this fellow in black +here for half-a-crown, or for nothing, if he pleases; it was he +that got up the last dispute between me and the young man, with +his Pope and his nonsense; so I will fight him for anything he +pleases, and perhaps the young man will be my second; whilst +you—”</p> +<p>“Come, Doctor,” said the landlord, “or +whatsoever you be, will you go into the field with Hunter? +I’ll second you, only you must back yourself. +I’ll lay five pounds on Hunter, if you are inclined to back +yourself; and will help you to win it as far, do you see, as a +second can; because why? I always likes to do the fair +thing.”</p> +<p>“Oh! I have no wish to fight,” said the man +in black, hastily; “fighting is not my trade. If I +have given any offence, I beg anybody’s pardon.”</p> +<p>“Landlord,” said I, “what have I to +pay?”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all,” said the landlord, “glad +to see you. This is the first time that you have been at my +house, and I never charge new customers, at least customers such +as you, anything for the first draught. You’ll come +again, I dare say; shall always be glad to see you. I +won’t take it,” said he, as I put sixpence on the +table; “I won’t take it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you shall,” said I; “but not in +payment for anything I have had myself: it shall serve to pay for +a jug of ale for that gentleman,” said I, pointing to the +simple-looking individual; “he is smoking a poor +pipe. I do not mean to say that a pipe is a bad thing; but +a pipe without ale, do you see—”</p> +<p>“Bravo!” said the landlord, “that’s +just the conduct I like.”</p> +<p>“Bravo!” said Hunter. “I shall be +happy to drink with the young man whenever I meet him at New +York, where, do you see, things are better managed than +here.”</p> +<p>“If I have given offence to anybody,” said the man +in black, “I repeat that I ask pardon—more especially +to the young gentleman, who was perfectly right to stand up for +his religion, just as I—not that I am of any particular +religion, no more than this honest gentleman here,” bowing +to Hunter; “but I happen to know something of the +Catholics—several excellent friends of mine are +Catholics—and of a surety the <!-- page 345--><a +name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>Catholic +religion is an ancient religion, and a widely-extended religion +though it certainly is not a universal religion, but it has of +late made considerable progress, even amongst those nations who +have been particularly opposed to it—amongst the Prussians +and the Dutch, for example, to say nothing of the English; and +then, in the East, amongst the Persians, among the +Armenians.”</p> +<p>“The Armenians,” said I; “O dear me, the +Armenians—”</p> +<p>“Have you anything to say about these people, +sir?” said the man in black, lifting up his glass to his +mouth.</p> +<p>“I have nothing further to say,” said I, +“than that the roots of Ararat are occasionally found to be +deeper than those of Rome.”</p> +<p>“There’s half-a-crown broke,” said the +landlord, as the man in black let fall the glass, which was +broken to pieces on the floor. “You will pay me the +damage, friend, before you leave this kitchen. I like to +see people drink freely in my kitchen, but not too freely, and I +hate breakages; because why? I keeps a decent kind of an +establishment.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Dingle—Give them Ale—Not over +Complimentary—America—Many +People—Washington—Promiscuous Company—Language +of the Roads—The Old Women—Numerals—The Man in +Black.</p> +<p>The public-house where the scenes which I have attempted to +describe in the preceding chapters took place, was at the +distance of about two miles from the dingle. The sun was +sinking in the west by the time I returned to the latter +spot. I found Belle seated by a fire, over which her kettle +was suspended. During my absence she had prepared herself a +kind of tent, consisting of large hoops covered over with +tarpaulin, quite impenetrable to rain, however violent. +“I am glad you are returned,” said she, as soon as +she perceived me; “I began to be anxious about you. +Did you take my advice?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I went to the public-house +and drank ale as you advised me; it cheered, strengthened, and +drove away the horror from my mind,—I am much beholden to +you.”</p> +<p>“I knew it would do you good,” said Belle; +“I remembered that when the poor women in the great house +were afflicted with hysterics and fearful imaginings, the +surgeon, who was a good, kind man, used to say, ‘Ale, give +them ale, and let it be strong.’”</p> +<p>“He was no advocate for tea, then?” said I.</p> +<p>“He had no objection to tea; but he used to say, +‘Everything in its season.’ Shall we take ours +now—I have waited for you.”</p> +<p>“I have no objection,” said I; “I feel +rather heated, and at present should prefer tea to +ale—‘Everything in its season,’ as the surgeon +said.”</p> +<p>Thereupon Belle prepared tea, and, as we were taking it, she +said, “What did you see and hear at the +public-house?”</p> +<p><!-- page 346--><a name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +346</span>“Really,” said I, “you appear to have +your full portion of curiosity; what matters it to you what I saw +and heard at the public-house?”</p> +<p>“It matters very little to me,” said Belle; +“I merely inquired of you, for the sake of a little +conversation—you were silent, and it is uncomfortable for +two people to sit together without opening their lips—at +least I think so.”</p> +<p>“One only feels uncomfortable,” said I, “in +being silent, when one happens to be thinking of the individual +with whom one is in company. To tell you the truth, I was +not thinking of my companion, but of certain company with whom I +had been at the public-house.”</p> +<p>“Really, young man,” said Belle, “you are +not over complimentary; but who may this wonderful company have +been—some young—?” and here Belle stopped.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “there was no young +person—if person you were going to say. There was a +big portly landlord, whom I dare say you have seen; a noisy +savage Radical, who wanted at first to fasten upon me a quarrel +about America, but who subsequently drew in his horns; then there +was a strange fellow, a prowling priest, I believe, whom I have +frequently heard of, who at first seemed disposed to side with +the Radical against me, and afterwards with me against the +Radical. There, you know my company, and what took +place.”</p> +<p>“Was there no one else?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“You are mighty curious,” said I. “No, +none else, except a poor simple mechanic, and some common +company, who soon went away.”</p> +<p>Belle looked at me for a moment, and then appeared to be lost +in thought—“America!” said she, +musingly—“America!”</p> +<p>“What of America?” said I.</p> +<p>“I have heard that it is a mighty country.”</p> +<p>“I dare say it is,” said I; “I have heard my +father say that the Americans are first-rate marksmen.”</p> +<p>“I heard nothing about that,” said Belle; +“what I heard was, that it is a great and goodly land, +where people can walk about without jostling, and where the +industrious can always find bread; I have frequently thought of +going thither.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “the Radical in the +public-house will perhaps be glad of your company thither; he is +as great an admirer of America as yourself, though I believe on +different grounds.”</p> +<p>“I shall go by myself,” said Belle, +“unless—unless that should happen which is not +likely—I am not fond of Radicals no more than I am of +scoffers and mockers.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that I am a scoffer and +mocker?”</p> +<p>“I don’t wish to say you are,” said Belle; +“but some of your words sound strangely like scoffing and +mocking. I have now one thing to beg, which is, that if you +have anything to say against America, you would speak it out +boldly.”</p> +<p>“What should I have to say against America? I +never was there.”</p> +<p>“Many people speak against America who never were +there.”</p> +<p>“Many people speak in praise of America who never were +there; but with respect to myself, I have not spoken for or +against America.”</p> +<p><!-- page 347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +347</span>“If you liked America you would speak in its +praise.”</p> +<p>“By the same rule, if I disliked America I should speak +against it.”</p> +<p>“I can’t speak with you,” said Belle; +“but I see you dislike the country.”</p> +<p>“The country!”</p> +<p>“Well, the people—don’t you?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“Why do you dislike them?”</p> +<p>“Why, I have heard my father say that the American +marksmen, led on by a chap of the name of Washington, sent the +English to the right-about in double-quick time.”</p> +<p>“And that is your reason for disliking the +Americans?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “that is my reason for +disliking them.”</p> +<p>“Will you take another cup of tea?” said +Belle.</p> +<p>I took another cup; we were again silent. “It is +rather uncomfortable,” said I, at last, “for people +to sit together without having anything to say.”</p> +<p>“Were you thinking of your company?” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“What company?” said I.</p> +<p>“The present company.”</p> +<p>“The present company! oh, ah!—I remember that I +said one only feels uncomfortable in being silent with a +companion, when one happens to be thinking of the +companion. Well, I had been thinking of you the last two or +three minutes, and had just come to the conclusion, that to +prevent us both feeling occasionally uncomfortable towards each +other, having nothing to say, it would be as well to have a +standing subject, on which to employ our tongues. Belle, I +have determined to give you lessons in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“What is Armenian?”</p> +<p>“Did you ever hear of Ararat?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was the place where the ark rested; I have +heard the chaplain in the great house talk of it; besides, I have +read of it in the Bible.”</p> +<p>“Well, Armenian is the speech of people of that place, +and I should like to teach it you.”</p> +<p>“To prevent—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, to prevent our occasionally feeling +uncomfortable together. Your acquiring it besides might +prove of ulterior advantage to us both; for example, suppose you +and I were in promiscuous company, at Court, for example, and you +had something to communicate to me which you did not wish anyone +else to be acquainted with, how safely you might communicate it +to me in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“Would not the language of the roads do as well?” +said Belle.</p> +<p>“In some places it would,” said I, “but not +at Court, owing to its resemblance to thieves’ slang. +There is Hebrew, again, which I was thinking of teaching you, +till the idea of being presented at Court made me abandon it, +from the probability of our being understood, in the event of our +speaking it, by at least half a dozen people in our +vicinity. There is Latin, it is true, or Greek, which we +might speak aloud at <!-- page 348--><a name="page348"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 348</span>Court with perfect confidence of +safety, but upon the whole I should prefer teaching you Armenian, +not because it would be a safer language to hold communication +with at Court, but because, not being very well grounded in it +myself, I am apprehensive that its words and forms may escape +from my recollection, unless I have sometimes occasion to call +them forth.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid we shall have to part company before I have +learnt it,” said Belle; “in the mean time, if I wish +to say anything to you in private, somebody being by, shall I +speak in the language of the roads?”</p> +<p>“If no roadster is nigh, you may,” said I, +“and I will do my best to understand you. Belle, I +will now give you a lesson in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you mean no harm?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Not in the least; I merely propose the thing to prevent +our occasionally feeling uncomfortable together. Let us +begin.”</p> +<p>“Stop till I have removed the tea-things,” said +Belle; and, getting up, she removed them to her own +encampment.</p> +<p>“I am ready,” said Belle, returning, and taking +her former seat, “to join with you in anything which will +serve to pass away the time agreeably, provided there is no harm +in it.”</p> +<p>“Belle,” said I, “I have determined to +commence the course of Armenian lessons by teaching you the +numerals; but, before I do that, it will be as well to tell you +that the Armenian language is called Haik.”</p> +<p>“I am sure that word will hang upon my memory,” +said Belle.</p> +<p>“Why hang upon it?” said I.</p> +<p>“Because the old women in the great house used to call +so the chimney-hook, on which they hung the kettle; in like +manner, on the hake of my memory I will hang your +hake.”</p> +<p>“Good!” said I, “you will make an apt +scholar; but, mind, that I did not say hake, but haik; the words +are, however, very much alike; and, as you observe, upon your +hake you may hang my haik. We will now proceed to the +numerals.”</p> +<p>“What are numerals?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Numbers. I will say the Haikan numbers up to +ten. There, have you heard +them?”—“Yes.” “Well, try and +repeat them.”</p> +<p>“I only remember number one,” said Belle, +“and that because it is me.”</p> +<p>“I will repeat them again,” said I, “and pay +great attention. Now, try again.”</p> +<p>“Me, jergo, earache.”</p> +<p>“I neither said jergo, nor earache. I said yergou +and yerek. Belle, I am afraid I shall have some difficulty +with you as a scholar.”</p> +<p>Belle made no answer. Her eyes were turned in the +direction of the winding path, which led from the bottom of the +hollow where we were seated, to the plain above. +“Gorgio shunella,” she said, at length, in a low +voice.</p> +<p>“Pure Rommany,” said I; “where?” I +added, in a whisper.</p> +<p>“Dovey odoi,” said Belle, nodding with her head +towards the path.</p> +<p><!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +349</span>“I will soon see who it is,” said I; and +starting up, I rushed towards the pathway, intending to lay +violent hands on any one I might find lurking in its +windings. Before, however, I had reached its commencement, +a man, somewhat above the middle height, advanced from it into +the dingle, in whom I recognised the man in black, whom I had +seen in the public-house.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XC.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Buona Sera—Rather Apprehensive—The +Steep Bank—Lovely Virgin—Hospitality—Tory +Minister—Custom of the Country—Sneering +Smile—Wandering Zigan—Gypsies’ +Cloaks—Certain Faculty—Acute Answer—Various +Ways—Adio—Best Hollands.</p> +<p>The man in black and myself stood opposite to each other for a +minute or two in silence; I will not say that we confronted each +other that time, for the man in black, after a furtive glance, +did not look me in the face, but kept his eyes fixed, apparently +on the leaves of a bunch of ground nuts which were growing at my +feet. At length, looking around the dingle, he exclaimed, +“Buona Sera, I hope I don’t intrude.”</p> +<p>“You have as much right here,” said I, “as I +or my companion; but you had no right to stand listening to our +conversation.”</p> +<p>“I was not listening,” said the man, “I was +hesitating whether to advance or retire; and if I heard some of +your conversation, the fault was not mine.”</p> +<p>“I do not see why you should have hesitated if your +intentions were good,” said I.</p> +<p>“I think the kind of place in which I found myself, +might excuse some hesitation,” said the man in black, +looking around; “moreover, from what I had seen of your +demeanour at the public-house, I was rather apprehensive that the +reception I might experience at your hands might be more rough +than agreeable.”</p> +<p>“And what may have been your motive for coming to this +place?” said I.</p> +<p>“Per far visita a sua signoria, ecco il +motivo.”</p> +<p>“Why do you speak to me in that gibberish,” said +I; “do you think I understand it?”</p> +<p>“It is not Armenian,” said the man in black; +“but it might serve in a place like this, for the breathing +of a little secret communication, were any common roadster near +at hand. It would not do at Court, it is true, being the +language of singing women, and the like; but we are not at +Court—when we are, I can perhaps summon up a little +indifferent Latin, if I have anything private to communicate to +the learned Professor.”</p> +<p>At the conclusion of this speech the man in black lifted up +his head, and, for some moments, looked me in the face. The +muscles of his own seemed to be slightly convulsed, and his mouth +opened in a singular manner.</p> +<p><!-- page 350--><a name="page350"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +350</span>“I see,” said I, “that for some time +you were standing near me, and my companion, in the mean act of +listening.”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” said the man in black; “I +heard from the steep bank above, that to which I have now +alluded, whilst I was puzzling myself to find the path which +leads to your retreat. I made, indeed, nearly the compass +of the whole thicket before I found it.”</p> +<p>“And how did you know that I was here?” I +demanded.</p> +<p>“The landlord of the public-house, with whom I had some +conversation concerning you, informed me that he had no doubt I +should find you in this place, to which he gave me instructions +not very clear. But now I am here, I crave permission to +remain a little time, in order that I may hold some communion +with you.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “since you are come, you are +welcome, please to step this way.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I conducted the man in black to the fire-place, +where Belle was standing, who had risen from her stool on my +springing up to go in quest of the stranger. The man in +black looked at her with evident curiosity, then making her +rather a graceful bow, “Lovely virgin,” said he, +stretching out his hand, “allow me to salute your +fingers.”</p> +<p>“I am not in the habit of shaking hands with +strangers,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“I did not presume to request to shake hands with +you,” said the man in black, “I merely wished to be +permitted to salute with my lips the extremity of your two +fore-fingers.”</p> +<p>“I never permit anything of the kind,” said Belle, +“I do not approve of such unmanly ways, they are only +befitting those who lurk in corners or behind trees, listening to +the conversation of people who would fain be private.”</p> +<p>“Do you take me for a listener, then?” said the +man in black.</p> +<p>“Ay, indeed I do,” said Belle; “the young +man may receive your excuses, and put confidence in them if he +please, but for my part I neither admit them, nor believe +them;” and thereupon flinging her long hair back, which was +hanging over her cheeks, she seated herself on her stool.</p> +<p>“Come, Belle,” said I, “I have bidden the +gentleman welcome; I beseech you, therefore, to make him welcome, +he is a stranger, where we are at home, therefore, even did we +wish him away, we are bound to treat him kindly.”</p> +<p>“That’s not English doctrine,” said the man +in black.</p> +<p>“I thought the English prided themselves on their +hospitality,” said I.</p> +<p>“They do so,” said the man in black; “they +are proud of showing hospitality to people above them, that is to +those who do not want it, but of the hospitality which you were +now describing, and which is Arabian, they know nothing. No +Englishman will tolerate another in his house, from whom he does +not expect advantage of some kind, and to those from whom he +does, he can be civil enough. An Englishman thinks that, +because he is in his own house, he has a right to be boorish <!-- +page 351--><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +351</span>and brutal to any one who is disagreeable to him, as +all those are who are really in want of assistance. Should +a hunted fugitive rush into an Englishman’s house, +beseeching protection, and appealing to the master’s +feelings of hospitality, the Englishman would knock him down in +the passage.”</p> +<p>“You are too general,” said I, “in your +strictures; Lord ---, the unpopular Tory minister, was once +chased through the streets of London by a mob, and, being in +danger of his life, took shelter in the shop of a Whig +linendraper, declaring his own unpopular name, and appealing to +the linendraper’s feelings of hospitality; whereupon the +linendraper, utterly forgetful of all party rancour, nobly +responded to the appeal, and telling his wife to conduct his +lordship upstairs, jumped over the counter, with his ell in his +hand, and placing himself with half-a-dozen of his assistants at +the door of his boutique, manfully confronted the mob, telling +them that he would allow himself to be torn to a thousand pieces, +ere he would permit them to injure a hair of his lordship’s +head; what do you think of that?”</p> +<p>“He! he! he!” tittered the man in black.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am afraid your own +practice is not very different from that which you have been just +now describing, you sided with the Radical in the public-house +against me, as long as you thought him the most powerful, and +then turned against him, when you saw he was cowed. What +have you to say to that?”</p> +<p>“O! when one is in Rome, I mean England, one must do as +they do in England, I was merely conforming to the custom of the +country, he! he! but I beg your pardon here, as I did in the +public-house. I made a mistake.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “we will drop the matter, +but pray seat yourself on that stone, and I will sit down on the +grass near you.”</p> +<p>The man in black, after proffering two or three excuses for +occupying what he supposed to be my seat, sat down upon the +stone, and I squatted down, gypsy fashion, just opposite to him, +Belle sitting on her stool a slight distance on my right. +After a time I addressed him thus. “Am I to reckon +this a mere visit of ceremony? should it prove so, it will be, I +believe, the first visit of the kind ever paid me.”</p> +<p>“Will you permit me to ask,” said the man in +black,—“the weather is very warm,” said he, +interrupting himself, and taking off his hat.</p> +<p>I now observed that he was partly bald, his red hair having +died away from the fore part of his crown—his forehead was +high, his eyebrows scanty, his eyes grey and sly, with a downward +tendency, his nose was slightly aquiline, his mouth rather +large—a kind of sneering smile played continually on his +lips, his complexion was somewhat rubicund.</p> +<p>“A bad countenance,” said Belle, in the language +of the roads, observing that my eyes were fixed on his face.</p> +<p>“Does not my countenance please you, fair damsel?” +said the man in black, resuming his hat and speaking in a +peculiarly gentle voice.</p> +<p>“How,” said I, “do you understand the +language of the roads?”</p> +<p><!-- page 352--><a name="page352"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +352</span>“As little as I do Armenian,” said the man +in black; “but I understand look and tone.”</p> +<p>“So do I, perhaps,” retorted Belle; “and, to +tell you the truth, I like your tone as little as your +face.”</p> +<p>“For shame,” said I; “have you forgot what I +was saying just now about the duties of hospitality? You +have not yet answered my question,” said I, addressing +myself to the man, “with respect to your visit.”</p> +<p>“Will you permit me to ask who you are?”</p> +<p>“Do you see the place where I live?” said I.</p> +<p>“I do,” said the man in black, looking around.</p> +<p>“Do you know the name of this place?”</p> +<p>“I was told it was Mumpers’, or Gypsies’ +Dingle,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Good,” said I; “and this forge and tent, +what do they look like?”</p> +<p>“Like the forge and tent of a wandering Zigan; I have +seen the like in Italy.”</p> +<p>“Good,” said I; “they belong to +me.”</p> +<p>“Are you, then, a Gypsy?” said the man in +black.</p> +<p>“What else should I be?”</p> +<p>“But you seem to have been acquainted with various +individuals with whom I have likewise had acquaintance; and you +have even alluded to matters, and even words, which have passed +between me and them.”</p> +<p>“Do you know how Gypsies live?” said I.</p> +<p>“By hammering old iron, I believe, and telling +fortunes.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “there’s my forge, and +yonder is some iron, though not old, and by your own confession I +am a soothsayer.”</p> +<p>“But how did you come by your knowledge?”</p> +<p>“O,” said I, “if you want me to reveal the +secrets of my trade, I have, of course, nothing further to +say. Go to the scarlet dyer, and ask him how he dyes +cloth.”</p> +<p>“Why scarlet?” said the man in black. +“Is it because Gypsies blush like scarlet?”</p> +<p>“Gypsies never blush,” said I; “but +Gypsies’ cloaks are scarlet.”</p> +<p>“I should almost take you for a Gypsy,” said the +man in black, “but for—”</p> +<p>“For what?” said I.</p> +<p>“But for that same lesson in Armenian, and your general +knowledge of languages; as for your manners and appearance I will +say nothing,” said the man in black, with a titter.</p> +<p>“And why should not a Gypsy possess a knowledge of +languages?” said I.</p> +<p>“Because the Gypsy race is perfectly illiterate,” +said the man in black; “they are possessed, it is true, of +a knavish acuteness; and are particularly noted for giving subtle +and evasive answers—and in your answers, I confess, you +remind me of them; but that one of the race should acquire a +learned language like the Armenian, and have a general knowledge +of literature, is a thing che io non credo afatto.”</p> +<p><!-- page 353--><a name="page353"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +353</span>“What do you take me for?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why,” said the man in black, “I should +consider you to be a philologist, who, for some purpose, has +taken up a Gypsy life; but I confess to you that your way of +answering questions is far too acute for a +philologist.”</p> +<p>“And why should not a philologist be able to answer +questions acutely?” said I.</p> +<p>“Because the philological race is the most stupid under +Heaven,” said the man in black; “they are possessed, +it is true, of a certain faculty for picking up words, and a +memory for retaining them; but that any one of the sect should be +able to give a rational answer, to say nothing of an acute one, +on any subject—even though the subject were +philology—is a thing of which I have no idea.”</p> +<p>“But you found me giving a lesson in Armenian to this +handmaid?”</p> +<p>“I believe I did,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“And you heard me give what you are disposed to call +acute answers to the questions you asked me?”</p> +<p>“I believe I did,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“And would any one but a philologist think of giving a +lesson in Armenian to a handmaid in a dingle?”</p> +<p>“I should think not,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Well, then, don’t you see that it is possible for +a philologist to give not only a rational, but an acute +answer?”</p> +<p>“I really don’t know,” said the man in +black.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” said I.</p> +<p>“Merely puzzled,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Puzzled?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Really puzzled?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Remain so.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the man in black, rising, +“puzzled or not, I will no longer trespass upon your and +this young lady’s retirement; only allow me, before I go, +to apologize for my intrusion.”</p> +<p>“No apology is necessary,” said I; “will you +please to take anything before you go? I think this young +lady, at my request, would contrive to make you a cup of +tea.”</p> +<p>“Tea!” said the man in black—“he! +he! I don’t drink tea; I don’t like +it—if, indeed, you had,” and here he stopped.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing like gin and water, is +there?” said I, “but I am sorry to say I have +none.”</p> +<p>“Gin and water,” said the man in black, “how +do you know that I am fond of gin and water?”</p> +<p>“Did I not see you drinking some at the +public-house?”</p> +<p>“You did,” said the man in black, “and I +remember, that when I called for some, you repeated my +words—permit me to ask, is gin and water an unusual drink +in England?”</p> +<p>“It is not usually drunk cold, and with a lump of +sugar,” said I.</p> +<p>“And did you know who I was by my calling for it +so?”</p> +<p><!-- page 354--><a name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +354</span>“Gypsies have various ways of obtaining +information,” said I.</p> +<p>“With all your knowledge,” said the man in black, +“you do not appear to have known that I was coming to visit +you?”</p> +<p>“Gypsies do not pretend to know anything which relates +to themselves,” said I; “but I advise you, if you +ever come again, to come openly.”</p> +<p>“Have I your permission to come again?” said the +man in black.</p> +<p>“Come when you please; this dingle is as free for you as +me.”</p> +<p>“I will visit you again,” said the man in +black—“till then, addio.”</p> +<p>“Belle,” said I, after the man in black had +departed, “we did not treat that man very hospitably; he +left us without having eaten or drunk at our expense.”</p> +<p>“You offered him some tea,” said Belle, +“which, as it is mine, I should have grudged him, for I +like him not.”</p> +<p>“Our liking or disliking him had nothing to do with the +matter, he was our visitor and ought not to have been permitted +to depart dry; living as we do in this desert, we ought always to +be prepared to administer to the wants of our visitors. +Belle, do you know where to procure any good Hollands?”</p> +<p>“I think I do,” said Belle, +“but—”</p> +<p>“I will have no buts. Belle, I expect that with as +little delay as possible you procure, at my expense, the best +Hollands you can find.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Excursions—Adventurous +English—Opaque Forests—The Greatest Patience.</p> +<p>Time passed on, and Belle and I lived in the dingle; when I +say lived, the reader must not imagine that we were always +there. She went out upon her pursuits, and I went out where +inclination led me; but my excursions were very short ones, and +hers occasionally occupied whole days and nights. If I am +asked how we passed the time when we were together in the dingle, +I would answer that we passed the time very tolerably, all things +considered; we conversed together, and when tired of conversing I +would sometimes give Belle a lesson in Armenian; her progress was +not particularly brilliant, but upon the whole satisfactory; in +about a fortnight she had hung up one hundred Haikan numerals +upon the hake of her memory. I found her conversation +highly entertaining; she had seen much of England and Wales, and +had been acquainted with some of the most remarkable characters +who travelled the roads at that period; and let me be permitted +to say that many remarkable characters have travelled the roads +of England, of whom fame has never said a word. I loved to +hear her anecdotes of these people; some of whom I found had +occasionally attempted to lay violent hands either upon her +person or effects, and had invariably been humbled by her without +the assistance of either justice or constable. I <!-- page +355--><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +355</span>could clearly see, however, that she was rather tired +of England, and wished for a change of scene; she was +particularly fond of talking of America, to which country her +aspirations chiefly tended. She had heard much of America, +which had excited her imagination; for at that time America was +much talked of, on roads and in homesteads, at least so said +Belle, who had good opportunities of knowing, and most people +allowed that it was a good country for adventurous English. +The people who chiefly spoke against it, as she informed me, were +soldiers disbanded upon pensions, the sextons of village +churches, and excisemen. Belle had a craving desire to +visit that country, and to wander with cart and little animal +amongst its forests; when I would occasionally object, that she +would be exposed to danger from strange and perverse customers, +she said that she had not wandered the roads of England so long +and alone, to be afraid of anything which might befall in +America; and that she hoped, with God’s favour, to be able +to take her own part, and to give to perverse customers as good +as they might bring. She had a dauntless heart, that same +Belle: such was the staple of Belle’s conversation. +As for mine, I would endeavour to entertain her with strange +dreams of adventure, in which I figured in opaque forests, +strangling wild beasts, or discovering and plundering the hordes +of dragons; and sometimes I would narrate to her other things far +more genuine—how I had tamed savage mares, wrestled with +Satan, and had dealings with ferocious publishers. Belle +had a kind heart, and would weep at the accounts I gave her of my +early wrestlings with the dark Monarch. She would sigh, +too, as I recounted the many slights and degradations I had +received at the hands of ferocious publishers; but she had the +curiosity of a woman; and once, when I talked to her of the +triumphs which I had achieved over unbroken mares, she lifted up +her head and questioned me as to the secret of the virtue which I +possessed over the aforesaid animals; whereupon I sternly +reprimanded, and forthwith commanded her to repeat the Armenian +numerals; and, on her demurring, I made use of words, to escape +which she was glad to comply, saying the Armenian numerals from +one to a hundred, which numerals, as a punishment for her +curiosity, I made her repeat three times, loading her with the +bitterest reproaches whenever she committed the slightest error, +either in accent or pronunciation, which reproaches she appeared +to bear with the greatest patience. And now I have given a +very fair account of the manner in which Isopel Berners and +myself passed our time in the dingle.</p> +<h2><!-- page 356--><a name="page356"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 356</span>CHAPTER XCII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">The Landlord—Rather Too +Old—Without a Shilling—Reputation—A Fortnight +Ago—Liquids—The Main +Chance—Respectability—Irrational +Beings—Parliament Cove—My Brewer.</p> +<p>Amongst other excursions, I went several times to the +public-house to which I introduced the reader in a former +chapter. I had experienced such beneficial effects from the +ale I had drunk on that occasion, that I wished to put its virtue +to a frequent test; nor did the ale on subsequent trials belie +the good opinion which I had at first formed of it. After +each visit which I made to the public-house, I found my frame +stronger, and my mind more cheerful than they had previously +been. The landlord appeared at all times glad to see me, +and insisted that I should sit within the bar, where, leaving his +other guests to be attended to by a niece of his who officiated +as his housekeeper, he would sit beside me and talk of matters +concerning “the ring,” indulging himself with a cigar +and a glass of sherry, which he told me was his favourite wine, +whilst I drank my ale. “I loves the conversation of +all you coves of the ring,” said he once, “which is +natural, seeing as how I have fought in a ring myself. Ah, +there is nothing like the ring; I wish I was not rather too old +to go again into it. I often think I should like to have +another rally—one more rally, and then—but +there’s a time for all things—youth will be served, +every dog has his day, and mine has been a fine one—let me +be content. After beating Tom of Hopton, there was not much +more to be done in the way of reputation; I have long sat in my +bar the wonder and glory of this here neighbourhood. +I’m content, as far as reputation goes; I only wish money +would come in a little faster; however, the next main of cocks +will bring me in something handsome—comes off next +Wednesday at --- have ventured ten five pound +notes—shouldn’t say ventured either—run no risk +at all, because why? I knows my birds.” About +ten days after this harangue, I called again at about three +o’clock one afternoon. The landlord was seated on a +bench by a table in the common room, which was entirely empty; he +was neither smoking nor drinking, but sat with his arms folded, +and his head hanging down over his breast. At the sound of +my step he looked up; “Ah,” said he, “I am glad +you are come, I was just thinking about you.” +“Thank you,” said I; “it was very kind of you, +especially at a time like this, when your mind must be full of +your good fortune. Allow me to congratulate you on the sums +of money you won by the main of cocks at ---. I hope you +brought it all safe home.” “Safe home!” +said the landlord; “I brought myself safe home, and that +was all, came home without a shilling, regularly done, cleaned +out.” “I am sorry for that,” said I; +“but after you had won the money, you ought to have been +satisfied, and not risked it again—how did you lose +it? I hope not by the pea and thimble.” +“Pea and thimble,” said the landlord—“not +I; those confounded cocks left me nothing to lose by <!-- page +357--><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +357</span>the pea and thimble.” “Dear +me,” said I; “I thought that you knew your +birds.” “Well, so I did,” said the +landlord, “I knew the birds to be good birds, and so they +proved, and would have won if better birds had not been brought +against them, of which I knew nothing, and so do you see I am +done, regularly done.” “Well,” said I, +“don’t be cast down; there is one thing of which the +cocks by their misfortune cannot deprive you—your +reputation; make the most of that, give up cock-fighting, and be +content with the custom of your house, of which you will always +have plenty, as long as you are the wonder and glory of the +neighbourhood.”</p> +<p>The landlord struck the table before him violently with his +fist. “Confound my reputation!” said he. +“No reputation that I have will be satisfaction to my +brewer for the seventy pounds I owe him. Reputation +won’t pass for the current coin of this here realm; and let +me tell you, that if it a’n’t backed by some of it, +it a’n’t a bit better than rotten cabbage, as I have +found. Only three weeks since I was, as I told you, the +wonder and glory of the neighbourhood; and people used to come +and look at me, and worship me, but as soon as it began to be +whispered about that I owed money to the brewer, they presently +left off all that kind of thing; and now, during the last three +days, since the tale of my misfortune with the cocks has got +wind, almost everybody has left off coming to the house, and the +few who does, merely comes to insult and flout me. It was +only last night that fellow, Hunter, called me an old fool in my +own kitchen here. He wouldn’t have called me a fool a +fortnight ago; ’twas I called him fool then, and last night +he called me old fool; what do you think of that? the man that +beat Tom, of Hopton, to be called, not only a fool, but an old +fool; and I hadn’t heart, with one blow of this here fist +into his face, to send his head ringing against the wall; for +when a man’s pocket is low, do you see, his heart +a’n’t much higher; but it is of no use talking, +something must be done. I was thinking of you just as you +came in, for you are just the person that can help me.”</p> +<p>“If you mean,” said I, “to ask me to lend +you the money which you want, it will be to no purpose, as I have +very little of my own, just enough for my own occasions; it is +true, if you desired it, I would be your intercessor with the +person to whom you owe the money, though I should hardly imagine +that anything I could say—” “You are +right there,” said the landlord, “much the brewer +would care for anything you could say on my behalf—your +going would be the very way to do me up entirely. A pretty +opinion he would have of the state of my affairs if I were to +send him such a ’cessor as you, and as for your lending me +money, don’t think I was ever fool enough to suppose either +that you had any, or if you had that you would be fool enough to +lend me any. No, no, the coves of the ring knows better, I +have been in the ring myself, and knows what a fighting cove is, +and though I was fool enough to back those birds, I was never +quite fool enough to lend anybody money. What I am about to +propose is something very different from going to my landlord, or +lending any capital; something which, though it will put money +into my pocket, will likewise put something handsome into your +own. I want to get up a fight in this here <!-- page +358--><a name="page358"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +358</span>neighbourhood, which would be sure to bring plenty of +people to my house, for a week before and after it takes place, +and as people can’t come without drinking, I think I could, +during one fortnight, get off for the brewer all the sour and +unsaleable liquids he now has, which people wouldn’t drink +at any other time, and by that means, do you see, liquidate my +debt; then, by means of betting, making first all right, do you +see, I have no doubt that I could put something handsome into my +pocket and yours, for I should wish you to be the fighting man, +as I think I can depend upon you.” “You really +must excuse me,” said I, “I have no wish to figure as +a pugilist, besides there is such a difference in our ages; you +may be the stronger man of the two, and perhaps the hardest +hitter, but I am in much better condition, am more active on my +legs, so that I am almost sure I should have the advantage, for, +as you very properly observed, ‘Youth will be +served.’” “Oh, I didn’t mean to +fight,” said the landlord, “I think I could beat you +if I were to train a little; but in the fight I propose I looks +more to the main chance than anything else. I question +whether half so many people could be brought together if you were +to fight with me as the person I have in view, or whether there +would be half such opportunities for betting, for I am a man, do +you see, the person I wants you to fight with is not a man, but +the young woman you keeps company with.”</p> +<p>“The young woman I keep company with,” said I, +“pray what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“We will go into the bar, and have something,” +said the landlord, getting up. “My niece is out, and +there is no one in the house, so we can talk the matter over +quietly.” Thereupon I followed him into the bar, +where, having drawn me a jug of ale, helped himself as usual to a +glass of sherry, and lighted a cigar, he proceeded to explain +himself farther. “What I wants, is to get up a fight +between a man and a woman; there never has yet been such a thing +in the ring, and the mere noise of the matter would bring +thousands of people together, quite enough to drink out, for the +thing should be close to my house, all the brewer’s stock +of liquids, both good and bad.” “But,” +said I, “you were the other day boasting of the +respectability of your house; do you think that a fight between a +man and a woman close to your establishment would add to its +respectability?” “Confound the respectability +of my house,” said the landlord, “will the +respectability of my house pay the brewer, or keep the roof over +my head? No, no! when respectability won’t keep a +man, do you see, the best thing is to let it go and wander. +Only let me have my own way, and both the brewer, myself, and +every one of us, will be satisfied. And then the +betting—what a deal we may make by the betting—and +that we shall have all to ourselves, you, I, and the young woman; +the brewer will have no hand in that. I can manage to raise +ten pounds, and if by flashing that about, I don’t manage +to make a hundred, call me horse.” “But, +suppose,” said I, “the party should lose, on whom you +sport your money, even as the birds did?” “We +must first make all right,” said the landlord, “as I +told you before; the birds were irrational beings, and therefore +couldn’t come to an understanding with the others, <!-- +page 359--><a name="page359"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +359</span>as you and the young woman can. The birds fought +fair; but I intend that you and the young woman should fight +cross.” “What do you mean by cross?” said +I. “Come, come,” said the landlord, +“don’t attempt to gammon me; you in the ring, and +pretend not to know what fighting cross is. That +won’t do, my fine fellow; but as no one is near us, I will +speak out. I intend that you and the young woman should +understand one another and agree beforehand which should be beat; +and if you take my advice you will determine between you that the +young woman shall be beat, as I am sure that the odds will run +high upon her, her character as a fist woman being spread far and +wide, so that all the flats who think it will be all right, will +back her, as I myself would, if I thought it would be a fair +thing.” “Then,” said I, “you would +not have us fight fair?” “By no means,” +said the landlord, “because why? I conceives that a +cross is a certainty to those who are in it, whereas by the fair +thing one may lose all he has.” “But,” +said I, “you said the other day, that you liked the fair +thing.” “That was by way of gammon,” said +the landlord; “just, do you see, as a Parliament cove might +say, speechifying from a barrel to a set of flats, whom he means +to sell. Come, what do you think of the plan?”</p> +<p>“It is a very ingenious one,” said I.</p> +<p>“A’n’t it?” said the landlord. +“The folks in this neighbourhood are beginning to call me +old fool, but if they don’t call me something else, when +they sees me friends with the brewer, and money in my pocket, my +name is not Catchpole. Come, drink your ale, and go home to +the young gentlewoman.”</p> +<p>“I am going,” said I, rising from my seat, after +finishing the remainder of the ale.</p> +<p>“Do you think she’ll have any objection?” +said the landlord.</p> +<p>“To do what?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why, to fight cross.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” said I.</p> +<p>“But you will do your best to persuade her?”</p> +<p>“No, I will not,” said I.</p> +<p>“Are you fool enough to wish to fight fair?”</p> +<p>“No!” said I, “I am wise enough to wish not +to fight at all.”</p> +<p>“And how’s my brewer to be paid?” said the +landlord.</p> +<p>“I really don’t know,” said I.</p> +<p>“I’ll change my religion,” said the +landlord.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Another Visit—<i>A la +Margutte</i>—Clever Man—Napoleon’s +Estimate—Another Statue.</p> +<p>One evening Belle and myself received another visit from the +man in black. After a little conversation of not much +importance, I asked him whether he would not take some +refreshment, assuring him that I was <!-- page 360--><a +name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 360</span>now in +possession of some very excellent Hollands which, with a glass, a +jug of water, and a lump of sugar, were heartily at his service; +he accepted my offer, and Belle going with a jug to the spring, +from which she was in the habit of procuring water for tea, +speedily returned with it full of the clear, delicious water of +which I have already spoken. Having placed the jug by the +side of the man in black, she brought him a glass and spoon, and +a tea-cup, the latter containing various lumps of snowy-white +sugar: in the meantime I had produced a bottle of the stronger +liquid. The man in black helped himself to some water, and +likewise to some Hollands, the proportion of water being about +two-thirds; then adding a lump of sugar, he stirred the whole up, +tasted it, and said that it was good.</p> +<p>“This is one of the good things of life,” he +added, after a short pause.</p> +<p>“What are the others?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“There is Malvoisia sack,” said the man in black, +“and partridge, and beccafico.”</p> +<p>“And what do you say to high mass?” said I.</p> +<p>“High mass!” said the man in black; +“however,” he continued, after a pause, “I will +be frank with you; I came to be so; I may have heard high mass on +a time, and said it too; but as for any predilection for it, I +assure you I have no more than for a long High Church +sermon.”</p> +<p>“You speak <i>à la Margutte</i>,” said +I.</p> +<p>“Margutte!” said the man in black, musingly, +“Margutte!”</p> +<p>“You have read Pulci, I suppose?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” said the man in black, laughing; +“I remember.”</p> +<p>“He might be rendered into English,” said I, +“something in this style:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘To which Margutte answered with a sneer,<br +/> +I like the blue no better than the black,<br /> +My faith consists alone in savoury cheer,<br /> +In roasted capons, and in potent sack;<br /> +But above all, in famous gin and clear,<br /> +Which often lays the Briton on his back,<br /> +With lump of sugar, and with lympth from well,<br /> +I drink it, and defy the fiends of hell.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“He! he! he!” said the man in black; “that +is more than Mezzofante could have done for a stanza of +Byron.”</p> +<p>“A clever man,” said I.</p> +<p>“Who?” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Mezzofante di Bologna.”</p> +<p>“He! he! he!” said the man in black; “now I +know that you are not a Gypsy, at least a soothsayer; no +soothsayer would have said that—”</p> +<p>“Why,” said I, “does he not understand +five-and-twenty tongues?”</p> +<p>“O yes,” said the man in black; “and +five-and-twenty added to them; but—he! he! he! it was +principally from him who is certainly the greatest of +Philologists that I formed my opinion of the sect.”</p> +<p>“You ought to speak of him with more respect,” +said I; “I have heard say that he has done good service to +your See.”</p> +<p><!-- page 361--><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +361</span>“O, yes,” said the man in black; “he +has done good service to our See, that is, in his way; when the +neophytes of the propaganda are to be examined in the several +tongues in which they are destined to preach, he is appointed to +question them, the questions being first written down for him, or +else, he! he! he! Of course you know Napoleon’s +estimate of Mezzofante; he sent for the linguist from motives of +curiosity, and after some discourse with him, told him that he +might depart; then turning to some of his generals, he observed, +‘<i>Nous avons eu ici un exemple qu’un homme peut +avoir beaucoup de paroles avec bien peu +d’esprit</i>.’”</p> +<p>“You are ungrateful to him,” said I; “well, +perhaps, when he is dead and gone you will do him +justice.”</p> +<p>“True,” said the man in black; “when he is +dead and gone we intend to erect him a statue of wood, on the +left-hand side of the door of the Vatican library.”</p> +<p>“Of wood?” said I.</p> +<p>“He was the son of a carpenter, you know,” said +the man in black; “the figure will be of wood, for no other +reason, I assure you; he! he!”</p> +<p>“You should place another statue on the +right.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps we shall,” said the man in black; +“but we know of no one amongst the philologists of Italy, +nor, indeed, of the other countries, inhabited by the faithful, +worthy to sit parallel in effigy with our illustrissimo; when, +indeed, we have conquered those regions of the perfidious by +bringing the inhabitants thereof to the true faith, I have no +doubt that we shall be able to select one worthy to bear him +company, one whose statue shall be placed on the right hand of +the library, in testimony of our joy at his conversion; for, as +you know, ‘There is more joy,’ etc.”</p> +<p>“Wood?” said I.</p> +<p>“I hope not,” said the man in black; “no, if +I be consulted as to the material for the statue, I should +strongly recommend bronze.”</p> +<p>And when the man in black had said this, he emptied his second +tumbler of its contents, and prepared himself another.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Prerogative—Feeling of Gratitude—A +Long History—Alliterative Style—Advantageous +Specimen—Jesuit Benefice—Not Sufficient—Queen +Stork’s Tragedy—Good Sense—Grandeur and +Gentility—Ironmonger’s Daughter—Clan +Mac-Sycophant—Lick-Spittles—A +Curiosity—Newspaper Editors—Charles the +Simple—High-flying Ditty—Dissenters—Lower +Classes—Priestley’s House—Saxon +Ancestors—Austin—Renovating +Glass—Money—Quite Original.</p> +<p>“So you hope to bring these regions again beneath the +banner of the Roman See?” said I; after the man in black +had prepared the beverage, and tasted it.</p> +<p><!-- page 362--><a name="page362"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +362</span>“Hope,” said the man in black; “how +can we fail? Is not the Church of these regions going to +lose its prerogative?”</p> +<p>“Its prerogative?”</p> +<p>“Yes; those who should be the guardians of the religion +of England are about to grant Papists emancipation and to remove +the disabilities from Dissenters, which will allow the Holy +Father to play his own game in England.”</p> +<p>On my inquiring how the Holy Father intended to play his game, +the man in black gave me to understand that he intended for the +present to cover the land with temples, in which the religion of +Protestants would be continually scoffed at and reviled.</p> +<p>On my observing that such behaviour would savour strongly of +ingratitude, the man in black gave me to understand that if I +entertained the idea that the See of Rome was ever influenced in +its actions by any feeling of gratitude I was much mistaken, +assuring me that if the See of Rome in any encounter should +chance to be disarmed and its adversary, from a feeling of +magnanimity, should restore the sword which had been knocked out +of its hand, the See of Rome always endeavoured on the first +opportunity to plunge the said sword into its adversary’s +bosom,—conduct which the man in black seemed to think was +very wise, and which he assured me had already enabled it to get +rid of a great many troublesome adversaries, and would, he had no +doubt, enable it to get rid of a great many more.</p> +<p>On my attempting to argue against the propriety of such +behaviour, the man in black cut the matter short, by saying, that +if one party was a fool he saw no reason why the other should +imitate it in its folly.</p> +<p>After musing a little while I told him that emancipation had +not yet passed through the legislature, and that perhaps it never +would, reminding him that there was often many a slip between the +cup and the lip; to which observation the man in black agreed, +assuring me, however, that there was no doubt that emancipation +would be carried, inasmuch as there was a very loud cry at +present in the land; a cry of “tolerance,” which had +almost frightened the Government out of its wits; who, to get rid +of the cry, was going to grant all that was asked in the way of +toleration, instead of telling the people to “Hold their +nonsense,” and cutting them down, provided they continued +bawling longer.</p> +<p>I questioned the man in black with respect to the origin of +this cry; but he said to trace it to its origin would require a +long history; that, at any rate, such a cry was in existence, the +chief raisers of it being certain of the nobility, called Whigs, +who hoped by means of it to get into power, and to turn out +certain ancient adversaries of theirs called Tories, who were for +letting things remain in <i>statu quo</i>; that these Whigs were +backed by a party amongst the people called Radicals, a specimen +of whom I had seen in the public-house; a set of fellows who were +always in the habit of bawling against those in place; “and +so,” he added, “by means of these parties, and the +hubbub which the Papists and other smaller sects are making, a +general emancipation will be carried, and the Church of England +humbled, which is the principal thing which the See of Rome cares +for.”</p> +<p><!-- page 363--><a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>On my telling the man in black that I believed that +even among the high dignitaries of the English Church there were +many who wished to grant perfect freedom to religions of all +descriptions, he said he was aware that such was the fact, and +that such a wish was anything but wise, inasmuch as if they had +any regard for the religion they professed, they ought to stand +by it through thick and thin, proclaiming it to be the only true +one, and denouncing all others, in an alliterative style, as +dangerous and damnable; whereas, by their present conduct, they +were bringing their religion into contempt with the people at +large, who would never continue long attached to a Church, the +ministers of which did not stand up for it, and likewise cause +their own brethren, who had a clearer notion of things, to be +ashamed of belonging to it. “I speak +advisedly,” said he, in continuation, “there is one +Platitude.”</p> +<p>“And I hope there is only one,” said I; “you +surely would not adduce the likes and dislikes of that poor silly +fellow as the criterions of the opinions of any party?”</p> +<p>“You know him,” said the man in black; “nay, +I, heard you mention him in the public-house; the fellow is not +very wise, I admit, but he has sense enough to know, that unless +a Church can make people hold their tongues when it thinks fit, +it is scarcely deserving the name of a Church; no, I think that +the fellow is not such a very bad stick, and that upon the whole +he is, or rather was, an advantageous specimen of the High Church +English clergy, who, for the most part, so far from troubling +their heads about persecuting people, only think of securing +their tithes, eating their heavy dinners, puffing out their +cheeks with importance on country justice benches, and +occasionally exhibiting their conceited wives, hoyden daughters, +and gawky sons at country balls, whereas +Platitude—”</p> +<p>“Stop,” said I; “you said in the +public-house that the Church of England was a persecuting Church, +and here in the dingle you have confessed that one section of it +is willing to grant perfect freedom to the exercise of all +religions, and the other only thinks of leading an easy +life.”</p> +<p>“Saying a thing in the public-house is a +widely-different thing from saying it in the dingle,” said +the man in black; “had the Church of England been a +persecuting Church, it would not stand in the position in which +it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities, have +spread itself over the greater part of the world. I was +about to observe, that instead of practising the indolent habits +of his High Church brethren, Platitude would be working for his +money, preaching the proper use of fire and faggot, or rather of +the halter and the whipping-post, encouraging mobs to attack the +houses of Dissenters, employing spies to collect the scandal of +neighbourhoods, in order that he might use it for sacerdotal +purposes, and, in fact, endeavouring to turn an English parish +into something like a Jesuit benefice in the south of +France.”</p> +<p>“He tried that game,” said I, “and the +parish said—‘Pooh, pooh,’ and, for the most +part, went over to the Dissenters.”</p> +<p>“Very true,” said the man in black, taking a sip +at his glass, “but <!-- page 364--><a +name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 364</span>why were +the Dissenters allowed to preach? why were they not beaten on the +lips till they spat out blood, with a dislodged tooth or +two? Why, but because the authority of the Church of +England has, by its own fault, become so circumscribed that Mr. +Platitude was not able to send a host of beadles and sbirri to +their chapel to bring them to reason, on which account Mr. +Platitude is very properly ashamed of his Church, and is thinking +of uniting himself with one which possesses more vigour and +authority.”</p> +<p>“It may have vigour and authority,” said I, +“in foreign lands, but in these kingdoms the day for +practising its atrocities is gone by. It is at present +almost below contempt, and is obliged to sue for grace <i>in +formâ pauperis</i>.”</p> +<p>“Very true,” said the man in black, “but let +it once obtain emancipation, and it will cast its slough, put on +its fine clothes, and make converts by thousands. +‘What a fine Church,’ they’ll say; ‘with +what authority it speaks—no doubts, no hesitation, no +sticking at trifles.’ What a contrast to the sleepy +English Church! they’ll go over to it by millions, till it +preponderates here over every other, when it will of course be +voted the dominant one; and then—and then—” and +here the man in black drank a considerable quantity of gin and +water.</p> +<p>“What then?” said I.</p> +<p>“What then?” said the man in black, “why, +she will be true to herself. Let Dissenters, whether they +be Church of England, as perhaps they may still call themselves, +Methodist, or Presbyterian, presume to grumble, and there shall +be bruising of lips in pulpits, tying up to whipping-posts, +cutting off ears and noses—he! he! the farce of King Log +has been acted long enough; the time for Queen Stork’s +tragedy is drawing nigh;” and the man in black sipped his +gin and water in a very exulting manner.</p> +<p>“And this is the Church which, according to your +assertion in the public-house, never persecutes?”</p> +<p>“I have already given you an answer,” said the man +in black, “with respect to the matter of the public-house; +it is one of the happy privileges of those who belong to my +church to deny in the public-house what they admit in the dingle; +we have high warranty for such double speaking. Did not the +foundation stone of our Church, Saint Peter, deny in the +public-house what he had previously professed in the +valley?”</p> +<p>“And do you think,” said I, “that the people +of England, who have shown aversion to anything in the shape of +intolerance, will permit such barbarities as you have +described?”</p> +<p>“Let them become Papists,” said the man in black: +“only let the majority become Papists, and you will +see.”</p> +<p>“They will never become so,” said I; “the +good sense of the people of England will never permit them to +commit such an absurdity.”</p> +<p>“The good sense of the people of England!” said +the man in black, filling himself another glass.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I; “the good sense of not only +the upper, but the middle and lower classes.”</p> +<p><!-- page 365--><a name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +365</span>“And of what description of people are the upper +class?” said the man in black, putting a lump of sugar into +his gin and water.</p> +<p>“Very fine people,” said I, “monstrously +fine people; so, at least, they are generally believed to +be.”</p> +<p>“He! he!” said the man in black; “only those +think them so who don’t know them. The male part of +the upper class are in youth a set of heartless profligates; in +old age, a parcel of poor, shaking, nervous paillards. The +female part, worthy to be the sisters and wives of such wretches, +unmarried, full of cold vice, kept under by vanity and ambition, +but which, after marriage, they seek not to restrain; in old age, +abandoned to vapours and horrors; do you think that such beings +will afford any obstacle to the progress of the Church in these +regions, as soon as her movements are unfettered?”</p> +<p>“I cannot give an opinion; I know nothing of them, +except from a distance. But what think you of the middle +classes?”</p> +<p>“Their chief characteristic,” said the man in +black, “is a rage for grandeur and gentility; and that same +rage makes us quite sure of them in the long run. +Everything that’s lofty meets their unqualified +approbation; whilst everything humble, or, as they call it, +‘low,’ is scouted by them. They begin to have a +vague idea that the religion which they have hitherto professed +is low; at any rate that it is not the religion of the mighty +ones of the earth, of the great kings and emperors whose shoes +they have a vast inclination to kiss, nor was used by the grand +personages of whom they have read in their novels and romances, +their Ivanhoes, their Marmions, and their Ladies of the +Lake.”</p> +<p>“Do you think that the writings of Scott have had any +influence in modifying their religious opinions?”</p> +<p>“Most certainly I do,” said the man in +black. “The writings of that man have made them +greater fools than they were before. All their conversation +now is about gallant knights, princesses, and cavaliers, with +which his pages are stuffed—all of whom were Papists, or +very high Church, which is nearly the same thing; and they are +beginning to think that the religion of such nice sweet-scented +gentry must be something very superfine. Why, I know at +Birmingham the daughter of an ironmonger, who screeches to the +piano the Lady of the Lake’s hymn to the Virgin Mary, +always weeps when Mary Queen of Scots is mentioned, and fasts on +the anniversary of the death of that very wise martyr, Charles +the First. Why, I would engage to convert such an idiot to +popery in a week, were it worth my trouble. <i>O +Cavalière Gualtiero avete fatto molto in favore delle +Santa Sede</i>!”</p> +<p>“If he has,” said I, “he has done it +unwittingly; I never heard before that he was a favourer of the +popish delusion.”</p> +<p>“Only in theory,” said the man in black. +“Trust any of the clan Mac-Sycophant for interfering openly +and boldly in favour of any cause on which the sun does not shine +benignantly. Popery is at present, as you say, suing for +grace in these regions <i>in formâ pauperis</i>; but let +royalty once take it up, let old gouty George once patronize it, +and I would consent to drink puddle-water, if the very next time +the canny <!-- page 366--><a name="page366"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 366</span>Scot was admitted to the royal +symposium he did not say, ‘By my faith, yere Majesty, I +have always thought, at the bottom of my heart, that popery, as +ill scrapit tongues ca’ it, was a very grand religion; I +shall be proud to follow your Majesty’s example in adopting +it.’”</p> +<p>“I doubt not,” said I, “that both gouty +George and his devoted servant will be mouldering in their tombs +long before Royalty in England thinks about adopting +popery.”</p> +<p>“We can wait,” said the man in black, “in +these days of rampant gentility, there will be no want of Kings +nor of Scots about them.”</p> +<p>“But not Walters,” said I.</p> +<p>“Our work has been already tolerably well done by +one,” said the man in black; “but if we wanted +literature we should never lack in these regions hosts of +literary men of some kind or other to eulogize us, provided our +religion were in the fashion, and our popish nobles choose, and +they always do our bidding, to admit the canaille to their +tables, their kitchen tables. As for literature in +general,” said he, “the Santa Sede is not +particularly partial to it, it may be employed both ways. +In Italy, in particular, it has discovered that literary men are +not always disposed to be lick-spittles.”</p> +<p>“For example, Dante,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the man in black. “A +dangerous personage; that poem of his cuts both ways; and then +there was Pulci, that Morgante of his cuts both ways, or rather +one way, and that sheer against us; and then there was Aertino, +who dealt so hard with the poveri frati; all writers, at least +Italian ones, are not lick-spittles. And then in +Spain,—’tis true, Lope de Vega and Calderon were most +inordinate lick-spittles; the Principe Constante of the last is a +curiosity in its way; and then the Mary Stuart of Lope; I think I +shall recommend the perusal of that work to the Birmingham +ironworker’s daughter; she has been lately thinking of +adding ‘a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of +the Peninsula’ to the rest of her accomplishments, he! he! +he! but then there was Cervantes, starving, but straight; he +deals us some hard knocks in that second part of his Quixote; +then there was some of the writers of the picaresque +novels. No, all literary men are not lick-spittles, whether +in Italy or Spain, or, indeed, upon the Continent; it is only in +England that all—”</p> +<p>“Come,” said I, “mind what you are about to +say of English literary men.”</p> +<p>“Why should I mind?” said the man in black, +“there are no literary men here. I have heard of +literary men living in garrets, but not in dingles, whatever +philologists may do; I may, therefore, speak out freely. It +is only in England that literary men are invariably lickspittles; +on which account, perhaps, they are so despised, even by those +who benefit by their dirty services. Look at your +fashionable novel writers, he! he! and above all at your +newspaper editors, ho! ho!”</p> +<p>“You will, of course, except the editors of the --- from +your censure of the last class?” said I.</p> +<p>“Them!” said the man in black; “why, they +might serve as models in the dirty trade to all the rest who +practise it. See how they bepraise <!-- page 367--><a +name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>their +patrons, the grand Whig nobility, who hope, by raising the cry of +liberalism, and by putting themselves at the head of the +populace, to come into power shortly. I don’t wish to +be hard, at present, upon those Whigs,” he continued, +“for they are playing our game; but a time will come when, +not wanting them, we will kick them to a considerable distance: +and then, when toleration is no longer the cry, and the Whigs are +no longer backed by the populace, see whether the editors of the +--- will stand by them; they will prove themselves as expert +lick-spittles of despotism as of liberalism. Don’t +think they will always bespatter the Tories and +Austria.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am sorry to find that you +entertain so low an opinion of the spirit of English literary +men; we will now return, if you please, to the subject of the +middle classes; I think your strictures upon them in general are +rather too sweeping—they are not altogether the foolish +people you have described. Look, for example, at that very +powerful and numerous body the Dissenters, the descendants of +those sturdy Patriots who hurled Charles the Simple from his +throne.”</p> +<p>“There are some sturdy fellows amongst them, I do not +deny,” said the man in black, “especially amongst the +preachers, clever withal—two or three of that class nearly +drove Mr. Platitude mad, as perhaps you are aware, but they are +not very numerous; and the old sturdy sort of preachers are fast +dropping off, and, as we observe with pleasure, are generally +succeeded by frothy coxcombs, whom it would not be very difficult +to gain over. But what we most rely upon as an instrument +to bring the Dissenters over to us is the mania for gentility, +which amongst them has of late become as great, and more +ridiculous, than amongst the middle classes belonging to the +Church of England. All the plain and simple fashions of +their forefathers they are either about to abandon, or have +already done so. Look at the most part of their chapels, no +longer modest brick edifices, situated in quiet and retired +streets, but lunatic-looking erections, in what the simpletons +call the modern Gothic taste, of Portland-stone, with a cross +upon the top, and the site generally the most conspicuous that +can be found, and look at the manner in which they educate their +children, I mean those that are wealthy. They do not even +wish them to be Dissenters, ‘the sweet dears shall enjoy +the advantages of good society, of which their parents were +debarred.’ So the girls are sent to tip-top boarding +schools, where amongst other trash they read +‘Rokeby,’ and are taught to sing snatches from that +high-flying ditty, the ‘Cavalier ---’</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Would you match the base Skippon, and +Massey, and Brown<br /> +With the barons of England, who fight for the +crown?’—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>he! he! their own names. Whilst the lads are sent to +those hot-beds of pride and folly—colleges, whence they +return with a greater contempt for everything ‘low,’ +and especially for their own pedigree, than they went with. +I tell you, friend, the children of Dissenters, if not their +parents, are going over to the Church, as you call it, and the +Church is going over to Rome.”</p> +<p>“I do not see the justice of that latter assertion at +all,” said I; <!-- page 368--><a name="page368"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 368</span>“some of the Dissenters’ +children may be coming over to the Church of England, and yet the +Church of England be very far from going over to Rome.”</p> +<p>“In the high road for it, I assure you,” said the +man in black, “part of it is going to abandon, the rest to +lose their prerogative, and when a Church no longer retains its +prerogative, it speedily loses its own respect, and that of +others.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “if the higher classes have +all the vices and follies which you represent, on which point I +can say nothing, as I have never mixed with them; and even +supposing the middle classes are the foolish beings you would +fain make them, and which I do not believe them as a body to be, +you would still find some resistance amongst the lower classes, I +have a considerable respect for their good sense and independence +of character; but pray let me hear your opinion of +them.”</p> +<p>“As for the lower classes,” said the man in black, +“I believe them to be the most brutal wretches in the +world, the most addicted to foul feeding, foul language, and foul +vices of every kind; wretches who have neither love for country, +religion, nor anything save their own vile selves. You +surely do not think that they would oppose a change of religion? +why, there is not one of them but would hurrah for the Pope, or +Mahomet, for the sake of a hearty gorge and a drunken bout, like +those which they are treated with at election +contests.”</p> +<p>“Has your church any followers amongst them?” said +I.</p> +<p>“Wherever there happens to be a Romish family of +considerable possessions,” said the man in black, +“our church is sure to have followers of the lower class, +who have come over in the hope of getting something in the shape +of dole or donation. As, however, the Romish is not yet the +dominant religion, and the clergy of the English establishment +have some patronage to bestow, the churches are not quite +deserted by the lower classes; yet were the Romish to become the +established religion, they would, to a certainty, all go over to +it; you can scarcely imagine what a self-interested set they +are—for example, the landlord of that public-house in which +I first met you, having lost a sum of money upon a cock-fight, +and his affairs in consequence being in a bad condition, is on +the eve of coming over to us, in the hope that two old Popish +females of property, whom, I confess, will advance a sum of money +to set him up again in the world.”</p> +<p>“And what could have put such an idea into the poor +fellow’s head?” said I.</p> +<p>“Oh! he and I have had some conversation upon the state +of his affairs,” said the man in black; “I think he +might make a rather useful convert in these parts, provided +things take a certain turn, as they doubtless will. It is +no bad thing to have a fighting fellow, who keeps a public-house, +belonging to one’s religion. He has been occasionally +employed as a bully at elections by the Tory party, and he may +serve us in the same capacity. The fellow comes of a good +stock; I heard him say that his father headed the high Church +mob, who sacked and burnt Priestley’s house at Birmingham +towards the end of the last century.”</p> +<p><!-- page 369--><a name="page369"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +369</span>“A disgraceful affair,” said I.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by a disgraceful affair?” said +the man in black. “I assure you that nothing has +occurred for the last fifty years which has given the high-Church +party so much credit in the eyes of Rome as that; we did not +imagine that the fellows had so much energy. Had they +followed up that affair, by twenty others of a similar kind, they +would by this time have had everything in their own power; but +they did not, and, as a necessary consequence, they are reduced +to almost nothing.”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “that your church would +have acted very differently in its place.”</p> +<p>“It has always done so,” said the man in black, +coolly sipping. “Our church has always armed the +brute-population against the genius and intellect of a country, +provided that same intellect and genius were not willing to +become its instruments and eulogists; and provided we once obtain +a firm hold here again, we would not fail to do so. We +would occasionally stuff the beastly rabble with horseflesh and +bitter ale, and then halloo them on against all those who were +obnoxious to us.”</p> +<p>“Horseflesh and bitter ale!” I replied.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the man in black; “horseflesh +and bitter ale, the favourite delicacies of their Saxon +ancestors, who were always ready to do our bidding after a +liberal allowance of such cheer. There is a tradition in +our church, that before the Northumbrian rabble, at the +instigation of Austin, attacked and massacred the presbyterian +monks of Bangor, they had been allowed a good gorge of horseflesh +and bitter ale. He! he! he!” continued the man in +black, “what a fine spectacle to see such a mob, headed by +a fellow like our friend, the landlord, sack the house of another +Priestley!”</p> +<p>“Then you don’t deny that we have had a +Priestley,” said I, “and admit the possibility of our +having another? You were lately observing that all English +literary men were sycophants?”</p> +<p>“Lick-spittles,” said the man in black; +“yes, I admit that you have had a Priestley, but he was a +Dissenter of the old class; you have had him, and perhaps may +have another.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps we may,” said I. “But with +respect to the lower classes, have you mixed much with +them?”</p> +<p>“I have mixed with all classes,” said the man in +black, “and with the lower not less than the upper and +middle, they are much as I have described them; and of the three, +the lower are the worst. I never knew one of them that +possessed the slightest principle, no, not—. It is +true, there was one fellow whom I once met, who—; but it is +a long story, and the affair happened abroad.”</p> +<p>“I ought to know something of the English people,” +he continued, after a moment’s pause; “I have been +many years amongst them labouring in the cause of the +Church.”</p> +<p>“Your See must have had great confidence in your powers, +when it selected you to labour for it in these +parts.” Said I.</p> +<p>“They chose me,” said the man in black, +“principally because being <!-- page 370--><a +name="page370"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 370</span>of British +extraction and education, I could speak the English language and +bear a glass of something strong. It is the opinion of my +See, that it would hardly do to send a missionary into a country +like this who is not well versed in English; a country where they +think, so far from understanding any language besides his own, +scarcely one individual in ten speaks his own intelligibly, or an +ascetic person where, as they say, high and low, male and female, +are, at some period of their lives, fond of a renovating glass as +it is styled, in other words, of tippling.”</p> +<p>“Your See appears to entertain a very strange opinion of +the English,” said I.</p> +<p>“Not altogether an unjust one,” said the man in +black, lifting the glass to his mouth.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “it is certainly very kind +on its part to wish to bring back such a set of beings beneath +its wing.”</p> +<p>“Why, as to the kindness of my See,” said the man +in black, “I have not much to say; my See has generally in +what it does a tolerably good motive; these heretics possess in +plenty what my See has a great hankering for, and can turn to a +good account—money!”</p> +<p>“The founder of the Christian religion cared nothing for +money,” said I.</p> +<p>“What have we to do with what the founder of the +Christian religion cared for?” said the man in black. +“How could our temples be built, and our priests supported +without money? But you are unwise to reproach us with a +desire of obtaining money; you forget that your own church, if +the Church of England be your own church, as I suppose it is, +from the willingness which you displayed in the public-house to +fight for it, is equally avaricious; look at your greedy Bishops, +and your corpulent Rectors! do they imitate Christ in his +disregard for money? You might as well tell me that they +imitate Christ in His meekness and humility.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “whatever their faults may +be, you can’t say that they go to Rome for +money.”</p> +<p>The man in black made no direct answer, but appeared by the +motion of his lips to be repeating something to himself.</p> +<p>“I see your glass is again empty,” said I; +“perhaps you will replenish it?”</p> +<p>The man in black arose from his chair, adjusted his +habiliments which were rather in disorder, and placed upon his +head his hat, which he had laid aside, then, looking at me, who +was still lying on the ground, he said—“I might, +perhaps, take another glass, though I believe I have had quite as +much as I can well bear; but I do not wish to hear you utter +anything more this evening after that last observation of +yours—it is quite original; I will meditate upon it on my +pillow this night after having said an ave and a pater—go +to Rome for money!” He then made Belle a low bow, +slightly motioned to me with his hand as if bidding farewell, and +then left the dingle with rather uneven steps.</p> +<p>“Go to Rome for money,” I heard him say as he +ascended the winding path, “he! he! he! Go to Rome +for money, ho! ho! ho!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 371--><a name="page371"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 371</span>CHAPTER XCV.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Wooded Retreat—Fresh Shoes—Wood +Fire—Ash, when Green—Queen of China—Cleverest +People—Declensions—Armenian—Thunder—Deep +Olive—What Do You Mean?—Koul Adonai—The Thick +Bushes—Wood Pigeon—Old Goethe.</p> +<p>Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular +moment occurring. Belle drove the little cart containing +her merchandise about the neighbourhood, returning to the dingle +towards the evening. As for myself, I kept within my wooded +retreat, working during the periods of her absence leisurely at +my forge. Having observed that the quadruped which my +companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been +some time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, +and during the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing +them. As I was employed three mornings and afternoons about +them, I am sure that the reader will agree that I worked +leisurely, or rather lazily. On the third day Belle +arrived, somewhat later than usual; I was lying on my back at the +bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes, which I +had produced, and catching them as they fell, some being always +in the air mounting or descending, somewhat after the fashion of +the waters of a fountain.</p> +<p>“Why have you been absent so long?” said I to +Belle, “it must be long past four by the day.”</p> +<p>“I have been almost killed by the heat,” said +Belle; “I was never out in a more sultry day—the poor +donkey, too, could scarcely move along.”</p> +<p>“He shall have fresh shoes,” said I, continuing my +exercise, “here they are, quite ready; to-morrow I will +tack them on.”</p> +<p>“And why are you playing with them in that +manner?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Partly in triumph at having made them, and partly to +show that I can do something besides making them; it is not every +one who, after having made a set of horse-shoes, can keep them +going up and down in the air, without letting one +fall.”</p> +<p>“One has now fallen on your chin,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“And another on my cheek,” said I, getting up, +“it is time to discontinue the game, for the last shoe drew +blood.”</p> +<p>Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, +after having flung the donkey’s shoes into my tent, I put +some fresh wood on the fire, which was nearly out, and hung the +kettle over it. I then issued forth from the dingle, and +strolled round the wood that surrounded it; for a long time I was +busied in meditation, looking at the ground, striking with my +foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of grass and thistles that I +met in my way. After some time, I lifted up my eyes to the +sky, at first vacantly, and then with more attention, turning my +head in all directions for a minute or two; after which I +returned to the dingle. Isopel was seated near the fire, +over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her +dress—no signs of the dust and fatigue of <!-- page +372--><a name="page372"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +372</span>her late excursion remained; she had just added to the +fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I had left +beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled the +dingle.</p> +<p>“I am fond of sitting by a wood fire,” said Belle, +“when abroad, whether it be hot or cold; I love to see the +flames dart out of the wood; but what kind is this, and where did +you get it?”</p> +<p>“It is ash,” said I, “green ash. +Somewhat less than a week ago, whilst I was wandering along the +road by the side of a wood, I came to a place where some peasants +were engaged in cutting up and clearing away a confused mass of +fallen timber: a mighty aged oak had given way the night before, +and in its fall had shivered some smaller trees; the upper part +of the oak, and the fragments of the rest, lay across the +road. I purchased, for a trifle, a bundle or two, and the +wood on the fire is part of it—ash, green ash.”</p> +<p>“That makes good the old rhyme,” said Belle, +“which I have heard sung by the old women in the great +house:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ash, when green,<br /> +Is fire for a queen.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“And on fairer form of queen, ash fire never +shone,” said I, “than on thine, O beauteous queen of +the dingle.”</p> +<p>“I am half disposed to be angry with you, young +man,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“And why not entirely?” said I.</p> +<p>Belle made no reply.</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you?” I demanded. “You +had no objection to the first part of the speech, but you did not +like being called queen of the dingle. Well, if I had the +power, I would make you queen of something better than the +dingle—Queen of China. Come, let us have +tea.”</p> +<p>“Something less would content me,” said Belle, +sighing, as she rose to prepare our evening meal.</p> +<p>So we took tea together, Belle and I. “How +delicious tea is after a hot summer’s day, and a long +walk,” said she.</p> +<p>“I dare say it is most refreshing then,” said I; +“but I have heard people say that they most enjoy it on a +cold winter’s night, when the kettle is hissing on the +fire, and their children playing on the hearth.”</p> +<p>Belle sighed. “Where does tea come from?” +she presently demanded.</p> +<p>“From China,” said I; “I just now mentioned +it, and the mention of it put me in mind of tea.”</p> +<p>“What kind of country is China?”</p> +<p>“I know very little about it; all I know is, that it is +a very large country far to the East, but scarcely large enough +to contain its inhabitants, who are so numerous, that though +China does not cover one-ninth part of the world, its inhabitants +amount to one-third of the population of the world.”</p> +<p>“And do they talk as we do?”</p> +<p>“O no! I know nothing of their language; but I +have heard that it is quite different from all others, and so +difficult that none but the <!-- page 373--><a +name="page373"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 373</span>cleverest +people amongst foreigners can master it, on which account, +perhaps, only the French pretend to know anything about +it.”</p> +<p>“Are the French so very clever, then?” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“They say there are no people like them, at least in +Europe. But talking of Chinese reminds me that I have not +for some time past given you a lesson in Armenian. The word +for tea in Armenian is—by-the-bye, what is the Armenian +word for tea?”</p> +<p>“That’s your affair, not mine,” said Belle; +“it seems hard that the master should ask the +scholar.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “whatever the word may be in +Armenian, it is a noun; and as we have never yet declined an +Armenian noun together, we may as well take this opportunity of +declining one. Belle, there are ten declensions in +Armenian!”</p> +<p>“What’s a declension?”</p> +<p>“The way of declining a noun.”</p> +<p>“Then, in the civilest way imaginable, I decline the +noun. Is that a declension?”</p> +<p>“You should never play on words; to do so is low, +vulgar, smelling of the pothouse, the workhouse. Belle, I +insist on your declining an Armenian noun.”</p> +<p>“I have done so already,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“If you go on in this way,” said I, “I shall +decline taking any more tea with you. Will you decline an +Armenian noun?”</p> +<p>“I don’t like the language,” said +Belle. “If you must teach me languages, why not teach +me French or Chinese?”</p> +<p>“I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but +a Frenchman is clever enough to speak it—to say nothing of +teaching; no, we will stick to Armenian, unless, indeed, you +would prefer Welsh!”</p> +<p>“Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar,” said Belle; +“so, if I must learn one of the two, I will prefer +Armenian, which I never heard of till you mentioned it to me; +though of the two, I really think Welsh sounds best.”</p> +<p>“The Armenian noun,” said I, “which I +propose for your declension this night, is --- which signifieth +Master.”</p> +<p>“I neither like the word nor the sound,” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“I can’t help that,” said I; “it is +the word I choose: Master, with all its variations, being the +first noun, the sound of which I would have you learn from my +lips. Come, let us begin—</p> +<p>“A master. Of a master, etc. +Repeat—”</p> +<p>“I am not much used to say the word,” said Belle, +“but to oblige you I will decline it as you wish;” +and thereupon Belle declined Master in Armenian.</p> +<p>“You have declined the noun very well,” said I; +“that is in the singular number; we will now go to the +plural.”</p> +<p>“What is the plural?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“That which implies more than one, for example, Masters; +you shall now go through Masters in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“Never,” said Belle, “never; it is bad to +have one master, but more I would never bear, whether in Armenian +or English.”</p> +<p><!-- page 374--><a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +374</span>“You do not understand,” said I; “I +merely want you to decline Masters in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“I do decline them; I will have nothing to do with them, +nor with master either; I was wrong to—What sound is +that?”</p> +<p>“I did not hear it, but I dare say it is thunder; in +Armenian—”</p> +<p>“Never mind what it is in Armenian; but why do you think +it is thunder?”</p> +<p>“Ere I returned from my stroll, I looked up into the +heavens, and by their appearance I judged that a storm was nigh +at hand.”</p> +<p>“And why did you not tell me so?”</p> +<p>“You never asked me about the state of the atmosphere, +and I am not in the habit of giving my opinion to people on any +subject, unless questioned. But, setting that aside, can +you blame me for not troubling you with forebodings about storm +and tempest, which might have prevented the pleasure you promised +yourself in drinking tea, or perhaps a lesson in Armenian, though +you pretend to dislike the latter.”</p> +<p>“My dislike is not pretended,” said Belle; +“I hate the sound of it, but I love my tea, and it was kind +of you not to wish to cast a cloud over my little pleasures; the +thunder came quite time enough to interrupt it without being +anticipated—there is another peal—I will clear away, +and see that my tent is in a condition to resist the storm, and I +think you had better bestir yourself.”</p> +<p>Isopel departed, and I remained seated on my stone, as nothing +belonging to myself required any particular attention; in about a +quarter of an hour she returned, and seated herself upon her +stool.</p> +<p>“How dark the place is become since I left you,” +said she; “just as if night were just at hand.”</p> +<p>“Look up at the sky,” said I; “and you will +not wonder; it is all of a deep olive. The wind is +beginning to rise; hark how it moans among the branches; and see +now their tops are bending—it brings dust on its +wings—I felt some fall on my face; and what is this, a drop +of rain?”</p> +<p>“We shall have plenty anon,” said Belle; “do +you hear? it already begins to hiss upon the embers; that fire of +ours will soon be extinguished.”</p> +<p>“It is not probable that we shall want it,” said +I, “but we had better seek shelter: let us go into my +tent.”</p> +<p>“Go in,” said Belle, “but you go in alone; +as for me, I will seek my own.”</p> +<p>“You are right,” said I, “to be afraid of +me; I have taught you to decline master in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“You almost tempt me,” said Belle, “to make +you decline mistress in English.”</p> +<p>“To make matters short,” said I, “I decline +a mistress.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” said Belle, angrily.</p> +<p>“I have merely done what you wished me,” said I, +“and in your own style; there is no other way of declining +anything in English, for in English there are no +declensions.”</p> +<p><!-- page 375--><a name="page375"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +375</span>“The rain is increasing,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“It is so,” said I; “I shall go to my tent; +you may come, if you please; I do assure you I am not afraid of +you.”</p> +<p>“Nor I of you,” said Belle; “so I will +come. Why should I be afraid? I can take my own part; +that is—”</p> +<p>We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to +pour with vehemence. “I hope we shall not be flooded +in this hollow,” said I to Belle. “There is no +fear of that,” said Belle; “the wandering people, +amongst other names, call it the dry hollow. I believe +there is a passage somewhere or other by which the wet is carried +off. There must be a cloud right above us, it is so +dark. Oh! what a flash!”</p> +<p>“And what a peal,” said I; “that is what the +Hebrews call Koul Adonai—the voice of the Lord. Are +you afraid?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Belle, “I rather like to hear +it.”</p> +<p>“You are right,” said I, “I am fond of the +sound of thunder myself. There is nothing like it; Koul +Adonai behadar; the voice of the Lord is a glorious voice, as the +prayer-book version hath it.”</p> +<p>“There is something awful in it,” said Belle; +“and then the lightning, the whole dingle is now in a +blaze.”</p> +<p>“‘The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, +and discovereth the thick bushes.’ As you say, there +is something awful in thunder.”</p> +<p>“There are all kinds of noises above us,” said +Belle; “surely I heard the crashing of a tree?”</p> +<p>“‘The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedar +trees,’” said I, “but what you hear is caused +by a convulsion of the air; during a thunder-storm there are +occasionally all kinds of aërial noises. Ab Gwilym, +who, next to King David, has best described a thunder-storm, +speaks of these aërial noises in the following +manner:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Astonied now I stand at strains,<br /> +As of ten thousand clanking chains;<br /> +And once, methought, that overthrown,<br /> +The welkin’s oaks came whelming down;<br /> +Upon my head up starts my hair:<br /> +Why hunt abroad the hounds of air?<br /> +What cursed hag is screeching high,<br /> +Whilst crash goes all her crockery?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>You would hardly believe, Belle, that though I offered at +least ten thousand lines nearly as good as those to the +booksellers in London, the simpletons were so blind to their +interest as to refuse purchasing them.”</p> +<p>“I don’t wonder at it,” said Belle, +“especially if such dreadful expressions frequently occur +as that towards the end; surely that was the crash of a +tree?”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said I, “there falls the cedar +tree—I mean the sallow; one of the tall trees on the +outside of the dingle has been snapped short.”</p> +<p>“What a pity,” said Belle, “that the fine +old oak, which you saw the peasants cutting up, gave way the +other night, when scarcely a breath of air was stirring; how much +better to have fallen in a storm like this, the fiercest I +remember.”</p> +<p><!-- page 376--><a name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +376</span>“I don’t think so,” said I; +“after braving a thousand tempests, it was meeter for it to +fall of itself than to be vanquished at last. But to return +to Ab Gwilym’s poetry, he was above culling dainty words, +and spoke boldly his mind on all subjects. Enraged with the +thunder for parting him and Morfydd, he says, at the conclusion +of his ode,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘My curse, O Thunder, cling to thee,<br /> +For parting my dear pearl and me!’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“You and I shall part; this is, I shall go to my tent if +you persist in repeating from him. The man must have been a +savage. A poor wood-pigeon has fallen dead.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “there he lies just outside +the tent; often have I listened to his note when alone in this +wilderness. So you do not like Ab Gwilym; what say you to +old Goethe:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Mist shrouds the night, and rack;<br /> +Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack!<br /> +Wildly the owls are flitting,<br /> +Hark to the pillars splitting<br /> +Of palaces verdant ever,<br /> +The branches quiver and sever,<br /> +The mighty stems are creaking,<br /> +The poor roots breaking and shrieking,<br /> +In wild mixt ruin down dashing,<br /> +O’er one another they’re crashing;<br /> +Whilst ’midst the rocks so hoary,<br /> +Whirlwinds hurry and worry.<br /> +Hear’st not, sister—’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Hark!” said Belle, “hark!”</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Hear’st not, sister, a +chorus<br /> +Of voices—?’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“No,” said Belle, “but I hear a +voice.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVI.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">A Shout—A Fire Ball—See to the +Horses—Passing Away—Gap in the Hedge—On Three +Wheels—Why Do You Stop?—No Craven Heart—The +Cordial—Across the Country—Small Bags.</p> +<p>I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud +clashing of branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered +growl of thunder. I was about to tell Belle that she must +have been mistaken, when I heard a shout, indistinct it is true, +owing to the noises aforesaid, from some part of the field above +the dingle. “I will soon see what’s the +matter,” said I to Belle, starting up. “I will +go, too,” said the girl. “Stay where you +are,” said I; “if I need you, I will call;” +and, without waiting for any answer, I hurried to the mouth of +the dingle. I was <!-- page 377--><a +name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 377</span>about a few +yards only from the top of the ascent, when I beheld a blaze of +light, from whence I knew not; the next moment there was a loud +crash, and I appeared involved in a cloud of sulphurous +smoke. “Lord have mercy upon us!” I heard a +voice say, and methought I heard the plunging and struggling of +horses. I had stopped short on hearing the crash, for I was +half stunned; but I now hurried forward, and in a moment stood +upon the plain. Here I was instantly aware of the cause of +the crash and the smoke. One of those balls, generally +called fire-balls, had fallen from the clouds, and was burning on +the plain at a short distance; and the voice which I had heard, +and the plunging, were as easily accounted for. Near the +left-hand corner of the grove which surrounded the dingle, and +about ten yards from the fire-ball, I perceived a chaise, with a +postillion on the box, who was making efforts, apparently +useless, to control his horses, which were kicking and plunging +in the highest degree of excitement. I instantly ran +towards the chaise, in order to offer what help was in my +power. “Help me,” said the poor fellow, as I +drew nigh; but before I could reach the horses, they had turned +rapidly round, one of the fore-wheels flew from its axle-tree, +the chaise was overset, and the postillion flung violently from +his seat upon the field. The horses now became more furious +than before, kicking desperately, and endeavouring to disengage +themselves from the fallen chaise. As I was hesitating +whether to run to the assistance of the postillion, or endeavour +to disengage the animals, I heard the voice of Belle exclaiming, +“See to the horses, I will look after the man.” +She had, it seems, been alarmed by the crash which accompanied +the firebolt, and had hurried up to learn the cause. I +forthwith seized the horses by the heads, and used all the means +I possessed to soothe and pacify them, employing every gentle +modulation of which my voice was capable. Belle, in the +meantime, had raised up the man, who was much stunned by his +fall; but presently recovering his recollection to a certain +degree, he came limping to me, holding his hand to his right +thigh. “The first thing that must now be done,” +said I, “is to free these horses from the traces; can you +undertake to do so?” “I think I can,” +said the man, looking at me somewhat stupidly. “I +will help,” said Belle, and without loss of time laid hold +of one of the traces. The man, after a short pause, also +set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were +extricated. “Now,” said I to the man, +“what is next to be done?” “I don’t +know,” said he; “indeed, I scarcely know anything; I +have been so frightened by this horrible storm, and so shaken by +my fall.” “I think,” said I, “that +the storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as +for your fall, you must bear it as lightly as you can. I +will tie the horses amongst those trees, and then we will all +betake us to the hollow below.” “And +what’s to become of my chaise?” said the postillion, +looking ruefully on the fallen vehicle. “Let us leave +the chaise for the present,” said I; “we can be of no +use to it.” “I don’t like to leave my +chaise lying on the ground in this weather,” said the man, +“I love my chaise, and him whom it belongs to.” +“You are quite right to be fond of yourself,” said I, +“on which account I advise you to seek <!-- page 378--><a +name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 378</span>shelter +from the rain as soon as possible.” “I was not +talking of myself,” said the man, “but my master, to +whom the chaise belongs.” “I thought you called +the chaise yours,” said I. “That’s my way +of speaking,” said the man, “but the chaise is my +master’s, and a better master does not live. +Don’t you think we could manage to raise up the +chaise?” “And what is to become of the +horses?” said I. “I love my horses well +enough,” said the man; “but they will take less harm +than the chaise. We two can never lift up that +chaise.” “But we three can,” said Belle; +“at least, I think so; and I know where to find two poles +which will assist us.” “You had better go to +the tent,” said I, “you will be wet +through.” “I care not for a little +wetting,” said Belle; “moreover, I have more gowns +than one—see you after the horses.” Thereupon, +I led the horses past the mouth of the dingle, to a place where a +gap in the hedge afforded admission to the copse or plantation, +on the southern side. Forcing them through the gap, I led +them to a spot amidst the trees, which I deemed would afford them +the most convenient place for standing; then, darting down into +the dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my own +nag, and with these fastened them each to a separate tree in the +best manner I could. This done, I returned to the chaise +and the postillion. In a minute or two Belle arrived with +two poles, which, it seems, had long been lying, overgrown with +brushwood, in a ditch or hollow behind the plantation. With +these both she and I set to work in endeavouring to raise the +fallen chaise from the ground.</p> +<p>We experienced considerable difficulty in this undertaking; at +length, with the assistance of the postillion, we saw our efforts +crowned with success—the chaise was lifted up, and stood +upright on three wheels.</p> +<p>“We may leave it here in safety,” said I, +“for it will hardly move away on three wheels, even +supposing it could run by itself; I am afraid there is work here +for a wheelwright, in which case I cannot assist you; if you were +in need of a blacksmith it would be otherwise.” +“I don’t think either the wheel or the axle is +hurt,” said the postillion, who had been handling both; +“it is only the linch-pin having dropped out that caused +the wheel to fly off; if I could but find the linch-pin! though, +perhaps, it fell out a mile away.” “Very +likely,” said I; “but never mind the linch-pin, I can +make you one, or something that will serve: but I can’t +stay here any longer, I am going to my place below with this +young gentlewoman, and you had better follow us.” +“I am ready,” said the man; and after lifting up the +wheel and propping it against the chaise, he went with us, +slightly limping, and with his hand pressed to his thigh.</p> +<p>As we were descending the narrow path, Belle leading the way, +and myself the last of the party, the postillion suddenly stopped +short, and looked about him. “Why do you stop?” +said I. “I don’t wish to offend you,” +said the man; “but this seems to be a strange place you are +leading me into; I hope you and the young gentlewoman, as you +call her, don’t mean me any harm—you seemed in a +great hurry to bring me here.” “We wished to +get you out of the rain,” said I, “and ourselves too; +that is, if we can, which I rather doubt, for the canvas of <!-- +page 379--><a name="page379"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +379</span>a tent is slight shelter in such a rain; but what harm +should we wish to do you?” “You may think I +have money,” said the man, “and I have some, but only +thirty shillings, and for a sum like that it would be hardly +worth while to—” “Would it not?” +said I; “thirty shillings, after all, are thirty shillings, +and for what I know, half-a-dozen throats may have been cut in +this place for that sum at the rate of five shillings each; +moreover, there are the horses, which would serve to establish +the young gentlewoman and myself in housekeeping, provided we +were thinking of such a thing.” “Then I suppose +I have fallen into pretty hands,” said the man, putting +himself in a posture of defence; “but I’ll show no +craven heart; and if you attempt to lay hands on me, I’ll +try to pay you in your own coin. I’m rather lamed in +the leg, but I can still use my fists; so come on both of you, +man and woman, if woman this be, though she looks more like a +grenadier.”</p> +<p>“Let me hear no more of this nonsense,” said +Belle; “if you are afraid, you can go back to your +chaise—we only seek to do you a kindness.”</p> +<p>“Why, he was just now talking of cutting throats,” +said the man. “You brought it on yourself,” +said Belle; “you suspected us, and he wished to pass a joke +upon you; he would not hurt a hair of your head, were your coach +laden with gold, nor would I.” “Well,” +said the man, “I was wrong—here’s my hand to +both of you,” shaking us by the hands; “I’ll go +with you where you please, but I thought this a strange lonesome +place, though I ought not much to mind strange lonesome places, +having been in plenty of such when I was a servant in Italy, +without coming to any harm—come, let us move on, for +’tis a shame to keep you two in the rain.”</p> +<p>So we descended the path which led into the depths of the +dingle; at the bottom I conducted the postillion to my tent, +which, though the rain dripped and trickled through it, afforded +some shelter; there I bade him sit down on the log of wood, while +I placed myself as usual on my stone. Belle in the meantime +had repaired to her own place of abode. After a little +time, I produced a bottle of the cordial of which I have +previously had occasion to speak, and made my guest take a +considerable draught. I then offered him some bread and +cheese, which he accepted with thanks. In about an hour the +rain had much abated: “What do you now propose to +do?” said I. “I scarcely know,” said the +man; “I suppose I must endeavour to put on the wheel with +your help.” “How far are you from your +home?” I demanded. “Upwards of thirty +miles,” said the man; “my master keeps an inn on the +great north road, and from thence I started early this morning +with a family which I conveyed across the country to a hall at +some distance from here. On my return I was beset by the +thunder-storm, which frightened the horses, who dragged the +chaise off the road to the field above, and overset it as you +saw. I had proposed to pass the night at an inn about +twelve miles from here on my way back, though how I am to get +there to-night I scarcely know, even if we can put on the wheel, +for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my fall, and the +smoulder and smoke of that fire-ball have rather bewildered my +head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the +way.”</p> +<p><!-- page 380--><a name="page380"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +380</span>“The best thing you can do,” said I, +“is to pass the night here; I will presently light a fire, +and endeavour to make you comfortable—in the morning we +will see to your wheel.” “Well,” said the +man, “I shall be glad to pass the night here, provided I do +not intrude, but I must see to the horses.” Thereupon +I conducted the man to the place where the horses were +tied. “The trees drip very much upon them,” +said the man, “and it will not do for them to remain here +all night; they will be better out on the field picking the +grass, but first of all they must have a good feed of +corn.” Thereupon he went to his chaise, from which he +presently brought two small bags, partly filled with +corn—into them he inserted the mouths of the horses, tying +them over their heads. “Here we will leave them for a +time,” said the man; “when I think they have had +enough, I will come back, tie their fore-legs, and let them pick +about.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Fire of Charcoal—The New Comer—No +Wonder!—Not a Blacksmith—A Love Affair—Gretna +Green—A Cool Thousand—Family Estates—Borough +Interest—Grand Education—Let us Hear—Already +Quarrelling—Honourable Parents—Most +Heroically—Not Common People—Fresh Charcoal.</p> +<p>It might be about ten o’clock at night. Belle, the +postillion, and myself sat just within the tent, by a fire of +charcoal which I had kindled in the chafing-pan. The man +had removed the harness from his horses, and, after tethering +their legs, had left them for the night in the field above, to +regale themselves on what grass they could find. The rain +had long since entirely ceased, and the moon and stars shone +bright in the firmament, up to which, putting aside the canvas, I +occasionally looked from the depths of the dingle. Large +drops of water, however, falling now and then upon the tent from +the neighbouring trees, would have served, could we have +forgotten it, to remind us of the recent storm, and also a +certain chilliness in the atmosphere, unusual to the season, +proceeding from the moisture with which the ground was saturated; +yet these circumstances only served to make our party enjoy the +charcoal fire the more. There we sat bending over it: +Belle, with her long beautiful hair streaming over her +magnificent shoulders; the postillion smoking his pipe, in his +shirt-sleeves and waistcoat, having flung aside his great coat, +which had sustained a thorough wetting; and I without my +wagoner’s slop, of which, it being in the same plight, I +had also divested myself.</p> +<p>The new comer was a well-made fellow of about thirty, with an +open and agreeable countenance. I found him very well +informed for a man in his station, and with some pretensions to +humour. After we had discoursed for some time on +indifferent subjects, the postillion, who had exhausted his pipe, +took it from his mouth, and, knocking out the ashes <!-- page +381--><a name="page381"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +381</span>upon the ground, exclaimed, “I little thought, +when I got up in the morning, that I should spend the night in +such agreeable company, and after such a fright.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am glad that your opinion +of us has improved; it is not long since you seemed to hold us in +rather a suspicious light.”</p> +<p>“And no wonder,” said the man, “seeing the +place you were taking me to. I was not a little, but very +much, afraid of ye both; and so I continued for some time, +though, not to show a craven heart, I pretended to be quite +satisfied; but I see I was altogether mistaken about ye. I +thought you vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers; but +now—”</p> +<p>“Vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers,” said I; +“and what are we but people of that stamp?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the postillion, “if you wish to +be thought such, I am far too civil a person to contradict you, +especially after your kindness to me, but—”</p> +<p>“But!” said I; “what do you mean by +but? I would have you to know that I am proud of being a +travelling blacksmith: look at these donkey-shoes, I finished +them this day.”</p> +<p>The postillion took the shoes and examined them. +“So you made these shoes?” he cried at last.</p> +<p>“To be sure I did; do you doubt it?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Ah! ah!” said I, “I thought I should bring +you back to your original opinion. I am, then, a vagrant +Gypsy body, a tramper, a wandering blacksmith.”</p> +<p>“Not a blacksmith, whatever else you may be,” said +the postillion, laughing.</p> +<p>“Then how do you account for my making those +shoes?”</p> +<p>“By your not being a blacksmith,” said the +postillion; “no blacksmith would have made shoes in that +manner. Besides, what did you mean just now by saying you +had finished these shoes to-day? a real blacksmith would have +flung off three or four sets of donkey-shoes in one morning, but +you, I will be sworn, have been hammering at these for days, and +they do you credit, but why? because you are no blacksmith; no, +friend, your shoes may do for this young gentlewoman’s +animal, but I shouldn’t like to have my horses shod by you, +unless at a great pinch indeed.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said I, “for what do you take +me?”</p> +<p>“Why, for some runaway young gentleman,” said the +postillion. “No offence, I hope?”</p> +<p>“None at all; no one is offended at being taken or +mistaken for a young gentleman, whether runaway or not; but from +whence do you suppose I have run away?”</p> +<p>“Why, from college,” said the man; “no +offence?”</p> +<p>“None whatever; and what induced me to run away from +college?”</p> +<p>“A love affair, I’ll be sworn,” said the +postillion. “You had become acquainted with this +young gentlewoman, so she and you—”</p> +<p>“Mind how you get on, friend,” said Belle, in a +deep serious tone.</p> +<p><!-- page 382--><a name="page382"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +382</span>“Pray proceed,” said I; “I dare say +you mean no offence.”</p> +<p>“None in the world,” said the postillion; +“all I was going to say was that you agreed to run away +together, you from college, and she from boarding-school. +Well, there’s nothing to be ashamed of in a matter like +that, such things are done every day by young folks in high +life.”</p> +<p>“Are you offended?” said I to Belle.</p> +<p>Belle made no answer; but, placing her elbows on her knees, +buried her face in her hands.</p> +<p>“So we ran away together?” said I.</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “to Gretna +Green, though I can’t say that I drove ye, though I have +driven many a pair.”</p> +<p>“And from Gretna Green we came here?”</p> +<p>“I’ll be bound you did,” said the man, +“till you could arrange matters at home.”</p> +<p>“And the horse-shoes?” said I.</p> +<p>“The donkey-shoes, you mean,” answered the +postillion; “why, I suppose you persuaded the blacksmith +who married you to give you, before you left, a few lessons in +his trade.”</p> +<p>“And we intend to stay here till we have arranged +matters at home?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “till the old +people are pacified, and they send you letters directed to the +next post town, to be left till called for, beginning with +‘Dear children,’ and enclosing you each a cheque for +one hundred pounds, when you will leave this place, and go home +in a coach like gentlefolks, to visit your governors; I should +like nothing better than to have the driving of you: and then +there will be a grand meeting of the two families, and after a +few reproaches, the old people will agree to do something +handsome for the poor thoughtless things; so you will have a +genteel house taken for you, and an annuity allowed you. +You won’t get much the first year, five hundred at the +most, in order that the old folks may let you feel that they are +not altogether satisfied with you, and that you are yet entirely +in their power; but the second, if you don’t get a cool +thousand, may I catch cold, especially should young madam here +present a son and heir for the old people to fondle, destined one +day to become sole heir of the two illustrious houses, and then +all the grand folks in the neighbourhood, who have, bless their +prudent hearts! kept rather aloof from you till then, for fear +you should want anything from them—I say, all the carriage +people in the neighbourhood, when they see how swimmingly matters +are going on, will come in shoals to visit you.”</p> +<p>“Really,” said I, “you are getting on +swimmingly.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the postillion, “I was not a +gentleman’s servant nine years without learning the ways of +gentry, and being able to know gentry when I see them.”</p> +<p>“And what do you say to all this?” I demanded of +Belle.</p> +<p>“Stop a moment,” interposed the postillion, +“I have one more word to say:—and when you are +surrounded by your comforts, keeping your nice little barouche +and pair, your coachman and livery servant, and visited by all +the carriage people in the neighbourhood—to say nothing +<!-- page 383--><a name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +383</span>of the time when you come to the family estates on the +death of the old people—I shouldn’t wonder if now and +then you look back with longing and regret to the days when you +lived in the damp dripping dingle, had no better equipage than a +pony or donkey-cart, and saw no better company than a tramper or +Gypsy, except once, when a poor postillion was glad to seat +himself at your charcoal fire.”</p> +<p>“Pray,” said I, “did you ever take lessons +in elocution?”</p> +<p>“Not directly,” said the postillion; “but my +old master, who was in Parliament, did, and so did his son, who +was intended to be an orator. A great professor used to +come and give them lessons, and I used to stand and listen, by +which means I picked up a considerable quantity of what is called +rhetoric. In what I last said, I was aiming at what I have +heard him frequently endeavouring to teach my governors as a +thing indispensably necessary in all oratory, a graceful +pere—pere—peregrination.”</p> +<p>“Peroration, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Just so,” said the postillion; “and now +I’m sure I am not mistaken about you; you have taken +lessons yourself, at first hand, in the college vacations, and a +promising pupil you were, I make no doubt. Well, your +friends will be all the happier to get you back. Has your +governor much borough interest?”</p> +<p>“I ask you once more,” said I, addressing myself +to Belle, “what you think of the history which this good +man has made for us?”</p> +<p>“What should I think of it,” said Belle, still +keeping her face buried in her hands, “but that it is mere +nonsense?”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” said the postillion.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the girl, “and you know +it.”</p> +<p>“May my leg always ache, if I do,” said the +postillion, patting his leg with his hand; “will you +persuade me that this young man has never been at +college?”</p> +<p>“I have never been at college, but—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion; +“but—”</p> +<p>“I have been to the best schools in Britain, to say +nothing of a celebrated one in Ireland.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, it comes to the same thing,” said the +postillion; “or perhaps you know more than if you had been +at college—and your governor?”</p> +<p>“My governor, as you call him,” said I, “is +dead.”</p> +<p>“And his borough interest?”</p> +<p>“My father had no borough interest,” said I; +“had he possessed any, he would perhaps not have died as he +did, honourably poor.”</p> +<p>“No, no,” said the postillion; “if he had +had borough interest, he wouldn’t have been poor, nor +honourable, though perhaps a right honourable. However, +with your grand education and genteel manners, you made all right +at last by persuading this noble young gentlewoman to run away +from boarding-school with you.”</p> +<p>“I was never at boarding-school,” said Belle, +“unless you call—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, +“boarding-school is vulgar, I know: I beg your pardon, I +ought to have called it academy, or by some other <!-- page +384--><a name="page384"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +384</span>much finer name—you were in something much +greater than a boarding-school.”</p> +<p>“There you are right,” said Belle, lifting up her +head and looking the postillion full in the face by the light of +the charcoal fire; “for I was bred in the +workhouse.”</p> +<p>“Wooh!” said the postillion.</p> +<p>“It is true that I am of good—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “let us +hear—”</p> +<p>“Of good blood,” continued Belle; “my name +is Berners, Isopel Berners, though my parents were +unfortunate. Indeed, with respect to blood, I believe I am +of better blood than the young man.”</p> +<p>“There you are mistaken,” said I; “by my +father’s side I am of Cornish blood, and by my +mother’s of brave French Protestant extraction. Now, +with respect to the blood of my father—and to be descended +well on the father’s side is the principal thing—it +is the best blood in the world, for the Cornish blood, as the +proverb says—”</p> +<p>“I don’t care what the proverb says,” said +Belle; “I say my blood is the best—my name is +Berners, Isopel Berners—it was my mother’s name, and +is better, I am sure, than any you bear, whatever that may be; +and though you say that the descent on the father’s side is +the principal thing—and I know why you say so,” she +added with some excitement—“I say that descent on the +mother’s side is of most account, because the +mother—”</p> +<p>“Just come from Gretna Green, and already +quarrelling!” said the postillion.</p> +<p>“We do not come from Gretna Green,” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“Ah, I had forgot,” said the postillion, +“none but great people go to Gretna Green. Well, +then, from church, and already quarrelling about family, just +like two great people.”</p> +<p>“We have never been to church,” said Belle, +“and, to prevent any more guessing on your part, it will be +as well for me to tell you, friend, that I am nothing to the +young man, and he, of course, nothing to me. I am a poor +travelling girl, born in a workhouse: journeying on my occasions +with certain companions, I came to this hollow, where my company +quarrelled with the young man, who had settled down here, as he +had a right to do, if he pleased; and not being able to drive him +out, they went away after quarrelling with me, too, for not +choosing to side with them; so I stayed here along with the young +man, there being room for us both, and the place being as free to +me as to him.”</p> +<p>“And, in order that you may be no longer puzzled with +respect to myself,” said I, “I will give you a brief +outline of my history. I am the son of honourable parents, +who gave me a first-rate education, as far as literature and +languages went, with which education I endeavoured, on the death +of my father, to advance myself to wealth and reputation in the +big city; but failing in the attempt, I conceived a disgust for +the busy world, and determined to retire from it. After +wandering about for some time, and meeting with various +adventures, in one of which I contrived to obtain a pony, cart, +and certain tools, used by smiths and tinkers, I came to this +place, where I amused <!-- page 385--><a name="page385"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 385</span>myself with making horse-shoes, or +rather pony-shoes, having acquired the art of wielding the hammer +and tongs from a strange kind of smith—not him of Gretna +Green—whom I knew in my childhood. And here I lived, +doing harm to no one, quite lonely and solitary, till one fine +morning the premises were visited by this young gentlewoman and +her companions. She did herself anything but justice when +she said that her companions quarrelled with her because she +would not side with them against me; they quarrelled with her, +because she came most heroically to my assistance as I was on the +point of being murdered; and she forgot to tell you, that after +they had abandoned her, she stood by me in the dark hour, +comforting and cheering me, when unspeakable dread, to which I am +occasionally subject, took possession of my mind. She says +she is nothing to me, even as I am nothing to her. I am of +course nothing to her, but she is mistaken in thinking she is +nothing to me. I entertain the highest regard and +admiration for her, being convinced that I might search the whole +world in vain for a nature more heroic and devoted.”</p> +<p>“And for my part,” said Belle, with a sob, +“a more quiet agreeable partner in a place like this I +would not wish to have; it is true he has strange ways, and +frequently puts words into my mouth very difficult to utter, +but—but—” and here she buried her face once +more in her hands.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the postillion, “I have been +mistaken about you; that is, not altogether, but in part. +You are not rich folks, it seems, but you are not common people, +and that I could have sworn. What I call a shame is, that +some people I have known are not in your place and you in +theirs,—you with their estates and borough interest, they +in this dingle with these carts and animals; but there is no help +for these things. Were I the great Mumbo Jumbo above, I +would endeavour to manage matters better; but being a simple +postillion, glad to earn three shillings a day, I can’t be +expected to do much.”</p> +<p>“Who is Mumbo Jumbo?” said I.</p> +<p>“Ah!” said the postillion, “I see there may +be a thing or two I know better than yourself. Mumbo Jumbo +is a god of the black coast, to which people go for ivory and +gold.”</p> +<p>“Were you ever there?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“No,” said the postillion, “but I heard +plenty of Mumbo Jumbo when I was a boy.”</p> +<p>“I wish you would tell us something about +yourself. I believe that your own real history would prove +quite as entertaining, if not more, than that which you imagined +about us.”</p> +<p>“I am rather tired,” said the postillion, +“and my leg is rather troublesome. I should be glad +to try to sleep upon one of your blankets. However, as you +wish to hear something about me, I shall be happy to oblige you; +but your fire is rather low, and this place is chilly.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I arose, and put fresh charcoal on the pan; then +taking it outside the tent, with a kind of fan which I had +fashioned, I fanned the coals into a red glow, and continued +doing so until the greater part of the noxious gas, which the +coals are in the habit of exhaling, was <!-- page 386--><a +name="page386"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +386</span>exhausted. I then brought it into the tent and +reseated myself, scattering over the coals a small portion of +sugar. “No bad smell,” said the postillion; +“but upon the whole I think I like the smell of tobacco +better; and with your permission I will once more light my +pipe.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he relighted his pipe; and, after taking two or +three whiffs, began in the following manner.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCVIII.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">An Exordium—Fine Ships—High +Barbary Captains—Free-Born Englishmen—Monstrous +Figure—Swash-buckler—The Grand Coaches—The +Footmen—A Travelling Expedition—Black +Jack—Nelson’s Cannon—Pharaoh’s +Butler—A Diligence—Two Passengers—Sharking +Priest—Virgilio—Lessons in Italian—Two +Opinions—Holy Mary—Priestly +Confederates—Methodist Chapel—Veturini—Some of +Our Party—Like a Sepulchre—All for Themselves.</p> +<p>“I am a poor postillion, as you see; yet, as I have seen +a thing or two, and heard a thing or two of what is going on in +the world, perhaps what I have to tell you connected with myself +may not prove altogether uninteresting. Now, my friends, +this manner of opening a story is what the man who taught +rhetoric would call a hex—hex—”</p> +<p>“Exordium,” said I.</p> +<p>“Just so,” said the postillion; “I treated +you to a per—per—peroration some time ago, so that I +have contrived to put the cart before the horse, as the Irish +orators frequently do in the honourable House, in whose speeches, +especially those who have taken lessons in rhetoric, the +per—per—what’s the word?—frequently goes +before the exordium.</p> +<p>“I was born in the neighbouring county; my father was +land-steward to a squire of about a thousand a year. My +father had two sons, of whom I am the youngest by some +years. My elder brother was of a spirited roving +disposition, and for fear that he should turn out what is +generally termed ungain, my father determined to send him to sea: +so once upon a time, when my brother was about fifteen, he took +him to the great sea-port of the county, where he apprenticed him +to a captain of one of the ships which trade to the high Barbary +coast. Fine ships they were, I have heard say, more than +thirty in number, and all belonging to a wonderful great +gentleman, who had once been a parish boy, but had contrived to +make an immense fortune by trading to that coast for gold-dust, +ivory, and other strange articles; and for doing so, I mean for +making a fortune, had been made a knight baronet. So my +brother went to the high Barbary shore, on board the fine vessel, +and in about a year returned and came to visit us; he repeated +the voyage several times, always coming to see his parents on his +return. Strange stories he used to tell us of what he had +been witness to on the high Barbary coast, both off shore and +on. He said that the fine vessel in which he sailed was +nothing better than a painted hell; that <!-- page 387--><a +name="page387"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 387</span>the captain +was a veritable fiend, whose grand delight was in tormenting his +men, especially when they were sick, as they frequently were, +there being always fever on the high Barbary coast; and that +though the captain was occasionally sick himself, his being so +made no difference, or rather it did make a difference, though +for the worse, he being when sick always more inveterate and +malignant than at other times. He said that once, when he +himself was sick, his captain had pitched his face all over, +which exploit was much applauded by the other high Barbary +captains; all of whom, from what my brother said, appeared to be +of much the same disposition as my brother’s captain, +taking wonderful delight in tormenting the crews, and doing all +manner of terrible things. My brother frequently said that +nothing whatever prevented him from running away from his ship, +and never returning, but the hope he entertained of one day being +captain himself, and able to torment people in his turn, which he +solemnly vowed he would do, as a kind of compensation for what he +himself had undergone. And if things were going on in a +strange way off the high Barbary shore amongst those who came +there to trade, they were going on in a way yet stranger with the +people who lived upon it.</p> +<p>“Oh the strange ways of the black men who lived on that +shore, of which my brother used to tell us at home; selling their +sons, daughters, and servants for slaves, and the prisoners taken +in battle, to the Spanish captains, to be carried to Havannah, +and when there, sold at a profit, the idea of which, my brother +said, went to the hearts of our own captains, who used to say +what a hard thing it was that free-born Englishmen could not have +a hand in the traffic, seeing that it was forbidden by the laws +of their country; talking fondly of the good old times when their +forefathers used to carry slaves to Jamaica and Barbadoes, +realizing immense profit, besides the pleasure of hearing their +shrieks on the voyage; and then the superstitions of the blacks, +which my brother used to talk of; their sharks’ teeth, +their wisps of fowls’ feathers, their half-baked pots, full +of burnt bones, of which they used to make what they called +fetish; and bow down to, and ask favours of, and then, perhaps, +abuse and strike, provided the senseless rubbish did not give +them what they asked for; and then, above all, Mumbo Jumbo, the +grand fetish master, who lived somewhere in the woods, and who +used to come out every now and then with his fetish companions; a +monstrous figure, all wound round with leaves and branches, so as +to be quite indistinguishable, and, seating himself on the high +seat in the villages, receive homage from the people, and also +gifts and offerings, the most valuable of which were pretty +damsels, and then betake himself back again, with his followers, +into the woods. Oh the tales that my brother used to tell +us of the high Barbary shore! Poor fellow! what became of +him I can’t say; the last time he came back from a voyage, +he told us that his captain, as soon as he had brought his vessel +to port, and settled with his owner, drowned himself off the +quay, in a fit of the horrors, which it seems high Barbary +captains, after a certain number of years, are much subject +to. After staying about a month with us, he went to sea +again, with another captain; <!-- page 388--><a +name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 388</span>and, bad as +the old one had been, it appears the new one was worse, for, +unable to bear his treatment, my brother left his ship off the +high Barbary shore, and ran away up the country. Some of +his comrades, whom we afterwards saw, said that there were +various reports about him on the shore; one that he had taken on +with Mumbo Jumbo, and was serving him in his house in the woods, +in the capacity of swash-buckler, or life-guardsman; another, +that he was gone in quest of a mighty city in the heart of the +negro country; another, that in swimming a stream he had been +devoured by an alligator. Now, these two last reports were +bad enough; the idea of their flesh and blood being bit asunder +by a ravenous fish, was sad enough to my poor parents; and not +very comfortable was the thought of his sweltering over the hot +sands in quest of the negro city; but the idea of their son, +their eldest child, serving Mumbo Jumbo as swash-buckler, was +worst of all, and caused my poor parents to shed many a scalding +tear.</p> +<p>“I stayed at home with my parents until I was about +eighteen, assisting my father in various ways. I then went +to live at the Squire’s, partly as groom, partly as +footman. After living in the country some time, I attended +the family in a trip of six weeks, which they made to +London. Whilst there, happening to have some words with an +old ill-tempered coachman, who had been for a great many years in +the family, my master advised me to leave, offering to recommend +me to a family of his acquaintance who were in need of a +footman. I was glad to accept his offer, and in a few days +went to my new place. My new master was one of the great +gentry, a baronet in Parliament, and possessed of an estate of +about twenty thousand a year; his family consisted of his lady, a +son, a fine young man, just coming of age, and two very sweet +amiable daughters. I liked this place much better than my +first, there was so much more pleasant noise and bustle—so +much more grand company—and so many more opportunities of +improving myself. Oh, how I liked to see the grand coaches +drive up to the door, with the grand company; and though, amidst +that company, there were some who did not look very grand, there +were others, and not a few, who did. Some of the ladies +quite captivated me; there was the Marchioness of --- in +particular. This young lady puts me much in mind of her; it +is true, the Marchioness, as I saw her then, was about fifteen +years older than this young gentlewoman is now, and not so tall +by some inches, but she had the very same hair, and much the same +neck and shoulders—no offence, I hope? And then some +of the young gentlemen, with their cool, haughty, +care-for-nothing looks, struck me as being very fine +fellows. There was one in particular, whom I frequently +used to stare at, not altogether unlike some one I have seen +hereabouts—he had a slight cast in his eye, and—but I +won’t enter into every particular. And then the +footmen! Oh, how those footmen helped to improve me with +their conversation. Many of them could converse much more +glibly than their masters, and appeared to have much better +taste. At any rate, they seldom approved of what their +masters did. I remember being once with one in the gallery +of the play-house, when something of Shakspeare’s was being +performed; some one in <!-- page 389--><a +name="page389"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 389</span>the first +tier of boxes was applauding very loudly. +‘That’s my fool of a governor,’ said he; +‘he is weak enough to like Shakspeare—I +don’t—he’s so confoundedly low, but he +won’t last long—going down. Shakspeare +culminated—I think that was the word—culminated some +time ago.’</p> +<p>“And then the professor of elocution, of whom my +governors used to take lessons, and of which lessons I had my +share, by listening behind the door; but for that professor of +elocution I should not be able to round my periods—an +expression of his—in the manner I do.</p> +<p>“After I had been three years at this place my mistress +died. Her death, however, made no great alteration in my +way of living, the family spending their winters in London, and +their summers at their old seat in S--- as before. At last, +the young ladies, who had not yet got husbands, which was strange +enough, seeing, as I told you before, they were very amiable, +proposed to our governor a travelling expedition abroad. +The old baronet consented, though young master was much against +it, saying, they would all be much better at home. As the +girls persisted, however, he at last withdrew his opposition, and +even promised to follow them, as soon as his parliamentary duties +would permit, for he was just got into Parliament; and, like most +other young members, thought that nothing could be done in the +House without him. So the old gentleman and the two young +ladies set off, taking me with them, and a couple of +ladies’ maids to wait upon them. First of all, we +went to Paris, where we continued three months, the old baronet +and the ladies going to see the various sights of the city and +the neighbourhood, and I attending them. They soon got +tired of sight-seeing, and of Paris too; and so did I. +However, they still continued there, in order, I believe, that +the young ladies might lay in a store of French finery. I +should have passed my idle time at Paris, of which I had plenty +after the sight-seeing was over, very unpleasantly, but for Black +Jack. Eh! did you never hear of Black Jack? Ah! if +you had ever been an English servant in Paris, you would have +known Black Jack; not an English gentleman’s servant who +has been at Paris for this last ten years but knows Black Jack +and his ordinary. A strange fellow he was—of what +country no one could exactly say—for as for judging from +speech, that was impossible, Jack speaking all languages equally +ill. Some said he came direct from Satan’s kitchen, +and that when he gives up keeping ordinary, he will return there +again, though the generally-received opinion at Paris was, that +he was at one time butler to King Pharaoh; and that, after lying +asleep for four thousand years in a place called the Kattycombs, +he was awaked by the sound of Nelson’s cannon, at the +Battle of the Nile; and going to the shore, took on with the +admiral, and became, in course of time, ship steward; and that +after Nelson’s death, he was captured by the French, on +board one of whose vessels he served in a somewhat similar +capacity till the peace, when he came to Paris, and set up an +ordinary for servants, sticking the name of Katcomb over the +door, in allusion to the place where he had his long sleep. +But, whatever his origin was, Jack kept his own council, and +appeared to care nothing for what people said <!-- page 390--><a +name="page390"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 390</span>about him, +or called him. Yes, I forgot, there was one name he would +not be called, and that was ‘Portuguese.’ I +once saw Black Jack knock down a coachman, six foot high, who +called him black-faced Portuguese. ‘Any name but dat, +you shab,’ said Black Jack, who was a little round fellow, +of about five feet two; ‘I would not stand to be called +Portuguese by Nelson himself.’ Jack was rather fond +of talking about Nelson, and hearing people talk about him, so +that it is not improbable that he may have sailed with him; and +with respect to his having been King Pharaoh’s butler, all +I have to say is, I am not disposed to give the downright lie to +the report. Jack was always ready to do a kind turn to a +poor servant out of place, and has often been known to assist +such as were in prison, which charitable disposition he perhaps +acquired from having lost a good place himself, having seen the +inside of a prison, and known the want of a meal’s +victuals, all which trials King Pharaoh’s butler underwent, +so he may have been that butler; at any rate, I have known +positive conclusions come to, on no better premises, if indeed as +good. As for the story of his coming direct from +Satan’s kitchen, I place no confidence in it at all, as +Black Jack had nothing of Satan about him, but blackness, on +which account he was called Black Jack. Nor am I disposed +to give credit to a report that his hatred of the Portuguese +arose from some ill treatment which he had once experienced when +on shore, at Lisbon, from certain gentlewomen of the place, but +rather conclude that it arose from an opinion he entertained that +the Portuguese never paid their debts, one of the ambassadors of +that nation, whose house he had served, having left Paris several +thousand francs in his debt. This is all that I have to say +about Black Jack, without whose funny jokes, and good ordinary, I +should have passed my time in Paris in a very disconsolate +manner.</p> +<p>“After we had been at Paris between two and three +months, we left it in the direction of Italy, which country the +family had a great desire to see. After travelling a great +many days in a thing which, though called a diligence, did not +exhibit much diligence, we came to a great big town, seated +around a nasty salt-water basin, connected by a narrow passage +with the sea. Here we were to embark; and so we did as soon +as possible, glad enough to get away; at least I was, and so I +make no doubt were the rest; for such a place for bad smells I +never was in. It seems all the drains and sewers of the +place run into that same salt basin, voiding into it all their +impurities, which, not being able to escape into the sea in any +considerable quantity, owing to the narrowness of the entrance, +there accumulate, filling the whole atmosphere with these same +outrageous scents, on which account the town is a famous +lodging-house of the plague. The ship in which we embarked +was bound for a place in Italy called Naples, where we were to +stay some time. The voyage was rather a lazy one, the ship +not being moved by steam; for at the time of which I am speaking, +some five years ago, steamships were not so plentiful as +now. There were only two passengers in the grand cabin, +where my governor and his daughters were, an Italian lady and a +priest. Of the lady I have not much to say; she appeared to +be a quiet respectable person enough, <!-- page 391--><a +name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 391</span>and after +our arrival at Naples, I neither saw nor heard anything more of +her; but of the priest I shall have a good deal to say in the +sequel, (that, by-the-bye, is a word I learned from the professor +of rhetoric,) and it would have been well for our family had they +never met him.</p> +<p>“On the third day of the voyage the priest came to me, +who was rather unwell with sea-sickness, which he, of course, +felt nothing of, that kind of people being never affected like +others. He was a finish-looking man of about forty-five, +but had something strange in his eyes, which I have since thought +denoted that all was not right in a certain place called the +heart. After a few words of condolence, in a broken kind of +English, he asked me various questions about our family; and I, +won by his seeming kindness, told him all I knew about them, of +which communicativeness I afterwards very much repented. As +soon as he had got out of me all he desired, he left me; and I +observed that during the rest of the voyage he was wonderfully +attentive to our governor, and yet more to the young +ladies. Both, however, kept him rather at a distance; the +young ladies were reserved, and once or twice I heard our +governor cursing him between his teeth for a sharking +priest. The priest, however, was not disconcerted, and +continued his attentions, which in a little time produced an +effect, so that, by the time we landed at Naples, our great folks +had conceived a kind of liking for the man, and when they took +their leave invited him to visit them, which he promised to +do. We hired a grand house or palace at Naples; it belonged +to a poor kind of prince, who was glad enough to let it to our +governor, and also his servants and carriages; and glad enough +were the poor servants, for they got from us what they never got +from the prince—plenty of meat and money—and glad +enough, I make no doubt, were the horses for the provender we +gave them; and I daresay the coaches were not sorry to be cleaned +and furbished up. Well, we went out and came in; going to +see the sights, and returning. Amongst other things we saw +was the burning mountain, and the tomb of a certain sorcerer +called Virgilio, who made witch rhymes, by which he could raise +the dead. Plenty of people came to see us, both English and +Italians, and amongst the rest the priest. He did not come +amongst the first, but allowed us to settle and become a little +quiet before he showed himself; and after a day or two he paid us +another visit, then another, till at last his visits were +daily.</p> +<p>“I did not like that Jack Priest; so I kept my eye upon +all his motions. Lord! how that Jack Priest did curry +favour with our governor and the two young ladies; and he +curried, and curried, till he had got himself into favour with +the governor, and more especially with the two young ladies, of +whom their father was doatingly fond. At last the ladies +took lessons in Italian of the priest, a language in which he was +said to be a grand proficient, and of which they had hitherto +known but very little; and from that time his influence over +them, and consequently over the old governor, increased till the +tables were turned, and he no longer curried favour with them, +but they with him; yes, as true as my leg aches, the young ladies +curried, and the old governor curried favour with that same +Priest; when he was with them, they <!-- page 392--><a +name="page392"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 392</span>seemed +almost to hang on his lips, that is, the young ladies; and as for +the old governor, he never contradicted him, and when the fellow +was absent, which, by-the-bye, was not often, it was +‘Father so-and-so said this, and Father so-and-so said +that; Father so-and-so thinks we should do so-and-so, or that we +should not do so-and-so.’ I at first thought that he +must have given them something, some philtre or the like; but one +of the English maid-servants, who had a kind of respect for me, +and who saw much more behind the scenes than I did, informed me +that he was continually instilling strange notions into their +heads, striving, by every possible method, to make them despise +the religion of their own land, and take up that of the foreign +country in which they were. And sure enough, in a little +time, the girls had altogether left off going to an English +chapel, and were continually visiting places of Italian +worship. The old governor, it is true, still went to his +church, but he appeared to be hesitating between two opinions; +and once when he was at dinner, he said to two or three English +friends, that since he had become better acquainted with it, he +had conceived a much more favourable opinion of the Catholic +religion than he had previously entertained. In a word, the +priest ruled the house, and everything was done according to his +will and pleasure; by degrees he persuaded the young ladies to +drop their English acquaintances, whose place he supplied with +Italians, chiefly females. My poor old governor would not +have had a person to speak to, for he never could learn the +language, but for two or three Englishmen who used to come +occasionally and take a bottle with him, in a summer-house, whose +company he could not be persuaded to resign, notwithstanding the +entreaties of his daughters, instigated by the priest, whose +grand endeavour seemed to be to render the minds of all three +foolish, for his own ends. And if he was busy above stairs +with the governor, there was another busy below with us poor +English servants, a kind of subordinate priest, a low Italian; as +he could speak no language but his own, he was continually +jabbering to us in that, and by hearing him the maids and myself +contrived to pick up a good deal of the language, so that we +understood most that was said, and could speak it very fairly; +and the themes of his jabber were the beauty and virtues of one +whom he called Holy Mary, and the power and grandeur of one whom +he called the Holy Father; and he told us that we should shortly +have an opportunity of seeing the Holy Father, who could do +anything he liked with Holy Mary: in the mean time we had plenty +of opportunities of seeing Holy Mary, for in every church, +chapel, and convent to which we were taken, there was an image of +Holy Mary, who, if the images were dressed at all in her fashion, +must have been very fond of short petticoats and tinsel, and who, +if those said figures at all resembled her in face, could +scarcely have been half as handsome as either of my two +fellow-servants, not to speak of the young ladies.</p> +<p>“Now it happened that one of the female servants was +much taken with what she saw and heard, and gave herself up +entirely to the will of the subordinate, who had quite as much +dominion over her as his superior had over the ladies; the other +maid, however, the one who <!-- page 393--><a +name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 393</span>had a kind +of respect for me, was not so easily besotted; she used to laugh +at what she saw, and at what the fellow told her, and from her I +learnt that amongst other things intended by these priestly +confederates was robbery; she said that the poor old governor had +already been persuaded by his daughters to put more than a +thousand pounds into the superior priest’s hands for +purposes of charity and religion, as was said, and that the +subordinate one had already inveigled her fellow-servant out of +every penny which she had saved from her wages, and had +endeavoured likewise to obtain what money she herself had, but in +vain. With respect to myself, the fellow shortly after made +an attempt towards obtaining a hundred crowns, of which, by some +means, he knew me to be in possession, telling me what a +meritorious thing it was to give one’s superfluities for +the purposes of religion. ‘That is true,’ said +I, ‘and if, after my return to my native country, I find I +have anything which I don’t want myself, I will employ it +in helping to build a Methodist chapel.’</p> +<p>“By the time that the three months were expired for +which we had hired the palace of the needy Prince, the old +governor began to talk of returning to England, at least of +leaving Italy. I believe he had become frightened at the +calls which were continually being made upon him for money; for +after all, you know, if there is a sensitive part of a +man’s wearing apparel it is his breeches pocket; but the +young ladies could not think of leaving dear Italy and the dear +priest; and then they had seen nothing of the country, they had +only seen Naples; before leaving dear Italia they must see more +of the country and the cities; above all, they must see a place +which they called the Eternal City, or by some similar +nonsensical name; and they persisted so that the poor governor +permitted them, as usual, to have their way; and it was decided +what route they should take, that is, the priest was kind enough +to decide for them; and was also kind enough to promise to go +with them part of the route, as far as a place where there was a +wonderful figure of Holy Mary, which the priest said it was +highly necessary for them to see before visiting the Eternal +City; so we left Naples in hired carriages, driven by fellows +they call veturini, cheating drunken dogs, I remember they +were. Besides our own family, there was the priest and his +subordinate, and a couple of hired lackeys. We were several +days upon the journey, travelling through a very wild country, +which the ladies pretended to be delighted with, and which the +governor cursed on account of the badness of the roads; and when +we came to any particularly wild spot we used to stop, in order +to enjoy the scenery, as the ladies said; and then we would +spread a horse-cloth on the ground, and eat bread and cheese, and +drink wine of the country. And some of the holes and corner +in which we bivouacked, as the ladies called it, were something +like this place where we are now, so that when I came down here +it put me in mind of them. At last we arrived at the place +where was the holy image.</p> +<p>“We went to the house or chapel in which the holy image +was kept, a frightful ugly black figure of Holy Mary, dressed in +her usual way; and after we had stared at the figure, and some of +our party had bowed <!-- page 394--><a name="page394"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 394</span>down to it, we were shown a great +many things which were called holy relics, which consisted of +thumb-nails and fore-nails and toe-nails, and hair and teeth, and +a feather or two, a mighty thigh-bone, but whether of a man or a +camel, I can’t say; all of which things I was told, if +properly touched and handled, had mighty power to cure all kinds +of disorders. And as we went from the holy house, we saw a +man in a state of great excitement, he was foaming at the mouth, +and cursing the holy image and all its household, because, after +he had worshipped it and made offerings to it, and besought it to +assist him in a game of chance which he was about to play, it had +left him in the lurch, allowing him to lose all his money; and +when I thought of all the rubbish I had seen, and the purposes +which it was applied to, in conjunction with the rage of the +losing gamester at the deaf and dumb image, I could not help +comparing the whole with what my poor brother used to tell me of +the superstitious practices of the blacks on the high Barbary +shore, and their occasional rage and fury at the things they +worshipped; and I said to myself, if all this here doesn’t +smell of fetish may I smell fetid.</p> +<p>“At this place the priest left us, returning to Naples +with his subordinate, on some particular business I +suppose. It was, however, agreed that he should visit us at +the Holy City. We did not go direct to the Holy City, but +bent our course to two or three other cities which the family +were desirous of seeing, but as nothing occurred to us in these +places of any particular interest, I shall take the liberty of +passing them by in silence. At length we arrived at the +Eternal City; an immense city it was, looking as if it had stood +for a long time, and would stand for a long time still; compared +with it, London would look like a mere assemblage of bee-skeps; +however, give me the bee-skeps with their merry hum and bustle, +and life and honey, rather than that huge town, which looked like +a sepulchre, where there was no life, no busy hum, no bees, but a +scanty sallow population, intermixed with black priests, white +priests, grey priests; and though I don’t say there was no +honey in the place, for I believe there was, I am ready to take +my Bible oath that it was not made there, and that the priests +kept it all for themselves.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XCIX.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">A Cloister—Half English—New +Acquaintance—Mixed Liquors—Turning +Papist—Purposes of Charity—Foreign +Religion—Melancholy—Elbowing and +Pushing—Outlandish Sight—The Figure—I +Don’t Care for You—Merry Andrews—One +Good—Religion of My Country—Fellow of Spirit—A +Dispute—The Next Morning—Female Doll—Proper +Dignity—Fetish Country.</p> +<p>“The day after our arrival,” continued the +postillion, “I was sent, under the guidance of a lackey of +the place, with a letter, which the priest, when he left, had +given us for a friend of his in the Eternal City. We <!-- +page 395--><a name="page395"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +395</span>went to a large house, and on ringing, were admitted by +a porter into a cloister, where I saw some ill-looking, shabby +young fellows walking about, who spoke English to one +another. To one of these the porter delivered the letter, +and the young fellow going away, presently returned and told me +to follow him; he led me into a large room, where, behind a +table, on which were various papers, and a thing, which they call +in that country a crucifix, sat a man in a kind of priestly +dress. The lad having opened the door for me, shut it +behind me, and went away. The man behind the table was so +engaged in reading the letter which I had brought, that at first +he took no notice of me; he had red hair, a kind of half-English +countenance, and was seemingly about five-and-thirty. After +a little time he laid the letter down, appeared to consider a +moment, and then opened his mouth with a strange laugh, not a +loud laugh, for I heard nothing but a kind of hissing deep down +the throat; all of a sudden, however, perceiving me, he gave a +slight start, but instantly recovering himself, he inquired in +English concerning the health of the family, and where we lived; +on my delivering him a card, he bade me inform my master and the +ladies that in the course of the day he would do himself the +honour of waiting upon them. He then arose and opened the +door for me to depart; the man was perfectly civil and courteous, +but I did not like that strange laugh of his, after having read +the letter. He was as good as his word, and that same day +paid us a visit. It was now arranged that we should pass +the winter in Rome, to my great annoyance, for I wished to return +to my native land, being heartily tired of everything connected +with Italy. I was not, however, without hope that our young +master would shortly arrive, when I trusted that matters, as far +as the family were concerned, would be put on a better +footing. In a few days our new acquaintance, who, it seems, +was a mongrel Englishman, had procured a house for our +accommodation; it was large enough, but not near so pleasant as +that we had at Naples, which was light and airy, with a large +garden. This was a dark gloomy structure in a narrow +street, with a frowning church beside it; it was not far from the +place where our new friend lived, and its being so was probably +the reason why he selected it. It was furnished partly with +articles which we bought, and partly with those which we +hired. We lived something in the same way as at Naples; but +though I did not much like Naples, I yet liked it better than +this place, which was so gloomy. Our new acquaintance made +himself as agreeable as he could, conducting the ladies to +churches and convents, and frequently passing the afternoon +drinking with the governor, who was fond of a glass of brandy and +water and a cigar, as the new acquaintance also was—no, I +remember, he was fond of gin and water, and did not smoke. +I don’t think he had so much influence over the young +ladies as the other priest, which was, perhaps, owing to his not +being so good looking; but I am sure he had more influence with +the governor, owing, doubtless, to his bearing him company in +drinking mixed liquors, which the other priest did not do.</p> +<p>“He was a strange fellow, that same new acquaintance of +ours, and unlike all the priests I saw in that country, and I saw +plenty of various <!-- page 396--><a name="page396"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 396</span>nations,—they were always upon +their guard, and had their features and voice modulated; but this +man was subject to fits of absence, during which he would +frequently mutter to himself; then, though he was perfectly civil +to everybody, as far as words went, I observed that he +entertained a thorough contempt for most people, especially for +those whom he was making dupes. I have observed him whilst +drinking with our governor, when the old man’s head was +turned, look at him with an air which seemed to say, ‘What +a thundering old fool you are!’ and at our young ladies, +when their backs were turned, with a glance which said distinctly +enough, ‘You precious pair of ninnyhammers;’ and then +his laugh—he had two kinds of laughs—one which you +could hear, and another which you could only see. I have +seen him laugh at our governor and the young ladies, when their +heads were turned away, but I heard no sound. My mother had +a sandy cat, which sometimes used to open its mouth wide with a +mew which nobody could hear, and the silent laugh of that +red-haired priest used to put me wonderfully in mind of the +silent mew of my mother’s sandy-red cat. And then the +other laugh, which you could hear; what a strange laugh that was, +never loud, yes, I have heard it tolerably loud. He once +passed near me, after having taken leave of a silly English +fellow—a limping parson of the name of Platitude, who they +said was thinking of turning Papist, and was much in his company; +I was standing behind the pillar of a piazza, and as he passed he +was laughing heartily. O he was a strange fellow, that same +red-haired acquaintance of ours!</p> +<p>“After we had been at Rome about six weeks, our old +friend the priest of Naples arrived, but without his subordinate, +for whose services he now perhaps thought that he had no +occasion. I believe he found matters in our family wearing +almost as favourable an aspect as he could desire: with what he +had previously taught them and shown them at Naples and +elsewhere, and with what the red-haired confederate had taught +them and shown them at Rome, the poor young ladies had become +quite handmaids of superstition, so that they, especially the +youngest, were prepared to bow down to anything, and kiss +anything, however vile and ugly, provided a priest commanded +them; and as for the old governor, what with the influence which +his daughters exerted, and what with the ascendancy which the +red-haired man had obtained over him, he dared not say his purse, +far less his soul, was his own. Only think of an Englishman +not being master of his own purse! My acquaintance, the +lady’s maid, assured me, that to her certain knowledge, he +had disbursed to the red-haired man, for purposes of charity, as +it was said, at least one thousand pounds during the five weeks +we had been at Rome. She also told me that things would +shortly be brought to a conclusion, and so indeed they were, +though in a different manner from what she and I and some other +people imagined; that there was to be a grand festival, and a +mass, at which we were to be present, after which the family were +to be presented to the Holy Father, for so those two priestly +sharks had managed it; and then—she said she was certain +that the two ladies, and perhaps the old governor, would forsake +the religion of their native land, taking up <!-- page 397--><a +name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 397</span>with that +of these foreign regions, for so my fellow-servant expressed it, +and that perhaps attempts might be made to induce us poor English +servants to take up with the foreign religion, that is herself +and me, for as for our fellow-servant, the other maid, she wanted +no inducing, being disposed body and soul to go over to it. +Whereupon, I swore with an oath that nothing should induce me to +take up with the foreign religion; and the poor maid, my +fellow-servant, bursting into tears, said that for her part she +would sooner die than have anything to do with it; thereupon we +shook hands and agreed to stand by and countenance one another: +and moreover, provided our governors were fools enough to go over +to the religion of these here foreigners, we would not wait to be +asked to do the like, but leave them at once, and make the best +of our way home, even if we were forced to beg on the road.</p> +<p>“At last the day of the grand festival came, and we were +all to go to the big church to hear the mass. Now it +happened that for some time past I had been much afflicted with +melancholy, especially when I got up of a morning, produced by +the strange manner in which I saw things going on in our family; +and to dispel it in some degree, I had been in the habit of +taking a dram before breakfast. On the morning in question, +feeling particularly low-spirited when I thought of the foolish +step our governor would probably take before evening, I took two +drams before breakfast, and after breakfast, feeling my +melancholy still continuing, I took another, which produced a +slight effect upon my head, though I am convinced nobody observed +it.</p> +<p>“Away we drove to the big church; it was a dark, misty +day, I remember, and very cold, so that if anybody had noticed my +being slightly in liquor, I could have excused myself by saying +that I had merely taken a glass to fortify my constitution +against the weather; and of one thing I am certain, which is, +that such an excuse would have stood me in stead with our +governor, who looked, I thought, as if he had taken one too; but +I may be mistaken, and why should I notice him, seeing that he +took no notice of me: so away we drove to the big church, to +which all the population of the place appeared to be moving.</p> +<p>“On arriving there we dismounted, and the two priests +who were with us led the family in, whilst I followed at a little +distance, but quickly lost them amidst the throng of +people. I made my way, however, though in what direction I +knew not, except it was one in which everybody seemed striving, +and by dint of elbowing and pushing, I at last got to a place +which looked like the aisle of a cathedral, where the people +stood in two rows, a space between being kept open by certain +strangely-dressed men who moved up and down with rods in their +hands; all were looking to the upper end of this place or aisle; +and at the upper end, separated from the people by palings like +those of an altar, sat in magnificent-looking stalls, on the +right and the left, various wonderful-looking individuals in +scarlet dresses. At the farther end was what appeared to be +an altar, on the left hand was a pulpit, and on the right a stall +higher than any of the rest, where was a figure whom I could +scarcely see.</p> +<p><!-- page 398--><a name="page398"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +398</span>“I can’t pretend to describe what I saw +exactly, for my head, which was at first rather flurried, had +become more so from the efforts which I had made to get through +the crowd; also from certain singing which proceeded from I know +not where, and above all from the bursts of an organ which were +occasionally so loud that I thought the roof, which was painted +with wondrous colours, would come toppling down on those +below. So there stood I—a poor English +servant—in that outlandish place, in the midst of that +foreign crowd, looking at that outlandish sight—hearing +those outlandish sounds, and occasionally glancing at our party, +which, by this time, I distinguished at the opposite side to +where I stood, but much nearer the place where the red figures +sat. Yes, there stood our poor governor, and the sweet +young ladies, and I thought they never looked so handsome before, +and close by them were the sharking priests, and not far from +them was that idiotical parson Platitude, winking and grinning, +and occasionally lifting up his hands as if in ecstasy at what he +saw and heard, so that he drew upon himself the notice of the +congregation.</p> +<p>“And now an individual mounted the pulpit, and began to +preach in a language which I did not understand, but which I +believe to be Latin, addressing himself seemingly to the figure +in the stall; and when he had ceased, there was more singing, +more organ playing, and then two men in robes brought forth two +things which they held up; and then the people bowed their heads, +and our poor governor bowed his head, and the sweet young ladies +bowed their heads, and the sharking priests, whilst the idiotical +parson Platitude tried to fling himself down; and then there were +various evolutions withinside the pale, and the scarlet figures +got up and sat down, and this kind of thing continued for some +time. At length the figure which I had seen in the +principal stall came forth and advanced towards the people; an +awful figure he was, a huge old man with a sugar-loaf hat, with a +sulphur-coloured dress, and holding a crook in his hand like that +of a shepherd; and as he advanced the people fell on their knees, +our poor old governor amongst them; the sweet young ladies, the +sharking priests, the idiotical parson Platitude, all fell on +their knees, and somebody or other tried to pull me on my knees; +but by this time I had become outrageous, all that my poor +brother used to tell me of the superstitions of the high Barbary +shore rushed into my mind, and I thought they were acting them +over here; above all, the idea that the sweet young ladies, to +say nothing of my poor old governor, were, after the conclusion +of all this mummery, going to deliver themselves up body and soul +into the power of that horrid-looking old man, maddened me, and, +rushing forward into the open space, I confronted the +horrible-looking old figure with the sugar-loaf hat, the +sulphur-coloured garments, and shepherd’s crook, and +shaking my fist at his nose, I bellowed out in English—</p> +<p>“‘I don’t care for you, old Mumbo Jumbo, +though you have fetish!’</p> +<p>“I can scarcely tell you what occurred for some +time. I have a dim recollection that hands were laid upon +me, and that I struck out violently left and right. On +coming to myself, I was seated on a stone <!-- page 399--><a +name="page399"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 399</span>bench in a +large room, something like a guard-room, in the custody of +certain fellows dressed like Merry Andrews; they were bluff, +good-looking, wholesome fellows, very different from the sallow +Italians; they were looking at me attentively, and occasionally +talking to each other in a language which sounded very like the +cracking of walnuts in the mouth, very different from cooing +Italian. At last one of them asked me in Italian what had +ailed me, to which I replied, in an incoherent manner, something +about Mumbo Jumbo; whereupon the fellow, one of the bluffest of +the lot, a jovial rosy-faced rascal, lifted up his right hand, +placing it in such a manner that the lips were between the +forefinger and thumb, then lifting up his right foot and drawing +back his head, he sucked in his breath with a hissing sound, as +if to imitate one drinking a hearty draught, and then slapped me +on the shoulder, saying something which sounded like goot wine, +goot companion, whereupon they all laughed, exclaiming, ya, ya, +goot companion. And now hurried into the room our poor old +governor, with the red-haired priest; the first asked what could +have induced me to behave in such a manner in such a place, to +which I replied that I was not going to bow down to Mumbo Jumbo, +whatever other people might do. Whereupon my master said he +believed I was mad, and the priest said he believed I was drunk; +to which I answered that I was neither so mad nor drunk but I +could distinguish how the wind lay. Whereupon they left me, +and in a little time I was told by the bluff-looking Merry +Andrews I was at liberty to depart. I believe the priest, +in order to please my governor, interceded for me in high +quarters.</p> +<p>“But one good resulted from this affair; there was no +presentation of our family to the Holy Father, for old Mumbo was +so frightened by my outrageous looks that he was laid up for a +week, as I was afterwards informed.</p> +<p>“I went home, and had scarcely been there half an hour +when I was sent for by the governor, who again referred to the +scene in church, said that he could not tolerate such scandalous +behaviour, and that unless I promised to be more circumspect in +future, he should be compelled to discharge me. I said that +if he was scandalized at my behaviour in the church, I was more +scandalized at all I saw going on in the family, which was +governed by two rascally priests, who, not content with +plundering him, appeared bent on hurrying the souls of us all to +destruction; and that with respect to discharging me, he could do +so that moment, as I wished to go. I believe his own reason +told him that I was right, for he made no direct answer; but, +after looking on the ground for some time, he told me to leave +him. As he did not tell me to leave the house, I went to my +room, intending to lie down for an hour or two; but scarcely was +I there when the door opened, and in came the red-haired +priest. He showed himself, as he always did, perfectly +civil, asked me how I was, took a chair and sat down. After +a hem or two he entered into a long conversation on the +excellence of what he called the Catholic religion; told me that +he hoped I would not set myself against the light, and likewise +against my interest; for that the family were about to embrace +the Catholic religion, and <!-- page 400--><a +name="page400"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 400</span>would make +it worth my while to follow their example. I told him that +the family might do what they pleased, but that I would never +forsake the religion of my country for any consideration +whatever; that I was nothing but a poor servant, but I was not to +be bought by base gold. ‘I admire your honourable +feelings,’ said he; ‘you shall have no gold; and as I +see you are a fellow of spirit, and do not like being a servant, +for which I commend you, I can promise you something +better. I have a good deal of influence in this place; and +if you will not set your face against the light, but embrace the +Catholic religion, I will undertake to make your fortune. +You remember those fine fellows to-day who took you into custody, +they are the guards of his Holiness. I have no doubt that I +have interest enough to procure your enrolment amongst +them.’ ‘What,’ said I, ‘become +swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here! May +I’—and here I swore—‘if I do. The +mere possibility of one of their children being swash-buckler to +Mumbo Jumbo on the high Barbary shore has always been a source of +heart-breaking to my poor parents. What, then, would they +not undergo if they knew for certain that their other child was +swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here?’ Thereupon he asked +me, even as you did some time ago, what I meant by Mumbo +Jumbo? And I told him all I had heard about the Mumbo Jumbo +of the high Barbary shore; telling him that I had no doubt that +the old fellow up here was his brother, or nearly related to +him. The man with the red hair listened with the greatest +attention to all I said, and when I had concluded, he got up, +nodded to me, and moved to the door; ere he reached the door I +saw his shoulders shaking, and as he closed it behind him I heard +him distinctly laughing, to the tune of—he! he! he!</p> +<p>“But now matters began to mend. That same evening +my young master unexpectedly arrived. I believe he soon +perceived that something extraordinary had been going on in the +family. He was for some time closeted with the governor, +with whom, I believe, he had a dispute; for my fellow-servant, +the ladies’ maid, informed me that she heard high +words.</p> +<p>“Rather late at night the young gentleman sent for me +into his room, and asked me various questions with respect to +what had been going on, and my behaviour in the church, of which +he had heard something. I told him all I knew with respect +to the intrigues of the two priests in the family, and gave him a +circumstantial account of all that had occurred in the church; +adding that, under similar circumstances, I was ready to play the +same part over again. Instead of blaming me, he commended +my behaviour, told me I was a fine fellow, and said he hoped that +if he wanted my assistance, I would stand by him; this I promised +to do. Before I left him, he entreated me to inform him the +very next time I saw the priests entering the house.</p> +<p>“The next morning, as I was in the court-yard, where I +had placed myself to watch, I saw the two enter and make their +way up a private stair to the young ladies’ apartment; they +were attended by a man dressed something like a priest, who bore +a large box; I instantly ran to relate what I had seen to my +young master. I found him shaving. <!-- page 401--><a +name="page401"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 401</span>‘I +will just finish what I am about,’ said he, ‘and then +wait upon these gentlemen.’ He finished what he was +about with great deliberation; then taking a horsewhip, and +bidding me follow him, he proceeded at once to the door of his +sisters’ apartment; finding it fastened, he burst it open +at once with his foot, and entered, followed by myself. +There we beheld the two unfortunate young ladies down on their +knees before a large female doll, dressed up, as usual, in rags +and tinsel; the two priests were standing near, one on either +side, with their hands uplifted, whilst the fellow who brought +the trumpery stood a little way down the private stair, the door +of which stood open; without a moment’s hesitation, my +young master rushed forward, gave the image a cut or two with his +horsewhip—then flying at the priests, he gave them a sound +flogging, kicked them down the private stair, and spurned the +man, box and image after them—then locking the door, he +gave his sisters a fine sermon, in which he represented to them +their folly in worshipping a silly wooden graven image, which, +though it had eyes, could see not; though it had ears, could hear +not; though it had hands, could not help itself; and though it +had feet, could not move about unless it were carried. Oh, +it was a fine sermon that my young master preached, and sorry I +am that the Father of the Fetish, old Mumbo, did not hear +it. The elder sister looked ashamed, but the youngest, who +was very weak, did nothing but wring her hands, weep and bewail +the injury which had been done to the dear image. The young +man, however, without paying much regard to either of them, went +to his father, with whom he had a long conversation, which +terminated in the old governor giving orders for preparations to +be made for the family’s leaving Rome and returning to +England. I believe that the old governor was glad of his +son’s arrival, and rejoiced at the idea of getting away +from Italy, where he had been so plundered and imposed +upon. The priests, however, made another attempt upon the +poor young ladies. By the connivance of the female servant +who was in their interest, they found their way once more into +their apartment, bringing with them the fetish image, whose body +they partly stripped, exhibiting upon it certain sanguine marks +which they had daubed upon it with red paint, but which they said +were the result of the lashes which it had received from the +horsewhip. The youngest girl believed all they said, and +kissed and embraced the dear image; but the eldest, whose eyes +had been opened by her brother, to whom she was much attached, +behaved with proper dignity; for, going to the door, she called +the female servant who had a respect for me, and in her presence +reproached the two deceivers for their various impudent cheats, +and especially for this their last attempt at imposition; adding +that if they did not forthwith withdraw and rid her sister and +herself of their presence, she would send word by her maid to her +brother, who would presently take effectual means to expel +them. They took the hint and departed, and we saw no more +of them.</p> +<p>“At the end of three days we departed from Rome, but the +maid whom the Priests had cajoled remained behind, and it is +probable that the youngest of our ladies would have done the same +thing if she could <!-- page 402--><a name="page402"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 402</span>have had her own will, for she was +continually raving about her image, and saying, she should wish +to live with it in a convent; but we watched the poor thing, and +got her on board ship. Oh, glad was I to leave that fetish +country and old Mumbo behind me!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER C.</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">Nothing but Gloom—Sporting +Character—Gouty Tory—Servants’ +Club—Politics—Reformado +Footman—Peroration—Good Night.</p> +<p>“We arrived in England, and went to our country seat, +but the peace and tranquillity of the family had been marred, and +I no longer found my place the pleasant one which it had formerly +been; there was nothing but gloom in the house, for the youngest +daughter exhibited signs of lunacy, and was obliged to be kept +under confinement. The next season I attended my master, +his son, and eldest daughter to London, as I had previously +done. There I left them, for hearing that a young baronet, +an acquaintance of the family, wanted a servant, I applied for +the place, with the consent of my masters, both of whom gave me a +strong recommendation; and, being approved of, I went to live +with him.</p> +<p>“My new master was what is called a sporting character, +very fond of the turf, upon which he was not very +fortunate. He was frequently very much in want of money, +and my wages were anything but regularly paid; nevertheless, I +liked him very much, for he treated me more like a friend than a +domestic, continually consulting me as to his affairs. At +length he was brought nearly to his last shifts, by backing the +favourite at the Derby, which favourite turned out a regular +brute, being found nowhere at the rush. Whereupon, he and I +had a solemn consultation over fourteen glasses of brandy and +water, and as many cigars—I mean, between us—as to +what was to be done. He wished to start a coach, in which +event he was to be driver, and I guard. He was quite +competent to drive a coach, being a first-rate whip, and I dare +say I should have made a first-rate guard; but to start a coach +requires money, and we neither of us believed that anybody would +trust us with vehicles and horses, so that idea was laid +aside. We then debated as to whether or not he should go +into the Church; but to go into the Church—at any rate to +become a dean or bishop, which would have been our aim—it +is necessary for a man to possess some education; and my master, +although he had been at the best school in England, that is, the +most expensive, and also at College, was almost totally +illiterate, so we let the Church scheme follow that of the +coach. At last, bethinking me that he was tolerably glib at +the tongue, as most people are who are addicted to the turf, also +a great master of slang, remembering also that he had a crabbed +old uncle, who had some borough interest, I proposed that he +should get into the House, promising in one fortnight to qualify +him to make a figure in it, by certain lessons which I would give +him. <!-- page 403--><a name="page403"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 403</span>He consented; and during the next +fortnight I did little else than give him lessons in elocution, +following to a tittle the method of the great professor, which I +had picked up, listening behind the door. At the end of +that period, we paid a visit to his relation, an old gouty Tory, +who, at first, received us very coolly. My master, however, +by flattering a predilection of his for Billy Pitt, soon won his +affections so much, that he promised to bring him into +Parliament; and in less than a month was as good as his +word. My master, partly by his own qualifications, and the +assistance which he had derived, and still occasionally derived, +from me, cut a wonderful figure in the House, and was speedily +considered one of the most promising speakers; he was always a +good hand at promising—he is, at present, I believe, a +Cabinet minister.</p> +<p>“But as he got up in the world, he began to look down on +me. I believe he was ashamed of the obligation under which +he lay to me; and at last, requiring no further hints as to +oratory from a poor servant like me, he took an opportunity of +quarrelling with me and discharging me. However, as he had +still some grace, he recommended me to a gentleman with whom, +since he had attached himself to politics, he had formed an +acquaintance, the editor of a grand Tory Review. I lost +caste terribly amongst the servants for entering the service of a +person connected with a profession so mean as literature; and it +was proposed at the Servants’ Club, in Park Lane, to eject +me from that society. The proposition, however, was not +carried into effect, and I was permitted to show myself among +them, though few condescended to take much notice of me. My +master was one of the best men in the world, but also one of the +most sensitive. On his veracity being impugned by the +editor of a newspaper, he called him out, and shot him through +the arm. Though servants are seldom admirers of their +masters, I was a great admirer of mine, and eager to follow his +example. The day after the encounter, on my veracity being +impugned by the servant of Lord C--- in something I said in +praise of my master, I determined to call him out; so I went into +another room and wrote a challenge. But whom should I send +it by? Several servants to whom I applied refused to be the +bearers of it; they said I had lost caste, and they could not +think of going out with me. At length the servant of the +Duke of B--- consented to take it; but he made me to understand +that, though he went out with me, he did so merely because he +despised the Whiggish principles of Lord C---’s servant, +and that if I thought he intended to associate with me, I should +be mistaken. Politics, I must tell you, at that time ran as +high amongst the servants as the gentlemen, the servants, +however, being almost invariably opposed to the politics of their +respective masters, though both parties agreed in one point, the +scouting of everything low and literary, though I think, of the +two, the liberal or reform party were the most inveterate. +So he took my challenge, which was accepted; we went out, Lord +C---’s servant being seconded by a reformado footman from +the palace. We fired three times without effect; but this +affair lost me my place; my master on hearing it forthwith +discharged me; he was, as I have said before, very <!-- page +404--><a name="page404"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +404</span>sensitive, and he said this duel of mine was a parody +of his own. Being, however, one of the best men in the +world, on his discharging me he made me a donation of twenty +pounds.</p> +<p>“And it was well that he made me this present, for +without it I should have been penniless, having contracted rather +expensive habits during the time that I lived with the young +baronet. I now determined to visit my parents, whom I had +not seen for years. I found them in good health, and, after +staying with them for two months, I returned again in the +direction of town, walking, in order to see the country. On +the second day of my journey, not being used to such fatigue, I +fell ill at a great inn on the north road, and there I continued +for some weeks till I recovered, but by that time my money was +entirely spent. By living at the inn I had contracted an +acquaintance with the master and the people, and become +accustomed to inn life. As I thought that I might find some +difficulty in procuring any desirable situation in London, owing +to my late connection with literature, I determined to remain +where I was, provided my services would be accepted. I +offered them to the master, who, finding I knew something of +horses, engaged me as a postillion. I have remained there +since. You have now heard my story.</p> +<p>“Stay, you sha’n’t say that I told my tale +without a per—peroration. What shall it be? Oh, +I remember something which will serve for one. As I was +driving my chaise some weeks ago I saw standing at the gate of an +avenue, which led up to an old mansion, a figure which I thought +I recognised. I looked at it attentively, and the figure, +as I passed, looked at me; whether it remembered me I do not +know, but I recognised the face it showed me full well.</p> +<p>“If it was not the identical face of the red-haired +priest whom I had seen at Rome, may I catch cold!</p> +<p>“Young gentleman, I will now take a spell on your +blanket—young lady, good night.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">THE END.</p> +<h2>SOME OPINIONS.</h2> +<p>“The death of his father as told in the last chapter of +<i>Lavengro</i>. Is there anything of the kind more +affecting in the library? . . . People there are for whom Borrow +will play the same part as did horses and dogs for the gentleman +in the tall white hat, whom David Copperfield met on the top of +the Canterbury coach. ‘Orses and dorgs,’ said +that gentleman, ‘is some men’s fancy. They are +wittles and drink to me, lodging, wife and children, reading, +writing and ’rithmetic, snuff, tobacker and +sleep.’”—<span class="smcap">Mr. Augustine +Birrell</span> in “<i>Res Judicatæ</i>.”</p> +<p>“The spirit of Le Sage, the genius of Sterne find new +life in these pages. We promise our readers intellectual +enjoyment of the highest order from a perusal of this +extraordinary book.”—<span class="smcap">Morning +Post</span>.</p> +<p>“Described with extraordinary vigour, and no one will +lay down the volume unless compelled.”—<span +class="smcap">Athenæum</span>.</p> +<p>“Mr. Borrow has the rare art of describing scenes and +presenting characters with that graphic force and clearness which +arise from thorough knowledge of and interest in his subject. . . +. As an observer of strange varieties of the human race, he at +once charms and rewards the attention of the +reader.”—<span class="smcap">Spectator</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>By the same author and uniform +with this volume</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">In neat cloth, with cut or uncut +edges, 2s.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">THE BIBLE IN SPAIN;</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Or</i>, <i>The Journeys and +Imprisonments of an Englishman in an attempt to circulate the +Scriptures in the Peninsula</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By George +Borrow</span>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 405--><a name="page405"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 405</span>MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS +BOOKS.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>AN INEXPENSIVE LIBRARY OF +INDISPENSABLE BOOKS</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>An Illustrated Series of +first-class Books</i>, <i>averaging from 400 to 600 pages</i>, +<i>strongly and attractively bound in cloth</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">price two +shillings each volume</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">with cut or uncut edges</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">In Half-Calf, Half-Persian, or +Half-Morocco, Price Five Shillings each Volume.</p> +<p><b>The Design and Plan of the</b> MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS +BOOKS have been amply justified by the remarkable favour with +which it has been received by the press and the public. The +design is to provide <i>at the lowest possible cost</i> books +which every intelligent reader will wish to possess in a form +readable, attractive, and lasting. The issue at monthly +intervals, not so frequent as to distract, not so intermittent as +to lose the advantage of regularity, enables readers to add to +their library at an almost imperceptible cost. Thus for +about one pound a year, every man may form a library which will +afford an ever-increasing source of gratification and cultivation +to himself and his family. There is no doubt, as in buying +the novelties of the day, as to whether the new volume will prove +to be of permanent value and interest. It will have already +stood the test of time and of good critics, though frequently it +may have been unattainable except at a heavy cost. <span +class="smcap">The Minerva Library</span> includes only works of +widespread popularity, which have proved themselves worthy of a +permanent place in literature.</p> +<p><b>Variety is studied</b> in the selection of books, so that +all classes of the best literature of all nations may be +represented. The adoption of the name “Minerva” +is justified by the abundant wisdom, thought, and imaginative and +inventive power which the books will be found to contain.</p> +<p><b>Each volume contains an introduction</b> by the Editor, in +which a biography of the author, or critical or explanatory +notes, place the reader in sympathy with the author and his +work. In some of the books additional elucidations and +illustrations of the text are given, and in others side-notes +indicate the subjects of the paragraphs.</p> +<p><b>The number of separate Plates</b> as well as illustrations +in the text forms a marked feature of the series. As far as +possible an authentic portrait of every author is given. An +inspection of the books only is needed to make their +attractiveness evident.</p> +<p><!-- page 406--><a name="page406"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +406</span><b>Every Englishman who reads and thinks</b>, and +wishes to possess the BEST BOOKS, should have every book in the +Minerva Library.</p> +<p><b>The Youth beginning to form a Library</b> of books for +lifelong companionship cannot do better than subscribe to the +Minerva Library.</p> +<p><b>Schools, Mechanics, and Village Libraries</b>, and literary +institutions of all kinds, should provide themselves with a +number of copies of this inexpensive library of indispensable +books.</p> +<p><b>The Artisan and the Shop Assistant</b> will find their +means and opportunities consulted in this series. They +cannot buy the best books in the English language in a better and +cheaper form combined.</p> +<p><b>Naturally every Englishman wants to possess the choice +works</b> of the greatest Englishmen; and to complete his ideas +as a citizen of the world, he needs a selection of the greatest +writings of the geniuses of other countries. Both these +wants it is the object of the Minerva Library to supply.</p> +<h3>Volume I.—Eleventh Edition.</h3> +<p><b>CHARLES DARWIN’S JOURNAL</b> During the Voyage of +H.M.S. “Beagle” round the World. With a +Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of Darwin, and +Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘The ‘Minerva Library,’ +the new venture of Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co. has made an +excellent start. . . . No better volumes could be chosen +for popular reading of a healthy sort than ‘Darwin’s +Journal of Researches during the Voyage of the Beagle,’ and +‘Borrow’s Bible in Spain.’ The paper is +good, the type is tolerable, the binding is in excellent taste, +and the price is extremely +low.”—<i>Athenæum</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume II.—Fifth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS</b>. With a Critical +Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of the Author, and +reproductions of the celebrated Illustrations by <span +class="smcap">Phiz</span> and <span +class="smcap">Cruikshank</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p>“This series, which is edited by Mr. G. T. +Bettany, is neatly bound, well illustrated, and nicely +printed.”—<i>Graphic</i>.</p> +<p>“The determination of the publishers of the +‘Minerva Library’ to render the series attractive and +representative of English literature of all kinds, is strikingly +displayed in this volume. . . The book is well printed and bound, +and will be eagerly welcomed by all desiring to obtain at a small +cost a good edition of the works of the famous +humourist.”—<i>Liverpool Courier</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume III.—Fourth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>BORROW’S BIBLE IN SPAIN</b>: The Journeys, +Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an attempt to +circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula. By <span +class="smcap">George Borrow</span>, Author of “The Gipsies +of Spain.” With a Biographical Introduction by the +Editor, and Illustrations.</p> +<p>“Lovers of good literature and cheap may be commended to +the ‘Minerva Library’ Edition of ‘The Bible in +Spain,’ edited by Mr. G. T. Bettany. This is an +excellent reprint, with neat binding, good type, and fair +woodcuts.”—<i>Saturday Review</i>.</p> +<h3><!-- page 407--><a name="page407"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 407</span>Volume IV.—Sixth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>EMERSON’S PROSE WORKS</b>: The complete Prose Works +of <span class="smcap">Ralph Waldo Emerson</span>. With a +Critical Introduction by the Editor, and Portrait of the +Author.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The series, judging by the initial volumes, +will be endowed with everything that makes reading pleasant and +agreeable. . . . The printing is a marvel of clearness, the slurs +that too often characterise cheap volumes being conspicuous by +their absence. . . . The binding is both elegant and durable. . . +. If the excellence of the first volumes is maintained in the +future, the series will enjoy a success both widespread and +prolonged.” <i>City Press</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume V.—Fourth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>GALTON’S SOUTH AFRICA</b>: The Narrative of an +Explorer in Tropical South Africa: being an Account of a Visit to +Damaraland in 1851. By <span class="smcap">Francis +Galton</span>, F.R.S. With a New Map and Appendix, together +with a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of Mr. +Gallon, and Illustrations. Containing also Vacation Tours +in 1860 and 1861, by <span class="smcap">Sir George Grove</span>, +<span class="smcap">Francis Galton</span>, F.R.S., and <span +class="smcap">W. G. Clark</span>, M.A.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Be it understood the ‘Minerva +Library’ presents itself in a form that even the lover of +luxurious books could scarcely find fault +with.”—<i>Warrington Guardian</i>.</p> +<p>“The ‘Minerva Library’ will be hailed with +delight, we are sure, by all readers.”—<i>The Weekly +Times</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume VI.—Third Edition.</h3> +<p><b>THE BETROTHED LOVERS</b> (I Promessi Sposi). By <span +class="smcap">Alessandro Manzoni</span>. With a +Biographical Introduction by the Editor, and Portrait of the +Author.</p> +<blockquote><p>Of this great work <span +class="smcap">Goethe</span> wrote:—“Manzoni’s +romance transcends all that we have knowledge of in this +kind. I need only say that the internal part, all that +comes from the core of the poet, is thoroughly perfect, and that +the external part, all the notes of localities and so forth, is +not a whit behind its great inner qualities. . . . The work gives +us the pleasure of an absolutely ripe fruit.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume VII.—Fourth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>GOETHE’S FAUST</b> (Complete). Translated in +the Original Metres, with copious Critical and Explanatory Notes +by <span class="smcap">Bayard Taylor</span>. With a +Critical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of <span +class="smcap">Goethe</span>, and <span +class="smcap">Retzsch’s</span> Illustrations.</p> +<p>*** This is a full and complete reprint of <span +class="smcap">Bayard Taylor’s</span> unrivalled rendering +of <span class="smcap">Goethe’s</span> masterpiece. +It is published by special arrangement with <span +class="smcap">Mrs. Bayard Taylor</span>, and contains the whole +of the Translator’s copious and extremely valuable Notes, +Introductions, and Appendices.</p> +<h3>Volume VIII.—Fourth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>WALLACE’S TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON</b>: Travels on the +Amazon and Rio Negro. By <span class="smcap">Alfred Russel +Wallace</span>, Author of “The Malay Archipelago,” +“Darwinism,” etc. Giving an account of the +Native Tribes, and Observations on the Climate, Geology, and +Natural History of the Amazon Valley. With a Biographical +Introduction, Portrait of the Author, and Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p>“It would be impossible to overstate the +service which Mr. Wallace, the co-discoverer of Darwinism, has +done.”—<i>Times</i>, September 11th, 1889.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 408--><a name="page408"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 408</span>Volume IX.—Fifth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>DEAN STANLEY’S LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD</b>. The Life +and Correspondence of Thomas Arnold, D.D. (Head-Master of Rugby +School). By <span class="smcap">Arthur Penrhyn +Stanley</span>, D.D., Dean of Westminster. With a Portrait +of <span class="smcap">Dr. Arnold</span>, and Full-page +Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p>“One of the most remarkable and most +instructive books ever published—a book for which Arnold +himself left abundant materials in his voluminuous +correspondence, supplemented by a large quantity of miscellaneous +matter added by his friend and former pupil, Dean +Stanley.”—<i>Morning Advertiser</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume X.—Third Edition,</h3> +<p><b>POE’S TALES OF ADVENTURE, MYSTERY, AND</b> +Imagination. By <span class="smcap">Edgar Allan +Poe</span>. With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, +Portrait of the Author, and Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Contains over forty of Poe’s +marvellous stories, certainly among the most exciting and +sensational tales ever written. The volume itself is a +marvel, comprising, as it does, over 560 pages, strongly and +neatly bound, for two shillings.”—<i>Newcastle +Chronicle</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XI.—Second Edition.</h3> +<p><b>COMEDIES BY MOLIÈRE</b>: Including The Would-be +Gentleman; The Affected Young Ladies; The Forced Marriage; The +Doctor by Compulsion; Scapin’s Rogueries; The Blunderer; +The School for Husbands; The School for Wives; The Miser; The +Hypochondriac; The Misanthrope; The Blue-Stockings; Tartuffe, or +the Hypocrite. Newly Translated by <span +class="smcap">Charles Matthew</span>, M.A. The Translation +revised by the Editor, with a Portrait of the Author, and +Biographical Introduction.</p> +<blockquote><p>“We hope that this new translation of +Molière’s magnificent comedies will make them as +widely known as they deserve to +be.”—<i>Playgoer</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XII.—Second Edition.</h3> +<p><b>FORSTER’S LIFE OF GOLDSMITH</b>: The Life and Times +of Oliver Goldsmith. By <span class="smcap">John +Forster</span>, Author of “The Life of Charles +Dickens,” etc. With a Biography of <span +class="smcap">Forster</span> by the Editor, and Numerous +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Maclise, Stanfield</span>, +<span class="smcap">Leech</span>, and others.</p> +<blockquote><p>Forster’s “Life of Goldsmith” is +a work which ranks very high among successful biographies. +Washington Irving said of it: “It is executed with a +spirit, a feeling, a grace, and an elegance, that leave nothing +to be desired.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XIII.—Second Edition.</h3> +<p><b>LANE’S MODERN EGYPTIANS</b>: The Manners and Customs +of the Modern Egyptians. By <span class="smcap">Edward +William Lane</span>, Translator of the “Arabian +Nights’ Entertainments.” With a Biographical +Introduction by the Editor, Sixteen Full-page Plates, and Eighty +Illustrations in the Text.</p> +<blockquote><p>“A famous and valuable book by one of the +best Oriental Scholars of the century. It is, indeed, the +fact that the present work is, as has been said, the most +remarkable description of a people ever +written.”—<i>Glasgow Herald</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 409--><a name="page409"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 409</span>Volume XIV.</h3> +<p><b>TORRENS’ LIFE OF MELBOURNE</b>: Memoirs of William +Lamb, Second Viscount Melbourne. By <span class="smcap">W. +M. Torrens</span>. With Introduction by the Editor, and +Portrait of <span class="smcap">Lord Melbourne</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p>“It is, indeed, one of the best and most +interesting biographies ever written . . . For ourselves, we must +admit we have read the book from cover to cover with avidity, and +we hope it will reach the hands of tens of thousands of our +middle and working classes.”—<i>Daily +Chronicle</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XV.—Fourth Edition.</h3> +<p><b>THACKERAY’S VANITY FAIR</b>. Vanity Fair: A +Novel without a Hero. By <span class="smcap">William +Makepeace Thackeray</span>. With Biographical Introduction +by the Editor, Portrait of the Author, and full-page +Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The masterpiece of Thackeray’s satire +is here placed within reach of the slenderest purse, and yet in a +form that leaves nothing to be desired in the way of clear +printing, and neat, serviceable +binding.”—<i>Manchester Examiner</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XVI.</h3> +<p><b>BARTH’S TRAVELS IN AFRICA</b>: Travels and +Discoveries in North and Central Africa. Including Accounts +of Tripoli, the Sahara, the Remarkable Kingdom of Bornu, and the +Countries round Lake Chad. By <span class="smcap">Henry +Barth</span>, Ph.D., D.C.L. With Biographical Introduction +by the Editor, Full-page Plates, and Illustrations in the +Text.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Barth’s journey through Tripoli to +Central Africa is full of instruction and entertainment. He +had a fine feeling for the remote, the unknown, the mysterious . +. . Altogether, his is one of the most inspiring of +records.”—<i>Saturday Review</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XVII.—Second Edition.</h3> +<p><b>VICTOR HUGO: SELECT POEMS AND TRAGEDIES</b>. +(“Hernani” and “The King’s +Amusement.”) Translated by <span +class="smcap">Francis</span>, <span class="smcap">First Earl of +Ellesmere</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir Edwin Arnold</span>, +K.S.I., <span class="smcap">Sir Gilbert Campbell</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bart.</span>, <span class="smcap">Bp. +Alexander</span>, <span class="smcap">Richard Garnett</span>, +LL.D., <span class="smcap">Andrew Lang</span>, LL.D., <span +class="smcap">Clement Scott</span>, M.A., <span +class="smcap">Charles Matthew</span>, M.A., <span +class="smcap">Nelson R. Tyerman</span>, and many others. +With Portrait of <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p>“One of the best volumes yet issued in the +splendid series of ‘Famous Books’ which go to make up +Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co’s ‘Minerva +Library,’”—<i>Northampton Mercury</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Volume XVIII.—Second Edition.</h3> +<p><b>DARWIN’S CORAL REEFS, VOLCANIC ISLANDS, AND</b> South +American Geology: With Critical and Historical Introductions, +specially written for this edition by Professor <span +class="smcap">John W. Judd</span>, F.R.S., Professor of Geology +in the Normal College of Science, South Kensington. With +Maps and Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p>Darwin’s “Coral Reefs” is at +once one of his most notable and charming books, and one that has +excited a most vigorous recent controversy. His account of +the Volcanic Islands he visited, and his still more remarkable +book describing the vast changes that have taken place in South +America in geological time, are also reprinted in this volume, +thus completing the “Geology of the Voyage of the +Beagle.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 410--><a name="page410"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 410</span>Volume XIX.</h3> +<p><b>LOCKHART’S LIFE OF BURNS</b>. Revised. +With New Notes, &c., by <span class="smcap">J. H. +Ingram</span>. Portrait and Full-page Engravings.</p> +<h3>Volume XX.</h3> +<p><b>BARTH’S CENTRAL AFRICA: Timbuktu and the +Niger</b>. With Full-page and other Engravings.</p> +<h3>Volume XXI.</h3> +<p><b>LYRA ELEGANTIARUM</b>. New, Revised, and Enlarged +Edition. Edited by <span class="smcap">Fredk. +Locker-Lampson</span>, assisted by <span class="smcap">Coulson +Kernahan</span>.</p> +<h3>Volume XXII.</h3> +<p><b>CARLYLE’S SARTOR RESARTUS, HERO-WORSHIP, and PAST AND +PRESENT</b>. With Introduction and Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXIII.</h3> +<p><b>AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND LETTERS OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN</b>. +With authentic Portrait.</p> +<h3>Volume XXIV.</h3> +<p><b>BECKFORD’S “VATHEK,” and European +Travels</b>: With Biographical Introduction and Portrait of +Beckford.</p> +<h3>Volume XXV.</h3> +<p><b>MACAULAY’S HISTORICAL AND LITERARY ESSAYS</b>. +With Biographical Introduction and Full-page Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXVI.</h3> +<p><b>YONGE’S LIFE OF WELLINGTON</b>. By the Author +of “History of the British Navy,” etc. With +Portrait and Plans of Battles.</p> +<h3>Volume XXVII.</h3> +<p><b>CARLYLE’S HISTORY of the FRENCH REVOLUTION</b>. +With Introduction and Full-page Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXVIII.</h3> +<p><b>THE LAND OF THE LION AND SUN</b>: Or, Modern Persia. +By <span class="smcap">C. J. Wills</span>, M.D. With +Full-page Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXIX.</h3> +<p><b>MARY BARTON</b>: A Tale of Manchester Life. By Mrs. +<span class="smcap">Gaskell</span>. With full Biographical +Notice of the Author.</p> +<h3>Volume XXX.</h3> +<p><b>INGRAM’S LIFE OF POE</b>: The Life, Letters, and +Opinions of Edgar Allan Poe. By <span class="smcap">J. H. +Ingram</span>. With Portraits.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXI.</h3> +<p><b>SHIRLEY</b>. By <span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>. With Biographical Introduction, +Portrait, and four Full-page Illustrations.</p> +<p>Among novels of the nineteenth century, few are more secure of +literary immortality than those of Charlotte Brontë. +The illustrations of localities mentioned in +“Shirley” add to the interest of this edition.</p> +<h3><!-- page 411--><a name="page411"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 411</span>Volume XXXII.</h3> +<p><b>HOOKER’S HIMALAYAN JOURNALS</b>: Notes of a +Naturalist in Bengal, the Sikkim and Nepal Himalayas, the Khasia +Mountains, etc. By Sir <span class="smcap">Joseph +Hooker</span>, K.C.S.I., F.R.S., LL.D., etc. New Edition, +Revised by the Author. With Portrait, Maps, and +Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXIII.</h3> +<p><b>BACON’S FAMOUS WORKS</b>: “Essays, Civil and +Moral,” “The Proficience and Advancement of +Learning,” “Novum Organum,” etc. With +Biographical Introduction and Portrait.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXIV.</h3> +<p><b>MACAULAY’S BIOGRAPHICAL, CRITICAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS +ESSAYS AND POEMS</b>, including the “Lays of Ancient +Rome.” With Marginal Notes, Introduction, and +Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXV.</h3> +<p><b>CARLYLE’S OLIVER CROMWELL’S LETTERS AND +SPEECHES</b>. With Introduction and Full-page +Illustrations.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXVI.</h3> +<p><b>ALTON LOCKE; Tailor and Poet</b>. By <span +class="smcap">Charles Kingsley</span>. With Critical +Introduction by <span class="smcap">Coulson Kernahan</span>, and +Portrait of the Author.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXVII.</h3> +<p><b>THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS</b>. By <span +class="smcap">William Makepeace Thackeray</span>. With +Critical Introduction, Portrait, and Illustrations by the +Author.</p> +<h3>Volume XXXVIII.</h3> +<p><b>LAVENGRO</b>: <b>The Scholar</b>, <b>The Priest</b>, <b>The +Gipsy</b>. By <span class="smcap">George Borrow</span>, +Author of “The Bible in Spain,” etc. With +Introduction by <span class="smcap">Theodore Watts</span>, and +Two Full-page Illustrations.</p> +<h3>OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“Messrs. Ward & Lock’s +‘Minerva Library’ comes with particular +acceptance. Seven volumes of the series are before us, and +they are models of cheapness and general +excellence.”—<span class="smcap">The Star</span>.</p> +<p>“A series of Famous Books published at the cheapest +price consistent with excellent binding and a neat and handsome +volume for the bookshelves. . . The first volume is a most +acceptable book, and ought to have a multitude of +readers.”—<span class="smcap">The Newcastle +Chronicle</span>.</p> +<p>“Readers who delight in high-class literature will owe a +deep debt of gratitude to Messrs. Ward & +Lock.”—<span class="smcap">The Daily +Chronicle</span>.</p> +<p>“Works of this character, so well printed and bound, +ought to be widely welcomed, and the Minerva Library has clearly +a career before it.”—<span class="smcap">The +Yorkshire Post</span>.</p> +<p>“‘The Minerva Library’ will be hailed with +delight, we are sure, by all readers. . . . Will assuredly +take as high a place among the cheap issues of sterling +literature as its patroness among the +goddesses.”—<span class="smcap">The Weekly +Times</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, & Co., +London, New York, Melbourne, and Sydney.<br /> +<i>And of all Booksellers</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 412--><a +name="page412"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 412</span>BY THE +AUTHOR OF “LAVENGRO.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">FOURTH EDITION NOW READY.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Crown 8vo</i>, <i>cloth</i>, +<i>with either cut or uncut edges</i>. <span +class="smcap">Two shillings</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>THE BIBLE IN SPAIN</b>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Journeys</i>, +<i>Adventures</i>, <i>and Imprisonments of an Englishman</i>, +<i>in an attempt to circulate the Scriptures in the +Peninsula</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +GEORGE BORROW,<br /> +Author of “Lavengro,” “The Gipsies of +Spain,” etc.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BY +G. T. BETTANY, M.A.,<br /> +<i>AND FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">A Leading +Literary Critic</span></p> +<p><i>wrote as follows to the Editor</i>: “As a friend and +admirer of George Borrow, I cannot resist the impulse to write +and thank you for the good service you are doing his memory, and +the good service you are doing the public, by the issue of your +admirable edition of ‘The Bible in Spain.’ This +is a period of marvellously cheap reprints, but surely the +‘Minerva Library’ leaves them all behind.”</p> +<h3>OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“The next cheap book is one of the famous +books of the world. As to the reception which this reprint +of Borrow’s ‘Bible in Spain’ is likely to +receive there can hardly be any misgiving.”—<span +class="smcap">The Echo</span>.</p> +<p>“Lovers of good literature, and cheap, may be commended +to the ‘Minerva Library’ edition of ‘The Bible +in Spain.’”—<span class="smcap">The Saturday +Review</span>.</p> +<p>“That wonderfully interesting and too little known work +‘The Bible in Spain.’ . . . Borrow’s literary +style is faultless, and his keen powers of observation were +employed to excellent purpose. With 400 pages and several +illustrations, the volume is a striking illustration of the cheap +form in which our leading publishers can serve up the best +examples of English literature.”—<span +class="smcap">Sheffield Telegraph</span>.</p> +<p>“The manner in which Spanish life is photographed and +the circumstantial narration of incidents occurring in a time +particularly eventful for Spain, are in themselves sufficient to +secure for the book a permanent place in our +literature.”—<span class="smcap">Manchester +Examiner</span>.</p> +<p>“‘The Bible in Spain’ is one of the most +interesting works ever written, and has been pronounced to be +‘a genuine book,’ abounding in life-like pictures of +Spain and Portugal, and recording also many romantic +adventures.”—<span class="smcap">The Newcastle +Chronicle</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, & CO.,<br +/> +<span class="smcap">London</span>, <span class="smcap">New +York</span>, <span class="smcap">Melbourne</span>, <span +class="smcap">and Sydney</span>.<br /> +<i>And of all Booksellers</i>.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> “In Cornwall are the best +gentlemen.”—<i>Corn Prov.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10" +class="footnote">[10]</a> Norwegian ells—about eight +feet.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95" +class="footnote">[95]</a> Klopstock.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 20198-h.htm or 20198-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/9/20198 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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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 + + + + + +Title: Lavengro + the Scholar - the Gypsy - the Priest + + +Author: George Borrow + +Editor: Theodore Watts + +Release Date: January 13, 2010 [eBook #20198] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO*** + + +Transcribed from the 1893 Ward, Lock, Bowden, and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + LAVENGRO: + THE SCHOLAR--THE GYPSY--THE PRIEST. + + + BY + GEORGE BORROW, + AUTHOR OF + "THE BIBLE IN SPAIN," ETC. + + _WITH AN INTRODUCTION_ + BY + THEODORE WATTS. + + WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, AND CO. + LONDON: WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. + NEW YORK: EAST 12TH STREET. + MELBOURNE: ST. JAMES'S STREET. SYDNEY: YORK STREET. + + 1893. + +[Picture: Borrow's home at Oulton (now pulled down), showing the summer +house where much of his work was written. (From a Photograph kindly lent +by Mr. Welchman, of Lowestoft, and taken by Mr. F. G. Mayhew, of the same +place.)] + + + + +NOTES UPON GEORGE BORROW. + + +I. BORROW AS A SPLENDID LITERARY AMATEUR. + + +There are some writers who cannot be adequately criticised--who cannot, +indeed, be adequately written about at all--save by those to whom they +are personally known. I allude to those writers of genius who, having +only partially mastered the art of importing their own individual +characteristics into literary forms, end their life-work as they began +it, remaining to the last amateurs in literary art. Of this class of +writers George Borrow is generally taken to be the very type. Was he +really so? + +There are passages in "Lavengro" which are unsurpassed in the prose +literature of England--unsurpassed, I mean, for mere perfection of +style--for blending of strength and graphic power with limpidity and +music of flow. Is "Lavengro" the work of a literary amateur who, +yielding at will to every kind of authorial self-indulgence, fails to +find artistic expression for the life moving within him--fails to project +an individuality that his friends knew to have been unique? Of other +writers of genius, admirable criticism may be made by those who have +never known them in the flesh. Is this because each of those others, +having passed from the stage of the literary amateur to that of the +literary artist, is able to pour the stream of his personality into the +literary mould and give to the world a true image of himself? It has +been my chance of life to be brought into personal relations with many +men of genius, but I feel that there are others who could write about +them more adequately than I. Does Borrow stand alone? The admirers of +his writings seem generally to think he does, for ever since I wrote my +brief and hasty obituary notice of him in 1881, I have been urged to +enlarge my reminiscences of him--urged not only by philologers and +gypsologists, but by many others in England, America, and Germany. But I +on my part have been for years urging upon the friend who introduced me +to him, and who knew him years ago,--knew him when he was the +comparatively young literary lion of East Anglia,--Dr. Gordon Hake, to do +what others are urging me to do. Not only has the author of "Parables +and Tales" more knowledge of the subject than any one else, but having a +greater reputation than I, he can speak with more authority, and having a +more brilliant pen than I, he can give a more vital picture than I can +hope to give of our common friend. If he is, as he seems to be, fully +determined not to depict Borrow in prose, let me urge him to continue in +verse that admirable description of him contained in one of the +well-known sonnets addressed to myself in "The New Day":-- + + "And he, the walking lord of gipsy lore! + How often 'mid the deer that grazed the Park, + Or in the fields and heath and windy moor, + Made musical with many a soaring lark, + Have we not held brisk commune with him there, + While Lavengro, then towering by your side, + With rose complexion and bright silvery hair, + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride + To tell the legends of the fading race-- + As at the summons of his piercing glance, + Its story peopling his brown eyes and face, + While you called up that pendant of romance + To Petulengro with his boxing glory, + Your Amazonian Sinfi's noble story!" + + + +II. IS THERE A KEY TO "LAVENGRO"? + + +Dr. Hake, however, and those others among Borrow's friends who are apt to +smile at the way in which critics of the highest intelligence will stand +baffled and bewildered before the eccentricities of "Lavengro" and "The +Romany Rye"--some critics treating the work as autobiography spoilt, and +some as spoilt fiction--forget that while it is easy to open a locked +door with a key, to open a locked door without a key is a very different +undertaking. On the subject of autobiographies and the autobiographic +method, I had several interesting talks with Borrow. I remember an +especial one that took place on Wimbledon Common, on a certain autumn +morning when I was pointing out to him the spot called Gypsy Ring. He +was in a very communicative mood that day, and more amenable to criticism +than he generally was. I had been speaking of certain bold coincidences +in "Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye"--especially that of Lavengro's meeting +by accident in the neighbourhood of Salisbury Plain the son of the very +apple-woman of London Bridge with whom he had made friends, and also of +such apparently manufactured situations as that of Lavengro's coming upon +the man whom Wordsworth's poetry had sent into a deep slumber in a +meadow. + +"What is an autobiography?" he asked. "Is it a mere record of the +incidents of a man's life? or is it a picture of the man himself--his +character, his soul?" + +Now this I think a very suggestive question of Borrow's with regard to +himself and his own work. That he sat down to write his own life in +"Lavengro" I know. He had no idea then of departing from the strict line +of fact. Indeed, his letters to his friend Mr. John Murray would alone +be sufficient to establish this in spite of his calling "Lavengro" a +dream. In the first volume he did almost confine himself to matters of +fact. But as he went on he clearly found that the ordinary tapestry into +which Destiny had woven the incidents of his life were not tinged with +sufficient depth of colour to satisfy his sense of wonder; for, let it be +remembered, that of love as a strong passion he had almost none. Surely +no one but Lavengro could have lived in a dingle with a girl like Belle +Berners, and passed the time in trying to teach her Armenian. Without +strong passion no very deeply coloured life-tapestry can, in these +unadventurous days, be woven. The manufactured incidents of which there +are so many in "Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye," are introduced to give +colour to a web of life that strong Passion had left untinged. But why? +In order to flash upon the personality of Lavengro, and upon Lavengro's +attitude towards the universe unseen as well as seen, a light more +searching, as Borrow considered, than any picture of actual experience +could have done. In other words, to build up the truth of the character +of Lavengro, Borrow does not shrink from manipulating certain incidents +and inventing others. And when he wishes to dive very boldly into the +"abysmal deeps of personality," he speaks and moves partly behind the +mask of some fictitious character, such as the man who touched for the +evil chance, and such as the hypochondriac who taught himself Chinese to +ward off despair, but could not tell the time of day by looking at the +clock. This is not the place for me to enter more fully into this +matter, but I am looking forward to a fitting occasion of showing whether +or not "Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye" form a spiritual autobiography; +and if they do, whether that autobiography does or does not surpass every +other for absolute truth of spiritual representation. Meantime, let it +be remembered by those who object to Borrow's method that, as I have just +hinted, at the basis of his character was a deep sense of wonder. Let it +be remembered that he was led to study the first of the many languages he +taught himself--Irish--because there was, as he said, "something +mysterious and uncommon in its use." Let it be remembered that it was +this instinct of wonder, not the impulse of the mere _poseur_, that +impelled him to make certain exaggerated statements about the characters +themselves who are introduced into his books. + + + +III. ISOPEL BERNERS. + + +For instance, the tall girl, Isopel Berners--the most vigorous sketch he +has given us--is perfect as she is adorable. Among heroines she stands +quite alone; there is none other that is in the least like her. Yet she +is in many of her qualities typical of a class. Among the very bravest +of all human beings in the British Islands are, or were, the nomadic +girls of the high road and the dingle. Their bravery is not only an +inherited quality: it is in every way fostered by their mode of life. No +tenderness from the men with whom they travel, either as wives or as +mistresses, do they get--none of the chivalry which girls in most other +grades of life experience--and none do they expect. In all disputes +between themselves and the men, their associates, they know that the +final argument is the knock-down blow. With the Romany girl, too, this +is the case, to be sure; but then, while the Romany girl, as a rule, +owing to tribal customs, receives the blow in patience, the English girl +is apt to return it, and with vigour. This condition of things gives the +English road-girl a frank independence of bearing which distinguishes her +from girls of all other classes. There is something of the charm of the +savage about her, even to her odd passion for tattoo. No doubt Isopel is +an idealisation of the class; but the class, with all its drawbacks, has +a certain winsomeness for men of Borrow's temperament. + +But, unfortunately, his love of the wonderful, his instinct for +exaggeration, asserts itself even here. I need give only one instance of +what I mean. He makes Isopel Berners speak of herself as being taller +than Lavengro. Now, as Borrow gives Lavengro his own character and +physique in every detail, even to the silvery hair and even to the +somewhat peculiar method of sparring, and as he himself stood six feet +two inches, Isopel must have been better adapted to shine as a giantess +in a show than as a fighting woman capable of cowing the "Flaming Tinman" +himself. + +It is a very exceptional woman that can really stand up against a trained +boxer, and it is, I believe, or used to be, an axiom among the nomads +that no fighting woman ought to stand more than about five feet ten +inches at the outside. A handsome young woman never looks so superb as +when boxing; but it is under peculiar disadvantages that she spars with a +man, inasmuch as she has, even when properly padded (as assuredly every +woman ought to be) to guard her chest with even more care than she guards +her face. The truth is, as Borrow must have known, that women, in order +to stand a chance against men, must rely upon some special and surprising +method of attack--such, for instance, as that of the sudden "left-hand +body blow" of the magnificent gypsy girl of whose exploits I told him +that day at "Gypsy Ring"--who, when travelling in England, was attached +to Boswell's boxing-booth, and was always accompanied by a favourite +bantam cock, ornamented with a gold ring in each wattle, and trained to +clap his wings and crow whenever he saw his mistress putting on the +gloves--the most beautiful girl, gypsy or other, that ever went into East +Anglia. This "left-hand body blow" of hers she delivered so +unexpectedly, and with such an engine-like velocity, that but few boxers +could "stop it." + +But, with regard to Isopel Berners, neither Lavengro, nor the man she +thrashed when he stole one of her flaxen hairs to conjure with, gives the +reader the faintest idea of Isopel's method of attack or defence, and we +have to take her prowess on trust. + +In a word, Borrow was content to give us the Wonderful, without taking +that trouble to find for it a logical basis which a literary master would +have taken. And instances might easily be multiplied of this +exaggeration of Borrow's, which is apt to lend a sense of unreality to +some of the most picturesque pages of "Lavengro." + + + +IV. BORROW'S USE OF PATOIS. + + +Nor does Borrow take much trouble to give organic life to a dramatic +picture by the aid of _patois_ in dialogue. In every conversation +between Borrow's gypsies, and between them and Lavengro, the illusion is +constantly being disturbed by the vocabulary of the speakers. It is hard +for the reader to believe that characters such as Jasper Petulengro, his +wife, and sister Ursula, between whom so much of the dialogue is +distributed, should make use of the complex sentences and book-words +which Borrow, on occasion, puts into their mouths. + +I remember once remarking to him upon the value of _patois_ within +certain limits--not only in imaginative but in biographic art. + +His answer came in substance to this, that if the matter of the dialogue +be true to nature, the entire verisimilitude of the form is a secondary +consideration. + +"Walter Scott," said he, "has run to death the method of _patois_ +dialogue." + +He urged, moreover, that the gypsies really are extremely fond of +uncommon and fine words. And this, no doubt, is true, especially in +regard to the women. There is nothing in which the native superiority of +the illiterate Romany woman over the illiterate English woman of the road +is more clearly seen than in the love of long "book-words" (often +mispronounced) displayed by the former. Strong, however, as is the +Romany chi's passion for fine words, her sentences are rarely complex +like some of the sentences Borrow puts into her mouth. + +With regard, however, to the charge of idealising gypsy life--a charge +which has often been brought against Borrow--it must be remembered that +the gypsies to whom he introduces us are the better kind of gryengroes +(horse-dealers), by far the most prosperous of all gypsies. Borrow's +"gryengroes" are not in any way more prosperous than those he knew. + +These nomads have an instinctive knowledge of horseflesh--will tell the +amount of "blood" in any horse by a lightning glance at his quarters--and +will sometimes make large sums before the fair is over. + +Yet, on the whole, I will not deny that Borrow was as successful in +giving us vital portraits of English and Irish characters as of Romany +characters, perhaps more so. + +That hypochondriacal strain in Borrow's nature, which Dr. Hake alludes +to, perhaps prevented him from sympathising fully with the joyous Romany +temper. But over and above this, and charming as the Petulengro family +are, they do not live as do the characters of Mr. Groome in his +delightful book "In Gypsy Tents"--a writer whose treatises on the gypsies +in the "Encyclopaedia Britannica," and in "Chambers' Encyclopedia," are +as full of the fruits of actual personal contact with the gypsies as of +the learning to be derived from books. + + + +V. THE SAVING GRACE OF PUGILISM. + + +Borrow's "Flaming Tinman" is, of course, a brilliant success, but then +he, though named Bosville, is not a pure gypsy. He is what is called on +the roads, I believe, a "half and half"; and in nothing is more clearly +seen that "prepotency of transmission," which I have elsewhere attributed +to the Anglo-Saxon in the racial struggle, than in hybrids of this kind. +A thorough-bred Romany chal can be brutal enough, but the "Flaming +Tinman's" peculiar shade of brutality is Anglo-Saxon, not Romany. The +Tinman's ironical muttering while unharnessing his horse, "Afraid. H'm! +Afraid; that was the word, I think," is worthy of Dickens at his very +best--worthy of Dickens when he created Rogue Riderhood--but it is hardly +Romany, I think. + +The battle in the dingle is superb. + +Borrow is always at his strongest when describing a pugilistic encounter: +for in the saving grace of pugilism as an English accomplishment, he +believed as devoutly almost as he believed in East Anglia and the Bible. +It was this more than anything else that aroused the ire of the critics +of "Lavengro" when it first appeared. One critical journal characterised +the book as the work of a "barbarian." + +This was in 1851, when Clio seemed set upon substituting Harlequin's wand +for Britannia's trident, seemed set upon crowning her with the cap and +bells of Folly in her maudlin mood,--the marvellous and memorable year +when England--while every forge in Europe was glowing with expectance, +ready to beat every ploughshare into a sword--uttered her famous +prophecy, that from the day of the opening of the Prince Consort's glass +show in Hyde Park, bullets, bayonets, and fists were to be institutions +of a benighted past. + +Very different was the prophecy of this "eccentric barbarian," Borrow, +especially as regards the abolition of the British fist. His prophecy +was that the decay of pugilism would be followed by a flourishing time in +England for the revolver and the assassin's knife,--a prophecy which I +can now recommend to those two converts to the virtues of Pugilism, Mr. +Justice Grantham and the present Editor of the _Daily News_, the former +of whom in passing sentence of death (at the Central Criminal Court, on +Wednesday, January 11th, 1893) upon a labourer named Hosler, for stabbing +one Dennis Finnessey to death in a quarrel about a pot of beer, borrowed +in the most impudent manner from the "eccentric barbarian," when he said, +"If men would only use their fists instead of knives when tempted to +violence, so many people would not be hanged"; while the latter remarked +that "the same thing has been said from the bench before, _and cannot be +said too often_." When the "eccentric barbarian" argued that pugnacity +is one of the primary instincts of man--when he argued that no +civilisation can ever eradicate this instinct without emasculating +itself--when he argued that to clench one's fist and "strike out" is the +irresistible impulse of every one who has been assaulted, and that to +make it illegal to "strike out," to make it illegal to learn the art to +"strike out" with the best effect, is not to quell the instinct, but +simply to force it to express itself in other and more dangerous and +dastardly ways--when he argued thus more than forty years ago, he saw +more clearly than did his critics into the future--a future which held +within its womb not only the American civil war and the gigantic +Continental struggles whose bloody reek still "smells to heaven," but +also the present carnival of dynamite, the revolver, and the assassin's +knife. + + + +VI. BORROW'S GYPSIES. + + +To those who knew Borrow, the striking thing about "Lavengro" and "The +Romany Rye" is not that there is so much about the gypsies, but that +there is comparatively so little, and that he only introduces one family +group. Judged from these two books the reader would conclude that he +knew nothing whatever of the Lees, the Stanleys, and the most noticeable +of all, the Lovells, and yet those who knew him are aware that he was +thrown into contact with most of these. But here, as in everything else, +Borrow's eccentric methods can never be foreseen. The most interesting +of all the gypsies are the Welsh gypsies. The Welsh variety of the +Romany tongue is quite peculiar, and the Romanies of the Principality are +superior to all others in these islands in intelligence and in their +passion for gorgio respectability. Borrow in "Lavengro" takes the reader +to the Welsh border itself, and then turns back, leaving the Welsh Romany +undescribed. And in the only part of "Wild Wales" where gypsy life is +afterwards glanced at, the gypsies introduced are not Welsh, but English. + +The two great successes amongst Borrow's Romany characters are +undoubtedly Mrs. Petulengro's mother (old Mrs. Herne) and her grandchild +Leonora, but these are the two wicked characters of the group. It is +impossible to imagine anything better told than the attempt of these two +to poison Lavengro: it is drama of the rarest kind. The terrible +ironical dialogue over the prostrate and semi-conscious Lavengro, between +the child-murderess and the hag-murderess who have poisoned him, is like +nothing else in literature. This scene alone should make "Lavengro" +immortal. In no other race than the Romany would a child of the elf-like +intelligence and unconscious wickedness of Leonora be possible; but also +it must be said that in no other race than the Romany would be possible a +child like her who is made the subject of my sonnet, "A Gypsy Child's +Christmas," printed in the "Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society"--a sonnet +which renders in verse a real incident recorded by my friend before +alluded to:-- + + Dear Sinfi rose and danced along "The Dells," + Drawn by the Christmas chimes, and soon she sate + Where, 'neath the snow around the churchyard gate, + The ploughmen slept in bramble-banded cells: + The gorgios passed, half fearing gipsy spells, + While Sinfi, gazing, seemed to meditate; + She laughed for joy, then wept disconsolate: + "De poor dead gorgios cannot hear de bells." + + Within the church the clouds of gorgio-breath + Arose, a steam of lazy praise and prayer, + To Him who weaves the loving Christmas-stair + O'er sorrow and sin and wintry deeps of Death; + But where stood He? Beside our Sinfi there, + Remembering childish tears in Nazareth. + +Perhaps Borrow's pictures of the gypsies, by omitting to depict the +Romany woman on her loftier, her tragic side, fail to demonstrate what he +well knew to be the Romany's great racial mark of distinction all over +Europe, the enormous superiority of the gypsy women over the gypsy men, +not in intelligence merely, but in all the higher human qualities. While +it is next to impossible to imagine a gypsy hero, gypsy heroines--women +capable of the noblest things--are far from uncommon. + +The "Amazonian Sinfi," alluded to in Dr. Hake's sonnet, was a heroine of +this noble strain, and yet perhaps she was but a type of a certain kind +of Romany chi. + +It was she of the bantam cock and "the left-hand body blow" alluded to +above. + +This same gypsy girl also illustrated another side of the variously +endowed character of the Romany women, ignored, or almost ignored by +Borrow--their passion for music. The daughter of an extremely well-to-do +"gryengro," or dealer in horses, this gypsy girl had travelled over +nearly all England, and was familiar with London, where, in the studio of +a certain romantic artist, she was in great request as a face-model. But +having been brought into close contact with a travelling band of +Hungarian gypsy musicians who visited England some years ago, she +developed a passion for music that showed her to be a musical genius. +The gypsy musicians of Hungary, who are darker than the tented gypsies, +are the most intelligent and most widely-travelled of even Hungarian +gypsies--indeed, of all the Romany race, and with them Sinfi soon +developed into the "Fiddling Sinfi," who was famous in Wales and also in +East Anglia, and the East Midlands. After a while she widened her +reputation in a curious way as the only performer on the old Welsh +stringed instrument called the "crwth," or cruth. I told Borrow her +story at Gypsy Ring. Having become, through the good nature of an +eminent Welsh antiquary, the possessor of a crwth, and having discovered +the unique capabilities of that rarely-seen instrument, she soon taught +herself to play upon it with extraordinary effect, fascinating her Welsh +patrons by the ravishing strains she could draw from it. This obsolete +instrument is six-stringed, with two of the strings reaching beyond the +key-board, and a bridge placed, not at right angles to the sides of the +instrument, but in an oblique direction. Though in some respects +inferior to the violin, it is in other respects superior to it. Sinfi's +performances on this remarkable instrument showed her to be a musical +genius of a high order. + + + +VII. MY FIRST MEETING WITH BORROW. + + +But I am not leaving myself much room for personal reminiscences of +Borrow after all--though these are what I sat down to write. + +Dr. Hake, in his memoirs of "Eighty Years," records thus the first +meeting between Borrow and myself at Roehampton, at the doctor's own +delightful house, whose windows at the back looked over Richmond Park, +and in front over the wildest part of Wimbledon Common. + + "Later on, George Borrow turned up while Watts was there, and we went + through a pleasant trio, in which Borrow, as was his wont, took the + first fiddle. The reader must not here take metaphor for music. + Borrow made himself very agreeable to Watts, recited a fairy tale in + the best style to him, and liked him." + +There is, however, no doubt that Borrow would have run away from me had I +been associated in his mind with the literary calling. But at that time +I had written nothing at all save poems, and a prose story or two of a +romantic kind, and even these, though some of the poems have since +appeared, were then known only through private circulation. + +About me there was nothing of the literary flavour: no need to flee away +from me as he fled from the writing fraternity. He had not long before +this refused to allow Dr. Hake to introduce the late W. R. S. Ralston to +him, simply because the Russian scholar moved in the literary world. + +With regard to newspaper critiques of books his axiom was that "whatever +is praised by the press is of necessity bad," and he refused to read +anything that was so praised. + +After the "fairy tale" mentioned by Dr. Hake was over, we went, at +Borrow's suggestion, for a ramble through Richmond Park, calling on the +way at the "Bald-Faced Stag" in Kingston Vale, in order that Borrow +should introduce me to Jerry Abershaw's sword, which was one of the +special glories of that once famous hostelry. A divine summer day it was +I remember--a day whose heat would have been oppressive had it not been +tempered every now and then by a playful silvery shower falling from an +occasional wandering cloud, whose slate-coloured body thinned at the +edges to a fringe of lace brighter than any silver. + +These showers, however, seemed, as Borrow remarked, merely to give a rich +colour to the sunshine, and to make the wild flowers in the meadows on +the left breathe more freely. In a word, it was one of those uncertain +summer days whose peculiarly English charm was Borrow's special delight. +He liked rain, but he liked it falling on the green umbrella (enormous, +shaggy, like a gypsy-tent after a summer storm) he generally carried. As +we entered the Robin Hood Gate we were confronted by a sudden weird +yellow radiance, magical and mysterious, which showed clearly enough that +in the sky behind us there was gleaming over the fields and over +Wimbledon Common a rainbow of exceptional brilliance, while the raindrops +sparkling on the ferns seemed answering every hue in the magic arch far +away. Borrow told us some interesting stories of Romany superstitions in +connection with the rainbow--how, by making a "trus'hul" (cross) of two +sticks, the Romany chi who "pens the dukkerin can wipe the rainbow out of +the sky," etc. Whereupon Hake, quite as original a man as Borrow, and a +humourist of a still rarer temper, launched out into a strain of wit and +whim, which it is not my business here to record, upon the subject of the +"Spirit of the Rainbow" which a certain child went out to find. + +Borrow loved Richmond Park, and he seemed to know every tree. I found +also that he was extremely learned in deer, and seemed familiar with +every dappled coat which, washed and burnished by the showers, seemed to +shine in the sun like metal. Of course, I observed him closely, and I +began to wonder whether I had encountered, in the silvery-haired giant +striding by my side, with a vast umbrella under his arm, a true "Child of +the Open Air." + +"Did a true Child of the Open Air ever carry a gigantic green umbrella +that would have satisfied Sarah Gamp herself?" I murmured to Hake, while +Borrow lingered under a tree and, looking round the Park, said, in a +dreamy way, "Old England! Old England!" + + + +VIII. A CHILD OF THE OPEN AIR UNDER A GREEN UMBRELLA. + + +Perhaps, however, I had better define what Hake and I meant by this +phrase, and to do this I cannot do better than quote the definition of +Nature-worship, by H. A. the "Swimming Rye," which we had both been just +discussing, and which I quoted not long after this memorable walk in a +literary journal:-- + + "With all the recent cultivation of the picturesque by means of + water-colour landscape, descriptive novels, 'Cook's excursions,' + etc., the real passion for Nature is as rare as ever it was,--perhaps + rarer. It is quite an affair of individual temperament: it cannot be + learned; it cannot be lost. That no writer has ever tried to explain + it shows how little it is known. Often it has but little to do with + poetry, little with science. The poet, indeed, rarely has it at its + very highest; the man of science as rarely. I wish I could define + it:--in human souls--in one, perhaps, as much as in another--there is + always that instinct for contact which is a great factor of progress; + there is always an irresistible yearning to escape from isolation, to + get as close as may be to some other conscious thing. In most + individuals this yearning is simply for contact with other human + souls; in some few it is not. There are some in every country of + whom it is the blessing, not the bane, that, owing to some + exceptional power, or to some exceptional infirmity, they can get + closer to '_Natura Benigna_' herself, closer to her whom we now call + 'Inanimate Nature,' than to the human mother who bore them--far + closer than to father, brother, sister, wife, or friend. Darwin + among English _savants_, and Emily Bronte among English poets, and + Sinfi Lovell among English gypsies, showed a good deal of the + characteristics of the 'Children of the Open Air.' But in the case + of the first of these, besides the strength of his family ties the + pedantic inquisitiveness, the methodising pedantry of the man of + science; in the second, the sensitivity to human contact; and in the + third, subjection to the love passion--disturbed, and indeed + partially stifled, the native instinct with which they were + undoubtedly endowed. + + "Between the true 'Children of the Open Air' and their fellows there + are barriers of idiosyncrasy, barriers of convention, or other + barriers quite indefinable, which they find most difficult to + overpass, and, even when they succeed in overpassing them, the + attempt is not found to be worth the making. For, what the + Nature-worshipper finds in intercourse with his fellow-men is, not + the unegoistic frankness of Nature, his first love, inviting him to + touch her close, soul to soul--but another _ego_ enisled like his + own--sensitive, shrinking, like his own--a soul which, love him as it + may, is, nevertheless, and for all its love, the central _ego_ of the + universe to itself, the very Alcyone round whom all other + Nature-worshippers revolve like the rest of the human constellations. + But between these and Nature there is no such barrier, and upon + Nature they lavish their love--'a most equal love,' that varies no + more with her change of mood than does the love of a man for a + beautiful woman, whether she smiles, or weeps, or frowns. To them a + Highland glen is most beautiful; so is a green meadow; so is a + mountain gorge or a barren peak; so is a South American savannah. A + balmy summer is beautiful, but not more beautiful than a winter's + sleet beating about the face, and stinging every nerve into delicious + life. + + "To the 'Child of the Open Air' life has but few ills; poverty cannot + touch him. Let the Stock Exchange rob him of his Turkish bonds, and + he will go and tend sheep in Sacramento Valley, perfectly content to + see a dozen faces in a year; so far from being lonely, he has got the + sky, the wind, the brown grass, and the sheep. And as life goes on, + love of Nature grows both as a cultus and a passion, and in time + Nature seems 'to know him and love him' in her turn." + +It was the umbrella, green, manifold and bulging, under Borrow's arm, +that made me ask Dr. Hake, as Borrow walked along beneath the trees, "Is +he a genuine Child of the Open Air"? And then, calling to mind +"Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye," I said, "He went into the Dingle, and +lived alone--went there not as an experiment in self-education, as +Thoreau went and lived by Walden Pond. He could enjoy living alone, for +the 'horrors' to which he was occasionally subject did not spring from +solitary living. He was never disturbed by passion as was the +nature-worshipper who once played such selfish tricks with Sinfi Lovell, +and as Emily Bronte would certainly have been had she been placed in such +circumstances as Charlotte Bronte placed Shirley." + +"But the most damning thing of all," said Hake, "is that umbrella, +gigantic and green: a painful thought that has often occurred to me." + +"Passion has certainly never disturbed his nature-worship," said I. "So +devoid of passion is he that to depict a tragic situation is quite beyond +his powers. Picturesque he always is, powerful never. No one reading an +account of the privations of Lavengro during the 'Joseph Sell' period +finds himself able to realise from Borrow's description the misery of a +young man tenderly reared, and with all the pride of an East Anglian +gentleman, living on bread and water in a garret, with starvation staring +him in the face. It is not passion," I said to Hake, "that prevents +Borrow from enjoying the peace of the nature-worshipper. It is Ambition! +His books show that he could never cleanse his stuffed bosom of the +perilous stuff of ambition. To become renowned, judging from many a +peroration in 'Lavengro,' was as great an incentive to Borrow to learn +languages as to Alexander Smith's poet-hero it was an incentive to write +poetry." + +"Ambition and the green gamp," said Hake. "But, look, the rainbow is +fading from the sky without the intervention of gypsy sorceries, and see +how the ferns are changing colour with the change in the light." + +But I soon found that if Borrow was not a perfect Child of the Open Air, +he was something better: a man of that deep sympathy with human kind, +which the "Child of the Open Air" must needs lack. + + + +IX. THE GYPSIES OF NORMAN CROSS. + + +Knowing Borrow's extraordinary shyness and his great dislike of meeting +strangers, Dr. Hake, while Borrow was trying to get as close to the deer +as they would allow, expressed to me his surprise at the terms of cordial +friendship that sprang up between us during that walk. But I was not +surprised: there were several reasons why Borrow should at once take to +me--reasons that had nothing whatever to do with any inherent +attractiveness of my own. + +By recalling what occurred I can throw a more brilliant light upon +Borrow's character than by any kind of analytical disquisition. + +Two herons rose from the Ponds and flew away to where they probably had +their nests. By the expression on Borrow's face as he stood and gazed at +them, I knew that, like myself, he had a passion for herons. + +"Were there many herons around Whittlesea Mere before it was drained?" I +said. + +"I should think so," said he, dreamily, "and every kind of water bird." + +Then, suddenly turning round upon me with a start, he said, "But how do +you know that I knew Whittlesea Mere?" + +"You say in 'Lavengro' that you played among the reeds of Whittlesea Mere +when you were a child." + +"I don't mention Whittlesea Mere in 'Lavengro,'" he said. + +"No," said I, "but you speak of a lake near the old State prison at +Norman Cross, and that was Whittlesea Mere." + +"Then you know Whittlesea Mere?" said Borrow, much interested. + +"I know the place that _was_ Whittlesea Mere before it was drained," I +said, "and I know the vipers around Norman Cross, and I think I know the +lane where you first met Jasper Petulengro. He was a generation before +my time. Indeed, I never was thrown much across the Petulengroes in the +Eastern Counties, but I knew some of the Hernes and the Lees and the +Lovells." + +I then told him what I knew about Romanies and vipers, and also gave him +Marcianus's story about the Moors being invulnerable to the viper's bite, +and about their putting the true breed of a suspected child to the test +by setting it to grasp a viper--as he, Borrow, when a child, grasped one +of the vipers of Norman Cross. + +"The gypsies," said Borrow, "always believed me to be a Romany. But +surely you are not a Romany Rye?" + +"No," I said, "but I am a student of folk-lore; and besides, as it has +been my fortune to see every kind of life in England, high and low, I +could not entirely neglect the Romanies, could I?" + +"I should think not," said Borrow, indignantly. "But I hope you don't +know the literary class among the rest." + +"Hake is my only link to _that_ dark world," I said; "and even you don't +object to Hake. I am purer than he, purer than you, from the taint of +printers' ink." + +He laughed. "Who are you?" + +"The very question I have been asking myself ever since I was a child in +short frocks," I said, "and have never yet found an answer. But Hake +agrees with me that no well-bred soul should embarrass itself with any +such troublesome query." This gave a chance to Hake, who in such local +reminiscences as these had been able to take no part. The humorous +mystery of Man's personality had often been a subject of joke between him +and me in many a ramble in the Park and elsewhere. At once he threw +himself into a strain of whimsical philosophy which partly amused and +partly vexed Borrow, who stood waiting to return to the subject of the +gypsies and East Anglia. + +"You are an Englishman?" said Borrow. + +"Not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman," I said, using a phrase +of his own in "Lavengro"--"if not a thorough East Anglian an East +Midlander; who, you will admit, is nearly as good." + +"Nearly," said Borrow. + +And when I went on to tell him that I once used to drive a genuine +"Shales mare," a descendant of that same famous Norfolk trotter who could +trot fabulous miles an hour, to whom he with the Norfolk farmers raised +his hat in reverence at the Norwich horse fair, and when I promised to +show him a portrait of this same East Anglian mare with myself behind her +in a dogcart--an East Anglian dogcart--when I praised the stinging +saltness of the sea water off Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and Cromer, the +quality which makes it the best, the most buoyant, the most delightful of +all sea water to swim in--when I told him that the only English river in +which you could see reflected the rainbow he loved was "the glassy Ouse" +of East Anglia, and the only place in England where you could see it +reflected in the wet sand was the Norfolk coast, and when I told him a +good many things showing that I was in very truth not only an Englishman, +but an East Englishman, my conquest of the "Walking Lord of Gypsy Lore" +was complete, and from that moment we became friends. + +Hake meanwhile stood listening to the rooks in the distance. He turned +and asked Borrow whether he had never noticed a similarity between the +kind of muffled rattling roar made by the sea-waves upon a distant pebbly +beach and the sound of a large rookery in the distance. + +"It is on _sand_ alone," said Borrow, "that the sea strikes its true +music--Norfolk sand: a rattle is not music." + +"The best of the sea's lutes," I said, "is made by the sands of Cromer." + +I have read over to my beloved old friend Dr. Hake, the above meagre +account of that my first delightful ramble with Borrow. He whose memory +lets nothing escape, has reminded me of a score of interesting things +said and done on that memorable occasion. But in putting into print any +record of one's intercourse with a famous man, there is always an +unpleasant sense of lapsing into egotism. And besides, the reader has +very likely had enough now of talk between Borrow and me. + + + +X. THE FUTURE OF BORROW'S WORKS. + + +He whom London once tried hard, but in vain, to lionise, lived during +some of the last years of his life in Hereford Square, unknown to any +save about a dozen friends. At the head of them stood Mr. John Murray, +whose virtues, both as publisher and as English gentleman, he was never +tired of extolling. + +Afterwards he went down to East Anglia--that East Anglia he loved so +well--went there, as he told me, to die. + +But it was not till one day in 1881 that Borrow achieved, in the Cottage +by the Oulton Broads which his genius once made famous, and where so much +of his best work had been written, the soul's great conquest over its +fleshly trammels, the conquest we call death, but which he believed to be +life. His body was laid by the side of that of his wife at Brompton. + +When I wrote his obituary notice in the _Athenaeum_ no little wonder was +expressed in various quarters that the "Walking Lord of Gypsy Lore" had +been walking so lately the earth. + +And yet his "Bible in Spain" had still a regular sale. His "Lavengro" +and "Romany Rye" were still allowed by all competent critics to be among +the most delightful books in the language. Indeed, at his death, Borrow +was what he now is, and what he will continue to be long after Time has +played havoc with nine-tenths of the writers whose names are week by +week, and day by day, "paragraphed" in the papers as "literary +celebrities"--an English classic. + +Apart from Borrow's undoubted genius as a writer the subject-matter of +his writings has an interest that will not wane but will go on growing. +The more the features of our "Beautiful England," to use his own phrase, +are changed by the multitudinous effects of the railway system, the more +attraction will readers find in books which depict her before her beauty +was marred--books which depict her in those antediluvian days when there +was such a thing as space in the island--when in England there was a +sense of distance, that sense without which there can be no romance--when +the stage-coach was in its glory--when the only magician who could convey +man and his belongings at any rate of speed beyond man's own walking rate +was the horse--the beloved horse whose praises Borrow loved to sing, and +whose ideal was reached in the mighty "Shales"--when the great high roads +were alive, not merely with the bustle of business, but with real +adventure for the traveller--days and scenes which Borrow better than any +one else could paint. A time will come, I say, when not only books full +of descriptive genius, like "Lavengro," but even such comparatively tame +descriptions of England as the "Gleanings in England and Wales" of the +now forgotten East Midlander, Samuel Jackson Pratt, will be read with a +new interest. But why was Borrow so entirely forgotten at the moment of +his death? Simply because, like many another man of genius and many a +scholar, he refused to figure in the literary arena--went on his way +quietly influencing the world, but mixing only with his private friends. + + THEODORE WATTS. + + + + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. + + +In the following pages I have endeavoured to describe a dream, partly of +study, partly of adventure, in which will be found copious notices of +books, and many descriptions of life and manners, some in a very unusual +form. + +The scenes of action lie in the British Islands;--pray be not displeased, +gentle reader, if perchance thou hast imagined that I was about to +conduct thee to distant lands, and didst promise thyself much instruction +and entertainment from what I might tell thee of them. I do assure thee +that thou hast no reason to be displeased, inasmuch as there are no +countries in the world less known by the British than these selfsame +British Islands, or where more strange things are every day occurring, +whether in road or street, house or dingle. + +The time embraces nearly the first quarter of the present century: this +information again may, perhaps, be anything but agreeable to thee; it is +a long time to revert to, but fret not thyself, many matters which at +present much occupy the public mind originated in some degree towards the +latter end of that period, and some of them will be treated of. + +The principal actors in this dream, or drama, are, as you will have +gathered from the title-page, a Scholar, a Gypsy, and a Priest. Should +you imagine that these three form one, permit me to assure you that you +are very much mistaken. Should there be something of the Gypsy manifest +in the Scholar, there is certainly nothing of the Priest. With respect +to the Gypsy--decidedly the most entertaining character of the +three--there is certainly nothing of the Scholar or the Priest in him; +and as for the Priest, though there may be something in him both of +scholarship and gypsyism, neither the Scholar nor the Gypsy would feel at +all flattered by being confounded with him. + +Many characters which may be called subordinate will be found, and it is +probable that some of these characters will afford much more interest to +the reader than those styled the principal. The favourites with the +writer are a brave old soldier and his helpmate, an ancient gentlewoman +who sold apples, and a strange kind of wandering man and his wife. + +Amongst the many things attempted in this book is the encouragement of +charity, and free and genial manners, and the exposure of humbug, of +which there are various kinds, but of which the most perfidious, the most +debasing, and the most cruel, is the humbug of the Priest. + +Yet let no one think that irreligion is advocated in this book. With +respect to religious tenets, I wish to observe that I am a member of the +Church of England, into whose communion I was baptized, and to which my +forefathers belonged. Its being the religion in which I was baptized, +and of my forefathers, would be a strong inducement to me to cling to it; +for I do not happen to be one of those choice spirits "who turn from +their banner when the battle bears strongly against it, and go over to +the enemy," and who receive at first a hug and a "viva," and in the +sequel contempt and spittle in the face; but my chief reason for +belonging to it is, because, of all Churches calling themselves Christian +ones, I believe there is none so good, so well founded upon Scripture, or +whose ministers are, upon the whole, so exemplary in their lives and +conversation, so well read in the book from which they preach, or so +versed in general learning, so useful in their immediate neighbourhoods, +or so unwilling to persecute people of other denominations for matters of +doctrine. + +In the communion of this Church, and with the religious consolation of +its ministers, I wish and hope to live and die, and in its and their +defence will at all times be ready, if required, to speak, though humbly, +and to fight, though feebly, against enemies, whether carnal or +spiritual. + +And is there no priestcraft in the Church of England? There is +certainly, or rather there was, a modicum of priestcraft in the Church of +England, but I have generally found that those who are most vehement +against the Church of England are chiefly dissatisfied with her, because +there is only a modicum of that article in her--were she stuffed to the +very cupola with it, like a certain other Church, they would have much +less to say against the Church of England. + +By the other Church, I mean Rome. Its system was once prevalent in +England, and, during the period that it prevailed there, was more +prolific of debasement and crime than all other causes united. The +people and the government at last becoming enlightened by means of the +Scripture, spurned it from the island with disgust and horror, the land +instantly after its disappearance becoming a fair field, in which arts, +sciences, and all the amiable virtues flourished, instead of being a +pestilent marsh where swine-like ignorance wallowed, and artful +hypocrites, like so many Wills-o'-the-wisp, played antic gambols about, +around, and above debased humanity. + +But Popery still wished to play her old part, to regain her lost +dominion, to reconvert the smiling land into the pestilential morass, +where she could play again her old antics. From the period of the +Reformation in England up to the present time, she has kept her +emissaries here, individuals contemptible in intellect, it is true, but +cat-like and gliding, who, at her bidding, have endeavoured, as much as +in their power has lain, to damp and stifle every genial, honest, loyal, +and independent thought, and to reduce minds to such a state of dotage as +would enable their old Popish mother to do what she pleased with them. + +And in every country, however enlightened, there are always minds +inclined to grovelling superstition--minds fond of eating dust, and +swallowing clay--minds never at rest, save when prostrate before some +fellow in a surplice; and these Popish emissaries found always some weak +enough to bow down before them, astounded by their dreadful denunciations +of eternal woe and damnation to any who should refuse to believe their +Romania; but they played a poor game--the law protected the servants of +Scripture, and the priest with his beads seldom ventured to approach any +but the remnant of those of the eikonolatry--representatives of +worm-eaten houses, their debased dependants, and a few poor crazy +creatures amongst the middle classes--he played a poor game, and the +labour was about to prove almost entirely in vain, when the English +legislature, in compassion or contempt, or, yet more probably, influenced +by that spirit of toleration and kindness which is so mixed up with +Protestantism, removed almost entirely the disabilities under which +Popery laboured, and enabled it to raise its head, and to speak out +almost without fear. + +And it did raise its head, and, though it spoke with some little fear at +first, soon discarded every relic of it; went about the land uttering its +damnation cry, gathering around it--and for doing so many thanks to +it--the favourers of priestcraft who lurked within the walls of the +Church of England; frightening with the loudness of its voice the weak, +the timid, and the ailing; perpetrating, whenever it had an opportunity, +that species of crime to which it has ever been most partial--_Deathbed +robbery_; for as it is cruel, so is it dastardly. Yes, it went on +enlisting, plundering, and uttering its terrible threats till--till it +became, as it always does when left to itself, a fool, a very fool. Its +plunderings might have been overlooked, and so might its insolence, had +it been common insolence, but it--, and then the roar of indignation +which arose from outraged England against the viper, the frozen viper +which it had permitted to warm itself upon its bosom. + +But thanks, Popery, you have done all that the friends of enlightenment +and religious liberty could wish; but if ever there were a set of foolish +ones to be found under Heaven, surely it is the priestly rabble who came +over from Rome to direct the grand movement--so long in its getting up. + +But now again the damnation cry is withdrawn, there is a subdued meekness +in your demeanour, you are now once more harmless as a lamb. Well, we +shall see how the trick--"the old trick"--will serve you. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Birth--My Father--Tamerlane--Ben Brain--French Protestants--East +Anglia--Sorrow and Troubles--True Peace--A Beautiful Child--Foreign +Grave--Mirrors--Alpine Country Emblems--Slow of Speech--The Jew--Strange +Gestures. + +On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D---, a beautiful little +town in a certain district of East Anglia, I first saw the light. + +My father was a Cornish man, the youngest, as I have heard him say, of +seven brothers. He sprang from a family of gentlemen, or, as some people +would call them, gentillatres, for they were not very wealthy; they had a +coat of arms, however, and lived on their own property at a place called +Tredinnock, which being interpreted means _the house on the hill_, which +house and the neighbouring acres had been from time immemorial in their +possession. I mention these particulars that the reader may see at once +that I am not altogether of low and plebeian origin; the present age is +highly aristocratic, and I am convinced that the public will read my +pages with more zest from being told that I am a gentillatre by birth +with Cornish blood {1} in my veins, of a family who lived on their own +property at a place bearing a Celtic name signifying the house on the +hill, or more strictly the house on the _hillock_. + +My father was what is generally termed a posthumous child--in other +words, the gentillatre who begot him never had the satisfaction of +invoking the blessing of the Father of All upon his head, having departed +this life some months before the birth of his youngest son. The boy, +therefore, never knew a father's care; he was, however, well tended by +his mother, whose favourite he was; so much so, indeed, that his +brethren, the youngest of whom was considerably older than himself, were +rather jealous of him. I never heard, however, that they treated him +with any marked unkindness; and it will be as well to observe here that I +am by no means well acquainted with his early history, of which, indeed, +as I am not writing his life, it is not necessary to say much. Shortly +after his mother's death, which occurred when he was eighteen, he adopted +the profession of arms, which he followed during the remainder of his +life, and in which, had circumstances permitted, he would probably have +shone amongst the best. By nature he was cool and collected, slow to +anger, though perfectly fearless, patient of control, of great strength; +and, to crown all, a proper man with his hands. + +With far inferior qualifications many a man has become a field-marshal or +general; similar ones made Tamerlane, who was not a gentillatre, but the +son of a blacksmith, emperor of one-third of the world; but the race is +not always for the swift, nor the battle for the strong, indeed I ought +rather to say very seldom; certain it is, that my father, with all his +high military qualifications, never became emperor, field-marshal, or +even general; indeed, he had never an opportunity of distinguishing +himself save in one battle, and that took place neither in Flanders, +Egypt, nor on the banks of the Indus or Oxus, but in Hyde Park. + +Smile not, gentle reader, many a battle has been fought in Hyde Park, in +which as much skill, science, and bravery have been displayed as ever +achieved a victory in Flanders or by the Indus. In such a combat as that +to which I allude I opine that even Wellington or Napoleon would have +been heartily glad to cry for quarter ere the lapse of five minutes, and +even the Blacksmith Tartar would, perhaps, have shrunk from the opponent +with whom, after having had a dispute with him, my father engaged in +single combat for one hour, at the end of which time the champions shook +hands and retired, each having experienced quite enough of the other's +prowess. The name of my father's antagonist was Brain. + +What! still a smile? did you never hear that name before? I cannot help +it! Honour to Brain, who four months after the event which I have now +narrated was champion of England, having conquered the heroic Johnson. +Honour to Brain, who, at the end of other four months, worn out by the +dreadful blows which he had received in his manly combats, expired in the +arms of my father, who read the Bible to him in his latter moments--Big +Ben Brain. + +You no longer smile, even _you_ have heard of Big Ben. + +I have already hinted that my father never rose to any very exalted rank +in his profession, notwithstanding his prowess and other qualifications. +After serving for many years in the line, he at last entered as captain +in the militia regiment of the Earl of ---, at that period just raised, +and to which he was sent by the Duke of York to instruct the young levies +in military manoeuvres and discipline; and in this mission I believe he +perfectly succeeded, competent judges having assured me that the regiment +in question soon came by his means to be considered as one of the most +brilliant in the service, and inferior to no regiment of the line in +appearance or discipline. + +As the head-quarters of this corps were at D---, the duties of my father +not unfrequently carried him to that place, and it was on one of these +occasions that he became acquainted with a young person of the +neighbourhood, for whom he formed an attachment, which was returned; and +this young person was my mother. + +She was descended from a family of French Protestants, natives of Caen, +who were obliged to leave their native country when old Louis, at the +instigation of the Pope, thought fit to revoke the Edict of Nantes: their +name was Petrement, and I have reason for believing that they were people +of some consideration; that they were noble hearts and good Christians +they gave sufficient proof in scorning to bow the knee to the tyranny of +Rome. So they left beautiful Normandy for their faith's sake, and with a +few louis d'ors in their purse, a Bible in the vulgar tongue, and a +couple of old swords, which, if report be true, had done service in the +Huguenot wars, they crossed the sea to the isle of civil peace and +religious liberty, and established themselves in East Anglia. + +And many other Huguenot families bent their steps thither, and devoted +themselves to agriculture or the mechanical arts; and in the venerable +old city, the capital of the province, in the northern shadow of the +Castle of De Burgh, the exiles built for themselves a church where they +praised God in the French tongue, and to which, at particular seasons of +the year, they were in the habit of flocking from country and from town +to sing-- + +"Thou hast provided for us a goodly earth; Thou waterest her furrows, +Thou sendest rain into the little valleys thereof, Thou makest it soft +with the drops of rain, and blessest the increase of it." + +I have been told that in her younger days my mother was strikingly +handsome; this I can easily believe: I never knew her in her youth, for +though she was very young when she married my father (who was her senior +by many years), she had attained the middle age before I was born, no +children having been vouchsafed to my parents in the early stages of +their union. Yet even at the present day, now that years threescore and +ten have passed over her head, attended with sorrow and troubles +manifold, poorly chequered with scanty joys, can I look on that +countenance and doubt that at one time beauty decked it as with a +glorious garment? Hail to thee, my parent! as thou sittest there, in thy +widow's weeds, in the dusky parlour in the house overgrown with the +lustrous ivy of the sister isle, the solitary house at the end of the +retired court shaded by lofty poplars. Hail to thee, dame of the oval +face, olive complexion, and Grecian forehead; by thy table seated with +the mighty volume of the good Bishop Hopkins spread out before thee; +there is peace in thy countenance, my mother; it is not worldly peace, +however, not the deceitful peace which lulls to bewitching slumbers, and +from which, let us pray, humbly pray, that every sinner may be roused in +time to implore mercy not in vain! Thine is the peace of the righteous, +my mother, of those to whom no sin can be imputed, the score of whose +misdeeds has been long since washed away by the blood of atonement, which +imputeth righteousness to those who trust in it. It was not always thus, +my mother; a time was, when the cares, pomps, and vanities of this world +agitated thee too much; but that time is gone by, another and a better +has succeeded; there is peace now on thy countenance, the true peace; +peace around thee, too, in thy solitary dwelling, sounds of peace, the +cheerful hum of the kettle and the purring of the immense Angola, which +stares up at thee from its settle with its almost human eyes. + +No more earthly cares and affections now, my mother! Yes, one. Why dost +thou suddenly raise thy dark and still brilliant eye from the volume with +a somewhat startled glance? What noise is that in the distant street? +Merely the noise of a hoof; a sound common enough; it draws nearer, +nearer, and now it stops before thy gate. Singular! And now there is a +pause, a long pause. Ha! thou hearest something--a footstep; a swift but +heavy footstep! thou risest, thou tremblest, there is a hand on the pin +of the outer door, there is some one in the vestibule, and now the door +of thy apartment opens, there is a reflection on the mirror behind thee, +a travelling hat, a gray head and sunburnt face. My dearest Son! My +darling Mother! + +Yes, mother, thou didst recognize in the distant street the hoof-tramp of +the wanderer's horse. + +I was not the only child of my parents; I had a brother some three years +older than myself. He was a beautiful child; one of those occasionally +seen in England, and in England alone; a rosy, angelic face, blue eyes, +and light chestnut hair; it was not exactly an Anglo-Saxon countenance, +in which, by the by, there is generally a cast of loutishness and +stupidity; it partook, to a certain extent, of the Celtic character, +particularly in the fire and vivacity which illumined it; his face was +the mirror of his mind; perhaps no disposition more amiable was ever +found amongst the children of Adam, united, however, with no +inconsiderable portion of high and dauntless spirit. So great was his +beauty in infancy that people, especially those of the poorer classes, +would follow the nurse who carried him about in order to look at and +bless his lovely face. At the age of three months an attempt was made to +snatch him from his mother's arms in the streets of London, at the moment +she was about to enter a coach; indeed, his appearance seemed to operate +so powerfully upon every person who beheld him that my parents were under +continual apprehension of losing him; his beauty, however, was perhaps +surpassed by the quickness of his parts. He mastered his letters in a +few hours, and in a day or two could decipher the names of people on the +doors of houses and over the shop-windows. + +As he grew up his personal appearance became less prepossessing, his +quickness and cleverness, however, rather increased; and I may say of +him, that with respect to everything which he took in hand he did it +better and more speedily than any other person. Perhaps it will be asked +here, what became of him? Alas! alas! his was an early and a foreign +grave. As I have said before, the race is not always for the swift, nor +the battle for the strong. + +And now, doubtless, after the above portrait of my brother, painted in +the very best style of Rubens, the reader will conceive himself justified +in expecting a full-length one of myself, as a child, for as to my +present appearance, I suppose he will be tolerably content with that +flitting glimpse in the mirror. But he must excuse me; I have no +intention of drawing a portrait of myself in childhood; indeed it would +be difficult, for at that time I never looked into mirrors. No attempts, +however, were ever made to steal me in my infancy, and I never heard that +my parents entertained the slightest apprehension of losing me by the +hands of kidnappers, though I remember perfectly well that people were in +the habit of standing still to look at me, ay, more than at my brother; +from which premises the reader may form any conclusion with respect to my +appearance which seemeth good unto him and reasonable. Should he, being +a good-natured person, and always inclined to adopt the charitable side +in any doubtful point, be willing to suppose that I, too, was eminently +endowed by nature with personal graces, I tell him frankly that I have no +objection whatever to his entertaining that idea; moreover, that I +heartily thank him, and shall at all times be disposed, under similar +circumstances, to exercise the same species of charity towards himself. + +With respect to my mind and its qualities I shall be more explicit; for +were I to maintain much reserve on this point, many things which appear +in these memoirs would be highly mysterious to the reader, indeed +incomprehensible. Perhaps no two individuals were ever more unlike in +mind and disposition than my brother and myself: as light is opposed to +darkness, so was that happy, brilliant, cheerful child to the sad and +melancholy being who sprang from the same stock as himself, and was +nurtured by the same milk. + +Once, when travelling in an Alpine country, I arrived at a considerable +elevation; I saw in the distance, far below, a beautiful stream hastening +to the ocean, its rapid waters here sparkling in the sunshine, and there +tumbling merrily in cascades. On its banks were vineyards and cheerful +villages; close to where I stood, in a granite basin, with steep and +precipitous sides, slumbered a deep, dark lagoon, shaded by black pines, +cypresses, and yews. It was a wild, savage spot, strange and singular; +ravens hovered above the pines, filling the air with their uncouth notes, +pies chattered, and I heard the cry of an eagle from a neighbouring peak; +there lay the lake, the dark, solitary, and almost inaccessible lake; +gloomy shadows were upon it, which, strangely modified as gusts of wind +agitated the surface, occasionally assumed the shape of monsters. So I +stood on the Alpine elevation, and looked now on the gay distant river, +and now at the dark granite-encircled lake close beside me in the lone +solitude, and I thought of my brother and myself. I am no moralizer; but +the gay and rapid river and the dark and silent lake were, of a verity, +no bad emblems of us two. + +So far from being quick and clever like my brother, and able to rival the +literary feat which I have recorded of him, many years elapsed before I +was able to understand the nature of letters, or to connect them. A +lover of nooks and retired corners, I was as a child in the habit of +fleeing from society, and of sitting for hours together with my head on +my breast. What I was thinking about it would be difficult to say at +this distance of time; I remember perfectly well, however, being ever +conscious of a peculiar heaviness within me, and at times of a strange +sensation of fear, which occasionally amounted to horror, and for which I +could assign no real cause whatever. + +By nature slow of speech, I took no pleasure in conversation, nor in +hearing the voices of my fellow-creatures. When people addressed me I +not unfrequently, especially if they were strangers, turned away my head +from them, and if they persisted in their notice burst into tears, which +singularity of behaviour by no means tended to dispose people in my +favour. I was as much disliked as my brother was deservedly beloved and +admired. My parents, it is true, were always kind to me; and my brother, +who was good nature itself, was continually lavishing upon me every mark +of affection. + +There was, however, one individual who, in the days of my childhood, was +disposed to form a favourable opinion of me. One day a Jew--I have quite +forgotten the circumstance, but I was long subsequently informed of +it--one day a travelling Jew knocked at the door of a farmhouse in which +we had taken apartments; I was near at hand, sitting in the bright +sunshine, drawing strange lines on the dust with my fingers, an ape and +dog were my companions; the Jew looked at me and asked me some questions, +to which, though I was quite able to speak, I returned no answer. On the +door being opened, the Jew, after a few words, probably relating to +pedlary, demanded who the child was, sitting in the sun; the maid replied +that I was her mistress's youngest son, a child weak _here_, pointing to +her forehead. The Jew looked at me again, and then said, "'Pon my +conscience, my dear, I believe that you must be troubled there yourself +to tell me any such thing. It is not my habit to speak to children, +inasmuch as I hate them, because they often follow me and fling stones +after me; but I no sooner looked at that child than I was forced to speak +to it--his not answering me shows his sense, for it has never been the +custom of the wise to fling away their words in indifferent talk and +conversation; the child is a sweet child, and has all the look of one of +our people's children. Fool, indeed! did I not see his eyes sparkle just +now when the monkey seized the dog by the ear? they shone like my own +diamonds--does your good lady want any, real and fine? Were it not for +what you tell me, I should say it was a prophet's child. Fool, indeed! +he can write already, or I'll forfeit the box which I carry on my back, +and for which I should be loth to take two hundred pounds!" He then +leaned forward to inspect the lines which I had traced. All of a sudden +he started back, and grew white as a sheet; then, taking off his hat, he +made some strange gestures to me, cringing, chattering, and showing his +teeth, and shortly departed, muttering something about "holy letters," +and talking to himself in a strange tongue. The words of the Jew were in +due course of time reported to my mother, who treasured them in her +heart, and from that moment began to entertain brighter hopes of her +youngest-born than she had ever before ventured to foster. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Barracks and Lodgings--A Camp--The Viper--A Delicate Child--Blackberry +Time--Meum and Tuum--Hythe--The Golgotha--Daneman's Skull--Superhuman +Stature--Stirring Times--The Sea-Board. + +I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life; indeed I remember +only two periods, and these by no means lengthy, when I was, strictly +speaking, stationary. I was a soldier's son, and as the means of my +father were by no means sufficient to support two establishments, his +family invariably attended him wherever he went, so that from my infancy +I was accustomed to travelling and wandering, and looked upon a monthly +change of scene and residence as a matter of course. Sometimes we lived +in barracks, sometimes in lodgings, but generally in the former, always +eschewing the latter from motives of economy, save when the barracks were +inconvenient and uncomfortable; and they must have been highly so indeed +to have discouraged us from entering them; for though we were gentry +(pray bear that in mind, gentle reader), gentry by birth, and +incontestably so by my father's bearing the commission of good old George +the Third, we were _not fine gentry_, but people who could put up with as +much as any genteel Scotch family who find it convenient to live on a +third floor in London, or on a sixth at Edinburgh or Glasgow. It was not +a little that could discourage us: we once lived within the canvas walls +of a camp, at a place called Pett, in Sussex; and I believe it was at +this place that occurred the first circumstance, or adventure, call it +which you will, that I can remember in connection with myself: it was a +strange one, and I will relate it. + +It happened that my brother and myself were playing one evening in a +sandy lane, in the neighbourhood of this Pett camp; our mother was at a +slight distance. All of a sudden a bright yellow, and, to my infantine +eye, beautiful and glorious object made its appearance at the top of the +bank from between the thick quickset, and, gliding down, began to move +across the lane to the other side, like a line of golden light. Uttering +a cry of pleasure, I sprang forward, and seized it nearly by the middle. +A strange sensation of numbing coldness seemed to pervade my whole arm, +which surprised me the more as the object to the eye appeared so warm and +sunlike. I did not drop it, however, but, holding it up, looked at it +intently, as its head dangled about a foot from my hand. It made no +resistance; I felt not even the slightest struggle; but now my brother +began to scream and shriek like one possessed. "O mother, mother!" said +he, "the viper! my brother has a viper in his hand!" He then, like one +frantic, made an effort to snatch the creature away from me. The viper +now hissed amain, and raised its head, in which were eyes like hot coals, +menacing, not myself, but my brother. I dropped my captive, for I saw my +mother running towards me; and the reptile, after standing for a moment +nearly erect and still hissing furiously, made off, and disappeared. The +whole scene is now before me, as vividly as if it occurred yesterday--the +gorgeous viper, my poor dear frantic brother, my agitated parent, and a +frightened hen clucking under the bushes: and yet I was not three years +old. + +It is my firm belief that certain individuals possess an inherent power, +or fascination, over certain creatures, otherwise I should be unable to +account for many feats which I have witnessed, and, indeed, borne a share +in, connected with the taming of brutes and reptiles. I have known a +savage and vicious mare, whose stall it was dangerous to approach, even +when bearing provender, welcome, nevertheless, with every appearance of +pleasure, an uncouth, wiry-headed man, with a frightfully seamed face, +and an iron hook supplying the place of his right arm, one whom the +animal had never seen before, playfully bite his hair and cover his face +with gentle and endearing kisses; and I have already stated how a viper +would permit, without resentment, one child to take it up in his hand, +whilst it showed its dislike to the approach of another by the fiercest +hissings. Philosophy can explain many strange things, but there are some +which are a far pitch above her, and this is one. + +I should scarcely relate another circumstance which occurred about this +time but for a singular effect which it produced upon my constitution. +Up to this period I had been rather a delicate child; whereas almost +immediately after the occurrence to which I allude I became both hale and +vigorous, to the great astonishment of my parents, who naturally enough +expected that it would produce quite a contrary effect. + +It happened that my brother and myself were disporting ourselves in +certain fields near the good town of Canterbury. A female servant had +attended us, in order to take care that we came to no mischief: she, +however, it seems, had matters of her own to attend to, and, allowing us +to go where we listed, remained in one corner of a field, in earnest +conversation with a red-coated dragoon. Now it chanced to be blackberry +time, and the two children wandered under the hedges, peering anxiously +among them in quest of that trash so grateful to urchins of their degree. +We did not find much of it however, and were soon separated in the +pursuit. All at once I stood still, and could scarcely believe my eyes. +I had come to a spot where, almost covering the hedge, hung clusters of +what seemed fruit, deliciously-tempting fruit--something resembling +grapes of various colours, green, red, and purple. Dear me, thought I, +how fortunate! yet have I a right to gather it? is it mine? for the +observance of the law of _meum_ and _tuum_ had early been impressed upon +my mind, and I entertained, even at that tender age, the utmost horror +for theft; so I stood staring at the variegated clusters, in doubt as to +what I should do. I know not how I argued the matter in my mind; the +temptation, however, was at last too strong for me, so I stretched forth +my hand and ate. I remember, perfectly well, that the taste of this +strange fruit was by no means so pleasant as the appearance; but the idea +of eating fruit was sufficient for a child, and, after all, the flavour +was much superior to that of sour apples, so I ate voraciously. How long +I continued eating I scarcely know. One thing is certain, that I never +left the field as I entered it, being carried home in the arms of the +dragoon in strong convulsions, in which I continued for several hours. +About midnight I awoke, as if from a troubled sleep, and beheld my +parents bending over my couch, whilst the regimental surgeon, with a +candle in his hand, stood nigh, the light feebly reflected on the +whitewashed walls of the barrack-room. + +Another circumstance connected with my infancy, and I have done. I need +offer no apology for relating it, as it subsequently exercised +considerable influence over my pursuits. We were, if I remember right, +in the vicinity of a place called Hythe, in Kent. One sweet evening, in +the latter part of summer, our mother took her two little boys by the +hand, for a wander about the fields. In the course of our stroll we came +to the village church; an old gray-headed sexton stood in the porch, who, +perceiving that we were strangers, invited us to enter. We were +presently in the interior, wandering about the aisles, looking on the +walls, and inspecting the monuments of the notable dead. I can scarcely +state what we saw; how should I? I was a child not yet four years old, +and yet I think I remember the evening sun streaming in through a stained +window upon the dingy mahogany pulpit, and flinging a rich lustre upon +the faded tints of an ancient banner. And now once more we were outside +the building, where, against the wall, stood a low-eaved pent-house, into +which we looked. It was half filled with substances of some kind, which +at first looked like large gray stones. The greater part were lying in +layers; some, however, were seen in confused and mouldering heaps, and +two or three, which had perhaps rolled down from the rest, lay separately +on the floor. "Skulls, madam," said the sexton; "skulls of the old +Danes! Long ago they came pirating into these parts: and then there +chanced a mighty shipwreck, for God was angry with them, and He sunk +them; and their skulls, as they came ashore, were placed here as a +memorial. There were many more when I was young, but now they are fast +disappearing. Some of them must have belonged to strange fellows, madam. +Only see that one; why, the two young gentry can scarcely lift it!" And, +indeed, my brother and myself had entered the Golgotha, and commenced +handling these grim relics of mortality. One enormous skull, lying in a +corner, had fixed our attention, and we had drawn it forth. Spirit of +eld, what a skull was yon! + +I still seem to see it, the huge grim thing; many of the others were +large, strikingly so, and appeared fully to justify the old man's +conclusion that their owners must have been strange fellows; but compared +with this mighty mass of bone they looked small and diminutive, like +those of pigmies; it must have belonged to a giant, one of those +red-haired warriors of whose strength and stature such wondrous tales are +told in the ancient chronicles of the north, and whose grave-hills, when +ransacked, occasionally reveal secrets which fill the minds of puny +moderns with astonishment and awe. Reader, have you ever pored days and +nights over the pages of Snorro? probably not, for he wrote in a language +which few of the present day understand, and few would be tempted to read +him tamed down by Latin dragomans. A brave old book is that of Snorro, +containing the histories and adventures of old northern kings and +champions, who seemed to have been quite different men, if we may judge +from the feats which they performed, from those of these days. One of +the best of his histories is that which describes the life of Harald +Haardraade, who, after manifold adventures by land and sea, now a pirate, +now a mercenary of the Greek emperor, became King of Norway, and +eventually perished at the battle of Stanford Bridge, whilst engaged in a +gallant onslaught upon England. Now, I have often thought that the old +Kemp, whose mouldering skull in the Golgotha at Hythe my brother and +myself could scarcely lift, must have resembled in one respect at least +this Harald, whom Snorro describes as a great and wise ruler and a +determined leader, dangerous in battle, of fair presence, and measuring +in height just _five ells_, {10} neither more nor less. + +I never forgot the Daneman's skull; like the apparition of the viper in +the sandy lane, it dwelt in the mind of the boy, affording copious food +for the exercise of imagination. From that moment with the name of Dane +were associated strange ideas of strength, daring, and superhuman +stature; and an undefinable curiosity for all that is connected with the +Danish race began to pervade me; and if, long after, when I became a +student, I devoted myself with peculiar zest to Danish lore and the +acquirement of the old Norse tongue and its dialects, I can only explain +the matter by the early impression received at Hythe from the tale of the +old sexton, beneath the pent-house, and the sight of the Danish skull. + +And thus we went on straying from place to place, at Hythe to-day, and +perhaps within a week looking out from our hostel-window upon the streets +of old Winchester, our motions ever in accordance with the "route" of the +regiment, so habituated to change of scene that it had become almost +necessary to our existence. Pleasant were these days of my early +boyhood; and a melancholy pleasure steals over me as I recall them. +Those were stirring times of which I am speaking, and there was much +passing around me calculated to captivate the imagination. The dreadful +struggle which so long convulsed Europe, and in which England bore so +prominent a part, was then at its hottest; we were at war, and +determination and enthusiasm shone in every face; man, woman, and child +were eager to fight the Frank, the hereditary, but, thank God, never +dreaded enemy of the Anglo-Saxon race. "Love your country and beat the +French, and then never mind what happens," was the cry of entire England. +Oh, those were days of power, gallant days, bustling days, worth the +bravest days of chivalry, at least; tall battalions of native warriors +were marching through the land; there was the glitter of the bayonet and +the gleam of the sabre; the shrill squeak of the fife and loud rattling +of the drum were heard in the streets of country towns, and the loyal +shouts of the inhabitants greeted the soldiery on their arrival or +cheered them at their departure. And now let us leave the upland, and +descend to the sea-board; there is a sight for you upon the billows! A +dozen men-of-war are gliding majestically out of port, their long +buntings streaming from the top-gallant masts, calling on the skulking +Frenchman to come forth from his bights and bays; and what looms upon us +yonder from the fog-bank in the east? a gallant frigate towing behind her +the long low hull of a crippled privateer, which but three short days ago +had left Dieppe to skim the sea, and whose crew of ferocious hearts are +now cursing their imprudence in an English hold. Stirring times those, +which I love to recall, for they were days of gallantry and enthusiasm, +and were moreover the days of my boyhood. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Pretty D-----The Venerable Church--The Stricken Heart--Dormant +Energies--The Small Packet--Nerves--The Books--A Picture--Mountain-like +Billows--The Foot-print--Spirit of De Foe--Reasoning Powers--Terrors of +God--Heads of the Dragons--High Church Clerk--A Journey--The Drowned +Country. + +And when I was between six and seven years of age we were once more at +D---, the place of my birth, whither my father had been despatched on the +recruiting service. I have already said that it was a beautiful little +town--at least it was at the time of which I am speaking; what it is at +present I know not, for thirty years and more have elapsed since I last +trod its streets. It will scarcely have improved, for how could it be +better than it then was? I love to think on thee, pretty, quiet D---, +thou pattern of an English country town, with thy clean but narrow +streets branching out from thy modest market-place, with thine +old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable thatch, +with thy one half-aristocratic mansion, where resided thy Lady +Bountiful--she, the generous and kind, who loved to visit the sick, +leaning on her gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a +respectful distance behind. Pretty quiet D---, with thy venerable +church, in which moulder the mortal remains of England's sweetest and +most pious bard. + +Yes, pretty D---, I could always love thee, were it but for the sake of +him who sleeps beneath the marble slab in yonder quiet chancel. It was +within thee that the long-oppressed bosom heaved its last sigh, and the +crushed and gentle spirit escaped from a world in which it had known +nought but sorrow. Sorrow! do I say? How faint a word to express the +misery of that bruised reed; misery so dark that a blind worm like myself +is occasionally tempted to exclaim, Better had the world never been +created than that one so kind, so harmless, and so mild, should have +undergone such intolerable woe! But it is over now, for, as there is an +end of joy, so has affliction its termination. Doubtless the All-wise +did not afflict him without a cause: who knows but within that unhappy +frame lurked vicious seeds which the sunbeams of joy and prosperity might +have called into life and vigour? Perhaps the withering blasts of misery +nipped that which otherwise might have terminated in fruit noxious and +lamentable. But peace to the unhappy one, he is gone to his rest; the +deathlike face is no longer occasionally seen timidly and mournfully +looking for a moment through the window-pane upon thy market-place, quiet +and pretty D---; the hind in thy neighbourhood no longer at evening-fall +views, and starts as he views, the dark lathy figure moving beneath the +hazels and alders of shadowy lanes, or by the side of murmuring trout +streams; and no longer at early dawn does the sexton of the old church +reverently doff his hat as, supported by some kind friend, the +death-stricken creature totters along the church path to that mouldering +edifice with the low roof, inclosing a spring of sanatory waters, built +and devoted to some saint--if the legend over the door be true, by the +daughter of an East Anglian king. + +But to return to my own history. I had now attained the age of six: +shall I state what intellectual progress I had been making up to this +period? Alas! upon this point I have little to say calculated to afford +either pleasure or edification. I had increased rapidly in size and in +strength: the growth of the mind, however, had by no means corresponded +with that of the body. It is true, I had acquired my letters, and was by +this time able to read imperfectly; but this was all: and even this poor +triumph over absolute ignorance would never have been effected but for +the unremitting attention of my parents, who, sometimes by threats, +sometimes by entreaties, endeavoured to rouse the dormant energies of my +nature, and to bend my wishes to the acquisition of the rudiments of +knowledge; but in influencing the wish lay the difficulty. Let but the +will of a human being be turned to any particular object, and it is ten +to one that sooner or later he achieves it. At this time I may safely +say that I harboured neither wishes nor hopes; I had as yet seen no +object calculated to call them forth, and yet I took pleasure in many +things which perhaps unfortunately were all within my sphere of +enjoyment. I loved to look upon the heavens, and to bask in the rays of +the sun, or to sit beneath hedgerows and listen to the chirping of the +birds, indulging the while in musing and meditation as far as my very +limited circle of ideas would permit; but, unlike my brother, who was at +this time at school, and whose rapid progress in every branch of +instruction astonished and delighted his preceptors, I took no pleasure +in books, whose use, indeed, I could scarcely comprehend, and bade fair +to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame into the +cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents. + +But the time was now at hand when the ice which had hitherto bound the +mind of the child with its benumbing power was to be thawed, and a world +of sensations and ideas awakened to which it had hitherto been an entire +stranger. One day a young lady, an intimate acquaintance of our family, +and godmother to my brother, drove up to the house in which we dwelt; she +staid some time conversing with my mother, and on rising to depart she +put down on the table a small packet, exclaiming, "I have brought a +little present for each of the boys: the one is a History of England, +which I intend for my godson when he returns from school, the other is--" +and here she said something which escaped my ear, as I sat at some +distance, moping in a corner:--"I intend it for the youngest yonder," +pointing to myself; she then departed, and, my mother going out shortly +after, I was left alone. + +I remember for some time sitting motionless in my corner, with my eyes +bent upon the ground; at last I lifted my head and looked upon the packet +as it lay on the table. All at once a strange sensation came over me, +such as I had never experienced before--a singular blending of curiosity, +awe, and pleasure, the remembrance of which, even at this distance of +time, produces a remarkable effect upon my nervous system. What strange +things are the nerves--I mean those more secret and mysterious ones in +which I have some notion that the mind or soul, call it which you will, +has its habitation; how they occasionally tingle and vibrate before any +coming event closely connected with the future weal or woe of the human +being. Such a feeling was now within me, certainly independent of what +the eye had seen or the ear had heard. A book of some description had +been brought for me, a present by no means calculated to interest me; +what cared I for books? I had already many into which I never looked but +from compulsion; friends, moreover, had presented me with similar things +before, which I had entirely disregarded, and what was there in this +particular book, whose very title I did not know, calculated to attract +me more than the rest? yet something within told me that my fate was +connected with the book which had been last brought; so, after looking on +the packet from my corner for a considerable time, I got up and went to +the table. + +The packet was lying where it had been left--I took it up; had the +envelope, which consisted of whitish brown paper, been secured by a +string or a seal I should not have opened it, as I should have considered +such an act almost in the light of a crime; the books, however, had been +merely folded up, and I therefore considered that there could be no +possible harm in inspecting them, more especially as I had received no +injunction to the contrary. Perhaps there was something unsound in this +reasoning, something sophistical; but a child is sometimes as ready as a +grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that which he is inclined to +do. But whether the action was right or wrong, and I am afraid it was +not altogether right, I undid the packet: it contained three books; two +from their similarity seemed to be separate parts of one and the same +work; they were handsomely bound, and to them I first turned my +attention. I opened them successively, and endeavoured to make out their +meaning; their contents, however, as far as I was able to understand +them, were by no means interesting; whoever pleases may read these books +for me, and keep them too, into the bargain, said I to myself. + +I now took up the third book: it did not resemble the others, being +longer and considerably thicker; the binding was of dingy calf-skin. I +opened it, and as I did so another strange thrill of pleasure shot +through my frame. The first object on which my eyes rested was a +picture; it was exceedingly well executed, at least the scene which it +represented made a vivid impression upon me, which would hardly have been +the case had the artist not been faithful to nature. A wild scene it +was--a heavy sea and rocky shore, with mountains in the background, above +which the moon was peering. Not far from the shore, upon the water, was +a boat with two figures in it, one of which stood at the bow, pointing +with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful shape in the water; fire was +flashing from the muzzle of the gun, and the monster appeared to be +transfixed. I almost thought I heard its cry. I remained motionless, +gazing upon the picture, scarcely daring to draw my breath, lest the new +and wondrous world should vanish of which I had now obtained a glimpse. +"Who are those people, and what could have brought them into that strange +situation?" I asked of myself; and now the seed of curiosity, which had +so long lain dormant, began to expand, and I vowed to myself to become +speedily acquainted with the whole history of the people in the boat. +After looking on the picture till every mark and line in it were familiar +to me, I turned over various leaves till I came to another engraving; a +new source of wonder--a low sandy beach on which the furious sea was +breaking in mountain-like billows; cloud and rack deformed the firmament, +which wore a dull and leaden-like hue; gulls and other aquatic fowls were +toppling upon the blast, or skimming over the tops of the maddening +waves--"Mercy upon him! he must be drowned!" I exclaimed, as my eyes fell +upon a poor wretch who appeared to be striving to reach the shore; he was +upon his legs, but was evidently half smothered with the brine; high +above his head curled a horrible billow, as if to engulf him for ever. +"He must be drowned! he must be drowned!" I almost shrieked, and dropped +the book. I soon snatched it up again, and now my eye lighted on a third +picture; again a shore, but what a sweet and lovely one, and how I wished +to be treading it; there were beautiful shells lying on the smooth white +sand, some were empty like those I had occasionally seen on marble +mantelpieces, but out of others peered the heads and bodies of wondrous +crayfish; a wood of thick green trees skirted the beach and partly shaded +it from the rays of the sun, which shone hot above, while blue waves +slightly crested with foam were gently curling against it; there was a +human figure upon the beach, wild and uncouth, clad in the skins of +animals, with a huge cap on his head, a hatchet at his girdle, and in his +hand a gun; his feet and legs were bare; he stood in an attitude of +horror and surprise; his body was bent far back, and his eyes, which +seemed starting out of his head, were fixed upon a mark on the sand--a +large distinct mark--a human footprint! + +Reader, is it necessary to name the book which now stood open in my hand, +and whose very prints, feeble expounders of its wondrous lines, had +produced within me emotions strange and novel? Scarcely, for it was a +book which has exerted over the minds of Englishmen an influence +certainly greater than any other of modern times, which has been in most +people's hands, and with the contents of which even those who cannot read +are to a certain extent acquainted; a book from which the most luxuriant +and fertile of our modern prose writers have drunk inspiration; a book, +moreover, to which, from the hardy deeds which it narrates and the spirit +of strange and romantic enterprise which it tends to awaken, England owes +many of her astonishing discoveries both by sea and land, and no +inconsiderable part of her naval glory. + +Hail to thee, spirit of De Foe! What does not my own poor self owe to +thee? England has better bards than either Greece or Rome, yet I could +spare them easier far than De Foe, "unabashed De Foe," as the hunchbacked +rhymer styled him. + +The true chord had now been touched; a raging curiosity with respect to +the contents of the volume, whose engravings had fascinated my eye, +burned within me, and I never rested until I had fully satisfied it; +weeks succeeded weeks, months followed months, and the wondrous volume +was my only study and principal source of amusement. For hours together +I would sit poring over a page till I had become acquainted with the +import of every line. My progress, slow enough at first, became by +degrees more rapid, till at last, under "a shoulder of mutton sail," I +found myself cantering before a steady breeze over an ocean of +enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that I cared not how long it +might be ere it reached its termination. + +And it was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge. + +About this time I began to be somewhat impressed with religious feelings. +My parents were, to a certain extent, religious people; but, though they +had done their best to afford me instruction on religious points, I had +either paid no attention to what they endeavoured to communicate, or had +listened with an ear far too obtuse to derive any benefit. But my mind +had now become awakened from the drowsy torpor in which it had lain so +long, and the reasoning powers which I possessed were no longer inactive. +Hitherto I had entertained no conception whatever of the nature and +properties of God, and with the most perfect indifference had heard the +divine name proceeding from the mouths of people--frequently, alas! on +occasions when it ought not to be employed; but I now never heard it +without a tremor, for I now knew that God was an awful and inscrutable +being, the maker of all things; that we were His children, and that we, +by our sins, had justly offended Him; that we were in very great peril +from His anger, not so much in this life as in another and far stranger +state of being yet to come; that we had a Saviour withal to whom it was +necessary to look for help: upon this point, however, I was yet very much +in the dark, as, indeed, were most of those with whom I was connected. +The power and terrors of God were uppermost in my thoughts; they +fascinated though they astounded me. Twice every Sunday I was regularly +taken to the church, where, from a corner of the large spacious pew, +lined with black leather, I would fix my eyes on the dignified +high-church rector, and the dignified high-church clerk, and watch the +movement of their lips, from which, as they read their respective +portions of the venerable liturgy, would roll many a portentous word +descriptive of the wondrous works of the Most High. + +_Rector_. "Thou didst divide the sea, through Thy power: Thou brakest +the heads of the dragons in the waters." + +_Philoh_. "Thou smotest the heads of Leviathan in pieces: and gavest him +to be meat for the people in the wilderness." + +_Rector_. "Thou broughtest out fountains and waters out of the hard +rocks: Thou driedst up mighty waters." + +_Philoh_. "The day is Thine, and the night is Thine: Thou hast prepared +the light and the sun." + +Peace to your memories, dignified rector, and yet more dignified clerk! +By this time ye are probably gone to your long homes, and your voices are +no longer heard sounding down the aisles of the venerable church; nay, +doubtless, this has already long since been the fate of him of the +sonorous "Amen!"--the one of the two who, with all due respect to the +rector, principally engrossed my boyish admiration--he, at least, is +scarcely now among the living! Living! why, I have heard say that he +blew a fife--for he was a musical as well as a Christian professor--a +bold fife, to cheer the Guards and the brave Marines as they marched with +measured step, obeying an insane command, up Bunker's height, whilst the +rifles of the sturdy Yankees were sending the leaden hail sharp and thick +amidst the red-coated ranks; for Philoh had not always been a man of +peace, nor an exhorter to turn the other cheek to the smiter, but had +even arrived at the dignity of a halberd in his country's service before +his six-foot form required rest, and the gray-haired veteran retired, +after a long peregrination, to his native town, to enjoy ease and +respectability on a pension of "eighteenpence a day;" and well did his +fellow-townsmen act when, to increase that ease and respectability, and +with a thoughtful regard for the dignity of the good church service, they +made him clerk and precentor--the man of the tall form and of the audible +voice, which sounded loud and clear as his own Bunker fife. Well, peace +to thee, thou fine old chap, despiser of dissenters, and hater of +papists, as became a dignified and high-church clerk; if thou art in thy +grave the better for thee; thou wert fitted to adorn a bygone time, when +loyalty was in vogue, and smiling content lay like a sunbeam upon the +land, but thou wouldst be sadly out of place in these days of cold +philosophical latitudinarian doctrine, universal tolerism, and +half-concealed rebellion--rare times, no doubt, for papists and +dissenters, but which would assuredly have broken the heart of the loyal +soldier of George the Third, and the dignified high-church clerk of +pretty D---. + +We passed many months at this place: nothing, however, occurred requiring +any particular notice, relating to myself, beyond what I have already +stated, and I am not writing the history of others. At length my father +was recalled to his regiment, which at that time was stationed at a place +called Norman Cross, in Lincolnshire, or rather Huntingdonshire, at some +distance from the old town of Peterborough. For this place he departed, +leaving my mother and myself to follow in a few days. Our journey was a +singular one. On the second day we reached a marshy and fenny country, +which, owing to immense quantities of rain which had lately fallen, was +completely submerged. At a large town we got on board a kind of +passage-boat, crowded with people; it had neither sails nor oars, and +those were not the days of steam-vessels; it was in a treck-schuyt, and +was drawn by horses. + +Young as I was, there was much connected with this journey which highly +surprised me, and which brought to my remembrance particular scenes +described in the book which I now generally carried in my bosom. The +country was, as I have already said, submerged--entirely drowned--no land +was visible; the trees were growing bolt upright in the flood, whilst +farmhouses and cottages were standing insulated; the horses which drew us +were up to the knees in water, and, on coming to blind pools and "greedy +depths," were not unfrequently swimming, in which case the boys or +urchins who mounted them sometimes stood, sometimes knelt, upon the +saddle and pillions. No accident, however, either to the quadrupeds or +bipeds, who appeared respectively to be quite _au fait_ in their +business, and extricated themselves with the greatest ease from places in +which Pharaoh and all his hosts would have gone to the bottom. Nightfall +brought us to Peterborough, and from thence we were not slow in reaching +the place of our destination. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Norman Cross--Wide Expanse--Vive l'Empereur--Unpruned Woods--Man with the +Bag--Froth and Conceit--I beg your Pardon--Growing Timid--About Three +o'Clock--Taking One's Ease--Cheek on the Ground--King of the +Vipers--French King--Frenchmen and Water. + +And a strange place it was, this Norman Cross, and, at the time of which +I am speaking, a sad cross to many a Norman, being what was then styled a +French prison, that is, a receptacle for captives made in the French war. +It consisted, if I remember right, of some five or six casernes, very +long, and immensely high; each standing isolated from the rest, upon a +spot of ground which might average ten acres, and which was fenced round +with lofty palisades, the whole being compassed about by a towering wall, +beneath which, at intervals, on both sides, sentinels were stationed, +whilst outside, upon the field, stood commodious wooden barracks, capable +of containing two regiments of infantry, intended to serve as guards upon +the captives. Such was the station or prison at Norman Cross, where some +six thousand French and other foreigners, followers of the grand +Corsican, were now immured. + +What a strange appearance had those mighty casernes, with their blank +blind walls, without windows or grating, and their slanting roofs, out of +which, through orifices where the tiles had been removed, would be +protruded dozens of grim heads, feasting their prison-sick eyes on the +wide expanse of country unfolded from that airy height. Ah! there was +much misery in those casernes; and from those roofs, doubtless, many a +wistful look was turned in the direction of lovely France. Much had the +poor inmates to endure, and much to complain of, to the disgrace of +England be it said--of England, in general so kind and bountiful. +Rations of carrion meat, and bread from which I have seen the very hounds +occasionally turn away, were unworthy entertainment even for the most +ruffian enemy, when helpless and a captive; and such, alas! was the fare +in those casernes. And then, those visits, or rather ruthless inroads, +called in the slang of the place "straw-plait hunts," when in pursuit of +a contraband article, which the prisoners, in order to procure themselves +a few of the necessaries and comforts of existence, were in the habit of +making, red-coated battalions were marched into the prisons, who, with +the bayonet's point, carried havoc and ruin into every poor convenience +which ingenious wretchedness had been endeavouring to raise around it; +and then the triumphant exit with the miserable booty; and, worst of all, +the accursed bonfire, on the barrack parade, of the plait contraband, +beneath the view of the glaring eyeballs from those lofty roofs, amidst +the hurrahs of the troops, frequently drowned in the curses poured down +from above like a tempest-shower, or in the terrific war-whoop of "_Vive +l'Empereur_!" + +It was midsummer when we arrived at this place, and the weather, which +had for a long time been wet and gloomy, now became bright and glorious; +I was subjected to but little control, and passed my time pleasantly +enough, principally in wandering about the neighbouring country. It was +flat and somewhat fenny, a district more of pasture than agriculture, and +not very thickly inhabited. I soon became well acquainted with it. At +the distance of two miles from the station was a large lake, styled in +the dialect of the country "a mere," about whose borders tall reeds were +growing in abundance, this was a frequent haunt of mine; but my favourite +place of resort was a wild sequestered spot at a somewhat greater +distance. Here, surrounded with woods and thick groves, was the seat of +some ancient family, deserted by the proprietor, and only inhabited by a +rustic servant or two. A place more solitary and wild could scarcely be +imagined; the garden and walks were overgrown with weeds and briars, and +the unpruned woods were so tangled as to be almost impervious. About +this domain I would wander till overtaken by fatigue, and then I would +sit down with my back against some beech, elm, or stately alder tree, +and, taking out my book, would pass hours in a state of unmixed +enjoyment, my eyes now fixed on the wondrous pages, now glancing at the +sylvan scene around; and sometimes I would drop the book and listen to +the voice of the rooks and wild pigeons, and not unfrequently to the +croaking of multitudes of frogs from the neighbouring swamps and fens. + +In going to and from this place I frequently passed a tall elderly +individual, dressed in rather a quaint fashion, with a skin cap on his +head and stout gaiters on his legs; on his shoulders hung a moderate +sized leathern sack; he seemed fond of loitering near sunny banks, and of +groping amidst furze and low scrubby bramble bushes, of which there were +plenty in the neighbourhood of Norman Cross. Once I saw him standing in +the middle of a dusty road, looking intently at a large mark which seemed +to have been drawn across it, as if by a walking-stick. "He must have +been a large one," the old man muttered half to himself, "or he would not +have left such a trail, I wonder if he is near; he seems to have moved +this way." He then went behind some bushes which grew on the right side +of the road, and appeared to be in quest of something, moving behind the +bushes with his head downwards, and occasionally striking their roots +with his foot: at length he exclaimed, "Here he is!" and forthwith I saw +him dart amongst the bushes. There was a kind of scuffling noise, the +rustling of branches, and the crackling of dry sticks. "I have him!" +said the man at last; "I have got him!" and presently he made his +appearance about twenty yards down the road, holding a large viper in his +hand. "What do you think of that, my boy?" said he, as I went up to him; +"what do you think of catching such a thing as that with the naked hand?" +"What do I think?" said I. "Why, that I could do as much myself." "You +do," said the man, "do you? Lord! how the young people in these days are +given to conceit; it did not use to be so in my time: when I was a child, +childer knew how to behave themselves; but the childer of these days are +full of conceit, full of froth, like the mouth of this viper;" and with +his forefinger and thumb he squeezed a considerable quantity of foam from +the jaws of the viper down upon the road. "The childer of these days are +a generation of--God forgive me, what was I about to say!" said the old +man; and opening his bag he thrust the reptile into it, which appeared +far from empty. I passed on. As I was returning, towards the evening, I +overtook the old man, who was wending in the same direction. "Good +evening to you, sir," said I, taking off a cap which I wore on my head. +"Good evening," said the old man; and then, looking at me, "How's this?" +said he, "you ar'n't, sure, the child I met in the morning?" "Yes," said +I, "I am; what makes you doubt it?" "Why, you were then all froth and +conceit," said the old man, "and now you take off your cap to me." "I +beg your pardon," said I, "if I was frothy and conceited, it ill becomes +a child like me to be so." "That's true, dear," said the old man; "well; +as you have begged my pardon, I truly forgive you." "Thank you," said I; +"have you caught any more of those things?" "Only four or five," said +the old man; "they are getting scarce, though this used to be a great +neighbourhood for them." "And what do you do with them?" said I; "do you +carry them home and play with them!" "I sometimes play with one or two +that I tame," said the old man; "but I hunt them mostly for the fat which +they contain, out of which I make unguents which are good for various +sore troubles, especially for the rheumatism." "And do you get your +living by hunting these creatures?" I demanded. "Not altogether," said +the old man; "besides being a viper-hunter, I am what they call a +herbalist, one who knows the virtue of particular herbs; I gather them at +the proper season, to make medicines with for the sick." "And do you +live in the neighbourhood?" I demanded. "You seem very fond of asking +questions, child. No, I do not live in this neighbourhood in particular, +I travel about; I have not been in this neighbourhood till lately for +some years." + +From this time the old man and myself formed an acquaintance; I often +accompanied him in his wanderings about the neighbourhood, and on two or +three occasions assisted him in catching the reptiles which he hunted. +He generally carried a viper with him which he had made quite tame, and +from which he had extracted the poisonous fangs; it would dance and +perform various kinds of tricks. He was fond of telling me anecdotes +connected with his adventures with the reptile species. "But," said he +one day, sighing, "I must shortly give up this business, I am no longer +the man I was, I am become timid, and when a person is timid in +viper-hunting he had better leave off, as it is quite clear his virtue is +leaving him. I got a fright some years ago, which I am quite sure I +shall never get the better of; my hand has been shaky more or less ever +since." "What frightened you?" said I. "I had better not tell you," +said the old man, "or you may be frightened too, lose your virtue, and be +no longer good for the business." "I don't care," said I; "I don't +intend to follow the business: I dare say I shall be an officer, like my +father." "Well," said the old man, "I once saw the king of the vipers, +and since then--" "The king of the vipers!" said I, interrupting him; +"have the vipers a king?" "As sure as we have," said the old man, "as +sure as we have King George to rule over us, have these reptiles a king +to rule over them." "And where did you see him?" said I. "I will tell +you," said the old man, "though I don't like talking about the matter. +It may be about seven years ago that I happened to be far down yonder to +the west, on the other side of England, nearly two hundred miles from +here, following my business. It was a very sultry day, I remember, and I +had been out several hours catching creatures. It might be about three +o'clock in the afternoon, when I found myself on some heathy land near +the sea, on the ridge of a hill, the side of which, nearly as far down as +the sea, was heath; but on the top there was arable ground, which had +been planted, and from which the harvest had been gathered--oats or +barley, I know not which--but I remember that the ground was covered with +stubble. Well, about three o'clock, as I told you before, what with the +heat of the day and from having walked about for hours in a lazy way, I +felt very tired; so I determined to have a sleep, and I laid myself down, +my head just on the ridge of the hill, towards the field, and my body +over the side down amongst the heath; my bag, which was nearly filled +with creatures, lay at a little distance from my face; the creatures were +struggling in it, I remember, and I thought to myself, how much more +comfortably off I was than they; I was taking my ease on the nice open +hill, cooled with the breezes, whilst they were in the nasty close bag, +coiling about one another, and breaking their very hearts all to no +purpose: and I felt quite comfortable and happy in the thought, and +little by little closed my eyes, and fell into the sweetest snooze that +ever I was in in all my life; and there I lay over the hill's side, with +my head half in the field, I don't know how long, all dead asleep. At +last it seemed to me that I heard a noise in my sleep, something like a +thing moving, very faint, however, far away; then it died, and then it +came again upon my ear as I slept, and now it appeared almost as if I +heard crackle, crackle; then it died again, or I became yet more dead +asleep than before, I know not which, but I certainly lay some time +without hearing it. All of a sudden I became awake, and there was I, on +the ridge of the hill, with my cheek on the ground towards the stubble, +with a noise in my ear like that of something moving towards me, among +the stubble of the field; well, I lay a moment or two listening to the +noise, and then I became frightened, for I did not like the noise at all, +it sounded so odd; so I rolled myself on my belly, and looked towards the +stubble. Mercy upon us! there was a huge snake, or rather a dreadful +viper, for it was all yellow and gold, moving towards me, bearing its +head about a foot and a half above the ground, the dry stubble crackling +beneath its outrageous belly. It might be about five yards off when I +first saw it, making straight towards me, child, as if it would devour +me. I lay quite still, for I was stupified with horror, whilst the +creature came still nearer; and now it was nearly upon me, when it +suddenly drew back a little, and then--what do you think?--it lifted its +head and chest high in the air, and high over my face as I looked up, +flickering at me with its tongue as if it would fly at my face. Child, +what I felt at that moment I can scarcely say, but it was a sufficient +punishment for all the sins I ever committed; and there we two were, I +looking up at the viper, and the viper looking down upon me, flickering +at me with its tongue. It was only the kindness of God that saved me: +all at once there was a loud noise, the report of a gun, for a fowler was +shooting at a covey of birds, a little way off in the stubble. Whereupon +the viper sunk its head and immediately made off over the ridge of the +hill, down in the direction of the sea. As it passed by me, however--and +it passed close by me--it hesitated a moment, as if it was doubtful +whether it should not seize me; it did not, however, but made off down +the hill. It has often struck me that he was angry with me, and came +upon me unawares for presuming to meddle with his people, as I have +always been in the habit of doing." + +"But," said I, "how do you know that it was the king of the vipers?" + +"How do I know?" said the old man, "who else should it be? There was as +much difference between it and other reptiles as between King George and +other people." + +"Is King George, then, different from other people?" I demanded. + +"Of course," said the old man; "I have never seen him myself, but I have +heard people say that he is a ten times greater man than other folks; +indeed, it stands to reason that he must be different from the rest, else +people would not be so eager to see him. Do you think, child, that +people would be fools enough to run a matter of twenty or thirty miles to +see the king, provided King George--" + +"Haven't the French a king?" I demanded. + +"Yes," said the old man, "or something much the same, and a queer one he +is; not quite so big as King George, they say, but quite as terrible a +fellow. What of him?" + +"Suppose he should come to Norman Cross!" + +"What should he do at Norman Cross, child?" + +"Why, you were talking about the vipers in your bag breaking their +hearts, and so on, and their king coming to help them. Now, suppose the +French king should hear of his people being in trouble at Norman Cross, +and--" + +"He can't come, child," said the old man, rubbing his hands, "the water +lies between. The French don't like the water; neither vipers nor +Frenchmen take kindly to the water, child." + +When the old man left the country, which he did a few days after the +conversation which I have just related, he left me the reptile which he +had tamed and rendered quite harmless by removing the fangs. I was in +the habit of feeding it with milk, and frequently carried it abroad with +me in my walks. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +The Tent--Man and Woman--Dark and Swarthy--Manner of Speaking--Bad +Money--Transfixed--Faltering Tone--Little Basket--High Opinion--Plenty of +Good--Keeping Guard--Tilted Cart--Rubricals--Jasper--The Right Sort--The +Horseman of the Lane--John Newton--The Alarm--Gentle Brothers. + +One day it happened that, being on my rambles, I entered a green lane +which I had never seen before; at first it was rather narrow, but as I +advanced it became considerably wider; in the middle was a driftway with +deep ruts, but right and left was a space carpeted with a sward of +trefoil and clover; there was no lack of trees, chiefly ancient oaks, +which, flinging out their arms from either side, nearly formed a canopy, +and afforded a pleasing shelter from the rays of the sun, which was +burning fiercely above. Suddenly a group of objects attracted my +attention. Beneath one of the largest of the trees upon the grass, was a +kind of low tent or booth, from the top of which a thin smoke was +curling; beside it stood a couple of light carts, whilst two or three +lean horses or ponies were cropping the herbage which was growing nigh. +Wondering to whom this odd tent could belong, I advanced till I was close +before it, when I found that it consisted of two tilts, like those of +waggons, placed upon the ground and fronting each other, connected behind +by a sail or large piece of canvas which was but partially drawn across +the top; upon the ground, in the intervening space, was a fire, over +which, supported by a kind of iron crowbar, hung a caldron; my advance +had been so noiseless as not to alarm the inmates, who consisted of a man +and woman, who sat apart, one on each side of the fire; they were both +busily employed--the man was carding plaited straw, whilst the woman +seemed to be rubbing something with a white powder, some of which lay on +a plate beside her; suddenly the man looked up, and, perceiving me, +uttered a strange kind of cry, and the next moment both the woman and +himself were on their feet and rushing out upon me. + +I retreated a few steps, yet without turning to flee. I was not, +however, without apprehension, which, indeed, the appearance of these two +people was well calculated to inspire; the woman was a stout figure, +seemingly between thirty and forty; she wore no cap, and her long hair +fell on either side of her head like horse-tails half way down her waist; +her skin was dark and swarthy, like that of a toad, and the expression of +her countenance was particularly evil; her arms were bare, and her bosom +was but half concealed by a slight boddice, below which she wore a coarse +petticoat, her only other article of dress. The man was somewhat +younger, but of a figure equally wild; his frame was long and lathy, but +his arms were remarkably short, his neck was rather bent, he squinted +slightly, and his mouth was much awry; his complexion was dark, but, +unlike that of the woman, it was more ruddy than livid; there was a deep +scar on his cheek, something like the impression of a halfpenny. The +dress was quite in keeping with the figure: in his hat, which was +slightly peaked, was stuck a peacock's feather; over a waistcoat of hide, +untanned and with the hair upon it, he wore a rough jerkin of russet hue; +smallclothes of leather, which had probably once belonged to a soldier, +but with which pipeclay did not seem to have come in contact for many a +year, protected his lower man as far as the knee; his legs were cased in +long stockings of blue worsted, and on his shoes he wore immense +old-fashioned buckles. + +Such were the two beings who now came rushing upon me; the man was rather +in advance, brandishing a ladle in his hand. + +"So I have caught you at last," said he; "I'll teach ye, you young +highwayman, to come skulking about my properties!" + +Young as I was, I remarked that his manner of speaking was different from +that of any people with whom I had been in the habit of associating. It +was quite as strange as his appearance, and yet it nothing resembled the +foreign English which I had been in the habit of hearing through the +palisades of the prison; he could scarcely be a foreigner. + +"Your properties!" said I; "I am in the King's Lane. Why did you put +them there, if you did not wish them to be seen?" + +"On the spy," said the woman, "hey? I'll drown him in the sludge in the +toad-pond over the hedge." + +"So we will," said the man, "drown him anon in the mud!" + +"Drown me, will you?" said I; "I should like to see you! What's all this +about? Was it because I saw you with your hands full of straw plait, and +my mother there--" + +"Yes," said the woman; "what was I about?" + +_Myself_. How should I know? Making bad money, perhaps! + +And it will be as well here to observe, that at this time there was much +bad money in circulation in the neighbourhood, generally supposed to be +fabricated by the prisoners, so that this false coin and straw plait +formed the standard subjects of conversation at Norman Cross. + +"I'll strangle thee," said the beldame, dashing at me. "Bad money, is +it?" + +"Leave him to me, wifelkin," said the man, interposing; "you shall now +see how I'll baste him down the lane." + +_Myself_. I tell you what, my chap, you had better put down that thing +of yours; my father lies concealed within my tepid breast, and if to me +you offer any harm or wrong, I'll call him forth to help me with his +forked tongue. + +_Man_. What do you mean, ye Bengui's bantling? I never heard such +discourse in all my life: playman's speech or Frenchman's talk--which, I +wonder? Your father! tell the mumping villain that if he comes near my +fire I'll serve him out as I will you. Take that--Tiny Jesus! what have +we got here! Oh, delicate Jesus! what is the matter with the child? + +I had made a motion which the viper understood; and now, partly +disengaging itself from my bosom, where it had lain perdu, it raised its +head to a level with my face, and stared upon my enemy with its +glittering eyes. + +The man stood like one transfixed, and the ladle with which he had aimed +a blow at me, now hung in the air like the hand which held it: his mouth +was extended, and his cheeks became of a pale yellow, save alone that +place which bore the mark which I have already described, and this shone +now portentously, like fire. He stood in this manner for some time; at +last the ladle fell from his hand, and its falling appeared to rouse him +from his stupor. + +"I say, wifelkin," said he in a faltering tone, "did you ever see the +like of this here?" + +But the woman had retreated to the tent, from the entrance of which her +loathly face was now thrust, with an expression partly of terror and +partly of curiosity. After gazing some time longer at the viper and +myself, the man stooped down and took up the ladle; then, as if somewhat +more assured, he moved to the tent, where he entered into conversation +with the beldame in a low voice. Of their discourse, though I could hear +the greater part of it, I understood not a single word; and I wondered +what it could be, for I knew by the sound that it was not French. At +last the man, in a somewhat louder tone, appeared to put a question to +the woman, who nodded her head affirmatively, and in a moment or two +produced a small stool, which she delivered to him. He placed it on the +ground, close by the door of the tent, first rubbing it with his sleeve, +as if for the purpose of polishing its surface. + +_Man_. Now, my precious little gentleman, do sit down here by the poor +people's tent; we wish to be civil in our slight way. Don't be angry, +and say no; but look kindly upon us, and satisfied, my precious little +God Almighty. + +_Woman_. Yes, my georgeous angel, sit down by the poor bodies' fire, and +eat a sweatmeat. We want to ask you a question or two; only first put +that serpent away. + +_Myself_. I can sit down, and bid the serpent go to sleep, that's easy +enough; but as for eating a sweetmeat, how can I do that? I have not got +one, and where am I to get it? + +_Woman_. Never fear, my tiny tawny, we can give you one, such as you +never ate, I dare say, however far you may have come from. + +The serpent sunk into his usual resting-place, and I sat down on the +stool. The woman opened a box, and took out a strange little basket or +hamper, not much larger than a man's fist, and formed of a delicate kind +of matting. It was sewed at the top; but ripping it open with a knife, +she held it to me, and I saw, to my surprise, that it contained candied +fruits of a dark green hue, tempting enough to one of my age. "There, my +tiny," said she; "taste, and tell me how you like them." + +"Very much," said I; "where did you get them?" + +The beldame leered upon me for a moment, then, nodding her head thrice, +with a knowing look, said, "Who knows better than yourself, my tawny?" + +Now, I knew nothing about the matter; but I saw that these strange people +had conceived a very high opinion of the abilities of their visitor, +which I was nothing loath to encourage. I therefore answered boldly, +"Ah! who indeed!" + +"Certainly," said the man; "who should know better than yourself, or so +well? And now, my tiny one, let me ask you one thing--you didn't come to +do us any harm?" + +"No," said I, "I had no dislike to you; though, if you were to meddle +with me--" + +_Man_. Of course, my gorgeous, of course you would; and quite right too. +Meddle with you!--what right have we? I should say, it would not be +quite safe. I see how it is; you are one of them there;--and he bent his +head towards his left shoulder. + +_Myself_. Yes, I am one of them--for I thought he was alluding to the +soldiers,--you had best mind what you are about, I can tell you. + +_Man_. Don't doubt we will for our own sake; Lord bless you, wifelkin, +only think that we should see one of them there when we least thought +about it. Well, I have heard of such things, though I have never thought +to see one; however, seeing is believing. Well! now you are come, and +are not going to do us any mischief, I hope you will stay; you can do us +plenty of good if you will. + +_Myself_. What good can I do you? + +_Man_. What good? plenty! Would you not bring us luck? I have heard +say, that one of them there always does, if it will but settle down. +Stay with us, you shall have a tilted cart all to yourself if you like. +We'll make you our little God Almighty, and say our prayers to you every +morning! + +_Myself_. That would be nice; and if you were to give me plenty of these +things, I should have no objection. But what would my father say? I +think he would hardly let me. + +_Man_. Why not? he would be with you; and kindly would we treat him. +Indeed, without your father you would be nothing at all. + +_Myself_. That's true; but I do not think he could be spared from his +regiment. I have heard him say that they could do nothing without him. + +_Man_. His regiment! What are you talking about?--what does the child +mean? + +_Myself_. What do I mean!--why, that my father is an officer-man at the +barracks yonder, keeping guard over the French prisoners. + +_Man_. Oh! then that sap is not your father? + +_Myself_. What, the snake? Why, no! Did you think he was? + +_Man_. To be sure we did. Didn't you tell me so? + +_Myself_. Why, yes; but who would have thought you would have believed +it? It is a tame one. I hunt vipers, and tame them. + +_Man_. O-h! + +"O-h!" grunted the woman, "that's it, is it?" + +The man and woman, who during this conversation had resumed their former +positions within the tent, looked at each other with a queer look of +surprise, as if somewhat disconcerted at what they now heard. They then +entered into discourse with each other in the same strange tongue which +had already puzzled me. At length the man looked me in the face, and +said, somewhat hesitatingly, "So you are not one of them there, after +all?" + +_Myself_. One of them there? I don't know what you mean. + +_Man_. Why, we have been thinking you were a goblin--a devilkin! +However, I see how it is; you are a sapengro, a chap who catches snakes, +and plays tricks with them! Well, it comes very nearly to the same +thing; and if you please to list with us, and bear us pleasant company, +we shall be glad of you. I'd take my oath upon it that we might make a +mort of money by you and that sap, and the tricks it could do; and, as +you seem fly to everything, I shouldn't wonder if you would make a prime +hand at telling fortunes. + +"I shouldn't wonder," said I. + +_Man_. Of course. And you might still be our God Almighty, or at any +rate our clergyman, so you should live in a tilted cart by yourself, and +say prayers to us night and morning--to wifelkin here, and all our +family; there's plenty of us when we are all together; as I said before, +you seem fly, I shouldn't wonder if you could read? + +"Oh, yes!" said I, "I can read;" and, eager to display my +accomplishments, I took my book out of my pocket, and, opening it at +random, proceeded to read how a certain man, whilst wandering about a +certain solitary island, entered a cave, the mouth of which was overgrown +with brushwood, and how he was nearly frightened to death in that cave by +something which he saw. + +"That will do," said the man; "that's the kind of prayers for me and my +family, ar'n't they, wifelkin? I never heard more delicate prayers in +all my life! Why, they beat the rubricals hollow!--and here comes my son +Jasper. I say, Jasper, here's a young sap-engro that can read, and is +more fly than yourself. Shake hands with him; I wish ye to be two +brothers." + +With a swift but stealthy pace Jasper came towards us from the farther +part of the lane; on reaching the tent he stood still, and looked fixedly +upon me as I sat upon the stool; I looked fixedly upon him. A queer look +had Jasper; he was a lad of some twelve or thirteen years, with long +arms, unlike the singular being who called himself his father; his +complexion was ruddy, but his face was seamed, though it did not bear the +peculiar scar which disfigured the countenance of the other; nor, though +roguish enough, a certain evil expression which that of the other bore, +and which the face of the woman possessed in a yet more remarkable +degree. For the rest, he wore drab breeches, with certain strings at the +knee, a rather gay waistcoat, and tolerably white shirt; under his arm he +bore a mighty whip of whalebone with a brass knob, and upon his head was +a hat without either top or brim. + +"There, Jasper! shake hands with the sap-engro." + +"Can he box, father?" said Jasper, surveying me rather contemptuously. +"I should think not, he looks so puny and small." + +"Hold your peace, fool!" said the man; "he can do more than that--I tell +you he's fly: he carries a sap about, which would sting a ninny like you +to dead." + +"What, a sap-engro!" said the boy, with a singular whine, and stooping +down, he leered curiously in my face, kindly, however and then patted me +on the head. "A sap-engro," he ejaculated; "lor!" + +"Yes, and one of the right sort," said the man; "I am glad we have met +with him, he is going to list with us, and be our clergyman and God +Almighty, a'n't you, my tawny?" + +"I don't know," said I; "I must see what my father will say." + +"Your father; bah!"--but here he stopped, for a sound was heard like the +rapid galloping of a horse, not loud and distinct as on a road, but dull +and heavy as if upon a grass sward; nearer and nearer it came, and the +man, starting up, rushed out of the tent, and looked around anxiously. I +arose from the stool upon which I had been seated, and just at that +moment, amidst a crashing of boughs and sticks, a man on horseback +bounded over the hedge into the lane at a few yards' distance from where +we were: from the impetus of the leap the horse was nearly down on his +knees; the rider, however, by dint of vigorous handling of the reins, +prevented him from falling, and then rode up to the tent. "'Tis Nat," +said the man; "what brings him here?" The new comer was a stout burly +fellow, about the middle age; he had a savage determined look, and his +face was nearly covered over with carbuncles; he wore a broad slouching +hat, and was dressed in a grey coat cut in a fashion which I afterwards +learnt to be the genuine Newmarket cut, the skirts being exceedingly +short; his waistcoat was of red plush, and he wore broad corduroy +breeches and white top-boots. The steed which carried him was of iron +grey, spirited and powerful, but covered with sweat and foam. The fellow +glanced fiercely and suspiciously around, and said something to the man +of the tent in a harsh and rapid voice. A short and hurried conversation +ensued in the strange tongue. I could not take my eyes off this new +comer. Oh, that half jockey half bruiser countenance, I never forgot it! +More than fifteen years afterwards I found myself amidst a crowd before +Newgate; a gallows was erected, and beneath it stood a criminal, a +notorious malefactor. I recognised him at once; the horseman of the lane +is now beneath the fatal tree, but nothing altered; still the same man; +jerking his head to the right and left with the same fierce and under +glance, just as if the affairs of this world had the same kind of +interest to the last; grey coat of Newmarket cut, plush waistcoat, +corduroys, and boots, nothing altered; but the head, alas! is bare, and +so is the neck. Oh, crime and virtue, virtue and crime!--it was old John +Newton, I think, who, when he saw a man going to be hanged, said, "There +goes John Newton, but for the grace of God!" + +But the lane, the lane, all was now in confusion in the lane; the man and +woman were employed in striking the tents and in making hurried +preparations for departure; the boy Jasper was putting the harness upon +the ponies and attaching them to the carts; and, to increase the +singularity of the scene, two or three wild-looking women and girls, in +red cloaks and immense black beaver bonnets, came from I know not what +direction, and, after exchanging a few words with the others, commenced +with fierce and agitated gestures to assist them in their occupation. +The rider meanwhile sat upon his horse, but evidently in a state of great +impatience; he muttered curses between his teeth, spurred the animal +furiously, and then reined it in, causing it to rear itself up nearly +perpendicular. At last he said, "Curse ye, for Romans, how slow ye are! +well, it is no business of mine, stay here all day if you like; I have +given ye warning, I am off to the big north road. However, before I go, +you had better give me all you have of that." + +"Truly spoken, Nat, my pal," said the man; "give it him, mother. There +it is; now be off as soon as you please, and rid us of evil company." + +The woman had handed him two bags formed of stocking, half full of +something heavy, which looked through them for all the world like money +of some kind. The fellow, on receiving them, thrust them without +ceremony into the pockets of his coat, and then, without a word of +farewell salutation, departed at a tremendous rate, the hoofs of his +horse thundering for a long time on the hard soil of the neighbouring +road, till the sound finally died away in the distance. The strange +people were not slow in completing their preparations, and then, flogging +their animals terrifically, hurried away seemingly in the same direction. + +The boy Jasper was last of the band. As he was following the rest, he +stopped suddenly, and looked on the ground appearing to muse; then, +turning round, he came up to me where I was standing, leered in my face, +and then, thrusting out his hand, he said, "Good-bye, Sap, I dare say we +shall meet again, remember we are brothers; two gentle brothers." + +Then whining forth, "What a sap-engro, lor!" he gave me a parting leer, +and hastened away. + +I remained standing in the lane gazing after the retreating company. "A +strange set of people," said I at last; "I wonder who they can be." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Three Years--Lilly's Grammar--Proficiency--Ignorant of Figures--The +School Bell--Order of Succession--Persecution--What are we to +do?--Northward--A Goodly Scene--Haunted Ground--Feats of +Chivalry--Rivers--Over the Brig. + +Years passed on, even three years; during this period I had increased +considerably in stature and in strength, and, let us hope, improved in +mind; for I had entered on the study of the Latin language. The very +first person to whose care I was intrusted for the acquisition of Latin +was an old friend of my father's, a clergyman who kept a seminary at a +town the very next we visited after our departure from "the Cross." +Under his instruction, however, I continued only a few weeks, as we +speedily left the place. "Captain," said this divine, when my father +came to take leave of him on the eve of our departure, "I have a +friendship for you, and therefore wish to give you a piece of advice +concerning this son of yours. You are now removing him from my care; you +do wrong, but we will let that pass. Listen to me: there is but one good +school book in the world--the one I use in my seminary--Lilly's Latin +Grammar, in which your son has already made some progress. If you are +anxious for the success of your son in life, for the correctness of his +conduct and the soundness of his principles, keep him to Lilly's Grammar. +If you can by any means, either fair or foul, induce him to get by heart +Lilly's Latin Grammar, you may set your heart at rest with respect to +him; I, myself, will be his warrant. I never yet knew a boy that was +induced, either by fair means or foul, to learn Lilly's Latin Grammar by +heart, who did not turn out a man, provided he lived long enough." + +My father, who did not understand the classical languages, received with +respect the advice of his old friend, and from that moment conceived the +highest opinion of Lilly's Latin Grammar. During three years I studied +Lilly's Latin Grammar under the tuition of various schoolmasters, for I +travelled with the regiment, and in every town in which we were stationed +I was invariably (God bless my father!) sent to the classical academy of +the place. It chanced, by good fortune, that in the generality of these +schools the grammar of Lilly was in use; when, however, that was not the +case, it made no difference in my educational course, my father always +stipulating with the masters that I should be daily examined in Lilly. +At the end of the three years I had the whole by heart; you had only to +repeat the first two or three words of any sentence in any part of the +book, and forthwith I would open cry, commencing without blundering and +hesitation, and continue till you were glad to beg me to leave off, with +many expressions of admiration at my proficiency in the Latin language. +Sometimes, however, to convince you how well I merited these encomiums, I +would follow you to the bottom of the stair, and even into the street, +repeating in a kind of sing-song measure the sonorous lines of the golden +schoolmaster. If I am here asked whether I understood anything of what I +had got by heart, I reply--"Never mind, I understand it all now, and +believe that no one ever yet got Lilly's Latin Grammar by heart when +young, who repented of the feat at a mature age." + +And, when my father saw that I had accomplished my task, he opened his +mouth, and said, "Truly, this is more than I expected. I did not think +that there had been so much in you, either of application or capacity; +you have now learnt all that is necessary, if my friend Dr. B---'s +opinion was sterling, as I have no doubt it was. You are still a child, +however, and must yet go to school, in order that you may be kept out of +evil company. Perhaps you may still contrive, now you have exhausted the +barn, to pick up a grain or two in the barnyard. You are still ignorant +of figures, I believe, not that I would mention figures in the same day +with Lilly's Grammar." + +These words were uttered in a place called ---, in the north, or in the +road to the north, to which, for some time past, our corps had been +slowly advancing. I was sent to the school of the place, which chanced +to be a day school. It was a somewhat extraordinary one, and a somewhat +extraordinary event occurred to me within its walls. + +It occupied part of the farther end of a small plain, or square, at the +outskirts of the town, close to some extensive bleaching fields. It was +a long low building of one room, with no upper story; on the top was a +kind of wooden box, or sconce, which I at first mistook for a +pigeon-house, but which in reality contained a bell, to which was +attached a rope, which, passing through the ceiling, hung dangling in the +middle of the school-room. I am the more particular in mentioning this +appurtenance, as I had soon occasion to scrape acquaintance with it in a +manner not very agreeable to my feelings. The master was very proud of +his bell, if I might judge from the fact of his eyes being frequently +turned to that part of the ceiling from which the rope depended. Twice +every day, namely, after the morning and evening tasks had been gone +through, were the boys rung out of school by the monotonous jingle of +this bell. This ringing out was rather a lengthy affair, for, as the +master was a man of order and method, the boys were only permitted to go +out of the room one by one; and as they were rather numerous, amounting, +at least, to one hundred, and were taught to move at a pace of suitable +decorum, at least a quarter of an hour elapsed from the commencement of +the march before the last boy could make his exit. The office of +bell-ringer was performed by every boy successively; and it so happened +that, the very first day of my attendance at the school, the turn to ring +the bell had, by order of succession, arrived at the place which had been +allotted to me; for the master, as I have already observed, was a man of +method and order, and every boy had a particular seat, to which he became +a fixture as long as he continued at the school. + +So, upon this day, when the tasks were done and completed, and the boys +sat with their hats and caps in their hands, anxiously expecting the +moment of dismissal, it was suddenly notified to me, by the urchins who +sat nearest to me, that I must get up and ring the bell. Now, as this +was the first time that I had been at the school, I was totally +unacquainted with the process, which I had never seen, and, indeed, had +never heard of till that moment. I therefore sat still, not imagining it +possible that any such duty could be required of me. But now, with not a +little confusion, I perceived that the eyes of all the boys in the school +were fixed upon me. Presently there were nods and winks in the direction +of the bell-rope; and, as these produced no effect, uncouth visages were +made, like those of monkeys when enraged; teeth were gnashed, tongues +thrust out, and even fists were bent at me. The master, who stood at the +end of the room, with a huge ferule under his arm, bent full upon me a +look of stern appeal; and the ushers, of whom there were four, glared +upon me, each from his own particular corner, as I vainly turned, in one +direction and another, in search of one reassuring look. + +But now, probably in obedience to a sign from the master, the boys in my +immediate neighbourhood began to maltreat me. Some pinched me with their +fingers, some buffeted me, whilst others pricked me with pins, or the +points of compasses. These arguments were not without effect. I sprang +from my seat, and endeavoured to escape along a double line of benches, +thronged with boys of all ages, from the urchin of six or seven, to the +nondescript of sixteen or seventeen. It was like running the gauntlet; +every one, great or small, pinching, kicking, or otherwise maltreating me +as I passed by. + +Goaded on in this manner, I at length reached the middle of the room, +where dangled the bell-rope, the cause of all my sufferings. I should +have passed it--for my confusion was so great, that I was quite at a loss +to comprehend what all this could mean, and almost believed myself under +the influence of an ugly dream--but now the boys, who were seated in +advance in the row, arose with one accord, and barred my farther +progress; and one, doubtless more sensible than the rest, seizing the +rope, thrust it into my hand. I now began to perceive that the dismissal +of the school, and my own release from torment, depended upon this self +same rope. I therefore, in a fit of desperation, pulled it once or +twice, and then left off, naturally supposing that I had done quite +enough. The boys who sat next the door, no sooner heard the bell, than +rising from their seats, they moved out at the door. The bell, however, +had no sooner ceased to jingle, than they stopped short, and, turning +round, stared at the master, as much as to say, "What are we to do now?" +This was too much for the patience of the man of method, which my +previous stupidity had already nearly exhausted. Dashing forward into +the middle of the room, he struck me violently on the shoulders with his +ferule, and snatching the rope out of my hand, exclaimed, with a +stentorian voice, and genuine Yorkshire accent. "Prodigy of ignorance! +dost not even know how to ring a bell? Must I myself instruct thee?" He +then commenced pulling at the bell with such violence, that long before +half the school was dismissed the rope broke, and the rest of the boys +had to depart without their accustomed music. + +But I must not linger here, though I could say much about the school and +the pedagogue highly amusing and diverting, which, however, I suppress, +in order to make way for matters of yet greater interest. On we went, +northward, northward! and, as we advanced, I saw that the country was +becoming widely different from those parts of merry England in which we +had previously travelled. It was wilder, and less cultivated, and more +broken with hills and hillocks. The people, too, of those regions +appeared to partake of something of the character of their country. They +were coarsely dressed; tall and sturdy of frame; their voices were deep +and guttural; and the half of the dialect which they spoke was +unintelligible to my ears. + +I often wondered where we could be going, for I was at this time about as +ignorant of geography as I was of most other things. However, I held my +peace, asked no questions, and patiently awaited the issue. + +Northward, northward, still! And it came to pass that, one morning, I +found myself extended on the bank of a river. It was a beautiful morning +of early spring; small white clouds were floating in the heaven, +occasionally veiling the countenance of the sun, whose light, as they +retired, would again burst forth, coursing like a racehorse over the +scene--and a goodly scene it was! Before me, across the water, on an +eminence, stood a white old city, surrounded with lofty walls, above +which rose the tops of tall houses, with here and there a church or +steeple. To my right hand was a long and massive bridge, with many +arches and of antique architecture, which traversed the river. The river +was a noble one; the broadest that I had hitherto seen. Its waters, of a +greenish tinge, poured with impetuosity beneath the narrow arches to meet +the sea, close at hand, as the boom of the billows breaking distinctly +upon a beach declared. There were songs upon the river from the +fisher-barks; and occasionally a chorus, plaintive and wild, such as I +had never heard before, the words of which I did not understand, but +which at the present time, down the long avenue of years, seem in +memory's ear to sound like "Horam, coram, dago." Several robust fellows +were near me, some knee-deep in water, employed in hauling the seine upon +the strand. Huge fish were struggling amidst the meshes--princely +salmon--their brilliant mail of blue and silver flashing in the morning +beam; so goodly and gay a scene, in truth, had never greeted my boyish +eye. + +And, as I gazed upon the prospect, my bosom began to heave, and my tears +to trickle. Was it the beauty of the scene which gave rise to these +emotions? Possibly; for though a poor ignorant child--a half-wild +creature--I was not insensible to the loveliness of nature, and took +pleasure in the happiness and handiworks of my fellow-creatures. Yet, +perhaps, in something more deep and mysterious the feelings which then +pervaded me might originate. Who can lie down on Elvir Hill without +experiencing something of the sorcery of the place? Flee from Elvir +Hill, young swain, or the maids of Elle will have power over you, and you +will go elf-wild!--so say the Danes. I had unconsciously laid myself +down on haunted ground; and I am willing to imagine that what I then +experienced was rather connected with the world of spirits and dreams +than with what I actually saw and heard around me. Surely the elves and +genii of the place were conversing, by some inscrutable means, with the +principle of intelligence lurking within the poor uncultivated clod! +Perhaps to that ethereal principle the wonders of the past, as connected +with that stream, the glories of the present, and even the history of the +future, were at that moment being revealed! Of how many feats of +chivalry had those old walls been witness, when hostile kings contended +for their possession?--how many an army from the south and from the north +had trod that old bridge?--what red and noble blood had crimsoned those +rushing waters?--what strains had been sung, ay, were yet being sung on +its banks?--some soft as Doric reed; some fierce and sharp as those of +Norwegian Skaldaglam; some as replete with wild and wizard force as +Finland's runes, singing of Kalevale's moors, and the deeds of +Woinomoinen! Honour to thee, thou island stream! Onward may thou ever +roll, fresh and green, rejoicing in thy bright past, thy glorious +present, and in vivid hope of a triumphant future! Flow on, beautiful +one!--which of the world's streams canst thou envy, with thy beauty and +renown? Stately is the Danube, rolling in its might through lands +romantic with the wild exploits of Turk, Polak, and Magyar! Lovely is +the Rhine! on its shelvy banks grows the racy grape; and strange old +keeps of robber-knights of yore are reflected in its waters, from +picturesque crags and airy headlands!--yet neither the stately Danube, +nor the beauteous Rhine, with all their fame, though abundant, needst +thou envy, thou pure island stream!--and far less yon turbid river of +old, not modern renown, gurgling beneath the walls of what was once proud +Rome, towering Rome, Jupiter's town, but now vile Rome, crumbling Rome, +Batuscha's town, far less needst thou envy the turbid Tiber of bygone +fame, creeping sadly to the sea, surcharged with the abominations of +modern Rome--how unlike to thee, thou pure island stream! + +And as I lay on the bank and wept, there drew nigh to me a man in the +habiliments of a fisher. He was bare-legged, of a weather-beaten +countenance, and of stature approaching to the gigantic. "What is the +callant greeting for?" said he, as he stopped and surveyed me. "Has ony +body wrought ye ony harm?" + +"Not that I know of," I replied, rather guessing at than understanding +his question; "I was crying because I could not help it! I say, old one, +what is the name of this river?" + +"Hout! I now see what you was greeting at--at your ain ignorance, nae +doubt--'tis very great! Weel, I will na fash you with reproaches, but +even enlighten ye, since you seem a decent man's bairn, and you speir a +civil question. Yon river is called the Tweed; and yonder, over the +brig, is Scotland. Did ye never hear of the Tweed, my bonny man?" + +"No," said I, as I rose from the grass, and proceeded to cross the bridge +to the town at which we had arrived the preceding night; "I never heard +of it; but now I have seen it, I shall not soon forget it!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +The Castle--A Father's Inquiries--Scotch Language--A Determination--Bui +Hin Digri--Good Scotchman--Difference of Races--Ne'er a +Haggis--Pugnacious People--Wha are Ye, Mon--The Nor Loch--Gestures +Wild--The Bicker--New Town Champion--Wild-Looking Figure--Headlong. + +It was not long before we found ourselves at Edinburgh, or rather in the +Castle, into which the regiment marched with drums beating, colours +flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons behind. The Castle was, as I +suppose it is now, a garrison for soldiers. Two other regiments were +already there; the one an Irish, if I remember right, the other a small +Highland corps. + +It is hardly necessary to say much about this Castle, which everybody has +seen; on which account, doubtless, nobody has ever yet thought fit to +describe it--at least that I am aware. Be this as it may, I have no +intention of describing it, and shall content myself with observing, that +we took up our abode in that immense building, or caserne, of modern +erection, which occupies the entire eastern side of the bold rock on +which the Castle stands. A gallant caserne it was--the best and roomiest +that I had hitherto seen--rather cold and windy, it is true, especially +in the winter, but commanding a noble prospect of a range of distant +hills, which I was told were "the hieland hills," and of a broad arm of +the sea, which I heard somebody say was the Firth of Forth. + +My brother, who, for some years past, had been receiving his education in +a certain celebrated school in England, was now with us; and it came to +pass, that one day my father, as he sat at table, looked steadfastly on +my brother and myself, and then addressed my mother:--"During my journey +down hither I have lost no opportunity of making inquiries about these +people, the Scotch, amongst whom we now are, and since I have been here I +have observed them attentively. From what I have heard and seen, I +should say that upon the whole they are a very decent set of people; they +seem acute and intelligent, and I am told that their system of education +is so excellent, that every person is learned--more or less acquainted +with Greek and Latin. There is one thing, however, connected with them, +which is a great drawback--the horrid jargon which they speak. However +learned they may be in Greek and Latin, their English is execrable; and +yet I'm told it is not so bad as it was. I was in company the other day +with an Englishman who has resided here many years. We were talking +about the country and the people. 'I should like both very well,' said +I, 'were it not for the language. I wish sincerely our Parliament, which +is passing so many foolish acts every year, would pass one to force these +Scotch to speak English.' 'I wish so, too,' said he. 'The language is a +disgrace to the British Government; but, if you had heard it twenty years +ago, captain!--if you had heard it as it was spoken when I first came to +Edinburgh!'" + +"Only custom," said my mother. "I dare say the language is now what it +was then." + +"I don't know," said my father; "though I dare say you are right; it +could never have been worse than it is at present. But now to the point. +Were it not for the language, which, if the boys were to pick it up, +might ruin their prospects in life,--were it not for that, I should very +much like to send them to a school there is in this place, which +everybody talks about--the High School, I think they call it. 'Tis said +to be the best school in the whole island; but the idea of one's children +speaking Scotch--broad Scotch! I must think the matter over." + +And he did think the matter over; and the result of his deliberation was +a determination to send us to the school. Let me call thee up before my +mind's eye, High School, to which, every morning, the two English +brothers took their way from the proud old Castle through the lofty +streets of the Old Town. High School!--called so, I scarcely know why; +neither lofty in thyself nor by position, being situated in a flat +bottom; oblong structure of tawny stone, with many windows fenced with +iron netting--with thy long hall below, and thy five chambers above, for +the reception of the five classes, into which the eight hundred urchins, +who styled thee instructress, were divided. Thy learned rector and his +four subordinate dominies; thy strange old porter of the tall form and +grizzled hair, hight Boee, and doubtless of Norse ancestry, as his name +declares; perhaps of the blood of Bui hin Digri, the hero of northern +song--the Jomsborg Viking who clove Thorsteinn Midlaagr asunder in the +dread sea battle of Horunga Vog, and who, when the fight was lost and his +own two hands smitten off, seized two chests of gold with his bloody +stumps, and, springing with them into the sea, cried to the scanty relics +of his crew, "Overboard now, all Bui's lads!" Yes, I remember all about +thee, and how at eight of every morn we were all gathered together with +one accord in the long hall, from which, after the litanies had been read +(for so I will call them, being an Episcopalian), the five classes from +the five sets of benches trotted off in long files, one boy after the +other, up the five spiral staircases of stone, each class to its +destination; and well do I remember how we of the third sat hushed and +still, watched by the eye of the dux, until the door opened, and in +walked that model of a good Scotchman, the shrewd, intelligent, but +warm-hearted and kind dominie, the respectable Carson. + +And in this school I began to construe the Latin language, which I had +never done before, notwithstanding my long and diligent study of Lilly, +which illustrious grammar was not used at Edinburgh, nor indeed known. +Greek was only taught in the fifth or highest class, in which my brother +was; as for myself, I never got beyond the third during the two years +that I remained at this seminary. I certainly acquired here a +considerable insight in the Latin tongue; and, to the scandal of my +father and horror of my mother, a thorough proficiency in the Scotch, +which, in less than two months, usurped the place of the English, and so +obstinately maintained its ground, that I still can occasionally detect +its lingering remains. I did not spend my time unpleasantly at this +school, though, first of all, I had to pass through an ordeal. + +"Scotland is a better country than England," said an ugly, blear-eyed +lad, about a head and shoulders taller than myself, the leader of a gang +of varlets who surrounded me in the play-ground, on the first day, as +soon as the morning lesson was over. "Scotland is a far better country +than England, in every respect." + +"Is it?" said I. "Then you ought to be very thankful for not having been +born in England." + +"That's just what I am, ye loon; and every morning when I say my prayers, +I thank God for not being an Englishman. The Scotch are a much better +and braver people than the English." + +"It may be so," said I, "for what I know--indeed, till I came here, I +never heard a word either about the Scotch or their country." + +"Are ye making fun of us, ye English puppy?" said the blear-eyed lad; +"take that!" and I was presently beaten black and blue. And thus did I +first become aware of the difference of races and their antipathy to each +other. + +"Bow to the storm, and it shall pass over you." I held my peace, and +silently submitted to the superiority of the Scotch--_in numbers_. This +was enough; from an object of persecution I soon became one of patronage, +especially amongst the champions of the class. "The English," said the +blear-eyed lad, "though a wee bit behind the Scotch in strength and +fortitude, are nae to be sneezed at, being far ahead of the Irish, to say +nothing of the French, a pack of cowardly scoundrels. And with regard to +the English country, it is na Scotland, it is true, but it has its gude +properties; and, though there is ne'er a haggis in a' the land, there's +an unco deal o' gowd and siller. I respect England, for I have an auntie +married there." + +The Scotch are certainly a most pugnacious people; their whole history +proves it. Witness their incessant wars with the English in the olden +time, and their internal feuds, highland with lowland, clan with clan, +family with family, Saxon with Gael. In my time, the schoolboys, for +want, perhaps, of English urchins to contend with, were continually +fighting with each other; every noon there was at least one pugilistic +encounter, and sometimes three. In one month I witnessed more of these +encounters than I had ever previously seen under similar circumstances in +England. After all, there was not much harm done. Harm! what harm could +result from short chopping blows, a hug, and a tumble? I was witness to +many a sounding whack, some blood shed, "a blue ee" now and then, but +nothing more. In England, on the contrary, where the lads were +comparatively mild, gentle, and pacific, I had been present at more than +one death caused by blows in boyish combats, in which the oldest of the +victors had scarcely reached thirteen years; but these blows were in the +jugular, given with the full force of the arm shot out horizontally from +the shoulder. + +But, the Scotch--though by no means proficients in boxing (and how should +they box, seeing that they have never had a teacher?)--are, I repeat, a +most pugnacious people; at least they were in my time. Anything served +them, that is, the urchins, as a pretence for a fray, or, Dorically +speaking, a _bicker_; every street and close was at feud with its +neighbour; the lads of the school were at feud with the young men of the +college, whom they pelted in winter with snow, and in summer with stones; +and then the feud between the Old and New Town! + +One day I was standing on the ramparts of the castle on the southwestern +side which overhangs the green brae, where it slopes down into what was +in those days the green swamp or morass, called by the natives of Auld +Reekie the Nor Loch; it was a dark gloomy day, and a thin veil of mist +was beginning to settle down upon the brae and the morass. I could +perceive, however, that there was a skirmish taking place in the latter +spot. I had an indistinct view of two parties--apparently of +urchins--and I heard whoops and shrill cries: eager to know the cause of +this disturbance, I left the castle, and descending the brae reached the +borders of the morass, where was a runnel of water and the remains of an +old wall, on the other side of which a narrow path led across the swamp: +upon this path at a little distance before me there was "a bicker." I +pushed forward, but had scarcely crossed the ruined wall and runnel, when +the party nearest to me gave way, and in great confusion came running in +my direction. As they drew nigh, one of them shouted to me, "Wha are ye, +mon? are ye o' the Auld Toon?" I made no answer. "Ha! ye are of the New +Toon; De'il tak ye, we'll murder ye;" and the next moment a huge stone +sung past my head. "Let me be, ye fule bodies," said I, "I'm no of +either of ye, I live yonder aboon in the castle." "Ah! ye live in the +castle; then ye're an auld tooner; come gie us your help, man, and dinna +stand there staring like a dunnot, we want help sair eneugh. Here are +stanes." + +For my own part I wished for nothing better, and, rushing forward, I +placed myself at the head of my new associates, and commenced flinging +stones fast and desperately. The other party now gave way in their turn, +closely followed by ourselves; I was in the van, and about to stretch out +my hand to seize the hindermost boy of the enemy, when, not being +acquainted with the miry and difficult paths of the Nor Loch, and in my +eagerness taking no heed of my footing, I plunged into a quagmire, into +which I sank as far as my shoulders. Our adversaries no sooner perceived +this disaster, than, setting up a shout, they wheeled round and attacked +us most vehemently. Had my comrades now deserted me, my life had not +been worth a straw's purchase, I should either have been smothered in the +quag, or, what is more probable, had my brains beaten out with stones; +but they behaved like true Scots, and fought stoutly around their +comrade, until I was extricated, whereupon both parties retired, the +night being near at hand. + +"Ye are na a bad hand at flinging stanes," said the lad who first +addressed me, as we now returned up the brae; "your aim is right +dangerous, mon, I saw how ye skelpit them, ye maun help us agin thae New +Toon blackguards at our next bicker." + +So to the next bicker I went, and to many more, which speedily followed +as the summer advanced; the party to which I had given my help on the +first occasion consisted merely of outlyers, posted about half way up the +hill, for the purpose of overlooking the movements of the enemy. + +Did the latter draw nigh in any considerable force, messengers were +forthwith despatched to the "auld toon," especially to the filthy alleys +and closes of the High Street, which forthwith would disgorge swarms of +bare-headed and bare-footed "callants," who, with gestures wild and +"eldrich screech and hollo," might frequently be seen pouring down the +sides of the hill. I have seen upwards of a thousand engaged on either +side in these frays, which I have no doubt were full as desperate as the +fights described in the Iliad, and which were certainly much more bloody +than the combats of modern Greece in the war of independence: the +callants not only employed their hands in hurling stones, but not +unfrequently slings; at the use of which they were very expert, and which +occasionally dislodged teeth, shattered jaws, or knocked out an eye. Our +opponents certainly laboured under considerable disadvantage, being +compelled not only to wade across a deceitful bog, but likewise to +clamber up part of a steep hill before they could attack us; +nevertheless, their determination was such, and such their impetuosity, +that we had sometimes difficulty enough to maintain our own. I shall +never forget one bicker, the last indeed which occurred at that time, as +the authorities of the town, alarmed by the desperation of its character, +stationed forthwith a body of police on the hill side, to prevent, in +future, any such breaches of the peace. + +It was a beautiful Sunday evening, the rays of the descending _sun_ were +reflected redly from the grey walls of the castle, and from the black +rocks on which it was founded. The bicker had long since commenced, +stones from sling and hand were flying; but the callants of the New Town +were now carrying everything before them. + +A full-grown baker's apprentice was at their head; he was foaming with +rage, and had taken the field, as I was told, in order to avenge his +brother, whose eye had been knocked out in one of the late bickers. He +was no slinger, or flinger, but brandished in his right hand the spoke of +a cart-wheel, like my countryman Tom Hickathrift of old in his encounter +with the giant of the Lincolnshire fen. Protected by a piece of +wicker-work attached to his left arm, he rushed on to the fray, +disregarding the stones which were showered against him, and was ably +seconded by his followers. Our own party was chased half way up the +hill, where I was struck to the ground by the baker, after having been +foiled in an attempt which I had made to fling a handful of earth into +his eyes. All now appeared lost, the Auld Toon was in full retreat. I +myself lay at the baker's feet, who had just raised his spoke, probably +to give me the _coup de grace_,--it was an awful moment. Just then I +heard a shout and a rushing sound; a wild-looking figure is descending +the hill with terrible bounds; it is a lad of some fifteen years; he is +bare-headed, and his red uncombed hair stands on end like hedgehogs' +bristles; his frame is lithy, like that of an antelope, but he has +prodigious breadth of chest; he wears a military undress, that of the +regiment, even of a drummer, for it is wild Davy, whom a month before I +had seen enlisted on Leith Links to serve King George with drum and +drumstick as long as his services might be required, and who, ere a week +had elapsed, had smitten with his fist Drum-Major Elzigood, who, incensed +at his inaptitude, had threatened him with his cane; he has been in +confinement for weeks, this is the first day of his liberation, and he is +now descending the hill with horrid bounds and shoutings; he is now about +five yards distant, and the baker, who apprehends that something +dangerous is at hand, prepares himself for the encounter; but what avails +the strength of a baker, even full grown?--what avails the defence of a +wicker shield? what avails the wheel-spoke, should there be an +opportunity of using it, against the impetus of an avalanche or a cannon +ball?--for to either of these might that wild figure be compared, which, +at the distance of five yards, sprang at once with head, hands, feet and +body, all together, upon the champion of the New Town, tumbling him to +the earth amain. And now it was the turn of the Old Town to triumph. +Our late discomfited host, returning on its steps, overwhelmed the fallen +champion with blows of every kind, and then, led on by his vanquisher who +had assumed his arms, namely, the wheelspoke and wicker shield, fairly +cleared the brae of their adversaries, whom they drove down headlong into +the morass. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Expert Climbers--The Crags--Something Red--The Horrible Edge--David +Haggart--Fine Materials--The Greatest Victory--Extraordinary Robber--The +Ruling Passion. + +Meanwhile I had become a daring cragsman, a character to which an English +lad has seldom opportunities of aspiring; for in England there are +neither crags nor mountains. Of these, however, as is well known, there +is no lack in Scotland, and the habits of individuals are invariably in +harmony with the country in which they dwell. The Scotch are expert +climbers, and I was now a Scot in most things, particularly in language. +The castle on which I dwelt stood upon a rock, a bold and craggy one, +which, at first sight, would seem to bid defiance to any feet save those +of goats and chamois; but patience and perseverance generally enable +mankind to overcome things which, at first sight, appear impossible. +Indeed, what is there above man's exertions? Unwearied determination +will enable him to run with the horse, to swim with the fish, and +assuredly to compete with the chamois and the goat in agility and +sureness of foot. To scale the rock was merely child's play for the +Edinbro' callants. It was my own favourite diversion. I soon found that +the rock contained all manner of strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, +where owls nestled, and the weasel brought forth her young; here and +there were small natural platforms overgrown with long grass and various +kinds of plants, where the climber, if so disposed, could stretch +himself, and either give his eyes to sleep or his mind to thought; for +capital places were these same platforms, either for repose or +meditation. The boldest features of the rock are descried on the +southern side, where, after shelving down gently from the wall for some +distance, it terminates abruptly in a precipice, black and horrible, of +some three hundred feet at least, as if the axe of nature had been here +employed cutting sheer down, and leaving behind neither excrescence nor +spur--a dizzy precipice it is, assimilating much to those so frequent in +the flinty hills of Northern Africa, and exhibiting some distant +resemblance to that of Gibraltar, towering in its horridness above the +neutral ground. + +It was now holiday time, and having nothing particular wherewith to +occupy myself, I not unfrequently passed the greater part of the day upon +the rocks. Once, after scaling the western crags, and creeping round a +sharp angle of the wall, overhung by a kind of watch tower, I found +myself on the southern side. Still keeping close to the wall, I was +proceeding onward, for I was bent upon a long excursion which should +embrace half the circuit of the castle, when suddenly my eye was +attracted by the appearance of something red, far below me; I stopped +short, and, looking fixedly upon it, perceived that it was a human being +in a kind of red jacket, seated on the extreme verge of the precipice, +which I have already made a faint attempt to describe. Wondering who it +could be, I shouted; but it took not the slightest notice, remaining as +immovable as the rock on which it sat. "I should never have thought of +going near that edge," said I to myself; "however, as you have done it, +why should not I? And I should like to know who you are." So I +commenced the descent of the rock, but with great care, for I had as yet +never been in a situation so dangerous; a slight moisture exuded from the +palms of my hands, my nerves were tingling, and my brain was somewhat +dizzy--and now I had arrived within a few yards of the figure, and had +recognised it: it was the wild drummer who had turned the tide of battle +in the bicker on the Castle Brae. A small stone which I dislodged now +rolled down the rock, and tumbled into the abyss close beside him. He +turned his head, and after looking at me for a moment somewhat vacantly, +he resumed his former attitude. I drew yet nearer to the horrible edge; +not close, however, for fear was on me. + +"What are you thinking of, David?" said I, as I sat behind him and +trembled, for I repeat that I was afraid. + +_David Haggart_. I was thinking of Willie Wallace. + +_Myself_. You had better be thinking of yourself, man. A strange place +this to come to and think of William Wallace. + +_David Haggart_. Why so? Is not his tower just beneath our feet? + +_Myself_. You mean the auld ruin by the side of Nor Loch--the ugly stane +bulk, from the foot of which flows the spring into the dyke, where the +watercresses grow? + +_David Haggart_. Just sae, Geordie. + +_Myself_. And why were ye thinking of him? The English hanged him long +since, as I have heard say. + +_David Haggart_. I was thinking that I should wish to be like him. + +_Myself_. Do ye mean that ye would wish to be hanged? + +_David Haggart_. I wad na flinch from that, Geordie, if I might be a +great man first. + +_Myself_. And wha kens, Davie, how great you may be, even without +hanging? Are ye not in the high road of preferment? Are ye not a bauld +drummer already? Wha kens how high ye may rise? perhaps to be general, +or drum-major. + +_David Haggart_. I hae na wish to be drum-major; it were na great things +to be like the doited carle, Elsethan-gude, as they call him; and, troth, +he has nae his name for naething. But I should have nae objection to be +a general, and to fight the French and Americans, and win myself a name +and a fame like Willie Wallace, and do brave deeds, such as I have been +reading about in his story book. + +_Myself_. Ye are a fule, Davie; the story book is full of lies. +Wallace, indeed! the wuddie rebel! I have heard my father say that the +Duke of Cumberland was worth twenty of Willie Wallace. + +_David Haggart_. Ye had better sae naething agin Willie Wallace, +Geordie, for, if ye do, de'il hae me, if I dinna tumble ye doon the +craig. + + * * * * * + +Fine materials in that lad for a hero, you will say. Yes, indeed, for a +hero, or for what he afterwards became. In other times, and under other +circumstances, he might have made what is generally termed a great man, a +patriot, or a conqueror. As it was, the very qualities which might then +have pushed him on to fortune and renown were the cause of his ruin. The +war over, he fell into evil courses; for his wild heart and ambitious +spirit could not brook the sober and quiet pursuits of honest industry. + +"Can an Arabian steed submit to be a vile drudge?" cries the fatalist. +Nonsense! A man is not an irrational creature, but a reasoning being, +and has something within him beyond mere brutal instinct. The greatest +victory which a man can achieve is over himself, by which is meant those +unruly passions which are not convenient to the time and place. David +did not do this; he gave the reins to his wild heart, instead of curbing +it, and became a robber, and, alas! alas! he shed blood--under peculiar +circumstances, it is true, and without _malice prepense_--and for that +blood he eventually died, and justly; for it was that of the warden of a +prison from which he was escaping, and whom he slew with one blow of his +stalwart arm. + +Tamerlane and Haggart! Haggart and Tamerlane! Both these men were +robbers, and of low birth, yet one perished on an ignoble scaffold, and +the other died emperor of the world. Is this justice? The ends of the +two men were widely dissimilar--yet what is the intrinsic difference +between them? Very great indeed; the one acted according to his lights +and his country, not so the other. Tamerlane was a heathen, and acted +according to his lights; he was a robber where all around were robbers, +but he became the avenger of God--God's scourge on unjust kings, on the +cruel Bajazet, who had plucked out his own brothers' eyes; he became to a +certain extent the purifier of the East, its regenerator; his equal never +was before, nor has it since been seen. Here the wild heart was +profitably employed the wild strength, the teeming brain. Onward, Lame +one! Onward, Tamurlank! Haggart. . . . + +But peace to thee, poor David! why should a mortal worm be sitting in +judgment over thee? The Mighty and Just One has already judged thee, and +perhaps above thou hast received pardon for thy crimes, which could not +be pardoned here below; and now that thy feverish existence has closed, +and thy once active form become inanimate dust, thy very memory all but +forgotten, I will say a few words about thee, a few words soon also to be +forgotten. Thou wast the most extraordinary robber that ever lived +within the belt of Britain; Scotland rang with thy exploits, and England, +too, north of the Humber; strange deeds also didst thou achieve when, +fleeing from justice, thou didst find thyself in the Sister Isle; busy +wast thou there in town and on curragh, at fair and race-course, and also +in the solitary place. Ireland thought thee her child, for who spoke her +brogue better than thyself?--she felt proud of thee, and said, "Sure, +O'Hanlon is come again." What might not have been thy fate in the far +west in America, whither thou hadst turned thine eye, saying, "I will go +there, and become an honest man!" But thou wast not to go there, +David--the blood which thou hadst shed in Scotland was to be required of +thee; the avenger was at hand, the avenger of blood. Seized, manacled, +brought back to thy native land, condemned to die, thou wast left in thy +narrow cell, and told to make the most of thy time, for it was short; and +there, in thy narrow cell, and thy time so short, thou didst put the +crowning stone to thy strange deeds, by that strange history of thyself, +penned by thine own hand in the robber tongue. Thou mightest have been +better employed, David!--but the ruling passion was strong with thee, +even in the jaws of death. Thou mightest have been better employed!--but +peace be with thee, I repeat, and the Almighty's grace and pardon. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Napoleon--The Storm--The Cove--Up the Country--The Trembling +Hand--Irish--Tough Battle--Tipperary Hills--Elegant Lodgings--A +Speech--Fair Specimen--Orangemen. + +Onward, onward! and after we had sojourned in Scotland nearly two years, +the long continental war had been brought to an end, Napoleon was humbled +for a time, and the Bourbons restored to a land which could well have +dispensed with them; we returned to England, where the corps was +disbanded, and my parents with their family retired to private life. I +shall pass over in silence the events of a year, which offer little of +interest as far as connected with me and mine. Suddenly, however, the +sound of war was heard again, Napoleon had broken forth from Elba, and +everything was in confusion. Vast military preparations were again made, +our own corps was levied anew, and my brother became an officer in it; +but the danger was soon over, Napoleon was once more quelled, and chained +for ever, like Prometheus, to his rock. As the corps, however, though so +recently levied, had already become a very fine one, thanks to my +father's energetic drilling, the Government very properly determined to +turn it to some account, and, as disturbances were apprehended in Ireland +about this period, it occurred to them that they could do no better than +despatch it to that country. + +In the autumn of the year 1815 we set sail from a port in Essex; we were +some eight hundred strong, and were embarked in two ships, very large, +but old and crazy; a storm overtook us when off Beachy Head, in which we +had nearly foundered. I was awakened early in the morning by the howling +of the wind, and the uproar on deck. I kept myself close, however, as is +still my constant practice on similar occasions, and waited the result +with that apathy and indifference which violent sea-sickness is sure to +produce. We shipped several seas, and once the vessel missing +stays--which, to do it justice, it generally did at every third or fourth +tack--we escaped almost by a miracle from being dashed upon the foreland. +On the eighth day of our voyage we were in sight of Ireland. The weather +was now calm and serene, the sun shone brightly on the sea and on certain +green hills in the distance, on which I descried what at first sight I +believed to be two ladies gathering flowers, which, however, on our +nearer approach, proved to be two tall white towers, doubtless built for +some purpose or other, though I did not learn for what. + +We entered a kind of bay, or cove, by a narrow inlet; it was a beautiful +and romantic place this cove, very spacious, and being nearly +land-locked, was sheltered from every wind. A small island, every inch +of which was covered with fortifications, appeared to swim upon the +waters, whose dark blue denoted their immense depth; tall green hills, +which ascended gradually from the shore, formed the background to the +west; they were carpeted to the top with turf of the most vivid green, +and studded here and there with woods, seemingly of oak; there was a +strange old castle half way up the ascent, a village on a crag--but the +mists of the morning were half veiling the scene when I surveyed it, and +the mists of time are now hanging densely between it and my no longer +youthful eye; I may not describe it;--nor will I try. + +Leaving the ship in the cove, we passed up a wide river in boats till we +came to a city, where we disembarked. It was a large city, as large as +Edinburgh to my eyes; there were plenty of fine houses, but little +neatness; the streets were full of impurities; handsome equipages rolled +along, but the greater part of the population were in rags; beggars +abounded; there was no lack of merriment, however; boisterous shouts of +laughter were heard on every side. It appeared a city of contradictions. +After a few days' rest we marched from this place in two divisions. My +father commanded the second, I walked by his side. + +Our route lay up the country; the country at first offered no very +remarkable feature; it was pretty, but tame. On the second day, however, +its appearance had altered, it had become more wild; a range of distant +mountains bound the horizon. We passed through several villages, as I +suppose I may term them, of low huts, the walls formed of rough stones +without mortar, the roof of flags laid over wattles and wicker-work; they +seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children; the latter were +naked, the former, in general, blear-eyed beldames, who sat beside the +doors on low stools, spinning. We saw, however, both men and women +working at a distance in the fields. + +I was thirsty; and going up to an ancient crone, employed in the manner +which I have described, I asked her for water; she looked me in the face, +appeared to consider a moment, then tottering into her hut, presently +reappeared with a small pipkin of milk, which she offered to me with a +trembling hand. I drank the milk; it was sour, but I found it highly +refreshing. I then took out a penny and offered it to her, whereupon she +shook her head, smiled, and, patting my face with her skinny hand, +murmured some words in a tongue which I had never heard before. + +I walked on by my father's side, holding the stirrup-leather of his +horse; presently several low uncouth cars passed by, drawn by starved +cattle: the drivers were tall fellows, with dark features and athletic +frames--they wore long loose blue cloaks with sleeves, which last, +however, dangled unoccupied: these cloaks appeared in tolerably good +condition, not so their under garments. On their heads were broad +slouching hats: the generality of them were bare-footed. As they passed, +the soldiers jested with them in the patois of East Anglia, whereupon the +fellows laughed, and appeared to jest with the soldiers; but what they +said who knows, it being in a rough guttural language, strange and wild. +The soldiers stared at each other, and were silent. + +"A strange language that!" said a young officer to my father, "I don't +understand a word of it; what can it be?" + +"Irish," said my father, with a loud voice, "and a bad language it is; I +have known it of old, that is, I have often heard it spoken when I was a +guardsman in London. There's one part of London where all the Irish +live--at least all the worst of them--and there they hatch their +villanies to speak this tongue; it is that which keeps them together and +makes them dangerous: I was once sent there to seize a couple of +deserters--Irish--who had taken refuge amongst their companions; we found +them in what was in my time called a ken, that is, a house where only +thieves and desperadoes are to be found. Knowing on what kind of +business I was bound, I had taken with me a sergeant's party; it was well +I did so. We found the deserters in a large room, with at least thirty +ruffians, horrid-looking fellows, seated about a long table, drinking, +swearing, and talking Irish. Ah! we had a tough battle, I remember; the +two fellows did nothing, but sat still, thinking it best to be quiet; but +the rest, with an ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a powder-magazine, +sprang up, brandishing their sticks; for these fellows always carry +sticks with them even to bed, and not unfrequently spring up in their +sleep, striking left and right." + +"Did you take the deserters?" said the officer. + +"Yes," said my father; "for we formed at the end of the room, and charged +with fixed bayonets, which compelled the others to yield notwithstanding +their numbers; but the worst was when we got out into the street; the +whole district had become alarmed and hundreds came pouring down upon +us--men, women, and children. Women, did I say!--they looked fiends, +half-naked, with their hair hanging down over their bosoms; they tore up +the very pavement to hurl at us sticks rang about our ears, stones, and +Irish--I liked the Irish worst of all, it sounded so horrid, especially +as I did not understand it. It's a bad language." + +"A queer tongue," said I, "I wonder if I could learn it?" + +"Learn it!" said my father; "what should you learn it for?--however, I am +not afraid of that. It is not like Scotch, no person can learn it, save +those who are born to it, and even in Ireland the respectable people do +not speak it, only the wilder sort, like those we have passed." + +Within a day or two we had reached a tall range of mountains running +north and south, which I was told were those of Tipperary; along the +skirts of these we proceeded till we came to a town, the principal one of +these regions. It was on the bank of a beautiful river, which separated +it from the mountains. It was rather an ancient place, and might contain +some ten thousand inhabitants--I found that it was our destination; there +were extensive barracks at the farther end, in which the corps took up +its quarters; with respect to ourselves, we took lodgings in a house +which stood in the principal street. + +"You never saw more elegant lodgings than these, captain," said the +master of the house, a tall, handsome, and athletic man, who came up +whilst our little family were seated at dinner late in the afternoon of +the day of our arrival; "they beat anything in this town of Clonmel. I +do not let them for the sake of interest, and to none but gentlemen in +the army, in order that myself and my wife, who is from Londonderry, may +have the advantage of pleasant company, a genteel company; ay, and +Protestant company, captain. It did my heart good when I saw your honour +ride in at the head of all those fine fellows, real Protestants, I'll +engage, not a Papist among them, they are too good-looking and +honest-looking for that. So I no sooner saw your honour at the head of +your army, with that handsome young gentleman holding by your stirrup, +than I said to my wife, Mistress Hyne, who is from Londonderry, 'God +bless me,' said I, 'what a truly Protestant countenance, what a noble +bearing, and what a sweet young gentleman. By the silver hairs of his +honour--and sure enough I never saw hairs more regally silver than those +of your honour--by his honour's gray silver hairs, and by my own soul, +which is not worthy to be mentioned in the same day with one of them--it +would be no more than decent and civil to run out and welcome such a +father and son coming in at the head of such a Protestant military.' And +then my wife, who is from Londonderry, Mistress Hyne, looking me in the +face like a fairy as she is, 'You may say that,' says she. 'It would be +but decent and civil, honey.' And your honour knows how I ran out of my +own door and welcomed your honour riding in company with your son, who +was walking; how I welcomed ye both at the head of your royal regiment, +and how I shook your honour by the hand, saying, I am glad to see your +honour, and your honour's son, and your honour's royal military +Protestant regiment. And now I have you in the house, and right proud I +am to have ye one and all; one, two, three, four, true Protestants every +one, no Papists here; and I have made bold to bring up a bottle of claret +which is now waiting behind the door; and, when your honour and your +family have dined, I will make bold too to bring up Mistress Hyne, from +Londonderry, to introduce to your honour's lady, and then we'll drink to +the health of King George, God bless him; to the 'glorious and +immortal'--to Boyne water--to your honour's speedy promotion to be Lord +Lieutenant, and to the speedy downfall of the Pope and Saint Anthony of +Padua." + +Such was the speech of the Irish Protestant addressed to my father in the +long lofty dining-room with three windows, looking upon the high street +of the good town of Clonmel, as he sat at meat with his family, after +saying grace like a true-hearted respectable soldier as he was. + +"A bigot and an Orangeman!" Oh, yes! It is easier to apply epithets of +opprobrium to people than to make yourself acquainted with their history +and position. He was a specimen, and a fair specimen, of a most +remarkable body of men, who during two centuries have fought a good fight +in Ireland in the cause of civilization and religious truth; they were +sent as colonists, few in number, into a barbarous and unhappy country, +where ever since, though surrounded with difficulties of every kind, they +have maintained their ground; theirs has been no easy life, nor have +their lines fallen upon very pleasant places; amidst darkness they have +held up a lamp, and it would be well for Ireland were all her children +like these her adopted ones. "But they are fierce and sanguinary," it is +said. Ay, ay! they have not unfrequently opposed the keen sword to the +savage pike. "But they are bigoted and narrow-minded." Ay, ay! they do +not like idolatry, and will not bow the knee before a stone! "But their +language is frequently indecorous." Go to, my dainty one, did ye ever +listen to the voice of Papist cursing? + +The Irish Protestants have faults, numerous ones; but the greater number +of these may be traced to the peculiar circumstances of their position: +but they have virtues, numerous ones; and their virtues are their own, +their industry, their energy, and their undaunted resolution are their +own. They have been vilified and traduced--but what would Ireland be +without them? I repeat, that it would be well for her were all her sons +no worse than these much calumniated children of her adoption. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +Protestant Young Gentlemen--The Greek Letters--Open +Chimney--Murtagh--Paris and Salamanca--Nothing to do--To Whit, to +Whoo!--The Pack of Cards--Before Christmas. + +We continued at this place for some months, during which time the +soldiers performed their duties, whatever they were; and I, having no +duties to perform, was sent to school. I had been to English schools, +and to the celebrated one of Edinburgh; but my education, at the present +day, would not be what it is--perfect, had I never had the honour of +being _alumnus_ in an Irish seminary. + +"Captain," said our kind host, "you would, no doubt, wish that the young +gentleman should enjoy every advantage which the town may afford towards +helping him on in the path of genteel learning. It's a great pity that +he should waste his time in idleness--doing nothing else than what he +says he has been doing for the last fortnight--fishing in the river for +trouts which he never catches; and wandering up the glen in the mountain, +in search of the hips that grow there. Now, we have a school here, where +he can learn the most elegant Latin, and get an insight into the Greek +letters, which is desirable; and where, moreover, he will have an +opportunity of making acquaintance with all the Protestant young +gentlemen of the place, the handsome well-dressed young persons whom your +honour sees in the church on the Sundays, when your honour goes there in +the morning, with the rest of the Protestant military; for it is no +Papist school, though there may be a Papist or two there--a few poor +farmers' sons from the country, with whom there is no necessity for your +honour's child to form any acquaintance at all, at all!" + +And to the school I went, where I read the Latin tongue and the Greek +letters, with a nice old clergyman, who sat behind a black oaken desk, +with a huge Elzevir Flaccus before him, in a long gloomy kind of hall, +with a broken stone floor, the roof festooned with cobwebs, the walls +considerably dilapidated, and covered over with strange figures and +hieroglyphics, evidently produced by the application of burnt stick; and +there I made acquaintance with the Protestant young gentlemen of the +place, who, with whatever _eclat_ they might appear at church on a +Sunday, did assuredly not exhibit to much advantage in the school-room on +the week days, either with respect to clothes or looks. And there I was +in the habit of sitting on a large stone, before the roaring fire in the +huge open chimney, and entertaining certain of the Protestant young +gentlemen of my own age, seated on similar stones, with extraordinary +accounts of my own adventures, and those of the corps, with an occasional +anecdote extracted from the story-books of Hickathrift and Wight Wallace, +pretending to be conning the lesson all the while. + +And there I made acquaintance, notwithstanding the hint of the land lord, +with the Papist "gasoons," as they were called, the farmers' sons from +the country; and of these gasoons, of which there were three two might be +reckoned as nothing at all; in the third, however, I soon discovered that +there was something extraordinary. + +He was about sixteen years old, and above six feet high, dressed in a +gray suit; the coat, from its size, appeared to have been made for him +some ten years before. He was remarkably narrow-chested and +round-shouldered, owing, perhaps, as much to the tightness of his garment +as to the hand of nature. His face was long, and his complexion swarthy, +relieved, however, by certain freckles, with which the skin was +plentifully studded. He had strange wandering eyes, gray, and somewhat +unequal in size; they seldom rested on the book, but were generally +wandering about the room, from one object to another. Sometimes he would +fix them intently on the wall; and then suddenly starting, as if from a +reverie, he would commence making certain mysterious movements with his +thumbs and fore-fingers, as if he were shuffling something from him. + +One morning, as he sat by himself on a bench, engaged in this manner, I +went up to him, and said, "Good day, Murtagh; you do not seem to have +much to do?" + +"Faith, you may say that, Shorsha dear!--it is seldom much to do that I +have." + +"And what are you doing with your hands?" + +"Faith, then, if I must tell you, I was e'en dealing with the cards." + +"Do you play much at cards?" + +"Sorra a game, Shorsha, have I played with the cards since my uncle +Phelim, the thief, stole away the ould pack, when he went to settle in +the county Waterford!" + +"But you have other things to do?" + +"Sorra anything else has Murtagh to do that he cares about; and that +makes me dread so going home at nights." + +"I should like to know all about you; where do you live, joy?" + +"Faith, then, ye shall know all about me, and where I live. It is at a +place called the Wilderness that I live, and they call it so, because it +is a fearful wild place, without any house near it but my father's own; +and that's where I live when at home." + +"And your father is a farmer, I suppose?" + +"You may say that; and it is a farmer I should have been, like my brother +Denis, had not my uncle Phelim, the thief! tould my father to send me to +school, to learn Greek letters, that I might be made a saggart of, and +sent to Paris and Salamanca." + +"And you would rather be a farmer than a priest?" + +"You may say that!--for, were I a farmer, like the rest, I should have +something to do, like the rest--something that I cared for--and I should +come home tired at night, and fall asleep, as the rest do, before the +fire; but when I comes home at night I am not tired, for I have been +doing nothing all day that I care for; and then I sits down and stares +about me, and at the fire, till I become frighted; and then I shouts to +my brother Denis, or to the gasoons, 'Get up, I say, and let's be doing +something; tell us a tale of Finn-ma-Coul, and how he lay down in the +Shannon's bed, and let the river flow down his jaws!' Arrah, Shorsha, I +wish you would come and stay with us, and tell us some o' your sweet +stories of your ownself and the snake ye carried about wid ye. Faith, +Shorsha dear! that snake bates anything about Finn-ma-Coul or Brian +Boroo, the thieves two, bad luck to them!" + +"And do they get up and tell you stories?" + +"Sometimes they does, but oftenmost they curses me, and bids me be quiet! +But I can't be quiet, either before the fire or abed; so I runs out of +the house, and stares at the rocks, at the trees, and sometimes at the +clouds, as they run a race across the bright moon; and, the more I +stares, the more frighted I grows, till I screeches and holloas. And +last night I went into the barn, and hid my face in the straw; and there, +as I lay and shivered in the straw, I heard a voice above my head singing +out 'To whit, to whoo!' and then up I starts, and runs into the house, +and falls over my brother Denis, as he lies at the fire. 'What's that +for?' says he. 'Get up, you thief!' says I, 'and be helping me. I have +been out in the barn, and an owl has crow'd at me!'" + +"And what has this to do with playing cards?" + +"Little enough, Shorsha dear!--If there were card-playing, I should not +be frighted." + +"And why do you not play at cards?" + +"Did I not tell you that the thief, my uncle Phelim, stole away the pack? +If we had the pack, my brother Denis and the gasoons would be ready +enough to get up from their sleep before the fire, and play cards with me +for ha'pence, or eggs, or nothing at all; but the pack is gone--bad luck +to the thief who took it!" + +"And why don't you buy another?" + +"Is it of buying you are speaking? And where am I to get the money?" + +"Ah! that's another thing!" + +"Faith it is, honey!--And now the Christmas holidays is coming, when I +shall be at home by day as well as night, and then what am I to do? +Since I have been a saggarting, I have been good for nothing at +all--neither for work nor Greek--only to play cards! Faith, it's going +mad I will be!" + +"I say, Murtagh!" + +"Yes, Shorsha dear!" + +"I have a pack of cards." + +"You don't say so, Shorsha ma vourneen?--you don't say that you have +cards fifty-two?" + +"I do, though; and they are quite new--never been once used." + +"And you'll be lending them to me, I'll warrant?" + +"Don't think it!--But I'll sell them to you, joy, if you like." + +"Hanam mon Dioul! am I not after telling you that I have no money at +all?" + +"But you have as good as money, to me, at least; and I'll take it in +exchange." + +"What's that, Shorsha dear?" + +"Irish!" + +"Irish?" + +"Yes, you speak Irish; I heard you talking it the other day to the +cripple. You shall teach me Irish." + +"And is it a language-master you'd be making of me?" + +"To be sure!--what better can you do?--it would help you to pass your +time at school. You can't learn Greek, so you must teach Irish!" + +Before Christmas, Murtagh was playing at cards with his brother Denis, +and I could speak a considerable quantity of broken Irish. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Templemore--Devil's Mountain--No Companion--Force of Circumstance--Way of +the World--Ruined Castle--Grim and Desolate--The Donjon--Old Woman--My +Own House. + +When Christmas was over, and the new year commenced, we broke up our +quarters, and marched away to Templemore. This was a large military +station, situated in a wild and thinly inhabited country. Extensive bogs +were in the neighbourhood, connected with the huge bog of Allan, the +Palus Maeotis of Ireland. Here and there was seen a ruined castle +looming through the mists of winter; whilst, at the distance of seven +miles, rose a singular mountain, exhibiting in its brow a chasm, or +vacuum, just, for all the world, as if a piece had been bitten out; a +feat which, according to the tradition of the country, had actually been +performed by his Satanic majesty, who, after flying for some leagues with +the morsel in his mouth, becoming weary, dropped it in the vicinity of +Cashel, where it may now be seen in the shape of a bold bluff hill, +crowned with the ruins of a stately edifice, probably built by some +ancient Irish king. + +We had been here only a few days, when my brother, who, as I have before +observed, had become one of his Majesty's officers, was sent on a +detachment to a village at about ten miles' distance. He was not +sixteen, and, though three years older than myself, scarcely my equal in +stature, for I had become tall and large-limbed for my age; but there was +a spirit in him that would not have disgraced a general; and, nothing +daunted at the considerable responsibility which he was about to incur, +he marched sturdily out of the barrack-yard at the head of his party, +consisting of twenty light-infantry men, and a tall grenadier sergeant, +selected expressly by my father, for the soldier-like qualities which he +possessed, to accompany his son on this his first expedition. So out of +the barrack-yard, with something of an air, marched my dear brother, his +single drum and fife playing the inspiring old melody, + + "Marlbrouk is gone to the wars, + He'll never return no more!" + +I soon missed my brother, for I was now alone, with no being, at all +assimilating in age, with whom I could exchange a word. Of late years, +from being almost constantly at school, I had cast aside, in a great +degree, my unsocial habits and natural reserve, but in the desolate +region in which we now were there was no school: and I felt doubly the +loss of my brother, whom, moreover, I tenderly loved for his own sake. +Books I had none, at least such "as I cared about;" and with respect to +the old volume, the wonders of which had first beguiled me into common +reading, I had so frequently pored over its pages, that I had almost got +its contents by heart. I was therefore in danger of falling into the +same predicament as Murtagh, becoming "frighted" from having nothing to +do! Nay, I had not even his resources; I cared not for cards, even if I +possessed them, and could find people disposed to play with them. +However, I made the most of circumstances, and roamed about the desolate +fields and bogs in the neighbourhood, sometimes entering the cabins of +the peasantry, with a "God's blessing upon you, good people!" where I +would take my seat on the "stranger's stone" at the corner of the hearth, +and, looking them full in the face, would listen to the carles and +carlines talking Irish. + +Ah, that Irish! How frequently do circumstances, at first sight the most +trivial and unimportant, exercise a mighty and permanent influence on our +habits and pursuits!--how frequently is a stream turned aside from its +natural course by some little rock or knoll, causing it to make an abrupt +turn! On a wild road in Ireland I had heard Irish spoken for the first +time; and I was seized with a desire to learn Irish, the acquisition of +which, in my case, became the stepping-stone to other languages. I had +previously learnt Latin, or rather Lilly; but neither Latin nor Lilly +made me a philologist. I had frequently heard French and other +languages, but had felt little desire to become acquainted with them; and +what, it may be asked, was there connected with the Irish calculated to +recommend it to my attention? + +First of all, and principally, I believe, the strangeness and singularity +of its tones; then there was something mysterious and uncommon associated +with its use. It was not a school language, to acquire which was +considered an imperative duty; no, no; nor was it a drawing-room +language, drawled out occasionally, in shreds and patches, by the ladies +of generals and other great dignitaries, to the ineffable dismay of poor +officers' wives. Nothing of the kind; but a speech spoken in +out-of-the-way desolate places, and in cut-throat kens, where thirty +ruffians, at the sight of the king's minions, would spring up with +brandished sticks and an "ubbubboo, like the blowing up of a +powder-magazine." Such were the points connected with the Irish, which +first awakened in my mind the desire of acquiring it; and by acquiring it +I became, as I have already said, enamoured of languages. Having learnt +one by chance, I speedily, as the reader will perceive, learnt others, +some of which were widely different from Irish. + +Ah, that Irish! I am much indebted to it in more ways than one. But I +am afraid I have followed the way of the world, which is very much wont +to neglect original friends and benefactors. I frequently find myself, +at present, turning up my nose at Irish, when I hear it in the street; +yet I have still a kind of regard for it, the fine old language: + + "A labhair Padruic n'insefail nan riogh." + +One of the most peculiar features of this part of Ireland is the ruined +castles, which are so thick and numerous that the face of the country +appears studded with them, it being difficult to choose any situation +from which one, at least, may not be descried. They are of various ages +and styles of architecture, some of great antiquity, like the stately +remains which crown the Crag of Cashel; others built by the early English +conquerors; others, and probably the greater part, erections of the times +of Elizabeth and Cromwell. The whole speaking monuments of the troubled +and insecure state of the country, from the most remote periods to a +comparatively modern time. + +From the windows of the room where I slept I had a view of one of these +old places--an indistinct one, it is true, the distance being too great +to permit me to distinguish more than the general outline. I had an +anxious desire to explore it. It stood to the south-east; in which +direction, however, a black bog intervened, which had more than once +baffled all my attempts to cross it. One morning, however, when the sun +shone brightly upon the old building, it appeared so near, that I felt +ashamed at not being able to accomplish a feat seemingly so easy; I +determined, therefore, upon another trial. I reached the bog, and was +about to venture upon its black surface, and to pick my way amongst its +innumerable holes, yawning horribly, and half filled with water black as +soot, when it suddenly occurred to me that there was a road to the south, +by following which I might find a more convenient route to the object of +my wishes. The event justified my expectations, for, after following the +road for some three miles, seemingly in the direction of the Devil's +Mountain, I suddenly beheld the castle on my left. + +I diverged from the road, and, crossing two or three fields, came to a +small grassy plain, in the midst of which stood the castle. About a +gun-shot to the south was a small village, which had, probably, in +ancient days, sprung up beneath its protection. A kind of awe came over +me as I approached the old building. The sun no longer shone upon it, +and it looked so grim, so desolate and solitary; and here was I, in that +wild country, alone with that grim building before me. The village was +within sight, it is true; but it might be a village of the dead for what +I knew; no sound issued from it, no smoke was rising from its roofs, +neither man nor beast was visible, no life, no motion--it looked as +desolate as the castle itself. Yet I was bent on the adventure, and +moved on towards the castle across the green plain, occasionally casting +a startled glance around me; and now I was close to it. + +It was surrounded by a quadrangular wall, about ten feet in height, with +a square tower at each corner. At first I could discover no entrance; +walking round, however, to the northern side, I found a wide and lofty +gateway with a tower above it, similar to those at the angles of the +wall; on this side the ground sloped gently down towards the bog, which +was here skirted by an abundant growth of copsewood, and a few evergreen +oaks. I passed through the gateway, and found myself within a square +enclosure of about two acres. On one side rose a round and lofty keep, +or donjon, with a conical roof, part of which had fallen down, strewing +the square with its ruins. Close to the keep, on the other side, stood +the remains of an oblong house, built something in the modern style, with +various window-holes; nothing remained but the bare walls and a few +projecting stumps of beams, which seemed to have been half burnt. The +interior of the walls was blackened, as if by fire; fire also appeared at +one time to have raged out of the window-holes, for the outside about +them was black, portentously so. "I wonder what has been going on here!" +I exclaimed. + +There were echoes along the walls as I walked about the court. I entered +the keep by a low and frowning doorway: the lower floor consisted of a +large dungeon-like room, with a vaulted roof; on the left hand was a +winding staircase in the thickness of the wall; it looked anything but +inviting; yet I stole softly up, my heart beating. On the top of the +first flight of stairs was an arched doorway, to the left was a dark +passage, to the right, stairs leading still higher. I stepped under the +arch and found myself in an apartment somewhat similar to the one below, +but higher. There was an object at the farther end. + +An old woman, at least eighty, was seated on a stone, cowering over a few +sticks burning feebly on what had once been a right noble and cheerful +hearth; her side-glance was towards the doorway as I entered, for she had +heard my footsteps. I stood suddenly still, and her haggard glance +rested on my face. + +"Is this your house, mother?" I at length demanded, in the language which +I thought she would best understand. + +"Yes, my house, my own house; the house of the broken-hearted." + +"Any other person's house?" I demanded. + +"My own house, the beggar's house--the accursed house of Cromwell!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +A Visit--Figure of a Man--The Dog of Peace--The Raw Wound--The +Guard-room--Boy Soldier--Person in Authority--Never Solitary--Clergyman +and Family--Still-Hunting--Fairy Man--Near Sunset--Bagg--Left-Handed +Hitter--Irish and Supernatural--At Swanton Morley. + +One morning I set out, designing to pay a visit to my brother, at the +place where he was detached; the distance was rather considerable, yet I +hoped to be back by evening fall, for I was now a shrewd walker, thanks +to constant practice. I set out early, and, directing my course towards +the north, I had in less than two hours accomplished considerably more +than half of the journey. The weather had been propitious; a slight +frost had rendered the ground firm to the tread, and the skies were +clear; but now a change came over the scene, the skies darkened and a +heavy snow-storm came on; the road then lay straight through a bog, and +was bounded by a deep trench on both sides; I was making the best of my +way, keeping as nearly as I could in the middle of the road, lest, +blinded by the snow which was frequently borne into my eyes by the wind, +I might fall into the dyke, when all at once I heard a shout to windward, +and turning my eyes I saw the figure of a man, and what appeared to be an +animal of some kind, coming across the bog with great speed, in the +direction of myself; the nature of the ground seemed to offer but little +impediment to these beings, both clearing the holes and abysses which lay +in their way with surprising agility; the animal was, however, some +slight way in advance, and, bounding over the dyke, appeared on the road +just before me. It was a dog, of what species I cannot tell, never +having seen the like before or since; the head was large and round; the +ears so tiny as scarcely to be discernible; the eyes of a fiery red: in +size it was rather small than large; and the coat, which was remarkably +smooth, as white as the falling flakes. It placed itself directly in my +path, and showing its teeth, and bristling its coat, appeared determined +to prevent my progress. I had an ashen stick in my hand, with which I +threatened it; this, however, only served to increase its fury; it rushed +upon me, and I had the utmost difficulty to preserve myself from its +fangs. + +"What are you doing with the dog, the fairy dog?" said a man, who at this +time likewise cleared the dyke at a bound. + +He was a very tall man, rather well dressed as it should seem; his +garments, however, were like my own, so covered with snow that I could +scarcely discern their quality. + +"What are ye doing with the dog of peace?" + +"I wish he would show himself one," said I; "I said nothing to him, but +he placed himself in my road, and would not let me pass." + +"Of course he would not be letting you till he knew where ye were going." + +"He's not much of a fairy," said I, "or he would know that without +asking; tell him that I am going to see my brother." + +"And who is your brother, little Sas?" + +"What my father is, a royal soldier." + +"Oh, ye are going then to the detachment at ---; by my shoul, I have a +good mind to be spoiling your journey." + +"You are doing that already," said I, "keeping me here talking about dogs +and fairies; you had better go home and get some salve to cure that place +over your eye; it's catching cold you'll be, in so much snow." + +On one side of the man's forehead there was a raw and staring wound, as +if from a recent and terrible blow. + +"Faith, then I'll be going, but it's taking you wid me I will be." + +"And where will you take me?" + +"Why, then, to Ryan's Castle, little Sas." + +"You do not speak the language very correctly," said I; "it is not Sas +you should call me--'tis Sassanach," and forthwith I accompanied the word +with a speech full of flowers of Irish rhetoric. + +The man looked upon me for a moment, fixedly, then, bending his head +towards his breast, he appeared to be undergoing a kind of convulsion, +which was accompanied by a sound something resembling laughter; presently +he looked at me, and there was a broad grin on his features. + +"By my shoul, it's a thing of peace I'm thinking ye." + +But now with a whisking sound came running down the road a hare; it was +nearly upon us before it perceived us; suddenly stopping short, however, +it sprang into the bog on the right-hand side; after it amain bounded the +dog of peace, followed by the man, but not until he had nodded to me a +farewell salutation. In a few moments I lost sight of him amidst the +snow-flakes. + +The weather was again clear and fine before I reached the place of +detachment. It was a little wooden barrack, surrounded by a wall of the +same material; a sentinel stood at the gate, I passed by him, and, +entering the building, found myself in a rude kind of guard-room; several +soldiers were lying asleep on a wooden couch at one end, others lounged +on benches by the side of a turf fire. The tall sergeant stood before +the fire, holding a cooking utensil in his left hand; on seeing me, he +made the military salutation. + +"Is my brother here?" said I, rather timidly, dreading to hear that he +was out, perhaps for the day. + +"The ensign is in his room, sir," said Bagg, "I am now preparing his +meal, which will presently be ready; you will find the ensign above +stairs," and he pointed to a broken ladder which led to some place above. + +And there I found him--the boy soldier--in a kind of upper loft, so low +that I could touch with my hands the sooty rafters; the floor was of +rough boards, through the joints of which you could see the gleam of the +soldiers' fire, and occasionally discern their figures as they moved +about; in one corner was a camp bedstead, by the side of which hung the +child's sword, gorget, and sash; a deal table stood in the proximity of +the rusty grate, where smoked and smouldered a pile of black turf from +the bog,--a deal table without a piece of baize to cover it, yet fraught +with things not devoid of interest: a Bible, given by a mother; the +Odyssey, the Greek Odyssey; a flute, with broad silver keys; crayons, +moreover, and water colours; and a sketch of a wild prospect near, which, +though but half finished, afforded ample proof of the excellence and +skill of the boyish hand now occupied upon it. + +Ah! he was a sweet being, that boy soldier, a plant of early promise, +bidding fair to become in after time all that is great, good, and +admirable. I have read of a remarkable Welshman, of whom it was said, +when the grave closed over him, that he could frame a harp, and play it; +build a ship, and sail it; compose an ode, and set it to music. A brave +fellow that son of Wales--but I had once a brother who could do more and +better than this, but the grave has closed over him, as over the gallant +Welshman of yore; there are now but two that remember him--the one who +bore him, and the being who was nurtured at the same breast. He was +taken, and I was left!--Truly the ways of Providence are inscrutable. + +"You seem to be very comfortable, John," said I, looking around the room +and at the various objects which I have described above: "you have a good +roof over your head, and have all your things about you." + +"Yes, I am very comfortable, George, in many respects; I am, moreover, +independent, and feel myself a man for the first time in my +life--independent, did I say?--that's not the word, I am something much +higher than that; here am I, not sixteen yet, a person in authority, like +the centurion in the book there, with twenty Englishmen under me, worth a +whole legion of his men, and that fine fellow Bagg to wait upon me, and +take my orders. Oh! these last six weeks have passed like hours of +heaven." + +"But your time must frequently hang heavy on your hands; this is a +strange wild place, and you must be very solitary?" + +"I am never solitary; I have, as you see, all my things about me, and +there is plenty of company below stairs. Not that I mix with the +soldiers; if I did, good-bye to my authority; but when I am alone I can +hear all their discourse through the planks, and I often laugh to myself +at the funny things they say." + +"And have you any acquaintance here?" + +"The very best; much better than the Colonel and the rest, at their grand +Templemore; I had never so many in my whole life before. One has just +left me, a gentleman who lives at a distance across the bog; he comes to +talk with me about Greek, and the Odyssey, for he is a very learned man, +and understands the old Irish, and various other strange languages. He +has had a dispute with Bagg. On hearing his name, he called him to him, +and, after looking at him for some time with great curiosity, said that +he was sure he was a Dane. Bagg, however, took the compliment in +dudgeon, and said that he was no more a Dane than himself, but a +true-born Englishman, and a sergeant of six years' standing." + +"And what other acquaintance have you?" + +"All kinds; the whole neighbourhood can't make enough of me. Amongst +others there's the clergyman of the parish and his family; such a +venerable old man, such fine sons and daughters! I am treated by them +like a son and brother--I might be always with them if I pleased; there's +one drawback, however, in going to see them; there's a horrible creature +in the house, a kind of tutor, whom they keep more from charity than +anything else; he is a Papist and, they say, a priest; you should see him +scowl sometimes at my red coat, for he hates the king, and not +unfrequently, when the king's health is drunk, curses him between his +teeth. I once got up to strike him; but the youngest of the sisters, who +is the handsomest, caught my arm and pointed to her forehead." + +"And what does your duty consist of? Have you nothing else to do than +pay visits and receive them?" + +"We do what is required of us, we guard this edifice, perform our +evolutions, and help the excise; I am frequently called up in the dead of +night to go to some wild place or other in quest of an illicit still; +this last part of our duty is poor mean work, I don't like it, nor more +does Bagg; though without it, we should not see much active service, for +the neighbourhood is quiet; save the poor creatures with their stills, +not a soul is stirring. 'Tis true there's Jerry Grant." + +"And who is Jerry Grant?" + +"Did you never hear of him? that's strange, the whole country is talking +about him; he is a kind of outlaw rebel, or robber, all three, I daresay; +there's a hundred pounds offered for his head." + +"And where does he live?" + +"His proper home, they say, is in the Queen's County, where he has a +band, but he is a strange fellow, fond of wandering about by himself +amidst the bogs and mountains, and living in the old castles; +occasionally he quarters himself in the peasants' houses, who let him do +just what he pleases; he is free of his money, and often does them good +turns, and can be good-humoured enough, so they don't dislike him. Then +he is what they call a fairy man, a person in league with fairies and +spirits, and able to work much harm by supernatural means on which +account they hold him in great awe; he is, moreover, a mighty strong and +tall fellow. Bagg has seen him." + +"Has he?" + +"Yes! and felt him; he too is a strange one. A few days ago he was told +that Grant had been seen hovering about an old castle some two miles off +in the bog; so one afternoon what does he do but, without saying a word +to me--for which, by the bye, I ought to put him under arrest, though +what I should do without Bagg I have no idea whatever--what does he do +but walk off to the castle, intending, as I suppose, to pay a visit to +Jerry. He had some difficulty in getting there on account of the +turf-holes in the bog, which he was not accustomed to; however, thither +at last he got and went in. It was a strange lonesome place, he says, +and he did not much like the look of it; however, in he went, and +searched about from the bottom to the top and down again, but could find +no one; he shouted and hallooed, but nobody answered, save the rooks and +choughs, which started up in great numbers. 'I have lost my trouble,' +said Bagg, and left the castle. It was now late in the afternoon, near +sunset, when about half way over the bog he met a man--" + +"And that man was--" + +"Jerry Grant! there's no doubt of it. Bagg says it was the most sudden +thing in the world. He was moving along, making the best of his way, +thinking of nothing at all save a public-house at Swanton Morley, which +he intends to take when he gets home and the regiment is +disbanded--though I hope that will not be for some time yet: he had just +leaped a turf-hole, and was moving on, when, at the distance of about six +yards before him, he saw a fellow coming straight towards him. Bagg says +that he stopped short, as suddenly as if he had heard the word halt, when +marching at double quick time. It was quite a surprise, he says, and he +can't imagine how the fellow was so close upon him before he was aware. +He was an immense tall fellow--Bagg thinks at least two inches taller +than himself--very well dressed in a blue coat and buff breeches for all +the world like a squire when going out hunting. Bagg, however, saw at +once that he had a roguish air, and he was on his guard in a moment. +'Good evening to ye, sodger,' says the fellow, stepping close up to Bagg, +and staring him in the face. 'Good evening to you, sir! I hope you are +well,' says Bagg. 'You are looking after some one?' says the fellow. +'Just so, sir,' says Bagg, and forthwith seized him by the collar; the +man laughed, Bagg says it was such a strange awkward laugh. 'Do you know +whom you have got hold of, sodger?' says he. 'I believe I do, sir,' said +Bagg, 'and in that belief will hold you fast in the name of King George, +and the quarter sessions;' the next moment he was sprawling with his +heels in the air. Bagg says there was nothing remarkable in that; he was +only flung by a kind of wrestling trick, which he could easily have +baffled, had he been aware of it. 'You will not do that again, sir,' +said he, as he got up and put himself on his guard. The fellow laughed +again more strangely and awkwardly than before; then, bending his body +and moving his head from one side to the other as a cat does before she +springs, and crying out, 'Here's for ye, sodger!' he made a dart at Bagg, +rushing in with his head foremost. 'That will do, sir,' says Bagg, and, +drawing himself back, he put in a left-handed blow with all the force of +his body and arm, just over the fellow's right eye--Bagg is a left-handed +hitter, you must know--and it was a blow of that kind which won him his +famous battle at Edinburgh with the big Highland sergeant. Bagg says +that he was quite satisfied with the blow, more especially when he saw +the fellow reel, fling out his arms, and fall to the ground. 'And now, +sir,' said he, 'I'll make bold to hand you over to the quarter sessions, +and, if there is a hundred pounds for taking you, who has more right to +it than myself?' So he went forward, but ere he could lay hold of his +man the other was again on his legs, and was prepared to renew the +combat. They grappled each other--Bagg says he had not much fear of the +result, as he now felt himself the best man, the other seeming half +stunned with the blow--but just then there came on a blast, a horrible +roaring wind bearing night upon its wings, snow, and sleet, and hail. +Bagg says he had the fellow by the throat quite fast, as he thought, but +suddenly he became bewildered, and knew not where he was; and the man +seemed to melt away from his grasp, and the wind howled more and more, +and the night poured down darker and darker; the snow and the sleet +thicker and more blinding. 'Lord, have mercy upon us!' said Bagg." + +_Myself_. A strange adventure that; it is well that Bagg got home alive. + +_John_. He says that the fight was a fair fight, and that the fling he +got was a fair fling, the result of a common enough wrestling trick. But +with respect to the storm, which rose up just in time to save the fellow, +he is of opinion that it was not fair, but something Irish and +supernatural. + +_Myself_. I dare say he's right. I have read of witchcraft in the +Bible. + +_John_. He wishes much to have one more encounter with the fellow; he +says that on fair ground, and in fine weather, he has no doubt that he +could master him, and hand him over to the quarter sessions. He says +that a hundred pounds would be no bad thing to be disbanded upon; for he +wishes to take an inn at Swanton Morley, keep a cock-pit, and live +respectably. + +_Myself_. He is quite right; and now kiss me, my darling brother, for I +must go back through the bog to Templemore. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +Groom and Cob--Strength and Symmetry--Where's the Saddle--The First +Ride--No more Fatigue--Love for Horses--Pursuit of Words--Philologist and +Pegasus--The Smith--What more, Agrah?--Sassanach Ten Pence. + +And it came to pass that, as I was standing by the door of the barrack +stable, one of the grooms came out to me, saying, "I say, young +gentleman, I wish you would give the cob a breathing this fine morning." + +"Why do you wish me to mount him?" said I; "you know; he is dangerous. I +saw him fling you off his back only a few days ago." + +"Why, that's the very thing, master. I'd rather see anybody on his back +than myself; he does not like me; but, to them he does, he can be as +gentle as a lamb." + +"But suppose," said I, "that he should not like me?" + +"We shall soon see that, master," said the groom; "and if so be he shows +temper, I will be the first to tell you to get down. But there's no fear +of that; you have never angered or insulted him, and to such as you, I +say again, he'll be as gentle as a lamb." + +"And how came you to insult him," said I, "knowing his temper as you do?" + +"Merely through forgetfulness, master: I was riding him about a month +ago, and having a stick in my hand, I struck him, thinking I was on +another horse, or rather thinking of nothing at all. He has never +forgiven me, though before that time he was the only friend I had in the +world; I should like to see you on him, master." + +"I should soon be off him: I can't ride." + +"Then you are all right, master; there's no fear. Trust him for not +hurting a young gentleman, an officer's son, who can't ride. If you were +a blackguard dragoon, indeed, with long spurs, 'twere another thing; as +it is, he'll treat you as if he were the elder brother that loves you. +Ride! he'll soon teach you to ride, if you leave the matter with him. +He's the best riding master in all Ireland, and the gentlest." + +The cob was led forth; what a tremendous creature! I had frequently seen +him before, and wondered at him; he was barely fifteen hands, but he had +the girth of a metropolitan dray-horse; his head was small in comparison +with his immense neck, which curved down nobly to his wide back: his +chest was broad and fine, and his shoulders models of symmetry and +strength; he stood well and powerfully upon his legs, which were somewhat +short. In a word, he was a gallant specimen of the genuine Irish cob, a +species at one time not uncommon, but at the present day nearly extinct. + +"There!" said the groom, as he looked at him, half-admiringly, half +sorrowfully, "with sixteen stone on his back, he'll trot fourteen miles +in one hour, with your nine stone, some two and a half more, ay, and +clear a six-foot wall at the end of it." + +"I'm half afraid," said I; "I had rather you would ride him." + +"I'd rather so, too, if he would let me; but he remembers the blow. Now, +don't be afraid, young master, he's longing to go out himself. He's been +trampling with his feet these three days, and I know what that means; +he'll let anybody ride him but myself, and thank them; but to me he says, +'No! you struck me.'" + +"But," said I, "where's the saddle?" + +"Never mind the saddle; if you are ever to be a frank rider, you must +begin without a saddle; besides, if he felt a saddle, he would think you +don't trust him, and leave you to yourself. Now, before you mount, make +his acquaintance--see there, how he kisses you and licks your face, and +see how he lifts his foot, that's to shake hands. You may trust him--now +you are on his back at last; mind how you hold the bridle--gently, +gently! It's not four pair of hands like yours can hold him if he wishes +to be off. Mind what I tell you--leave it all to him." + +Off went the cob at a slow and gentle trot, too fast, however, for so +inexperienced a rider. I soon felt myself sliding off, the animal +perceived it too, and instantly stood stone still till I had righted +myself; and now the groom came up: "When you feel yourself going," said +he, "don't lay hold of the mane, that's no use; mane never yet saved man +from falling, no more than straw from drowning; it's his sides you must +cling to with your calves and feet, till you learn to balance yourself. +That's it, now abroad with you; I'll bet my comrade a pot of beer that +you'll be a regular rough rider by the time you come back." + +And so it proved; I followed the directions of the groom, and the cob +gave me every assistance. How easy is riding, after the first timidity +is got over, to supple and youthful limbs; and there is no second fear. +The creature soon found that the nerves of his rider were in proper tone. +Turning his head half round he made a kind of whining noise, flung out a +little foam, and set off. + +In less than two hours I had made the circuit of the Devil's Mountain, +and was returning along the road, bathed with perspiration, but screaming +with delight; the cob laughing in his equine way, scattering foam and +pebbles to the left and right, and trotting at the rate of sixteen miles +an hour. + +Oh, that ride! that first ride!--most truly it was an epoch in my +existence; and I still look back to it with feelings of longing and +regret. People may talk of first love--it is a very agreeable event, I +dare say--but give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious sweat of a +first ride, like mine on the mighty cob! My whole frame was shaken, it +is true; and during one long week I could hardly move foot or hand; but +what of that? By that one trial I had become free, as I may say, of the +whole equine species. No more fatigue, no more stiffness of joints, +after that first ride round the Devil's Hill on the cob. + +Oh, that cob; that Irish cob!--may the sod lie lightly over the bones of +the strongest, speediest, and most gallant of its kind! Oh! the days +when, issuing from the barrack-gate of Templemore, we commenced our +hurry-skurry just as inclination led--now across the fields--direct over +stone walls and running brooks--mere pastime for the cob!--sometimes +along the road to Thurles and Holy Cross, even to distant Cahir!--what +was distance to the cob? + +It was thus that the passion for the equine race was first awakened +within me--a passion which, up to the present time, has been rather on +the increase than diminishing. It is no blind passion; the horse being a +noble and generous creature, intended by the All-Wise to be the helper +and friend of man, to whom he stands next in the order of creation. On +many occasions of my life I have been much indebted to the horse, and +have found in him a friend and coadjutor, when human help and sympathy +were not to be obtained. It is therefore natural enough that I should +love the horse; but the love which I entertain for him has always been +blended with respect; for I soon perceived that, though disposed to be +the friend and helper of man, he is by no means inclined to be his slave; +in which respect he differs from the dog, who will crouch when beaten; +whereas the horse spurns, for he is aware of his own worth, and that he +carries death within the horn of his heel. If, therefore, I found it +easy to love the horse, I found it equally natural to respect him. + +I much question whether philology, or the passion for languages, requires +so little of an apology as the love for horses. It has been said, I +believe, that the more languages a man speaks, the more a man is he; +which is very true, provided he acquires languages as a medium for +becoming acquainted with the thoughts and feelings of the various +sections into which the human race is divided; but, in that case, he +should rather be termed a philosopher than a philologist--between which +two the difference is wide indeed! An individual may speak and read a +dozen languages, and yet be an exceedingly poor creature, scarcely half a +man; and the pursuit of tongues for their own sake, and the mere +satisfaction of acquiring them, surely argues an intellect of a very low +order; a mind disposed to be satisfied with mean and grovelling things; +taking more pleasure in the trumpery casket than in the precious treasure +which it contains, in the pursuit of words, than in the acquisition of +ideas. + +I cannot help thinking that it was fortunate for myself, who am, to a +certain extent, a philologist, that with me the pursuit of languages has +been always modified by the love of horses; for scarcely had I turned my +mind to the former, when I also mounted the wild cob, and hurried forth +in the direction of the Devil's Hill, scattering dust and flint-stones on +every side; that ride, amongst other things, taught me that a lad with +thews and sinews was intended by nature for something better than mere +word-culling; and if I have accomplished anything in after life worthy of +mentioning, I believe it may partly be attributed to the ideas which that +ride, by setting my blood in a glow, infused into my brain. I might, +otherwise, have become a mere philologist; one of those beings who toil +night and day in culling useless words for some _opus magnum_ which +Murray will never publish, and nobody ever read; beings without +enthusiasm, who, having never mounted a generous steed, cannot detect a +good point in Pegasus himself; like a certain philologist, who, though +acquainted with the exact value of every word in the Greek and Latin +languages, could observe no particular beauty in one of the most glorious +of Homer's rhapsodies. What knew he of Pegasus? he had never mounted a +generous steed; the merest jockey, had the strain been interpreted to +him, would have called it a brave song!--I return to the brave cob. + +On a certain day I had been out on an excursion. In a cross-road, at +some distance from the Satanic hill, the animal which I rode cast a shoe. +By good luck a small village was at hand, at the entrance of which was a +large shed, from which proceeded a most furious noise of hammering. +Leading the cob by the bridle, I entered boldly. "Shoe this horse, and +do it quickly, a gough," said I to a wild grimy figure of a man, whom I +found alone, fashioning a piece of iron. + +"Arrigod yuit?" said the fellow, desisting from his work, and staring at +me. + +"O yes, I have money," said I, "and of the best;" and I pulled out an +English shilling. + +"Tabhair chugam?" said the smith, stretching out his grimy hand. + +"No, I sha'n't," said I; "some people are glad to get their money when +their work is done." + +The fellow hammered a little longer, and then proceeded to shoe the cob, +after having first surveyed it with attention. He performed his job +rather roughly, and more than once appeared to give the animal +unnecessary pain, frequently making use of loud and boisterous words. By +the time the work was done, the creature was in a state of high +excitement, and plunged and tore. The smith stood at a short distance, +seeming to enjoy the irritation of the animal, and showing, in a +remarkable manner, a huge fang, which projected from the under jaw of a +very wry mouth. + +"You deserve better handling," said I, as I went up to the cob and +fondled it; whereupon it whinnied, and attempted to touch my face with +its nose. + +"Are ye not afraid of that beast?" said the smith, showing his fang. +"Arrah, it's vicious that he looks!" + +"It's at you, then!--I don't fear him;" and thereupon I passed under the +horse, between his hind legs. + +"And is that all you can do, agrah?" said the smith. + +"No," said I, "I can ride him." + +"Ye can ride him, and what else, agrah?" + +"I can leap him over a six-foot wall," said I. + +"Over a wall, and what more, agrah?" + +"Nothing more," said I; "what more would you have?" + +"Can you do this, agrah?" said the smith; and he uttered a word which I +had never heard before, in a sharp pungent tone. The effect upon myself +was somewhat extraordinary, a strange thrill ran through me; but with +regard to the cob it was terrible; the animal forthwith became like one +mad, and reared and kicked with the utmost desperation. + +"Can you do that, agrah?" said the smith. + +"What is it?" said I, retreating, "I never saw the horse so before." + +"Go between his legs, agrah," said the smith, "his hinder legs;" and he +again showed his fang. + +"I dare not," said I, "he would kill me." + +"He would kill ye! and how do ye know that, agrah?" + +"I feel he would," said I, "something tells me so." + +"And it tells ye truth, agrah; but it's a fine beast, and it's a pity to +see him in such a state: Is agam an't leigeas"--and here he uttered +another word in a voice singularly modified, but sweet and almost +plaintive; the effect of it was as instantaneous as that of the other, +but how different!--the animal lost all its fury, and became at once calm +and gentle. The smith went up to it, coaxed and patted it, making use of +various sounds of equal endearment, then turning to me, and holding out +once more the grimy hand, he said, "And now ye will be giving me the +Sassanach ten pence, agrah?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +A Fine Old City--Norman Master-Work--Lollards' Hole--Good Blood--The +Spaniard's Sword--Old Retired Officer--Writing to a Duke--God help the +Child--Nothing like Jacob--Irish Brigades--Old Sergeant Meredith--I Have +Been Young--Idleness--Only Course Open--The Bookstall--A Portrait--A +Banished Priest. + +From the wild scenes which I have attempted to describe in the latter +pages I must now transport the reader to others of a widely different +character. He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in the +eastern corner of merry England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have +disappeared amidst the vapours of the west: I have nothing more to say of +them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that +kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and better +things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old city before +us, and first of that let me speak. + +A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will; but +it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated, +overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from +those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken, even +in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At +the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique +bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either +side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the +city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present +extant of the genuine old English town. Yes, there it spreads from north +to south, with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice +twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks true, was +raised by human hands to serve as the grave heap of an old heathen king, +who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand, and his gold and +silver treasures about him. There is a grey old castle upon the top of +that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three hundred feet above the soil, +from among those noble forest trees, behold that old Norman master-work, +that cloud-encircled cathedral spire, around which a garrulous army of +rooks and choughs continually wheel their flight. Now, who can wonder +that the children of that fine old city are proud of her, and offer up +prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, who was not born within her +walls, offer up prayers for her prosperity, that want may never visit her +cottages, vice her palaces, and that the abomination of idolatry may +never pollute her temples. Ha, idolatry! the reign of idolatry has been +over there for many a long year, never more, let us hope, to return; +brave hearts in that old town have borne witness against it, and sealed +their testimony with their hearts' blood--most precious to the Lord is +the blood of His saints! we are not far from hallowed ground. Observe ye +not yon chalky precipice, to the right of the Norman bridge? On this +side of the stream, upon its brow, is a piece of ruined wall, the last +relic of what was of old a stately pile, whilst at its foot is a place +called the Lollards' Hole; and with good reason, for many a saint of God +has breathed his last beneath that white precipice, bearing witness +against popish idolatry, midst flame and pitch; many a grisly procession +has advanced along that suburb, across the old bridge, towards the +Lollards' Hole: furious priests in front, a calm pale martyr in the +midst, a pitying multitude behind. It has had its martyrs, the venerable +old town! + +Ah! there is good blood in that old city, and in the whole circumjacent +region of which it is the capital. The Angles possessed the land at an +early period, which, however, they were eventually compelled to share +with hordes of Danes and Northmen, who flocked thither across the sea to +found hearthsteads on its fertile soil. The present race, a mixture of +Angles and Danes, still preserve much which speaks strongly of their +northern ancestry; amongst them ye will find the light-brown hair of the +north, the strong and burly forms of the north, many a wild superstition, +ay, and many a wild name connected with the ancient history of the north +and its sublime mythology; the warm heart, and the strong heart of the +old Danes and Saxons still beat in those regions, and there ye will find, +if anywhere, old northern hospitality and kindness of manner, united with +energy, perseverance, and dauntless intrepidity; better soldiers or +mariners never bled in their country's battles than those nurtured in +those regions, and within those old walls. It was yonder, to the west, +that the great naval hero of Britain first saw the light; he who +annihilated the sea pride of Spain, and dragged the humbled banner of +France in triumph at his stern. He was born yonder, towards the west, +and of him there is a glorious relic in that old town; in its dark flint +guildhouse, the roof of which you can just descry rising above that maze +of buildings, in the upper hall of justice, is a species of glass shrine, +in which the relic is to be seen; a sword of curious workmanship, the +blade is of keen Toledan steel, the heft of ivory and mother-of-pearl. +'Tis the sword of Cordova, won in bloodiest fray off Saint Vincent's +promontory, and presented by Nelson to the old capital of the much-loved +land of his birth. Yes, the proud Spaniard's sword is to be seen in +yonder guildhouse, in the glass case affixed to the wall: many other +relics has the good old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard's sword. + +Such was the place to which, when the war was over, my father retired: it +was here that the old tired soldier set himself down with his little +family. He had passed the greater part of his life in meritorious +exertion, in the service of his country, and his chief wish now was to +spend the remainder of his days in quiet and respectability; his means, +it is true, were not very ample; fortunate it was that his desires +corresponded with them: with a small fortune of his own, and with his +half-pay as a royal soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his +faithful partner and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to +provide for them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world? This +was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, and I believe +that many an old retired officer at that time, and under similar +circumstances, experienced similar anxiety; had the war continued, their +children would have been, of course, provided for in the army, but peace +now reigned, and the military career was closed to all save the scions of +the aristocracy, or those who were in some degree connected with that +privileged order, an advantage which few of these old officers could +boast of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves +very little trouble either about them or their families. + +"I have been writing to the Duke," said my father one day to my excellent +mother, after we had been at home somewhat better than a year, "I have +been writing to the Duke of York about a commission for that eldest boy +of ours. He, however, affords me no hopes; he says that his list is +crammed with names, and that the greater number of the candidates have +better claims than my son." + +"I do not see how that can be," said my mother. + +"Nor do I," replied my father. "I see the sons of bankers and merchants +gazetted every month, and I do not see what claims they have to urge, +unless they be golden ones. However, I have not served my king fifty +years to turn grumbler at this time of life. I suppose that the people +at the head of affairs know what is most proper and convenient; perhaps +when the lad sees how difficult, nay, how impossible it is that he should +enter the army, he will turn his mind to some other profession; I wish he +may!" + +"I think he has already," said my mother; "you see how fond he is of the +arts, of drawing and painting, and, as far as I can judge, what he has +already done is very respectable; his mind seems quite turned that way, +and I heard him say the other day that he would sooner be a Michael +Angelo than a general officer. But you are always talking of him; what +do you think of doing with the other child?" + +"What, indeed!" said my father; "that is a consideration which gives me +no little uneasiness. I am afraid it will be much more difficult to +settle him in life than his brother. What is he fitted for, even were it +in my power to provide for him? God help the child! I bear him no +ill-will, on the contrary, all love and affection; but I cannot shut my +eyes; there is something so strange about him! How he behaved in +Ireland! I sent him to school to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!" + +"And Greek as well," said my mother. "I heard him say the other day that +he could read St. John in the original tongue." + +"You will find excuses for him, I know," said my father. "You tell me I +am always thinking of my first-born; I might retort by saying you are +always thinking of the other; but it is the way of women always to side +with the second-born. There's what's her name in the Bible, by whose +wiles the old blind man was induced to give to his second son the +blessing which was the birthright of the other. I wish I had been in his +place! I should not have been so easily deceived! no disguise would ever +have caused me to mistake an impostor for my first-born. Though I must +say for this boy that he is nothing like Jacob; he is neither smooth nor +sleek, and, though my second-born, he is already taller and larger than +his brother." + +"Just so," said my mother, "his brother would make a far better Jacob +than he." + +"I will hear nothing against my first-born," said my father, "even in the +way of insinuation: he is my joy and pride; the very image of myself in +my youthful days, long before I fought Big Ben; though perhaps not quite +so tall or strong built. As for the other, God bless the child! I love +him, I'm sure; but I must be blind not to see the difference between him +and his brother. Why, he has neither my hair nor my eyes; and then his +countenance! why, 'tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost +said like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the +boy is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair and +eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!--I confess I do not like them, and +that they give me no little uneasiness--I know that he kept very strange +company when he was in Ireland; people of evil report, of whom terrible +things were said--horse-witches and the like. I questioned him once or +twice upon the matter, and even threatened him, but it was of no use; he +put on a look as if he did not understand me, a regular Irish look, just +such a one as those rascals assume when they wish to appear all innocence +and simplicity, and they full of malice and deceit all the time. I don't +like them; they are no friends to old England, or its old king, God bless +him! They are not good subjects, and never were; always in league with +foreign enemies. When I was in the Coldstream, long before the +Revolution, I used to hear enough about the Irish brigades kept by the +French kings, to be a thorn in the side of the English whenever +opportunity served. Old Sergeant Meredith once told me, that in the time +of the Pretender there were always, in London alone, a dozen of fellows +connected with these brigades, with the view of seducing the king's +soldiers from their allegiance, and persuading them to desert to France +to join the honest Irish, as they were called. One of these traitors +once accosted him and proposed the matter to him, offering handfuls of +gold if he could induce any of his comrades to go over. Meredith +appeared to consent, but secretly gave information to his colonel; the +fellow was seized, and certain traitorous papers found upon him; he was +hanged before Newgate, and died exulting in his treason. His name was +Michael Nowlan. That ever son of mine should have been intimate with the +Papist Irish, and have learnt their language!" + +"But he thinks of other things now," said my mother. + +"Other languages, you mean," said my father. "It is strange that he has +conceived such a zest for the study of languages; no sooner did he come +home than he persuaded me to send him to that old priest to learn French +and Italian, and, if I remember right, you abetted him; but, as I said +before, it is in the nature of women invariably to take the part of the +second-born. Well, there is no harm in learning French and Italian, +perhaps much good in his case, as they may drive the other tongue out of +his head. Irish! why, he might go to the university but for that; but +how would he look when, on being examined with respect to his +attainments, it was discovered that he understood Irish? How did you +learn it? they would ask him; how did you become acquainted with the +language of Papists and rebels? The boy would be sent away in disgrace." + +"Be under no apprehension, I have no doubt that he has long since +forgotten it." + +"I am glad to hear it," said my father; "for, between ourselves, I love +the poor child; ay, quite as well as my first-born. I trust they will do +well, and that God will be their shield and guide; I have no doubt He +will, for I have read something in the Bible to that effect. What is +that text about the young ravens being fed?" + +"I know a better than that," said my mother; "one of David's own words, +'I have been young and now am grown old, yet never have I seen the +righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread.'" + +I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own firm +belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it. Mere idleness is the +most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are +continually making efforts to escape from it. It has been said that +idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief +itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness. +There are many tasks and occupations which a man is unwilling to perform, +but let no one think that he is therefore in love with idleness; he turns +to something which is more agreeable to his inclination, and doubtless +more suited to his nature; but he is not in love with idleness. A boy +may play the truant from school because he dislikes books and study; but, +depend upon it, he intends doing something the while--to go fishing, or +perhaps to take a walk; and who knows but that from such excursions both +his mind and body may derive more benefit than from books and school? +Many people go to sleep to escape from idleness; the Spaniards do; and, +according to the French account, John Bull, the 'squire, hangs himself in +the month of November; but the French, who are a very sensible people, +attribute the action, "_a une grande envie de se desennuyer_;" he wishes +to be doing something, say they, and having nothing better to do, he has +recourse to the cord. + +It was for want of something better to do that, shortly after my return +home, I applied myself to the study of languages. By the acquisition of +Irish, with the first elements of which I had become acquainted under the +tuition of Murtagh, I had contracted a certain zest and inclination for +the pursuit. Yet it is probable, that had I been launched about this +time into some agreeable career, that of arms, for example, for which, +being the son of a soldier, I had, as was natural, a sort of penchant, I +might have thought nothing more of the acquisition of tongues of any +kind; but, having nothing to do, I followed the only course suited to my +genius which appeared open to me. + +So it came to pass that one day, whilst wandering listlessly about the +streets of the old town, I came to a small book-stall, and stopping, +commenced turning over the books; I took up at least a dozen, and almost +instantly flung them down. What were they to me? At last, coming to a +thick volume, I opened it, and after inspecting its contents for a few +minutes, I paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried it home. + +It was a tessara-glot grammar; a strange old book, printed somewhere in +Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of the +French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English tongues, by means of which any +one conversant in any one of these languages could make himself master of +the other three. I turned my attention to the French and Italian. The +old book was not of much value; I derived some benefit from it, however, +and, conning it intensely, at the end of a few weeks obtained some +insight into the structure of these two languages. At length I had +learnt all that the book was capable of informing me, yet was still far +from the goal to which it had promised to conduct me. "I wish I had a +master!" I exclaimed; and the master was at hand. In an old court of the +old town lived a certain elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or +thereabouts; he was rather tall, and something of a robust make, with a +countenance in which bluffness was singularly blended with vivacity and +grimace; and with a complexion which would have been ruddy, but for a +yellow hue which rather predominated. His dress consisted of a +snuff-coloured coat and drab pantaloons, the former evidently seldom +subjected to the annoyance of a brush, and the latter exhibiting here and +there spots of something which, if not grease, bore a strong resemblance +to it; add to these articles an immense frill, seldom of the purest +white, but invariably of the finest French cambric, and you have some +idea of his dress. He had rather a remarkable stoop, but his step was +rapid and vigorous, and as he hurried along the streets, he would glance +to the right and left with a pair of big eyes like plums, and on +recognizing any one would exalt a pair of grizzled eyebrows, and slightly +kiss a tawny and ungloved hand. At certain hours of the day he might be +seen entering the doors of female boarding-schools, generally with a book +in his hand, and perhaps another just peering from the orifice of a +capacious back pocket; and at a certain season of the year he might be +seen, dressed in white, before the altar of a certain small popish +chapel, chanting from the breviary in very intelligible Latin, or perhaps +reading from the desk in utterly unintelligible English. Such was my +preceptor in the French and Italian tongues. "Exul sacerdos; vone +banished priest. I came into England twenty-five years ago, 'my dear.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +Monsieur Dante--Condemned Musket--Sporting--Sweet Rivulet--The Earl's +Home--The Pool--The Sonorous Voice--What dost Thou Read?--Man of +Peace--Zohar and Mishna--Money Changers. + +So I studied French and Italian under the tuition of the banished priest, +to whose house I went regularly every evening to receive instruction. I +made considerable progress in the acquisition of the two languages. I +found the French by far the most difficult, chiefly on account of the +accent, which my master himself possessed in no great purity, being a +Norman by birth. The Italian was my favourite. + +"_Vous serez un jour un grand philologue_, _mon cher_," said the old man, +on our arriving at the conclusion of Dante's Hell. + +"I hope I shall be something better," said I, "before I die, or I shall +have lived to little purpose." + +"That's true, my dear! philologist--one small poor dog. What would you +wish to be?" + +"Many things sooner than that; for example, I would rather be like him +who wrote this book." + +"_Quoi_, _Monsieur Dante_? He was a vagabond, my dear, forced to fly +from his country. No, my dear, if you would be like one poet, be like +Monsieur Boileau; he is the poet." + +"I don't think so." + +"How, not think so? He wrote very respectable verses; lived and died +much respected by everybody. T'other, one bad dog, forced to fly from +his country--died with not enough to pay his undertaker." + +"Were you not forced to flee from your country?" + +"That very true; but there is much difference between me and this Dante. +He fled from country because he had one bad tongue which he shook at his +betters. I fly because benefice gone, and head going; not on account of +the badness of my tongue." + +"Well," said I, "you can return now; the Bourbons are restored." + +"I find myself very well here; not bad country. _Il est vrai que la +France sera toujours la France_; but all are dead there who knew me. I +find myself very well here. Preach in popish chapel, teach schismatic, +that is Protestant, child tongues and literature. I find myself very +well; and why? Because I know how to govern my tongue; never call people +hard names. _Ma foi_, _il y a beaucoup de difference entre moi et ce +sacre de Dante_." + +Under this old man, who was well versed in the southern languages, +besides studying French and Italian, I acquired some knowledge of +Spanish. But I did not devote my time entirely to philology; I had other +pursuits. I had not forgotten the roving life I had led in former days, +nor its delights; neither was I formed by Nature to be a pallid indoor +student. No, no! I was fond of other and, I say it boldly, better +things than study. I had an attachment to the angle, ay, and to the gun +likewise. In our house was a condemned musket, bearing somewhere on its +lock, in rather antique characters, "Tower, 1746;" with this weapon I had +already, in Ireland, performed some execution among the rooks and +choughs, and it was now again destined to be a source of solace and +amusement to me, in the winter season, especially on occasions of severe +frost when birds abounded. Sallying forth with it at these times, far +into the country, I seldom returned at night without a string of +bullfinches, blackbirds, and linnets hanging in triumph round my neck. +When I reflect on the immense quantity of powder and shot which I crammed +down the muzzle of my uncouth fowling-piece, I am less surprised at the +number of birds which I slaughtered, than that I never blew my hands, +face, and old honey-combed gun, at one and the same time, to pieces. + +But the winter, alas! (I speak as a fowler) seldom lasts in England more +than three or four months; so, during the rest of the year, when not +occupied with my philological studies, I had to seek for other +diversions. I have already given a hint that I was also addicted to the +angle. Of course there is no comparison between the two pursuits, the +rod and line seeming but very poor trumpery to one who has had the honour +of carrying a noble firelock. There is a time, however, for all things; +and we return to any favourite amusement with the greater zest, from +being compelled to relinquish it for a season. So, if I shot birds in +winter with my firelock, I caught fish in summer, or attempted so to do, +with my angle. I was not quite so successful, it is true, with the +latter as with the former; possibly because it afforded me less pleasure. +It was, indeed, too much of a listless pastime to inspire me with any +great interest. I not unfrequently fell into a doze whilst sitting on +the bank, and more than once let my rod drop from my hands into the +water. + +At some distance from the city, behind a range of hilly ground which +rises towards the south-west, is a small river, the waters of which, +after many meanderings, eventually enter the principal river of the +district, and assist to swell the tide which it rolls down to the ocean. +It is a sweet rivulet, and pleasant it is to trace its course from its +spring-head, high up in the remote regions of Eastern Anglia, till it +arrives in the valley behind yon rising ground; and pleasant is that +valley, truly a goodly spot, but most lovely where yonder bridge crosses +the little stream. Beneath its arch the waters rush garrulously into a +blue pool, and are there stilled for a time, for the pool is deep, and +they appear to have sunk to sleep. Farther on, however, you hear their +voice again, where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly shallow. On the +left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin of the stream. On the +right is a green level, a smiling meadow, grass of the richest decks the +side of the slope; mighty trees also adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of +which, when the sun is nigh its meridian, fling a broad shadow upon the +face of the pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient +brick of an old English hall. It has a stately look, that old building, +indistinctly seen, as it is, among those umbrageous trees; you might +almost suppose it an earl's home; and such it was, or rather upon its +site stood an earl's home, in days of old, for there some old Kemp, some +Sigurd, or Thorkild, roaming in quest of a hearthstead, settled down in +the gray old time, when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a +portentous name. Yon old hall is still called the Earl's Home, though +the hearth of Sigurd is now no more, and the bones of the old Kemp, and +of Sigrith his dame, have been mouldering for a thousand years in some +neighbouring knoll; perhaps yonder, where those tall Norwegian pines +shoot up so boldly into the air. It is said that the old Earl's galley +was once moored where is now that blue pool, for the waters of that +valley were not always sweet; yon valley was once an arm of the sea, a +salt lagoon, to which the war-barks of "Sigurd, in search of a home," +found their way. + +I was in the habit of spending many an hour on the banks of that rivulet +with my rod in my hand, and, when tired with angling, would stretch +myself on the grass, and gaze upon the waters as they glided past, and +not unfrequently, divesting myself of my dress, I would plunge into the +deep pool which I have already mentioned, for I had long since learned to +swim. And it came to pass, that on one hot summer's day, after bathing +in the pool, I passed along the meadow till I came to a shallow part, +and, wading over to the opposite side, I adjusted my dress, and commenced +fishing in another pool, beside which was a small clump of hazels. + +And there I sat upon the bank, at the bottom of the hill which slopes +down from "the Earl's home;" my float was on the waters, and my back was +towards the old hall. I drew up many fish, small and great, which I took +from off the hook mechanically, and flung upon the bank, for I was almost +unconscious of what I was about, for my mind was not with my fish. I was +thinking of my earlier years--of the Scottish crags and the heaths of +Ireland--and sometimes my mind would dwell on my studies--on the sonorous +stanzas of Dante, rising and falling like the waves of the sea--or would +strive to remember a couplet or two of poor Monsieur Boileau. + +"Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all those fish out of +the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun?" said a voice, clear and +sonorous as a bell. + +I started, and looked round. Close behind me stood the tall figure of a +man, dressed in raiment of quaint and singular fashion, but of goodly +materials. He was in the prime and vigour of manhood; his features +handsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence; at least I +thought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver, +with broad drooping eaves. + +"Surely that is a very cruel diversion in which thou indulgest, my young +friend?" he continued. + +"I am sorry for it, if it be, sir," said I, rising; "but I do not think +it cruel to fish." + +"What are thy reasons for not thinking so?" + +"Fishing is mentioned frequently in Scripture. Simon Peter was a +fisherman." + +"True; and Andrew and his brother. But thou forgettest: they did not +follow fishing as a diversion, as I fear thou doest.--Thou readest the +Scriptures?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Sometimes?--not daily?--that is to be regretted. What profession dost +thou make?--I mean to what religious denomination dost thou belong, my +young friend?" + +"Church." + +"It is a very good profession--there is much of Scripture contained in +its liturgy. Dost thou read aught beside the Scriptures?" + +"Sometimes." + +"What dost thou read besides?" + +"Greek, and Dante." + +"Indeed; then thou hast the advantage over myself; I can only read the +former. Well, I am rejoiced to find that thou hast other pursuits beside +thy fishing. Dost thou know Hebrew?" + +"No." + +"Thou shouldest study it. Why dost thou not undertake the study?" + +"I have no books." + +"I will lend thee books, if thou wish to undertake the study. I live +yonder at the hall, as perhaps thou knowest. I have a library there, in +which are many curious books, both in Greek and Hebrew, which I will show +to thee, whenever thou mayest find it convenient to come and see me. +Farewell! I am glad to find that thou hast pursuits more satisfactory +than thy cruel fishing." + +And the man of peace departed, and left me on the bank of the stream. +Whether from the effect of his words, or from want of inclination to the +sport, I know not, but from that day I became less and less a +practitioner of that "cruel fishing." I rarely flung line and angle into +the water, but I not unfrequently wandered by the banks of the pleasant +rivulet. It seems singular to me, on reflection, that I never availed +myself of his kind invitation. I say singular, for the extraordinary, +under whatever form, had long had no slight interest for me: and I had +discernment enough to perceive that yon was no common man. Yet I went +not near him, certainly not from bashfulness, or timidity, feelings to +which I had long been an entire stranger. Am I to regret this? perhaps, +for I might have learned both wisdom and righteousness from those calm, +quiet lips, and my after-course might have been widely different. As it +was, I fell in with other guess companions, from whom I received widely +different impressions than those I might have derived from him. When +many years had rolled on, long after I had attained manhood, and had seen +and suffered much, and when our first interview had long since been +effaced from the mind of the man of peace, I visited him in his venerable +hall, and partook of the hospitality of his hearth. And there I saw his +gentle partner and his fair children, and on the morrow he showed me the +books of which he had spoken years before, by the side of the stream. In +the low, quiet chamber, whose one window, shaded by a gigantic elm, looks +down the slope towards the pleasant stream, he took from the shelf his +learned books, Zohar and Mishna, Toldoth Jesu and Abarbenel. + +"I am fond of these studies," said he, "which, perhaps, is not to be +wondered at, seeing that our people have been compared to the Jews. In +one respect I confess we are similar to them: we are fond of getting +money. I do not like this last author, this Abarbenel, the worse for +having been a money-changer. I am a banker myself, as thou knowest." + +And would there were many like him, amidst the money-changers of princes! +The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty, the palace of many a prelate +the piety and learning, which adorn the quiet Quaker's home! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +Fair of Horses--Looks of Respect--The Fast Trotter--Pair of Eyes--Strange +Men--Jasper, Your Pal--Force of Blood--Young Lady with Diamonds--Not +Quite so Beautiful. + +I was standing on the castle hill in the midst of a fair of horses. + +I have already had occasion to mention this castle. It is the remains of +what was once a Norman stronghold, and is perched upon a round mound or +monticle, in the midst of the old city. Steep is this mound and scarped, +evidently by the hand of man; a deep gorge, over which is flung a bridge, +separates it, on the south, from a broad swell of open ground called "the +hill;" of old the scene of many a tournament and feat of Norman chivalry, +but now much used as a show-place for cattle, where those who buy and +sell beeves and other beasts resort at stated periods. + +So it came to pass that I stood upon this hill, observing a fair of +horses. + +The reader is already aware that I had long since conceived a passion for +the equine race, a passion in which circumstances had of late not +permitted me to indulge. I had no horses to ride, but I took pleasure in +looking at them; and I had already attended more than one of these fairs: +the present was lively enough, indeed horse fairs are seldom dull. There +was shouting and whooping, neighing and braying; there was galloping and +trotting; fellows with highlows and white stockings, and with many a +string dangling from the knees of their tight breeches, were running +desperately, holding horses by the halter, and in some cases dragging +them along; there were long-tailed steeds, and dock-tailed steeds of +every degree and breed; there were droves of wild ponies, and long rows +of sober cart horses; there were donkeys, and even mules: the last rare +things to be seen in damp, misty England, for the mule pines in mud and +rain, and thrives best with a hot sun above and a burning sand below. +There were--oh, the gallant creatures! I hear their neigh upon the wind; +there were--goodliest sight of all--certain enormous quadrupeds only seen +to perfection in our native isle, led about by dapper grooms, their manes +ribanded and their tails curiously clubbed and balled. Ha! ha!--how +distinctly do they say, ha! ha! + +An old man draws nigh, he is mounted on a lean pony, and he leads by the +bridle one of these animals; nothing very remarkable about that creature, +unless in being smaller than the rest and gentle, which they are not; he +is not of the sightliest look; he is almost dun, and over one eye a thick +film has gathered. But stay! there _is_ something remarkable about that +horse, there is something in his action in which he differs from all the +rest: as he advances, the clamour is hushed! all eyes are turned upon +him--what looks of interest--of respect--and, what is this? people are +taking off their hats--surely not to that steed! Yes, verily! men, +especially old men, are taking off their hats to that one-eyed steed, and +I hear more than one deep-drawn ah! + +"What horse is that?" said I to a very old fellow, the counterpart of the +old man on the pony, save that the last wore a faded suit of velveteen, +and this one was dressed in a white frock. + +"The best in mother England," said the very old man, taking a knobbed +stick from his mouth, and looking me in the face, at first carelessly, +but presently with something like interest; "he is old like myself, but +can still trot his twenty miles an hour. You won't live long, my swain; +tall and overgrown ones like thee never does; yet, if you should chance +to reach my years, you may boast to thy great grand boys, thou hast seen +Marshland Shales." + +Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl or baron, +doffed my hat; yes! I doffed my hat to the wondrous horse, the fast +trotter, the best in mother England; and I, too, drew a deep ah! and +repeated the words of the old fellows around. "Such a horse as this we +shall never see again; a pity that he is so old." + +Now during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I had been +the object of some person's observation; that eyes were fastened upon me +from somewhere in the crowd. Sometimes I thought myself watched from +before, sometimes from behind; and occasionally methought that, if I just +turned my head to the right or left, I should meet a peering and +inquiring glance; and indeed once or twice I did turn, expecting to see +somebody whom I knew, yet always without success; though it appeared to +me that I was but a moment too late, and that some one had just slipped +away from the direction to which I turned, like the figure in a magic +lanthorn. Once I was quite sure that there were a pair of eyes glaring +over my right shoulder; my attention, however, was so fully occupied with +the objects which I have attempted to describe, that I thought very +little of this coming and going, this flitting and dodging of I knew not +whom or what. It was, after all, a matter of sheer indifference to me +who was looking at me. I could only wish, whomsoever it might be, to be +more profitably employed; so I continued enjoying what I saw; and now +there was a change in the scene, the wondrous old horse departed with his +aged guardian; other objects of interest are at hand; two or three men on +horseback are hurrying through the crowd, they are widely different in +their appearance from the other people of the fair; not so much in dress, +for they are clad something after the fashion of rustic jockeys, but in +their look--no light brown hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet +glances belong to them; their features are dark, their locks long, black, +and shining, and their eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, but +they do not sit the saddle in the manner of common jockeys, they seem to +float or hover upon it, like gulls upon the waves; two of them are mere +striplings, but the third is a very tall man with a countenance +heroically beautiful, but wild, wild, wild. As they rush along, the +crowd give way on all sides, and now a kind of ring or circus is formed, +within which the strange men exhibit their horsemanship, rushing past +each other, in and out, after the manner of a reel, the tall man +occasionally balancing himself upon the saddle, and standing erect on one +foot. He had just regained his seat after the latter feat, and was about +to push his horse to a gallop, when a figure started forward close from +beside me, and laying his hand on his neck, and pulling him gently +downward, appeared to whisper something into his ear; presently the tall +man raised his head, and, scanning the crowd for a moment in the +direction in which I was standing, fixed his eyes full upon me, and anon +the countenance of the whisperer was turned, but only in part, and the +side-glance of another pair of wild eyes was directed towards my face, +but the entire visage of the big black man, half stooping as he was, was +turned full upon mine. + +But now, with a nod to the figure who had stopped him, and with another +inquiring glance at myself, the big man once more put his steed into +motion, and, after riding round the ring a few more times, darted through +a lane in the crowd, and followed by his two companions disappeared, +whereupon the figure who had whispered to him, and had subsequently +remained in the middle of the space, came towards me, and, cracking a +whip which he held in his hand so loudly that the report was nearly equal +to that of a pocket pistol, he cried in a strange tone: + +"What! the sap-engro? Lor! the sap-engro upon the hill!" + +"I remember that word," said I, "and I almost think I remember you. You +can't be--" + +"Jasper, your pal! Truth, and no lie, brother." + +"It is strange that you should have known me," said I. "I am certain, +but for the word you used, I should never have recognized you." + +"Not so strange as you may think, brother; there is something in your +face which would prevent people from forgetting you, even though they +might wish it; and your face is not much altered since the time you wot +of, though you are so much grown. I thought it was you, but to make sure +I dodged about, inspecting you. I believe you felt me, though I never +touched you; a sign, brother, that we are akin, that we are dui +palor--two relations. Your blood beat when mine was near, as mine always +does at the coming of a brother; and we became brothers in that lane." + +"And where are you staying?" said I; "in this town?" + +"Not in the town; the like of us don't find it exactly wholesome to stay +in towns, we keep abroad. But I have little to do here--come with me, +and I'll show you where we stay." + +We descended the hill in the direction of the north, and passing along +the suburb reached the old Norman bridge, which we crossed; the chalk +precipice, with the ruin on its top, was now before us; but turning to +the left we walked swiftly along, and presently came to some rising +ground, which ascending, we found ourselves upon a wild moor or heath. + +"You are one of them," said I, "whom people call--" + +"Just so," said Jasper; "but never mind what people call us." + +"And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you whispered? I suppose +he's one of ye. What is his name?" + +"Tawno Chikno," said Jasper, "which means the small one; we call him such +because he is the biggest man of all our nation. You say he is handsome, +that is not the word, brother; he's the beauty of the world. Women run +wild at the sight of Tawno. An earl's daughter, near London--a fine +young lady with diamonds round her neck--fell in love with Tawno. I have +seen that lass on a heath, as this may be, kneel down to Tawno, clasp his +feet, begging to be his wife--or anything else--if she might go with him. +But Tawno would have nothing to do with her: 'I have a wife of my own,' +said he, 'a lawful rommany wife, whom I love better than the whole world, +jealous though she sometimes be.'" + +"And is she very beautiful?" said I. + +"Why, you know, brother, beauty is frequently a matter of taste; however, +as you ask my opinion, I should say not quite so beautiful as himself." + +We had now arrived at a small valley between two hills, or downs, the +sides of which were covered with furze; in the midst of this valley were +various carts and low tents forming a rude kind of encampment; several +dark children were playing about, who took no manner of notice of us. As +we passed one of the tents, however, a canvas screen was lifted up, and a +woman supported on a crutch hobbled out. She was about the middle age, +and, besides being lame, was bitterly ugly; she was very slovenly +dressed, and on her swarthy features ill nature was most visibly stamped. +She did not deign me a look, but, addressing Jasper in a tongue which I +did not understand, appeared to put some eager questions to him. + +"He's coming," said Jasper, and passed on. "Poor fellow," said he to me, +"he has scarcely been gone an hour, and she's jealous already. Well," he +continued, "what do you think of her? you have seen her now, and can +judge for yourself--that 'ere woman is Tawno Chikno's wife!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +The Tents--Pleasant Discourse--I am Pharaoh--Shifting for One's +Self--Horse Shoes--This is Wonderful--Bless Your Wisdom--A Pretty +Manoeuvre--Ill Day to the Romans--My Name is Herne--Singular People--An +Original Speech--Word Master--Speaking Romanly. + +We went to the farthest of the tents, which stood at a slight distance +from the rest, and which exactly resembled the one which I have described +on a former occasion; we went in and sat down one on each side of a small +fire, which was smouldering on the ground, there was no one else in the +tent but a tall tawny woman of middle age, who was busily knitting. +"Brother," said Jasper, "I wish to hold some pleasant discourse with +you." + +"As much as you please," said I, "provided you can find anything pleasant +to talk about." + +"Never fear," said Jasper; "and first of all we will talk of yourself. +Where have you been all this long time?" + +"Here and there," said I, "and far and near, going about with the +soldiers; but there is no soldiering now, so we have sat down, father and +family, in the town there." + +"And do you still hunt snakes?" said Jasper. + +"No," said I, "I have given up that long ago; I do better now: read books +and learn languages." + +"Well, I am sorry you have given up your snake-hunting; many's the +strange talk I have had with our people about your snake and yourself, +and how you frightened my father and mother in the lane." + +"And where are your father and mother?" + +"Where I shall never see them, brother; at least, I hope so." + +"Not dead?" + +"No, not dead; they are bitchadey pawdel." + +"What's that?" + +"Sent across--banished." + +"Ah! I understand; I am sorry for them. And so you are here alone?" + +"Not quite alone, brother." + +"No, not alone; but with the rest--Tawno Chikno takes care of you." + +"Takes care of me, brother!" + +"Yes, stands to you in the place of a father--keeps you out of harm's +way." + +"What do you take me for, brother?" + +"For about three years older than myself." + +"Perhaps; but you are of the Gorgios, and I am a Rommany Chal. Tawno +Chikno take care of Jasper Petulengro!" + +"Is that your name?" + +"Don't you like it?" + +"Very much, I never heard a sweeter; it is something like what you call +me." + +"The horse-shoe master and the snake-fellow, I am the first." + +"Who gave you that name?" + +"Ask Pharaoh." + +"I would, if he were here, but I do not see him." + +"I am Pharaoh." + +"Then you are a king." + +"Chachipen Pal." + +"I do not understand you." + +"Where are your languages? You want two things, brother: mother sense, +and gentle Rommany." + +"What makes you think that I want sense?" + +"That, being so old, you can't yet guide yourself!" + +"I can read Dante, Jasper." + +"Anan, brother." + +"I can charm snakes, Jasper." + +"I know you can, brother." + +"Yes, and horses too; bring me the most vicious in the land, if I whisper +he'll be tame." + +"Then the more shame for you--a snake-fellow--a horse-witch--and a +lil-reader--yet you can't shift for yourself. I laugh at you, brother!" + +"Then you can shift for yourself?" + +"For myself and for others, brother." + +"And what does Chikno?" + +"Sells me horses, when I bid him. Those horses on the chong were mine." + +"And has he none of his own?" + +"Sometimes he has; but he is not so well off as myself. When my father +and mother were bitchadey pawdel, which, to tell you the truth, they +were, for chiving wafodo dloovu, they left me all they had, which was not +a little, and I became the head of our family, which was not a small one. +I was not older than you when that happened; yet our people said they had +never a better krallis to contrive and plan for them, and to keep them in +order. And this is so well known, that many Rommany Chals, not of our +family, come and join themselves to us, living with us for a time, in +order to better themselves, more especially those of the poorer sort, who +have little of their own. Tawno is one of these." + +"Is that fine fellow poor?" + +"One of the poorest, brother. Handsome as he is, he has not a horse of +his own to ride on. Perhaps we may put it down to his wife, who cannot +move about, being a cripple, as you saw." + +"And you are what is called a Gypsy King?" + +"Ay, ay; a Rommany Kral." + +"Are there other kings?" + +"Those who call themselves so; but the true Pharaoh is Petulengro." + +"Did Pharaoh make horse-shoes?" + +"The first who ever did, brother." + +"Pharaoh lived in Egypt." + +"So did we once, brother." + +"And you left it?" + +"My fathers did, brother." + +"And why did they come here?" + +"They had their reasons, brother." + +"And you are not English?" + +"We are not gorgios." + +"And you have a language of your own?" + +"Avali." + +"This is wonderful." + +"Ha, ha!" cried the woman, who had hitherto sat knitting, at the farther +end of the tent, without saying a word, though not inattentive to our +conversation, as I could perceive, by certain glances, which she +occasionally cast upon us both. "Ha, ha!" she screamed, fixing upon me +two eyes, which shone like burning coals, and which were filled with an +expression both of scorn and malignity; "It is wonderful, is it, that we +should have a language of our own? What, you grudge the poor people the +speech they talk among themselves? That's just like you gorgios, you +would have everybody stupid, single-tongued idiots, like yourselves. We +are taken before the Poknees of the gav, myself and sister, to give an +account of ourselves. So I says to my sister's little boy, speaking +Rommany, I says to the little boy who is with us, run to my son Jasper, +and the rest, and tell them to be off, there are hawks abroad. So the +Poknees questions us, and lets us go, not being able to make anything of +us; but, as we are going, he calls us back. 'Good woman,' says the +Poknees, 'what was that I heard you say just now to the little boy?' 'I +was telling him, your worship, to go and see the time of day, and, to +save trouble, I said it in our own language.' 'Where did you get that +language?' says the Poknees, ''Tis our own language, sir,' I tells him, +'we did not steal it.' 'Shall I tell you what it is, my good woman?' +says the Poknees. 'I would thank you, sir,' says I, 'for 'tis often we +are asked about it.' 'Well, then,' says the Poknees, 'it is no language +at all, merely a made-up gibberish.' 'Oh, bless your wisdom,' says I, +with a curtsey, 'you can tell us what our language is, without +understanding it!' Another time we met a parson. 'Good woman,' he says, +'what's that you are talking? Is it broken language?' 'Of course, your +reverence,' says I, 'we are broken people; give a shilling, your +reverence, to the poor broken woman.' Oh, these gorgios! they grudge us +our very language!" + +"She called you her son, Jasper?" + +"I am her son, brother." + +"I thought you said your parents were--" + +"Bitchadey pawdel; you thought right, brother. This is my wife's +mother." + +"Then you are married, Jasper?" + +"Ay, truly; I am husband and father. You will see wife and chabo anon." + +"Where are they now?" + +"In the gav, penning dukkerin." + +"We were talking of language, Jasper?" + +"True, brother." + +"Yours must be a rum one?" + +"'Tis called Rommany." + +"I would gladly know it." + +"You need it sorely." + +"Would you teach it me?" + +"None sooner." + +"Suppose we begin now?" + +"Suppose we do, brother." + +"Not whilst I am here," said the woman, flinging her knitting down, and +starting upon her feet; "not whilst I am here shall this gorgio learn +Rommany. A pretty manoeuvre, truly; and what would be the end of it? I +goes to the farming ker with my sister, to tell a fortune, and earn a few +sixpences for the chabes. I sees a jolly pig in the yard, and I says to +my sister, speaking Rommany, 'Do so and so,' says I; which the farming +man hearing, asks what we are talking about. 'Nothing at all, master,' +says I; 'something about the weather;' when who should start up from +behind a pale, where he has been listening, but this ugly gorgio, crying +out, 'They are after poisoning your pigs, neighbour!' so that we are glad +to run, I and my sister, with perhaps the farm-engro shouting after us. +Says my sister to me, when we have got fairly off, 'How came that ugly +one to know what you said to me?' Whereupon I answers, 'It all comes of +my son Jasper, who brings the gorgio to our fire, and must needs be +teaching him.' 'Who was fool there?' says my sister. 'Who, indeed, but +my son Jasper,' I answers. And here should I be a greater fool to sit +still and suffer it; which I will not do. I do not like the look of him; +he looks over-gorgeous. An ill day to the Romans when he masters +Rommany; and when I says that, I pens a true dukkerin." + +"What do you call God, Jasper?" + +"You had better be jawing," said the woman, raising her voice to a +terrible scream; "you had better be moving off, my gorgio; hang you for a +keen one, sitting there by the fire, and stealing my language before my +face. Do you know whom you have to deal with? Do you know that I am +dangerous? My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!" + +And a hairy one she looked! She wore her hair clubbed upon her head, +fastened with many strings and ligatures; but now, tearing these off, her +locks, originally jet black, but now partially grizzled with age, fell +down on every side of her, covering her face and back as far down as her +knees. No she-bear from Lapland ever looked more fierce and hairy than +did that woman, as, standing in the open part of the tent, with her head +bent down, and her shoulders drawn up, seemingly about to precipitate +herself upon me, she repeated, again and again,-- + +"My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!--" + +"I call God Duvel, brother." + +"It sounds very like Devil." + +"It doth, brother, it doth." + +"And what do you call divine, I mean godly?" + +"Oh! I call that duvelskoe." + +"I am thinking of something, Jasper." + +"What are you thinking of, brother?" + +"Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were originally one +and the same word?" + +"It would, brother, it would--" + + * * * * * + +From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper, sometimes in his +tent, sometimes on the heath, about which we would roam for hours, +discoursing on various matters. Sometimes mounted on one of his horses, +of which he had several, I would accompany him to various fairs and +markets in the neighbourhood, to which he went on his own affairs, or +those of his tribe. I soon found that I had become acquainted with a +most singular people, whose habits and pursuits awakened within me the +highest interest. Of all connected with them, however, their language +was doubtless that which exercised the greatest influence over my +imagination. I had at first some suspicion that it would prove a mere +made-up gibberish. But I was soon undeceived. Broken, corrupted, and +half in ruins as it was, it was not long before I found that it was an +original speech, far more so, indeed, than one or two others of high name +and celebrity, which, up to that time, I had been in the habit of +regarding with respect and veneration. Indeed, many obscure points +connected with the vocabulary of these languages, and to which neither +classic nor modern lore afforded any clue, I thought I could now clear up +by means of this strange broken tongue, spoken by people who dwelt among +thickets and furze bushes, in tents as tawny as their faces, and whom the +generality of mankind designated, and with much semblance of justice, as +thieves and vagabonds. But where did this speech come from, and who were +they who spoke it? These were questions which I could not solve, and +which Jasper himself, when pressed, confessed his inability to answer. +"But, whoever we be, brother," said he, "we are an old people, and not +what folks in general imagine, broken gorgios; and, if we are not +Egyptians, we are at any rate Rommany Chals!" + +"Rommany Chals! I should not wonder after all," said I, "that these +people had something to do with the founding of Rome. Rome, it is said, +was built by vagabonds, who knows but that some tribe of the kind settled +down thereabouts, and called the town which they built after their name; +but whence did they come originally? ah! there is the difficulty." + +But abandoning these questions, which at that time were far too profound +for me, I went on studying the language, and at the same time the +characters and manners of these strange people. My rapid progress in the +former astonished, while it delighted, Jasper. "We'll no longer call you +Sap-engro, brother," said he; "but rather Lav-engro, which in the +language of the gorgios meaneth Word Master." "Nay, brother," said Tawno +Chikno, with whom I had become very intimate, "you had better call him +Cooro-mengro, I have put on _the gloves_ with him, and find him a pure +fist master; I like him for that, for I am a Cooro-mengro myself, and was +born at Brummagem." + +"I likes him for his modesty," said Mrs. Chikno; "I never hears any ill +words come from his mouth, but, on the contrary, much sweet language. +His talk is golden, and he has taught my eldest to say his prayers in +Rommany, which my rover had never the grace to do." "He is the pal of my +rom," said Mrs. Petulengro, who was a very handsome woman, "and therefore +I likes him, and not less for his being a rye; folks calls me +high-minded, and perhaps I have reason to be so; before I married Pharaoh +I had an offer from a lord--I likes the young rye, and, if he chooses to +follow us, he shall have my sister. What say you, mother? should not the +young rye have my sister Ursula?" + +"I am going to my people," said Mrs. Herne, placing a bundle upon a +donkey, which was her own peculiar property; "I am going to Yorkshire, +for I can stand this no longer. You say you like him: in that we +differs: I hates the gorgio, and would like, speaking Romanly, to mix a +little poison with his waters. And now go to Lundra, my children, I goes +to Yorkshire. Take my blessing with ye, and a little bit of a gillie to +cheer your hearts with when ye are weary. In all kinds of weather have +we lived together; but now we are parted. I goes broken-hearted--I can't +keep you company; ye are no longer Rommany. To gain a bad brother, ye +have lost a good mother." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +What Profession--Not Fitted for a Churchman--Erratic Course--The Bitter +Draught--Principle of Woe--Thou Wouldst be Joyous--What Ails You?--Poor +Child of Clay. + +So the gypsies departed: Mrs. Herne to Yorkshire, and the rest to London: +as for myself, I continued in the house of my parents, passing my time in +much the same manner as I have already described, principally in +philological pursuits: but I was now sixteen, and it was highly necessary +that I should adopt some profession, unless I intended to fritter away my +existence, and to be a useless burden to those who had given me birth: +but what profession was I to choose? there being none in the wide world +perhaps for which I was suited; nor was there any one for which I felt +any decided inclination, though perhaps there existed within me a lurking +penchant for the profession of arms, which was natural enough, as, from +my earliest infancy, I had been accustomed to military sights and sounds; +but this profession was then closed, as I have already hinted, and, as I +believe, it has since continued, to those who, like myself, had no better +claims to urge than the services of a father. + +My father, who, for certain reasons of his own, had no very high opinion +of the advantages resulting from this career, would have gladly seen me +enter the Church. His desire was, however, considerably abated by one or +two passages of my life, which occurred to his recollection. He +particularly dwelt on the unheard-of manner in which I had picked up the +Irish language, and drew from thence the conclusion that I was not fitted +by nature to cut a respectable figure at an English university. "He will +fly off in a tangent," said he, "and, when called upon to exhibit his +skill in Greek, will be found proficient in Irish; I have observed the +poor lad attentively, and really do not know what to make of him; but I +am afraid he will never make a churchman!" And I have no doubt that my +excellent father was right, both in his premises and the conclusion at +which he arrived. I had undoubtedly, at one period of my life, forsaken +Greek for Irish, and the instructions of a learned Protestant divine for +those of a Papist gassoon, the card-fancying Murtagh; and of late, though +I kept it a strict secret, I had abandoned in a great measure the study +of the beautiful Italian, and the recitation of the sonorous terzets of +the Divine Comedy, in which at one time I took the greatest delight, in +order to become acquainted with the broken speech, and yet more broken +songs, of certain houseless wanderers whom I had met at a horse fair. +Such an erratic course was certainly by no means in consonance with the +sober and unvarying routine of college study. And my father, who was a +man of excellent common sense, displayed it, in not pressing me to adopt +a profession which required qualities of mind which he saw I did not +possess. + +Other professions were talked of, amongst which the law; but now an event +occurred which had nearly stopped my career, and merged all minor points +of solicitude in anxiety of my life. My strength and appetite suddenly +deserted me, and I began to pine and droop. Some said that I had +overgrown myself, and that these were the symptoms of a rapid decline; I +grew worse and worse, and was soon stretched upon my bed, from which it +seemed scarcely probable that I should ever more rise, the physicians +themselves giving but slight hopes of my recovery: as for myself, I made +up my mind to die, and felt quite resigned. I was sadly ignorant at that +time, and, when I thought of death, it appeared to me little else than a +pleasant sleep, and I wished for sleep, of which I got but little. It +was well that I did not die that time, for I repeat that I was sadly +ignorant of many important things. I did not die, for somebody coming, +gave me a strange, bitter draught; a decoction, I believe, of a bitter +root which grows on commons and desolate places: and the person who gave +it me was an ancient female, a kind of doctress, who had been my nurse in +my infancy, and who, hearing of my state, had come to see me; so I drank +the draught, and became a little better, and I continued taking draughts +made from the bitter root till I manifested symptoms of convalescence. + +But how much more quickly does strength desert the human frame than +return to it! I had become convalescent, it is true, but my state of +feebleness was truly pitiable. I believe it is in that state that the +most remarkable feature of human physiology frequently exhibits itself. +Oh, how dare I mention the dark feeling of mysterious dread which comes +over the mind, and which the lamp of reason, though burning bright the +while, is unable to dispel! Art thou, as leeches say, the concomitant of +disease--the result of shattered nerves? Nay, rather the principle of +woe itself, the fountain head of all sorrow coexistent with man, whose +influence he feels when yet unborn, and whose workings he testifies with +his earliest cries, when, "drowned in tears," he first beholds the light; +for, as the sparks fly upward, so is man born to trouble, and woe doth he +bring with him into the world, even thyself, dark one, terrible one, +causeless, unbegotten, without a father. Oh, how unfrequently dost thou +break down the barriers which divide thee from the poor soul of man, and +overcast its sunshine with thy gloomy shadow. In the brightest days of +prosperity--in the midst of health and wealth--how sentient is the poor +human creature of thy neighbourhood! how instinctively aware that the +floodgates of horror may be cast open, and the dark stream engulf him for +ever and ever! Then is it not lawful for man to exclaim, "Better that I +had never been born!" Fool, for thyself thou wast not born, but to +fulfil the inscrutable decrees of thy Creator; and how dost thou know +that this dark principle is not, after all, thy best friend; that it is +not that which tempers the whole mass of thy corruption? It may be, for +what thou knowest, the mother of wisdom, and of great works: it is the +dread of the horror of the night that makes the pilgrim hasten on his +way. When thou feelest it nigh, let thy safety word be "Onward;" if thou +tarry, thou art overwhelmed. Courage! build great works--'tis urging +thee--it is ever nearest the favourites of God--the fool knows little of +it. Thou wouldst be joyous, wouldst thou? then be a fool. What great +work was ever the result of joy, the puny one? Who have been the wise +ones, the mighty ones, the conquering ones of this earth? the joyous? I +believe not. The fool is happy, or comparatively so--certainly the least +sorrowful, but he is still a fool; and whose notes are sweetest, those of +the nightingale, or of the silly lark? + + * * * * * + +"What ails you, my child?" said a mother to her son, as he lay on a couch +under the influence of the dreadful one; "what ails you? you seem +afraid!" + +_Boy_. And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me. + +_Mother_. But of what? there is no one can harm you; of what are you +apprehensive? + +_Boy_. Of nothing that I can express; I know not what I am afraid of, +but afraid I am. + +_Mother_. Perhaps you see sights and visions; I knew a lady once who was +continually thinking that she saw an armed man threaten her, but it was +only an imagination, a phantom of the brain. + +_Boy_. No armed man threatens me; and 'tis not a thing that would cause +me any fear. Did an armed man threaten me, I would get up and fight him; +weak as I am, I would wish for nothing better, for then, perhaps, I +should lose this fear; mine is a dread of I know not what, and there the +horror lies. + +_Mother_. Your forehead is cool, and your speech collected. Do you know +where you are? + +_Boy_. I know where I am, and I see things just as they are; you are +beside me, and upon the table there is a book which was written by a +Florentine; all this I see, and that there is no ground for being afraid. +I am, moreover, quite cool, and feel no pain--but, but-- + +And then there was a burst of "gemiti, sospiri ed alti guai." Alas, +alas, poor child of clay! as the sparks fly upward, so wast thou born to +sorrow--Onward! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Agreeable Delusions--Youth--A Profession--Ab Gwilym--Glorious English +Law--There They Pass--My Dear Old Master--The Deal Desk--Language of the +Tents--Where is Morfydd--Go to--Only Once. + +It has been said by this or that writer, I scarcely know by whom, that in +proportion as we grow old, and our time becomes short, the swifter does +it pass, until at last, as we approach the borders of the grave, it +assumes all the speed and impetuosity of a river about to precipitate +itself into an abyss; this is doubtless the case, provided we can carry +to the grave those pleasant thoughts and delusions which alone render +life agreeable, and to which even to the very last we would gladly cling; +but what becomes of the swiftness of time, when the mind sees the vanity +of human pursuits? which is sure to be the case when its fondest, dearest +hopes have been blighted at the very moment when the harvest was deemed +secure. What becomes from that moment, I repeat, of the shortness of +time? I put not the question to those who have never known that trial, +they are satisfied with themselves and all around them, with what they +have done, and yet hope to do; some carry their delusions with them to +the borders of the grave, ay, to the very moment when they fall into it; +a beautiful golden cloud surrounds them to the last, and such talk of the +shortness of time: through the medium of that cloud the world has ever +been a pleasant world to them; their only regret is that they are so soon +to quit it; but oh, ye dear deluded hearts, it is not every one who is so +fortunate! + +To the generality of mankind there is no period like youth. The +generality are far from fortunate; but the period of youth, even to the +least so, offers moments of considerable happiness, for they are not only +disposed, but able to enjoy most things within their reach. With what +trifles at that period are we content; the things from which in +after-life we should turn away in disdain please us then, for we are in +the midst of a golden cloud, and everything seems decked with a golden +hue. Never during any portion of my life did time flow on more speedily +than during the two or three years immediately succeeding the period to +which we arrived in the preceding chapter: since then it has flagged +often enough; sometimes it has seemed to stand entirely still; and the +reader may easily judge how it fares at the present, from the +circumstance of my taking pen in hand, and endeavouring to write down the +passages of my life--a last resource with most people. But at the period +to which I allude I was just, as I may say, entering upon life; I had +adopted a profession, and--to keep up my character, simultaneously with +that profession--the study of a new language--I speedily became a +proficient in the one, but ever remained a novice in the other: a novice +in the law, but a perfect master in the Welsh tongue. + +Yes! very pleasant times were those, when within the womb of a lofty deal +desk, behind which I sat for some eight hours every day, transcribing +(when I imagined eyes were upon me) documents of every description in +every possible hand, Blackstone kept company with Ab Gwilym--the polished +English lawyer of the last century, who wrote long and prosy chapters on +the rights of things--with a certain wild Welshman, who some four hundred +years before that time indited immortal cowydds and odes to the wives of +Cambrian chieftains--more particularly to one Morfydd, the wife of a +certain hunchbacked dignitary called by the poet facetiously Bwa +Bach--generally terminating with the modest request of a little private +parlance beneath the green wood bough, with no other witness than the +eos, or nightingale, a request which, if the poet himself may be +believed, rather a doubtful point, was seldom, very seldom, denied. And +by what strange chance had Ab Gwilym and Blackstone, two personages so +exceedingly different, been thus brought together? From what the reader +already knows of me, he may be quite prepared to find me reading the +former; but what could have induced me to take up Blackstone, or rather +the law? + +I have ever loved to be as explicit as possible; on which account, +perhaps, I never attained to any proficiency in the law, the essence of +which is said to be ambiguity; most questions may be answered in a few +words, and this among the rest, though connected with the law. My +parents deemed it necessary that I should adopt some profession, they +named the law; the law was as agreeable to me as any other profession +within my reach, so I adopted the law, and the consequence was, that +Blackstone, probably for the first time, found himself in company with Ab +Gwilym. By adopting the law I had not ceased to be Lav-engro. + +So I sat behind a desk many hours in a day, ostensibly engaged in +transcribing documents of various kinds; the scene of my labours was a +strange old house, occupying one side of a long and narrow court, into +which, however, the greater number of the windows looked not, but into an +extensive garden, filled with fruit trees, in the rear of a large, +handsome house, belonging to a highly respectable gentleman, who, +_moyennant une douceur considerable_, had consented to instruct my +father's youngest son in the mysteries of glorious English law. Ah! +would that I could describe the good gentleman in the manner which he +deserves; he has long since sunk to his place in a respectable vault, in +the aisle of a very respectable church, whilst an exceedingly respectable +marble slab against the neighbouring wall tells on a Sunday some eye +wandering from its prayer-book that his dust lies below; to secure such +respectabilities in death, he passed a most respectable life. Let no one +sneer, he accomplished much; his life was peaceful, so was his death. +Are these trifles? I wish I could describe him, for I loved the man, and +with reason, for he was ever kind to me, to whom kindness has not always +been shown; and he was, moreover, a choice specimen of a class which no +longer exists--a gentleman lawyer of the old school. I would fain +describe him, but figures with which he has nought to do press forward +and keep him from my mind's eye; there they pass, Spaniard and Moor, +Gypsy, Turk, and livid Jew. But who is that? what that thick pursy man +in the loose, snuff-coloured great-coat, with the white stockings, drab +breeches, and silver buckles on his shoes; that man with the bull neck, +and singular head, immense in the lower part, especially about the jaws, +but tapering upward like a pear; the man with the bushy brows, small grey +eyes, replete with cat-like expression, whose grizzled hair is cut close, +and whose ear-lobes are pierced with small golden rings? Oh! that is not +my dear old master, but a widely different personage. _Bon jour_, +_Monsieur Vidocq_! _expressions de ma part a Monsieur Le Baron Taylor_. +But here comes at last my veritable old master! + +A more respectable-looking individual was never seen; he really looked +what he was, a gentleman of the law--there was nothing of the pettifogger +about him: somewhat under the middle size, and somewhat rotund in person, +he was always dressed in a full suit of black, never worn long enough to +become threadbare. His face was rubicund, and not without keenness; but +the most remarkable thing about him was the crown of his head, which was +bald, and shone like polished ivory, nothing more white, smooth, and +lustrous. Some people have said that he wore false calves, probably +because his black silk stockings never exhibited a wrinkle; they might +just as well have said that he waddled, because his shoes creaked; for +these last, which were always without a speck, and polished as his crown, +though of a different hue, did creak, as he walked rather slowly. I +cannot say that I ever saw him walk fast. + +He had a handsome practice, and might have died a very rich man, much +richer than he did, had he not been in the habit of giving rather +expensive dinners to certain great people, who gave him nothing in +return, except their company; I could never discover his reasons for +doing so, as he always appeared to me a remarkably quiet man, by nature +averse to noise and bustle; but in all dispositions there are anomalies: +I have already said that he lived in a handsome house, and I may as well +here add that he had a very handsome wife, who both dressed and talked +exceedingly well. + +So I sat behind the deal desk, engaged in copying documents of various +kinds; and in the apartment in which I sat, and in the adjoining ones, +there were others, some of them likewise copied documents, while some +were engaged in the yet more difficult task of drawing them up; and some +of these, sons of nobody, were paid for the work they did, whilst others, +like myself, sons of somebody, paid for being permitted to work, which, +as our principal observed, was but reasonable, forasmuch as we not +unfrequently utterly spoiled the greater part of the work intrusted to +our hands. + +There was one part of the day when I generally found myself quite alone, +I mean at the hour when the rest went home to their principal meal; I, +being the youngest, was left to take care of the premises, to answer the +bell, and so forth, till relieved, which was seldom before the expiration +of an hour and a half, when I myself went home; this period, however, was +anything but disagreeable to me, for it was then that I did what best +pleased me, and, leaving off copying the documents, I sometimes indulged +in a fit of musing, my chin resting on both my hands, and my elbows +planted on the desk; or, opening the desk aforesaid, I would take out one +of the books contained within it, and the book which I took out was +almost invariably, not Blackstone, but Ab Gwilym. + +Ah, that Ab Gwilym! I am much indebted to him, and it were ungrateful on +my part not to devote a few lines to him and his songs in this my +history. Start not, reader, I am not going to trouble you with a +poetical dissertation; no, no! I know my duty too well to introduce +anything of the kind; but I, who imagine I know several things, and +amongst others the workings of your mind at this moment, have an idea +that you are anxious to learn a little, a very little, more about Ab +Gwilym than I have hitherto told you, the two or three words that I have +dropped having awakened within you a languid kind of curiosity. I have +no hesitation in saying that he makes one of the some half-dozen really +great poets whose verses, in whatever language they wrote, exist at the +present day, and are more or less known. It matters little how I first +became acquainted with the writings of this man, and how the short thick +volume, stuffed full with his immortal imaginings, first came into my +hands. I was studying Welsh, and I fell in with Ab Gwilym by no very +strange chance. But before I say more about Ab Gwilym, I must be +permitted--I really must--to say a word or two about the language in +which he wrote, that same "Sweet Welsh." If I remember right, I found +the language a difficult one; in mastering it, however, I derived +unexpected assistance from what of Irish remained in my head, and I soon +found that they were cognate dialects, springing from some old tongue +which itself, perhaps, had sprung from one much older. And here I cannot +help observing cursorily that I every now and then, whilst studying this +Welsh, generally supposed to be the original tongue of Britain, +encountered words which, according to the lexicographers, were venerable +words, highly expressive, showing the wonderful power and originality of +the Welsh, in which, however, they were no longer used in common +discourse, but were relics, precious relics, of the first speech of +Britain, perhaps of the world; with which words, however, I was already +well acquainted, and which I had picked up, not in learned books, classic +books, and in tongues of old renown, but whilst listening to Mr. +Petulengro and Tawno Chikno talking over their everyday affairs in the +language of the tents; which circumstance did not fail to give rise to +deep reflection in those moments when, planting my elbows on the deal +desk, I rested my chin upon my hands. But it is probable that I should +have abandoned the pursuit of the Welsh language, after obtaining a very +superficial acquaintance with it, had it not been for Ab Gwilym. + +A strange songster was that who, pretending to be captivated by every +woman he saw, was, in reality, in love with nature alone--wild, +beautiful, solitary nature--her mountains and cascades, her forests and +streams, her birds, fishes, and wild animals. Go to, Ab Gwilym, with thy +pseudo-amatory odes, to Morfydd, or this or that other lady, fair or +ugly; little didst thou care for any of them, Dame Nature was thy love, +however thou mayest seek to disguise the truth. Yes, yes, send thy +love-message to Morfydd, the fair wanton. By whom dost thou send it, I +would know? by the salmon, forsooth, which haunts the rushing stream! the +glorious salmon which bounds and gambols in the flashing water, and whose +ways and circumstances thou so well describest--see, there he hurries +upwards through the flashing water. Halloo! what a glimpse of glory--but +where is Morfydd the while? What, another message to the wife of Bwa +Bach? Ay, truly; and by whom?--the wind! the swift wind, the rider of +the world, whose course is not to be stayed; who gallops o'er the +mountain, and, when he comes to broadest river, asks neither for boat nor +ferry; who has described the wind so well--his speed and power? But +where is Morfydd? And now thou art awaiting Morfydd, the wanton, the +wife of the Bwa Bach; thou art awaiting her beneath the tall trees, +amidst the underwood; but she comes not; no Morfydd is there. Quite +right, Ab Gwilym; what wantest thou with Morfydd? But another form is +nigh at hand, that of red Reynard, who, seated upon his chine at the +mouth of his cave, looks very composedly at thee; thou startest, bendest +thy bow, thy cross-bow, intending to hit Reynard with the bolt just above +the jaw; but the bow breaks, Reynard barks and disappears into his cave, +which by thine own account reaches hell--and then thou ravest at the +misfortune of thy bow, and the non-appearance of Morfydd, and abusest +Reynard. Go to, thou carest neither for thy bow nor for Morfydd, thou +merely seekest an opportunity to speak of Reynard; and who has described +him like thee? the brute with the sharp shrill cry, the black reverse of +melody, whose face sometimes wears a smile like the devil's in the +Evangile. But now thou art actually with Morfydd; yes, she has stolen +from the dwelling of the Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath those +rocks--she is actually with thee, Ab Gwilym; but she is not long with +thee, for a storm comes on, and thunder shatters the rocks--Morfydd +flees! Quite right, Ab Gwilym; thou hadst no need of her, a better theme +for song is the voice of the Lord--the rock shatterer--than the frail +wife of the Bwa Bach. Go to, Ab Gwilym, thou wast a wiser and a better +man than thou wouldst fain have had people believe. + +But enough of thee and thy songs! Those times passed rapidly; with Ab +Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of enchanted ground, in which I +experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore whilst spelling +my way through the wonderful book--the delight of my childhood. I say +akin, for perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed wonder +and delight; and these I had already known. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +Silver Gray--Good Word for Everybody--A Remarkable Youth--Clients--Grades +in Society--The Archdeacon--Reading the Bible. + +"I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this boy of +ours to the law," said my father to my mother, as they sat together one +summer evening in their little garden, beneath the shade of some tall +poplars. + +Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned against the +wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had sought rest, and, +praise be to God, found it, after many a year of poorly requited toil; +there he sat, with locks of silver gray which set off so nobly his fine +bold but benevolent face, his faithful consort at his side, and his +trusty dog at his feet--an eccentric animal of the genuine regimental +breed, who, born amongst red-coats, had not yet become reconciled to +those of any other hue, barking and tearing at them when they drew near +the door, but testifying his fond reminiscence of the former by +hospitable waggings of the tail whenever a uniform made its +appearance--at present a very unfrequent occurrence. + +"I am afraid I have not done right in putting him to the law," said my +father, resting his chin upon his gold-headed bamboo cane. + +"Why, what makes you think so?" said my mother. + +"I have been taking my usual evening walk up the road, with the animal +here," said my father; "and, as I walked along, I overtook the boy's +master, Mr. S---. We shook hands, and, after walking a little way +farther, we turned back together, talking about this and that; the state +of the country, the weather, and the dog, which he greatly admired; for +he is a good-natured man, and has a good word for everybody, though the +dog all but bit him when he attempted to coax his head; after the dog, we +began talking about the boy; it was myself who introduced that subject: I +thought it was a good opportunity to learn how he was getting on, so I +asked what he thought of my son; he hesitated at first, seeming scarcely +to know what to say; at length he came out with 'Oh, a very extraordinary +youth, a most remarkable youth indeed, captain!' 'Indeed,' said I, 'I am +glad to hear it, but I hope you find him steady?' 'Steady, steady,' said +he, 'why, yes, he's steady, I cannot say that he is not steady.' 'Come, +come,' said I, beginning to be rather uneasy, 'I see plainly that you are +not altogether satisfied with him; I was afraid you would not be, for, +though he is my own son, I am anything but blind to his imperfections: +but do tell me what particular fault you have to find with him; and I +will do my best to make him alter his conduct.' 'No fault to find with +him, captain, I assure you, no fault whatever; the youth is a remarkable +youth, an extraordinary youth, only'--As I told you before, Mr. S--- is +the best-natured man in the world, and it was only with the greatest +difficulty that I could get him to say a single word to the disadvantage +of the boy, for whom he seems to entertain a very great regard. At last +I forced the truth from him, and grieved I was to hear it; though I must +confess that I was somewhat prepared for it. It appears that the lad has +a total want of discrimination." + +"I don't understand you," said my mother. + +"You can understand nothing that would seem for a moment to impugn the +conduct of that child. I am not, however, so blind; want of +discrimination was the word, and it both sounds well, and is expressive. +It appears that, since he has been placed where he is, he has been guilty +of the grossest blunders; only the other day, Mr. S--- told me, as he was +engaged in close conversation with one of his principal clients, the boy +came to tell him that a person wanted particularly to speak with him; +and, on going out, he found a lamentable figure with one eye, who came to +ask for charity; whom, nevertheless, the lad had ushered into a private +room, and installed in an arm chair, like a justice of the peace, instead +of telling him to go about his business--now what did that show, but a +total want of discrimination?" + +"I wish we may never have anything worse to reproach him with," said my +mother. + +"I don't know what worse we could reproach him with," said my father: "I +mean of course as far as his profession is concerned: discrimination is +the very key-stone; if he treated all people alike, he would soon become +a beggar himself; there are grades in society as well as in the army; and +according to those grades we should fashion our behaviour, else there +would instantly be an end of all order and discipline. I am afraid that +the child is too condescending to his inferiors, whilst to his superiors +he is apt to be unbending enough; I don't believe that would do in the +world; I am sure it would not in the army. He told me another anecdote +with respect to his behaviour, which shocked me more than the other had +done. It appears that his wife, who, by the by, is a very fine woman, +and highly fashionable, gave him permission to ask the boy to tea one +evening, for she is herself rather partial to the lad; there had been a +great dinner party there that day, and there were a great many +fashionable people, so the boy went and behaved very well and modestly +for some time, and was rather noticed, till, unluckily, a very great +gentleman, an archdeacon I think, put some questions to him, and, finding +that he understood the languages, began talking to him about the +classics. What do you think? the boy had the impertinence to say that +the classics were much overvalued, and amongst other things that some +horrid fellow or other, some Welshman I think (thank God it was not an +Irishman), was a better poet than Ovid; the company were of course +horrified; the archdeacon, who is seventy years of age, and has seven +thousand a year, took snuff and turned away. Mrs. S--- turned up her +eyes, Mr. S---, however, told me with his usual good-nature (I suppose to +spare my feelings) that he rather enjoyed the thing, and thought it a +capital joke." + +"I think so too," said my mother. + +"I do not," said my father; "that a boy of his years should entertain an +opinion of his own--I mean one which militates against all established +authority--is astounding; as well might a raw recruit pretend to offer an +unfavourable opinion on the manual and platoon exercise; the idea is +preposterous; the lad is too independent by half. I never yet knew one +of an independent spirit get on in the army; the secret of success in the +army is the spirit of subordination." + +"Which is a poor spirit after all," said my mother; "but the child is not +in the army." + +"And it is well for him that he is not," said my father; "but you do not +talk wisely, the world is a field of battle, and he who leaves the ranks, +what can he expect but to be cut down? I call his present behaviour +leaving the ranks, and going vapouring about without orders; his only +chance lies in falling in again as quick as possible; does he think he +can carry the day by himself? an opinion of his own at these years--I +confess I am exceedingly uneasy about the lad." + +"You make me uneasy too," said my mother; "but I really think you are too +hard upon the child; after all, though not, perhaps, all you could wish +him; he is always ready to read the Bible. Let us go in; he is in the +room above us; at least he was two hours ago, I left him there bending +over his books; I wonder what he has been doing all this time, it is now +getting late; let us go in, and he shall read to us." + +"I am getting old," said my father; "and I love to hear the Bible read to +me, for my own sight is something dim; yet I do not wish the child to +read to me this night, I cannot so soon forget what I have heard; but I +hear my eldest son's voice, he is now entering the gate; he shall read +the Bible to us this night. What say you?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +The Eldest Son--Saying of Wild Finland--The Critical Time--Vaunting +Polls--One Thing Wanted--A Father's Blessing--Miracle of Art--The Pope's +House--Young Enthusiast--Pictures of England--Persist and Wrestle--The +Little Dark Man. + +The eldest son! The regard and affection which my father entertained for +his first-born were natural enough, and appeared to none more so than +myself, who cherished the same feelings towards him. What he was as a +boy the reader already knows, for the reader has seen him as a boy; fain +would I describe him at the time of which I am now speaking, when he had +attained the verge of manhood, but the pen fails me, and I attempt not +the task; and yet it ought to be an easy one, for how frequently does his +form visit my mind's eye in slumber and in wakefulness, in the light of +day, and in the night watches; but last night I saw him in his beauty and +his strength; he was about to speak, and my ear was on the stretch, when +at once I awoke, and there was I alone, and the night storm was howling +amidst the branches of the pines which surround my lonely dwelling: +"Listen to the moaning of the pine, at whose root thy hut is +fastened,"--a saying that, of wild Finland, in which there is wisdom; I +listened, and thought of life and death. . . . Of all human beings that I +had ever known, that elder brother was the most frank and generous, ay, +and the quickest and readiest, and the best adapted to do a great thing +needful at the critical time, when the delay of a moment would be fatal. +I have known him dash from a steep bank into a stream in his full dress, +and pull out a man who was drowning; yet there were twenty others bathing +in the water, who might have saved him by putting out a hand, without +inconvenience to themselves, which, however, they did not do, but stared +with stupid surprise at the drowning one's struggles. Yes, whilst some +shouted from the bank to those in the water to save the drowning one, and +those in the water did nothing, my brother neither shouted nor stood +still, but dashed from the bank and did the one thing needful, which, +under such circumstances, not one man in a million would have done. Now, +who can wonder that a brave old man should love a son like this, and +prefer him to any other? + +"My boy, my own boy, you are the very image of myself, the day I took off +my coat in the park to fight Big Ben," said my father, on meeting his son +wet and dripping, immediately after his bold feat. And who cannot excuse +the honest pride of the old man--the stout old man? + +Ay, old man, that son was worthy of thee, and thou wast worthy of such a +son; a noble specimen wast thou of those strong single-minded Englishmen +who, without making a parade either of religion or loyalty, feared God +and honoured their king, and were not particularly friendly to the +French, whose vaunting polls they occasionally broke, as at Minden and +Malplaquet, to the confusion vast of the eternal foes of the English +land. I, who was so little like thee that thou understoodest me not, and +in whom with justice thou didst feel so little pride, had yet perception +enough to see all thy worth, and to feel it an honour to be able to call +myself thy son; and if at some no distant time, when the foreign enemy +ventures to insult our shore, I be permitted to break some vaunting poll, +it will be a triumph to me to think that, if thou hadst lived, thou +wouldst have hailed the deed, and mightest yet discover some distant +resemblance to thyself, the day when thou didst all but vanquish the +mighty Brain. + +I have already spoken of my brother's taste for painting, and the +progress he had made in that beautiful art. It is probable that, if +circumstances had not eventually diverted his mind from the pursuit, he +would have attained excellence, and left behind him some enduring +monument of his powers, for he had an imagination to conceive, and that +yet rarer endowment, a hand capable of giving life, body, and reality to +the conceptions of his mind; perhaps he wanted one thing, the want of +which is but too often fatal to the sons of genius, and without which +genius is little more than a splendid toy in the hands of the +possessor--perseverance, dogged perseverance, in his proper calling; +otherwise, though the grave had closed over him, he might still be living +in the admiration of his fellow-creatures. O ye gifted ones, follow your +calling, for, however various your talents may be, ye can have but one +calling capable of leading ye to eminence and renown; follow resolutely +the one straight path before you, it is that of your good angel, let +neither obstacles nor temptations induce ye to leave it; bound along if +you can; if not, on hands and knees follow it, perish in it, if needful; +but ye need not fear that; no one ever yet died in the true path of his +calling before he had attained the pinnacle. Turn into other paths, and +for a momentary advantage or gratification ye have sold your inheritance, +your immortality. Ye will never be heard of after death. + +"My father has given me a hundred and fifty pounds," said my brother to +me one morning, "and something which is better--his blessing. I am going +to leave you." + +"And where are you going?" + +"Where? to the great city; to London, to be sure." + +"I should like to go with you." + +"Pooh," said my brother, "what should you do there? But don't be +discouraged, I dare say a time will come when you too will go to London." + +And, sure enough, so it did, and all but too soon. + +"And what do you purpose doing there?" I demanded. + +"Oh, I go to improve myself in art, to place myself under some master of +high name, at least I hope to do so eventually. I have, however, a plan +in my head, which I should wish first to execute; indeed, I do not think +I can rest till I have done so; every one talks so much about Italy, and +the wondrous artists which it has produced, and the wondrous pictures +which are to be found there; now I wish to see Italy, or rather Rome, the +great city, for I am told that in a certain room there is contained the +grand miracle of art." + +"And what do you call it?" + +"The Transfiguration, painted by one Rafael, and it is said to be the +greatest work of the greatest painter which the world has ever known. I +suppose it is because everybody says so, that I have such a strange +desire to see it. I have already made myself well acquainted with its +locality, and think that I could almost find my way to it blindfold. +When I have crossed the Tiber, which, as you are aware, runs through +Rome, I must presently turn to the right, up a rather shabby street, +which communicates with a large square, the farther end of which is +entirely occupied by the front of an immense church, with a dome, which +ascends almost to the clouds, and this church they call St. Peter's." + +"Ay, ay," said I, "I have read about that in Keysler's Travels." + +"Before the church, in the square, are two fountains, one on either side, +casting up water in showers; between them, in the midst, is an obelisk, +brought from Egypt, and covered with mysterious writing; on your right +rises an edifice, not beautiful nor grand, but huge and bulky, where +lives a strange kind of priest whom men call the Pope, a very horrible +old individual, who would fain keep Christ in leading-strings, calls the +Virgin Mary the Queen of Heaven, and himself God's Lieutenant-General +upon earth." + +"Ay, ay," said I, "I have read of him in Fox's Book of Martyrs." + +"Well, I do not go straight forward up the flight of steps conducting +into the church, but I turn to the right, and, passing under the piazza, +find myself in a court of the huge bulky house; and then ascend various +staircases, and pass along various corridors and galleries, all of which +I could describe to you, though I have never seen them; at last a door is +unlocked, and we enter a room rather high, but not particularly large, +communicating with another room, into which, however, I do not go, though +there are noble things in that second room--immortal things, by immortal +artists; amongst others, a grand piece of Corregio; I do not enter it, +for the grand picture of the world is not there: but I stand still +immediately on entering the first room, and I look straight before me, +neither to the right nor left, though there are noble things both on the +right and left, for immediately before me at the farther end, hanging +against the wall, is a picture which arrests me, and I can see nothing +else, for that picture at the farther end hanging against the wall is the +picture of the world . . ." + +Yes, go thy way, young enthusiast, and, whether to London town or to old +Rome, may success attend thee; yet strange fears assail me and misgivings +on thy account. Thou canst not rest, thou say'st, till thou hast seen +the picture in the chamber at old Rome hanging over against the wall; ay, +and thus thou dost exemplify thy weakness--thy strength too, it may +be--for the one idea, fantastic yet lovely, which now possesses thee, +could only have originated in a genial and fervent brain. Well, go, if +thou must go; yet it perhaps were better for thee to bide in thy native +land, and there, with fear and trembling, with groanings, with straining +eyeballs, toil, drudge, slave, till thou hast made excellence thine own; +thou wilt scarcely acquire it by staring at the picture over against the +door in the high chamber of old Rome. Seekest thou inspiration? thou +needest it not, thou hast it already; and it was never yet found by +crossing the sea. What hast thou to do with old Rome, and thou an +Englishman? "Did thy blood never glow at the mention of thy native +land?" as an artist merely? Yes, I trow, and with reason, for thy native +land need not grudge old Rome her "pictures of the world;" she has +pictures of her own, "pictures of England;" and is it a new thing to toss +up caps and shout--England against the world? Yes, against the world in +all, in all; in science and in arms, in minstrel strain, and not less in +the art "which enables the hand to deceive the intoxicated soul by means +of pictures." {95} Seek'st models? to Gainsborough and Hogarth turn, not +names of the world, may be, but English names--and England against the +world? A living master? why, there he comes! thou hast had him long, he +has long guided thy young hand towards the excellence which is yet far +from thee, but which thou canst attain if thou shouldst persist and +wrestle, even as he has done, midst gloom and despondency--ay, and even +contempt; he who now comes up the creaking stair to thy little studio in +the second floor to inspect thy last effort before thou departest, the +little stout man whose face is very dark, and whose eye is vivacious; +that man has attained excellence, destined some day to be acknowledged, +though not till he is cold, and his mortal part returned to its kindred +clay. He has painted, not pictures of the world, but English pictures, +such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful rural pieces, +with trees which might well tempt the little birds to perch upon them: +thou needest not run to Rome, brother, where lives the old Mariolater, +after pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of +England; nor needest thou even go to London, the big city, in search of a +master, for thou hast one at home in the old East Anglian town who can +instruct thee whilst thou needest instruction: better stay at home, +brother, at least for a season, and toil and strive 'midst groanings and +despondency till thou hast attained excellence even as he has done--the +little dark man with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name will +one day be considered the chief ornament of the old town, and whose works +will at no distant period rank amongst the proudest pictures of +England--and England against the world!--thy master, my brother, thy, at +present, all too little considered master--Crome. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +Desire for Novelty--Lives of the Lawless--Countenances--Old Yeoman and +Dame--We Live near the Sea--Uncouth-looking Volume--The Other +Condition--Draoitheac--A Dilemma--The Antinomian--Lodowick +Muggleton--Almost Blind--Anders Vedel. + +But to proceed with my own story; I now ceased all at once to take much +pleasure in the pursuits which formerly interested me, I yawned over Ab +Gwilym; even as I now in my mind's eye perceive the reader yawning over +the present pages. What was the cause of this? Constitutional +lassitude, or a desire for novelty? Both it is probable had some +influence in the matter, but I rather think that the latter feeling was +predominant. The parting words of my brother had sunk into my mind. He +had talked of travelling in strange regions and seeing strange and +wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to work and drew pictures of +adventures wild and fantastic, and I thought what a fine thing it must be +to travel, and I wished that my father would give me his blessing, and +the same sum that he had given my brother, and bid me go forth into the +world; always forgetting that I had neither talents nor energies at this +period which would enable me to make any successful figure on its stage. + +And then I again sought up the book which had so captivated me in my +infancy, and I read it through; and I sought up others of a similar +character, and in seeking for them I met books also of adventure, but by +no means of a harmless description, lives of wicked and lawless men, +Murray and Latroon--books of singular power, but of coarse and prurient +imagination--books at one time highly in vogue; now deservedly forgotten, +and most difficult to be found. + +And when I had gone through these books, what was my state of mind? I +had derived entertainment from their perusal, but they left me more +listless and unsettled than before, and I really knew not what to do to +pass my time. My philological studies had become distasteful, and I had +never taken any pleasure in the duties of my profession. I sat behind my +desk in a state of torpor, my mind almost as blank as the paper before +me, on which I rarely traced a line. It was always a relief to hear the +bell ring, as it afforded me an opportunity of doing something which I +was yet capable of doing, to rise and open the door and stare in the +countenances of the visitors. All of a sudden I fell to studying +countenances, and soon flattered myself that I had made considerable +progress in the science. + +"There is no faith in countenances," said some Roman of old; "trust +anything but a person's countenance." "Not trust a man's countenance?" +say some moderns, "why, it is the only thing in many people that we can +trust; on which account they keep it most assiduously out of the way. +Trust not a man's words if you please, or you may come to very erroneous +conclusions; but at all times place implicit confidence in a man's +countenance, in which there is no deceit; and of necessity there can be +none. If people would but look each other more in the face, we should +have less cause to complain of the deception of the world; nothing so +easy as physiognomy nor so useful." Somewhat in this latter strain I +thought, at the time of which I am speaking. I am now older, and, let us +hope, less presumptuous. It is true that in the course of my life I have +scarcely ever had occasion to repent placing confidence in individuals +whose countenances have prepossessed me in their favour; though to how +many I may have been unjust, from whose countenances I may have drawn +unfavourable conclusions, is another matter. + +But it had been decreed by that Fate which governs our every action, that +I was soon to return to my old pursuits. It was written that I should +not yet cease to be Lav-engro, though I had become, in my own opinion, a +kind of Lavater. It is singular enough that my renewed ardour for +philology seems to have been brought about indirectly by my +physiognomical researches, in which had I not indulged, the event which I +am about to relate, as far as connected with myself, might never have +occurred. Amongst the various countenances which I admitted during the +period of my answering the bell, there were two which particularly +pleased me, and which belonged to an elderly yeoman and his wife, whom +some little business had brought to our law sanctuary. I believe they +experienced from me some kindness and attention, which won the old +people's hearts. So, one day, when their little business had been +brought to a conclusion, and they chanced to be alone with me, who was +seated as usual behind the deal desk in the outer room, the old man with +some confusion began to tell me how grateful himself and dame felt for +the many attentions I had shown them, and how desirous they were to make +me some remuneration. "Of course," said the old man, "we must be +cautious what we offer to so fine a young gentleman as yourself; we have, +however, something we think will just suit the occasion, a strange kind +of thing which people say is a book, though no one that my dame or myself +have shown it to can make anything out of it; so as we are told that you +are a fine young gentleman, who can read all the tongues of the earth and +stars, as the Bible says, we thought, I and my dame, that it would be +just the thing you would like; and my dame has it now at the bottom of +her basket." + +"A book," said I, "how did you come by it?" + +"We live near the sea," said the old man; "so near that sometimes our +thatch is wet with the spray; and it may now be a year ago that there was +a fearful storm, and a ship was driven ashore during the night, and ere +the morn was a complete wreck. When we got up at daylight, there were +the poor shivering crew at our door; they were foreigners, red-haired +men, whose speech we did not understand; but we took them in, and warmed +them, and they remained with us three days; and when they went away they +left behind them this thing, here it is, part of the contents of a box +which was washed ashore." + +"And did you learn who they were?" + +"Why, yes; they made us understand that they were Danes." + +Danes! thought I, Danes! and instantaneously, huge and grizzly, appeared +to rise up before my vision the skull of the old pirate Dane, even as I +had seen it of yore in the pent-house of the ancient church to which, +with my mother and my brother, I had wandered on the memorable summer +eve. + +And now the old man handed me the book; a strange and uncouth-looking +volume enough. It was not very large, but instead of the usual covering +was bound in wood, and was compressed with strong iron clasps. It was a +printed book, but the pages were not of paper, but vellum, and the +characters were black, and resembled those generally termed Gothic. + +"It is certainly a curious book," said I; "and I should like to have it, +but I can't think of taking it as a gift, I must give you an equivalent, +I never take presents from anybody." + +The old man whispered with his dame and chuckled, and then turned his +face to me, and said, with another chuckle, "Well, we have agreed about +the price; but, may be, you will not consent." + +"I don't know," said I; "what do you demand?" + +"Why, that you shake me by the hand, and hold out your cheek to my old +dame, she has taken an affection to you." + +"I shall be very glad to shake you by the hand," said I, "but as for the +other condition it requires consideration." + +"No consideration at all," said the old man, with something like a sigh; +"she thinks you like her son, our only child, that was lost twenty years +ago in the waves of the North Sea." + +"Oh, that alters the case altogether," said I, "and of course I can have +no objection." + +And now, at once, I shook off my listlessness, to enable me to do which +nothing could have happened more opportune than the above event. The +Danes, the Danes! And I was at last to become acquainted, and in so +singular a manner, with the speech of a people which had as far back as I +could remember exercised the strongest influence over my imagination, as +how should they not!--in infancy there was the summer-eve adventure, to +which I often looked back, and always with a kind of strange interest, +with respect to those to whom such gigantic and wondrous bones could +belong as I had seen on that occasion; and, more than this, I had been in +Ireland, and there, under peculiar circumstances, this same interest was +increased tenfold. I had mingled much whilst there, with the genuine +Irish--a wild, but kind-hearted race, whose conversation was deeply +imbued with traditionary lore, connected with the early history of their +own romantic land, and from them I heard enough of the Danes, but nothing +commonplace, for they never mentioned them but in terms which tallied +well with my own preconceived ideas. For at an early period the Danes +had invaded Ireland, and had subdued it, and, though eventually driven +out, had left behind them an enduring remembrance in the minds of the +people, who loved to speak of their strength and their stature, in +evidence of which they would point to the ancient raths or mounds, where +the old Danes were buried, and where bones of extraordinary size were +occasionally exhumed. And as the Danes surpassed other people in +strength, so, according to my narrators, they also excelled all others in +wisdom, or rather in Draoitheac, or Magic, for they were powerful +sorcerers, they said, compared with whom the fairy men of the present day +knew nothing at all, at all; and, amongst other wonderful things, they +knew how to make strong beer from the heather that grows upon the bogs. +Little wonder if the interest, the mysterious interest, which I had early +felt about the Danes, was increased tenfold by my sojourn in Ireland. + +And now I had in my possession a Danish book, which, from its appearance, +might be supposed to have belonged to the very old Danes indeed; but how +was I to turn it to any account? I had the book, it is true, but I did +not understand the language, and how was I to overcome that difficulty? +hardly by poring over the book; yet I did pore over the book, daily and +nightly, till my eyes were dim, and it appeared to me every now and then +I encountered words which I understood--English words, though strangely +disguised; and I said to myself, courage! English and Danish are cognate +dialects, a time will come when I shall understand this Danish; and then +I pored over the book again, but with all my poring I could not +understand it; and then I became angry, and I bit my lips till the blood +came; and I occasionally tore a handful from my hair, and flung it upon +the floor, but that did not mend the matter, for still I did not +understand the book, which, however, I began to see was written in +rhyme--a circumstance rather difficult to discover at first, the +arrangement of the lines not differing from that which is employed in +prose; and its being written in rhyme made me only the more eager to +understand it. + +But I toiled in vain, for I had neither grammar nor dictionary of the +language; and when I sought for them could procure neither; and I was +much dispirited, till suddenly a bright thought came into my head, and I +said, although I cannot obtain a dictionary or grammar, I can perhaps +obtain a Bible in this language, and if I can procure a Bible, I can +learn the language, for the Bible in every tongue contains the same +thing, and I have only to compare the words of the Danish Bible with +those of the English, and, if I persevere, I shall in time acquire the +language of the Danes; and I was pleased with the thought, which I +considered to be a bright one, and I no longer bit my lips, or tore my +hair, but took my hat, and, going forth, I flung my hat into the air. + +And when my hat came down, I put it on my head and commenced running, +directing my course to the house of the Antinomian preacher, who sold +books, and whom I knew to have Bibles in various tongues amongst the +number, and I arrived out of breath, and I found the Antinomian in his +little library, dusting his books; and the Antinomian clergyman was a +tall man of about seventy, who wore a hat with a broad brim and a shallow +crown, and whose manner of speaking was exceedingly nasal; and when I saw +him, I cried, out of breath, "Have you a Danish Bible?" and he replied, +"What do you want it for, friend?" and I answered, "to learn Danish by;" +"and may be to learn thy duty," replied the Antinomian preacher. "Truly, +I have it not; but, as you are a customer of mine, I will endeavour to +procure you one, and I will write to that laudable society which men call +the Bible Society, an unworthy member of which I am, and I hope by next +week to procure what you desire." + +And when I heard these words of the old man, I was very glad, and my +heart yearned towards him, and I would fain enter into conversation with +him; and I said, "Why are you an Antinomian? For my part, I would rather +be a dog than belong to such a religion." "Nay, friend," said the +Antinomian, "thou forejudgest us; know that those who call us Antinomians +call us so despitefully, we do not acknowledge the designation." "Then +you do not set all law at nought?" said I. "Far be it from us," said the +old man, "we only hope that, being sanctified by the Spirit from above, +we have no need of the law to keep us in order. Did you ever hear tell +of Lodowick Muggleton?" "Not I." "That is strange; know then that he +was the founder of our poor society, and after him we are frequently, +though opprobriously, termed Muggletonians, for we are Christians. Here +is his book, which, perhaps, you can do no better than purchase, you are +fond of rare books, and this is both curious and rare; I will sell it +cheap. Thank you, and now be gone, I will do all I can to procure the +Bible." + +And in this manner I procured the Danish Bible, and I commenced my task; +first of all, however, I locked up in a closet the volume which had +excited my curiosity, saying, "Out of this closet thou comest not till I +deem myself competent to read thee," and then I sat down in right +earnest, comparing every line in the one version with the corresponding +one in the other; and I passed entire nights in this manner, till I was +almost blind, and the task was tedious enough at first, but I quailed +not, and soon began to make progress: and at first I had a misgiving that +the old book might not prove a Danish book, but was soon reassured by +reading many words in the Bible which I remembered to have seen in the +book; and then I went on right merrily, and I found that the language +which I was studying was by no means a difficult one, and in less than a +month I deemed myself able to read the book. + +Anon, I took the book from the closet, and proceeded to make myself +master of its contents; I had some difficulty, for the language of the +book, though in the main the same as the language of the Bible, differed +from it in some points, being apparently a more ancient dialect; by +degrees, however, I overcame this difficulty, and I understood the +contents of the book, and well did they correspond with all those ideas +in which I had indulged connected with the Danes. For the book was a +book of ballads, about the deeds of knights and champions, and men of +huge stature; ballads which from time immemorial had been sung in the +North, and which some two centuries before the time of which I am +speaking had been collected by one Anders Vedel, who lived with a certain +Tycho Brahe, and assisted him in making observations upon the heavenly +bodies, at a place called Uranias Castle, on the little island of Hveen, +in the Cattegat. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +The Two Individuals--The Long Pipe--The Germans--Werther--The Female +Quaker--Suicide--Gibbon--Jesus of Bethlehem--Fill Your +Glass--Shakespeare--English at Minden--Melancholy Swayne Vonved--The +Fifth Dinner--Strange Doctrines--Are You Happy?--Improve Yourself in +German. + +It might be some six months after the events last recorded, that two +individuals were seated together in a certain room, in a certain street +of the old town which I have so frequently had occasion to mention in the +preceding pages; one of them was an elderly, and the other a very young +man, and they sat on either side of the fire-place, beside a table, on +which were fruit and wine; the room was a small one, and in its furniture +exhibited nothing remarkable. Over the mantel-piece, however, hung a +small picture with naked figures in the foreground, and with much foliage +behind. It might not have struck every beholder, for it looked old and +smoke-dried; but a connoisseur, on inspecting it closely, would have +pronounced it to be a Judgment of Paris, and a masterpiece of the Flemish +school. + +The forehead of the elder individual was high, and perhaps appeared more +so than it really was, from the hair being carefully brushed back, as if +for the purpose of displaying to the best advantage that part of the +cranium; his eyes were large and full, and of a light brown, and might +have been called heavy and dull, had they not been occasionally lighted +up by a sudden gleam--not so brilliant however as that which at every +inhalation shone from the bowl of the long clay pipe which he was +smoking, but which, from a certain sucking sound which, about this time, +began to be heard from the bottom, appeared to be giving notice that it +would soon require replenishment from a certain canister, which, together +with a lighted taper, stood upon the table beside him. + +"You do not smoke?" said he, at length, laying down his pipe, and +directing his glance to his companion. + +Now there was at least one thing singular connected with this last, the +colour of his hair, which, notwithstanding his extreme youth, appeared to +be rapidly becoming grey. He had very long limbs, and was apparently +tall of stature, in which he differed from his elderly companion, who +must have been somewhat below the usual height. + +"No, I can't smoke," said the youth in reply to the observation of the +other. "I have often tried, but could never succeed to my satisfaction." + +"Is it possible to become a good German without smoking?" said the +senior, half speaking to himself. + +"I daresay not," said the youth; "but I shan't break my heart on that +account." + +"As for breaking your heart, of course you would never think of such a +thing; he is a fool who breaks his heart on any account; but it is good +to be a German, the Germans are the most philosophic people in the world, +and the greatest smokers: now I trace their philosophy to their smoking." + +"I have heard say their philosophy is all smoke--is that your opinion?" + +"Why, no; but smoking has a sedative effect upon the nerves, and enables +a man to bear the sorrows of this life (of which every one has his share) +not only decently, but dignifiedly. Suicide is not a national habit in +Germany, as it is in England." + +"But that poor creature, Werther, who committed suicide, was a German." + +"Werther is a fictitious character, and by no means a felicitous one; I +am no admirer either of Werther or his author. But I should say that, if +there ever was a Werther in Germany, he did not smoke. Werther, as you +very justly observe, was a poor creature." + +"And a very sinful one; I have heard my parents say that suicide is a +great crime." + +"Broadly, and without qualification, to say that suicide is a crime, is +speaking somewhat unphilosophically. No doubt suicide, under many +circumstances, is a crime, a very heinous one. When the father of a +family, for example, to escape from certain difficulties, commits +suicide, he commits a crime; there are those around him who look to him +for support, by the law of nature, and he has no right to withdraw +himself from those who have a claim upon his exertions; he is a person +who decamps with other people's goods as well as his own. Indeed, there +can be no crime which is not founded upon the depriving others of +something which belongs to them. A man is hanged for setting fire to his +house in a crowded city, for he burns at the same time or damages those +of other people; but if a man who has a house on a heath sets fire to it, +he is not hanged, for he has not damaged or endangered any other +individual's property, and the principle of revenge, upon which all +punishment is founded, has not been aroused. Similar to such a case is +that of the man who, without any family ties, commits suicide; for +example, were I to do the thing this evening, who would have a right to +call me to account? I am alone in the world, have no family to support, +and, so far from damaging any one, should even benefit my heir by my +accelerated death. However, I am no advocate for suicide under any +circumstances; there is something undignified in it, unheroic, +un-Germanic. But if you must commit suicide--and there is no knowing to +what people may be brought--always contrive to do it as decorously as +possible; the decencies, whether of life or of death, should never be +lost sight of. I remember a female Quaker who committed suicide by +cutting her throat, but she did it decorously and decently: kneeling down +over a pail, so that not one drop fell upon the floor; thus exhibiting in +her last act that nice sense of sweetness for which Quakers are +distinguished. I have always had a respect for that woman's memory." + +And here, filling his pipe from the canister, and lighting it at the +taper, he recommenced smoking calmly and sedately. + +"But is not suicide forbidden in the Bible?" the youth demanded. + +"Why, no; but what though it were!--the Bible is a respectable book, but +I should hardly call it one whose philosophy is of the soundest. I have +said that it is a respectable book; I mean respectable from its +antiquity, and from containing, as Herder says, 'the earliest records of +the human race,' though those records are far from being dispassionately +written, on which account they are of less value than they otherwise +might have been. There is too much passion in the Bible, too much +violence; now, to come to all truth, especially historic truth, requires +cool dispassionate investigation, for which the Jews do not appear to +have ever been famous. We are ourselves not famous for it, for we are a +passionate people; the Germans are not--they are not a passionate +people--a people celebrated for their oaths: we are. The Germans have +many excellent historic writers, we--'tis true we have Gibbon. You have +been reading Gibbon--what do you think of him?" + +"I think him a very wonderful writer." + +"He is a wonderful writer--one _sui generis_--uniting the perspicuity of +the English--for we are perspicuous--with the cool dispassionate +reasoning of the Germans. Gibbon sought after the truth, found it, and +made it clear." + +"Then you think Gibbon a truthful writer?" + +"Why, yes; who shall convict Gibbon of falsehood? Many people have +endeavoured to convict Gibbon of falsehood; they have followed him in his +researches, and have never found him once tripping. Oh, he's a wonderful +writer! his power of condensation is admirable; the lore of the whole +world is to be found in his pages. Sometimes in a single note he has +given us the result of the study of years; or, to speak metaphorically, +'he has ransacked a thousand Gulistans, and has condensed all his +fragrant booty into a single drop of otto.'" + +"But was not Gibbon an enemy to the Christian faith?" + +"Why, no; he was rather an enemy to priestcraft, so am I; and when I say +the philosophy of the Bible is in many respects unsound, I always wish to +make an exception in favour of that part of it which contains the life +and sayings of Jesus of Bethlehem, to which I must always concede my +unqualified admiration--of Jesus, mind you; for with his followers and +their dogmas I have nothing to do. Of all historic characters, Jesus is +the most beautiful and the most heroic. I have always been a friend to +hero-worship, it is the only rational one, and has always been in use +amongst civilized people--the worship of spirits is synonymous with +barbarism--it is mere fetish; the savages of West Africa are all spirit +worshippers. But there is something philosophic in the worship of the +heroes of the human race, and the true hero is the benefactor. Brahma, +Jupiter, Bacchus, were all benefactors, and, therefore, entitled to the +worship of their respective peoples. The Celts worshipped Hesus, who +taught them to plough, a highly useful art. We, who have attained a much +higher state of civilization than the Celts ever did, worship Jesus, the +first who endeavoured to teach men to behave decently and decorously +under all circumstances; who was the foe of vengeance, in which there is +something highly indecorous; who had first the courage to lift his voice +against that violent dogma, 'an eye for an eye;' who shouted conquer, but +conquer with kindness; who said put up the sword, a violent unphilosophic +weapon; and who finally died calmly and decorously in defence of his +philosophy. He must be a savage who denies worship to the hero of +Golgotha." + +"But he was something more than a hero; he was the son of God, wasn't +he?" + +The elderly individual made no immediate answer; but, after a few more +whiffs from his pipe, exclaimed, "Come, fill your glass! How do you +advance with your translation of Tell?" + +"It is nearly finished; but I do not think I shall proceed with it; I +begin to think the original somewhat dull." + +"There you are wrong; it is the masterpiece of Schiller, the first of +German poets." + +"It may be so," said the youth. "But, pray excuse me, I do not think +very highly of German poetry. I have lately been reading Shakespeare, +and, when I turn from him to the Germans--even the best of them--they +appear mere pigmies. You will pardon the liberty I perhaps take in +saying so." + +"I like that every one should have an opinion of his own," said the +elderly individual; "and, what is more, declare it. Nothing displeases +me more than to see people assenting to everything that they hear said; I +at once come to the conclusion that they are either hypocrites, or there +is nothing in them. But, with respect to Shakespeare, whom I have not +read for thirty years, is he not rather given to bombast, 'crackling +bombast,' as I think I have said in one of my essays?" + +"I daresay he is," said the youth; "but I can't help thinking him the +greatest of all poets, not even excepting Homer. I would sooner have +written that series of plays, founded on the fortunes of the House of +Lancaster, than the Iliad itself. The events described are as lofty as +those sung by Homer in his great work, and the characters brought upon +the stage still more interesting. I think Hotspur as much of a hero as +Hector, and young Henry more of a man than Achilles; and then there is +the fat knight, the quintessence of fun, wit, and rascality. Falstaff is +a creation beyond the genius even of Homer." + +"You almost tempt me to read Shakespeare again--but the Germans?" + +"I don't admire the Germans," said the youth, somewhat excited. "I don't +admire them in any point of view. I have heard my father say that, +though good sharpshooters, they can't much be depended upon as soldiers; +and that old Sergeant Meredith told him that Minden would never have been +won but for the two English regiments, who charged the French with fixed +bayonets, and sent them to the right-about in double-quick time. With +respect to poetry, setting Shakespeare and the English altogether aside, +I think there is another Gothic nation, at least, entitled to dispute +with them the palm. Indeed, to my mind, there is more genuine poetry +contained in the old Danish book which I came so strangely by, than has +been produced in Germany from the period of the Niebelungen lay to the +present." + +"Ah, the Koempe Viser?" said the elderly individual, breathing forth an +immense volume of smoke, which he had been collecting during the +declamation of his young companion. "There are singular things in that +book, I must confess; and I thank you for showing it to me, or rather +your attempt at translation. I was struck with that ballad of Orm +Ungarswayne, who goes by night to the grave-hill of his father to seek +for counsel. And then, again, that strange melancholy Swayne Vonved, who +roams about the world propounding people riddles; slaying those who +cannot answer, and rewarding those who can with golden bracelets. Were +it not for the violence, I should say that ballad has a philosophic +tendency. I thank you for making me acquainted with the book, and I +thank the Jew Mousha for making me acquainted with you." + +"That Mousha was a strange customer," said the youth, collecting himself. + +"He _was_ a strange customer," said the elder individual, breathing forth +a gentle cloud. "I love to exercise hospitality to wandering strangers, +especially foreigners; and when he came to this place, pretending to +teach German and Hebrew, I asked him to dinner. After the first dinner, +he asked me to lend him five pounds; I _did_ lend him five pounds. After +the fifth dinner, he asked me to lend him fifty pounds; I did _not_ lend +him the fifty pounds." + +"He was as ignorant of German as of Hebrew," said the youth; "on which +account he was soon glad, I suppose, to transfer his pupil to some one +else." + +"He told me," said the elder individual, "that he intended to leave a +town where he did not find sufficient encouragement; and, at the same +time, expressed regret at being obliged to abandon a certain +extraordinary pupil, for whom he had a particular regard. Now I, who +have taught many people German from the love which I bear to it, and the +desire which I feel that it should be generally diffused, instantly said, +that I should be happy to take his pupil off his hands, and afford him +what instruction I could in German, for, as to Hebrew, I have never taken +much interest in it. Such was the origin of our acquaintance. You have +been an apt scholar. Of late, however, I have seen little of you--what +is the reason?" + +The youth made no answer. + +"You think, probably, that you have learned all I can teach you? Well, +perhaps you are right." + +"Not so, not so," said the young man eagerly; "before I knew you I knew +nothing, and am still very ignorant; but of late my father's health has +been very much broken, and he requires attention; his spirits also have +become low, which, to tell you the truth, he attributes to my misconduct. +He says that I have imbibed all kinds of strange notions and doctrines, +which will, in all probability, prove my ruin, both here and hereafter; +which--which--" + +"Ah, I understand," said the elder, with another calm whiff. "I have +always had a kind of respect for your father, for there is something +remarkable in his appearance, something heroic, and I would fain have +cultivated his acquaintance; the feeling, however, has not been +reciprocated. I met him, the other day, up the road, with his cane and +dog, and saluted him; he did not return my salutation." + +"He has certain opinions of his own," said the youth, "which are widely +different from those which he has heard that you profess." + +"I respect a man for entertaining an opinion of his own," said the +elderly individual. "I hold certain opinions; but I should not respect +an individual the more for adopting them. All I wish for is tolerance, +which I myself endeavour to practise. I have always loved the truth, and +sought it; if I have not found it, the greater my misfortune." + +"Are you happy?" said the young man. + +"Why, no. And, between ourselves, it is that which induces me to doubt +sometimes the truth of my opinions. My life, upon the whole, I consider +a failure; on which account, I would not counsel you, or any one, to +follow my example too closely. It is getting late, and you had better be +going, especially as your father, you say, is anxious about you. But, as +we may never meet again, I think there are three things which I may +safely venture to press upon you. The first is, that the decencies and +gentlenesses should never be lost sight of, as the practice of the +decencies and gentlenesses is at all times compatible with independence +of thought and action. The second thing which I would wish to impress +upon you is, that there is always some eye upon us; and that it is +impossible to keep anything we do from the world, as it will assuredly be +divulged by somebody as soon as it is his interest to do so. The third +thing which I would wish to press upon you--" + +"Yes," said the youth, eagerly bending forward. + +"Is"--and here the elderly individual laid down his pipe upon the +table--"that it will be as well to go on improving yourself in German!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +The Alehouse Keeper--Compassion for the Rich--Old English Gentleman--How +is this?--Madeira--The Greek Parr--Twenty Languages--Whiter's +Health--About the Fight--A Sporting Gentleman--The Flattened Nose--Lend +us that Pightle--The Surly Nod. + +"Holloa, master! can you tell us where the fight is likely to be?" + +Such were the words shouted out to me by a short thick fellow, in brown +top-boots, and bare-headed, who stood, with his hands in his pockets, at +the door of a country alehouse as I was passing by. + +Now, as I knew nothing about the fight, and as the appearance of the man +did not tempt me greatly to enter into conversation with him, I merely +answered in the negative, and continued my way. + +It was a fine, lovely morning in May, the sun shine bright above, and the +birds were carolling in the hedgerows. I was wont to be cheerful at such +seasons, for, from my earliest recollection, sunshine and the song of +birds have been dear to me; yet, about that period, I was not cheerful, +my mind was not at rest; I was debating within myself, and the debate was +dreary and unsatisfactory enough. I sighed, and, turning my eyes upward, +I ejaculated, "What is truth?" But suddenly, by a violent effort, +breaking away from my meditations, I hastened forward; one mile, two +miles, three miles were speedily left behind; and now I came to a grove +of birch and other trees, and opening a gate I passed up a kind of +avenue, and soon arriving before a large brick house, of rather antique +appearance, knocked at the door. In this house there lived a gentleman +with whom I had business. He was said to be a genuine old English +gentleman, and a man of considerable property; at this time, however, he +wanted a thousand pounds, as gentlemen of considerable property every now +and then do. I had brought him a thousand pounds in my pocket, for it is +astonishing how many eager helpers the rich find, and with what +compassion people look upon their distresses. He was said to have good +wine in his cellar. + +"Is your master at home?" said I, to a servant who appeared at the door. + +"His worship is at home, young man," said the servant, as he looked at my +shoes, which bore evidence that I had come walking. "I beg your pardon, +sir," he added, as he looked me in the face. + +"Ay, ay, servants," thought I, as I followed the man into the house, +"always look people in the face when you open the door, and do so before +you look at their shoes, or you may mistake the heir of a Prime Minister +for a shopkeeper's son." + +I found his worship a jolly red-faced gentleman, of about fifty-five; he +was dressed in a green coat, white corduroy breeches, and drab gaiters, +and sat on an old-fashioned leather sofa, with two small, thorough-bred +English terriers, one on each side of him. He had all the appearance of +a genuine old English gentleman who kept good wine in his cellar. + +"Sir," said I, "I have brought you a thousand pounds"; and I said this +after the servant had retired, and the two terriers had ceased their +barking, which is natural to all such dogs at the sight of a stranger. + +And when the magistrate had received the money, and signed and returned a +certain paper which I handed to him, he rubbed his hands, and looking +very benignantly at me, exclaimed,-- + +"And now, young gentleman, that our business is over, perhaps you can +tell me where the fight is to take place?" + +"I am sorry, sir," said I, "that I can't inform you; but everybody seems +to be anxious about it"; and then I told him what had occurred to me on +the road with the alehouse keeper. + +"I know him," said his worship; "he's a tenant of mine, and a good +fellow, somewhat too much in my debt, though. But how is this, young +gentleman, you look as if you had been walking; you did not come on +foot?" + +"Yes, sir, I came on foot." + +"On foot! why, it is sixteen miles." + +"I sha'n't be tired when I have walked back." + +"You can't ride, I suppose?" + +"Better than I can walk." + +"Then why do you walk?" + +"I have frequently to make journeys connected with my profession; +sometimes I walk, sometimes I ride, just as the whim takes me." + +"Will you take a glass of wine?" + +"Yes." + +"That's right; what shall it be?" + +"Madeira!" + +The magistrate gave a violent slap on his knee; "I like your taste," said +he; "I am fond of a glass of Madeira myself, and can give you such a one +as you will not drink every day. Sit down, young gentleman, you shall +have a glass of Madeira, and the best I have." + +Thereupon he got up, and, followed by his two terriers, walked slowly out +of the room. + +I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me much +amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train of thought. + +"What is truth?" said I. + +"Here it is," said the magistrate, returning at the end of a quarter of +an hour, followed by the servant, with a tray; "here's the true thing, or +I am no judge, far less a justice. It has been thirty years in my cellar +last Christmas. There," said he to the servant, "put it down, and leave +my young friend and me to ourselves. Now, what do you think of it?" + +"It is very good," said I. + +"Did you ever taste better Madeira?" + +"I never before tasted Madeira." + +"Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it is?" + +"I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it is." + +"Well, there is logic in that, as Parr would say; you have heard of +Parr?" + +"Old Parr?" + +"Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, I the Greek +Parr, as people call him." + +"I don't know him." + +"Perhaps not--rather too young for that; but were you of my age, you +might have cause to know him, coming from where you do. He kept school +there, I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved +him--and he loved me; he came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; +I honour Parr--he knows much, and is a sound man." + +"Does he know the truth?" + +"Know the truth! he knows what's good, from an oyster to an ostrich--he's +not only sound but round." + +"Suppose we drink his health?" + +"Thank you, boy: here's Parr's health, and Whiter's." + +"Who is Whiter?" + +"Don't you know Whiter? I thought everybody knew Reverend Whiter the +philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know what that means. A man +fond of tongues and languages, quite out of your way--he understands some +twenty; what do you say to that?" + +"Is he a sound man?" + +"Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say: he has got queer notions +in his head--wrote a book to prove that all words came originally from +the earth--who knows? Words have roots, and roots, live in the earth; +but, upon the whole, I should not call him altogether a sound man, though +he can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr." + +"Is he a round man?" + +"Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I'll sing you a song, if you like, which +will let you into his character:-- + + "'Give me the haunch of a buck to eat, and to drink Madeira old, + And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold, + An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride, + And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river side; + With such good things around me, and blessed with good health withal, + Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not + call.' + +Here's to Whiter's health--so you know nothing about the fight?" + +"No, sir; the truth is, that of late I have been very much occupied with +various matters, otherwise I should, perhaps, have been able to afford +you some information--boxing is a noble art." + +"Can you box?" + +"A little." + +"I tell you what, my boy; I honour you, and, provided your education had +been a little less limited, I should have been glad to see you here in +company with Parr and Whiter; both can box. Boxing is, as you say, a +noble art--a truly English art; may I never see the day when Englishmen +shall feel ashamed of it, or blacklegs and blackguards bring it into +disgrace! I am a magistrate, and, of course, cannot patronise the thing +very openly, yet I sometimes see a prize-fight: I saw the Game Chicken +beat Gulley." + +"Did you ever see Big Ben?" + +"No, why do you ask?" But here we heard a noise, like that of a gig +driving up to the door, which was immediately succeeded by a violent +knocking and ringing, and after a little time, the servant who had +admitted me made his appearance in the room. + +"Sir," said he, with a certain eagerness of manner, "here are two +gentlemen waiting to speak to you." + +"Gentlemen waiting to speak to me! who are they?" + +"I don't know, sir," said the servant; "but they look like sporting +gentlemen, and--and"--here he hesitated; "from a word or two they +dropped, I almost think that they come about the fight." + +"About the fight," said the magistrate. "No! that can hardly be; +however, you had better show them in." + +Heavy steps were now heard ascending the stairs, and the servant ushered +two men into the apartment. Again there was a barking, but louder than +that which had been directed against myself, for here were two intruders; +both of them were remarkable looking men, but to the foremost of them the +most particular notice may well be accorded: he was a man somewhat under +thirty, and nearly six feet in height. He was dressed in a blue coat, +white corduroy breeches, fastened below the knee with small golden +buttons; on his legs he wore white lamb's-wool stockings, and on his feet +shoes reaching to the ankles; round his neck was a handkerchief of the +blue and bird's eye pattern; he wore neither whiskers nor moustaches, and +appeared not to delight in hair, that of his head, which was of a light +brown, being closely cropped; the forehead was rather high, but somewhat +narrow; the face neither broad nor sharp, perhaps rather sharp than +broad; the nose was almost delicate; the eyes were grey, with an +expression in which there was sternness blended with something +approaching to feline; his complexion was exceedingly pale, relieved, +however, by certain pock-marks, which here and there studded his +countenance; his form was athletic, but lean; his arms long. In the +whole appearance of the man there was a blending of the bluff and the +sharp. You might have supposed him a bruiser; his dress was that of one +in all its minutiae; something was wanting, however, in his manner--the +quietness of the professional man; he rather looked like one performing +the part--well--very well--but still performing a part. His +companion!--there, indeed, was the bruiser--no mistake about him: a tall +massive man, with a broad countenance and a flattened nose; dressed like +a bruiser, but not like a bruiser going into the ring; he wore white +topped boots, and a loose brown jockey coat. As the first advanced +towards the table, behind which the magistrate sat, he doffed a white +castor from his head, and made rather a genteel bow; looking at me, who +sat somewhat on one side, he gave a kind of nod of recognition. + +"May I request to know who you are, gentlemen?" said the magistrate. + +"Sir," said the man in a deep, but not unpleasant voice, "allow me to +introduce to you my friend, Mr. ---, the celebrated pugilist;" and he +motioned with his hand towards the massive man with the flattened nose. + +"And your own name, sir?" said the magistrate. + +"My name is no matter," said the man; "were I to mention it to you, it +would awaken within you no feeling of interest. It is neither Kean nor +Belcher, and I have as yet done nothing to distinguish myself like either +of those individuals, or even like my friend here. However, a time may +come--we are not yet buried; and whensoever my hour arrives, I hope I +shall prove myself equal to my destiny, however high-- + + 'Like a bird that's bred amongst the Helicons.'" + +And here a smile half theatrical passed over his features. + +"In what can I oblige you, sir?" said the magistrate. + +"Well, sir; the soul of wit is brevity; we want a place for an +approaching combat between my friend here and a brave from town. Passing +by your broad acres this fine morning we saw a pightle, which we deemed +would suit. Lend us that pightle, and receive our thanks; 'twould be a +favour, though not much to grant: we neither ask for Stonehenge nor for +Tempe." + +My friend looked somewhat perplexed; after a moment, however, he said, +with a firm but gentlemanly air, "Sir, I am sorry that I cannot comply +with your request." + +"Not comply!" said the man, his brow becoming dark as midnight; and with +a hoarse and savage tone, "Not comply! why not?" + +"It is impossible, sir; utterly impossible!" + +"Why so?" + +"I am not compelled to give my reason to you, sir, nor to any man." + +"Let me beg of you to alter your decision," said the man, in a tone of +profound respect. + +"Utterly impossible, sir; I am a magistrate." + +"Magistrate! then fare ye well, for a green-coated buffer and a +Harmanbeck." + +"Sir!" said the magistrate, springing up with a face fiery with wrath. + +But, with a surly nod to me, the man left the apartment; and in a moment +more the heavy footsteps of himself and his companion were heard +descending the staircase. + +"Who is that man?" said my friend, turning towards me. + +"A sporting gentleman, well known in the place from which I come." + +"He appeared to know you." + +"I have occasionally put on the gloves with him." + +"What is his name?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +Doubts--Wise King of Jerusalem--Let Me See--A Thousand Years--Nothing +New--The Crowd--The Hymn--Faith--Charles Wesley--There He +Stood--Farewell, Brother--Death--Sun, Moon, and Stars--Wind on the Heath. + +There was one question which I was continually asking myself at this +period, and which has more than once met the eyes of the reader who has +followed me through the last chapter. "What is truth?" I had involved +myself imperceptibly in a dreary labyrinth of doubt, and, whichever way I +turned, no reasonable prospect of extricating myself appeared. The means +by which I had brought myself into this situation may be very briefly +told; I had inquired into many matters, in order that I might become +wise, and I had read and pondered over the words of the wise, so called, +till I had made myself master of the sum of human wisdom; namely, that +everything is enigmatical and that man is an enigma to himself; thence +the cry of "What is truth?" I had ceased to believe in the truth of that +in which I had hitherto trusted, and yet could find nothing in which I +could put any fixed or deliberate belief. I was, indeed, in a labyrinth! +In what did I not doubt? With respect to crime and virtue I was in +doubt; I doubted that the one was blameable and the other praiseworthy. +Are not all things subjected to the law of necessity? Assuredly; time +and chance govern all things: yet how can this be? alas! + +Then there was myself; for what was I born? Are not all things born to +be forgotten? That's incomprehensible: yet is it not so? Those +butterflies fall and are forgotten. In what is man better than a +butterfly? All then is born to be forgotten. Ah! that was a pang +indeed; 'tis at such a moment that a man wishes to die. The wise king of +Jerusalem, who sat in his shady arbours beside his sunny fishpools, +saying so many fine things, wished to die, when he saw that not only all +was vanity, but that he himself was vanity. Will a time come when all +will be forgotten that now is beneath the sun? If so, of what profit is +life? + +In truth, it was a sore vexation of spirit to me when I saw, as the wise +man saw of old, that whatever I could hope to perform must necessarily be +of very temporary duration; and if so, why do it? I said to myself, +whatever name I can acquire, will it endure for eternity? scarcely so. A +thousand years? Let me see! What have I done already? I have learnt +Welsh, and have translated the songs of Ab Gwilym, some ten thousand +lines, into English rhyme; I have also learnt Danish, and have rendered +the old book of ballads cast by the tempest upon the beach into +corresponding English metre. Good! have I done enough already to secure +myself a reputation of a thousand years? No, no! certainly not; I have +not the slightest ground for hoping that my translations from the Welsh +and Danish will be read at the end of a thousand years. Well, but I am +only eighteen, and I have not stated all that I have done; I have learnt +many other tongues, and have acquired some knowledge even of Hebrew and +Arabic. Should I go on in this way till I am forty, I must then be very +learned; and perhaps, among other things, may have translated the Talmud, +and some of the great works of the Arabians. Pooh! all this is mere +learning and translation, and such will never secure immortality. +Translation is at best an echo, and it must be a wonderful echo to be +heard after the lapse of a thousand years. No! all I have already done, +and all I may yet do in the same way, I may reckon as nothing--mere +pastime; something else must be done. I must either write some grand +original work, or conquer an empire; the one just as easy as the other. +But am I competent to do either? Yes, I think I am, under favourable +circumstances. Yes, I think I may promise myself a reputation of a +thousand years, if I do but give myself the necessary trouble. Well! but +what's a thousand years after all, or twice a thousand years? Woe is me! +I may just as well sit still. + +"Would I had never been born!" I said to myself; and a thought would +occasionally intrude. But was I ever born? Is not all that I see a +lie--a deceitful phantom? Is there a world, and earth, and sky? +Berkeley's doctrine--Spinosa's doctrine! Dear reader, I had at that time +never read either Berkeley or Spinosa. I have still never read them; who +are they, men of yesterday? "All is a lie--all a deceitful phantom," are +old cries; they come naturally from the mouths of those who, casting +aside that choicest shield against madness, simplicity, would fain be +wise as God, and can only know that they are naked. This doubting in the +"universal all" is most coeval with the human race: wisdom, so called, +was early sought after. All is a lie--a deceitful phantom--was said when +the world was yet young; its surface, save a scanty portion, yet +untrodden by human foot, and when the great tortoise yet crawled about. +All is a lie, was the doctrine of Buddh; and Buddh lived thirty centuries +before the wise king of Jerusalem, who sat in his arbours, beside his +sunny fishpools, saying many fine things, and, amongst others, "There is +nothing new under the sun!" + + * * * * * + +One day, whilst I bent my way to the heath of which I have spoken on a +former occasion, at the foot of the hills which formed it I came to a +place where a wagon was standing, but without horses, the shafts resting +on the ground; there was a crowd about it, which extended halfway up the +side of the neighbouring hill. The wagon was occupied by some +half-a-dozen men; some sitting, others standing--they were dressed in +sober-coloured habiliments of black or brown, cut in a plain and rather +uncouth fashion, and partially white with dust; their hair was short, and +seemed to have been smoothed down by the application of the hand; all +were bare-headed--sitting or standing, all were bare-headed. One of +them, a tall man, was speaking as I arrived; ere, however, I could +distinguish what he was saying, he left off, and then there was a cry for +a hymn "to the glory of God"--that was the word. It was a strange +sounding hymn, as well it might be, for everybody joined in it: there +were voices of all kinds, of men, of women, and of children--of those who +could sing, and of those who could not--a thousand voices all joined, and +all joined heartily; no voice of all the multitude was silent save mine. +The crowd consisted entirely of the lower classes, labourers and +mechanics, and their wives and children--dusty people, unwashed people, +people of no account whatever, and yet they did not look a mob. And when +that hymn was over--and here let me observe that, strange as it sounded, +I have recalled that hymn to mind, and it has seemed to tingle in my ears +on occasions when all that pomp and art could do to enhance religious +solemnity was being done--in the Sistine Chapel, what time the papal band +was in full play, and the choicest choristers of Italy poured forth their +melodious tones in presence of Batuschca and his cardinals--on the ice of +the Neva, what time the long train of stately priests, with their noble +beards and their flowing robes of crimson and gold, with their ebony and +ivory staves, stalked along, chanting their Sclavonian litanies in +advance of the mighty Emperor of the North and his Priberjensky guard of +giants, towards the orifice through which the river, running below in its +swiftness, is to receive the baptismal lymph:--when the hymn was over, +another man in the wagon proceeded to address the people; he was a much +younger man than the last speaker; somewhat square built and about the +middle height; his face was rather broad, but expressive of much +intelligence, and with a peculiar calm and serious look; the accent in +which he spoke indicated that he was not of these parts, but from some +distant district. The subject of his address was faith, and how it could +remove mountains. It was a plain address, without any attempt at +ornament, and delivered in a tone which was neither loud nor vehement. +The speaker was evidently not a practised one--once or twice he hesitated +as if for words to express his meaning, but still he held on, talking of +faith, and how it could remove mountains: "It is the only thing we want, +brethren, in this world; if we have that, we are indeed rich, as it will +enable us to do our duty under all circumstances, and to bear our lot, +however hard it may be--and the lot of all mankind is hard--the lot of +the poor is hard, brethren--and who knows more of the poor than I?--a +poor man myself, and the son of a poor man: but are the rich better off? +not so, brethren, for God is just. The rich have their trials too: I am +not rich myself, but I have seen the rich with careworn countenances; I +have also seen them in mad-houses; from which you may learn, brethren, +that the lot of all mankind is hard; that is, till we lay hold of faith, +which makes us comfortable under all circumstances; whether we ride in +gilded chariots or walk bare-footed in quest of bread; whether we be +ignorant, whether we be wise--for riches and poverty, ignorance and +wisdom, brethren, each brings with it its peculiar temptations. Well, +under all these troubles, the thing which I would recommend you to seek +is one and the same--faith; faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, who made us, +and allotted to each his station. Each has something to do, brethren. +Do it, therefore, but always in faith; without faith we shall find +ourselves sometimes at fault; but with faith never--for faith can remove +the difficulty. It will teach us to love life, brethren, when life is +becoming bitter, and to prize the blessings around us; for as every man +has his cares, brethren, so has each man his blessings. It will likewise +teach us not to love life over much, seeing that we must one day part +with it. It will teach us to face death with resignation, and will +preserve us from sinking amidst the swelling of the river Jordan." + +And when he had concluded his address, he said, "Let us sing a hymn, one +composed by Master Charles Wesley--he was my countryman, brethren. + + 'Jesus, I cast my soul on thee, + Mighty and merciful to save; + Thou shalt to death go down with me, + And lay me gently in the grave. + + This body then shall rest in hope, + This body which the worms destroy; + For thou shalt surely raise me up, + To glorious life and endless joy.'" + +Farewell, preacher with the plain coat, and the calm serious look! I saw +thee once again, and that was lately--only the other day. It was near a +fishing hamlet, by the seaside, that I saw the preacher again. He stood +on the top of a steep monticle, used by pilots as a look-out for vessels +approaching that coast, a dangerous one, abounding in rocks and +quicksands. There he stood on the monticle, preaching to weather-worn +fishermen and mariners gathered below upon the sand. "Who is he?" said I +to an old fisherman who stood beside me with a book of hymns in his hand; +but the old man put his hand to his lips, and that was the only answer I +received. Not a sound was heard but the voice of the preacher and the +roaring of the waves; but the voice was heard loud above the roaring of +the sea, for the preacher now spoke with power, and his voice was not +that of one who hesitates. There he stood--no longer a young man, for +his black locks were become gray, even like my own; but there was the +intelligent face, and the calm serious look which had struck me of yore. +There stood the preacher, one of those men--and, thank God, their number +is not few--who, animated by the spirit of Christ, amidst much poverty, +and, alas! much contempt, persist in carrying the light of the Gospel +amidst the dark parishes of what, but for their instrumentality, would +scarcely be Christian England. I should have waited till he had +concluded, in order that I might speak to him and endeavour to bring back +the ancient scene to his recollection, but suddenly a man came hurrying +towards the monticle, mounted on a speedy horse, and holding by the +bridle one yet more speedy, and he whispered to me, "Why loiterest thou +here?--knowest thou not all that is to be done before midnight?" and he +flung me the bridle; and I mounted on the horse of great speed, and I +followed the other, who had already galloped off. And as I departed, I +waved my hand to him on the monticle, and I shouted, "Farewell, brother! +the seed came up at last, after a long period!" and then I gave the +speedy horse his way, and leaning over the shoulder of the galloping +horse, I said, "Would that my life had been like his--even like that +man's." + +I now wandered along the heath, until I came to a place where, beside a +thick furze, sat a man, his eyes fixed intently on the red ball of the +setting sun. + +"That's not you, Jasper?" + +"Indeed, brother!" + +"I've not seen you for years." + +"How should you, brother?" + +"What brings you here?" + +"The fight, brother." + +"Where are the tents?" + +"On the old spot, brother." + +"Any news since we parted?" + +"Two deaths, brother." + +"Who are dead, Jasper?" + +"Father and mother, brother." + +"Where did they die?" + +"Where they were sent, brother." + +"And Mrs. Herne?" + +"She's alive, brother." + +"Where is she now?" + +"In Yorkshire, brother." + +"What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?" said I, as I sat down +beside him. + +"My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in the old song +of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing-- + + Canna marel o manus chivios ande puv, + Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi. + +When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child sorrow +over him. If he has neither wife nor child, then his father and mother, +I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then, he is cast +into the earth, and there is an end of the matter." + +"And do you think that is the end of man?" + +"There's an end of him, brother, more's the pity." + +"Why do you say so?" + +"Life is sweet, brother." + +"Do you think so?" + +"Think so!--There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, +and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the +heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?" + +"I would wish to die--" + +"You talk like a gorgio--which is the same as talking like a fool--were +you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed!--A Rommany +Chal would wish to live for ever!" + +"In sickness, Jasper?" + +"There's the sun and stars, brother." + +"In blindness, Jasper?" + +"There's the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I +would gladly live for ever. Dosta, we'll now go to the tents and put on +the gloves; and I'll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be +alive, brother!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +The Flower of the Grass--Days of Pugilism--The Rendezvous--Jews--Bruisers +of England--Winter Spring--Well-earned Bays--The Fight--Huge Black +Cloud--Frame of Adamant--The Storm--Dukkeripens--The Barouche--The Rain +Gushes. + +How for everything there is a time and a season, and then how does the +glory of a thing pass from it, even like the flower of the grass. This +is a truism, but it is one of those which are continually forcing +themselves upon the mind. Many years have not passed over my head, yet, +during those which I can call to remembrance, how many things have I seen +flourish, pass away, and become forgotten, except by myself, who, in +spite of all my endeavours, never can forget anything. I have known the +time when a pugilistic encounter between two noted champions was almost +considered in the light of a national affair; when tens of thousands of +individuals, high and low, meditated and brooded upon it, the first thing +in the morning and the last at night, until the great event was decided. +But the time is past, and many people will say, thank God that it is; all +I have to say is, that the French still live on the other side of the +water, and are still casting their eyes hitherward--and that in the days +of pugilism it was no vain boast to say, that one Englishman was a match +for two of t'other race; at present it would be a vain boast to say so, +for these are not the days of pugilism. + +But those to which the course of my narrative has carried me were the +days of pugilism; it was then at its height, and consequently near its +decline, for corruption had crept into the ring; and how many things, +states and sects among the rest, owe their decline to this cause! But +what a bold and vigorous aspect pugilism wore at that time! and the great +battle was just then coming off: the day had been decided upon, and the +spot--a convenient distance from the old town; and to the old town were +now flocking the bruisers of England, men of tremendous renown. Let no +one sneer at the bruisers of England--what were the gladiators of Rome, +or the bull-fighters of Spain, in its palmiest days, compared to +England's bruisers? Pity that ever corruption should have crept in +amongst them--but of that I wish not to talk; let us still hope that a +spark of the old religion, of which they were the priests, still lingers +in the breasts of Englishmen. There they come, the bruisers, from far +London, or from wherever else they might chance to be at the time, to the +great rendezvous in the old city; some came one way, some another; some +of tip-top reputation came with peers in their chariots, for glory and +fame are such fair things, that even peers are proud to have those +invested therewith by their sides; others came in their own gigs, driving +their own bits of blood, and I heard one say: "I have driven through at a +heat the whole hundred and eleven miles, and only stopped to bait twice." +Oh, the blood-horses of old England! but they too have had their day--for +everything beneath the sun there is a season and a time. But the greater +number come just as they can contrive; on the tops of coaches, for +example; and amongst these there are fellows with dark sallow faces, and +sharp shining eyes; and it is these that have planted rottenness in the +core of pugilism, for they are Jews, and, true to their kind, have only +base lucre in view. + +It was fierce old Cobbett, I think, who first said that the Jews first +introduced bad faith amongst pugilists. He did not always speak the +truth, but at any rate he spoke it when he made that observation. +Strange people the Jews--endowed with every gift but one, and that the +highest, genius divine,--genius which can alone make of men demigods, and +elevate them above earth and what is earthy and grovelling; without which +a clever nation--and who more clever than the Jews?--may have Rambams in +plenty, but never a Fielding nor a Shakespeare. A Rothschild and a +Mendoza, yes--but never a Kean nor a Belcher. + +So the bruisers of England are come to be present at the grand fight +speedily coming off; there they are met in the precincts of the old town, +near the field of the chapel, planted with tender saplings at the +restoration of sporting Charles, which are now become venerable elms, as +high as many a steeple; there they are met at a fitting rendezvous, where +a retired coachman, with one leg, keeps an hotel and a bowling-green. I +think I now see them upon the bowling-green, the men of renown, amidst +hundreds of people with no renown at all, who gaze upon them with timid +wonder. Fame, after all, is a glorious thing, though it lasts only for a +day. There's Cribb, the champion of England, and perhaps the best man in +England; there he is, with his huge massive figure, and face wonderfully +like that of a lion. There is Belcher, the younger, not the mighty one, +who is gone to his place, but the Teucer Belcher, the most scientific +pugilist that ever entered a ring, only wanting strength to be, I won't +say what. He appears to walk before me now, as he did that evening, with +his white hat, white great coat, thin genteel figure, springy step, and +keen, determined eye. Crosses him, what a contrast! grim, savage +Shelton, who has a civil word for nobody, and a hard blow for +anybody--hard! one blow, given with the proper play of his athletic arm, +will unsense a giant. Yonder individual, who strolls about with his +hands behind him, supporting his brown coat lappets, under-sized, and who +looks anything but what he is, is the king of the light weights, so +called--Randall! the terrible Randall, who has Irish blood in his veins; +not the better for that, nor the worse; and not far from him is his last +antagonist, Ned Turner, who, though beaten by him, still thinks himself +as good a man, in which he is, perhaps, right, for it was a near thing; +and "a better shentleman," in which he is quite right, for he is a +Welshman. But how shall I name them all? they were there by dozens, and +all tremendous in their way. There was Bulldog Hudson, and fearless +Scroggins, who beat the conqueror of Sam the Jew. There was Black +Richmond--no, he was not there, but I knew him well; he was the most +dangerous of blacks, even with a broken thigh. There was Purcell, who +could never conquer till all seemed over with him. There was--what! +shall I name thee last? ay, why not? I believe that thou art the last of +all that strong family still above the sod, where mayst thou long +continue--true piece of English stuff, Tom of Bedford--sharp as Winter, +kind as Spring. + +Hail to thee, Tom of Bedford, or by whatever name it may please thee to +be called, Spring or Winter. Hail to thee, six-foot Englishman of the +brown eye, worthy to have carried a six-foot bow at Flodden, where +England's yeomen triumphed over Scotland's king, his clans and chivalry. +Hail to thee, last of England's bruisers, after all the many victories +which thou hast achieved--true English victories, unbought by yellow +gold; need I recount them? nay, nay! they are already well known to +fame--sufficient to say that Bristol's Bull and Ireland's Champion were +vanquished by thee, and one mightier still, gold itself, thou didst +overcome; for gold itself strove in vain to deaden the power of thy arm; +and thus thou didst proceed till men left off challenging thee, the +unvanquishable, the incorruptible. 'Tis a treat to see thee, Tom of +Bedford, in thy "public" in Holborn way, whither thou hast retired with +thy well-earned bays. 'Tis Friday night, and nine by Holborn clock. +There sits the yeoman at the end of his long room, surrounded by his +friends: glasses are filled, and a song is the cry, and a song is sung +well suited to the place; it finds an echo in every heart--fists are +clenched, arms are waved, and the portraits of the mighty fighting men of +yore, Broughton, and Slack, and Ben, which adorn the walls, appear to +smile grim approbation, whilst many a manly voice joins in the bold +chorus: + + "Here's a health to old honest John Bull, + When he's gone we shan't find such another, + And with hearts and with glasses brim full, + We will drink to old England, his mother." + +But the fight! with respect to the fight, what shall I say? Little can +be said about it--it was soon over; some said that the brave from town, +who was reputed the best man of the two, and whose form was a perfect +model of athletic beauty, allowed himself, for lucre vile, to be +vanquished by the massive champion with the flattened nose. One thing is +certain, that the former was suddenly seen to sink to the earth before a +blow of by no means extraordinary power. Time, time! was called; but +there he lay upon the ground apparently senseless, and from thence he did +not lift his head till several seconds after the umpires had declared his +adversary victor. + +There were shouts; indeed, there's never a lack of shouts to celebrate a +victory, however acquired; but there was also much grinding of teeth, +especially amongst the fighting men from town. "Tom has sold us," said +they, "sold us to the yokels; who would have thought it?" Then there was +fresh grinding of teeth, and scowling brows were turned to the heaven; +but what is this? is it possible, does the heaven scowl too? why, only a +quarter of an hour ago--but what may not happen in a quarter of an hour? +For many weeks the weather had been of the most glorious description, the +eventful day, too, had dawned gloriously, and so it had continued till +some two hours after noon; the fight was then over; and about that time I +looked up--what a glorious sky of deep blue, and what a big fierce sun +swimming high above in the midst of that blue; not a cloud--there had not +been one for weeks--not a cloud to be seen, only in the far west, just on +the horizon, something like the extremity of a black wing; that was only +a quarter of an hour ago, and now the whole northern side of the heaven +is occupied by a huge black cloud, and the sun is only occasionally seen +amidst masses of driving vapour; what a change! but another fight is at +hand, and the pugilists are clearing the outer ring;--how their huge +whips come crashing upon the heads of the yokels; blood flows, more blood +than in the fight: those blows are given with right good-will, those are +not sham blows, whether of whip or fist; it is with fist that grim +Shelton strikes down the big yokel; he is always dangerous, grim Shelton, +but now particularly so, for he has lost ten pounds betted on the brave +who sold himself to the yokels; but the outer ring is cleared: and now +the second fight commences; it is between two champions of less renown +than the others, but is perhaps not the worse on that account. A tall +thin boy is fighting in the ring with a man somewhat under the middle +size, with a frame of adamant; that's a gallant boy! he's a yokel, but he +comes from Brummagem, he does credit to his extraction; but his adversary +has a frame of adamant: in what a strange light they fight, but who can +wonder, on looking at that frightful cloud usurping now one-half of +heaven, and at the sun struggling with sulphurous vapour; the face of the +boy, which is turned towards me, looks horrible in that light, but he is +a brave boy, he strikes his foe on the forehead, and the report of the +blow is like the sound of a hammer against a rock; but there is a rush +and a roar over head, a wild commotion, the tempest is beginning to break +loose; there's wind and dust, a crash, rain and hail; is it possible to +fight amidst such a commotion? yes! the fight goes on; again the boy +strikes the man full on the brow, but it is of no use striking that man, +his frame is of adamant. "Boy, thy strength is beginning to give way, +thou art becoming confused"; the man now goes to work, amidst rain and +hail. "Boy, thou wilt not hold out ten minutes longer against rain, +hail, and the blows of such an antagonist." + +And now the storm was at its height; the black thunder-cloud had broken +into many, which assumed the wildest shapes and the strangest colours, +some of them unspeakably glorious; the rain poured in a deluge, and more +than one water-spout was seen at no great distance: an immense rabble is +hurrying in one direction; a multitude of men of all ranks, peers and +yokels, prize-fighters and Jews, and the last came to plunder, and are +now plundering amidst that wild confusion of hail and rain, men and +horses, carts and carriages. But all hurry in one direction, through mud +and mire; there's a town only three miles distant, which is soon reached, +and soon filled, it will not contain one-third of that mighty rabble; but +there's another town farther on--the good old city is farther on, only +twelve miles; what's that! who'll stay here? onward to the old town. + +Hurry skurry, a mixed multitude of men and horses, carts and carriages, +all in the direction of the old town; and, in the midst of all that mad +throng, at a moment when the rain gushes were coming down with particular +fury, and the artillery of the sky was pealing as I had never heard it +peal before, I felt some one seize me by the arm--I turned round and +beheld Mr. Petulengro. + +"I can't hear you, Mr. Petulengro," said I; for the thunder drowned the +words which he appeared to be uttering. + +"Dearginni," I heard Mr. Petulengro say, "it thundereth. I was asking, +brother, whether you believe in dukkeripens?" + +"I do not, Mr. Petulengro; but this is strange weather to be asking me +whether I believe in fortunes." + +"Grondinni," said Mr. Petulengro, "it haileth. I believe in dukkeripens, +brother." + +"And who has more right," said I, "seeing that you live by them? But +this tempest is truly horrible." + +"Dearginni, grondinni ta villaminni! It thundereth, it haileth, and also +flameth," said Mr. Petulengro. "Look up there, brother!" + +I looked up. Connected with this tempest there was one feature to which +I have already alluded--the wonderful colours of the clouds. Some were +of vivid green; others of the brightest orange; others as black as pitch. +The gipsy's finger was pointed to a particular part of the sky. + +"What do you see there, brother?" + +"A strange kind of cloud." + +"What does it look like, brother?" + +"Something like a stream of blood." + +"That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen." + +"A bloody fortune!" said I. "And whom may it betide?" + +"Who knows!" said the gypsy. + +Down the way, dashing and splashing, and scattering man, horse, and cart +to the left and right, came an open barouche, drawn by four smoking +steeds, with postillions in scarlet jackets, and leather skull-caps. Two +forms were conspicuous in it; that of the successful bruiser, and of his +friend and backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance. + +"His!" said the gypsy, pointing to the latter, whose stern features wore +a smile of triumph, as, probably recognising me in the crowd, he nodded +in the direction of where I stood, as the barouche hurried by. + +There went the barouche, dashing through the rain gushes, and in it one +whose boast it was that he was equal to "either fortune." Many have +heard of that man--many may be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I +have nothing to do with that man's after life--he fulfilled his +dukkeripen. "A bad, violent man!" Softly, friend; when thou wouldst +speak harshly of the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy +own dukkeripen! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +My Father--Premature Decay--The Easy Chair--A Few Questions--So You Told +Me--A Difficult Language--They Call it Haik--Misused +Opportunities--Saul--Want of Candour--Don't Weep--Heaven Forgive +Me--Dated from Paris--I Wish He were Here--A Father's +Reminiscences--Farewell to Vanities. + +My father, as I have already informed the reader, had been endowed by +nature with great corporeal strength; indeed, I have been assured that, +at the period of his prime, his figure had denoted the possession of +almost Herculean powers. The strongest forms, however, do not always +endure the longest, the very excess of the noble and generous juices +which they contain being the cause of their premature decay. But, be +that as it may, the health of my father, some few years after his +retirement from the service to the quiet of domestic life, underwent a +considerable change; his constitution appeared to be breaking up; and he +was subject to severe attacks from various disorders, with which, till +then, he had been utterly unacquainted. He was, however, wont to rally, +more or less, after his illnesses, and might still occasionally be seen +taking his walk, with his cane in his hand, and accompanied by his dog, +who sympathized entirely with him, pining as he pined, improving as he +improved, and never leaving the house save in his company; and in this +manner matters went on for a considerable time, no very great +apprehension with respect to my father's state being raised either in my +mother's breast or my own. But, about six months after the period at +which I have arrived in my last chapter, it came to pass that my father +experienced a severer attack than on any previous occasion. + +He had the best medical advice; but it was easy to see, from the looks of +his doctors, that they entertained but slight hopes of his recovery. His +sufferings were great, yet he invariably bore them with unshaken +fortitude. There was one thing remarkable connected with his illness; +notwithstanding its severity, it never confined him to his bed. He was +wont to sit in his little parlour, in his easy chair, dressed in a faded +regimental coat, his dog at his feet, who would occasionally lift his +head from the hearth-rug on which he lay, and look his master wistfully +in the face. And thus my father spent the greater part of his time, +sometimes in prayer, sometimes in meditation, and sometimes in reading +the Scriptures. I frequently sat with him, though, as I entertained a +great awe for my father, I used to feel rather ill at ease, when, as +sometimes happened, I found myself alone with him. + +"I wish to ask you a few questions," said he to me, one day, after my +mother had left the room. + +"I will answer anything you may please to ask me, my dear father." + +"What have you been about lately?" + +"I have been occupied as usual, attending at the office at the appointed +hours." + +"And what do you there?" + +"Whatever I am ordered." + +"And nothing else?" + +"Oh, yes! sometimes I read a book." + +"Connected with your profession?" + +"Not always; I have been lately reading Armenian . . ." + +"What's that?" + +"The language of a people whose country is a region on the other side of +Asia Minor." + +"Well!" + +"A region abounding with mountains." + +"Well!" + +"Amongst which is Mount Ararat." + +"Well!" + +"Upon which, as the Bible informs us, the ark rested." + +"Well!" + +"It is the language of the people of those regions." + +"So you told me." + +"And I have been reading the Bible in their language." + +"Well!" + +"Or rather, I should say, in the ancient language of these people; from +which I am told the modern Armenian differs considerably." + +"Well!" + +"As much as the Italian from the Latin." + +"Well!" + +"So I have been reading the Bible in ancient Armenian." + +"You told me so before." + +"I found it a highly difficult language." + +"Yes." + +"Differing widely from the languages in general with which I am +acquainted." + +"Yes." + +"Exhibiting, however, some features in common with them." + +"Yes." + +"And sometimes agreeing remarkably in words with a certain strange wild +speech with which I became acquainted--" + +"Irish?" + +"No, father, not Irish--with which I became acquainted by the greatest +chance in the world." + +"Yes." + +"But of which I need say nothing further at present, and which I should +not have mentioned but for that fact." + +"Well!" + +"Which I consider remarkable." + +"Yes." + +"The Armenian is copious." + +"Is it?" + +"With an alphabet of thirty-nine letters, but it is harsh and guttural." + +"Yes." + +"Like the language of most mountainous people--the Armenians call it +Haik." + +"Do they?" + +"And themselves, Haik, also; they are a remarkable people, and, though +their original habitation is the Mountain of Ararat, they are to be +found, like the Jews, all over the world." + +"Well!" + +"Well, father, that's all I can tell you about Haiks, or Armenians." + +"And what does it all amount to?" + +"Very little, father; indeed, there is very little known about the +Armenians; their early history, in particular, is involved in +considerable mystery." + +"And, if you knew all that it was possible to know about them, to what +would it amount? to what earthly purpose could you turn it? have you +acquired any knowledge of your profession?" + +"Very little, father." + +"Very little! Have you acquired all in your power?" + +"I can't say that I have, father." + +"And yet it was your duty to have done so. But I see how it is, you have +shamefully misused your opportunities; you are like one, who, sent into +the field to labour, passes his time in flinging stones at the birds of +heaven." + +"I would scorn to fling a stone at a bird, father." + +"You know what I mean, and all too well, and this attempt to evade +deserved reproof by feigned simplicity is quite in character with your +general behaviour. I have ever observed about you a want of frankness, +which has distressed me; you never speak of what you are about, your +hopes, or your projects, but cover yourself with mystery. I never knew +till the present moment that you were acquainted with Armenian." + +"Because you never asked me, father; there's nothing to conceal in the +matter--I will tell you in a moment how I came to learn Armenian. A lady +whom I met at one of Mrs. ---'s parties took a fancy to me, and has done +me the honour to allow me to go and see her sometimes. She is the widow +of a rich clergyman, and on her husband's death came to this place to +live, bringing her husband's library with her: I soon found my way to it, +and examined every book. Her husband must have been a learned man, for +amongst much Greek and Hebrew I found several volumes in Armenian, or +relating to the language." + +"And why did you not tell me of this before?" + +"Because you never questioned me; but I repeat there is nothing to +conceal in the matter. The lady took a fancy to me, and, being fond of +the arts, drew my portrait; she said the expression of my countenance put +her in mind of Alfieri's Saul." + +"And do you still visit her?" + +"No, she soon grew tired of me, and told people that she found me very +stupid; she gave me the Armenian books, however." + +"Saul," said my father, musingly, "Saul, I am afraid she was only too +right there; he disobeyed the commands of his master, and brought down on +his head the vengeance of Heaven--he became a maniac, prophesied, and +flung weapons about him." + +"He was, indeed, an awful character--I hope I shan't turn out like him." + +"God forbid!" said my father solemnly; "but in many respects you are +headstrong and disobedient like him. I placed you in a profession, and +besought you to make yourself master of it, by giving it your undivided +attention. This, however, you did not do, you know nothing of it, but +tell me that you are acquainted with Armenian; but what I dislike most is +your want of candour--you are my son, but I know little of your real +history, you may know fifty things for what I am aware; you may know how +to shoe a horse, for what I am aware." + +"Not only to shoe a horse, father, but to make horse-shoes." + +"Perhaps so," said my father; "and it only serves to prove what I am just +saying, that I know little about you." + +"But you easily may, my dear father; I will tell you anything that you +may wish to know--shall I inform you how I learnt to make horse-shoes?" + +"No," said my father; "as you kept it a secret so long, it may as well +continue so still. Had you been a frank, open-hearted boy, like one I +could name, you would have told me all about it of your own accord. But +I now wish to ask you a serious question--what do you propose to do?" + +"To do, father?" + +"Yes! the time for which you were articled to your profession will soon +be expired, and I shall be no more." + +"Do not talk so, my dear father; I have no doubt that you will soon be +better." + +"Do not flatter yourself; I feel that my days are numbered, I am soon +going to my rest, and I have need of rest, for I am weary. There, there, +don't weep! Tears will help me as little as they will you, you have not +yet answered my question. Tell me what you intend to do?" + +"I really do not know what I shall do." + +"The military pension which I enjoy will cease with my life. The +property which I shall leave behind me will be barely sufficient for the +maintenance of your mother respectably. I again ask you what you intend +to do. Do you think you can support yourself by your Armenian or your +other acquirements?" + +"Alas! I think little at all about it; but I suppose I must push into +the world, and make a good fight, as becomes the son of him who fought +Big Ben: if I can't succeed, and am driven to the worst, it is but +dying--" + +"What do you mean by dying?" + +"Leaving the world; my loss would scarcely be felt. I have never held +life in much value, and every one has a right to dispose as he thinks +best of that which is his own." + +"Ah! now I understand you; and well I know how and where you imbibed that +horrible doctrine, and many similar ones which I have heard from your +mouth; but I wish not to reproach you--I view in your conduct a +punishment for my own sins, and I bow to the will of God. Few and evil +have been my days upon the earth; little have I done to which I can look +back with satisfaction. It is true I have served my king fifty years, +and I have fought with--Heaven forgive me, what was I about to say!--but +you mentioned the man's name, and our minds willingly recall our ancient +follies. Few and evil have been my days upon earth, I may say with Jacob +of old, though I do not mean to say that my case is so hard as his; he +had many undutiful children, whilst I have only--; but I will not +reproach you. I have also like him a son to whom I can look with hope, +who may yet preserve my name when I am gone, so let me be thankful; +perhaps, after all, I have not lived in vain. Boy, when I am gone, look +up to your brother, and may God bless you both. There, don't weep; but +take the Bible, and read me something about the old man and his +children." + +My brother had now been absent for the space of three years. At first +his letters had been frequent, and from them it appeared that he was +following his profession in London with industry; they then became rather +rare, and my father did not always communicate their contents. His last +letter, however, had filled him and our whole little family with joy; it +was dated from Paris, and the writer was evidently in high spirits. +After describing in eloquent terms the beauties and gaieties of the +French capital, he informed us how he had plenty of money, having copied +a celebrated picture of one of the Italian masters for a Hungarian +nobleman, for which he had received a large sum. "He wishes me to go +with him to Italy," added he; "but I am fond of independence, and, if +ever I visit old Rome, I will have no patrons near me to distract my +attention." But six months had now elapsed from the date of this letter, +and we had heard no farther intelligence of my brother. My father's +complaint increased; the gout, his principal enemy, occasionally mounted +high up in his system, and we had considerable difficulty in keeping it +from the stomach, where it generally proves fatal. I now devoted almost +the whole of my time to my father, on whom his faithful partner also +lavished every attention and care. I read the Bible to him, which was +his chief delight; and also occasionally such other books as I thought +might prove entertaining to him. His spirits were generally rather +depressed. The absence of my brother appeared to prey upon his mind. "I +wish he were here," he would frequently exclaim; "I can't imagine what +can have become of him; I trust, however, he will arrive in time." He +still sometimes rallied; and I took advantage of those moments of +comparative ease, to question him upon the events of his early life. My +attentions to him had not passed unnoticed, and he was kind, fatherly, +and unreserved. I had never known my father so entertaining as at these +moments, when his life was but too evidently drawing to a close. I had +no idea that he knew and had seen so much; my respect for him increased, +and I looked upon him almost with admiration. His anecdotes were in +general highly curious; some of them related to people in the highest +stations, and to men whose names were closely connected with some of the +brightest glories of our native land. He had frequently +conversed--almost on terms of familiarity--with good old George. He had +known the conqueror of Tippoo Saib; and was the friend of Townshend, who, +when Wolfe fell, led the British grenadiers against the shrinking +regiments of Montcalm. "Pity," he added, "that when old--old as I am +now--he should have driven his own son mad by robbing him of his plighted +bride; but so it was; he married his son's bride. I saw him lead her to +the altar; if ever there was an angelic countenance, it was that girl's; +she was almost too fair to be one of the daughters of women. Is there +anything, boy, that you would wish to ask me? now is the time." + +"Yes, father; there is one about whom I would fain question you." + +"Who is it; shall I tell you about Elliot?" + +"No, father, not about Elliot; but pray don't be angry; I should like to +know something about Big Ben." + +"You are a strange lad," said my father; "and, though of late I have +begun to entertain a more favourable opinion than heretofore, there is +still much about you that I do not understand. Why do you bring up that +name? Don't you know that it is one of my temptations; you wish to know +something about him. Well, I will oblige you this once, and then +farewell to such vanities--something about him. I will tell you--his +skin when he flung off his clothes--and he had a particular knack in +doing so--his skin, when he bared his mighty chest and back for combat, +and when he fought he stood, so--if I remember right--his skin, I say, +was brown and dusky as that of a toad. Oh me! I wish my elder son was +here." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +My Brother's Arrival--The Interview--Night--A Dying Father--Christ. + +At last my brother arrived; he looked pale and unwell; I met him at the +door. "You have been long absent!" said I. + +"Yes," said he, "perhaps too long; but how is my father?" + +"Very poorly," said I, "he has had a fresh attack; but where have you +been of late?" + +"Far and wide," said my brother; "but I can't tell you anything now, I +must go to my father. It was only by chance that I heard of his +illness." + +"Stay a moment," said I. "Is the world such a fine place as you supposed +it to be before you went away?" + +"Not quite," said my brother, "not quite; indeed I wish--but ask me no +questions now, I must hasten to my father." + +There was another question on my tongue, but I forbore; for the eyes of +the young man were full of tears. I pointed with my finger, and the +young man hastened past me to the arms of his father. + +I forbore to ask my brother whether he had been to old Rome. + +What passed between my father and brother I do not know; the interview, +no doubt, was tender enough, for they tenderly loved each other; but my +brother's arrival did not produce the beneficial effect upon my father +which I at first hoped it would; it did not even appear to have raised +his spirits. He was composed enough, however: "I ought to be grateful," +said he; "I wished to see my son, and God has granted me my wish; what +more have I to do now than to bless my little family and go?" + +My father's end was evidently at hand. + +And did I shed no tears? did I breathe no sighs? did I never wring my +hands at this period? the reader will perhaps be asking. Whatever I did +and thought is best known to God and myself; but it will be as well to +observe, that it is possible to feel deeply, and yet make no outward +sign. + +And now for the closing scene. + +At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was awakened from +sleep by a cry which sounded from the room immediately below that in +which I slept. I knew the cry, it was the cry of my mother; and I also +knew its import, yet I made no effort to rise, for I was for the moment +paralyzed. Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay motionless--the +stupidity of horror was upon me. A third time, and it was then that, by +a violent effort, bursting the spell which appeared to bind me, I sprang +from the bed and rushed down stairs. My mother was running wildly about +the room; she had woke and found my father senseless in the bed by her +side. I essayed to raise him, and after a few efforts supported him in +the bed in a sitting posture. My brother now rushed in, and, snatching +up a light that was burning, he held it to my father's face. "The +surgeon, the surgeon!" he cried; then dropping the light, he ran out of +the room followed by my mother; I remained alone, supporting the +senseless form of my father; the light had been extinguished by the fall, +and an almost total darkness reigned in the room. The form pressed +heavily against my bosom--at last methought it moved. Yes, I was right, +there was a heaving of the breast, and then a gasping. Were those words +which I heard? Yes, they were words, low and indistinct at first, and +then audible. The mind of the dying man was reverting to former scenes. +I heard him mention names which I had often heard him mention before. It +was an awful moment; I felt stupified, but I still contrived to support +my dying father. There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard him +speak of Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he +uttered another name, which at one period of his life was much in his +lips, the name of--but this is a solemn moment! There was a deep gasp: I +shook, and thought all was over; but I was mistaken--my father moved, and +revived for a moment; he supported himself in bed without my assistance. +I make no doubt that for a moment he was perfectly sensible, and it was +then that, clasping his hands, he uttered another name clearly, +distinctly--it was the name of Christ. With that name upon his lips, the +brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands still +clasped, yielded up his soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +The Greeting--Queer Figure--Cheer Up--The Cheerful Fire--It Will Do--The +Sally Forth--Trepidation--Let Him Come In. + +"One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have brought with you +will be taken away from you!" + +Such were the first words which greeted my ears, one damp misty morning +in March, as I dismounted from the top of a coach in the yard of a London +inn. + +I turned round, for I felt that the words were addressed to myself. +Plenty of people were in the yard--porters, passengers, coachmen, +ostlers, and others, who appeared to be intent on anything but myself, +with the exception of one individual, whose business appeared to lie with +me, and who now confronted me at the distance of about two yards. + +I looked hard at the man--and a queer kind of individual he was to look +at--a rakish figure, about thirty, and of the middle size, dressed in a +coat smartly cut, but threadbare, very tight pantaloons of blue stuff, +tied at the ankles, dirty white stockings, and thin shoes, like those of +a dancing-master; his features were not ugly, but rather haggard, and he +appeared to owe his complexion less to nature than carmine; in fact, in +every respect, a very queer figure. + +"One-and-ninepence, sir, or your things will be taken away from you!" he +said, in a kind of lisping tone, coming yet nearer to me. + +I still remained staring fixedly at him, but never a word answered. Our +eyes met; whereupon he suddenly lost the easy impudent air which he +before wore. He glanced, for a moment, at my fist, which I had by this +time clenched, and his features became yet more haggard; he faltered; a +fresh "one-and-ninepence," which he was about to utter, died on his lips; +he shrank back, disappeared behind a coach, and I saw no more of him. + +"One-and-ninepence, or my things will be taken away from me!" said I to +myself, musingly, as I followed the porter to whom I had delivered my +scanty baggage; "am I to expect many of these greetings in the big world? +Well, never mind! I think I know the counter-sign!" And I clenched my +fist yet harder than before. + +So I followed the porter, through the streets of London, to a lodging +which had been prepared for me by an acquaintance. The morning, as I +have before said, was gloomy, and the streets through which I passed were +dank and filthy; the people, also, looked dank and filthy; and so, +probably, did I, for the night had been rainy, and I had come upwards of +a hundred miles on the top of a coach; my heart had sunk within me, by +the time we reached a dark narrow street, in which was the lodging. + +"Cheer up, young man," said the porter, "we shall have a fine afternoon!" + +And presently I found myself in the lodging which had been prepared for +me. It consisted of a small room, up two pair of stairs, in which I was +to sit, and another still smaller above it, in which I was to sleep. I +remember that I sat down, and looked disconsolate about me--everything +seemed so cold and dingy. Yet how little is required to make a +situation--however cheerless at first sight--cheerful and comfortable. +The people of the house, who looked kindly upon me, lighted a fire in the +dingy grate; and, then, what a change!--the dingy room seemed dingy no +more! Oh, the luxury of a cheerful fire after a chill night's journey! +I drew near to the blazing grate, rubbed my hands, and felt glad. + +And, when I had warmed myself, I turned to the table, on which, by this +time, the people of the house had placed my breakfast; and I ate and I +drank; and, as I ate and drank, I mused within myself, and my eyes were +frequently directed to a small green box, which constituted part of my +luggage, and which, with the rest of my things, stood in one corner of +the room, till at last, leaving my breakfast unfinished, I rose, and, +going to the box, unlocked it, and took out two or three bundles of +papers tied with red tape, and, placing them on the table, I resumed my +seat and my breakfast, my eyes intently fixed upon the bundles of papers +all the time. + +And when I had drained the last cup of tea out of a dingy teapot, and ate +the last slice of the dingy loaf, I untied one of the bundles, and +proceeded to look over the papers, which were closely written over in a +singular hand, and I read for some time, till at last I said to myself, +"It will do." And then I looked at the other bundle for some time, +without untying it; and at last I said, "It will do also." And then I +turned to the fire, and, putting my feet against the sides of the grate, +I leaned back on my chair, and, with my eyes upon the fire, fell into +deep thought. + +And there I continued in thought before the fire, until my eyes closed, +and I fell asleep; which was not to be wondered at, after the fatigue and +cold which I had lately undergone on the coach-top; and, in my sleep, I +imagined myself still there, amidst darkness and rain, hurrying now over +wild heaths, and now along roads overhung with thick and umbrageous +trees, and sometimes methought I heard the horn of the guard, and +sometimes the voice of the coachman, now chiding, now encouraging his +horses, as they toiled through the deep and miry ways. At length a +tremendous crack of a whip saluted the tympanum of my ear, and I started +up broad awake, nearly oversetting the chair on which I reclined--and, +lo! I was in the dingy room before the fire, which was by this time half +extinguished. In my dream I had confounded the noise of the street with +those of my night-journey; the crack which had aroused me I soon found +proceeded from the whip of a carter, who, with many oaths, was flogging +his team below the window. + +Looking at a clock which stood upon the mantel-piece, I perceived that it +was past eleven; whereupon I said to myself, "I am wasting my time +foolishly and unprofitably, forgetting that I am now in the big world, +without anything to depend upon save my own exertions;" and then I +adjusted my dress, and, locking up the bundle of papers which I had not +read, I tied up the other, and, taking it under my arm, I went down +stairs; and, after asking a question or two of the people of the house, I +sallied forth into the street with a determined look, though at heart I +felt somewhat timorous at the idea of venturing out alone into the mazes +of the mighty city, of which I had heard much, but of which, of my own +knowledge, I knew nothing. + +I had, however, no great cause for anxiety in the present instance; I +easily found my way to the place which I was in quest of--one of the many +new squares on the northern side of the metropolis, and which was +scarcely ten minutes' walk from the street in which I had taken up my +abode. Arriving before the door of a tolerably large house which bore a +certain number, I stood still for a moment in a kind of trepidation, +looking anxiously at the door; I then slowly passed on till I came to the +end of the square, where I stood still, and pondered for awhile. +Suddenly, however, like one who has formed a resolution, I clenched my +right hand, flinging my hat somewhat on one side, and, turning back with +haste to the door before which I had stopped, I sprang up the steps, and +gave a loud rap, ringing at the same time the bell of the area. After +the lapse of a minute the door was opened by a maid-servant of no very +cleanly or prepossessing appearance, of whom I demanded, in a tone of +some hauteur, whether the master of the house was at home. Glancing for +a moment at the white paper bundle beneath my arm, the handmaid made no +reply in words, but, with a kind of toss of her head, flung the door +open, standing on one side as if to let me enter. I did enter; and the +handmaid, having opened another door on the right hand, went in, and said +something which I could not hear: after a considerable pause, however, I +heard the voice of a man say, "Let him come in;" whereupon the handmaid, +coming out, motioned me to enter, and, on my obeying, instantly closed +the door behind me. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +The Sinister Glance--Excellent Correspondent--Quite Original--My +System--A Losing Trade--Merit--Starting a Review--What Have You +Got?--Stop!--Dairyman's Daughter--Oxford Principles--More +Conversation--How is This? + +There were two individuals in the room in which I now found myself; it +was a small study, surrounded with bookcases, the window looking out upon +the square. Of these individuals he who appeared to be the principal +stood with his back to the fireplace. He was a tall stout man, about +sixty, dressed in a loose morning gown. The expression of his +countenance would have been bluff but for a certain sinister glance, and +his complexion might have been called rubicund but for a considerable +tinge of bilious yellow. He eyed me askance as I entered. The other, a +pale, shrivelled-looking person, sat at a table apparently engaged with +an account-book; he took no manner of notice of me, never once lifting +his eyes from the page before him. + +"Well, sir, what is your pleasure?" said the big man, in a rough tone, as +I stood there, looking at him wistfully--as well I might--for upon that +man, at the time of which I am speaking, my principal, I may say my only +hopes, rested. + +"Sir," said I, "my name is so-and-so, and I am the bearer of a letter to +you from Mr. so-and-so, an old friend and correspondent of yours." + +The countenance of the big man instantly lost the suspicious and lowering +expression which it had hitherto exhibited; he strode forward and, +seizing me by the hand, gave me a violent squeeze. + +"My dear sir," said he, "I am rejoiced to see you in London. I have been +long anxious for the pleasure--we are old friends, though we have never +before met. Taggart," said he to the man who sat at the desk, "this is +our excellent correspondent, the friend and pupil of our other excellent +correspondent." + +The pale, shrivelled-looking man slowly and deliberately raised his head +from the account-book, and surveyed me for a moment or two; not the +slightest emotion was observable in his countenance. It appeared to me, +however, that I could detect a droll twinkle in his eye; his curiosity, +if he had any, was soon gratified; he made me a kind of bow, pulled out a +snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and again bent his head over the page. + +"And now, my dear sir," said the big man, "pray sit down, and tell me the +cause of your visit. I hope you intend to remain here a day or two." + +"More than that," said I, "I am come to take up my abode in London." + +"Glad to hear it; and what have you been about of late? got anything +which will suit me? Sir, I admire your style of writing, and your manner +of thinking; and I am much obliged to my good friend and correspondent +for sending me some of your productions. I inserted them all, and wished +there had been more of them--quite original, sir, quite: took with the +public, especially the essay about the non-existence of anything. I +don't exactly agree with you, though; I have my own peculiar ideas about +matter--as you know, of course, from the book I have published. +Nevertheless, a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy--no such +thing as matter--impossible that there should be--_ex nihilo_--what is +the Greek? I have forgot--very pretty indeed; very original." + +"I am afraid, sir, it was very wrong to write such trash, and yet more to +allow it to be published." + +"Trash! not at all; a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy; of +course you were wrong in saying there is no world. The world must exist, +to have the shape of a pear; and that the world is shaped like a pear, +and not like an apple, as the fools of Oxford say, I have satisfactorily +proved in my book. Now, if there were no world, what would become of my +system? But what do you propose to do in London?" + +"Here is the letter, sir," said I, "of our good friend, which I have not +yet given to you; I believe it will explain to you the circumstances +under which I come." + +He took the letter, and perused it with attention. "Hem!" said he, with +a somewhat altered manner, "my friend tells me that you are come up to +London with the view of turning your literary talents to account, and +desires me to assist you in my capacity of publisher in bringing forth +two or three works which you have prepared. My good friend is perhaps +not aware that for some time past I have given up publishing--was obliged +to do so--had many severe losses--do nothing at present in that line, +save sending out the Magazine once a month; and, between ourselves, am +thinking of disposing of that--wish to retire--high time at my age--so +you see--" + +"I am very sorry, sir, to hear that you cannot assist me" (and I remember +that I felt very nervous); "I had hoped--" + +"A losing trade, I assure you, sir; literature is a drug. Taggart, what +o'clock is it?" + +"Well, sir!" said I, rising, "as you cannot assist me, I will now take my +leave; I thank you sincerely for your kind reception, and will trouble +you no longer." + +"Oh, don't go. I wish to have some further conversation with you; and +perhaps I may hit upon some plan to benefit you. I honour merit, and +always make a point to encourage it when I can; but,--Taggart, go to the +bank, and tell them to dishonour the bill twelve months after date for +thirty pounds which becomes due to-morrow. I am dissatisfied with that +fellow who wrote the fairy tales, and intend to give him all the trouble +in my power. Make haste." + +Taggart did not appear to be in any particular haste. First of all, he +took a pinch of snuff, then, rising from his chair, slowly and +deliberately drew his wig, for he wore a wig of a brown colour, rather +more over his forehead than it had previously been, buttoned his coat, +and, taking his hat, and an umbrella which stood in a corner, made me a +low bow, and quitted the room. + +"Well, sir, where were we? Oh, I remember, we were talking about merit. +Sir, I always wish to encourage merit, especially when it comes so highly +recommended as in the present instance. Sir, my good friend and +correspondent speaks of you in the highest terms. Sir, I honour my good +friend, and have the highest respect for his opinion in all matters +connected with literature--rather eccentric though. Sir, my good friend +has done my periodical more good and more harm than all the rest of my +correspondents. Sir, I shall never forget the sensation caused by the +appearance of his article about a certain personage whom he proved--and I +think satisfactorily--to have been a legionary soldier--rather startling, +was it not? The S--- of the world a common soldier, in a marching +regiment--original, but startling; sir, I honour my good friend." + +"So you have renounced publishing, sir," said I, "with the exception of +the Magazine?" + +"Why, yes; except now and then, under the rose; the old coachman, you +know, likes to hear the whip. Indeed, at the present moment, I am +thinking of starting a Review on an entirely new and original principle; +and it just struck me that you might be of high utility in the +undertaking--what do you think of the matter?" + +"I should be happy, sir, to render you any assistance, but I am afraid +the employment you propose requires other qualifications than I possess; +however, I can make the essay. My chief intention in coming to London +was to lay before the world what I had prepared; and I had hoped by your +assistance--" + +"Ah! I see, ambition! Ambition is a very pretty thing; but, sir, we +must walk before we run, according to the old saying--what is that you +have got under your arm?" + +"One of the works to which I was alluding; the one, indeed, which I am +most anxious to lay before the world, as I hope to derive from it both +profit and reputation." + +"Indeed! what do you call it?" + +"Ancient songs of Denmark, heroic and romantic, translated by myself; +with notes philological, critical, and historical." + +"Then, sir, I assure you that your time and labour have been entirely +flung away; nobody would read your ballads, if you were to give them to +the world to-morrow." + +"I am sure, sir, that you would say otherwise, if you would permit me to +read one to you;" and, without waiting for the answer of the big man, nor +indeed so much as looking at him, to see whether he was inclined or not +to hear me, I undid my manuscript, and with a voice trembling with +eagerness, I read to the following effect:-- + + Buckshank bold and Elfinstone, + And more than I can mention here, + They caused to be built so stout a ship, + And unto Iceland they would steer. + + They launched the ship upon the main, + Which bellowed like a wrathful bear; + Down to the bottom the vessel sank, + A laidly Trold has dragged it there. + + Down to the bottom sank young Roland, + And round about he groped awhile; + Until he found the path which led + Unto the bower of Ellenlyle. + +"Stop!" said the publisher; "very pretty indeed, and very original; beats +Scott hollow, and Percy too: but, sir, the day for these things is gone +by; nobody at present cares for Percy, nor for Scott, either, save as a +novelist; sorry to discourage merit, sir, but what can I do! What else +have you got?" + +"The songs of Ab Gwilym, the Welsh bard, also translated by myself, with +notes critical, philological, and historical." + +"Pass on--what else?" + +"Nothing else," said I, folding up my manuscript with a sigh, "unless it +be a romance in the German style; on which, I confess, I set very little +value." + +"Wild?" + +"Yes, sir, very wild." + +"Like the Miller of the Black Valley?" + +"Yes, sir, very much like the Miller of the Black Valley." + +"Well, that's better," said the publisher; "and yet, I don't know, I +question whether any one at present cares for the miller himself. No, +sir, the time for those things is also gone by; German, at present, is a +drug; and, between ourselves, nobody has contributed to make it so more +than my good friend and correspondent;--but, sir, I see you are a young +gentleman of infinite merit, and I always wish to encourage merit. Don't +you think you could write a series of evangelical tales?" + +"Evangelical tales, sir?" + +"Yes, sir, evangelical novels." + +"Something in the style of Herder?" + +"Herder is a drug, sir; nobody cares for Herder--thanks to my good +friend. Sir, I have in yon drawer a hundred pages about Herder, which I +dare not insert in my periodical; it would sink it, sir. No, sir, +something in the style of the 'Dairyman's Daughter.'" + +"I never heard of the work till the present moment." + +"Then, sir, procure it by all means. Sir, I could afford as much as ten +pounds for a well-written tale in the style of the 'Dairyman's Daughter;' +that is the kind of literature, sir, that sells at the present day! It +is not the Miller of the Black Valley--no, sir, nor Herder either, that +will suit the present taste; the evangelical body is becoming very +strong, sir; the canting scoundrels--" + +"But, sir, surely you would not pander to a scoundrelly taste?" + +"Then, sir, I must give up business altogether. Sir, I have a great +respect for the goddess Reason--an infinite respect, sir; indeed, in my +time, I have made a great many sacrifices for her; but, sir, I cannot +altogether ruin myself for the goddess Reason. Sir, I am a friend to +Liberty, as is well known; but I must also be a friend to my own family. +It is with the view of providing for a son of mine that I am about to +start the review of which I am speaking. He has taken into his head to +marry, sir, and I must do something for him, for he can do but little for +himself. Well, sir, I am a friend to Liberty, as I said before, and +likewise a friend to Reason; but I tell you frankly that the Review which +I intend to get up under the rose, and present him with when it is +established, will be conducted on Oxford principles." + +"Orthodox principles, I suppose you mean, sir?" + +"I do, sir; I am no linguist, but I believe the words are synonymous." + +Much more conversation passed between us, and it was agreed that I should +become a contributor to the Oxford Review. I stipulated, however, that, +as I knew little of politics, and cared less, no other articles should be +required from me than such as were connected with belles-lettres and +philology; to this the big man readily assented. "Nothing will be +required from you," said he, "but what you mention; and now and then, +perhaps, a paper on metaphysics. You understand German, and perhaps it +would be desirable that you should review Kant; and in a review of Kant, +sir, you could introduce to advantage your peculiar notions about _ex +nihilo_." He then reverted to the subject of the "Dairyman's Daughter," +which I promised to take into consideration. As I was going away, he +invited me to dine with him on the ensuing Sunday. + +"That's a strange man!" said I to myself, after I had left the house, "he +is evidently very clever; but I cannot say that I like him much, with his +Oxford Reviews and Dairyman's Daughters. But what can I do? I am almost +without a friend in the world. I wish I could find some one who would +publish my ballads, or my songs of Ab Gwilym. In spite of what the big +man says, I am convinced that, once published, they would bring me much +fame and profit. But how is this?--what a beautiful sun!--the porter was +right in saying that the day would clear up--I will now go to my dingy +lodging, lock up my manuscripts, and then take a stroll about the big +city." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +The Walk--London's Cheape--Street of the Lombards--Strange Bridge--Main +Arch--The Roaring Gulf--The Boat--Cly-Faking--A Comfort--The Book--The +Blessed Woman--No Trap. + +So I set out on my walk to see the wonders of the big city, and, as +chance would have it, I directed my course to the east. The day, as I +have already said, had become very fine, so that I saw the great city to +advantage, and the wonders thereof: and much I admired all I saw; and, +amongst other things, the huge cathedral, standing so proudly on the most +commanding ground in the big city; and I looked up to the mighty dome, +surmounted by a golden cross, and I said within myself, "That dome must +needs be the finest in the world;" and I gazed upon it till my eyes +reeled, and my brain became dizzy, and I thought that the dome would fall +and crush me; and I shrank within myself, and struck yet deeper into the +heart of the big city. + +"O Cheapside! Cheapside!" said I, as I advanced up that mighty +thoroughfare, "truly thou art a wonderful place for hurry, noise, and +riches! Men talk of the bazaars of the East--I have never seen them--but +I dare say that, compared with thee, they are poor places, silent places, +abounding with empty boxes, O thou pride of London's east!--mighty mart +of old renown!--for thou art not a place of yesterday:--long before the +Roses red and white battled in fair England, thou didst exist--a place of +throng and bustle--a place of gold and silver, perfumes and fine linen. +Centuries ago thou couldst extort the praises even of the fiercest foes +of England. Fierce bards of Wales, sworn foes of England, sang thy +praises centuries ago; and even the fiercest of them all, Red Julius +himself, wild Glendower's bard, had a word of praise for London's +"Cheape," for so the bards of Wales styled thee in their flowing odes. +Then, if those who were not English, and hated England, and all connected +therewith, had yet much to say in thy praise, when thou wast far inferior +to what thou art now, why should true-born Englishmen, or those who call +themselves so, turn up their noses at thee, and scoff thee at the present +day, as I believe they do? But, let others do as they will, I, at least, +who am not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman, will not turn up +my nose at thee, but will praise and extol thee, calling thee mart of the +world--a place of wonder and astonishment!--and, were it right and +fitting to wish that anything should endure for ever, I would say +prosperity to Cheapside, throughout all ages--may it be the world's +resort for merchandise, world without end." + +And when I had passed through the Cheape I entered another street, which +led up a kind of ascent, and which proved to be the street of the +Lombards, called so from the name of its founders; and I walked rapidly +up the street of the Lombards, neither looking to the right nor left, for +it had no interest for me, though I had a kind of consciousness that +mighty things were being transacted behind its walls; but it wanted the +throng, bustle, and outward magnificence of the Cheape, and it had never +been spoken of by "ruddy bards!" And, when I had got to the end of the +street of the Lombards, I stood still for some time, deliberating within +myself whether I should turn to the right or the left, or go straight +forward, and at last I turned to the right, down a street of rapid +descent, and presently found myself upon a bridge which traversed the +river which runs by the big city. + +A strange kind of bridge it was; huge and massive, and seemingly of great +antiquity. It had an arched back, like that of a hog, a high balustrade, +and at either side, at intervals, were stone bowers bulking over the +river, but open on the other side, and furnished with a semicircular +bench. Though the bridge was wide--very wide--it was all too narrow for +the concourse upon it. Thousands of human beings were pouring over the +bridge. But what chiefly struck my attention was a double row of carts +and waggons, the generality drawn by horses as large as elephants, each +row striving hard in a different direction, and not unfrequently brought +to a standstill. Oh the cracking of whips, the shouts and oaths of the +carters, and the grating of wheels upon the enormous stones that formed +the pavement! In fact, there was a wild hurly-burly upon the bridge, +which nearly deafened me. But, if upon the bridge there was a confusion, +below it there was a confusion ten times confounded. The tide, which was +fast ebbing, obstructed by the immense piers of the old bridge, poured +beneath the arches with a fall of several feet, forming in the river +below as many whirlpools as there were arches. Truly tremendous was the +roar of the descending waters, and the bellow of the tremendous gulfs, +which swallowed them for a time, and then cast them forth, foaming and +frothing from their horrid wombs. Slowly advancing along the bridge, I +came to the highest point, and there I stood still, close beside one of +the stone bowers, in which, beside a fruitstall, sat an old woman, with a +pan of charcoal at her feet, and a book in her hand, in which she +appeared to be reading intently. There I stood, just above the principal +arch, looking through the balustrade at the scene that presented +itself--and such a scene! Towards the left bank of the river, a forest +of masts, thick and close, as far as the eye could reach; spacious +wharfs, surmounted with gigantic edifices; and, far away, Caesar's +Castle, with its White Tower. To the right, another forest of masts, and +a maze of buildings, from which, here and there, shot up to the sky +chimneys taller than Cleopatra's Needle, vomiting forth huge wreaths of +that black smoke which forms the canopy--occasionally a gorgeous one--of +the more than Babel city. Stretching before me, the troubled breast of +the mighty river, and, immediately below, the main whirlpool of the +Thames--the Maelstrom of the bulwarks of the middle arch--a grisly pool, +which, with its superabundance of horror, fascinated me. Who knows but I +should have leapt into its depths?--I have heard of such things--but for +a rather startling occurrence which broke the spell. As I stood upon the +bridge, gazing into the jaws of the pool, a small boat shot suddenly +through the arch beneath my feet. There were three persons in it; an +oarsman in the middle, whilst a man and woman sat at the stern. I shall +never forget the thrill of horror which went through me at this sudden +apparition. What!--a boat--a small boat--passing beneath that arch into +yonder roaring gulf! Yes, yes, down through that awful water-way, with +more than the swiftness of an arrow, shot the boat, or skiff, right into +the jaws of the pool. A monstrous breaker curls over the prow--there is +no hope; the boat is swamped, and all drowned in that strangling vortex. +No! the boat, which appeared to have the buoyancy of a feather, skipped +over the threatening horror, and the next moment was out of danger, the +boatman--a true boatman of Cockaigne, that--elevating one of his sculls +in sign of triumph, the man hallooing, and the woman, a true Englishwoman +that--of a certain class--waving her shawl. Whether any one observed +them save myself, or whether the feat was a common one, I know not; but +nobody appeared to take any notice of them. As for myself, I was so +excited, that I strove to clamber up the balustrade of the bridge, in +order to obtain a better view of the daring adventurers. Before I could +accomplish my design, however, I felt myself seized by the body, and, +turning my head, perceived the old fruit-woman, who was clinging to me. + +"Nay, dear! don't--don't!" said she. "Don't fling yourself over--perhaps +you may have better luck next time!" + +"I was not going to fling myself over," said I, dropping from the +balustrade; "how came you to think of such a thing?" + +"Why, seeing you clamber up so fiercely, I thought you might have had ill +luck, and that you wished to make away with yourself." + +"Ill luck," said I, going into the stone bower and sitting down. "What +do you mean? ill luck in what?" + +"Why, no great harm, dear! cly-faking, perhaps." + +"Are you coming over me with dialects," said I, "speaking unto me in +fashions I wot nothing of?" + +"Nay, dear! don't look so strange with those eyes of your'n, nor talk so +strangely; I don't understand you." + +"Nor I you; what do you mean by cly-faking?" + +"Lor, dear! no harm; only taking a handkerchief now and then." + +"Do you take me for a thief?" + +"Nay, dear! don't make use of bad language; we never calls them thieves +here, but prigs and fakers: to tell you the truth, dear, seeing you +spring at that railing put me in mind of my own dear son, who is now at +Bot'ny: when he had bad luck, he always used to talk of flinging himself +over the bridge; and, sure enough, when the traps were after him, he did +fling himself into the river, but that was off the bank; nevertheless, +the traps pulled him out, and he is now suffering his sentence; so you +see you may speak out, if you have done anything in the harmless line, +for I am my son's own mother, I assure you." + +"So you think there's no harm in stealing?" + +"No harm in the world, dear! Do you think my own child would have been +transported for it, if there had been any harm in it? and what's more, +would the blessed woman in the book here have written her life as she has +done, and given it to the world, if there had been any harm in faking? +She, too, was what they call a thief and a cut-purse; ay, and was +transported for it, like my dear son; and do you think she would have +told the world so, if there had been any harm in the thing? Oh, it is a +comfort to me that the blessed woman was transported, and came back--for +come back she did, and rich too--for it is an assurance to me that my +dear son, who was transported too, will come back like her." + +"What was her name?" + +"Her name, blessed Mary Flanders." + +"Will you let me look at the book?" + +"Yes, dear, that I will, if you promise me not to run away with it." + +I took the book from her hand; a short thick volume, at least a century +old, bound with greasy black leather. I turned the yellow and +dog's-eared pages, reading here and there a sentence. Yes, and no +mistake! _His_ pen, his style, his spirit might be observed in every +line of the uncouth-looking old volume--the air, the style, the spirit of +the writer of the book which first taught me to read. I covered my face +with my hand, and thought of my childhood-- + +"This is a singular book," said I at last; "but it does not appear to +have been written to prove that thieving is no harm, but rather to show +the terrible consequences of crime: it contains a deep moral." + +"A deep what, dear?" + +"A--but no matter, I will give you a crown for this volume." + +"No, dear, I will not sell the volume for a crown." + +"I am poor," said I; "but I will give you two silver crowns for your +volume." + +"No, dear, I will not sell my volume for two silver crowns; no, nor for +the golden one in the king's tower down there; without my book I should +mope and pine, and perhaps fling myself into the river; but I am glad you +like it, which shows that I was right about you, after all; you are one +of our party, and you have a flash about that eye of yours which puts me +just in mind of my dear son. No, dear, I won't sell you my book; but, if +you like, you may have a peep into it whenever you come this way. I +shall be glad to see you; you are one of the right sort, for if you had +been a common one, you would have run away with the thing; but you scorn +such behaviour, and, as you are so flash of your money, though you say +you are poor, you may give me a tanner to buy a little baccy with; I love +baccy, dear, more by token that it comes from the plantations to which +the blessed woman was sent." + +"What's a tanner?" said I. + +"Lor'! don't you know, dear? Why, a tanner is sixpence; and, as you were +talking just now about crowns, it will be as well to tell you that those +of our trade never calls them crowns, but bulls; but I am talking +nonsense, just as if you did not know all that already, as well as +myself; you are only shamming--I'm no trap, dear, nor more was the +blessed woman in the book. Thank you, dear--thank you for the tanner; if +I don't spend it, I'll keep it in remembrance of your sweet face. What, +you are going?--well, first let me whisper a word to you. If you have +any clies to sell at any time, I'll buy them of you; all safe with me; I +never 'peach, and scorns a trap; so now, dear, God bless you! and give +you good luck. Thank you for your pleasant company, and thank you for +the tanner." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +The Tanner--The Hotel--Drinking Claret--London Journal--New +Field--Common-placeness--The Three Individuals--Botheration--Frank and +Ardent. + +"Tanner!" said I musingly, as I left the bridge; "Tanner! what can the +man who cures raw skins by means of a preparation of oak-bark and other +materials have to do with the name which these fakers, as they call +themselves, bestow on the smallest silver coin in these dominions? +Tanner! I can't trace the connection between the man of bark and the +silver coin, unless journeymen tanners are in the habit of working for +sixpence a day. But I have it," I continued, flourishing my hat over my +head, "tanner, in this instance, is not an English word." Is it not +surprising that the language of Mr. Petulengro and of Tawno Chikno, is +continually coming to my assistance whenever I appear to be at a nonplus +with respect to the derivation of crabbed words? I have made out crabbed +words in AEschylus by means of the speech of Chikno and Petulengro; and +even in my Biblical researches I have derived no slight assistance from +it. It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, Tanner--Tawno! +the one is but a modification of the other; they were originally +identical, and have still much the same signification. Tanner, in the +language of the apple-woman, meaneth the smallest of English silver +coins; and Tawno, in the language of the Petulengros, though bestowed +upon the biggest of the Romans, according to strict interpretation, +signifieth a little child. + +So I left the bridge, retracing my steps for a considerable way, as I +thought I had seen enough in the direction in which I had hitherto been +wandering; I should say that I scarcely walked less than thirty miles +about the big city on the day of my first arrival. Night came on, but +still I was walking about, my eyes wide open, and admiring everything +that presented itself to them. Everything was new to me, for everything +is different in London from what it is elsewhere--the people, their +language, the horses, the _tout ensemble_--even the stones of London are +different from others--at least, it appeared to me that I had never +walked with the same ease and facility on the flagstones of a country +town as on those of London; so I continued roving about till night came +on, and then the splendour of some of the shops particularly struck me. +"A regular Arabian Nights' entertainment!" said I, as I looked into one +on Cornhill, gorgeous with precious merchandise, and lighted up with +lustres, the rays of which were reflected from a hundred mirrors. + +But, notwithstanding the excellence of the London pavement, I began about +nine o'clock to feel myself thoroughly tired; painfully and slowly did I +drag my feet along. I also felt very much in want of some refreshment, +and I remembered that since breakfast I had taken nothing. I was now in +the Strand, and, glancing about, I perceived that I was close by an +hotel, which bore over the door the somewhat remarkable name of Holy +Lands. Without a moment's hesitation I entered a well-lighted passage, +and, turning to the left, I found myself in a well-lighted coffee-room, +with a well-dressed and frizzled waiter before me. "Bring me some +claret," said I, for I was rather faint than hungry, and I felt ashamed +to give a humbler order to so well-dressed an individual. The waiter +looked at me for a moment; then, making a low bow, he bustled off, and I +sat myself down in the box nearest to the window. Presently the waiter +returned, bearing beneath his left arm a long bottle, and between the +fingers of his right hand two large purple glasses; placing the latter on +the table, he produced a cork-screw, drew the cork in a twinkling, set +the bottle down before me with a bang, and then, standing still, appeared +to watch my movements. You think I don't know how to drink a glass of +claret, thought I to myself. I'll soon show you how we drink claret +where I come from; and, filling one of the glasses to the brim, I +flickered it for a moment between my eyes and the lustre, and then held +it to my nose; having given that organ full time to test the bouquet of +the wine, I applied the glass to my lips, taking a large mouthful of the +wine, which I swallowed slowly and by degrees, that the palate might +likewise have an opportunity of performing its functions. A second +mouthful I disposed of more summarily; then, placing the empty glass upon +the table, I fixed my eyes upon the bottle, and said--nothing; whereupon +the waiter, who had been observing the whole process with considerable +attention, made me a bow yet more low than before, and turning on his +heel, retired with a smart chuck of his head, as much as to say, It is +all right; the young man is used to claret. + +And when the waiter had retired I took a second glass of the wine, which +I found excellent; and, observing a newspaper lying near me, I took it up +and began perusing it. It has been observed somewhere that people who +are in the habit of reading newspapers every day are not unfrequently +struck with the excellence of style and general talent which they +display. Now, if that be the case, how must I have been surprised, who +was reading a newspaper for the first time, and that one of the best of +the London journals! Yes, strange as it may seem, it was nevertheless +true, that, up to the moment of which I am speaking, I had never read a +newspaper of any description. I of course had frequently seen journals, +and even handled them; but, as for reading them, what were they to me?--I +cared not for news. But here I was now, with my claret before me, +perusing, perhaps, the best of all the London journals--it was not the +--- and I was astonished: an entirely new field of literature appeared to +be opened to my view. It was a discovery, but I confess rather an +unpleasant one; for I said to myself, if literary talent is so very +common in London, that the journals, things which, as their very name +denotes, are ephemeral, are written in a style like the article I have +been perusing, how can I hope to distinguish myself in this big town, +when, for the life of me, I don't think I could write anything half so +clever as what I have been reading. And then I laid down the paper, and +fell into deep musing; rousing myself from which, I took a glass of wine, +and pouring out another, began musing again. What I have been reading, +thought I, is certainly very clever and very talented; but talent and +cleverness I think I have heard some one say are very commonplace things, +only fitted for everyday occasions. I question whether the man who wrote +the book I saw this day on the bridge was a clever man; but, after all, +was he not something much better? I don't think he could have written +this article, but then he wrote the book which I saw on the bridge. +Then, if he could not have written the article on which I now hold my +forefinger--and I do not believe he could--why should I feel discouraged +at the consciousness that I, too, could not write it? I certainly could +no more have written the article than he could; but then, like him, +though I would not compare myself to the man who wrote the book I saw +upon the bridge, I think I could--and here I emptied the glass of +claret--write something better. + +Thereupon I resumed the newspaper; and, as I was before struck with the +fluency of style and the general talent which it displayed, I was now +equally so with its common-placeness and want of originality on every +subject; and it was evident to me that, whatever advantage these +newspaper-writers might have over me in some points, they had never +studied the Welsh bards, translated Kaempe Viser, or been under the +pupilage of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno. + +And as I sat conning the newspaper, three individuals entered the room, +and seated themselves in the box at the farther end of which I was. They +were all three very well dressed; two of them elderly gentlemen, the +third a young man about my own age, or perhaps a year or two older: they +called for coffee; and, after two or three observations, the two eldest +commenced a conversation in French, which, however, though they spoke it +fluently enough, I perceived at once was not their native language; the +young man, however, took no part in their conversation, and when they +addressed a portion to him, which indeed was but rarely, merely replied +by a monosyllable. I have never been a listener, and I paid but little +heed to their discourse, nor indeed to themselves; as I occasionally +looked up, however, I could perceive that the features of the young man, +who chanced to be seated exactly opposite to me, wore an air of +constraint and vexation. This circumstance caused me to observe him more +particularly than I otherwise should have done: his features were +handsome and prepossessing; he had dark brown hair, and a high-arched +forehead. After the lapse of half an hour, the two elder individuals, +having finished their coffee, called for the waiter, and then rose as if +to depart, the young man, however, still remaining seated in the box. +The others, having reached the door, turned round, and finding that the +youth did not follow them, one of them called to him with a tone of some +authority; whereupon the young man rose, and, pronouncing half audibly +the word "botheration," rose and followed them. I now observed that he +was remarkably tall. All three left the house. In about ten minutes, +finding nothing more worth reading in the newspaper, I laid it down, and, +though the claret was not yet exhausted, I was thinking of betaking +myself to my lodgings, and was about to call the waiter, when I heard a +step in the passage, and in another moment, the tall young man entered +the room, advanced to the same box, and, sitting down nearly opposite to +me, again pronounced to himself, but more audibly than before, the same +word. + +"A troublesome world this, sir," said I, looking at him. + +"Yes," said the young man, looking fixedly at me; "but I am afraid we +bring most of our troubles on our own heads--at least I can say so of +myself," he added, laughing. Then after a pause, "I beg pardon," he +said, "but am I not addressing one of my own country?" + +"Of what country are you?" said I. + +"Ireland." + +"I am not of your country, sir; but I have an infinite veneration for +your country, as Strap said to the French soldier. Will you take a glass +of wine?" + +"Ah, _de tout mon coeur_, as the parasite said to Gil Blas," cried the +young man, laughing. "Here's to our better acquaintance!" + +And better acquainted we soon became; and I found that, in making the +acquaintance of the young man, I had indeed made a valuable acquisition; +he was accomplished, highly connected, and bore the name of Francis +Ardry. Frank and ardent he was, and in a very little time had told me +much that related to himself, and in return I communicated a general +outline of my own history; he listened with profound attention, but +laughed heartily when I told him some particulars of my visit in the +morning to the publisher, whom he had frequently heard of. + +We left the house together. + +"We shall soon see each other again," said he, as we separated at the +door of my lodging. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +Dine with the Publisher--Religions--No Animal Food--Unprofitable +Discussions--Principles of Criticism--The Book Market--Newgate +Lives--Goethe a Drug--German Acquirements--Moral Dignity. + +On the Sunday I was punctual to my appointment to dine with the +publisher. As I hurried along the square in which his house stood, my +thoughts were fixed so intently on the great man, that I passed by him +without seeing him. He had observed me, however, and joined me just as I +was about to knock at the door. "Let us take a turn in the square," said +he; "we shall not dine for half an hour." + +"Well," said he, as we were walking in the square, "what have you been +doing since I last saw you?" + +"I have been looking about London," said I, "and I have bought the +'Dairyman's Daughter'; here it is." + +"Pray put it up," said the publisher; "I don't want to look at such +trash. Well, do you think you could write anything like it?" + +"I do not," said I. + +"How is that?" said the publisher, looking at me. + +"Because," said I, "the man who wrote it seems to be perfectly well +acquainted with his subject; and, moreover, to write from the heart." + +"By the subject you mean--" + +"Religion." + +"And a'n't you acquainted with religion?" + +"Very little." + +"I am sorry for that," said the publisher seriously, "for he who sets up +for an author ought to be acquainted not only with religion, but +religions, and indeed with all subjects, like my good friend in the +country. It is well that I have changed my mind about the 'Dairyman's +Daughter,' or I really don't know whom I could apply to on the subject at +the present moment, unless to himself; and after all I question whether +his style is exactly suited for an evangelical novel." + +"Then you do not wish for an imitation of the 'Dairyman's Daughter?'" + +"I do not, sir; I have changed my mind, as I told you before; I wish to +employ you in another line, but will communicate to you my intentions +after dinner." + +At dinner, beside the publisher and myself, were present his wife and +son, with his newly-married bride; the wife appeared a quiet respectable +woman, and the young people looked very happy and good-natured; not so +the publisher, who occasionally eyed both with contempt and dislike. +Connected with this dinner there was one thing remarkable; the publisher +took no animal food, but contented himself with feeding voraciously on +rice and vegetables, prepared in various ways. + +"You eat no animal food, sir?" said I. + +"I do not, sir," said he; "I have forsworn it upwards of twenty years. +In one respect, sir, I am a Brahmin. I abhor taking away life--the +brutes have as much right to live as ourselves." + +"But," said I, "if the brutes were not killed, there would be such a +superabundance of them, that the land would be overrun with them." + +"I do not think so, sir; few are killed in India, and yet there is plenty +of room." + +"But," said I, "Nature intended that they should be destroyed, and the +brutes themselves prey upon one another, and it is well for themselves +and the world that they do so. What would be the state of things if +every insect, bird, and worm were left to perish of old age?" + +"We will change the subject," said the publisher; "I have never been a +friend of unprofitable discussions." + +I looked at the publisher with some surprise, I had not been accustomed +to be spoken to so magisterially; his countenance was dressed in a +portentous frown, and his eye looked more sinister than ever; at that +moment he put me in mind of some of those despots of whom I had read in +the history of Morocco, whose word was law. He merely wants power, +thought I to myself, to be a regular Muley Mehemet; and then I sighed, +for I remembered how very much I was in the power of that man. + +The dinner over, the publisher nodded to his wife, who departed, followed +by her daughter-in-law. The son looked as if he would willingly have +attended them; he, however, remained seated; and, a small decanter of +wine being placed on the table, the publisher filled two glasses, one of +which he handed to myself, and the other to his son; saying, "Suppose you +two drink to the success of the Review. I would join you," said he, +addressing himself to me, "but I drink no wine; if I am a Brahmin with +respect to meat, I am a Mahometan with respect to wine." + +So the son and I drank success to the Review, and then the young man +asked me various questions; for example--How I liked London?--Whether I +did not think it a very fine place?--Whether I was at the play the night +before?--and whether I was in the park that afternoon? He seemed +preparing to ask me some more questions; but, receiving a furious look +from his father, he became silent, filled himself a glass of wine, drank +it off, looked at the table for about a minute, then got up, pushed back +his chair, made me a bow, and left the room. + +"Is that young gentleman, sir," said I, "well versed in the principles of +criticism?" + +"He is not, sir," said the publisher; "and, if I place him at the head of +the Review ostensibly, I do it merely in the hope of procuring him a +maintenance; of the principle of a thing he knows nothing, except that +the principle of bread is wheat, and that the principle of that wine is +grape. Will you take another glass?" + +I looked at the decanter; but not feeling altogether so sure as the +publisher's son with respect to the principle of what it contained, I +declined taking any more. + +"No, sir," said the publisher, adjusting himself in his chair, "he knows +nothing about criticism, and will have nothing more to do with the +reviewals than carrying about the books to those who have to review them; +the real conductor of the Review will be a widely different person, to +whom I will, when convenient, introduce you. And now we will talk of the +matter which we touched upon before dinner: I told you then that I had +changed my mind with respect to you; I have been considering the state of +the market, sir, the book market, and I have come to the conclusion that, +though you might be profitably employed upon evangelical novels, you +could earn more money for me, sir, and consequently for yourself, by a +compilation of Newgate lives and trials." + +"Newgate lives and trials!" + +"Yes, sir," said the publisher, "Newgate lives and trials; and now, sir, +I will briefly state to you the services which I expect you to perform, +and the terms I am willing to grant. I expect you, sir, to compile six +volumes of Newgate lives and trials, each volume to contain by no manner +of means less than one thousand pages; the remuneration which you will +receive when the work is completed will be fifty pounds, which is +likewise intended to cover any expenses you may incur in procuring books, +papers, and manuscripts necessary for the compilation. Such will be one +of your employments, sir,--such the terms. In the second place, you will +be expected to make yourself useful in the Review--generally useful, +sir--doing whatever is required of you; for it is not customary, at least +with me, to permit writers, especially young writers, to choose their +subjects. In these two departments, sir, namely, compilation and +reviewing, I had yesterday, after due consideration, determined upon +employing you. I had intended to employ you no further, sir--at least +for the present; but, sir, this morning I received a letter from my +valued friend in the country, in which he speaks in terms of strong +admiration (I don't overstate) of your German acquirements. Sir, he says +that it would be a thousand pities if your knowledge of the German +language should be lost to the world, or even permitted to sleep, and he +entreats me to think of some plan by which it may be turned to account. +Sir, I am at all times willing, if possible, to oblige my worthy friend, +and likewise to encourage merit and talent; I have, therefore, determined +to employ you in German." + +"Sir," said I, rubbing my hands, "you are very kind, and so is our mutual +friend; I shall be happy to make myself useful in German; and if you +think a good translation from Goethe--his 'Sorrows' for example, or more +particularly his 'Faust'--" + +"Sir," said the publisher, "Goethe is a drug; his 'Sorrows,' are a drug, +so is his 'Faustus,' more especially the last, since that fool --- +rendered him into English. No, sir, I do not want you to translate +Goethe or anything belonging to him; nor do I want you to translate +anything from the German; what I want you to do, is to translate into +German. I am willing to encourage merit, sir, and, as my good friend in +his last letter has spoken very highly of your German acquirements, I +have determined that you shall translate my book of philosophy into +German." + +"Your book of philosophy into German, sir?" + +"Yes, sir; my book of philosophy into German. I am not a drug, sir, in +Germany, as Goethe is here, no more is my book. I intend to print the +translation at Leipzig, sir; and if it turns out a profitable +speculation, as I make no doubt it will, provided the translation be well +executed, I will make you some remuneration. Sir, your remuneration will +be determined by the success of your translation." + +"But, sir--" + +"Sir," said the publisher, interrupting me, "you have heard my +intentions. I consider that you ought to feel yourself highly gratified +by my intentions towards you; it is not frequently that I deal with a +writer, especially a young writer, as I have done with you. And now, +sir, permit me to inform you that I wish to be alone. This is Sunday +afternoon, sir; I never go to church, but I am in the habit of spending +part of every Sunday afternoon alone--profitably, I hope, sir--in musing +on the magnificence of nature, and the moral dignity of man." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +The Two Volumes--A Young Author--Intended Editor--Quintilian--Loose +Money. + +"What can't be cured must be endured," and "it is hard to kick against +the pricks." + +At the period to which I have brought my history, I bethought me of the +proverbs with which I have headed this chapter, and determined to act up +to their spirit. I determined not to fly in the face of the publisher, +and to bear--what I could not cure--his arrogance and vanity. At +present, at the conclusion of nearly a quarter of a century, I am glad +that I came to that determination, which I did my best to carry into +effect. + +Two or three days after our last interview, the publisher made his +appearance in my apartment; he bore two tattered volumes under his arm, +which he placed on the table. "I have brought you two volumes of lives, +sir," said he, "which I yesterday found in my garret; you will find them +of service for your compilation. As I always wish to behave liberally +and encourage talent, especially youthful talent, I shall make no charge +for them, though I should be justified in so doing, as you are aware +that, by our agreement, you are to provide any books and materials which +may be necessary. Have you been in quest of any?" + +"No," said I, "not yet." + +"Then, sir, I would advise you to lose no time in doing so; you must +visit all the bookstalls, sir, especially those in the by-streets and +blind alleys. It is in such places that you will find the description of +literature you are in want of. You must be up and doing, sir; it will +not do for an author, especially a young author, to be idle in this town. +To-night you will receive my book of philosophy, and likewise books for +the Review. And, by-the-bye, sir, it will be as well for you to review +my book of philosophy for the Review; the other reviews not having +noticed it. Sir, before translating it, I wish you to review my book of +philosophy for the Review." + +"I shall be happy to do my best, sir." + +"Very good, sir; I should be unreasonable to expect anything beyond a +person's best. And now, sir, if you please, I will conduct you to the +future editor of the Review. As you are to co-operate, sir, I deem it +right to make you acquainted." + +The intended editor was a little old man, who sat in a kind of wooden +pavilion in a small garden behind a house in one of the purlieus of the +city, composing tunes upon a piano. The walls of the pavilion were +covered with fiddles of various sizes and appearances, and a considerable +portion of the floor occupied by a pile of books all of one size. The +publisher introduced him to me as a gentleman scarcely less eminent in +literature than in music, and me to him as an aspirant critic--a young +gentleman scarcely less eminent in philosophy than in philology. The +conversation consisted entirely of compliments till just before we +separated, when the future editor inquired of me whether I had ever read +Quintilian; and, on my replying in the negative, expressed his surprise +that any gentleman should aspire to become a critic who had never read +Quintilian, with the comfortable information, however, that he could +supply me with a Quintilian at half-price, that is, a translation made by +himself some years previously, of which he had, pointing to the heap on +the floor, still a few copies remaining unsold. For some reason or +other, perhaps a poor one, I did not purchase the editor's translation of +Quintilian. + +"Sir," said the publisher, as we were returning from our visit to the +editor, "you did right in not purchasing a drug. I am not prepared, sir, +to say that Quintilian is a drug, never having seen him; but I am +prepared to say that man's translation is a drug, judging from the heap +of rubbish on the floor; besides, sir, you will want any loose money you +may have to purchase the description of literature which is required for +your compilation." + +The publisher presently paused before the entrance of a very +forlorn-looking street. "Sir," said he, after looking down it with +attention, "I should not wonder if in that street you find works +connected with the description of literature which is required for your +compilation. It is in streets of this description, sir, and blind +alleys, where such works are to be found. You had better search that +street, sir, whilst I continue my way." + +I searched the street to which the publisher had pointed, and, in the +course of the three succeeding days, many others of a similar kind. I +did not find the description of literature alluded to by the publisher to +be a drug, but, on the contrary, both scarce and dear. I had expended +much more than my loose money long before I could procure materials even +for the first volume of my compilation. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +Francis Ardry--Certain Sharpers--Brave and Eloquent--Opposites--Flinging +the Bones--Strange Places--Dog Fighting--Learning and Letters--Batch of +Dogs--Redoubled Application. + +One evening I was visited by the tall young gentleman, Francis Ardry, +whose acquaintance I had formed at the coffee-house. As it is necessary +that the reader should know something more about this young man, who will +frequently appear in the course of these pages, I will state in a few +words who and what he was. He was born of an ancient Roman Catholic +family in Ireland; his parents, whose only child he was, had long been +dead. His father, who had survived his mother several years, had been a +spendthrift, and at his death had left the family property considerably +embarrassed. Happily, however, the son and the estate fell into the +hands of careful guardians, near relations of the family, by whom the +property was managed to the best advantage, and every means taken to +educate the young man in a manner suitable to his expectations. At the +age of sixteen he was taken from a celebrated school in England at which +he had been placed, and sent to a small French University, in order that +he might form an intimate and accurate acquaintance with the grand +language of the continent. There he continued three years, at the end of +which he went, under the care of a French abbe, to Germany and Italy. It +was in this latter country that he first began to cause his guardians +serious uneasiness. He was in the hey-day of youth when he visited +Italy, and he entered wildly into the various delights of that +fascinating region, and, what was worse, falling into the hands of +certain sharpers, not Italian, but English, he was fleeced of +considerable sums of money. The abbe, who, it seems, was an excellent +individual of the old French school, remonstrated with his pupil on his +dissipation and extravagance; but, finding his remonstrances vain, very +properly informed the guardians of the manner of life of his charge. +They were not slow in commanding Francis Ardry home; and, as he was +entirely in their power, he was forced to comply. He had been about +three months in London when I met him in the coffee-room, and the two +elderly gentlemen in his company were his guardians. At this time they +were very solicitous that he should choose for himself a profession, +offering to his choice either the army or law--he was calculated to shine +in either of these professions--for, like many others of his countrymen, +he was brave and eloquent; but he did not wish to shackle himself with a +profession. As, however, his minority did not terminate till he was +three-and-twenty, of which age he wanted nearly two years, during which +he would be entirely dependent on his guardians, he deemed it expedient +to conceal, to a certain degree, his sentiments, temporising with the old +gentlemen, with whom, notwithstanding his many irregularities, he was a +great favourite, and at whose death he expected to come into a yet +greater property than that which he inherited from his parents. + +Such is a brief account of Francis Ardry--of my friend Francis Ardry; for +the acquaintance, commenced in the singular manner with which the reader +is acquainted, speedily ripened into a friendship which endured through +many long years of separation, and which still endures certainly on my +part, and on his--if he lives; but it is many years since I have heard +from Francis Ardry. + +And yet many people would have thought it impossible for our friendship +to have lasted a week--for in many respects no two people could be more +dissimilar. He was an Irishman--I, an Englishman;--he, fiery, +enthusiastic, and open-hearted;--I, neither fiery, enthusiastic, nor +open-hearted;--he, fond of pleasure and dissipation;--I, of study and +reflection. Yet it is of such dissimilar elements that the most lasting +friendships are formed: we do not like counterparts of ourselves. "Two +great talkers will not travel far together," is a Spanish saying; I will +add, "Nor two silent people;" we naturally love our opposites. + +So Francis Ardry came to see me, and right glad I was to see him, for I +had just flung my books and papers aside, and was wishing for a little +social converse; and when we had conversed for some little time together, +Francis Ardry proposed that we should go to the play to see Kean; so we +went to the play, and saw--not Kean, who at that time was ashamed to show +himself, but--a man who was not ashamed to show himself, and who people +said was a much better man than Kean--as I have no doubt he was--though +whether he was a better actor I cannot say, for I never saw Kean. + +Two or three evenings after, Francis Ardry came to see me again, and +again we went out together, and Francis Ardry took me to--shall I +say?--why not?--a gaming house, where I saw people playing, and where I +saw Francis Ardry play and lose five guineas, and where I lost nothing, +because I did not play, though I felt somewhat inclined; for a man with a +white hat and a sparkling eye held up a box which contained something +which rattled, and asked me to fling the bones. "There is nothing like +flinging the bones!" said he, and then I thought I should like to know +what kind of thing flinging the bones was; I however, restrained myself. +"There is nothing like flinging the bones!" shouted the man, as my friend +and myself left the room. + +Long life and prosperity to Francis Ardry! but for him I should not have +obtained knowledge which I did of the strange and eccentric places of +London. Some of the places to which he took me were very strange places +indeed; but, however strange the places were, I observed that the +inhabitants thought there were no places like their several places, and +no occupations like their several occupations; and, among other strange +places to which Francis Ardry conducted me, was a place not far from the +abbey church of Westminster. + +Before we entered this place our ears were greeted by a confused hubbub +of human voices, squealing of rats, barking of dogs, and the cries of +various other animals. Here we beheld a kind of cock-pit, around which a +great many people, seeming of all ranks, but chiefly of the lower, were +gathered, and in it we saw a dog destroy a great many rats in a very +small period; and when the dog had destroyed the rats, we saw a fight +between a dog and a bear, then a fight between two dogs, then-- + +After the diversions of the day were over, my friend introduced me to the +genius of the place, a small man of about five feet high, with a very +sharp countenance, and dressed in a brown jockey coat, and top boots. +"Joey," said he, "this is a friend of mine." Joey nodded to me with a +patronizing air. "Glad to see you, sir!--want a dog?" + +"No," said I. + +"You have got one, then--want to match him?" + +"We have a dog at home," said I, "in the country; but I can't say I +should like to match him. Indeed, I do not like dog-fighting." + +"Not like dog-fighting!" said the man, staring. + +"The truth is, Joe, that he is just come to town." + +"So I should think; he looks rather green--not like dog-fighting!" + +"Nothing like it, is there, Joey?" + +"I should think not; what is like it? A time will come, and that +speedily, when folks will give up everything else, and follow +dog-fighting." + +"Do you think so?" said I. + +"Think so? Let me ask what there is that a man wouldn't give up for it?" + +"Why," said I, modestly, "there's religion." + +"Religion! How you talk. Why, there's myself, bred and born an +Independent, and intended to be a preacher, didn't I give up religion for +dog-fighting? Religion, indeed! If it were not for the rascally law, my +pit would fill better on Sundays than any other time. Who would go to +church when they could come to my pit? Religion! why, the parsons +themselves come to my pit; and I have now a letter in my pocket from one +of them, asking me to send him a dog." + +"Well, then, politics," said I. + +"Politics! Why, the gemmen in the House would leave Pitt himself, if he +were alive, to come to my pit. There were three of the best of them here +to-night, all great horators.--Get on with you, what comes next?" + +"Why, there's learning and letters." + +"Pretty things, truly, to keep people from dog-fighting. Why, there's +the young gentlemen from the Abbey School comes here in shoals, leaving +books, and letters, and masters too. To tell you the truth, I rather +wish they would mind their letters, for a more precious set of young +blackguards I never seed. It was only the other day I was thinking of +calling in a constable for my own protection, for I thought my pit would +have been torn down by them." + +Scarcely knowing what to say, I made an observation at random. "You show +by your own conduct," said I, "that there are other things worth +following besides dog-fighting. You practise rat-catching and +badger-baiting as well." + +The dog-fancier eyed me with supreme contempt. + +"Your friend here," said he, "might well call you a new one. When I +talks of dog-fighting, I of course means rat-catching and badger-baiting, +ay, and bull-baiting too, just as when I speaks religiously, when I says +one I means not one but three. And talking of religion puts me in mind +that I have something else to do besides chaffing here, having a batch of +dogs to send off by this night's packet to the Pope of Rome." + +But at last I had seen enough of what London had to show, whether strange +or commonplace, so at least I thought, and I ceased to accompany my +friend in his rambles about town, and to partake of his adventures. Our +friendship, however, still continued unabated, though I saw, in +consequence, less of him. I reflected that time was passing on--that the +little money I had brought to town was fast consuming, and that I had +nothing to depend upon but my own exertions for a fresh supply; and I +returned with redoubled application to my pursuits. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +Occupations--Traduttore Traditore--Ode to the Mist--Apple and +Pear--Reviewing--Current Literature--Oxford-like Manner--A Plain +Story--Ill-regulated Mind--Unsnuffed Candle--Strange Dreams. + +I compiled the Chronicles of Newgate; I reviewed books for the Review +established on an entirely new principle; and I occasionally tried my +best to translate into German portions of the publisher's philosophy. In +this last task I experienced more than one difficulty. I was a tolerable +German scholar, it is true, and I had long been able to translate German +into English with considerable facility; but to translate from a foreign +language into your own, is a widely different thing from translating from +your own into a foreign language; and, in my first attempt to render the +publisher into German, I was conscious of making miserable failures, from +pure ignorance of German grammar; however, by the assistance of grammars +and dictionaries, and by extreme perseverance, I at length overcame all +the difficulties connected with the German language. But, alas! another +difficulty remained, far greater than any connected with German--a +difficulty connected with the language of the publisher--the language +which the great man employed in his writings was very hard to understand; +I say in his writings--for his colloquial English was plain enough. +Though not professing to be a scholar, he was much addicted, when +writing, to the use of Greek and Latin terms, not as other people used +them, but in a manner of his own, which set the authority of dictionaries +at defiance; the consequence was, that I was sometimes utterly at a loss +to understand the meaning of the publisher. Many a quarter of an hour +did I pass at this period, staring at periods of the publisher, and +wondering what he could mean, but in vain, till at last, with a shake of +the head, I would snatch up the pen, and render the publisher literally +into German. Sometimes I was almost tempted to substitute something of +my own for what the publisher had written, but my conscience interposed; +the awful words, Traduttore traditore, commenced ringing in my ears, and +I asked myself whether I should be acting honourably towards the +publisher, who had committed to me the delicate task of translating him +into German; should I be acting honourably towards him, in making him +speak in German in a manner different from that in which he expressed +himself in English? No, I could not reconcile such conduct with any +principle of honour; by substituting something of my own in lieu of these +mysterious passages of the publisher, I might be giving a fatal blow to +his whole system of philosophy. Besides, when translating into English, +had I treated foreign authors in this manner? Had I treated the +minstrels of the Kaempe Viser in this manner?--No. Had I treated Ab +Gwilym in this manner? Even when translating his Ode to the Mist, in +which he is misty enough, had I attempted to make Ab Gwilym less misty? +No; on referring to my translation, I found that Ab Gwilym in my hands +was quite as misty as in his own. Then, seeing that I had not ventured +to take liberties with people who had never put themselves into my hands +for the purpose of being rendered, how could I venture to substitute my +own thoughts and ideas for the publisher's, who had put himself into my +hands for that purpose? Forbid it every proper feeling!--so I told the +Germans in the publisher's own way, the publisher's tale of an apple and +a pear. + +I at first felt much inclined to be of the publisher's opinion with +respect to the theory of the pear. After all, why should the earth be +shaped like an apple, and not like a pear?--it would certainly gain in +appearance by being shaped like a pear. A pear being a handsomer fruit +than an apple, the publisher is probably right, thought I, and I will say +that he is right on this point in the notice which I am about to write of +his publication for the Review. And yet I don't know--said I, after a +long fit of musing--I don't know but what there is more to be said for +the Oxford theory. The world may be shaped like a pear, but I don't know +that it is; but one thing I know, which is, that it does not taste like a +pear; I have always liked pears, but I don't like the world. The world +to me tastes much more like an apple, and I have never liked apples. I +will uphold the Oxford theory--besides, I am writing in an Oxford Review, +and am in duty bound to uphold the Oxford theory. So in my notice I +asserted that the world was round; I quoted Scripture, and endeavoured to +prove that the world was typified by the apple in Scripture, both as to +shape and properties. "An apple is round," said I, "and the world is +round--the apple is a sour, disagreeable fruit; and who has tasted much +of the world without having his teeth set on edge?" I, however, treated +the publisher, upon the whole, in the most urbane and Oxford-like manner; +complimenting him upon his style, acknowledging the general soundness of +his views, and only differing with him in the affair of the apple and +pear. + +I did not like reviewing at all--it was not to my taste; it was not in my +way; I liked it far less than translating the publisher's philosophy for +that was something in the line of one whom a competent judge had surnamed +Lavengro. I never could understand why reviews were instituted; works of +merit do not require to be reviewed, they can speak for themselves, and +require no praising; works of no merit at all will die of themselves, +they require no killing. The review to which I was attached was, as has +been already intimated, established on an entirely new plan; it professed +to review all new publications, which certainly no review had ever +professed to do before, other reviews never pretending to review more +than one-tenth of the current literature of the day. When I say it +professed to review all new publications, I should add, which should be +sent to it; for, of course, the review would not acknowledge the +existence of publications, the authors of which did not acknowledge the +existence of the review. I don't think, however, that the review had +much cause to complain of being neglected; I have reason to believe that +at least nine-tenths of the publications of the day were sent to the +review, and in due time reviewed. I had good opportunity of judging--I +was connected with several departments of the review, though more +particularly with the poetical and philosophic ones. An English +translation of Kant's philosophy made its appearance on my table the day +before its publication. In my notice of this work, I said that the +English shortly hoped to give the Germans a _quid pro quo_. I believe at +that time authors were much in the habit of publishing at their own +expense. All the poetry which I reviewed appeared to be published at the +expense of the authors. If I am asked how I comported myself, under all +circumstances, as a reviewer--I answer--I did not forget that I was +connected with a review established on Oxford principles, the editor of +which had translated Quintilian. All the publications which fell under +my notice I treated in a gentlemanly and Oxford-like manner, no +personalities--no vituperation--no shabby insinuations; decorum, decorum +was the order of the day. Occasionally a word of admonition, but gently +expressed, as an Oxford undergraduate might have expressed it, or master +of arts. How the authors whose publications were consigned to my +colleagues were treated by them I know not; I suppose they were treated +in an urbane and Oxford-like manner, but I cannot say; I did not read the +reviewals of my colleagues, I did not read my own after they were +printed. I did not like reviewing. + +Of all my occupations at this period I am free to confess I liked that of +compiling the "Newgate Lives and Trials" the best; that is, after I had +surmounted a kind of prejudice which I originally entertained. The +trials were entertaining enough; but the lives--how full were they of +wild and racy adventures, and in what racy, genuine language were they +told. What struck me most with respect to these lives was the art which +the writers, whoever they were, possessed of telling a plain story. It +is no easy thing to tell a story plainly and distinctly by mouth; but to +tell one on paper is difficult indeed, so many snares lie in the way. +People are afraid to put down what is common on paper, they seek to +embellish their narratives, as they think, by philosophic speculations +and reflections; they are anxious to shine, and people who are anxious to +shine, can never tell a plain story. "So I went with them to a music +booth, where they made me almost drunk with gin, and began to talk their +flash language, which I did not understand," says, or is made to say, +Henry Simms, executed at Tyburn some seventy years before the time of +which I am speaking. I have always looked upon this sentence as a +masterpiece of the narrative style, it is so concise and yet so very +clear. As I gazed on passages like this, and there were many nearly as +good in the Newgate lives, I often sighed that it was not my fortune to +have to render these lives into German rather than the publisher's +philosophy--his tale of an apple and pear. + +Mine was an ill-regulated mind at this period. As I read over the lives +of these robbers and pickpockets, strange doubts began to arise in my +mind about virtue and crime. Years before, when quite a boy, as in one +of the early chapters I have hinted, I had been a necessitarian; I had +even written an essay on crime (I have it now before me, penned in a +round boyish hand), in which I attempted to prove that there is no such +thing as crime or virtue, all our actions being the result of +circumstances or necessity. These doubts were now again reviving in my +mind; I could not, for the life of me, imagine how, taking all +circumstances into consideration, these highwaymen, these pickpockets, +should have been anything else than highwaymen and pickpockets; any more +than how, taking all circumstances into consideration, Bishop Latimer +(the reader is aware that I had read "Fox's Book of Martyrs") should have +been anything else than Bishop Latimer. I had a very ill-regulated mind +at that period. + +My own peculiar ideas with respect to everything being a lying dream +began also to revive. Sometimes at midnight, after having toiled for +hours at my occupations, I would fling myself back on my chair, look +about the poor apartment, dimly lighted by an unsnuffed candle, or upon +the heaps of books and papers before me, and exclaim,--"Do I exist? Do +these things, which I think I see about me, exist, or do they not? Is +not every thing a dream--a deceitful dream? Is not this apartment a +dream--the furniture a dream? The publisher a dream--his philosophy a +dream? Am I not myself a dream--dreaming about translating a dream? I +can't see why all should not be a dream; what's the use of the reality?" +And then I would pinch myself, and snuff the burdened smoky light. "I +can't see, for the life of me, the use of all this; therefore why should +I think that it exists? If there was a chance, a probability of all this +tending to anything, I might believe; but--" and then I would stare and +think, and after some time shake my head and return again to my +occupations for an hour or two; and then I would perhaps shake, and +shiver, and yawn, and look wistfully in the direction of my sleeping +apartment; and then, but not wistfully, at the papers and books before +me; and sometimes I would return to my papers and books; but oftener I +would arise, and, after another yawn and shiver, take my light, and +proceed to my sleeping chamber. + +They say that light fare begets light dreams; my fare at that time was +light enough; but I had anything but light dreams, for at that period I +had all kind of strange and extravagant dreams, and amongst other things +I dreamt that the whole world had taken to dog-fighting; and that I, +myself, had taken to dog-fighting, and that in a vast circus I backed an +English bulldog against the bloodhound of the Pope of Rome. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +My Brother--Fits of Crying--Mayor Elect--The Committee--The Norman +Arch--A Word of Greek--Church and State--At My Own Expense--If You +Please. + +One morning I arose somewhat later than usual, having been occupied +during the greater part of the night with my literary toil. On +descending from my chamber into the sitting room I found a person seated +by the fire, whose glance was directed sideways to the table, on which +were the usual preparations for my morning's meal. Forthwith I gave a +cry, and sprang forward to embrace the person; for the person by the +fire, whose glance was directed to the table, was no one else than my +brother. + +"And how are things going on at home?" said I to my brother, after we had +kissed and embraced. "How is my mother, and how is the dog?" + +"My mother, thank God, is tolerably well," said my brother, "but very +much given to fits of crying. As for the dog, he is not so well; but we +will talk more of these matters anon," said my brother, again glancing at +the breakfast things: "I am very hungry, as you may suppose, after having +travelled all night." + +Thereupon I exerted myself to the best of my ability to perform the +duties of hospitality, and I made my brother welcome--I may say more than +welcome; and, when the rage of my brother's hunger was somewhat abated we +recommenced talking about the matters of our little family, and my +brother told me much about my mother; he spoke of her fits of crying, but +said that of late the said fits of crying had much diminished, and she +appeared to be taking comfort; and, if I am not much mistaken, my brother +told me that my mother had of late the prayer book frequently in her +hand, and yet oftener the Bible. + +We were silent for a time--at last I opened my mouth and mentioned the +dog. + +"The dog," said my brother, "is, I am afraid, in a very poor way; ever +since the death he has done nothing but pine and take on. A few months +ago, you remember, he was as plump and fine as any dog in the town; but +at present he is little more than skin and bone. Once we lost him for +two days, and never expected to see him again, imagining that some +mischance had befallen him; at length I found him--where do you think? +Chancing to pass by the churchyard, I found him seated on the grave!" + +"Very strange," said I; "but let us talk of something else. It was very +kind of you to come and see me." + +"Oh, as for that matter, I did not come up to see you, though of course I +am very glad to see you, having been rather anxious about you, like my +mother, who has received only one letter from you since your departure. +No, I did not come up on purpose to see you; but on quite a different +account. You must know that the corporation of our town have lately +elected a new mayor, a person of many qualifications--big and portly, +with a voice like Boanerges; a religious man, the possessor of an immense +pew; loyal, so much so that I once heard him say that he would at any +time go three miles to hear any one sing 'God save the King;' moreover, a +giver of excellent dinners. Such is our present mayor; who, owing to his +loyalty, his religion, and a little, perhaps, to his dinners, is a mighty +favourite; so much so that the town is anxious to have his portrait +painted in a superior style, so that remote posterity may know what kind +of man he was, the colour of his hair, his air and gait. So a committee +was formed some time ago, which is still sitting; that is, they dine with +the mayor every day to talk over the subject. A few days since, to my +great surprise, they made their appearance in my poor studio, and desired +to be favoured with a sight of some of my paintings; well, I showed them +some, and, after looking at them with great attention, they went aside +and whispered. 'He'll do,' I heard one say; 'Yes, he'll do,' said +another; and then they came to me, and one of them, a little man with a +hump on his back, who is a watchmaker, assumed the office of spokesman, +and made a long speech--(the old town has been always celebrated for +orators)--in which he told me how much they had been pleased with my +productions--(the old town has been always celebrated for its artistic +taste) and, what do you think? offered me the painting of the mayor's +portrait, and a hundred pounds for my trouble. Well, of course I was +much surprised, and for a minute or two could scarcely speak; recovering +myself, however, I made a speech, not so eloquent as that of the +watchmaker, of course, being not so accustomed to speaking; but not so +bad either, taking everything into consideration, telling them how +flattered I felt by the honour which they had conferred in proposing to +me such an undertaking; expressing, however, my fears that I was not +competent to the task, and concluding by saying what a pity it was that +Crome was dead. 'Crome,' said the little man, 'Crome; yes, he was a +clever man, a very clever man in his way; he was good at painting +landscapes and farm-houses, but he would not do in the present instance, +were he alive. He had no conception of the heroic, sir. We want some +person capable of representing our mayor striding under the Norman arch +out of the cathedral.' At the mention of the heroic, an idea came at +once into my head. 'Oh,' said I, 'if you are in quest of the heroic, I +am glad that you came to me; don't mistake me,' I continued, 'I do not +mean to say that I could do justice to your subject, though I am fond of +the heroic; but I can introduce you to a great master of the heroic, +fully competent to do justice to your mayor. Not to me, therefore, be +the painting of the picture given, but to a friend of mine, the great +master of the heroic, to the best, the strongest, [Greek text],' I added, +for, being amongst orators, I thought a word of Greek would tell." + +"Well," said I, "and what did the orators say?" + +"They gazed dubiously at me and at one another," said my brother; "at +last the watchmaker asked me who this Mr. Christo was; adding, that he +had never heard of such a person; that, from my recommendation of him, he +had no doubt that he was a very clever man; but that they should like to +know something more about him before giving the commission to him. That +he had heard of Christie the great auctioneer, who was considered to be +an excellent judge of pictures; but he supposed that I +scarcely--Whereupon, interrupting the watchmaker, I told him that I +alluded neither to Christo nor to Christie; but to the painter of Lazarus +rising from the grave, a painter under whom I had myself studied during +some months that I had spent in London, and to whom I was indebted for +much connected with the heroic." + +"I have heard of him," said the watchmaker, "and his paintings too; but I +am afraid that he is not exactly the gentleman by whom our mayor would +wish to be painted. I have heard say that he is not a very good friend +to Church and State. Come, young man," he added, "it appears to me that +you are too modest; I like your style of painting, so do we all, and--why +should I mince the matter?--the money is to be collected in the town, why +should it go into a stranger's pocket, and be spent in London?" + +"Thereupon I made them a speech, in which I said that art had nothing to +do with Church and State, at least with English Church and State, which +had never encouraged it; and that, though Church and State were doubtless +very fine things, a man might be a very good artist who cared not a straw +for either. I then made use of more Greek words, and told them how +painting was one of the Nine Muses, and one of the most independent +creatures alive, inspiring whom she pleased, and asking leave of nobody; +that I should be quite unworthy of the favours of the Muse if, on the +present occasion, I did not recommend them a man whom I considered to be +a much greater master of the heroic than myself; and that, with regard to +the money being spent in the city, I had no doubt that they would not +weigh for a moment such a consideration against the chance of getting a +true heroic picture for the city. I never talked so well in my life, and +said so many flattering things to the hunchback and his friends, that at +last they said that I should have my own way; and that if I pleased to go +up to London, and bring down the painter of Lazarus to paint the mayor, I +might; so they then bade me farewell, and I have come up to London." + +"To put a hundred pounds into the hands of--" + +"A better man than myself," said my brother, "of course." + +"And have you come up at your own expense?" + +"Yes," said my brother, "I have come up at my own expense." + +I made no answer, but looked in my brother's face. We then returned to +the former subjects of conversation, talking of the dead, my mother, and +the dog. + +After some time my brother said, "I will now go to the painter, and +communicate to him the business which has brought me to town; and, if you +please, I will take you with me and introduce you to him." Having +expressed my willingness, we descended into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +Painter of the Heroic--I'll Go!--A Modest Peep--Who is this?--A Capital +Pharaoh--Disproportionably Short--Imaginary Picture--English Figures. + +The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the western end of +the town. We had some difficulty in obtaining admission to him; a +maid-servant, who opened the door, eyeing us somewhat suspiciously: it +was not until my brother had said that he was a friend of the painter +that we were permitted to pass the threshold. At length we were shown +into the studio, where we found the painter, with an easel and brush, +standing before a huge piece of canvas, on which he had lately commenced +painting a heroic picture. The painter might be about thirty-five years +old; he had a clever, intelligent countenance, with a sharp grey eye--his +hair was dark brown, and cut a-la-Rafael, as I was subsequently told, +that is, there was little before and much behind--he did not wear a +neckcloth; but, in its stead, a black riband, so that his neck, which was +rather fine, was somewhat exposed--he had a broad muscular breast, and I +make no doubt that he would have been a very fine figure, but +unfortunately his legs and thighs were somewhat short. He recognised my +brother, and appeared glad to see him. + +"What brings you to London?" said he. + +Whereupon my brother gave him a brief account of his commission. At the +mention of the hundred pounds, I observed the eyes of the painter +glisten. "Really," said he, when my brother had concluded, "it was very +kind to think of me. I am not very fond of painting portraits; but a +mayor is a mayor, and there is something grand in that idea of the Norman +arch. I'll go; moreover, I am just at this moment confoundedly in need +of money, and when you knocked at the door, I don't mind telling you, I +thought it was some dun. I don't know how it is, but in the capital they +have no taste for the heroic, they will scarce look at a heroic picture; +I am glad to hear that they have better taste in the provinces. I'll go; +when shall we set off?" + +Thereupon it was arranged between the painter and my brother that they +should depart the next day but one; they then began to talk of art. +"I'll stick to the heroic," said the painter; "I now and then dabble in +the comic, but what I do gives me no pleasure, the comic is so low; there +is nothing like the heroic. I am engaged here on a heroic picture," said +he, pointing to the canvas; "the subject is 'Pharaoh dismissing Moses +from Egypt,' after the last plague--the death of the first-born,--it is +not far advanced--that finished figure is Moses:" they both looked at the +canvas, and I, standing behind, took a modest peep. The picture, as the +painter said, was not far advanced, the Pharaoh was merely in outline; my +eye was, of course, attracted by the finished figure, or rather what the +painter had called the finished figure; but, as I gazed upon it, it +appeared to me that there was some thing defective--something +unsatisfactory in the figure. I concluded, however, that the painter, +notwithstanding what he had said, had omitted to give it the finishing +touch. "I intend this to be my best picture," said the painter; "what I +want now is a face for Pharaoh; I have long been meditating on a face for +Pharaoh." Here, chancing to cast his eye upon my countenance, of whom he +had scarcely taken any manner of notice, he remained with his mouth open +for some time. "Who is this?" said he at last. "Oh, this is my brother, +I forgot to introduce him--" + +We presently afterwards departed; my brother talked much about the +painter. "He is a noble fellow," said my brother; "but, like many other +noble fellows, has a great many enemies; he is hated by his brethren of +the brush--all the land and waterscape painters hate him--but, above all, +the race of portrait painters, who are ten times more numerous than the +other two sorts, detest him for his heroic tendencies. It will be a kind +of triumph to the last, I fear, when they hear he has condescended to +paint a portrait; however, that Norman arch will enable him to escape +from their malice--that is a capital idea of the watchmaker, that Norman +arch." + +I spent a happy day with my brother. On the morrow he went again to the +painter, with whom he dined; I did not go with him. On his return he +said, "The painter has been asking a great many questions about you, and +expressed a wish that you would sit to him as Pharaoh; he thinks you +would make a capital Pharaoh." "I have no wish to appear on canvas," +said I; "moreover, he can find much better Pharaohs than myself; and, if +he wants a real Pharaoh, there is a certain Mr. Petulengro." +"Petulengro?" said my brother; "a strange kind of fellow came up to me +some time ago in our town, and asked me about you; when I inquired his +name, he told me Petulengro. No, he will not do, he is too short; +by-the-bye, do you not think that figure of Moses is somewhat short?" +And then it appeared to me that I had thought the figure of Moses +somewhat short, and I told my brother so. "Ah!" said my brother. + +On the morrow my brother departed with the painter for the old town, and +there the painter painted the mayor. I did not see the picture for a +great many years, when, chancing to be at the old town, I beheld it. + +The original mayor was a mighty, portly man, with a bull's head, black +hair, body like that of a dray horse, and legs and thighs corresponding; +a man six foot high at the least. To his bull's head, black hair, and +body the painter had done justice; there was one point, however, in which +the portrait did not correspond with the original--the legs were +disproportionably short, the painter having substituted his own legs for +those of the mayor, which when I perceived I rejoiced that I had not +consented to be painted as Pharaoh, for, if I had, the chances are that +he would have served me in exactly a similar way as he had served Moses +and the mayor. + +Short legs in a heroic picture will never do; and, upon the whole, I +think the painter's attempt at the heroic in painting the mayor of the +old town a decided failure. If I am now asked whether the picture would +have been a heroic one provided the painter had not substituted his own +legs for those of the mayor--I must say, I am afraid not. I have no idea +of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, even with the assistance +of Norman arches; yet I am sure that capital pictures might be made out +of English mayors, not issuing from Norman arches, but rather from the +door of the "Checquers" or the "Brewers Three." The painter in question +had great comic power, which he scarcely ever cultivated; he would fain +be a Rafael, which he never could be, when he might have been something +quite as good--another Hogarth; the only comic piece which he ever +presented to the world being something little inferior to the best of +that illustrious master. I have often thought what a capital picture +might have been made by my brother's friend, if, instead of making the +mayor issue out of the Norman arch, he had painted him moving under the +sign of the "Checquers," or the "Three Brewers," with mace--yes, with +mace,--the mace appears in the picture issuing out of the Norman arch +behind the mayor,--but likewise with Snap, and with whiffler, quart pot, +and frying pan, Billy Blind, and Owlenglass, Mr. Petulengro and +Pakomovna;--then, had he clapped his own legs upon the mayor, or any one +else in the concourse, what matter? But I repeat that I have no hope of +making heroic pictures out of English mayors, or, indeed, out of English +figures in general. England may be a land of heroic hearts, but it is +not, properly, a land of heroic figures, or heroic +posture-making.--Italy--what was I going to say about Italy? + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +No Authority Whatever--Interference--Wondrous Farrago--Brandt and +Struensee--What a Life!--The Hearse--Mortal Relics--Great Poet--Fashion +and Fame--What a Difference!--Oh, Beautiful!--Good for Nothing. + +And now once more to my pursuits, to my Lives and Trials. However +partial at first I might be to these lives and trials, it was not long +before they became regular trials to me, owing to the whims and caprices +of the publisher. I had not been long connected with him before I +discovered that he was wonderfully fond of interfering with other +people's business--at least with the business of those who were under his +control. What a life did his unfortunate authors lead! He had many in +his employ toiling at all kinds of subjects--I call them authors because +there is something respectable in the term author, though they had little +authorship in, and no authority whatever over, the works on which they +were engaged. It is true the publisher interfered with some colour of +reason, the plan of all and every of the works alluded to having +originated with himself; and, be it observed, many of his plans were +highly clever and promising, for, as I have already had occasion to say, +the publisher in many points was a highly clever and sagacious person; +but he ought to have been contented with planning the works originally, +and have left to other people the task of executing them, instead of +which he marred everything by his rage for interference. If a book of +fairy tales was being compiled, he was sure to introduce some of his +philosophy, explaining the fairy tale by some theory of his own. Was a +book of anecdotes on hand, it was sure to be half filled with sayings and +doings of himself during the time that he was common councilman of the +City of London. Now, however fond the public might be of fairy tales, it +by no means relished them in conjunction with the publisher's philosophy; +and however fond of anecdotes in general, or even of the publisher in +particular--for indeed there were a great many anecdotes in circulation +about him which the public both read and listened to very readily--it +took no pleasure in such anecdotes as he was disposed to relate about +himself. In the compilation of my Lives and Trials, I was exposed to +incredible mortification, and ceaseless trouble, from this same rage for +interference. It is true he could not introduce his philosophy into the +work, nor was it possible for him to introduce anecdotes of himself, +having never had the good or evil fortune to be tried at the bar; but he +was continually introducing--what, under a less apathetic government than +the one then being, would have infallibly subjected him, and perhaps +myself, to a trial,--his politics; not his Oxford or pseudo politics, but +the politics which he really entertained, and which were of the most +republican and violent kind. But this was not all; when about a moiety +of the first volume had been printed, he materially altered the plan of +the work; it was no longer to be a collection of mere Newgate lives and +trials, but of lives and trials of criminals in general, foreign as well +as domestic. In a little time the work became a wondrous farrago, in +which Konigsmark the robber figured by the side of Sam Lynn, and the +Marchioness de Brinvilliers was placed in contact with a Chinese outlaw. +What gave me the most trouble and annoyance was the publisher's +remembering some life or trial, foreign or domestic, which he wished to +be inserted, and which I was forthwith to go in quest of and purchase at +my own expense: some of those lives and trials were by no means easy to +find. "Where is Brandt and Struensee?" cries the publisher; "I am sure I +don't know," I replied; whereupon the publisher falls to squealing like +one of Joey's rats. "Find me up Brandt and Struensee by next morning, +or--" "Have you found Brandt and Struensee?" cried the publisher, on my +appearing before him next morning. "No," I reply, "I can hear nothing +about them;" whereupon the publisher falls to bellowing like Joey's bull. +By dint of incredible diligence, I at length discover the dingy volume +containing the lives and trials of the celebrated two who had brooded +treason dangerous to the state of Denmark. I purchase the dingy volume, +and bring it in triumph to the publisher, the perspiration running down +my brow. The publisher takes the dingy volume in his hand, he examines +it attentively, then puts it down; his countenance is calm for a moment, +almost benign. Another moment and there is a gleam in the publisher's +sinister eye; he snatches up the paper containing the names of the +worthies which I have intended shall figure in the forthcoming +volumes--he glances rapidly over it, and his countenance once more +assumes a terrific expression. "How is this?" he exclaims; "I can +scarcely believe my eyes--the most important life and trial omitted to be +found in the whole criminal record--what gross, what utter negligence! +Where's the life of Farmer Patch? where's the trial of Yeoman Patch?" + +"What a life! what a dog's life!" I would frequently exclaim, after +escaping from the presence of the publisher. + +One day, after a scene with the publisher similar to that which I have +described above, I found myself about noon at the bottom of Oxford +Street, where it forms a right angle with the road which leads or did +lead to Tottenham Court. Happening to cast my eyes around, it suddenly +occurred to me that something uncommon was expected; people were standing +in groups on the pavement--the upstair windows of the houses were +thronged with faces, especially those of women, and many of the shops +were partly, and not a few entirely closed. What could be the reason of +all this? All at once I bethought me that this street of Oxford was no +other than the far-famed Tyburn way. Oh, oh, thought I, an execution; +some handsome young robber is about to be executed at the farther end; +just so, see how earnestly the women are peering; perhaps another Harry +Symms--Gentleman Harry as they called him--is about to be carted along +this street to Tyburn tree; but then I remembered that Tyburn tree had +long since been cut down, and that criminals, whether young or old, +good-looking or ugly, were executed before the big stone gaol, which I +had looked at with a kind of shudder during my short rambles in the city. +What could be the matter? Just then I heard various voices cry "There it +comes!" and all heads were turned up Oxford Street, down which a hearse +was slowly coming: nearer and nearer it drew; presently it was just +opposite the place where I was standing, when, turning to the left, it +proceeded slowly along Tottenham Road; immediately behind the hearse were +three or four mourning coaches, full of people, some of which, from the +partial glimpse which I caught of them, appeared to be foreigners; behind +these came a very long train of splendid carriages, all of which, without +one exception, were empty. + +"Whose body is in that hearse?" said I to a dapper-looking individual, +seemingly a shopkeeper, who stood beside me on the pavement, looking at +the procession. + +"The mortal relics of Lord Byron," said the dapper-looking individual +mouthing his words and smirking--"the illustrious poet, which have been +just brought from Greece, and are being conveyed to the family vault in +---shire." + +"An illustrious poet, was he?" said I. + +"Beyond all criticism," said the dapper man; "all we of the rising +generation are under incalculable obligation to Byron; I myself, in +particular, have reason to say so; in all my correspondence my style is +formed on the Byronic model." + +I looked at the individual for a moment, who smiled and smirked to +himself applause, and then I turned my eyes upon the hearse proceeding +slowly up the almost endless street. This man, this Byron, had for many +years past been the demigod of England, and his verses the daily food of +those who read, from the peer to the draper's assistant; all were +admirers, or rather worshippers, of Byron, and all doated on his verses; +and then I thought of those who, with genius as high as his, or higher, +had lived and died neglected. I thought of Milton abandoned to poverty +and blindness; of witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender +mercies of bailiffs; and starving Otway: they had lived, neglected and +despised, and, when they died, a few poor mourners only had followed them +to the grave; but this Byron had been made a half god of when living, and +now that he was dead he was followed by worshipping crowds, and the very +sun seemed to come out on purpose to grace his funeral. And, indeed, the +sun, which for many days past had hidden its face in clouds, shone out +that morning with wonderful brilliancy, flaming upon the black hearse and +its tall ostrich plumes, the mourning coaches, and the long train of +aristocratic carriages which followed behind. + +"Great poet, sir," said the dapper-looking man, "great poet, but +unhappy." + +Unhappy? yes, I had heard that he had been unhappy; that he had roamed +about a fevered, distempered man, taking pleasure in nothing--that I had +heard; but was it true? was he really unhappy? was not this unhappiness +assumed, with the view of increasing the interest which the world took in +him? and yet who could say? He might be unhappy, and with reason. Was +he a real poet, after all? might he not doubt himself? might he not have +a lurking consciousness that he was undeserving of the homage which he +was receiving? that it could not last? that he was rather at the top of +fashion than of fame? He was a lordling, a glittering, gorgeous +lordling: and he might have had a consciousness that he owed much of his +celebrity to being so; he might have felt that he was rather at the top +of fashion than of fame. Fashion soon changes, thought I, eagerly to +myself--a time will come, and that speedily, when he will be no longer in +the fashion; when this idiotic admirer of his, who is still grinning at +my side, shall have ceased to mould his style on Byron's; and this +aristocracy, squirearchy, and what not, who now send their empty +carriages to pay respect to the fashionable corpse, shall have +transferred their empty worship to some other animate or inanimate thing. +Well, perhaps after all it was better to have been mighty Milton in his +poverty and blindness--witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender +mercies of bailiffs, and starving Otway; they might enjoy more real +pleasure than this lordling; they must have been aware that the world +would one day do them justice--fame after death is better than the top of +fashion in life. They have left a fame behind them which shall never +die, whilst this lordling--a time will come when he will be out of +fashion and forgotten. And yet I don't know; didn't he write Childe +Harold and that ode? Yes, he wrote Childe Harold and that ode. Then a +time will scarcely come when he will be forgotten. Lords, squires, and +cockneys may pass away, but a time will scarcely come when Childe Harold +and that ode will be forgotten. He was a poet, after all, and he must +have known it; a real poet, equal to--to--what a destiny! Rank, beauty, +fashion, immortality,--he could not be unhappy; what a difference in the +fate of men--I wish I could think he was unhappy-- + +I turned away. + +"Great poet, sir," said the dapper man, turning away too, "but +unhappy--fate of genius, sir; I, too, am frequently unhappy." + +Hurrying down a street to the right, I encountered Francis Ardry. + +"What means the multitude yonder?" he demanded. + +"They are looking after the hearse which is carrying the remains of Byron +up Tottenham Road." + +"I have seen the man," said my friend, as he turned back the way he had +come, "so I can dispense with seeing the hearse--I saw the living man at +Venice--ah, a great poet." + +"Yes," said I, "a great poet, it must be so, everybody says so--what a +destiny! What a difference in the fate of men; but 'tis said he was +unhappy; you have seen him, how did he look?" + +"Oh, beautiful!" + +"But did he look happy?" + +"Why, I can't say he looked very unhappy; I saw him with two--very fair +ladies; but what is it to you whether the man was unhappy or not? Come, +where shall we go--to Joey's? His hugest bear--" + +"O, I have had enough of bears, I have just been worried by one." + +"The publisher?" + +"Yes." + +"Then come to Joey's, three dogs are to be launched at his bear: as they +pin him, imagine him to be the publisher." + +"No," said I, "I am good for nothing; I think I shall stroll to London +Bridge." + +"That's too far for me--farewell!" + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +London Bridge--Why not?--Every Heart has its Bitters--Wicked Boys--Give +me my Book--Such a Fright--Honour Bright. + +So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the +booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was +empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall was to be seen. I looked +over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was now as before, rolling +beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I gazed upon the eddies +of the whirlpool, I thought within myself how soon human life would +become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive flounder, and all would be +over. When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse--a +fascination; I had resisted it--I did not plunge into it. At present I +felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of a different +kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life. I looked wistfully at the +eddies--what had I to live for?--what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and +Struensee, and Yeoman Patch--should I yield to the impulse--why not? My +eyes were fixed on the eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I +saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up +to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water, or--Where was the impulse +now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked no more upon it--I looked +forward, far down the stream in the far distance. "Ha! what is that? I +thought I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a +rustic home; but in the far distance--I stared--I stared--a Fata +Morgana--it was gone--" + +I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge, where +I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over to the +other side with the intention of returning home; just half way over the +bridge, in a booth immediately opposite to the one in which I had +formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up +behind her stall. + +"Well, mother," said I, "how are you?" The old woman lifted her head +with a startled look. + +"Don't you know me?" said I. + +"Yes, I think I do. Ah, yes," said she, as her features beamed with +recollection, "I know you, dear; you are the young lad that gave me the +tanner. Well, child, got anything to sell?" + +"Nothing at all," said I. + +"Bad luck?" + +"Yes," said I, "bad enough, and ill usage." + +"Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, better luck next +time; I am glad to see you." + +"Thank you," said I, sitting down on the stone bench; "I thought you had +left the bridge--why have you changed your side?" + +The old woman shook. + +"What is the matter with you," said I, "are you ill?" + +"No, child, no; only--" + +"Only what? Any bad news of your son?" + +"No, child, no; nothing about my son. Only low, child--every heart has +its bitters." + +"That's true," said I; "well, I don't want to know your sorrows; come, +where's the book?" + +The apple-woman shook more violently than before, bent herself down, and +drew her cloak more closely about her than before. "Book, child, what +book?" + +"Why, blessed Mary, to be sure." + +"Oh, that; I ha'n't got it, child--I have lost it, have left it at home." + +"Lost it," said I; "left it at home--what do you mean? Come, let me have +it." + +"I ha'n't got it, child." + +"I believe you have got it under your cloak." + +"Don't tell any one, dear; don't--don't," and the apple-woman burst into +tears. + +"What's the matter with you?" said I, staring at her. + +"You want to take my book from me?" + +"Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, only tell me +what's the matter?" + +"Why, all about that book." + +"The book?" + +"Yes, they wanted to take it from me." + +"Who did?" + +"Why, some wicked boys. I'll tell you all about it. Eight or ten days +ago, I sat behind my stall, reading my book; all of a sudden I felt it +snatched from my hand; up I started, and see three rascals of boys +grinning at me; one of them held the book in his hand. 'What book is +this?' said he, grinning at it. 'What do you want with my book?' said I, +clutching at it over my stall, 'give me my book.' 'What do you want a +book for?' said he, holding it back; 'I have a good mind to fling it into +the Thames.' 'Give me my book,' I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell +over my stall, and all my fruit was scattered about. Off ran the +boys--off ran the rascal with my book. Oh dear, I thought I should have +died; up I got, however, and ran after them as well as I could; I thought +of my fruit, but I thought more of my book. I left my fruit and ran +after my book. 'My book! my book!' I shrieked, 'murder! theft! robbery!' +I was near being crushed under the wheels of a cart; but I didn't care--I +followed the rascals. 'Stop them! stop them!' I ran nearly as fast as +they--they couldn't run very fast on account of the crowd. At last some +one stopped the rascal, whereupon he turned round, and flinging the book +at me, it fell into the mud; well, I picked it up and kissed it, all +muddy as it was. 'Has he robbed you?' said the man. 'Robbed me, indeed; +why, he had got my book.' 'Oh, your book,' said the man, and laughed, +and let the rascal go. Ah, he might laugh, but--" + +"Well, go on." + +"My heart beats so. Well, I went back to my booth and picked up my stall +and my fruits, what I could find of them. I couldn't keep my stall for +two days I got such a fright, and when I got round I couldn't bide the +booth where the thing had happened, so I came over to the other side. +Oh, the rascals, if I could but see them hanged." + +"For what?" + +"Why, for stealing my book." + +"I thought you didn't dislike stealing,--that you were ready to buy +things--there was your son, you know--" + +"Yes, to be sure." + +"He took things." + +"To be sure he did." + +"But you don't like a thing of yours to be taken." + +"No, that's quite a different thing; what's stealing handkerchiefs, and +that kind of thing, to do with taking my book; there's a wide +difference--don't you see?" + +"Yes, I see." + +"Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I'm glad you do. Would you like +to look at the book?" + +"Well, I think I should." + +"Honour bright?" said the apple-woman, looking me in the eyes. + +"Honour bright," said I, looking the apple-woman in the eyes. + +"Well then, dear, here it is," said she, taking it from under her cloak; +"read it as long as you like, only get a little farther into the +booth--Don't sit so near the edge--you might--" + +I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her chair +round, almost confronted me. I commenced reading the book, and was soon +engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or twice I lifted up my eyes, +the apple-woman was still confronting me: at last my eyes began to ache, +whereupon I returned the book to the apple-woman, and giving her another +tanner, walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +Decease of the Review--Homer Himself--Bread and Cheese--Finger and +Thumb--Impossible to Find--Something Grand--Universal Mixture--Some Other +Publisher. + +Time passed away, and with it the review, which, contrary to the +publisher's expectation, did not prove a successful speculation. About +four months after the period of its birth it expired, as all reviews must +for which there is no demand. Authors had ceased to send their +publications to it, and, consequently, to purchase it; for I have already +hinted that it was almost entirely supported by authors of a particular +class, who expected to see their publications foredoomed to immortality +in its pages. The behaviour of these authors towards this unfortunate +publication I can attribute to no other cause than to a report which was +industriously circulated, namely, that the review was low, and that to be +reviewed in it was an infallible sign that one was a low person, who +could be reviewed nowhere else. So authors took fright; and no wonder, +for it will never do for an author to be considered low. Homer himself +has never yet entirely recovered from the injury he received by Lord +Chesterfield's remark, that the speeches of his heroes were frequently +exceedingly low. + +So the review ceased, and the reviewing corps no longer existed as such; +they forthwith returned to their proper avocations--the editor to compose +tunes on his piano, and to the task of disposing of the remaining copies +of his Quintilian--the inferior members to working for the publisher, +being to a man dependents of his; one, to composing fairy tales; another, +to collecting miracles of Popish saints; and a third, Newgate lives and +trials. Owing to the bad success of the review, the publisher became +more furious than ever. My money was growing short, and I one day asked +him to pay me for my labours in the deceased publication. + +"Sir," said the publisher, "what do you want the money for?" + +"Merely to live on," I replied; "it is very difficult to live in this +town without money." + +"How much money did you bring with you to town?" demanded the publisher. + +"Some twenty or thirty pounds," I replied. + +"And you have spent it already?" + +"No," said I, "not entirely; but it is fast disappearing." + +"Sir," said the publisher, "I believe you to be extravagant; yes, sir, +extravagant!" + +"On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?" + +"Sir," said the publisher; "you eat meat." + +"Yes," said I, "I eat meat sometimes: what should I eat?" + +"Bread, sir," said the publisher; "bread and cheese." + +"So I do, sir, when I am disposed to indulge; but I cannot often afford +it--it is very expensive to dine on bread and cheese, especially when one +is fond of cheese, as I am. My last bread and cheese dinner cost me +fourteen pence. There is drink, sir; with bread and cheese one must +drink porter, sir." + +"Then, sir, eat bread--bread alone. As good men as yourself have eaten +bread alone; they have been glad to get it, sir. If with bread and +cheese you must drink porter, sir, with bread alone you can, perhaps, +drink water, sir." + +However, I got paid at last for my writings in the review, not, it is +true, in the current coin of the realm, but in certain bills; there were +two of them, one payable at twelve, and the other at eighteen months +after date. It was a long time before I could turn these bills to any +account; at last I found a person who, at a discount of only thirty per +cent., consented to cash them; not, however, without sundry grimaces, +and, what was still more galling, holding, more than once, the +unfortunate papers high in air between his forefinger and thumb. So ill, +indeed, did I like this last action, that I felt much inclined to snatch +them away. I restrained myself, however, for I remembered that it was +very difficult to live without money, and that, if the present person did +not discount the bills, I should probably find no one else that would. + +But if the treatment which I had experienced from the publisher, previous +to making this demand upon him, was difficult to bear, that which I +subsequently underwent was far more so; his great delight seemed to +consist in causing me misery and mortification; if, on former occasions, +he was continually sending me in quest of lives and trials difficult to +find, he now was continually demanding lives and trials which it was +impossible to find; the personages whom he mentioned never having lived, +nor consequently been tried. Moreover, some of my best lives and trials +which I had corrected and edited with particular care, and on which I +prided myself no little, he caused to be cancelled after they had passed +through the press. Amongst these was the life of "Gentleman Harry." +"They are drugs, sir," said the publisher, "drugs; that life of Harry +Simms has long been the greatest drug in the calendar--has it not, +Taggart?" + +Taggart made no answer save by taking a pinch of snuff. The reader has, +I hope, not forgotten Taggart, whom I mentioned whilst giving an account +of my first morning's visit to the publisher. I beg Taggart's pardon for +having been so long silent about him; but he was a very silent man--yet +there was much in Taggart--and Taggart had always been civil and kind to +me in his peculiar way. + +"Well, young gentleman," said Taggart to me one morning, when we chanced +to be alone a few days after the affair of the cancelling, "how do you +like authorship?" + +"I scarcely call authorship the drudgery I am engaged in," said I. + +"What do you call authorship?" said Taggart. + +"I scarcely know," said I; "that is, I can scarcely express what I think +it." + +"Shall I help you out?" said Taggart, turning round his chair, and +looking at me. + +"If you like," said I. + +"To write something grand," said Taggart, taking snuff; "to be stared +at--lifted on people's shoulders--" + +"Well," said I, "that is something like it." + +Taggart took snuff. "Well," said he, "why don't you write something +grand?" + +"I have," said I. + +"What?" said Taggart. + +"Why," said I, "there are those ballads." + +Taggart took snuff. + +"And those wonderful versions from Ab Gwilym." + +Taggart took snuff again. + +"You seem to be very fond of snuff," said I; looking at him angrily. + +Taggart tapped his box. + +"Have you taken it long?" + +"Three-and-twenty years." + +"What snuff do you take?" + +"Universal mixture." + +"And you find it of use?" + +Taggart tapped his box. + +"In what respect?" said I. + +"In many--there is nothing like it to get a man through; but for snuff I +should scarcely be where I am now." + +"Have you been long here?" + +"Three-and-twenty years." + +"Dear me," said I; "and snuff brought you through? Give me a pinch--pah, +I don't like it," and I sneezed. + +"Take another pinch," said Taggart. + +"No," said I, "I don't like snuff." + +"Then you will never do for authorship; at least for this kind." + +"So I begin to think--what shall I do?" + +Taggart took snuff. + +"You were talking of a great work--what shall it be?" + +Taggart took snuff. + +"Do you think I could write one?" + +Taggart uplifted his two forefingers as if to tap, he did not, however. + +"It would require time," said I, with half a sigh. + +Taggart tapped his box. + +"A great deal of time; I really think that my ballads--" + +Taggart took snuff. + +"If published, would do me credit. I'll make an effort, and offer them +to some other publisher." + +Taggart took a double quantity of snuff. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +Francis Ardry--That Won't do, Sir--Observe My Gestures--I Think You +Improve--Better than Politics--Delightful Young Frenchwoman--A Burning +Shame--Magnificent Impudence--Paunch--Voltaire--Lump of Sugar. + +Occasionally I called on Francis Ardry. This young gentleman resided in +handsome apartments in the neighbourhood of a fashionable square, kept a +livery servant, and, upon the whole, lived in very good style. Going to +see him one day, between one and two, I was informed by the servant that +his master was engaged for the moment, but that, if I pleased to wait a +few minutes, I should find him at liberty. Having told the man that I +had no objection, he conducted me into a small apartment which served as +antechamber to a drawing-room; the door of this last being half open, I +could see Francis Ardry at the farther end, speechifying and +gesticulating in a very impressive manner. The servant, in some +confusion, was hastening to close the door; but, ere he could effect his +purpose, Francis Ardry, who had caught a glimpse of me, exclaimed, "Come +in--come in by all means;" and then proceeded, as before, speechifying +and gesticulating. Filled with some surprise, I obeyed his summons. + +On entering the room I perceived another individual, to whom Francis +Ardry appeared to be addressing himself; this other was a short spare man +of about sixty; his hair was of badger grey, and his face was covered +with wrinkles--without vouchsafing me a look, he kept his eye, which was +black and lustrous, fixed full on Francis Ardry, as if paying the deepest +attention to his discourse. All of a sudden, however, he cried with a +sharp, cracked voice, "That won't do, sir; that won't do--more +vehemence--your argument is at present particularly weak; therefore, more +vehemence--you must confuse them, stun them, stultify them, sir;" and, at +each of these injunctions, he struck the back of his right hand sharply +against the palm of the left. "Good, sir--good!" he occasionally +uttered, in the same sharp, cracked tone, as the voice of Francis Ardry +became more and more vehement. "Infinitely good!" he exclaimed, as +Francis Ardry raised his voice to the highest pitch; "and now, sir, +abate; let the tempest of vehemence decline--gradually, sir; not too +fast. Good, sir--very good!" as the voice of Francis Ardry declined +gradually in vehemence. "And now a little pathos, sir--try them with a +little pathos. That won't do, sir--that won't do,"--as Francis Ardry +made an attempt to become pathetic,--"that will never pass for +pathos--with tones and gesture of that description you will never redress +the wrongs of your country. Now, sir, observe my gestures, and pay +attention to the tone of my voice, sir." + +Thereupon, making use of nearly the same terms which Francis Ardry had +employed, the individual in black uttered several sentences in tones and +with gestures which were intended to express a considerable degree of +pathos, though it is possible that some people would have thought both +the one and the other highly ludicrous. After a pause, Francis Ardry +recommenced imitating the tones and the gestures of his monitor in the +most admirable manner. Before he had proceeded far, however, he burst +into a fit of laughter, in which I should, perhaps, have joined, provided +it were ever my wont to laugh. "Ha, ha!" said the other, good +humouredly, "you are laughing at me. Well, well, I merely wished to give +you a hint; but you saw very well what I meant; upon the whole I think +you improve. But I must now go, having two other pupils to visit before +four." + +Then taking from the table a kind of three-cornered hat, and a cane +headed with amber, he shook Francis Ardry by the hand; and, after +glancing at me for a moment, made me a half bow, attended with a strange +grimace, and departed. + +"Who is that gentleman?" said I to Francis Ardry, as soon as we were +alone. + +"Oh, that is ---," said Frank smiling, "the gentleman who gives me +lessons in elocution." + +"And what need have you of elocution?" + +"Oh, I merely obey the commands of my guardians," said Francis, "who +insist that I should, with the assistance of ---, qualify myself for +Parliament; for which they do me the honour to suppose that I have some +natural talent. I dare not disobey them; for, at the present moment, I +have particular reasons for wishing to keep on good terms with them." + +"But," said I, "you are a Roman Catholic; and I thought that persons of +your religion were excluded from Parliament?" + +"Why, upon that very thing the whole matter hinges; people of our +religion are determined to be no longer excluded from Parliament, but to +have a share in the government of the nation. Not that I care anything +about the matter; I merely obey the will of my guardians; my thoughts are +fixed on something better than politics." + +"I understand you," said I; "dog-fighting--well, I can easily conceive +that to some minds dog-fighting--" + +"I was not thinking of dog-fighting," said Francis Ardry, interrupting +me. + +"Not thinking of dog-fighting!" I ejaculated. + +"No," said Francis Ardry, "something higher and much more rational than +dog-fighting at present occupies my thoughts." + +"Dear me," said I, "I thought I had heard you say, that there was nothing +like it!" + +"Like what?" said Francis Ardry. + +"Dog-fighting, to be sure," said I. + +"Pooh," said Francis Ardry; "who but the gross and unrefined care +anything for dog-fighting? That which at present engages my waking and +sleeping thoughts is love--divine love--there is nothing like _that_. +Listen to me, I have a secret to confide to you." + +And then Francis Ardry proceeded to make me his confidant. It appeared +that he had had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of the most +delightful young Frenchwoman imaginable, Annette La Noire by name, who +had just arrived from her native country with the intention of obtaining +the situation of governess in some English family; a position which, on +account of her many accomplishments, she was eminently qualified to fill. +Francis Ardry had, however, persuaded her to relinquish her intention for +the present, on the ground that, until she had become acclimated in +England, her health would probably suffer from the confinement +inseparable from the occupation in which she was desirous of engaging; he +had, moreover--for it appeared that she was the most frank and confiding +creature in the world--succeeded in persuading her to permit him to hire +for her a very handsome first floor in his own neighbourhood, and to +accept a few inconsiderable presents in money and jewellery. "I am +looking out for a handsome gig and horse," said Francis Ardry, at the +conclusion of his narration; "it were a burning shame that so divine a +creature should have to go about a place like London on foot, or in a +paltry hackney coach." + +"But," said I, "will not the pursuit of politics prevent your devoting +much time to this fair lady?" + +"It will prevent me devoting all my time," said Francis Ardry, "as I +gladly would; but what can I do? My guardians wish me to qualify myself +for a political orator, and I dare not offend them by a refusal. If I +offend my guardians, I should find it impossible--unless I have recourse +to Jews and money-lenders--to support Annette; present her with articles +of dress and jewellery, and purchase a horse and cabriolet worthy of +conveying her angelic person through the streets of London." + +After a pause, in which Francis Ardry appeared lost in thought, his mind +being probably occupied with the subject of Annette, I broke silence by +observing, "So your fellow-religionists are really going to make a +serious attempt to procure their emancipation?" + +"Yes," said Francis Ardry, starting from his reverie; "everything has +been arranged; even a leader has been chosen, at least for us of Ireland, +upon the whole the most suitable man in the world for the occasion--a +barrister of considerable talent, mighty voice, and magnificent +impudence. With emancipation, liberty, and redress for the wrongs of +Ireland in his mouth, he is to force his way into the British House of +Commons, dragging myself and others behind him--he will succeed, and when +he is in he will cut a figure; I have heard --- himself, who has heard +him speak, say that he will cut a figure." + +"And is --- competent to judge?" I demanded. + +"Who but he?" said Francis Ardry; "no one questions his judgment +concerning what relates to elocution. His fame on that point is so well +established, that the greatest orators do not disdain occasionally to +consult him; C--- himself, as I have been told, when anxious to produce +any particular effect in the House, is in the habit of calling in --- for +consultation." + +"As to matter, or manner?" said I. + +"Chiefly the latter," said Francis Ardry, "though he is competent to give +advice as to both, for he has been an orator in his day, and a leader of +the people; though he confessed to me that he was not exactly qualified +to play the latter part--'I want paunch,' said he." + +"It is not always indispensable," said I; "there is an orator in my town, +a hunchback and watchmaker, without it, who not only leads the people, +but the mayor too; perhaps he has a succedaneum in his hunch: but, tell +me, is the leader of your movement in possession of that which --- +wants?" + +"No more deficient in it than in brass," said Francis Ardry. + +"Well," said I, "whatever his qualifications may be, I wish him success +in the cause which he has taken up--I love religious liberty." + +"We shall succeed," said Francis Ardry; "John Bull upon the whole is +rather indifferent on the subject, and then we are sure to be backed by +the radical party, who, to gratify their political prejudices, would join +with Satan himself." + +"There is one thing," said I, "connected with this matter which surprises +me--your own lukewarmness. Yes, making every allowance for your natural +predilection for dog-fighting, and your present enamoured state of mind, +your apathy at the commencement of such a movement is to me +unaccountable." + +"You would not have cause to complain of my indifference," said Frank, +"provided I thought my country would be benefited by this movement; but I +happen to know the origin of it. The priests are the originators, 'and +what country was ever benefited by a movement which owed its origin to +them?' so says Voltaire, a page of whom I occasionally read. By the +present move they hope to increase their influence, and to further +certain designs which they entertain both with regard to this country and +Ireland. I do not speak rashly or unadvisedly. A strange fellow--a half +Italian, half English priest,--who was recommended to me by my guardians, +partly as a spiritual--partly as a temporal guide, has let me into a +secret or two; he is fond of a glass of gin and water--and over a glass +of gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it, he has been more +communicative, perhaps, than was altogether prudent. Were I my own +master, I would kick him, politics, and religious movements, to a +considerable distance. And now, if you are going away, do so quickly; I +have an appointment with Annette, and must make myself fit to appear +before her." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +Progress--Glorious John--Utterly Unintelligible--What a Difference! + +By the month of October I had, in spite of all difficulties and +obstacles, accomplished about two-thirds of the principal task which I +had undertaken, the compiling of the Newgate lives; I had also made some +progress in translating the publisher's philosophy into German. But +about this time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that +our connection should prove of long duration; yet, in the event of my +leaving the big man, what other resource had I--another publisher? But +what had I to offer? There were my ballads, my Ab Gwilym, but then I +thought of Taggart and his snuff, his pinch of snuff. However, I +determined to see what could be done, so I took my ballads under my arm, +and went to various publishers; some took snuff, others did not, but none +took my ballads or Ab Gwilym, they would not even look at them. One +asked me if I had anything else--he was a snuff-taker--I said yes; and +going home returned with my translation of the German novel, to which I +have before alluded. After keeping it for a fortnight, he returned it to +me on my visiting him, and, taking a pinch of snuff, told me it would not +do. There were marks of snuff on the outside of the manuscript, which +was a roll of paper bound with red tape, but there were no marks of snuff +on the interior of the manuscript, from which I concluded that he had +never opened it. + +I had often heard of one Glorious John, who lived at the western end of +the town; on consulting Taggart, he told me that it was possible that +Glorious John would publish my ballads and Ab Gwilym, that is, said he, +taking a pinch of snuff, provided you can see him; so I went to the house +where Glorious John resided, and a glorious house it was, but I could not +see Glorious John--I called a dozen times, but I never could see Glorious +John. Twenty years after, by the greatest chance in the world, I saw +Glorious John, and sure enough Glorious John published my books, but they +were different books from the first; I never offered my ballads or Ab +Gwilym to Glorious John. Glorious John was no snuff-taker. He asked me +to dinner, and treated me with superb Rhenish wine. Glorious John is now +gone to his rest, but I--what was I going to say?--the world will never +forget Glorious John. + +So I returned to my last resource for the time then being--to the +publisher, persevering doggedly in my labour. One day, on visiting the +publisher, I found him stamping with fury upon certain fragments of +paper. + +"Sir," said he, "you know nothing of German; I have shown your +translation of the first chapter of my Philosophy to several Germans: it +is utterly unintelligible to them." "Did they see the Philosophy?" I +replied. "They did, sir, but they did not profess to understand +English." "No more do I," I replied, "if that Philosophy be English." + +The publisher was furious--I was silent. For want of a pinch of snuff, I +had recourse to something which is no bad substitute for a pinch of snuff +to those who can't take it, silent contempt; at first it made the +publisher more furious, as perhaps a pinch of snuff would; it, however, +eventually calmed him, and he ordered me back to my occupations, in other +words, the compilation. To be brief, the compilation was completed, I +got paid in the usual manner, and forthwith left him. + +He was a clever man, but what a difference in clever men! + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + +The Old Spot--A Long History--Thou Shalt Not Steal--No +Harm--Education--Necessity--Foam on Your Lip--Apples and Pears--What Will +You Read--Metaphor--The Fur Cap--I Don't Know Him. + +It was past mid-winter, and I sat on London Bridge, in company with the +old apple-woman: she had just returned from the other side of the bridge, +to her place in the booth where I had originally found her. This she had +done after repeated conversations with me; "she liked the old place +best," she said, which she would never have left but for the terror which +she experienced when the boys ran away with her book. So I sat with her +at the old spot, one afternoon past mid-winter, reading the book, of +which I had by this time come to the last pages. I had observed that the +old woman for some time past had shown much less anxiety about the book +than she had been in the habit of doing. I was, however, not quite +prepared for her offering to make me a present of it, which she did that +afternoon; when, having finished it, I returned it to her, with many +thanks for the pleasure and instruction I had derived from its perusal. +"You may keep it, dear," said the old woman, with a sigh; "you may carry +it to your lodging, and keep it for your own." + +Looking at the old woman with surprise, I exclaimed, "Is it possible that +you are willing to part with the book which has been your source of +comfort so long?" + +Whereupon the old woman entered into a long history, from which I +gathered that the book had become distasteful to her; she hardly ever +opened it of late, she said, or if she did, it was only to shut it again; +also, that other things which she had been fond of, though of a widely +different kind, were now distasteful to her. Porter and beef-steaks were +no longer grateful to her palate, her present diet chiefly consisting of +tea, and bread and butter. + +"Ah," said I, "you have been ill, and when people are ill, they seldom +like the things which give them pleasure when they are in health." I +learned, moreover, that she slept little at night, and had all kinds of +strange thoughts; that as she lay awake many things connected with her +youth, which she had quite forgotten, came into her mind. There were +certain words that came into her mind the night before the last, which +were continually humming in her ears: I found that the words were, "Thou +shalt not steal." + +On inquiring where she had first heard these words, I learned that she +had read them at school, in a book called the primer; to this school she +had been sent by her mother, who was a poor widow, who followed the trade +of apple-selling in the very spot where her daughter followed it now. It +seems that the mother was a very good kind of woman, but quite ignorant +of letters, the benefit of which she was willing to procure for her +child; and at the school the daughter learned to read, and subsequently +experienced the pleasure and benefit of letters, in being able to read +the book which she found in an obscure closet of her mother's house, and +which had been her principal companion and comfort for many years of her +life. + +But, as I have said before, she was now dissatisfied with the book, and +with most other things in which she had taken pleasure; she dwelt much on +the words, "Thou shalt not steal;" she had never stolen things herself, +but then she had bought things which other people had stolen, and which +she knew had been stolen; and her dear son had been a thief, which he +perhaps would not have been but for the example which she set him in +buying things from characters, as she called them, who associated with +her. + +On inquiring how she had become acquainted with these characters, I +learned that times had gone hard with her; that she had married, but her +husband had died after a long sickness, which had reduced them to great +distress; that her fruit trade was not a profitable one, and that she had +bought and sold things which had been stolen to support herself and her +son. That for a long time she supposed there was no harm in doing so, as +her book was full of entertaining tales of stealing; but she now thought +that the book was a bad book, and that learning to read was a bad thing; +her mother had never been able to read, but had died in peace, though +poor. + +So here was a woman who attributed the vices and follies of her life to +being able to read; her mother, she said, who could not read, lived +respectably, and died in peace; and what was the essential difference +between the mother and daughter, save that the latter could read? But +for her literature she might in all probability have lived respectably +and honestly, like her mother, and might eventually have died in peace, +which at present she could scarcely hope to do. Education had failed to +produce any good in this poor woman; on the contrary, there could be +little doubt that she had been injured by it. Then was education a bad +thing? Rousseau was of opinion that it was; but Rousseau was a +Frenchman, at least wrote in French, and I cared not the snap of my +fingers for Rousseau. But education has certainly been of benefit in +some instances; well, what did that prove, but that partiality existed in +the management of the affairs of the world--if education was a benefit to +some, why was it not a benefit to others? Could some avoid abusing it, +any more than others could avoid turning it to a profitable account? I +did not see how they could; this poor simple woman found a book in her +mother's closet; a book, which was a capital book for those who could +turn it to the account for which it was intended; a book, from the +perusal of which I felt myself wiser and better, but which was by no +means suited to the intellect of this poor simple woman, who thought that +it was written in praise of thieving; yet she found it, she read it, +and--and I felt myself getting into a maze, what is right, thought I? +what is wrong? Do I exist? Does the world exist? if it does, every +action is bound up with necessity. + +"Necessity!" I exclaimed, and cracked my finger joints. + +"Ah, it is a bad thing," said the old woman. + +"What is a bad thing?" said I. + +"Why, to be poor, dear." + +"You talk like a fool," said I, "riches and poverty are only different +forms of necessity." + +"You should not call me a fool, dear; you should not call your own mother +a fool." + +"You are not my mother," said I. + +"Not your mother, dear?--no, no more I am; but your calling me fool put +me in mind of my dear son, who often used to call me fool--and you just +now looked as he sometimes did, with a blob of foam on your lip." + +"After all, I don't know that you are not my mother." + +"Don't you, dear? I'm glad of it; I wish you would make it out." + +"How shall I make it out? who can speak from his own knowledge as to the +circumstances of his birth? Besides, before attempting to establish our +relationship, it would be necessary to prove that such people exist." + +"What people, dear?" + +"You and I." + +"Lord, child, you are mad; that book has made you so." + +"Don't abuse it," said I; "the book is an excellent one, that is, +provided it exists." + +"I wish it did not," said the old woman; "but it sha'n't long; I'll burn +it, or fling it into the river--the voices at night tell me to do so." + +"Tell the voices," said I, "that they talk nonsense; the book, if it +exists, is a good book, it contains a deep moral; have you read it all?" + +"All the funny parts, dear; all about taking things, and the manner it +was done; as for the rest, I could not exactly make it out." + +"Then the book is not to blame; I repeat that the book is a good book, +and contains deep morality, always supposing that there is such a thing +as morality, which is the same thing as supposing that there is anything +at all." + +"Anything at all! Why, a'n't we here on this bridge, in my booth, with +my stall and my--" + +"Apples and pears, baked hot, you would say--I don't know; all is a +mystery, a deep question. It is a question, and probably always will be, +whether there is a world, and consequently apples and pears; and, +provided there be a world, whether that world be like an apple or a +pear." + +"Don't talk so, dear." + +"I won't; we will suppose that we all exist--world, ourselves, apples, +and pears: so you wish to get rid of the book?" + +"Yes, dear, I wish you would take it." + +"I have read it, and have no farther use for it; I do not need books: in +a little time, perhaps, I shall not have a place wherein to deposit +myself, far less books." + +"Then I will fling it into the river." + +"Don't do that; here, give it me. Now what shall I do with it? you were +so fond of it." + +"I am so no longer." + +"But how will you pass your time; what will you read?" + +"I wish I had never learned to read, or, if I had, that I had only read +the books I saw at school: the primer or the other." + +"What was the other?" + +"I think they called it the Bible: all about God, and Job, and Jesus." + +"Ah, I know it." + +"You have read it; it is a nice book--all true?" + +"True, true--I don't know what to say; but if the world be true, and not +a lie, a fiction, I don't see why the Bible, as they call it, should not +be true. By-the-bye, what do you call Bible in your tongue, or, indeed, +book of any kind? as Bible merely means a book." + +"What do I call the Bible in my language, dear?" + +"Yes, the language of those who bring you things." + +"The language of those who _did_, dear; they bring them now no longer. +They call me a fool, as you did, dear, just now; they call kissing the +Bible, which means taking a false oath, smacking calf-skin." + +"That's metaphor," said I, "English, but metaphorical; what an odd +language! So you would like to have a Bible,--shall I buy you one?" + +"I am poor, dear--no money since I left off the other trade." + +"Well, then, I'll buy you one." + +"No, dear, no; you are poor, and may soon want the money; but if you can +take me one conveniently on the sly, you know--I think you may, for, as +it is a good book, I suppose there can be no harm in taking it." + +"That will never do," said I, "more especially as I should be sure to be +caught, not having made taking of things my trade; but I'll tell you what +I'll do--try and exchange this book of yours for a Bible; who knows for +what great things this same book of yours may serve?" + +"Well, dear," said the old woman, "do as you please; I should like to see +the--what do you call it?--Bible, and to read it, as you seem to think it +true." + +"Yes," said I, "seem; that is the way to express yourself in this maze of +doubt--I seem to think--these apples and pears seem to be--and here seems +to be a gentleman who wants to purchase either one or the other." + +A person had stopped before the apple-woman's stall, and was glancing now +at the fruit, now at the old woman and myself; he wore a blue mantle, and +had a kind of fur cap on his head; he was somewhat above the middle +stature; his features were keen but rather hard; there was a slight +obliquity in his vision. Selecting a small apple, he gave the old woman +a penny; then, after looking at me scrutinizingly for a moment, he moved +from the booth in the direction of Southwark. + +"Do you know who that man is?" said I to the old woman. + +"No," said she, "except that he is one of my best customers: he +frequently stops, takes an apple, and gives me a penny; his is the only +piece of money I have taken this blessed day. I don't know him, but he +has once or twice sat down in the booth with two strange-looking +men--Mulattos, or Lascars, I think they call them." + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +Bought and Exchanged--Quite Empty--A New Firm--Bibles--Countenance of a +Lion--Clap of Thunder--A Truce with This--I Have Lost It--Clearly a +Right--Goddess of the Mint. + +In pursuance of my promise to the old woman, I set about procuring her a +Bible with all convenient speed, placing the book which she had intrusted +to me for the purpose of exchange in my pocket. I went to several shops +and asked if Bibles were to be had: I found that there were plenty. +When, however, I informed the people that I came to barter, they looked +blank, and declined treating with me; saying that they did not do +business in that way. At last I went into a shop over the window of +which I saw written, "Books bought and exchanged:" there was a smartish +young fellow in the shop, with black hair and whiskers; "You exchange?" +said I. "Yes," said he, "sometimes, but we prefer selling; what book do +you want?" "A Bible," said I. "Ah," said he, "there's a great demand +for Bibles just now; all kinds of people are becoming very pious of +late," he added, grinning at me; "I am afraid I can't do business with +you, more especially as the master is not at home. What book have you +brought?" Taking the book out of my pocket, I placed it on the counter: +the young fellow opened the book, and inspecting the title-page, burst +into a loud laugh. "What do you laugh for?" said I, angrily, and half +clenching my fist. "Laugh!" said the young fellow; "laugh! who could +help laughing?" "I could," said I; "I see nothing to laugh at; I want to +exchange this book for a Bible." "You do?" said the young fellow; "well, +I daresay there are plenty who would be willing to exchange, that is, if +they dared. I wish master were at home; but that would never do, either. +Master's a family man, the Bibles are not mine, and master being a family +man, is sharp, and knows all his stock; I'd buy it of you, but, to tell +you the truth, I am quite empty here," said he, pointing to his pocket, +"so I am afraid we can't deal." + +Whereupon, looking anxiously at the young man, "what am I to do?" said I; +"I really want a Bible." + +"Can't you buy one?" said the young man; "have you no money?" + +"Yes," said I, "I have some, but I am merely the agent of another; I came +to exchange, not to buy; what am I to do?" + +"I don't know," said the young man, thoughtfully, laying down the book on +the counter; "I don't know what you can do; I think you will find some +difficulty in this bartering job, the trade are rather precise." All at +once he laughed louder than before; suddenly stopping, however, he put on +a very grave look. "Take my advice," said he; "there is a firm +established in this neighbourhood which scarcely sells any books but +Bibles; they are very rich, and pride themselves on selling their books +at the lowest possible price; apply to them, who knows but what they will +exchange with you?" + +Thereupon I demanded with some eagerness of the young man the direction +to the place where he thought it possible that I might effect the +exchange--which direction the young fellow cheerfully gave me, and, as I +turned away, had the civility to wish me success. + +I had no difficulty in finding the house to which the young fellow had +directed me; it was a very large house, situated in a square; and upon +the side of the house was written in large letters, "Bibles, and other +religious books." + +At the door of the house were two or three tumbrils, in the act of being +loaded with chests, very much resembling tea-chests; one of the chests +falling down, burst, and out flew, not tea, but various books, in a neat, +small size, and in neat leather covers; Bibles, said I,--Bibles, +doubtless. I was not quite right, nor quite wrong; picking up one of the +books, I looked at it for a moment, and found it to be the New Testament. +"Come, young lad," said a man who stood by, in the dress of a porter, +"put that book down, it is none of yours; if you want a book, go in and +deal for one." + +Deal, thought I, deal,--the man seems to know what I am coming +about,--and going in, I presently found myself in a very large room. +Behind a counter two men stood with their backs to a splendid fire, +warming themselves, for the weather was cold. + +Of these men one was dressed in brown, and the other was dressed in +black; both were tall men--he who was dressed in brown was thin, and had +a particularly ill-natured countenance; the man dressed in black was +bulky, his features were noble, but they were those of a lion. + +"What is your business, young man?" said the precise personage, as I +stood staring at him and his companion. + +"I want a Bible," said I. + +"What price, what size?" said the precise-looking man. + +"As to size," said I, "I should like to have a large one--that is, if you +can afford me one--I do not come to buy." + +"Oh, friend," said the precise-looking man, "if you come here expecting +to have a Bible for nothing, you are mistaken--we--" + +"I would scorn to have a Bible for nothing," said I, "or anything else; I +came not to beg, but to barter; there is no shame in that, especially in +a country like this, where all folks barter." + +"Oh, we don't barter," said the precise man, "at least Bibles; you had +better depart." + +"Stay, brother," said the man with the countenance of a lion, "let us ask +a few questions; this may be a very important case; perhaps the young man +has had convictions." + +"Not I," I exclaimed, "I am convinced of nothing, and with regard to the +Bible--I don't believe--" + +"Hey!" said the man with the lion countenance, and there he stopped. But +with that "Hey" the walls of the house seemed to shake, the windows +rattled, and the porter whom I had seen in front of the house came +running up the steps, and looked into the apartment through the glass of +the door. + +There was silence for about a minute--the same kind of silence which +succeeds a clap of thunder. + +At last the man with the lion countenance, who had kept his eyes fixed +upon me, said calmly, "Were you about to say that you don't believe in +the Bible, young man?" + +"No more than in anything else," said I; "you were talking of +convictions--I have no convictions. It is not easy to believe in the +Bible till one is convinced that there is a Bible." + +"He seems to be insane," said the prim-looking man, "we had better order +the porter to turn him out." + +"I am by no means certain," said I, "that the porter could turn me out; +always provided there is a porter, and this system of ours be not a lie, +and a dream." + +"Come," said the lion-looking man, impatiently, "a truce with this +nonsense. If the porter cannot turn you out, perhaps some other person +can; but to the point--you want a Bible?" + +"I do," said I, "but not for myself; I was sent by another person to +offer something in exchange for one." + +"And who is that person?" + +"A poor old woman, who has had what you call convictions,--heard voices, +or thought she heard them--I forgot to ask her whether they were loud +ones." + +"What has she sent to offer in exchange?" said the man, without taking +any notice of the concluding part of my speech. + +"A book," said I. + +"Let me see it." + +"Nay, brother," said the precise man, "this will never do; if we once +adopt the system of barter, we shall have all the holders of useless +rubbish in the town applying to us." + +"I wish to see what he has brought," said the other; "perhaps Baxter, or +Jewell's Apology, either of which would make a valuable addition to our +collection. Well, young man, what's the matter with you?" + +I stood like one petrified; I had put my hand into my pocket--the book +was gone. + +"What's the matter?" repeated the man with the lion countenance, in a +voice very much resembling thunder. + +"I have it not--I have lost it!" + +"A pretty story, truly," said the precise-looking man, "lost it!" + +"You had better retire," said the other. + +"How shall I appear before the party who intrusted me with the book? She +will certainly think that I have purloined it, notwithstanding all that I +can say; nor, indeed, can I blame her,--appearances are certainly against +me." + +"They are so--you had better retire." + +I moved towards the door. "Stay, young man, one word more; there is only +one way of proceeding which would induce me to believe that you are +sincere." + +"What is that?" said I, stopping and looking at him anxiously. + +"The purchase of a Bible." + +"Purchase!" said I, "purchase! I came not to purchase, but to barter; +such was my instruction, and how can I barter if I have lost the book?" + +The other made no answer, and turning away I made for the door; all of a +sudden I started, and turning round, "Dear me," said I, "it has just come +into my head, that if the book was lost by my negligence, as it must have +been, I have clearly a right to make it good." + +No answer. + +"Yes," I repeated, "I have clearly a right to make it good; how glad I +am! see the effect of a little reflection. I will purchase a Bible +instantly, that is, if I have not lost--" and with considerable agitation +I felt in my pocket. + +The prim-looking man smiled: "I suppose," said he, "that he has lost his +money as well as book." + +"No," said I, "I have not;" and pulling out my hand I displayed no less a +sum than three half-crowns. + +"O, noble goddess of the Mint!" as Dame Charlotta Nordenflycht, the +Swede, said a hundred and fifty years ago, "great is thy power; how +energetically the possession of thee speaks in favour of man's +character!" + +"Only half-a-crown for this Bible?" said I, putting down the money, "it +is worth three;" and bowing to the man of noble features, I departed with +my purchase. + +"Queer customer," said the prim-looking man, as I was about to close the +door--"don't like him." + +"Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say," said he of the +countenance of a lion. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +The Pickpocket--Strange Rencounter--Drag Him Along--A Great +Service--Things of Importance--Philological Matters--Mother of +Languages--Zhats! + +A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the last chapter, +as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my footsteps to an alley +leading from one narrow street to another in the neighbourhood of +Cheapside. Just before I reached the mouth of the alley, a man in a +great coat, closely followed by another, passed it; and, at the moment in +which they were passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from +the pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized the +hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the other, "My +good friend, this person has just picked your pocket." + +The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, glanced at +me, and then at the person whom I held. London is the place for strange +rencounters. It appeared to me that I recognised both individuals--the +man whose pocket had been picked and the other; the latter now began to +struggle violently; "I have picked no one's pocket," said he. "Rascal," +said the other, "you have got my pocket-book in your bosom." "No, I have +not," said the other; and struggling more violently than before, the +pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the ground. + +The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was still +struggling. "You had better take up your book," said I; "I can hold +him." He followed my advice; and, taking up his pocket-book, surveyed my +prisoner with a ferocious look, occasionally glaring at me. Yes, I had +seen him before--it was the stranger whom I had observed on London +Bridge, by the stall of the old apple-woman, with the cap and cloak; but, +instead of these, he now wore a hat and great coat. "Well," said I, at +last, "what am I to do with this gentleman of ours?" nodding to the +prisoner, who had now left off struggling. "Shall I let him go?" + +"Go!" said the other, "go! The knave--the rascal; let him go, indeed! +Not so, he shall go before the Lord Mayor. Bring him along." + +"Oh, let me go," said the other: "let me go; this is the first offence, I +assure ye--the first time I ever thought to do anything wrong." + +"Hold your tongue," said I, "or I shall be angry with you. If I am not +very much mistaken, you once attempted to cheat me." + +"I never saw you before in all my life," said the fellow, though his +countenance seemed to belie his words. + +"That is not true," said I; "you are the man who attempted to cheat me of +one-and-ninepence in the coach-yard, on the first morning of my arrival +in London." + +"I don't doubt it," said the other; "a confirmed thief;" and here his +tones became peculiarly sharp; "I would fain see him hanged--crucified. +Drag him along." + +"I am no constable," said I; "you have got your pocket-book,--I would +rather you would bid me let him go." + +"Bid you let him go!" said the other almost furiously, "I command--stay, +what was I going to say? I was forgetting myself," he observed more +gently; "but he stole my pocket-book;--if you did but know what it +contained." + +"Well," said I, "if it contains anything valuable, be the more thankful +that you have recovered it; as for the man, I will help you to take him +where you please; but I wish you would let him go." + +The stranger hesitated, and there was an extraordinary play of emotion in +his features: he looked ferociously at the pickpocket, and, more than +once, somewhat suspiciously at myself; at last his countenance cleared, +and, with a good grace, he said, "Well, you have done me a great service, +and you have my consent to let him go; but the rascal shall not escape +with impunity," he exclaimed suddenly, as I let the man go, and starting +forward, before the fellow could escape, he struck him a violent blow on +the face. The man staggered, and had nearly fallen; recovering himself, +however, he said, "I tell you what, my fellow; if I ever meet you in this +street in a dark night, and I have a knife about me, it shall be the +worse for you; as for you, young man," said he to me; but, observing that +the other was making towards him, he left whatever he was about to say +unfinished, and, taking to his heels, was out of sight in a moment. + +The stranger and myself walked in the direction of Cheapside, the way in +which he had been originally proceeding; he was silent for a few moments, +at length he said, "You have really done me a great service, and I should +be ungrateful not to acknowledge it. I am a merchant; and a merchant's +pocket-book, as you perhaps know, contains many things of importance; +but, young man," he exclaimed, "I think I have seen you before; I thought +so at first, but where I cannot exactly say: where was it?" I mentioned +London Bridge and the old apple-woman. "Oh," said he, and smiled, and +there was something peculiar in his smile, "I remember now. Do you +frequently sit on London Bridge?" "Occasionally," said I; "that old +woman is an old friend of mine." "Friend?" said the stranger, "I am glad +of it, for I shall know where to find you. At present I am going to +'Change; time, you know, is precious to a merchant." We were by this +time close to Cheapside. "Farewell," said he, "I shall not forget this +service. I trust we shall soon meet again." He then shook me by the +hand and went his way. + +The next day, as I was seated beside the old woman in the booth, the +stranger again made his appearance, and, after a word or two, sat down +beside me; the old woman was sometimes reading the Bible, which she had +already had two or three days in her possession, and sometimes +discoursing with me. Our discourse rolled chiefly on philological +matters. + +"What do you call bread in your language?" said I. + +"You mean the language of those who bring me things to buy, or who did; +for, as I told you before, I sha'n't buy any more, it's no language of +mine, dear--they call bread pannam in their language." + +"Pannam!" said I, "pannam! evidently connected with, if not derived from, +the Latin panis; even as the word tanner, which signifieth a sixpence, is +connected with, if not derived from, the Latin tener, which is itself +connected with, if not derived from, tawno or tawner, which, in the +language of Mr. Petulengro, signifieth a sucking child. Let me see, what +is the term for bread in the language of Mr. Petulengro? Morro, or +manro, as I have sometimes heard it called; is there not some connection +between these words and panis? Yes, I think there is; and I should not +wonder if morro, manro, and panis were connected, perhaps derived from +the same root; but what is that root? I don't know--I wish I did; +though, perhaps, I should not be the happier. Morro--manro! I rather +think morro is the oldest form; it is easier to say morro than manro. +Morro! Irish, aran; Welsh, bara; English, bread. I can see a +resemblance between all the words, and pannam too; and I rather think +that the Petulengrian word is the elder. How odd it would be if the +language of Mr. Petulengro should eventually turn out to be the mother of +all the languages in the world; yet it is certain that there are some +languages in which the terms for bread have no connection with the word +used by Mr. Petulengro, notwithstanding those languages, in many other +points, exhibit a close affinity to the language of the horse-shoe +master: for example, bread, in Hebrew, is Laham, which assuredly exhibits +little similitude to the word used by the aforesaid Petulengro. In +Armenian it is--" + +"Zhats!" said the stranger, starting up. "By the Patriarch and the Three +Holy Churches, this is wonderful! How came you to know aught of +Armenian?" + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +New Acquaintance--Wired Cases--Bread and Wine--Armenian +Colonies--Learning Without Money--What a Language--The Tide--Your +Foible--Learning of the Haiks--Old Proverb--Pressing Invitation. + +Just as I was about to reply to the interrogation of my new-formed +acquaintance, a man, with a dusky countenance, probably one of the +Lascars, or Mulattos, of whom the old woman had spoken, came up and +whispered to him, and with this man he presently departed, not however +before he had told me the place of his abode, and requested me to visit +him. + +After the lapse of a few days, I called at the house, which he had +indicated. It was situated in a dark and narrow street, in the heart of +the city, at no great distance from the Bank. I entered a counting-room, +in which a solitary clerk, with a foreign look, was writing. The +stranger was not at home; returning the next day, however, I met him at +the door as he was about to enter; he shook me warmly by the hand. "I am +glad to see you," said he, "follow me, I was just thinking of you." He +led me through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of stairs; +before ascending, however, he looked into the book in which the +foreign-visaged clerk was writing, and, seemingly not satisfied with the +manner in which he was executing his task, he gave him two or three +cuffs, telling him at the same time that he deserved crucifixion. + +The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, with three +windows which opened upon the street. The walls were hung with wired +cases, apparently containing books. There was a table and two or three +chairs; but the principal article of furniture was a long sofa, extending +from the door by which we entered to the farther end of the apartment. +Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance motioned to me to sit +beside him, and then, looking me full in the face, repeated his former +inquiry, "In the name of all that is wonderful, how came you to know +aught of my language?" + +"There is nothing wonderful in that," said I; "we are at the commencement +of a philological age, every one studies languages; that is, every one +who is fit for nothing else; philology being the last resource of dulness +and ennui, I have got a little in advance of the throng, by mastering the +Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time when every unmarriageable miss, +and desperate blockhead, will likewise have acquired the letters of +Mesroub, and will know the term for bread, in Armenian, and perhaps that +for wine." + +"Kini," said my companion; and that and the other word put me in mind of +the duties of hospitality. "Will you eat bread and drink wine with me?" + +"Willingly," said I. Whereupon my companion, unlocking a closet, +produced, on a silver salver, a loaf of bread, with a silver-handled +knife, and wine in a silver flask, with cups of the same metal. "I hope +you like my fare," said he, after we had both eaten and drunk. + +"I like your bread," said I, "for it is stale; I like not your wine, it +is sweet, and I hate sweet wine." + +"It is wine of Cyprus," said my entertainer; and when I found that it was +wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, and the second taste pleased me much +better than the first, notwithstanding that I still thought it somewhat +sweet. "So," said I, after a pause, looking at my companion, "you are an +Armenian." + +"Yes," said he, "an Armenian born in London, but not less an Armenian on +that account. My father was a native of Ispahan, one of the celebrated +Armenian colony which was established there shortly after the time of the +dreadful hunger, which drove the children of Haik in swarms from their +original country, and scattered them over most parts of the eastern and +western world. In Ispahan he passed the greater portion of his life, +following mercantile pursuits with considerable success. Certain +enemies, however, having accused him to the despot of the place, of using +seditious language, he was compelled to flee, leaving most of his +property behind. Travelling in the direction of the west, he came at +last to London, where he established himself, and eventually died, +leaving behind a large property and myself, his only child, the fruit of +a marriage with an Armenian English woman, who did not survive my birth +more than three months." + +The Armenian then proceeded to tell me that he had carried on the +business of his father, which seemed to embrace most matters, from buying +silks of Lascars to speculating in the funds, and that he had +considerably increased the property which his father had left him. He +candidly confessed that he was wonderfully fond of gold, and said there +was nothing like it for giving a person respectability and consideration +in the world; to which assertion I made no answer, being not exactly +prepared to contradict it. + +And, when he had related to me his history, he expressed a desire to know +something more of myself, whereupon I gave him the outline of my history, +concluding with saying, "I am now a poor author, or rather a philologist, +upon the streets of London, possessed of many tongues, which I find of no +use in the world." + +"Learning without money is anything but desirable," said the Armenian, +"as it unfits a man for humble occupations. It is true that it may +occasionally beget him friends; I confess to you that your understanding +something of my language weighs more with me than the service you +rendered me in rescuing my pocket-book the other day from the claws of +that scoundrel whom I yet hope to see hanged, if not crucified, +notwithstanding there were in that pocket-book papers and documents of +considerable value. Yes, that circumstance makes my heart warm towards +you, for I am proud of my language--as I indeed well may be--what a +language, noble and energetic! quite original, differing from all others +both in words and structure." + +"You are mistaken," said I; "many languages resemble the Armenian both in +structure and words." + +"For example?" said the Armenian. + +"For example?" said I, "the English." + +"The English," said the Armenian; "show me one word in which the English +resembles the Armenian." + +"You walk on London Bridge," said I. + +"Yes," said the Armenian. + +"I saw you look over the balustrade the other morning." + +"True," said the Armenian. + +"Well, what did you see rushing up through the arches with noise and +foam?" + +"What was it?" said the Armenian. "What was it?--you don't mean the +_tide_?" + +"Do I not?" said I. + +"Well, what has the tide to do with the matter?" + +"Much," said I; "what is the tide?" + +"The ebb and flow of the sea," said the Armenian. + +"The sea itself; what is the Haik word for sea?" + +The Armenian gave a strong gasp; then, nodding his head thrice, "you are +right," said he, "the English word tide is the Armenian for sea; and now +I begin to perceive that there are many English words which are Armenian; +there is --- and --- and there again in French there is --- and --- +derived from the Armenian. How strange, how singular--I thank you. It +is a proud thing to see that the language of my race has had so much +influence over the languages of the world." + +I saw that all that related to his race was the weak point of the +Armenian. I did not flatter the Armenian with respect to his race or +language. "An inconsiderable people," said I, "shrewd and industrious, +but still an inconsiderable people. A language bold and expressive, and +of some antiquity, derived, though perhaps not immediately, from some +much older tongue. I do not think that the Armenian has had any +influence over the formation of the languages of the world. I am not +much indebted to the Armenian for the solution of any doubts; whereas to +the language of Mr. Petulengro--" + +"I have heard you mention that name before," said the Armenian; "who is +Mr. Petulengro?" + +And then I told the Armenian who Mr. Petulengro was. The Armenian spoke +contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro and his race. "Don't speak +contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro," said I, "nor of anything belonging to +him. He is a dark, mysterious personage; all connected with him is a +mystery, especially his language; but I believe that his language is +doomed to solve a great philological problem--Mr. Petulengro--" + +"You appear agitated," said the Armenian; "take another glass of wine; +you possess a great deal of philological knowledge, but it appears to me +that the language of this Petulengro is your foible: but let us change +the subject; I feel much interested in you, and would fain be of service +to you. Can you cast accounts?" + +I shook my head. + +"Keep books?" + +"I have an idea that I could write books," said I; "but, as to keeping +them--" and here again I shook my head. + +The Armenian was silent some time; all at once, glancing at one of the +wire cases, with which, as I have already said, the walls of the room +were hung, he asked me if I was well acquainted with the learning of the +Haiks. "The books in these cases," said he, "contain the masterpieces of +Haik learning." + +"No," said I, "all I know of the learning of the Haiks is their +translation of the Bible." + +"You have never read Z---?" + +"No," said I, "I have never read Z---." + +"I have a plan," said the Armenian; "I think I can employ you agreeably +and profitably; I should like to see Z--- in an English dress; you shall +translate Z---. If you can read the Scriptures in Armenian, you can +translate Z---. He is our Esop, the most acute and clever of all our +moral writers--his philosophy--" + +"I will have nothing to do with him," said I. + +"Wherefore?" said the Armenian. + +"There is an old proverb," said I, "'that a burnt child avoids the fire.' +I have burnt my hands sufficiently with attempting to translate +philosophy, to make me cautious of venturing upon it again;" and then I +told the Armenian how I had been persuaded by the publisher to translate +his philosophy into German, and what sorry thanks I had received; "and +who knows," said I, "but the attempt to translate Armenian philosophy +into English might be attended with yet more disagreeable consequences." + +The Armenian smiled. "You would find me very different from the +publisher." + +"In many points I have no doubt I should," I replied; "but at the present +moment I feel like a bird which has escaped from a cage, and, though +hungry, feels no disposition to return. Of what nation is the dark man +below stairs, whom I saw writing at the desk?" + +"He is a Moldave," said the Armenian; "the dog (and here his eyes +sparkled) deserves to be crucified, he is continually making mistakes." + +The Armenian again renewed his proposition about Z---, which I again +refused, as I felt but little inclination to place myself beneath the +jurisdiction of a person who was in the habit of cuffing those whom he +employed, when they made mistakes. I presently took my departure; not, +however, before I had received from the Armenian a pressing invitation to +call upon him whenever I should feel disposed. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +What to do--Strong Enough--Fame and Profit--Alliterative +Euphony--Excellent Fellow--Listen to Me--A Plan--Bagnigge Wells. + +Anxious thoughts frequently disturbed me at this time with respect to +what I was to do, and how support myself in the Great City. My future +prospects were gloomy enough, and I looked forward and feared; sometimes +I felt half disposed to accept the offer of the Armenian, and to commence +forthwith, under his superintendence, the translation of the Haik Esop; +but the remembrance of the cuffs which I had seen him bestow upon the +Moldavian, when glancing over his shoulder into the ledger or whatever it +was on which he was employed, immediately drove the inclination from my +mind. I could not support the idea of the possibility of his staring +over my shoulder upon my translation of the Haik Esop, and, dissatisfied +with my attempts, treating me as he had treated the Moldavian clerk; +placing myself in a position which exposed me to such treatment, would +indeed be plunging into the fire after escaping from the frying pan. The +publisher, insolent and overbearing as he was, whatever he might have +wished or thought, had never lifted his hand against me, or told me that +I merited crucifixion. + +What was I to do? turn porter? I was strong; but there was something +besides strength required to ply the trade of a porter--a mind of a +particularly phlegmatic temperament, which I did not possess. What +should I do?--enlist as a soldier? I was tall enough; but something +besides height is required to make a man play with credit the part of +soldier, I mean a private one--a spirit, if spirit it can be called, +which would not only enable a man to submit with patience to insolence +and abuse, and even to cuffs and kicks, but occasionally to the lash. I +felt that I was not qualified to be a soldier, at least a private one; +far better be a drudge to the most ferocious of publishers, editing +Newgate lives and writing in eighteenpenny reviews--better to translate +the Haik Esop, under the superintendence of ten Armenians, than be a +private soldier in the English service; I did not decide rashly--I knew +something of soldiering. What should I do? I thought that I would make +a last and desperate attempt to dispose of the ballads and of Ab Gwilym. + +I had still an idea that, provided I could persuade any spirited +publisher to give these translations to the world, I should acquire both +considerable fame and profit; not, perhaps, a world-embracing fame, such +as Byron's; but a fame not to be sneered at, which would last me a +considerable time, and would keep my heart from breaking;--profit, not +equal to that which Scott had made by his wondrous novels, but which +would prevent me from starving, and enable me to achieve some other +literary enterprise. I read and re-read my ballads, and the more I read +them the more I was convinced that the public, in the event of their +being published, would freely purchase, and hail them with the merited +applause. Were not the deeds and adventures wonderful and +heart-stirring, from which it is true I could claim no merit, being but +the translator; but had I not rendered them into English, with all their +original fire? Yes, I was confident I had; and I had no doubt that the +public would say so. And then, with respect to Ab Gwilym, had I not done +as much justice to him as to the Danish ballads; not only rendering +faithfully his thoughts, imagery, and phraseology, but even preserving in +my translation the alliterative euphony which constitutes one of the most +remarkable features of Welsh prosody? Yes, I had accomplished all this; +and I doubted not that the public would receive my translations from Ab +Gwilym with quite as much eagerness as my version of the Danish ballads. +But I found the publishers as untractable as ever, and to this day the +public has never had an opportunity of doing justice to the glowing fire +of my ballad versification, and the alliterative euphony of my imitations +of Ab Gwilym. + +I had not seen Francis Ardry since the day I had seen him taking lessons +in elocution. One afternoon, as I was seated at my table, my head +resting on my hands, he entered my apartment; sitting down, he inquired +of me why I had not been to see him. + +"I might ask the same question of you," I replied. "Wherefore have you +not been to see me?" Whereupon Francis Ardry told me that he had been +much engaged in his oratorical exercises, also in escorting the young +Frenchwoman about to places of public amusement; he then again questioned +me as to the reason of my not having been to see him. + +I returned an evasive answer. The truth was, that for some time past my +appearance, owing to the state of my finances, had been rather shabby; +and I did not wish to expose a fashionable young man like Francis Ardry, +who lived in a fashionable neighbourhood, to the imputation of having a +shabby acquaintance. I was aware that Francis Ardry was an excellent +fellow; but, on that very account, I felt, under existing circumstances, +a delicacy in visiting him. + +It is very possible that he had an inkling of how matters stood, as he +presently began to talk of my affairs and prospects. I told him of my +late ill success with the booksellers, and inveighed against their +blindness to their own interest in refusing to publish my translations. +"The last that I addressed myself to," said I, "told me not to trouble +him again, unless I could bring him a decent novel or a tale." + +"Well," said Frank, "and why did you not carry him a decent novel or a +tale?" + +"Because I have neither," said I; "and to write them is, I believe, above +my capacity. At present I feel divested of all energy--heartless, and +almost hopeless." + +"I see how it is," said Francis Ardry, "you have overworked yourself, +and, worst of all, to no purpose. Take my advice; cast all care aside, +and only think of diverting yourself for a month at least." + +"Divert myself," said I; "and where am I to find the means?" + +"Be that care on my shoulders," said Francis Ardry. "Listen to me--my +uncles have been so delighted with the favourable accounts which they +have lately received from T--- of my progress in oratory, that, in the +warmth of their hearts, they made me a present yesterday of two hundred +pounds. This is more money than I want, at least for the present; do me +the favour to take half of it as a loan--hear me," said he, observing +that I was about to interrupt him, "I have a plan in my head--one of the +prettiest in the world. The sister of my charmer is just arrived from +France; she cannot speak a word of English; and, as Annette and myself +are much engaged in our own matters, we cannot pay her the attention +which we should wish, and which she deserves, for she is a truly +fascinating creature, although somewhat differing from my charmer, having +blue eyes and flaxen hair; whilst Annette, on the contrary--But I hope +you will shortly see Annette. Now my plan is this--Take the money, dress +yourself fashionably, and conduct Annette's sister to Bagnigge Wells." + +"And what should we do at Bagnigge Wells?" + +"Do!" said Francis Ardry. "Dance!" + +"But," said I, "I scarcely know anything of dancing." + +"Then here's an excellent opportunity of improving yourself. Like most +Frenchwomen, she dances divinely; however, if you object to Bagnigge +Wells and dancing, go to Brighton, and remain there a month or two, at +the end of which time you can return with your mind refreshed and +invigorated, and materials, perhaps, for a tale or novel." + +"I never heard a more foolish plan," said I, "or one less likely to +terminate profitably or satisfactorily. I thank you, however, for your +offer, which is, I dare say, well meant. If I am to escape from my cares +and troubles, and find my mind refreshed and invigorated, I must adopt +other means than conducting a French demoiselle to Brighton or Bagnigge +Wells, defraying the expense by borrowing from a friend." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +Singular Personage--A Large Sum--Papa of Rome--We are +Christians--Degenerate Armenians--Roots of Ararat--Regular Features. + +The Armenian! I frequently saw this individual, availing myself of the +permission which he had given me to call upon him. A truly singular +personage was he, with his love of amassing money, and his nationality so +strong as to be akin to poetry. Many an Armenian I have subsequently +known fond of money-getting, and not destitute of national spirit; but +never another who, in the midst of his schemes of lucre, was at all times +willing to enter into a conversation on the structure of the Haik +language, or whoever offered me money to render into English the fables +of Z--- in the hope of astonishing the stock-jobbers of the Exchange with +the wisdom of the Haik Esop. + +But he was fond of money, very fond. Within a little time I had won his +confidence to such a degree that he informed me that the grand wish of +his heart was to be possessed of two hundred thousand pounds. + +"I think you might satisfy yourself with the half," said I. "One hundred +thousand pounds is a large sum." + +"You are mistaken," said the Armenian, "a hundred thousand pounds is +nothing. My father left me that or more at his death. No; I shall never +be satisfied with less than two." + +"And what will you do with your riches," said I, "when you have obtained +them? Will you sit down and muse upon them, or will you deposit them in +a cellar, and go down once a day to stare at them? I have heard say that +the fulfilment of one's wishes is invariably the precursor of extreme +misery, and forsooth I can scarcely conceive a more horrible state of +existence than to be without a hope or wish." + +"It is bad enough, I dare say," said the Armenian; "it will, however, be +time enough to think of disposing of the money when I have procured it. +I still fall short by a vast sum of the two hundred thousand pounds." + +I had occasionally much conversation with him on the state and prospects +of his nation, especially of that part of it which still continued in the +original country of the Haiks--Ararat and its confines, which, it +appeared, he had frequently visited. He informed me that since the death +of the last Haik monarch, which occurred in the eleventh century, Armenia +had been governed both temporally and spiritually by certain personages +called patriarchs; their temporal authority, however, was much +circumscribed by the Persian and Turk, especially the former, of whom the +Armenian spoke with much hatred, whilst their spiritual authority had at +various times been considerably undermined by the emissaries of the Papa +of Rome, as the Armenian called him. + +"The Papa of Rome sent his emissaries at an early period amongst us," +said the Armenian, "seducing the minds of weak-headed people, persuading +them that the hillocks of Rome are higher than the ridges of Ararat; that +the Roman Papa has more to say in heaven than the Armenian patriarch, and +that puny Latin is a better language than nervous and sonorous Haik." + +"They are both dialects," said I, "of the language of Mr. Petulengro, one +of whose race I believe to have been the original founder of Rome; but, +with respect to religion, what are the chief points of your faith? you +are Christians, I believe." + +"Yes," said the Armenian, "we are Christians in our way; we believe in +God, the Holy Spirit, and Saviour, though we are not prepared to admit +that the last personage is not only himself, but the other two. We +believe--" and then the Armenian told me of several things which the +Haiks believed or disbelieved. "But what we find most hard of all to +believe," said he, "is that the man of the mole-hills is entitled to our +allegiance, he not being a Haik, or understanding the Haik language." + +"But, by your own confession," said I, "he has introduced a schism in +your nation, and has amongst you many that believe in him." + +"It is true," said the Armenian, "that even on the confines of Ararat +there are a great number who consider that mountain to be lower than the +hillocks of Rome; but the greater number of degenerate Armenians are to +be found amongst those who have wandered to the west; most of the Haik +churches of the west consider Rome to be higher than Ararat--most of the +Armenians of this place hold that dogma; I, however, have always stood +firm in the contrary opinion." + +"Ha! ha!"--here the Armenian laughed in his peculiar manner--"talking of +this matter puts me in mind of an adventure which lately befell me, with +one of the emissaries of the Papa of Rome, for the Papa of Rome has at +present many emissaries in this country, in order to seduce the people +from their own quiet religion to the savage heresy of Rome; this fellow +came to me partly in the hope of converting me, but principally to extort +money for the purpose of furthering the designs of Rome in this country. +I humoured the fellow at first, keeping him in play for nearly a month, +deceiving and laughing at him. At last he discovered that he could make +nothing of me, and departed with the scowl of Caiaphas, whilst I cried +after him, 'The roots of Ararat are _deeper_ than those of Rome.'" + +The Armenian had occasionally reverted to the subject of the translation +of the Haik Esop, which he had still a lurking desire that I should +execute; but I had invariably declined the undertaking, without, however, +stating my reasons. On one occasion, when we had been conversing on the +subject, the Armenian, who had been observing my countenance for some +time with much attention, remarked, "Perhaps, after all, you are right, +and you might employ your time to better advantage. Literature is a fine +thing, especially Haik literature, but neither that nor any other would +be likely to serve as a foundation to a man's fortune; and to make a +fortune should be the principal aim of every one's life; therefore listen +to me. Accept a seat at the desk opposite to my Moldavian clerk, and +receive the rudiments of a merchant's education. You shall be instructed +in the Armenian way of doing business--I think you would make an +excellent merchant." + +"Why do you think so?" + +"Because you have something of the Armenian look." + +"I understand you," said I; "you mean to say that I squint?" + +"Not exactly," said the Armenian, "but there is certainly a kind of +irregularity in your features. One eye appears to me larger than the +other--never mind, but rather rejoice; in that irregularity consists your +strength. All people with regular features are fools; it is very hard +for them, you'll say, but there is no help: all we can do, who are not in +such a predicament, is to pity those who are. Well! will you accept my +offer? No! you are a singular individual; but I must not forget my own +concerns. I must now go forth, having an appointment by which I hope to +make money." + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +Wish Fulfilled--Extraordinary Figure--Bueno--Noah--The Two Faces--I don't +Blame Him--Too Fond of Money--Were I an Armenian. + +The fulfilment of the Armenian's grand wish was nearer at hand than +either he or I had anticipated. Partly owing to the success of a bold +speculation, in which he had some time previously engaged, and partly +owing to the bequest of a large sum of money by one of his nation who +died at this period in Paris, he found himself in the possession of a +fortune somewhat exceeding two hundred thousand pounds; this fact he +communicated to me one evening about an hour after the close of 'Change; +the hour at which I generally called, and at which I mostly found him at +home. + +"Well," said I, "and what do you intend to do next?" + +"I scarcely know," said the Armenian. "I was thinking of that when you +came in. I don't see anything that I can do, save going on in my former +course. After all, I was perhaps too moderate in making the possession +of two hundred thousand pounds the summit of my ambition; there are many +individuals in this town who possess three times that sum, and are not +yet satisfied. No, I think I can do no better than pursue the old +career; who knows but I may make the two hundred thousand three or +four?--there is already a surplus, which is an encouragement; however, we +will consider the matter over a goblet of wine; I have observed of late +that you have become partial to my Cyprus." + +And it came to pass that, as we were seated over the Cyprus wine, we +heard a knock at the door. "Adelante!" cried the Armenian; whereupon the +door opened, and in walked a somewhat extraordinary figure--a man in a +long loose tunic of a stuff striped with black and yellow; breeches of +plush velvet, silk stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. On his head +he wore a high-peaked hat; he was tall, had a hooked nose, and in age was +about fifty. + +"Welcome, Rabbi Manasseh," said the Armenian. "I know your knock--you +are welcome; sit down." + +"I am welcome," said Manasseh, sitting down; "he--he--he! you know my +knock--I bring you money--_bueno_!" + +There was something very peculiar in the sound of that _bueno_--I never +forgot it. + +Thereupon a conversation ensued between Rabbi Manasseh and the Armenian, +in a language which I knew to be Spanish, though a peculiar dialect. It +related to a mercantile transaction. The Rabbi sighed heavily as he +delivered to the other a considerable sum of money. + +"It is right," said the Armenian, handing a receipt. "It is right; and I +am quite satisfied." + +"You are satisfied--you have taken money. _Bueno_, I have nothing to say +against your being satisfied." + +"Come, Rabbi," said the Armenian, "do not despond; it may be your turn +next to take money; in the meantime, can't you be persuaded to taste my +Cyprus?" + +"He--he--he! senor, you know I do not love wine. I love Noah when he is +himself; but, as Janus, I love him not. But you are merry; _bueno_, you +have a right to be so." + +"Excuse me," said I; "but does Noah ever appear as Janus?" + +"He--he--he!" said the Rabbi, "he only appeared as Janus once--una vez +quando estuvo borracho; which means--" + +"I understand," said I; "when he was--" and I drew the side of my right +hand sharply across my left wrist. + +"Are you one of our people?" said the Rabbi. + +"No," said I, "I am one of the Goyim; but I am only half enlightened. +Why should Noah be Janus, when he was in that state?" + +"He--he--he! you must know that in Lasan akhades wine is janin." + +"In Armenian, kini," said I; "in Welsh, gwin; Latin, vinum; but do you +think that Janus and janin are one?" + +"Do I think? Don't the commentators say so? Does not Master Leo +Abarbenel say so, in his 'Dialogues of Divine Love'?" + +"But," said I, "I always thought that Janus was a god of the ancient +Romans, who stood in a temple open in time of war, and shut in time of +peace; he was represented with two faces, which--which--" + +"He--he--he!" said the Rabbi, rising from his seat; "he had two faces, +had he? And what did those two faces typify? You do not know; no, nor +did the Romans who carved him with two faces know why they did so; for +they were only half enlightened, like you and the rest of the Goyim. Yet +they were right in carving him with two faces looking from each +other--they were right, though they knew not why; there was a tradition +among them that the Janinoso had two faces, but they knew not that one +was for the world which was gone, and the other for the world before +him--for the drowned world, and for the present, as Master Leo Abarbenel +says in his 'Dialogues of Divine Love.' He--he--he!" continued the +Rabbi, who had by this time advanced to the door, and, turning round, +waved the two forefingers of his right hand in our faces; "the Goyims and +Epicouraiyim are clever men, they know how to make money better than we +of Israel. My good friend there is a clever man, I bring him money, he +never brought me any; _bueno_, I do not blame him, he knows much, very +much; but one thing there is my friend does not know, nor any of the +Epicureans, he does not know the sacred thing--he has never received the +gift of interpretation which God alone gives to the seed--he has his +gift, I have mine--he is satisfied, I don't blame him, _bueno_." + +And with this last word in his mouth, he departed. + +"Is that man a native of Spain?" I demanded. + +"Not a native of Spain," said the Armenian, "though he is one of those +who call themselves Spanish Jews, and who are to be found scattered +throughout Europe, speaking the Spanish language transmitted to them by +their ancestors, who were expelled from Spain in the time of Ferdinand +and Isabella." + +"The Jews are a singular people," said I. + +"A race of cowards and dastards," said the Armenian, "without a home or +country; servants to servants; persecuted and despised by all." + +"And what are the Haiks?" I demanded. + +"Very different from the Jews," replied the Armenian; "the Haiks have a +home--a country, and can occasionally use a good sword; though it is true +they are not what they might be." + +"Then it is a shame that they do not become so," said I; "but they are +too fond of money. There is yourself, with two hundred thousand pounds +in your pocket, craving for more, whilst you might be turning your wealth +to the service of your country." + +"In what manner?" said the Armenian. + +"I have heard you say that the grand oppressor of your country is the +Persian; why not attempt to free your country from his oppression--you +have two hundred thousand pounds, and money is the sinew of war?" + +"Would you, then, have me attack the Persian?" + +"I scarcely know what to say; fighting is a rough trade, and I am by no +means certain that you are calculated for the scratch. It is not every +one who has been brought up in the school of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno +Chikno. All I can say is, that if I were an Armenian, and had two +hundred thousand pounds to back me, I would attack the Persian." + +"Hem!" said the Armenian. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + +The One Half-Crown--Merit in Patience--Cementer of Friendship--Dreadful +Perplexity--The Usual Guttural--Armenian Letters--Much Indebted to +You--Pure Helplessness--Dumb People. + +One morning on getting up I discovered that my whole worldly wealth was +reduced to one half-crown--throughout that day I walked about in +considerable distress of mind; it was now requisite that I should come to +a speedy decision with respect to what I was to do; I had not many +alternatives, and, before I had retired to rest on the night of the day +in question, I had determined that I could do no better than accept the +first proposal of the Armenian, and translate, under his superintendence, +the Haik Esop into English. + +I reflected, for I made a virtue of necessity, that, after all, such an +employment would be an honest and honourable one; honest, inasmuch as by +engaging in it I should do harm to nobody; honourable, inasmuch as it was +a literary task, which not every one was capable of executing. It was +not everyone of the booksellers' writers of London who was competent to +translate the Haik Esop. I determined to accept the offer of the +Armenian. + +Once or twice the thought of what I might have to undergo in the +translation from certain peculiarities of the Armenian's temper almost +unsettled me; but a mechanical diving of my hand into my pocket, and the +feeling of the solitary half-crown, confirmed me; after all, this was a +life of trial and tribulation, and I had read somewhere or other that +there was much merit in patience, so I determined to hold fast in my +resolution of accepting the offer of the Armenian. + +But all of a sudden I remembered that the Armenian appeared to have +altered his intentions towards me: he appeared no longer desirous that I +should render the Haik Esop into English for the benefit of the +stock-jobbers on Exchange, but rather that I should acquire the rudiments +of doing business in the Armenian fashion, and accumulate a fortune, +which would enable me to make a figure upon 'Change with the best of the +stock-jobbers. "Well," thought I, withdrawing my hand from my pocket, +whither it had again mechanically dived, "after all, what would the +world, what would this city be, without commerce? I believe the world, +and particularly this city, would cut a very poor figure without +commerce; and there is something poetical in the idea of doing business +after the Armenian fashion, dealing with dark-faced Lascars and Rabbins +of the Sephardim. Yes, should the Armenian insist upon it, I would +accept a seat at the desk, opposite the Moldavian clerk. I do not like +the idea of cuffs similar to those the Armenian bestowed upon the +Moldavian clerk; whatever merit there may be in patience, I do not think +that my estimation of the merit of patience would be sufficient to induce +me to remain quietly sitting under the infliction of cuffs. I think I +should, in the event of his cuffing me, knock the Armenian down. Well, I +think I have heard it said somewhere, that a knock-down blow is a great +cementer of friendship; I think I have heard of two people being better +friends than ever after the one had received from the other a knock-down +blow." + +That night I dreamed I had acquired a colossal fortune, some four hundred +thousand pounds, by the Armenian way of doing business, but suddenly woke +in dreadful perplexity as to how I should dispose of it. + +About nine o'clock next morning I set off to the house of the Armenian; I +had never called upon him so early before, and certainly never with a +heart beating with so much eagerness; but the situation of my affairs had +become very critical, and I thought that I ought to lose no time in +informing the Armenian that I was at length perfectly willing either to +translate the Haik Esop under his superintendence, or to accept a seat at +the desk opposite to the Moldavian clerk, and acquire the secrets of +Armenian commerce. With a quick step I entered the counting-room, where, +notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, I found the clerk, busied as +usual at his desk. + +He had always appeared to me a singular being, this same Moldavian clerk. +A person of fewer words could scarcely be conceived: provided his master +were at home, he would, on my inquiring, nod his head; and, provided he +were not, he would invariably reply with the monosyllable, "no," +delivered in a strange guttural tone. On the present occasion, being +full of eagerness and impatience, I was about to pass by him to the +apartment above, without my usual inquiry, when he lifted his head from +the ledger in which he was writing, and, laying down his pen, motioned to +me with his forefinger, as if to arrest my progress; whereupon I stopped, +and, with a palpitating heart, demanded whether the master of the house +was at home? The Moldavian clerk replied with his usual guttural, and, +opening his desk, ensconced his head therein. + +"It does not much matter," said I, "I suppose I shall find him at home +after 'Change; it does not much matter, I can return." + +I was turning away with the intention of leaving the room; at this +moment, however, the head of the Moldavian clerk became visible, and I +observed a letter in his hand, which he had inserted in the desk at the +same time with his head; this he extended towards me, making at the same +time a side-long motion with his head, as much as to say that it +contained something which interested me. + +I took the letter, and the Moldavian clerk forthwith resumed his +occupation. The back of the letter bore my name, written in Armenian +characters: with a trembling hand I broke the seal, and, unfolding the +letter, I beheld several lines also written in the letters of Mesroub, +the Cadmus of the Armenians. + +I stared at the lines, and at first could not make out a syllable of +their meaning; at last, how ever, by continued staring, I discovered +that, though the letters were Armenian, the words were English; in about +ten minutes I had contrived to decipher the sense of the letter; it ran +somewhat in this style:-- + + "MY DEAR FRIEND,-- + + "The words which you uttered in our last conversation have made a + profound impression upon me; I have thought them over day and night, + and have come to the conclusion that it is my bounden duty to attack + the Persians. When these lines are delivered to you, I shall be on + the route to Ararat. A mercantile speculation will be to the world + the ostensible motive of my journey, and it is singular enough that + one which offers considerable prospect of advantage has just + presented itself on the confines of Persia. Think not, however, that + motives of lucre would have been sufficiently powerful to tempt me to + the East at the present moment. I may speculate, it is true; but I + should scarcely have undertaken the journey but for your pungent + words inciting me to attack the Persians. Doubt not that I will + attack them on the first opportunity. I thank you heartily for + putting me in mind of my duty. I have hitherto, to use your own + words, been too fond of money-getting, like all my countrymen. I am + much indebted to you; farewell! and may every prosperity await you." + +For some time after I had deciphered the epistle, I stood as if rooted to +the floor. I felt stunned--my last hope was gone; presently a feeling +arose in my mind--a feeling of self-reproach. Whom had I to blame but +myself for the departure of the Armenian? Would he have ever thought of +attacking the Persians had I not put the idea into his head? he had told +me in his epistle that he was indebted to me for the idea. But for that, +he might at the present moment have been in London, increasing his +fortune by his usual methods, and I might be commencing under his +auspices the translation of the Haik Esop, with the promise, no doubt, of +a considerable remuneration for my trouble; or I might be taking a seat +opposite the Moldavian clerk, and imbibing the first rudiments of doing +business after the Armenian fashion, with the comfortable hope of +realizing, in a short time, a fortune of three or four hundred thousand +pounds; but the Armenian was now gone, and farewell to the fine hopes I +had founded upon him the day before. What was I to do? I looked wildly +around, till my eyes rested on the Moldavian clerk, who was writing away +in his ledger with particular vehemence. Not knowing what to do or say, +I thought I might as well ask the Moldavian clerk when the Armenian had +departed, and when he thought that he would return. It is true it +mattered little to me when he departed, seeing that he was gone, and it +was evident that he would not be back soon; but I knew not what to do, +and in pure helplessness thought I might as well ask; so I went up to the +Moldavian clerk, and asked him when the Armenian had departed, and +whether he had been gone two days or three? Whereupon the Moldavian +clerk, looking up from his ledger, made certain signs, which I could by +no means understand. I stood astonished, but, presently recovering +myself, inquired when he considered it probable that the master would +return, and whether he thought it would be two months or--my tongue +faltered--two years; whereupon the Moldavian clerk made more signs than +before, and yet more unintelligible; as I persisted, however, he flung +down his pen, and, putting his thumb into his mouth, moved it rapidly, +causing the nail to sound against the lower jaw; whereupon I saw that he +was dumb, and hurried away, for I had always entertained a horror of dumb +people, having once heard my mother say, when I was a child, that dumb +people were half demoniacs, or little better. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + + +Kind of Stupor--Peace of God--Divine Hand--Farewell, Child--The +Fair--Massive Edifice--Battered Tars--Lost! Lost!--Good Day, Gentlemen. + +Leaving the house of the Armenian, I strolled about for some time; almost +mechanically my feet conducted me to London Bridge, to the booth in which +stood the stall of the old apple-woman; the sound of her voice aroused +me, as I sat in a kind of stupor on the stone bench beside her; she was +inquiring what was the matter with me. + +At first, I believe, I answered her very incoherently, for I observed +alarm beginning to depict itself upon her countenance. Rousing myself, +however, I in my turn put a few questions to her upon her present +condition and prospects. The old woman's countenance cleared up +instantly; she informed me that she had never been more comfortable in +her life; that her trade, her _honest_ trade--laying an emphasis on the +word honest--had increased of late wonderfully; that her health was +better, and, above all, that she felt no fear and horror "here," laying +her hand on her breast. + +On my asking her whether she still heard voices in the night, she told me +that she frequently did; but that the present were mild voices, sweet +voices, encouraging voices, very different from the former ones; that a +voice only the night previous, had cried out about "the peace of God," in +particularly sweet accents; a sentence which she remembered to have read +in her early youth in the primer, but which she had clean forgotten till +the voice the night before had brought it to her recollection. + +After a pause, the old woman said to me, "I believe, dear, that it is the +blessed book you brought me which has wrought this goodly change. How +glad I am now that I can read; but oh what a difference between the book +you brought to me and the one you took away. I believe the one you +brought is written by the finger of God, and the other by--" + +"Don't abuse the book," said I, "it is an excellent book for those who +can understand it; it was not exactly suited to you, and perhaps it had +been better had you never read it--and yet, who knows? Peradventure, if +you had not read that book, you would not have been fitted for the +perusal of the one which you say is written by the finger of God;" and, +pressing my hand to my head, I fell into a deep fit of musing. "What, +after all," thought I, "if there should be more order and system in the +working of the moral world than I have thought? Does there not seem in +the present instance to be something like the working of a Divine hand? +I could not conceive why this woman, better educated than her mother, +should have been, as she certainly was, a worse character than her +mother. Yet perhaps this woman may be better and happier than her mother +ever was; perhaps she is so already--perhaps this world is not a wild, +lying dream, as I have occasionally supposed it to be." + +But the thought of my own situation did not permit me to abandon myself +much longer to these musings. I started up. "Where are you going, +child?" said the woman anxiously. "I scarcely know," said I; "anywhere." +"Then stay here, child," said she; "I have much to say to you." "No," +said I, "I shall be better moving about;" and I was moving away, when it +suddenly occurred to me that I might never see this woman again; and +turning round offered her my hand, and bade her good-bye. "Farewell, +child," said the old woman, "and God bless you!" I then moved along the +bridge until I reached the Southwark side, and, still holding on my +course, my mind again became quickly abstracted from all surrounding +objects. + +At length I found myself in a street or road, with terraces on either +side, and seemingly of interminable length, leading, as it would appear, +to the south-east. I was walking at a great rate--there were likewise a +great number of people, also walking at a great rate; also carts and +carriages driving at a great rate; and all, men, carts, and carriages, +going in the selfsame direction, namely, to the south-east. I stopped +for a moment and deliberated whether or not I should proceed. What +business had I in that direction? I could not say that I had any +particular business in that direction, but what could I do were I to turn +back? only walk about well-known streets; and, if I must walk, why not +continue in the direction in which I was to see whither the road and its +terraces led? I was here in a _terra incognita_, and an unknown place +had always some interest for me; moreover, I had a desire to know whither +all this crowd was going, and for what purpose. I thought they could not +be going far, as crowds seldom go far, especially at such a rate; so I +walked on more lustily than before, passing group after group of the +crowd, and almost vieing in speed with some of the carriages, especially +the hackney-coaches; and by dint of walking at this rate, the terraces +and houses becoming somewhat less frequent as I advanced, I reached in +about three quarters of an hour a kind of low dingy town, in the +neighbourhood of the river; the streets were swarming with people, and I +concluded, from the number of wild-beast shows, caravans, gingerbread +stalls, and the like, that a fair was being held. Now, as I had always +been partial to fairs, I felt glad that I had fallen in with the crowd +which had conducted me to the present one, and, casting away as much as I +was able all gloomy thoughts, I did my best to enter into the diversions +of the fair; staring at the wonderful representations of animals on +canvas hung up before the shows of wild beasts, which, by-the-bye, are +frequently found much more worthy of admiration than the real beasts +themselves; listening to the jokes of the merry-andrews from the +platforms in front of the temporary theatres, or admiring the splendid +tinsel dresses of the performers who thronged the stages in the intervals +of the entertainments; and in this manner, occasionally gazing and +occasionally listening, I passed through the town till I came in front of +a large edifice looking full upon the majestic bosom of the Thames. + +It was a massive stone edifice, built in an antique style, and black with +age, with a broad esplanade between it and the river, on which, mixed +with a few people from the fair, I observed moving about a great many +individuals in quaint dresses of blue, with strange three-cornered hats +on their heads; most of them were mutilated; this had a wooden leg--this +wanted an arm; some had but one eye; and as I gazed upon the edifice, and +the singular-looking individuals who moved before it, I guessed where I +was. "I am at ---" said I; "these individuals are battered tars of Old +England, and this edifice, once the favourite abode of Glorious +Elizabeth, is the refuge which a grateful country has allotted to them. +Here they can rest their weary bodies; at their ease talk over the +actions in which they have been injured; and, with the tear of enthusiasm +flowing from their eyes, boast how they have trod the deck of fame with +Rodney, or Nelson, or others whose names stand emblazoned in the naval +annals of their country." + +Turning to the right, I entered a park or wood consisting of enormous +trees, occupying the foot, sides, and top of a hill, which rose behind +the town; there were multitudes of people among the trees, diverting +themselves in various ways. Coming to the top of the hill, I was +presently stopped by a lofty wall, along which I walked, till, coming to +a small gate, I passed through, and found myself on an extensive green +plain, on one side bounded in part by the wall of the park, and on the +others, in the distance, by extensive ranges of houses; to the south-east +was a lofty eminence, partially clothed with wood. The plain exhibited +an animated scene, a kind of continuation of the fair below; there were +multitudes of people upon it, many tents, and shows; there was also +horse-racing, and much noise and shouting, the sun shining brightly +overhead. After gazing at the horse-racing for a little time, feeling +myself somewhat tired, I went up to one of the tents, and laid myself +down on the grass. There was much noise in the tent. "Who will stand +me?" said a voice with a slight tendency to lisp. "Will you, my lord?" +"Yes," said another voice. Then there was a sound as of a piece of money +banging on a table. "Lost! lost! lost!" cried several voices; and then +the banging down of the money, and the "lost! lost! lost!" were +frequently repeated; at last the second voice exclaimed, "I will try no +more; you have cheated me." "Never cheated any one in my life, my +lord--all fair--all chance. Them that finds, wins--them that can't +finds, loses. Any one else try? Who'll try? Will you, my lord?" and +then it appeared that some other lord tried, for I heard more money flung +down. Then again the cry of "Lost! lost!"--then again the sound of +money, and so on. Once or twice, but not more, I heard "Won! won!" but +the predominant cry was "Lost! lost!" At last there was a considerable +hubbub, and the words "Cheat!" "Rogue!" and "You filched away the pea!" +were used freely by more voices than one, to which the voice with the +tendency to lisp replied, "Never filched a pea in my life; would scorn +it. Always glad when folks wins; but, as those here don't appear to be +civil, nor to wish to play any more, I shall take myself off with my +table; so, good day, gentlemen." + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + + +Singular Table--No Money--Out of Employ--My Bonnet--We of the +Thimble--Good Wages--Wisely Resolved--Strangest Way in the World--Fat +Gentleman--Not Such Another--First Edition--Not Very Easy--Won't +Close--Avella Gorgio--Alarmed Look. + +Presently a man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a rather +singular table; it appeared to be of white deal, was exceedingly small at +the top, and with very long legs. At a few yards from the entrance he +paused, and looked round, as if to decide on the direction which he +should take; presently, his eye glancing on me as I lay upon the ground, +he started, and appeared for a moment inclined to make off as quick as +possible, table and all. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover +assurance, and, coming up to the place where I was, the long legs of the +table projecting before him, he cried, "Glad to see you here, my lord." + +"Thank you," said I, "it's a fine day." + +"Very fine, my lord; will your lordship play? Them that finds, +wins--them that don't finds, loses." + +"Play at what?" said I. + +"Only at the thimble and pea, my lord." + +"I never heard of such a game." + +"Didn't you? Well, I'll soon teach you," said he, placing the table +down. "All you have to do is to put a sovereign down on my table, and to +find the pea, which I put under one of my thimbles. If you can find +it,--and it is easy enough to find it,--I give you a sovereign besides +your own: for them that finds, wins." + +"And them that don't find, loses," said I; "no, I don't wish to play." + +"Why not, my lord?" + +"Why, in the first place, I have no money." + +"Oh, you have no money; that of course alters the case. If you have no +money, you can't play. Well, I suppose I must be seeing after my +customers," said he, glancing over the plain. + +"Good day," said I. + +"Good day," said the man slowly, but without moving, and as if in +reflection. After a moment or two, looking at me inquiringly, he added, +"Out of employ?" + +"Yes," said I, "out of employ." + +The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground. At length he +said, "May I speak a word or two to you, my lord?" + +"As many as you please," said I. + +"Then just come a little out of hearing, a little farther on the grass, +if you please, my lord." + +"Why do you call me my lord?" said I, as I arose and followed him. + +"We of the thimble always calls our customers lords," said the man; "but +I won't call you such a foolish name any more; come along." + +The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a dry pit, +when, looking round to see that no one was nigh, he laid his table on the +grass, and, sitting down with his legs over the side of the pit, he +motioned me to do the same. "So you are in want of employ," said he, +after I had sat down beside him. + +"Yes," said I, "I am very much in want of employ." + +"I think I can find you some." + +"What kind?" said I. + +"Why," said the man, "I think you would do to be my bonnet." + +"Bonnet!" said I, "what is that?" + +"Don't you know? However, no wonder, as you had never heard of the +thimble-and-pea game, but I will tell you. We of the game are very much +exposed; folks when they have lost their money, as those who play with us +mostly do, sometimes uses rough language, calls us cheats, and sometimes +knocks our hats over our eyes; and what's more, with a kick under our +table, causes the top deals to fly off; this is the third table I have +used this day, the other two being broken by uncivil customers: so we of +the game generally like to have gentlemen go about with us to take our +part, and encourage us, though pretending to know nothing about us; for +example, when the customer says, 'I'm cheated,' the bonnet must say, 'No, +you a'n't, it is all right;' or, when my hat is knocked over my eyes, the +bonnet must square and say, 'I never saw the man before in all my life, +but I won't see him ill-used;' and so, when they kicks at the table, the +bonnet must say, 'I won't see the table ill-used, such a nice table too; +besides, I want to play myself;' and then I would say to the bonnet, +'Thank you, my lord, them that finds, wins;' and then the bonnet plays, +and I lets the bonnet win." + +"In a word," said I, "the bonnet means the man who covers you, even as +the real bonnet covers the head." + +"Just so," said the man, "I see you are awake, and would soon make a +first-rate bonnet." + +"Bonnet," said I, musingly; "bonnet; it is metaphorical." + +"Is it?" said the man. + +"Yes," said I, "like the cant words--" + +"Bonnet is cant," said the man; "we of the thimble, as well as all +clyfakers and the like, understand cant, as, of course, must every +bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, you had better learn it as soon as +you can, that we may discourse together without being understood by every +one. Besides covering his principal, a bonnet must have his eyes about +him, for the trade of the pea, though a strictly honest one, is not +altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet, if he sees the +constable coming, to say, the gorgio's welling." + +"That is not cant," said I, "that is the language of the Rommany Chals." + +"Do you know those people?" said the man. + +"Perfectly," said I, "and their language too." + +"I wish I did," said the man, "I would give ten pounds and more to know +the language of the Rommany Chals. There's some of it in the language of +the pea and thimble; how it came there I don't know, but so it is. I +wish I knew it, but it is difficult. You'll make a capital bonnet; shall +we close?" + +"What would the wages be?" I demanded. + +"Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would prove, I could afford +to give from forty to fifty shillings a week." + +"Is it possible?" said I. + +"Good wages, a'n't they?" said the man. + +"First rate," said I; "bonneting is more profitable than reviewing." + +"Anan?" said the man. + +"Or translating; I don't think the Armenian would have paid me at that +rate for translating his Esop." + +"Who is he?" said the man. + +"Esop?" + +"No, I know what that is, Esop's cant for a hunchback; but t'other?" + +"You should know," said I. + +"Never saw the man in all my life." + +"Yes, you have," said I, "and felt him too; don't you remember the +individual from whom you took the pocket-book?" + +"Oh, that was he; well, the less said about that matter the better; I +have left off that trade, and taken to this, which is a much better. +Between ourselves, I am not sorry that I did not carry off that +pocket-book; if I had, it might have encouraged me in the trade, in +which, had I remained, I might have been lagged, sent abroad, as I had +been already imprisoned; so I determined to leave it off at all hazards, +though I was hard up, not having a penny in the world." + +"And wisely resolved," said I, "it was a bad and dangerous trade; I +wonder you should ever have embraced it." + +"It is all very well talking," said the man, "but there is a reason for +everything; I am the son of a Jewess, by a military officer,"--and then +the man told me his story. I shall not repeat the man's story, it was a +poor one, a vile one; at last he observed, "So that affair which you know +of determined me to leave the filching trade, and take up with a more +honest and safe one; so at last I thought of the pea and thimble, but I +wanted funds, especially to pay for lessons at the hands of a master, for +I knew little about it." + +"Well," said I, "how did you get over that difficulty?" + +"Why," said the man, "I thought I should never have got over it. What +funds could I raise? I had nothing to sell; the few clothes I had I +wanted, for we of the thimble must always appear decent, or nobody would +come near us. I was at my wits' ends; at last I got over my difficulty +in the strangest way in the world." + +"What was that?" + +"By an old thing which I had picked up some time before--a book." + +"A book?" said I. + +"Yes, which I had taken out of your lordship's pocket one day as you were +walking the streets in a great hurry. I thought it was a pocket-book at +first, full of bank notes, perhaps," continued he, laughing. "It was +well for me, however, that it was not, for I should have soon spent the +notes; as it was, I had flung the old thing down with an oath, as soon as +I brought it home. When I was so hard up, however, after the affair with +that friend of yours, I took it up one day, and thought I might make +something by it to support myself a day with. Chance or something else +led me into a grand shop; there was a man there who seemed to be the +master, talking to a jolly, portly old gentleman, who seemed to be a +country squire. Well, I went up to the first, and offered it for sale; +he took the book, opened it at the title-page, and then all of a sudden +his eyes glistened, and he showed it to the fat, jolly gentleman, and his +eyes glistened too, and I heard him say, 'How singular!' and then the two +talked together in a speech I didn't understand--I rather thought it was +French, at any rate it wasn't cant; and presently the first asked me what +I would take for the book. Now I am not altogether a fool nor am I +blind, and I had narrowly marked all that passed, and it came into my +head that now was the time for making a man of myself, at any rate I +could lose nothing by a little confidence; so I looked the man boldly in +the face, and said, 'I will have five guineas for that book, there a'n't +such another in the whole world.' 'Nonsense,' said the first man, 'there +are plenty of them, there have been nearly fifty editions to my +knowledge; I will give you five shillings.' 'No,' said I, 'I'll not take +it, for I don't like to be cheated, so give me my book again;' and I +attempted to take it away from the fat gentleman's hand. 'Stop,' said +the younger man, 'are you sure that you won't take less?' 'Not a +farthing,' said I; which was not altogether true, but I said so. 'Well,' +said the fat gentleman, 'I will give you what you ask;' and sure enough +he presently gave me the money; so I made a bow, and was leaving the +shop, when it came into my head that there was something odd in all this, +and, as I had got the money in my pocket, I turned back, and, making +another bow, said, 'May I be so bold as to ask why you gave me all this +money for that 'ere dirty book? When I came into the shop, I should have +been glad to get a shilling for it; but I saw you wanted it, and asked +five guineas.' Then they looked at one another, and smiled, and shrugged +up their shoulders. Then the first man, looking at me, said, 'Friend, +you have been a little too sharp for us; however, we can afford to +forgive you, as my friend here has long been in quest of this particular +book; there are plenty of editions, as I told you, and a common copy is +not worth five shillings; but this is a first edition, and a copy of the +first edition is worth its weight in gold.'" + +"So, after all, they outwitted you," I observed. + +"Clearly," said the man; "I might have got double the price, had I known +the value; but I don't care, much good may it do them, it has done me +plenty. By means of it I have got into an honest respectable trade, in +which there's little danger and plenty of profit, and got out of one +which would have got me lagged sooner or later." + +"But," said I, "you ought to remember that the thing was not yours; you +took it from me, who had been requested by a poor old apple-woman to +exchange it for a Bible." + +"Well," said the man, "did she ever get her Bible?" + +"Yes," said I, "she got her Bible." + +"Then she has no cause to complain; and, as for you, chance or something +else has sent you to me, that I may make you reasonable amends for any +loss you may have had. Here am I ready to make you my bonnet, with forty +or fifty shillings a week, which you say yourself are capital wages." + +"I find no fault with the wages," said I, "but I don't like the employ." + +"Not like bonneting," said the man; "ah, I see, you would like to be +principal; well, a time may come--those long white fingers of yours would +just serve for the business." + +"Is it a difficult one?" I demanded. + +"Why, it is not very easy: two things are needful--natural talent, and +constant practice; but I'll show you a point or two connected with the +game;" and, placing his table between his knees as he sat over the side +of the pit, he produced three thimbles, and a small brown pellet, +something resembling a pea. He moved the thimble and pellet about, now +placing it to all appearance under one, and now under another; "Under +which is it now?" he said at last. "Under that," said I, pointing to the +lowermost of the thimbles, which, as they stood, formed a kind of +triangle. "No," said he, "it is not, but lift it up;" and, when I lifted +up the thimble, the pellet, in truth, was not under it. "It was under +none of them," said he, "it was pressed by my little finger against my +palm;" and then he showed me how he did the trick, and asked me if the +game was not a funny one; and, on my answering in the affirmative, he +said, "I am glad you like it, come along and let us win some money." + +Thereupon, getting up, he placed the table before him, and was moving +away; observing, however, that I did not stir, he asked me what I was +staying for. "Merely for my own pleasure," said I, "I like sitting here +very well." "Then you won't close?" said the man. "By no means," I +replied, "your proposal does not suit me." "You may be principal in +time," said the man. "That makes no difference," said I; and, sitting +with my legs over the pit, I forthwith began to decline an Armenian noun. +"That a'n't cant," said the man, "no, nor gypsy, either. Well, if you +won't close, another will, I can't lose any more time," and forthwith he +departed. + +And after I had declined four Armenian nouns, of different declensions, I +rose from the side of the pit, and wandered about amongst the various +groups of people scattered over the green. Presently I came to where the +man of the thimbles was standing, with the table before him, and many +people about him. "Them who finds, wins, and them who can't find, +loses," he cried. Various individuals tried to find the pellet, but all +were unsuccessful, till at last considerable dissatisfaction was +expressed, and the terms rogue and cheat were lavished upon him. "Never +cheated anybody in all my life," he cried; and, observing me at hand, +"didn't I play fair, my lord?" he inquired. But I made no answer. +Presently some more played, and he permitted one or two to win, and the +eagerness to play with him became greater. After I had looked on for +some time, I was moving away: just then I perceived a short, thick +personage, with a staff in his hand, advancing in a great hurry; +whereupon, with a sudden impulse, I exclaimed-- + + "Shoon thimble engro; + Avella gorgio." + +The man who was in the midst of his pea-and-thimble process, no sooner +heard the last word of the distich, than he turned an alarmed look in the +direction of where I stood; then, glancing around, and perceiving the +constable, he slipped forthwith his pellet and thimbles into his pocket, +and, lifting up his table, he cried to the people about him, "Make way!" +and with a motion with his head to me, as if to follow him, he darted off +with a swiftness which the short, pursy constable could by no means +rival; and whither he went, or what became of him, I know not, inasmuch +as I turned away in another direction. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + + +Mr. Petulengro--Rommany Rye--Lil Writers--One's Own Horn--Lawfully-earnt +Money--The Wooded Hill--A Great Favourite--The Shop Window--Much Wanted. + +And, as I wandered along the green, I drew near to a place where several +men, with a cask beside them, sat carousing in the neighbourhood of a +small tent. "Here he comes," said one of them, as I advanced, and +standing up he raised his voice and sang:-- + + "Here the Gypsy gemman see, + With his Roman jib and his rome and dree-- + Rome and dree, rum and dry + Rally round the Rommany Rye." + +It was Mr. Petulengro, who was here diverting himself with several of his +comrades; they all received me with considerable frankness. "Sit down, +brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "and take a cup of good ale." + +I sat down. "Your health, gentlemen," said I, as I took the cup which +Mr. Petulengro handed to me. + +"Aukko tu pios adrey Rommanis. Here is your health in Rommany, brother," +said Mr. Petulengro; who, having refilled the cup, now emptied it at a +draught. + +"Your health in Rommany, brother," said Tawno Chikno, to whom the cup +came next. + +"The Rommany Rye," said a third. + +"The Gypsy gentleman," exclaimed a fourth, drinking. + +And then they all sang in chorus,-- + + "Here the Gypsy gemman see, + With his Roman jib and his rome and dree-- + Rome and dree, rum and dry + Rally round the Rommany Rye." + +"And now, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "seeing that you have drunk and +been drunken, you will perhaps tell us where you have been, and what +about?" + +"I have been in the Big City," said I, "writing lils." + +"How much money have you got in your pocket, brother?" said Mr. +Petulengro. + +"Eighteen pence," said I; "all I have in the world." + +"I have been in the Big City, too," said Mr. Petulengro; "but I have not +written lils--I have fought in the ring--I have fifty pounds in my +pocket--I have much more in the world. Brother, there is considerable +difference between us." + +"I would rather be the lil-writer, after all," said the tall, handsome, +black man; "indeed, I would wish for nothing better." + +"Why so?" said Mr. Petulengro. + +"Because they have so much to say for themselves," said the black man, +"even when dead and gone. When they are laid in the churchyard, it is +their own fault if people a'n't talking of them. Who will know, after I +am dead, or bitchadey pawdel, that I was once the beauty of the world, or +that you, Jasper, were--" + +"The best man in England of my inches. That's true, Tawno--however, +here's our brother will perhaps let the world know something about us." + +"Not he," said the other, with a sigh; "he'll have quite enough to do in +writing his own lils, and telling the world how handsome and clever he +was; and who can blame him? Not I. If I could write lils, every word +should be about myself and my own tacho Rommanis--my own lawful wedded +wife, which is the same thing. I tell you what, brother, I once heard a +wise man say in Brummagem, that 'there is nothing like blowing one's own +horn,' which I conceive to be much the same thing as writing one's own +lil." + +After a little more conversation, Mr. Petulengro arose, and motioned me +to follow him. "Only eighteen pence in the world, brother!" said he, as +we walked together. + +"Nothing more, I assure you. How came you to ask me how much money I +had?" + +"Because there was something in your look, brother, something very much +resembling that which a person showeth who does not carry much money in +his pocket. I was looking at my own face this morning in my wife's +looking-glass--I did not look as you do, brother." + +"I believe your sole motive for inquiring," said I, "was to have an +opportunity of venting a foolish boast, and to let me know that you were +in possession of fifty pounds." + +"What is the use of having money unless you let people know you have it?" +said Mr. Petulengro. "It is not everyone can read faces, brother; and, +unless you knew I had money, how could you ask me to lend you any?" + +"I am not going to ask you to lend me any." + +"Then you may have it without asking; as I said before, I have fifty +pounds, all lawfully-earnt money, got by fighting in the ring--I will +lend you that, brother." + +"You are very kind," said I; "but I will not take it." + +"Then the half of it?" + +"Nor the half of it; but it is getting towards evening, I must go back to +the Great City." + +"And what will you do in the Boro Foros?" + +"I know not," said I. + +"Earn money?" + +"If I can." + +"And if you can't?" + +"Starve!" + +"You look ill, brother," said Mr. Petulengro. + +"I do not feel well; the Great City does not agree with me. Should I be +so fortunate as to earn some money, I would leave the Big City, and take +to the woods and fields." + +"You may do that, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "whether you have money +or not. Our tents and horses are on the other side of yonder wooded +hill, come and stay with us; we shall all be glad of your company, but +more especially myself and my wife Pakomovna." + +"What hill is that?" I demanded. + +And then Mr. Petulengro told me the name of the hill. "We stay on +t'other side of the hill a fortnight," he continued; "and as you are fond +of lil writing, you may employ yourself profitably whilst there. You can +write the lil of him whose dook gallops down that hill every night, even +as the living man was wont to do long ago." + +"Who was he?" I demanded. + +"Jemmy Abershaw," said Mr. Petulengro; "one of those whom we call Boro +drom engroes, and the gorgios highwaymen. I once heard a rye say that +the life of that man would fetch much money; so come to the other side of +the hill, and write the lil in the tent of Jasper and his wife +Pakomovna." + +At first I felt inclined to accept the invitation of Mr. Petulengro; a +little consideration, however, determined me to decline it. I had always +been on excellent terms with Mr. Petulengro, but I reflected that people +might be excellent friends when they met occasionally in the street, or +on the heath, or in the wood; but that these very people when living +together in a house, to say nothing of a tent, might quarrel. I +reflected, moreover, that Mr. Petulengro had a wife. I had always, it is +true, been a great favourite with Mrs. Petulengro, who had frequently +been loud in her commendation of the young rye, as she called me, and his +turn of conversation; but this was at a time when I stood in need of +nothing, lived under my parents' roof, and only visited at the tents to +divert and to be diverted. The times were altered, and I was by no means +certain that Mrs. Petulengro, when she should discover that I was in need +both of shelter and subsistence, might not alter her opinion both with +respect to the individual and what he said--stigmatizing my conversation +as saucy discourse, and myself as a scurvy companion; and that she might +bring over her husband to her own way of thinking, provided, indeed, he +should need any conducting. I therefore, though without declaring my +reasons, declined the offer of Mr. Petulengro, and presently, after +shaking him by the hand, bent again my course towards the Great City. + +I crossed the river at a bridge considerably above that hight of London; +for, not being acquainted with the way, I missed the turning which should +have brought me to the latter. Suddenly I found myself in a street of +which I had some recollection, and mechanically stopped before the window +of a shop at which various publications were exposed; it was that of the +bookseller to whom I had last applied in the hope of selling my ballads +or Ab Gwilym, and who had given me hopes that, in the event of my writing +a decent novel, or a tale, he would prove a purchaser. As I stood +listlessly looking at the window, and the publications which it +contained, I observed a paper affixed to the glass by wafers with +something written upon it. I drew yet nearer for the purpose of +inspecting it; the writing was in a fair round hand--"A Novel or Tale is +much wanted," was what was written. + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + + +Bread and Water--Fair Play--Fashionable Life--Colonel B-----Joseph +Sell--The Kindly Glow--Easiest Manner Imaginable. + +"I must do something," said I, as I sat that night in my lonely +apartment, with some bread and a pitcher of water before me. + +Thereupon taking some of the bread, and eating it, I considered what I +was to do. "I have no idea what I am to do," said I, as I stretched my +hand towards the pitcher, "unless"--and here I took a considerable +draught--"I write a tale or a novel--That bookseller," I continued, +speaking to myself, "is certainly much in need of a tale or a novel, +otherwise he would not advertise for one. Suppose I write one, I appear +to have no other chance of extricating myself from my present +difficulties; surely it was Fate that conducted me to his window." + +"I will do it," said I, as I struck my hand against the table; "I will do +it." Suddenly a heavy cloud of despondency came over me. Could I do it? +Had I the imagination requisite to write a tale or a novel? "Yes, yes," +said I, as I struck my hand again against the table, "I can manage it; +give me fair play, and I can accomplish anything." + +But should I have fair play? I must have something to maintain myself +with whilst I wrote my tale, and I had but eighteen pence in the world. +Would that maintain me whilst I wrote my tale? Yes, I thought it would, +provided I ate bread, which did not cost much, and drank water, which +cost nothing; it was poor diet, it was true, but better men than myself +had written on bread and water; had not the big man told me so? or +something to that effect, months before? + +It was true there was my lodging to pay for; but up to the present time I +owed nothing, and perhaps, by the time the people of the house asked me +for money, I should have written a tale or a novel, which would bring me +in money; I had paper, pens, and ink, and, let me not forget them, I had +candles in my closet, all paid for, to light me during my night work. +Enough, I would go doggedly to work upon my tale or novel. + +But what was the tale or novel to be about? Was it to be a tale of +fashionable life, about Sir Harry Somebody, and the Countess Something? +But I knew nothing about fashionable people, and cared less; therefore +how should I attempt to describe fashionable life? What should the tale +consist of? The life and adventures of some one. Good--but of whom? +Did not Mr. Petulengro mention one Jemmy Abershaw? Yes. Did he not tell +me that the life and adventures of Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much +money to the writer? Yes, but I knew nothing of that worthy. I heard, +it is true, from Mr. Petulengro, that when alive he committed robberies +on the hill, on the side of which Mr. Petulengro had pitched his tents, +and that his ghost still haunted the hill at midnight; but those were +scant materials out of which to write the man's life. It is probable, +indeed, that Mr. Petulengro would be able to supply me with further +materials if I should apply to him, but I was in a hurry, and could not +afford the time which it would be necessary to spend in passing to and +from Mr. Petulengro, and consulting him. Moreover, my pride revolted at +the idea of being beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials of the +history. No, I would not write the history of Abershaw. Whose +then--Harry Simms? Alas, the life of Harry Simms had been already much +better written by himself than I could hope to do it; and, after all, +Harry Simms, like Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber. Both, though bold +and extraordinary men, were merely highwaymen. I questioned whether I +could compose a tale likely to excite any particular interest out of the +exploits of a mere robber. I want a character for my hero, thought I, +something higher than a mere robber; some one like--like Colonel B---. +By the way, why should I not write the life and adventures of Colonel +B--- of Londonderry, in Ireland? + +A truly singular man was this same Colonel B--- of Londonderry, in +Ireland; a personage of most strange and incredible feats and daring, who +had been a partizan soldier, a bravo--who, assisted by certain +discontented troopers, nearly succeeded in stealing the crown and regalia +from the Tower of London; who attempted to hang the Duke of Ormond, at +Tyburn; and whose strange eventful career did not terminate even with his +life, his dead body, on the circulation of an unfounded report that he +did not come to his death by fair means, having been exhumed by the mob +of his native place, where he had retired to die, and carried in a coffin +through the streets. + +Of his life I had inserted an account in the Newgate Lives and Trials; it +was bare and meagre, and written in the stiff awkward style of the +seventeenth century; it had, however, strongly captivated my imagination, +and I now thought that out of it something better could be made; that, if +I added to the adventures, and purified the style, I might fashion out of +it a very decent tale or novel. On a sudden, however, the proverb of +mending old garments with new cloth occurred to me. "I am afraid," said +I, "any new adventures which I can invent will not fadge well with the +old tale; one will but spoil the other." I had better have nothing to do +with Colonel B---, thought I, but boldly and independently sit down and +write the life of Joseph Sell. + +This Joseph Sell, dear reader, was a fictitious personage who had just +come into my head. I had never even heard of the name, but just at that +moment it happened to come into my head; I would write an entirely +fictitious narrative, called the Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, the +great traveller. + +I had better begin at once, thought I; and removing the bread and the +jug, which latter was now empty, I seized pen and paper, and forthwith +essayed to write the life of Joseph Sell, but soon discovered that it was +much easier to resolve upon a thing than to achieve it, or even to +commence it; for the life of me I did not know how to begin, and, after +trying in vain to write a line, I thought it would be as well to go to +bed, and defer my projected undertaking till the morrow. + +So I went to bed, but not to sleep. During the greater part of the night +I lay awake, musing upon the work which I had determined to execute. For +a long time my brain was dry and unproductive; I could form no plan which +appeared feasible. At length I felt within my brain a kindly glow; it +was the commencement of inspiration; in a few minutes I had formed my +plan; I then began to imagine the scenes and the incidents. Scenes and +incidents flitted before my mind's eye so plentifully, that I knew not +how to dispose of them; I was in a regular embarrassment. At length I +got out of the difficulty in the easiest manner imaginable, namely, by +consigning to the depths of oblivion all the feebler and less stimulant +scenes and incidents, and retaining the better and more impressive ones. +Before morning I had sketched the whole work on the tablets of my mind, +and then resigned myself to sleep in the pleasing conviction that the +most difficult part of my undertaking was achieved. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + + +Considerably Sobered--Power of Writing--The Tempter--Hungry Talent--Work +Concluded. + +Rather late in the morning I awoke; for a few minutes I lay still, +perfectly still; my imagination was considerably sobered; the scenes and +situations which had pleased me so much over night appeared to me in a +far less captivating guise that morning. I felt languid and almost +hopeless--the thought, however, of my situation soon roused me,--I must +make an effort to improve the posture of my affairs; there was no time to +be lost; so I sprang out of bed, breakfasted on bread and water, and then +sat down doggedly to write the life of Joseph Sell. + +It was a great thing to have formed my plan, and to have arranged the +scenes in my head, as I had done on the preceding night. The chief thing +requisite at present was the mere mechanical act of committing them to +paper. This I did not find at first so easy as I could wish--I wanted +mechanical skill; but I persevered; and before evening I had written ten +pages. I partook of some bread and water; and, before I went to bed that +night, I had completed fifteen pages of my life of Joseph Sell. + +The next day I resumed my task--I found my power of writing considerably +increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the paper--my brain was in a +wonderfully teeming state; many scenes and visions which I had not +thought of before were evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written down; +they seemed to be more pat to my purpose, and more natural to my history, +than many others which I had imagined before, and which I made now give +place to these newer creations: by about midnight I had added thirty +fresh pages to my "Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell." + +The third day arose--it was dark and dreary out of doors, and I passed it +drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have lost much of its former +glow, and my pen much of its power; I, however, toiled on, but at +midnight had only added seven pages to my history of Joseph Sell. + +On the fourth day the sun shone brightly--I arose, and having breakfasted +as usual, I fell to work. My brain was this day wonderfully prolific, +and my pen never before or since glided so rapidly over the paper; +towards night I began to feel strangely about the back part of my head, +and my whole system was extraordinarily affected. I likewise +occasionally saw double--a tempter now seemed to be at work within me. + +"You had better leave off now for a short space," said the tempter, "and +go out and drink a pint of beer; you have still one shilling left--if you +go on at this rate, you will go mad--go out and spend sixpence, you can +afford it, more than half your work is done." I was about to obey the +suggestion of the tempter, when the idea struck me that, if I did not +complete the work whilst the fit was on me, I should never complete it; +so I held on. I am almost afraid to state how many pages I wrote that +day of the life of Joseph Sell. + +From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely manner; but, as I +drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my task, dreadful fears and +despondencies came over me. It will be too late, thought I; by the time +I have finished the work, the bookseller will have been supplied with a +tale or a novel. Is it probable that, in a town like this, where talent +is so abundant--hungry talent too--a bookseller can advertise for a tale +or a novel, without being supplied with half a dozen in twenty-four +hours? I may as well fling down my pen--I am writing to no purpose. And +these thoughts came over my mind so often, that at last, in utter +despair, I flung down the pen. Whereupon the tempter within me +said--"And, now you have flung down the pen, you may as well fling +yourself out of the window; what remains for you to do?" Why, to take it +up again, thought I to myself, for I did not like the latter suggestion +at all--and then forthwith I resumed the pen, and wrote with greater +vigour than before, from about six o'clock in the evening until I could +hardly see, when I rested for awhile, when the tempter within me again +said, or appeared to say--"All you have been writing is stuff, it will +never do--a drug--a mere drug:" and methought these last words were +uttered in the gruff tones of the big publisher. "A thing merely to be +sneered at," a voice like that of Taggart added; and then I seemed to +hear a sternutation,--as I probably did, for, recovering from a kind of +swoon, I found myself shivering with cold. The next day I brought my +work to a conclusion. + +But the task of revision still remained; for an hour or two I shrank from +it, and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper which I had written +over. I was all but exhausted, and I dreaded, on inspecting the sheets, +to find them full of absurdities which I had paid no regard to in the +furor of composition. But the task, however trying to my nerves, must be +got over; at last, in a kind of desperation, I entered upon it. It was +far from an easy one; there were, however, fewer errors and absurdities +than I had anticipated. About twelve o'clock at night I had got over the +task of revision. "To-morrow, for the bookseller," said I, as my hand +sank on the pillow. "Oh me!" + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + + +Nervous Look--The Bookseller's Wife--The Last Stake--Terms--God +Forbid!--Will You Come to Tea?--A Light Heart. + +On arriving at the bookseller's shop, I cast a nervous look at the +window, for the purpose of observing whether the paper had been removed +or not. To my great delight the paper was in its place; with a beating +heart I entered, there was nobody in the shop; as I stood at the counter, +however, deliberating whether or not I should call out, the door of what +seemed to be a back-parlour opened, and out came a well-dressed lady-like +female, of about thirty, with a good-looking and intelligent countenance. +"What is your business, young man?" said she to me, after I had made her +a polite bow. "I wish to speak to the gentleman of the house," said I. +"My husband is not within at present," she replied; "what is your +business?" "I have merely brought something to show him," said I, "but I +will call again." "If you are the young gentleman who has been here +before," said the lady, "with poems and ballads, as, indeed, I know you +are," she added, smiling, "for I have seen you through the glass door, I +am afraid it will be useless; that is," she added with another smile, "if +you bring us nothing else." "I have not brought you poems and ballads +now," said I, "but something widely different; I saw your advertisement +for a tale or a novel, and have written something which I think will +suit; and here it is," I added, showing the roll of paper which I held in +my hand. "Well," said the bookseller's wife, "you may leave it, though I +cannot promise you much chance of its being accepted. My husband has +already had several offered to him; however, you may leave it; give it +me. Are you afraid to intrust it to me?" she demanded somewhat hastily, +observing that I hesitated. "Excuse me," said I, "but it is all I have +to depend upon in the world; I am chiefly apprehensive that it will not +be read." "On that point I can reassure you," said the good lady, +smiling, and there was now something sweet in her smile. "I give you my +word that it shall be read; come again to-morrow morning at eleven, when, +if not approved, it shall be returned to you." + +I returned to my lodging, and forthwith betook myself to bed, +notwithstanding the earliness of the hour. I felt tolerably tranquil; I +had now cast my last stake, and was prepared to abide by the result. +Whatever that result might be, I could have nothing to reproach myself +with; I had strained all the energies which nature had given me in order +to rescue myself from the difficulties which surrounded me. I presently +sank into a sleep, which endured during the remainder of the day, and the +whole of the succeeding night. I awoke about nine on the morrow, and +spent my last threepence on a breakfast somewhat more luxurious than the +immediately preceding ones, for one penny of the sum was expended on the +purchase of milk. + +At the appointed hour I repaired to the house of the bookseller; the +bookseller was in his shop. "Ah," said he, as soon as I entered, "I am +glad to see you." There was an unwonted heartiness in the bookseller's +tones, an unwonted benignity in his face. "So," said he, after a pause, +"you have taken my advice, written a book of adventure; nothing like +taking the advice, young man, of your superiors in age. Well, I think +your book will do, and so does my wife, for whose judgment I have a great +regard; as well I may, as she is the daughter of a first-rate novelist, +deceased. I think I shall venture on sending your book to the press." +"But," said I, "we have not yet agreed upon terms." "Terms, terms," said +the bookseller; "ahem! well, there is nothing like coming to terms at +once. I will print the book, and allow you half the profit when the +edition is sold." "That will not do," said I; "I intend shortly to leave +London; I must have something at once." "Ah, I see," said the +bookseller, "in distress; frequently the case with authors, especially +young ones. Well, I don't care if I purchase it of you, but you must be +moderate; the public are very fastidious, and the speculation may prove a +losing one, after all. Let me see, will five--hem"--he stopped. I +looked the bookseller in the face; there was something peculiar in it. +Suddenly it appeared to me as if the voice of him of the thimble sounded +in my ear, "Now is your time, ask enough, never such another chance of +establishing yourself; respectable trade, pea and thimble." "Well," said +I at last, "I have no objection to take the offer which you were about to +make, though I really think five-and-twenty guineas to be scarcely +enough, everything considered." "Five-and-twenty guineas!" said the +bookseller; "are you--what was I going to say--I never meant to offer +half as much--I mean a quarter; I was going to say five guineas--I mean +pounds; I will, however, make it up guineas." "That will not do," said +I; "but, as I find we shall not deal, return me my manuscript, that I may +carry it to some one else." The bookseller looked blank. "Dear me," +said he, "I should never have supposed that you would have made any +objection to such an offer; I am quite sure that you would have been glad +to take five pounds for either of the two huge manuscripts of songs and +ballads that you brought me on a former occasion." "Well," said I, "if +you will engage to publish either of those two manuscripts, you shall +have the present one for five pounds." "God forbid that I should make +any such bargain," said the bookseller; "I would publish neither on any +account; but, with respect to this last book, I have really an +inclination to print it, both for your sake and mine; suppose we say ten +pounds." "No," said I, "ten pounds will not do; pray restore me my +manuscript." "Stay," said the bookseller, "my wife is in the next room, +I will go and consult her." Thereupon he went into his back room, where +I heard him conversing with his wife in a low tone; in about ten minutes +he returned. "Young gentleman," said he, "perhaps you will take tea with +us this evening, when we will talk further over the matter." + +That evening I went and took tea with the bookseller and his wife, both +of whom, particularly the latter, overwhelmed me with civility. It was +not long before I learned that the work had been already sent to the +press, and was intended to stand at the head of a series of entertaining +narratives, from which my friends promised themselves considerable +profit. The subject of terms was again brought forward. I stood firm to +my first demand for a long time; when, however, the bookseller's wife +complimented me on my production in the highest terms, and said that she +discovered therein the germs of genius, which she made no doubt would +some day prove ornamental to my native land, I consented to drop my +demand to twenty pounds, stipulating, however, that I should not be +troubled with the correction of the work. + +Before I departed I received the twenty pounds, and departed with a light +heart to my lodgings. + +Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, should you ever +be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter chapters of the life of +Lavengro. There are few positions, however difficult, from which dogged +resolution and perseverance may not liberate you. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + + +Indisposition--A Resolution--Poor Equivalents--The Piece of +Gold--Flashing Eyes--How Beautiful!--Bon Jour, Monsieur. + +I had long ago determined to leave London as soon as the means should be +in my power, and, now that they were, I determined to leave the Great +City; yet I felt some reluctance to go. I would fain have pursued the +career of original authorship which had just opened itself to me, and +have written other tales of adventure. The bookseller had given me +encouragement enough to do so; he had assured me that he should be always +happy to deal with me for an article (that was the word) similar to the +one I had brought him, provided my terms were moderate; and the +bookseller's wife, by her complimentary language, had given me yet more +encouragement. But for some months past I had been far from well, and my +original indisposition, brought on partly by the peculiar atmosphere of +the Big City, partly by anxiety of mind, had been much increased by the +exertions which I had been compelled to make during the last few days. I +felt that, were I to remain where I was, I should die, or become a +confirmed valetudinarian. I would go forth into the country, travelling +on foot, and, by exercise and inhaling pure air, endeavour to recover my +health, leaving my subsequent movements to be determined by Providence. + +But whither should I bend my course? Once or twice I thought of walking +home to the old town, stay some time with my mother and my brother, and +enjoy the pleasant walks in the neighbourhood; but, though I wished very +much to see my mother and my brother, and felt much disposed to enjoy the +said pleasant walks, the old town was not exactly the place to which I +wished to go at this present juncture. I was afraid the people would +ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your alliterative +translations from Ab Gwilym--of which you were always talking, and with +which you promised to astonish the world? Now, in the event of such +interrogations, what could I answer? It is true I had compiled Newgate +Lives and Trials, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was +afraid that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as +equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab Gwilym. I would +go forth and wander in any direction but that of the old town. + +But how one's sensibility on any particular point diminishes with time; +at present, I enter the old town perfectly indifferent as to what the +people may be thinking on the subject of the songs and ballads. With +respect to the people themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their +curiosity has altogether evaporated, or whether, which is at least +equally probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that +never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks on the +subject of the songs and ballads. + +As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a stick, I +despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and books to the old +town. My preparations were soon made; in about three days I was in +readiness to start. + +Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the +apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might be labouring +under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a piece of gold by the +hands of a young maiden in the house in which I lived. The latter +punctually executed her commission, but brought me back the piece of +gold. The old woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said. +"Tell the poor thin lad," she added, "to keep it for himself, he wants it +more than I." + +Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my stick in +one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my course to the +south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more than a year before, I had +entered the city by the north-east. As I was not going home, I +determined to take my departure in the direction the very opposite to +home. + +Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at the +lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing +along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I was, +a sudden pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal upon its +haunches. The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A +small beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of +fashion, sat beside him. + +"Holloa, friend," said Francis Ardry, "whither bound?" + +"I do not know," said I; "all I can say is, that I am about to leave +London." + +"And the means?" said Francis Ardry. + +"I have them," said I, with a cheerful smile. + +"_Qui est celui-ci_?" demanded the small female, impatiently. + +"_C'est_--_mon ami le plus intime_; so you were about to leave London +without telling me a word," said Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily. + +"I intended to have written to you," said I: "what a splendid mare that +is!" + +"Is she not?" said Francis Ardry, who was holding in the mare with +difficulty; "she cost a hundred guineas." + +"_Qu'est-ce qu'il dit_?" demanded his companion. + +"_Il dit que le jument est bien beau_." + +"_Allons_, _mon ami_, _il est tard_," said the beauty, with a scornful +toss of her head; "_allons_!" + +"_Encore un moment_," said Francis Ardry; "and when shall I see you +again?" + +"I scarcely know," I replied: "I never saw a more splendid turn out." + +"_Qu'est-ce qu'il dit_?" said the lady again. + +"_Il dit que tout l'equipage est en assez bon gout_." + +"_Allons_, _c'est un ours_," said the lady; "_le cheval meme en a peur_," +added she, as the mare reared up on high. + +"Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and the equipage?" said +Francis Ardry, reproachfully, after he had with some difficulty brought +the mare to order. + +Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my hat. "How +beautiful!" said I, looking the lady full in the face. + +"_Comment_?" said the lady, inquiringly. + +"_Il dit que vous etes belle comme un ange_," said Francis Ardry, +emphatically. + +"_Mais_, _a la bonne heure! arretez_, _mon ami_," said the lady to +Francis Ardry, who was about to drive off; "_je voudrais bien causer un +moment avec lui_; _arretez_, _il est delicieux_.--_Est-ce bien ainsi que +vous traitez vos amis_?" said she, passionately, as Francis Ardry lifted +up his whip. "_Bon jour_, _Monsieur_, _bon jour_," said she, thrusting +her head from the side and looking back, as Francis Ardry drove off at +the rate of thirteen miles an hour. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + + +The Milestone--The Meditation--Want to Get Up?--The Off-hand +Leader--Sixteen Shillings--The Near-hand Wheeler--All Right. + +In about two hours I had cleared the Great City, and got beyond the +suburban villages, or rather towns, in the direction in which I was +travelling; I was in a broad and excellent road, leading I knew not +whither. I now slackened my pace, which had hitherto been great. +Presently, coming to a milestone on which was graven nine miles, I rested +against it, and looking round towards the vast city, which had long +ceased to be visible, I fell into a train of meditation. + +I thought of all my ways and doings since the day of my first arrival in +that vast city--I had worked and toiled, and, though I had accomplished +nothing at all commensurate with the hopes which I had entertained +previous to my arrival, I had achieved my own living, preserved my +independence, and become indebted to no one. I was now quitting it, poor +in purse, it is true, but not wholly empty; rather ailing, it may be, but +not broken in health; and, with hope within my bosom, had I not cause +upon the whole to be thankful? Perhaps there were some who, arriving at +the same time under not more favourable circumstances, had accomplished +much more, and whose future was far more hopeful--Good! But there might +be others who, in spite of all their efforts, had been either trodden +down in the press, never more to be heard of, or were quitting that +mighty town broken in purse, broken in health, and, oh! with not one dear +hope to cheer them. Had I not, upon the whole, abundant cause to be +grateful? Truly, yes! + +My meditation over, I left the milestone and proceeded on my way in the +same direction as before until the night began to close in. I had always +been a good pedestrian; but now, whether owing to indisposition or to not +having for some time past been much in the habit of taking such lengthy +walks, I began to feel not a little weary. Just as I was thinking of +putting up for the night at the next inn or public-house I should arrive +at, I heard what sounded like a coach coming up rapidly behind me. +Induced, perhaps, by the weariness which I felt, I stopped and looked +wistfully in the direction of the sound; presently up came a coach, +seemingly a mail, drawn by four bounding horses--there was no one upon it +but the coachman and the guard; when nearly parallel with me it stopped. +"Want to get up?" sounded a voice, in the true coachman-like tone--half +querulous, half authoritative. I hesitated; I was tired, it is true, but +I had left London bound on a pedestrian excursion, and I did not much +like the idea of having recourse to a coach after accomplishing so very +inconsiderable a distance. "Come, we can't be staying here all night," +said the voice, more sharply than before. "I can ride a little way, and +get down whenever I like," thought I; and springing forward I clambered +up the coach, and was going to sit down upon the box, next the coachman. +"No, no," said the coachman, who was a man about thirty, with a hooked +nose and red face, dressed in a fashionably cut great coat, with a +fashionable black castor on his head. "No, no, keep behind--the box +a'n't for the like of you," said he, as he drove off; "the box is for +lords, or gentlemen at least." I made no answer. "D--- that off-hand +leader," said the coachman, as the right-hand front horse made a +desperate start at something he saw in the road; and, half rising, he +with great dexterity hit with his long whip the off-hand leader a cut on +the off cheek. "These seem to be fine horses," said I. The coachman +made no answer. "Nearly thorough-bred," I continued; the coachman drew +his breath, with a kind of hissing sound, through his teeth. "Come, +young fellow, none of your chaff. Don't you think, because you ride on +my mail, I'm going to talk to you about 'orses. I talk to nobody about +'orses except lords." "Well," said I, "I have been called a lord in my +time." "It must have been by a thimble-rigger, then," said the coachman, +bending back, and half turning his face round with a broad leer. "You +have hit the mark wonderfully," said I. "You coachmen, whatever else you +may be, are certainly no fools." "We a'n't, a'n't we?" said the +coachman. "There you are right; and, to show you that you are, I'll now +trouble you for your fare. If you have been amongst the thimble-riggers +you must be tolerably well cleared out. Where are you going?--to ---? I +think I have seen you there. The fare is sixteen shillings. Come, tip +us the blunt; them that has no money can't ride on my mail." + +Sixteen shillings was a large sum, and to pay it would make a +considerable inroad on my slender finances; I thought, at first, that I +would say I did not want to go so far; but then the fellow would ask at +once where I wanted to go, and I was ashamed to acknowledge my utter +ignorance of the road. I determined, therefore, to pay the fare, with a +tacit determination not to mount a coach in future without knowing +whither I was going. So I paid the man the money, who, turning round, +shouted to the guard--"All right, Jem; got fare to ---;" and forthwith +whipped on his horses, especially the off-hand leader, for whom he seemed +to entertain a particular spite, to greater speed than before--the horses +flew. + +A young moon gave a feeble light, partially illuminating a line of road +which, appearing by no means interesting, I the less regretted having +paid my money for the privilege of being hurried along it in the flying +vehicle. We frequently changed horses; and at last my friend the +coachman was replaced by another, the very image of himself--hawk nose, +red face, with narrow-rimmed hat and fashionable benjamin. After he had +driven about fifty yards, the new coachman fell to whipping one of the +horses. "D--- this near-hand wheeler," said he, "the brute has got a +corn." "Whipping him won't cure him of his corn," said I. "Who told you +to speak?" said the driver, with an oath; "mind your own business; +'tisn't from the like of you I am to learn to drive 'orses." Presently I +fell into a broken kind of slumber. In an hour or two I was aroused by a +rough voice--"Got to --- young man; get down if you please." I opened my +eyes--there was a dim and indistinct light, like that which precedes +dawn; the coach was standing still in something like a street; just below +me stood the guard. "Do you mean to get down," said he, "or will you +keep us here till morning? other fares want to get up." Scarcely knowing +what I did, I took my bundle and stick and descended, whilst two people +mounted. "All right, John," said the guard to the coachman, springing up +behind; whereupon off whisked the coach, one or two individuals who were +standing by disappeared, and I was left alone. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + + +The Still Hour--A Thrill--The Wondrous Circle--The Shepherd--Heaps and +Barrows--What do you Mean?--Milk of the Plains--Hengist spared it--No +Presents. + +After standing still a minute or two, considering what I should do, I +moved down what appeared to be the street of a small straggling town; +presently I passed by a church, which rose indistinctly on my right hand; +anon there was the rustling of foliage and the rushing of waters. I +reached a bridge, beneath which a small stream was running in the +direction of the south. I stopped and leaned over the parapet, for I +have always loved to look upon streams, especially at the still hours. +"What stream is this, I wonder?" said I, as I looked down from the +parapet into the water, which whirled and gurgled below. + +Leaving the bridge, I ascended a gentle acclivity, and presently reached +what appeared to be a tract of moory undulating ground. It was now +tolerably light, but there was a mist or haze abroad which prevented my +seeing objects with much precision. I felt chill in the damp air of the +early morn, and walked rapidly forward. In about half an hour I arrived +where the road divided into two, at an angle or tongue of dark green +sward. "To the right or the left?" said I, and forthwith took, without +knowing why, the left-hand road, along which I proceeded about a hundred +yards, when, in the midst of the tongue of sward formed by the two roads, +collaterally with myself, I perceived what I at first conceived to be a +small grove of blighted trunks of oaks, barked and grey. I stood still +for a moment, and then, turning off the road, advanced slowly towards it +over the sward; as I drew nearer, I perceived that the objects which had +attracted my curiosity, and which formed a kind of circle, were not +trees, but immense upright stones. A thrill pervaded my system; just +before me were two, the mightiest of the whole, tall as the stems of +proud oaks, supporting on their tops a huge transverse stone, and forming +a wonderful doorway. I knew now where I was, and, laying down my stick +and bundle, and taking off my hat, I advanced slowly, and cast myself--it +was folly, perhaps, but I could not help what I did--cast myself, with my +face on the dewy earth, in the middle of the portal of giants, beneath +the transverse stone. + +The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me! + +And after I had remained with my face on the ground for some time, I +arose, placed my hat on my head, and, taking up my stick and bundle, +wandered around the wondrous circle, examining each individual stone, +from the greatest to the least; and then, entering by the great door, +seated myself upon an immense broad stone, one side of which was +supported by several small ones, and the other slanted upon the earth; +and there in deep meditation, I sat for an hour or two, till the sun +shone in my face above the tall stones of the eastern side. + +And as I still sat there, I heard the noise of bells, and presently a +large number of sheep came browzing past the circle of stones; two or +three entered, and grazed upon what they could find, and soon a man also +entered the circle at the northern side. + +"Early here, sir," said the man, who was tall, and dressed in a dark +green slop, and had all the appearance of a shepherd; "a traveller, I +suppose?" + +"Yes," said I, "I am a traveller; are these sheep yours?" + +"They are, sir; that is, they are my master's. A strange place this, +sir," said he, looking at the stones; "ever here before?" + +"Never in body, frequently in mind." + +"Heard of the stones, I suppose; no wonder--all the people of the plain +talk of them." + +"What do the people of the plain say of them?" + +"Why, they say--How did they ever come here?" + +"Do they not suppose them to have been brought?" + +"Who should have brought them?" + +"I have read that they were brought by many thousand men." + +"Where from?" + +"Ireland." + +"How did they bring them?" + +"I don't know." + +"And what did they bring them for?" + +"To form a temple, perhaps." + +"What is that?" + +"A place to worship God in." + +"A strange place to worship God in." + +"Why?" + +"It has no roof." + +"Yes, it has." + +"Where?" said the man, looking up. + +"What do you see above you?" + +"The sky." + +"Well?" + +"Well!" + +"Have you anything to say?" + +"How did those stones come here?" + +"Are there other stones like these on the plains?" said I. + +"None; and yet there are plenty of strange things on these downs." + +"What are they?" + +"Strange heaps, and barrows, and great walls of earth built on the top of +hills." + +"Do the people of the plain wonder how they came there?" + +"They do not." + +"Why?" + +"They were raised by hands." + +"And these stones?" + +"How did they ever come here?" + +"I wonder whether they are here?" said I. + +"These stones?" + +"Yes." + +"So sure as the world," said the man; "and as the world, they will stand +as long." + +"I wonder whether there is a world." + +"What do you mean?" + +"An earth and sea, moon and stars, sheep and men." + +"Do you doubt it?" + +"Sometimes." + +"I never heard it doubted before." + +"It is impossible there should be a world." + +"It ain't possible there shouldn't be a world." + +"Just so." At this moment a fine ewe attended by a lamb, rushed into the +circle and fondled the knees of the shepherd. "I suppose you would not +care to have some milk," said the man. + +"Why do you suppose so?" + +"Because, so be, there be no sheep, no milk, you know; and what there +ben't is not worth having." + +"You could not have argued better," said I; "that is, supposing you have +argued; with respect to the milk you may do as you please." + +"Be still, Nanny," said the man; and producing a tin vessel from his +scrip, he milked the ewe into it. "Here is milk of the plains, master," +said the man, as he handed the vessel to me. + +"Where are those barrows and great walls of earth you were speaking of," +said I, after I had drunk some of the milk; "are there any near where we +are?" + +"Not within many miles; the nearest is yonder away," said the shepherd, +pointing to the south-east. "It's a grand place, that, but not like +this; quite different, and from it you have a sight of the finest spire +in the world." + +"I must go to it," said I, and I drank the remainder of the milk; +"yonder, you say." + +"Yes, yonder; but you cannot get to it in that direction, the river lies +between." + +"What river?" + +"The Avon." + +"Avon is British," said I. + +"Yes," said the man, "we are all British here." + +"No, we are not," said I. + +"What are we then?" + +"English." + +"A'n't they one?" + +"No." + +"Who were the British?" + +"The men who are supposed to have worshipped God in this place, and who +raised these stones." + +"Where are they now?" + +"Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood all about, +especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their pleasant places, and +left not, to use their own words, one stone upon another." + +"Yes, they did," said the shepherd, looking aloft at the transverse +stone. + +"And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, which English +hands never raised, is by English hands thrown down, woe, woe, woe to the +English race; spare it, English! Hengist spared it!--Here is sixpence." + +"I won't have it," said the man. + +"Why not?" + +"You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to know all about +them." + +"I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I say with +yourself, How did they ever come here?" + +"How did they ever come here?" said the shepherd. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + + +The River--Arid Downs--A Prospect. + +Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed out by him +as that in which the most remarkable of the strange remains of which he +had spoken lay. I proceeded rapidly, making my way over the downs +covered with coarse grass and fern; with respect to the river of which he +had spoken, I reflected that, either by wading or swimming, I could +easily transfer myself and what I bore to the opposite side. On arriving +at its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow, with here and +there a deep place, where the water ran dark and still. + +Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into one of these +gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a glow, and tingling with +delicious sensations. After conveying my clothes and scanty baggage to +the farther side, I dressed, and then with hurried steps bent my course +in the direction of some lofty ground; I at length found myself on a high +road, leading over wide and arid downs; following the road for some miles +without seeing anything remarkable, I supposed at length that I had taken +the wrong path, and wended on slowly and disconsolately for some time, +till, having nearly surmounted a steep hill, I knew at once, from certain +appearances, that I was near the object of my search. Turning to the +right near the brow of the hill, I proceeded along a path which brought +me to a causeway leading over a deep ravine, and connecting the hill with +another which had once formed part of it, for the ravine was evidently +the work of art. I passed over the causeway, and found myself in a kind +of gateway which admitted me into a square space of many acres, +surrounded on all sides by mounds or ramparts of earth. Though I had +never been in such a place before, I knew that I stood within the +precincts of what had been a Roman encampment, and one probably of the +largest size, for many thousand warriors might have found room to perform +their evolutions in that space, in which corn was now growing, the green +ears waving in the morning wind. + +After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the gateway +formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the left hand, and on +the top of that mound I found myself at a great altitude; beneath, at the +distance of a mile, was a fair old city, situated amongst verdant +meadows, watered with streams, and from the heart of that old city, from +amidst mighty trees, I beheld towering to the sky the finest spire in the +world. + +After I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I hurried +away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, regained the road, and, +passing over the brow of the hill, descended to the city of the spire. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + + +The Hostelry--Life Uncertain--Open Countenance--The Grand Point--Thank +You, Master--A Hard Mother--Poor Dear!--Considerable Odds--The Better +Country--English Fashion--Landlord-looking Person. + +And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I best +could--inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating and drinking when +I felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the digestive organs having +assumed a tone to which for many months they had been strangers--enjoying +at night balmy sleep in a large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a +corridor, in a certain hostelry in which I had taken up my +quarters--receiving from the people of the hostelry such civility and +condescension as people who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who +nevertheless are perceived to be not altogether destitute of coin, are in +the habit of receiving. On the third day, on a fine sunny afternoon, I +departed from the city of the spire. + +As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a sudden, a +respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several persons hastened +to her assistance. "She is dead," said one. "No, she is not," said +another. "I am afraid she is," said a third. "Life is very uncertain," +said a fourth. "It is Mrs. ---," said a fifth; "let us carry her to her +own house." Not being able to render any assistance, I left the poor +female in the hands of her townsfolk, and proceeded on my way. I had +chosen a road in the direction of the north-west, it led over downs where +corn was growing, but where neither tree nor hedge was to be seen; two or +three hours' walking brought me to a beautiful valley, abounding with +trees of various kinds, with a delightful village at its farthest +extremity; passing through it I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of +which I sat down on a bank, and taking off my hat, permitted a breeze, +which swept coolly and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair, +dripping from the effects of exercise and the heat of the day. + +And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the downs +before me, a man came along the road in the direction in which I had +hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he stopped, and, looking at +me, cried--"Am I right for London, master?" + +He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between twenty-five and +thirty years of age--he had an open manly countenance, and there was a +bold and fearless expression in his eye. + +"Yes," said I, in reply to his question; "this is one of the ways to +London. Do you come from far?" + +"From ---," said the man, naming a well-known sea-port. + +"Is this the direct road to London from that place?" I demanded. + +"No," said the man; "but I had to visit two or three other places on +certain commissions I was entrusted with; amongst others to ---, where I +had to take a small sum of money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you +please, I will sit down beside you." + +"You have as much right to sit down here as I have," said I, "the road is +free for every one; as for sitting down beside me, you have the look of +an honest man, and I have no objection to your company." + +"Why, as for being honest, master," said the man, laughing and sitting +down beside me, "I hav'n't much to say--many is the wild thing I have +done when I was younger; however, what is done, is done. To learn, one +must live, master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand point +of wisdom." + +"What is that?" said I. + +"That honesty is the best policy, master." + +"You appear to be a sailor," said I, looking at his dress. + +"I was not bred a sailor," said the man, "though, when my foot is on the +salt water, I can play the part--and play it well too. I am now from a +long voyage." + +"From America?" said I. + +"Farther than that," said the man. + +"Have you any objection to tell me?" said I. + +"From New South Wales," said the man, looking me full in the face. + +"Dear me," said I. + +"Why do you say 'Dear me'?" said the man. + +"It is a very long way off," said I. + +"Was that your reason for saying so?" said the man. + +"Not exactly," said I. + +"No," said the man, with something of a bitter smile; "it was something +else that made you say so; you were thinking of the convicts." + +"Well," said I, "what then--you are no convict." + +"How do you know?" + +"You do not look like one." + +"Thank you, master," said the man cheerfully; "and, to a certain extent, +you are right,--bygones are bygones--I am no longer what I was, nor ever +will be again; the truth, however, is the truth--a convict I have been--a +convict at Sydney Cove." + +"And you have served out the period for which you were sentenced, and are +now returned?" + +"As to serving out my sentence," replied the man, "I can't say that I +did; I was sentenced for fourteen years, and I was in Sydney Cove little +more than half that time. The truth is that I did the Government a +service. There was a conspiracy amongst some of the convicts to murder +and destroy--I overheard and informed the Government; mind one thing, +however, I was not concerned in it; those who got it up were no comrades +of mine, but a bloody gang of villains. Well, the Government, in +consideration of the service I had done them, remitted the remainder of +my sentence; and some kind gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave +me good books and good advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct, +procured me employ in an exploring expedition, by which I earned money. +In fact, the being sent to Sydney was the best thing that ever happened +to me in all my life." + +"And you have now returned to your native country. Longing to see home +brought you from New South Wales." + +"There you are mistaken," said the man. "Wish to see England again would +never have brought me so far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England +was a hard mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see +another kind of mother--a poor old woman whose son I am--has brought me +back." + +"You have a mother, then?" said I. "Does she reside in London?" + +"She used to live in London," said the man; "but I am afraid she is long +since dead." + +"How did she support herself?" said I. + +"Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep a small stall +on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she is dead, and that +she died perhaps in misery. She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved +her, and she loved me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of +seeing her." + +"Did you ever write to her," said I, "or cause others to write to her?" + +"I wrote to her myself," said the man, "about two years ago; but I never +received an answer. I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the +assistance of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do +that very well before I went--my poor mother taught me to read, out of a +book that she was very fond of; a strange book it was, I remember. Poor +dear!--what would I give only to know that she is alive." + +"Life is very uncertain," said I. + +"That is true," said the man, with a sigh. + +"We are here one moment, and gone the next," I continued. "As I passed +through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman +drop down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had +a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time." + +"Who knows, indeed," said the man. "Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead. +Well, God's will be done." + +"However," said I, "I should not wonder at your finding your mother +alive." + +"You wouldn't?" said the man, looking at me wistfully. + +"I should not wonder at all," said I; "indeed something within me seems +to tell me you will; I should not much mind betting five shillings to +five pence that you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend, +five shillings to five pence--" + +"Is very considerable odds," said the man, rubbing his hands; "sure you +must have good reason to hope, when you are willing to give such odds." + +"After all," said I, "it not unfrequently happens that those who lay the +long odds lose. Let us hope, however. What do you mean to do in the +event of finding your mother alive?" + +"I scarcely know," said the man; "I have frequently thought that if I +found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade her to accompany me to +the country which I have left--it is a better country for a man--that is +a free man--to live in than this; however, let me first find my +mother--if I could only find my mother--" + +"Farewell," said I, rising. "Go your way, and God go with you--I will go +mine." "I have but one thing to ask you," said the man. "What is that?" +I inquired. "That you would drink with me before we part--you have done +me so much good." "How should we drink?" said I; "we are on the top of a +hill where there is nothing to drink." "But there is a village below," +said the man; "do let us drink before we part." "I have been through +that village already," said I, "and I do not like turning back." "Ah," +said the man sorrowfully, "you will not drink with me because I told you +I was--" + +"You are quite mistaken," said I, "I would as soon drink with a convict +as with a judge. I am by no means certain that, under the same +circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict. Come +along! I will go back to oblige you. I have an odd sixpence in my +pocket, which I will change, that I may drink with you." So we went down +the hill together to the village through which I had already passed, +where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true English fashion, +after which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I mine. + +After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I rested for +the night. The next morning I set out again in the direction of the +north-west. I continued journeying for four days, my daily journeys +varying from twenty to twenty-five miles. During this time nothing +occurred to me worthy of any especial notice. The weather was brilliant, +and I rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On the fifth day, +about two o'clock, I arrived at a small town. Feeling hungry, I entered +a decent-looking inn--within a kind of bar I saw a huge, fat, +landlord-looking person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed maiden. +Addressing myself to the fat man, "House!" said I, "house! Can I have +dinner, house?" + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + + +Primitive Habits--Rosy-faced Damsel--A Pleasant Moment--Suit of +Black--The Furtive Glance--The Mighty Round--Degenerate Times--The +Newspaper--The Evil Chance--I Congratulate You. + +"Young gentleman," said the huge fat landlord, "you are come at the right +time; dinner will be taken up in a few minutes, and such a dinner," he +continued, rubbing his hands, "as you will not see every day in these +times." + +"I am hot and dusty," said I, "and should wish to cool my hands and +face." + +"Jenny!" said the huge landlord, with the utmost gravity, "show the +gentleman into number seven, that he may wash his hands and face." + +"By no means," said I, "I am a person of primitive habits, and there is +nothing like the pump in weather like this." + +"Jenny!" said the landlord, with the same gravity as before, "go with the +young gentleman to the pump in the back kitchen, and take a clean towel +along with you." + +Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a drawer, and +producing a large, thick, but snowy-white towel, she nodded to me to +follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a long passage into the +back kitchen. + +And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and going to it I +placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, "Pump, Jenny;" and Jenny +incontinently, without laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and I +washed and cooled my heated hands. + +And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my neckcloth, and +unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head beneath the spout of the +pump, and I said unto Jenny, "Now, Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump +for your life." + +Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the handle of +the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as handmaid had never +pumped before; so that the water poured in torrents from my head, my +face, and my hair down upon the brick floor. + +And after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called out with a +half-strangled voice, "Hold, Jenny!" and Jenny desisted. I stood for a +few moments to recover my breath, then taking the towel which Jenny +proffered, I dried composedly my hands and head, my face and hair; then, +returning the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said, "Surely this +is one of the pleasant moments of life." + +Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair with a pocket +comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back through the long passage, +and showed me into a neat sanded parlour on the ground floor. + +I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; presently +in came the handmaid, and commenced laying the table-cloth. "Shall I +spread the table for one, sir," said she, "or do you expect anybody to +dine with you?" + +"I can't say that I expect anybody," said I, laughing inwardly to myself; +"however, if you please you can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance +of mine should chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for +him." + +So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty street, and +now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which adorned the wall over +against me. I fell into a kind of doze, from which I was almost +instantly awakened by the opening of the door. Dinner, thought I; and I +sat upright in my chair. No, a man of the middle age, and rather above +the middle height dressed in a plain suit of black, made his appearance, +and sat down in a chair at some distance from me, but near to the table, +and appeared to be lost in thought. + +"The weather is very warm, sir," said I. + +"Very," said the stranger, laconically, looking at me for the first time. + +"Would you like to see the newspaper?" said I, taking up one which lay +upon the window seat. + +"I never read newspapers," said the stranger, "nor, indeed--." Whatever +it might be that he had intended to say he left unfinished. Suddenly he +walked to the mantel-piece at the farther end of the room, before which +he placed himself with his back towards me. There he remained motionless +for some time; at length, raising his hand, he touched the corner of the +mantel-piece with his finger, advanced towards the chair which he had +left, and again seated himself. + +"Have you come far?" said he, suddenly looking towards me, and speaking +in a frank and open manner, which denoted a wish to enter into +conversation. "You do not seem to be of this place." + +"I come from some distance," said I; "indeed I am walking for exercise, +which I find as necessary to the mind as the body. I believe that by +exercise people would escape much mental misery." + +Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his hand, with +seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the glasses; after a +moment or two he touched the glass as if inadvertently, then, glancing +furtively at me, he withdrew his hand and looked towards the window. + +"Are you from these parts?" said I at last, with apparent carelessness. + +"From this vicinity," replied the stranger. "You think, then, that it is +as easy to walk off the bad humours of the mind as of the body?" + +"I, at least, am walking in that hope," said I. + +"I wish you may be successful," said the stranger; and here he touched +one of the forks which lay on the table near him. + +Here the door, which was slightly ajar, was suddenly pushed open with +some fracas, and in came the stout landlord, supporting with some +difficulty an immense dish, in which was a mighty round mass of smoking +meat garnished all round with vegetables; so high was the mass that it +probably obstructed his view, for it was not until he had placed it upon +the table that he appeared to observe the stranger; he almost started, +and quite out of breath exclaimed, "God bless me, your honour; is your +honour the acquaintance that the young gentleman was expecting?" + +"Is the young gentleman expecting an acquaintance?" said the stranger. + +There is nothing like putting a good face upon these matters, thought I +to myself; and, getting up, I bowed to the unknown. "Sir," said I, "when +I told Jenny that she might lay the table-cloth for two, so that in the +event of any acquaintance dropping in he might find a knife and fork +ready for him, I was merely jocular, being an entire stranger in these +parts, and expecting no one. Fortune, however, it would seem, has been +unexpectedly kind to me; I flatter myself, sir, that since you have been +in this room I have had the honour of making your acquaintance; and in +the strength of that hope I humbly entreat you to honour me with your +company to dinner, provided you have not already dined." + +The stranger laughed outright. + +"Sir," I continued, "the round of beef is a noble one, and seems +exceedingly well boiled, and the landlord was just right when he said I +should have such a dinner as is not seen every day. A round of beef, at +any rate such a round of beef as this, is seldom seen smoking upon the +table in these degenerate times. Allow me, sir," said I, observing that +the stranger was about to speak, "allow me another remark. I think I saw +you just now touch the fork, I venture to hail it as an omen that you +will presently seize it, and apply it to its proper purpose, and its +companion the knife also." + +The stranger changed colour, and gazed upon me in silence. + +"Do, sir," here put in the landlord; "do, sir, accept the young +gentleman's invitation. Your honour has of late been looking poorly, and +the young gentleman is a funny young gentleman, and a clever young +gentleman; and I think it will do your honour good to have a dinner's +chat with the young gentleman." + +"It is not my dinner hour," said the stranger; "I dine considerably +later; taking anything now would only discompose me; I shall, however, be +most happy to sit down with the young gentleman; reach me that paper, +and, when the young gentleman has satisfied his appetite, we may perhaps +have a little chat together." + +The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, retired with +his maid Jenny. I helped myself to a portion of the smoking round, and +commenced eating with no little appetite. The stranger appeared to be +soon engrossed with the newspaper. We continued thus a considerable +time--the one reading and the other dining. Chancing suddenly to cast my +eyes upon the stranger, I saw his brow contract; he gave a slight stamp +with his foot, and flung the newspaper to the ground, then stooping down +he picked it up, first moving his fore finger along the floor, seemingly +slightly scratching it with his nail. + +"Do you hope, sir," said I, "by that ceremony with the finger to preserve +yourself from the evil chance?" + +The stranger started; then, after looking at me for some time in silence, +he said, "Is it possible that you--?" + +"Ay, ay," said I, helping myself to some more of the round, "I have +touched myself in my younger days, both for the evil chance and the good. +Can't say, though, that I ever trusted much in the ceremony." + +The stranger made no reply, but appeared to be in deep thought; nothing +further passed between us until I had concluded the dinner, when I said +to him, "I shall now be most happy, sir, to have the pleasure of your +conversation over a pint of wine." + +The stranger rose; "No, my young friend," said he, smiling, "that would +scarce be fair. It is my turn now--pray do me the favour to go home with +me, and accept what hospitality my poor roof can offer; to tell you the +truth, I wish to have some particular discourse with you which would +hardly be possible in this place. As for wine, I can give you some much +better than you can get here: the landlord is an excellent fellow, but he +is an inn-keeper, after all. I am going out for a moment, and will send +him in, so that you may settle your account; I trust you will not refuse +me, I only live about two miles from here." + +I looked in the face of the stranger--it was a fine intelligent face, +with a cast of melancholy in it. "Sir," said I, "I would go with you +though you lived four miles instead of two." + +"Who is that gentleman?" said I to the landlord, after I had settled his +bill; "I am going home with him." + +"I wish I were going too," said the fat landlord, laying his hand upon +his stomach. "Young gentleman, I shall be a loser by his honour's taking +you away; but, after all, the truth is the truth--there are few gentlemen +in these parts like his honour, either for learning or welcoming his +friends. Young gentleman, I congratulate you." + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + + +New Acquaintance--Old French Style--The Portrait--Taciturnity--The +Evergreen Tree--The Dark Hour--The Flash--Ancestors--A Fortunate Man--A +Posthumous Child--Antagonistic Ideas--The Hawks--Flaws--The +Pony--Irresistible Impulse--Favourable Crisis--The Topmost Branch--Twenty +Feet--Heartily Ashamed. + +I found the stranger awaiting me at the door of the inn. "Like yourself, +I am fond of walking," said he, "and when any little business calls me to +this place I generally come on foot." + +We were soon out of the town, and in a very beautiful country. After +proceeding some distance on the high road, we turned off, and were +presently in one of those mazes of lanes for which England is famous; the +stranger at first seemed inclined to be taciturn; a few observations, +however, which I made, appeared to rouse him, and he soon exhibited not +only considerable powers of observation, but stores of information which +surprised me. So pleased did I become with my new acquaintance, that I +soon ceased to pay the slightest attention either to place or distance. +At length the stranger was silent, and I perceived that we had arrived at +a handsome iron gate and lodge; the stranger having rung a bell, the gate +was opened by an old man, and we proceeded along a gravel path, which in +about five minutes brought us to a large brick house, built something in +the old French style, having a spacious lawn before it, and immediately +in front a pond in which were golden fish, and in the middle a stone swan +discharging quantities of water from its bill. We ascended a spacious +flight of steps to the door, which was at once flung open, and two +servants with powdered hair, and in livery of blue plush, came out and +stood one on either side as we passed the threshold. We entered a large +hall, and the stranger, taking me by the hand, welcomed me to his poor +home, as he called it, and then gave orders to another servant, but out +of livery, to show me to an apartment, and give me whatever assistance I +might require in my toilette. Notwithstanding the plea as to primitive +habits which I had lately made to my other host in the town, I offered no +objection to this arrangement, but followed the bowing domestic to a +spacious and airy chamber, where he rendered me all those little nameless +offices which the somewhat neglected state of my dress required. When +everything had been completed to my perfect satisfaction, he told me that +if I pleased he would conduct me to the library, where dinner would be +speedily served. + +In the library I found a table laid for two; my host was not there, +having as I supposed not been quite so speedy with his toilette as his +guest. Left alone, I looked round the apartment with inquiring eyes; it +was long and tolerably lofty, the walls from the top to the bottom were +lined with cases containing books of all sizes and bindings; there were a +globe or two, a couch, and an easy chair. Statues and busts there were +none, and only one painting, a portrait, that of my host, but not him of +the mansion. Over the mantel-piece, the features staringly like, but so +ridiculously exaggerated that they scarcely resembled those of a human +being, daubed evidently by the hand of the commonest sign-artist, hung a +half-length portrait of him of round of beef celebrity--my sturdy host of +the town. + +I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as I best +could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed his +taciturnity--scarce a word escaped his lips till dinner was served, when +he said, smiling, "I suppose it would be merely a compliment to ask you +to partake?" + +"I don't know," said I, seating myself; "your first course consists of +troutlets, I am fond of troutlets, and I always like to be +companionable." + +The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to it from the +circumstance of having already dined; the stranger also, though without +my excuse, partook but slightly of the good cheer; he still continued +taciturn, and appeared lost in thought, and every attempt which I made to +induce him to converse was signally unsuccessful. + +And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I remember that +the wine was good, and fully justified the encomiums of my host of the +town. Over the wine I made sure that my entertainer would have loosened +the chain which seemed to tie his tongue--but no! I endeavoured to tempt +him by various topics, and talked of geometry and the use of the globes, +of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter, which I said I had heard +was a very large star, also of the evergreen tree, which, according to +Olaus, stood of old before the heathen temple of Upsal, and which I +affirmed was a yew--but no, nothing that I said could induce my +entertainer to relax his taciturnity. + +It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable. "I must presently be going," I +at last exclaimed. + +At these words he gave a sudden start; "Going," said he, "are you not my +guest, and an honoured one?" + +"You know best," said I; "but I was apprehensive I was an intruder; to +several of my questions you have returned no answer." + +"Ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed, seizing me by the hand; "but you +cannot go now, I have much to talk to you about--there is one thing in +particular--" + +"If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal," said I, interrupting him, "I hold +it to have been a yew--what else? The evergreens of the south, as the +old bishop observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted +for such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it have been +but the yew--the sacred yew which our ancestors were in the habit of +planting in their churchyards? Moreover, I affirm it to have been the +yew for the honour of the tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and +land, I would have one growing before my front window." + +"You would do right; the yew is indeed a venerable tree, but it is not +about the yew." + +"The star Jupiter, perhaps?" + +"Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation which escaped you at +the inn has made a considerable impression upon me." + +"But I really must take my departure," said I; "the dark hour is at +hand." + +And as I uttered these last words, the stranger touched rapidly something +which lay near him I forget what it was. It was the first action of the +kind which I had observed on his part since we sat down to table. + +"You allude to the evil chance," said I; "but it is getting both dark and +late." + +"I believe we are going to have a storm," said my friend, "but I really +hope that you will give me your company for a day or two; I have, as I +said before, much to talk to you about." + +"Well," said I, "I shall be most happy to be your guest for this night; I +am ignorant of the country, and it is not pleasant to travel unknown +paths by night--dear me, what a flash of lightning!" + +It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet lightning illumed the +room. By the momentary light I distinctly saw my host touch another +object upon the table. + +"Will you allow me to ask you a question or two?" said he at last. + +"As many as you please," said I; "but shall we not have lights?" + +"Not unless you particularly wish it," said my entertainer; "I rather +like the dark, and though a storm is evidently at hand, neither thunder +nor lightning has any terrors for me. It is other things I quake at--I +should rather say ideas. Now permit me to ask you--" + +And then my entertainer asked me various questions, to all of which I +answered unreservedly; he was then silent for some time, at last he +exclaimed, "I should wish to tell you the history of my life--though not +an adventurous one, I think it contains some things which will interest +you." + +Without waiting for my reply he began. Amidst darkness and gloom, +occasionally broken by flashes of lightning, the stranger related to me, +as we sat at the table in the library, his truly touching history. + +"Before proceeding to relate the events of my life, it will not be amiss +to give you some account of my ancestors. My great grandfather on the +male side was a silk mercer, in Cheapside, who, when he died, left his +son, who was his only child, a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds, +and a splendid business; the son, however, had no inclination for trade, +the summit of his ambition was to be a country gentleman, to found a +family, and to pass the remainder of his days in rural ease and dignity, +and all this he managed to accomplish; he disposed of his business, +purchased a beautiful and extensive estate for four score thousand +pounds, built upon it the mansion to which I had the honour of welcoming +you to-day, married the daughter of a neighbouring squire, who brought +him a fortune of five thousand pounds, became a magistrate, and only +wanted a son and heir to make him completely happy; this blessing, it is +true, was for a long time denied him; it came, however, at last, as is +usual, when least expected. His lady was brought to bed of my father, +and then who so happy a man as my grandsire; he gave away two thousand +pounds in charities, and in the joy of his heart made a speech at the +next quarter sessions; the rest of his life was spent in ease, +tranquillity, and rural dignity; he died of apoplexy on the day that my +father became of age; perhaps it would be difficult to mention a man who +in all respects was so fortunate as my grandfather; his death was sudden, +it is true, but I am not one of those who pray to be delivered from a +sudden death. + +"I should not call my father a fortunate man; it is true that he had the +advantage of a first-rate education; that he made the grand tour with a +private tutor, as was the fashion at that time; that he came to a +splendid fortune on the very day that he came of age; that for many years +he tasted all the diversions of the capital; that, at last determined to +settle, he married the sister of a baronet, an amiable and accomplished +lady, with a large fortune; that he had the best stud of hunters in the +county, on which, during the season, he followed the fox gallantly; had +he been a fortunate man he would never have cursed his fate, as he was +frequently known to do; ten months after his marriage his horse fell upon +him, and so injured him, that he expired in a few days in great agony. +My grandfather was, indeed, a fortunate man; when he died he was followed +to the grave by the tears of the poor--my father was not. + +"Two remarkable circumstances are connected with my birth--I am a +posthumous child, and came into the world some weeks before the usual +time, the shock which my mother experienced at my father's death having +brought on the pangs of premature labour; both my mother's life and my +own were at first despaired of; we both, however, survived the crisis. +My mother loved me with the most passionate fondness, and I was brought +up in this house under her own eye--I was never sent to school. + +"I have already told you that mine is not a tale of adventure; my life +has not been one of action, but of wild imaginings and strange +sensations; I was born with excessive sensibility, and that has been my +bane. I have not been a fortunate man. + +"No one is fortunate unless he is happy, and it is impossible for a being +constructed like myself to be happy for an hour, or even enjoy peace and +tranquillity; most of our pleasures and pains are the effects of +imagination, and wherever the sensibility is great, the imagination is +great also. No sooner has my imagination raised up an image of pleasure, +than it is sure to conjure up one of distress and gloom; these two +antagonistic ideas instantly commence a struggle in my mind, and the +gloomy one generally, I may say invariably, prevails. How is it possible +that I should be a happy man? + +"It has invariably been so with me from the earliest period that I can +remember; the first playthings that were given me caused me for a few +minutes excessive pleasure; they were pretty and glittering; presently, +however, I became anxious and perplexed; I wished to know their history, +how they were made, and what of--were the materials precious; I was not +satisfied with their outward appearance. In less than an hour I had +broken the playthings in an attempt to discover what they were made of. + +"When I was eight years of age my uncle the baronet, who was also my +godfather, sent me a pair of Norway hawks, with directions for managing +them; he was a great fowler. Oh, how rejoiced was I with the present +which had been made me, my joy lasted for at least five minutes; I would +let them breed, I would have a house of hawks; yes, that I +would--but--and here came the unpleasant idea--suppose they were to fly +away, how very annoying! Ah, but, said hope, there's little fear of +that; feed them well and they will never fly away, or if they do they +will come back, my uncle says so; so sunshine triumphed for a little +time. Then the strangest of all doubts came into my head; I doubted the +legality of my tenure of these hawks; how did I come by them? why, my +uncle gave them to me, but how did they come into his possession? what +right had he to them? after all, they might not be his to give.--I passed +a sleepless night. The next morning I found that the man who brought the +hawks had not departed. 'How came my uncle by these hawks?' I anxiously +inquired. 'They were sent to him from Norway, master, with another +pair.' 'And who sent them?' 'That I don't know, master, but I suppose +his honour can tell you.' I was even thinking of scrawling a letter to +my uncle to make inquiry on this point, but shame restrained me, and I +likewise reflected that it would be impossible for him to give my mind +entire satisfaction; it is true he could tell who sent him the hawks, but +how was he to know how the hawks came into the possession of those who +sent them to him, and by what right they possessed them or the parents of +the hawks. In a word, I wanted a clear valid title, as lawyers would +say, to my hawks, and I believe no title would have satisfied me that did +not extend up to the time of the first hawk, that is, prior to Adam; and, +could I have obtained such a title, I make no doubt that, young as I was, +I should have suspected that it was full of flaws. + +"I was now disgusted with the hawks, and no wonder, seeing all the +disquietude they had caused me; I soon totally neglected the poor birds, +and they would have starved had not some of the servants taken compassion +upon them and fed them. My uncle, soon hearing of my neglect, was angry, +and took the birds away; he was a very good-natured man, however, and +soon sent me a fine pony; at first I was charmed with the pony, soon, +however, the same kind of thoughts arose which had disgusted me on a +former occasion. How did my uncle become possessed of the pony? This +question I asked him the first time I saw him. Oh, he had bought it of a +gypsy, that I might learn to ride upon it. A gypsy; I had heard that +gypsies were great thieves, and I instantly began to fear that the gypsy +had stolen the pony, and it is probable that for this apprehension I had +better grounds than for many others. I instantly ceased to set any value +upon the pony, but for that reason, perhaps, I turned it to some account; +I mounted it and rode it about, which I don't think I should have done +had I looked upon it as a secure possession. Had I looked upon my title +as secure, I should have prized it so much, that I should scarcely have +mounted it for fear of injuring the animal; but now, caring not a straw +for it, I rode it most unmercifully, and soon became a capital rider. +This was very selfish in me, and I tell the fact with shame. I was +punished, however, as I deserved; the pony had a spirit of its own, and, +moreover, it had belonged to gypsies; once, as I was riding it furiously +over the lawn, applying both whip and spur, it suddenly lifted up its +heels, and flung me at least five yards over its head. I received some +desperate contusions, and was taken up for dead; it was many months +before I perfectly recovered. + +"But it is time for me to come to the touching part of my story. There +was one thing that I loved better than the choicest gift which could be +bestowed upon me, better than life itself--my mother;--at length she +became unwell, and the thought that I might possibly lose her now rushed +into my mind for the first time; it was terrible, and caused me +unspeakable misery, I may say horror. My mother became worse, and I was +not allowed to enter her apartment, lest by my frantic exclamations of +grief I might aggravate her disorder. I rested neither day nor night, +but roamed about the house like one distracted. Suddenly I found myself +doing that which even at the time struck me as being highly singular; I +found myself touching particular objects that were near me, and to which +my fingers seemed to be attracted by an irresistible impulse. It was now +the table or the chair that I was compelled to touch; now the bell-rope; +now the handle of the door; now I would touch the wall, and the next +moment stooping down, I would place the point of my finger upon the +floor: and so I continued to do day after day; frequently I would +struggle to resist the impulse, but invariably in vain. I have even +rushed away from the object, but I was sure to return, the impulse was +too strong to be resisted: I quickly hurried back, compelled by the +feeling within me to touch the object. Now I need not tell you that what +impelled me to these actions was the desire to prevent my mother's death; +whenever I touched any particular object, it was with the view of +baffling the evil chance, as you would call it--in this instance my +mother's death. + +"A favourable crisis occurred in my mother's complaint, and she +recovered; this crisis took place about six o'clock in the morning; +almost simultaneously with it there happened to myself a rather +remarkable circumstance connected with the nervous feeling which was +rioting in my system. I was lying in bed in a kind of uneasy doze, the +only kind of rest which my anxiety, on account of my mother, permitted me +at this time to take, when all at once I sprang up as if electrified, the +mysterious impulse was upon me, and it urged me to go without delay, and +climb a stately elm behind the house, and touch the topmost branch; +otherwise--you know the rest--the evil chance would prevail. Accustomed +for some time as I had been, under this impulse, to perform extravagant +actions, I confess to you that the difficulty and peril of such a feat +startled me; I reasoned against the feeling, and strove more strenuously +than I had ever done before; I even made a solemn vow not to give way to +the temptation, but I believe nothing less than chains, and those strong +ones, could have restrained me. The demoniac influence, for I can call +it nothing else, at length prevailed; it compelled me to rise, to dress +myself, to descend the stairs, to unbolt the door, and to go forth; it +drove me to the foot of the tree, and it compelled me to climb the trunk; +this was a tremendous task, and I only accomplished it after repeated +falls and trials. When I had got amongst the branches, I rested for a +time, and then set about accomplishing the remainder of the ascent; this +for some time was not so difficult, for I was now amongst the branches; +as I approached the top, however, the difficulty became greater, likewise +the danger; but I was a light boy, and almost as nimble as a squirrel, +and, moreover, the nervous feeling was within me, impelling me upward. +It was only by means of a spring, however, that I was enabled to touch +the top of the tree; I sprang, touched the top of the tree, and fell a +distance of at least twenty feet, amongst the branches; had I fallen to +the bottom I must have been killed, but I fell into the middle of the +tree, and presently found myself astride upon one of the boughs; +scratched and bruised all over, I reached the ground, and regained my +chamber unobserved; I flung myself on my bed quite exhausted; presently +they came to tell me that my mother was better--they found me in the +state which I have described, and in a fever besides. The favourable +crisis must have occurred just about the time that I performed the magic +touch; it certainly was a curious coincidence, yet I was not weak enough, +even though a child, to suppose that I had baffled the evil chance by my +daring feat. + +"Indeed, all the time that I was performing these strange feats, I knew +them to be highly absurd, yet the impulse to perform them was +irresistible--a mysterious dread hanging over me till I had given way to +it; even at that early period I frequently used to reason within myself +as to what could be the cause of my propensity to touch, but of course I +could come to no satisfactory conclusion respecting it; being heartily +ashamed of the practice, I never spoke of it to any one, and was at all +times highly solicitous that no one should observe my weakness." + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + + +Maternal Anxiety--The Baronet--Little Zest--Country Life--Mr. +Speaker!--The Craving--Spirited Address--An Author. + +After a short pause my host resumed his narration. "Though I was never +sent to school, my education was not neglected on that account; I had +tutors in various branches of knowledge, under whom I made a tolerable +progress; by the time I was eighteen I was able to read most of the Greek +and Latin authors with facility; I was likewise, to a certain degree, a +mathematician. I cannot say that I took much pleasure in my studies; my +chief aim in endeavouring to accomplish my tasks was to give pleasure to +my beloved parent, who watched my progress with anxiety truly maternal. +My life at this period may be summed up in a few words; I pursued my +studies, roamed about the woods, walked the green lanes occasionally, +cast my fly in a trout stream, and sometimes, but not often, rode a +hunting with my uncle. A considerable part of my time was devoted to my +mother, conversing with her and reading to her; youthful companions I had +none, and as to my mother, she lived in the greatest retirement, devoting +herself to the superintendence of my education, and the practice of acts +of charity; nothing could be more innocent than this mode of life, and +some people say that in innocence there is happiness, yet I can't say +that I was happy. A continual dread overshadowed my mind, it was the +dread of my mother's death. Her constitution had never been strong, and +it had been considerably shaken by her last illness; this I knew, and +this I saw--for the eyes of fear are marvellously keen. Well, things +went on in this way till I had come of age; my tutors were then +dismissed, and my uncle the baronet took me in hand, telling my mother +that it was high time for him to exert his authority; that I must see +something of the world, for that, if I remained much longer with her, I +should be ruined. 'You must consign him to me,' said he, 'and I will +introduce him to the world.' My mother sighed and consented; so my uncle +the baronet introduced me to the world, took me to horse races and to +London, and endeavoured to make a man of me according to his idea of the +term, and in part succeeded. I became moderately dissipated--I say +moderately, for dissipation had but little zest for me. + +"In this manner four years passed over. It happened that I was in London +in the height of the season with my uncle, at his house; one morning he +summoned me into the parlour, he was standing before the fire, and looked +very serious. 'I have had a letter,' said he; 'your mother is very ill.' +I staggered, and touched the nearest object to me; nothing was said for +two or three minutes, and then my uncle put his lips to my ear and +whispered something. I fell down senseless. My mother was--I remember +nothing for a long time--for two years I was out of my mind; at the end +of this time I recovered, or partly so. My uncle the baronet was very +kind to me; he advised me to travel, he offered to go with me. I told +him he was very kind, but I would rather go by myself. So I went abroad, +and saw, amongst other things, Rome and the Pyramids. By frequent change +of scene my mind became not happy, but tolerably tranquil. I continued +abroad some years, when, becoming tired of travelling, I came home, found +my uncle the baronet alive, hearty, and unmarried, as he still is. He +received me very kindly, took me to Newmarket, and said that he hoped by +this time I was become quite a man of the world; by his advice I took a +house in town, in which I lived during the season. In summer I strolled +from one watering-place to another; and, in order to pass the time, I +became very dissipated. + +"At last I became as tired of dissipation as I had previously been of +travelling, and I determined to retire to the country, and live on my +paternal estate; this resolution I was not slow in putting into effect; I +sold my house in town, repaired and refurnished my country house, and, +for at least ten years, lived a regular country life; I gave dinner +parties, prosecuted poachers, was charitable to the poor, and now and +then went into my library; during this time I was seldom or never visited +by the magic impulse, the reason being, that there was nothing in the +wide world for which I cared sufficiently to move a finger to preserve +it. When the ten years, however, were nearly ended, I started out of bed +one morning in a fit of horror, exclaiming, 'Mercy, mercy! what will +become of me? I am afraid I shall go mad. I have lived thirty-five +years and upwards without doing anything; shall I pass through life in +this manner? Horror!' And then in rapid succession I touched three +different objects. + +"I dressed myself and went down, determining to set about something; but +what was I to do?--there was the difficulty. I ate no breakfast, but +walked about the room in a state of distraction; at last I thought that +the easiest way to do something was to get into Parliament, there would +be no difficulty in that. I had plenty of money, and could buy a seat; +but what was I to do in Parliament? Speak, of course--but could I speak? +'I'll try at once,' said I, and forthwith I rushed into the largest +dining room, and, locking the door, I commenced speaking; 'Mr. Speaker,' +said I, and then I went on speaking for about ten minutes as I best +could, and then I left off, for I was talking nonsense. No, I was not +formed for Parliament; I could do nothing there. What--what was I to do? + +"Many, many times I thought this question over, but was unable to solve +it; a fear now stole over me that I was unfit for anything in the world, +save the lazy life of vegetation which I had for many years been leading; +yet, if that were the case, thought I, why the craving within me to +distinguish myself? Surely it does not occur fortuitously, but is +intended to rouse and call into exercise certain latent powers that I +possess? and then with infinite eagerness I set about attempting to +discover these latent powers. I tried an infinity of pursuits, botany +and geology amongst the rest, but in vain; I was fitted for none of them. +I became very sorrowful and despondent, and at one time I had almost +resolved to plunge again into the whirlpool of dissipation; it was a +dreadful resource, it was true, but what better could I do? + +"But I was not doomed to return to the dissipation of the world. One +morning a young nobleman, who had for some time past shown a wish to +cultivate my acquaintance, came to me in a considerable hurry. 'I am +come to beg an important favour of you,' said he; 'one of the county +memberships is vacant--I intend to become a candidate; what I want +immediately is a spirited address to the electors. I have been +endeavouring to frame one all the morning, but in vain; I have, +therefore, recourse to you as a person of infinite genius; pray, my dear +friend, concoct me one by the morning.' 'What you require of me,' I +replied, 'is impossible; I have not the gift of words; did I possess it I +would stand for the county myself, but I can't speak. Only the other day +I attempted to make a speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed, +although I was quite alone, of the nonsense I was uttering.' 'It is not +a speech that I want,' said my friend, 'I can talk for three hours +without hesitating, but I want an address to circulate through the +county, and I find myself utterly incompetent to put one together; do +oblige me by writing one for me, I know you can; and, if at any time you +want a person to speak for you, you may command me not for three but for +six hours. Good morning; to-morrow I will breakfast with you.' In the +morning he came again. 'Well,' said he, 'what success?' 'Very poor,' +said I; 'but judge for yourself;' and I put into his hand a manuscript of +several pages. My friend read it through with considerable attention. +'I congratulate you,' said he, 'and likewise myself; I was not mistaken +in my opinion of you; the address is too long by at least two-thirds, or +I should rather say it is longer by two-thirds than addresses generally +are; but it will do--I will not curtail it of a word. I shall win my +election.' And in truth he did win his election; and it was not only his +own but the general opinion that he owed it to the address. + +"But, however that might be, I had, by writing the address, at last +discovered what had so long eluded my search--what I was able to do. I, +who had neither the nerve nor the command of speech necessary to +constitute the orator--who had not the power of patient research required +by those who would investigate the secrets of nature, had, nevertheless, +a ready pen and teeming imagination. This discovery decided my +fate--from that moment I became an author." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + + +Trepidations--Subtle Principle--Perverse Imagination--Are they +Mine?--Another Book--How Hard!--Agricultural Dinner--Incomprehensible +Actions--Inmost Bosom--Give it Up--Chance Resemblance--Rascally +Newspaper. + +"An author," said I, addressing my host; "is it possible that I am under +the roof of an author?" + +"Yes," said my host, sighing, "my name is so and so, and I am the author +of so and so; it is more than probable that you have heard both of my +name and works. I will not detain you much longer with my history; the +night is advancing, and the storm appears to be upon the increase. My +life since the period of my becoming an author may be summed briefly as +an almost uninterrupted series of doubts, anxieties, and trepidations. I +see clearly that it is not good to love anything immoderately in this +world, but it has been my misfortune to love immoderately everything on +which I have set my heart. This is not good, I repeat--but where is the +remedy? The ancients were always in the habit of saying, 'Practise +moderation,' but the ancients appear to have considered only one portion +of the subject. It is very possible to practise moderation in some +things, in drink and the like--to restrain the appetites--but can a man +restrain the affections of his mind, and tell them, so far you shall go, +and no farther? Alas, no! for the mind is a subtle principle, and cannot +be confined. The winds may be imprisoned; Homer says that Odysseus +carried certain winds in his ship, confined in leathern bags, but Homer +never speaks of confining the affections. It were but right that those +who exhort us against inordinate affections, and setting our hearts too +much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us how to avoid doing +so. + +"I need scarcely tell you, that no sooner did I become an author, than I +gave myself up immoderately to my vocation. It became my idol, and, as a +necessary consequence, it has proved a source of misery and disquietude +to me, instead of pleasure and blessing. I had trouble enough in writing +my first work, and I was not long in discovering that it was one thing to +write a stirring and spirited address to a set of county electors, and +another widely different to produce a work at all calculated to make an +impression upon the great world. I felt, however, that I was in my +proper sphere, and by dint of unwearied diligence and exertion I +succeeded in evolving from the depths of my agitated breast a work which, +though it did not exactly please me, I thought would serve to make an +experiment upon the public; so I laid it before the public, and the +reception which it met with was far beyond my wildest expectations. The +public were delighted with it, but what were my feelings? Anything, +alas! but those of delight. No sooner did the public express its +satisfaction at the result of my endeavours, than my perverse imagination +began to conceive a thousand chimerical doubts; forthwith I sat down to +analyse it; and my worst enemy, and all people have their enemies, +especially authors--my worst enemy could not have discovered or sought to +discover a tenth part of the faults which I, the author and creator of +the unfortunate production, found or sought to find in it. It has been +said that love makes us blind to the faults of the loved object--common +love does, perhaps--the love of a father to his child, or that of a lover +to his mistress, but not the inordinate love of an author to his works, +at least not the love which one like myself bears to his works: to be +brief, I discovered a thousand faults in my work, which neither public +nor critics discovered. However, I was beginning to get over this +misery, and to forgive my work all its imperfections, when--and I shake +when I mention it--the same kind of idea which perplexed me with regard +to the hawks and the gypsy pony rushed into my mind, and I forthwith +commenced touching the objects around me, in order to baffle the evil +chance, as you call it; it was neither more nor less than a doubt of the +legality of my claim to the thoughts, expressions, and situations +contained in the book; that is, to all that constituted the book. How +did I get them? How did they come into my mind? Did I invent them? Did +they originate with myself? Are they my own, or are they some other +body's? You see into what difficulty I had got; I won't trouble you by +relating all that I endured at that time, but will merely say that after +eating my own heart, as the Italians say, and touching every object that +came in my way for six months, I at length flung my book, I mean the copy +of it which I possessed, into the fire, and began another. + +"But it was all in vain; I laboured at this other, finished it, and gave +it to the world; and no sooner had I done so, than the same thought was +busy in my brain, poisoning all the pleasure which I should otherwise +have derived from my work. How did I get all the matter which composed +it? Out of my own mind, unquestionably; but how did it come there--was +it the indigenous growth of the mind? And then I would sit down and +ponder over the various scenes and adventures in my book, endeavouring to +ascertain how I came originally to devise them, and by dint of reflecting +I remembered that to a single word in conversation, or some simple +accident in a street, or on a road, I was indebted for some of the +happiest portions of my work; they were but tiny seeds, it is true, which +in the soil of my imagination had subsequently become stately trees, but +I reflected that without them no stately trees would have been produced, +and that, consequently, only a part in the merit of these compositions +which charmed the world--for they did charm the world--was due to myself. +Thus, a dead fly was in my phial, poisoning all the pleasure which I +should otherwise have derived from the result of my brain sweat. 'How +hard!' I would exclaim, looking up to the sky, 'how hard! I am like +Virgil's sheep, bearing fleeces not for themselves.' But, not to tire +you, it fared with my second work as it did with my first; I flung it +aside, and in order to forget it I began a third, on which I am now +occupied; but the difficulty of writing it is immense, my extreme desire +to be original sadly cramping the powers of my mind; my fastidiousness +being so great that I invariably reject whatever ideas I do not think to +be legitimately my own. But there is one circumstance to which I cannot +help alluding here, as it serves to show what miseries this love of +originality must needs bring upon an author. I am constantly discovering +that, however original I may wish to be, I am continually producing the +same things which other people say or write. Whenever, after producing +something which gives me perfect satisfaction, and which has cost me +perhaps days and nights of brooding, I chance to take up a book for the +sake of a little relaxation, a book which I never saw before, I am sure +to find in it something more or less resembling some part of what I have +been just composing. You will easily conceive the distress which then +comes over me; 'tis then that I am almost tempted to execrate the chance +which, by discovering my latent powers, induced me to adopt a profession +of such anxiety and misery. + +"For some time past I have given up reading almost entirely, owing to the +dread which I entertain of lighting upon something similar to what I +myself have written. I scarcely ever transgress without having almost +instant reason to repent. To-day, when I took up the newspaper, I saw in +a speech of the Duke of Rhododendron, at an agricultural dinner, the very +same ideas, and almost the same expressions which I had put into the +mouth of an imaginary personage of mine, on a widely different occasion; +you saw how I dashed the newspaper down--you saw how I touched the floor; +the touch was to baffle the evil chance, to prevent the critics detecting +any similarity between the speech of the Duke of Rhododendron at the +agricultural dinner, and the speech of my personage. My sensibility on +the subject of my writings is so great, that sometimes a chance word is +sufficient to unman me, I apply it to them in a superstitious sense; for +example, when you said some time ago that the dark hour was coming on, I +applied it to my works--it appeared to bode them evil fortune; you saw +how I touched, it was to baffle the evil chance; but I do not confine +myself to touching when the fear of the evil chance is upon me. To +baffle it I occasionally perform actions which must appear highly +incomprehensible; I have been known, when riding in company with other +people, to leave the direct road, and make a long circuit by a miry lane +to the place to which we were going. I have also been seen attempting to +ride across a morass, where I had no business whatever, and in which my +horse finally sank up to its saddle-girths, and was only extricated by +the help of a multitude of hands. I have, of course, frequently been +asked the reason of such conduct, to which I have invariably returned no +answer, for I scorn duplicity; whereupon people have looked mysteriously, +and sometimes put their fingers to their foreheads. 'And yet it can't +be,' I once heard an old gentleman say; 'don't we know what he is capable +of?' and the old man was right; I merely did these things to avoid the +evil chance, impelled by the strange feeling within me; and this evil +chance is invariably connected with my writings, the only things at +present which render life valuable to me. If I touch various objects, +and ride into miry places, it is to baffle any mischance befalling me as +an author, to prevent my books getting into disrepute; in nine cases out +of ten to prevent any expressions, thoughts, or situations in any work +which I am writing from resembling the thoughts, expressions, and +situations of other authors, for my great wish, as I told you before, is +to be original. + +"I have now related my history, and have revealed to you the secrets of +my inmost bosom. I should certainly not have spoken so unreservedly as I +have done, had I not discovered in you a kindred spirit. I have long +wished for an opportunity of discoursing on the point which forms the +peculiar feature of my history with a being who could understand me; and +truly it was a lucky chance which brought you to these parts; you who +seem to be acquainted with all things strange and singular, and who are +as well acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as with all that +relates to the star Jupiter, or the mysterious tree at Upsal." + +Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, amidst the +darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning. Both of us +remained silent for some time after it was concluded. + +"It is a singular story," said I, at last, "though I confess that I was +prepared for some part of it. Will you permit me to ask you a question?" + +"Certainly," said my host. + +"Did you never speak in public?" said I. + +"Never." + +"And when you made this speech of yours in the dining-room, commencing +with Mr. Speaker, no one was present?" + +"None in the world, I double-locked the door; what do you mean?" + +"An idea came into my head--dear me how the rain is pouring--but, with +respect to your present troubles and anxieties, would it not be wise, +seeing that authorship causes you so much trouble and anxiety, to give it +up altogether?" + +"Were you an author yourself," replied my host, "you would not talk in +this manner; once an author, ever an author--besides, what could I do? +return to my former state of vegetation? no, much as I endure, I do not +wish that; besides, every now and then my reason tells me that these +troubles and anxieties of mine are utterly without foundation; that +whatever I write is the legitimate growth of my own mind, and that it is +the height of folly to afflict myself at any chance resemblance between +my own thoughts and those of other writers, such resemblance being +inevitable from the fact of our common human origin. In short--" + +"I understand you," said I; "notwithstanding your troubles and anxieties +you find life very tolerable; has your originality ever been called in +question?" + +"On the contrary, every one declares that originality constitutes the +most remarkable feature of my writings; the man has some faults, they +say, but want of originality is certainly not one of them. He is quite +different from others--a certain newspaper, it is true, the --- I think, +once insinuated that in a certain work of mine I had taken a hint or two +from the writings of a couple of authors which it mentioned; it happened, +however, that I had never even read one syllable of the writings of +either, and of one of them had never even heard the name; so much for the +discrimination of the -----By-the-bye, what a rascally newspaper that +is!" + +"A very rascally newspaper," said I. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + + +Disturbed Slumbers--The Bed-Post--Two Wizards--What can I Do?--Real +Library--The Rev. Mr. Platitude--Toleration to Dissenters--Paradox--Sword +of St. Peter--Enemy to Humbug--High Principles--False Concord--The +Damsel--What Religion?--Farther Conversation--That would never Do!--May +you Prosper. + +During the greater part of that night my slumbers were disturbed by +strange dreams. Amongst other things, I fancied that I was my host; my +head appeared to be teeming with wild thoughts and imaginations, out of +which I was endeavouring to frame a book. And now the book was finished +and given to the world, and the world shouted; and all eyes were turned +upon me, and I shrunk from the eyes of the world. And, when I got into +retired places, I touched various objects in order to baffle the evil +chance. In short, during the whole night, I was acting over the story +which I had heard before I went to bed. + +At about eight o'clock I awoke. The storm had long since passed away, +and the morning was bright and shining; my couch was so soft and +luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I lay some time, my eyes +wandering about the magnificent room to which fortune had conducted me in +so singular a manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking of my own +homeless condition, and imagining where I should find myself on the +following morning. Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy +thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress myself, and, whilst +dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination to touch the bed-post. + +I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, however, as I +left it, to touch the lintel of the door. Is it possible, thought I, +that from what I have lately heard the long-forgotten influence should +have possessed me again? but I will not give way to it; so I hurried down +stairs, resisting as I went a certain inclination which I occasionally +felt to touch the rail of the banister. I was presently upon the gravel +walk before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning. I stood for +some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters of the pond, +and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of the park; the beauty +and freshness of the morning--for the air had been considerably cooled by +the late storm--soon enabled me to cast away the gloomy ideas which had +previously taken possession of my mind, and, after a stroll of about half +an hour, I returned towards the house in high spirits. It is true that +once I felt very much inclined to go and touch the leaves of a flowery +shrub which I saw at some distance, and had even moved two or three paces +towards it; but, bethinking myself, I manfully resisted the temptation. +"Begone!" I exclaimed, "ye sorceries, in which I formerly trusted--begone +for ever vagaries which I had almost forgotten; good luck is not to be +obtained, or bad averted, by magic touches; besides, two wizards in one +parish would be too much, in all conscience." + +I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast was laid on +the table, and my friend was standing before the portrait which I have +already said hung above the mantel-piece; so intently was he occupied in +gazing at it that he did not hear me enter, nor was aware of my presence +till I advanced close to him and spoke, when he turned round and shook me +by the hand. + +"What can possibly have induced you to hang that portrait up in your +library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, but it appears to me a +wretched daub." + +"Daub as you call it," said my friend, smiling, "I would not part with it +for the best piece of Raphael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to +that picture--it is my principal source of inspiration; when my +imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare upon those +features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and drollery begin to flow +into my mind; these I round, amplify, or combine into goodly creations, +and bring forth as I find an opportunity. It is true that I am +occasionally tormented by the thought that, by doing this, I am +committing plagiarism; though, in that case, all thoughts must be +plagiarisms, all that we think being the result of what we hear, see, or +feel. What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source or +other; and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from the features of my +landlord than from the works of Butler and Cervantes. My works, as you +are aware, are of a serio-comic character. My neighbours are of opinion +that I am a great reader, and so I am, but only of those features--my +real library is that picture." + +"But how did you obtain it?" said I. + +"Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood, and my +jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for his +portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and then my +fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could not bear +the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it +of him for five pounds--I would not take five thousand for it; when you +called that picture a daub, you did not see all the poetry of it." + +We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better +spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere +breakfast was over a servant entered--"The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir," +said he. + +A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. "What +does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?" said he, half to +himself; "let him come in," said he to the servant. + +The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the +Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is +vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was about +thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his face was +of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg grater; his +hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips, +which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth; +he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of spotless +black, and a neckerchief of spotless white. + +The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my +entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing +daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table, +and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned, and consented. + +In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally called +absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or presses +forward into the future. One of these fits of absence came over me at +this time--I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a +word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, "You are +no man for me," fell into a fit of musing--into the same train of thought +as in the morning, no very pleasant one--I was thinking of the future. + +I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should have +continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the voice of Mr. +Platitude raised to a very high key. "Yes, my dear sir," said he, "it is +but too true; I have it on good authority--a gone church--a lost +church--a ruined church--a demolished church is the Church of England. +Toleration to Dissenters! oh, monstrous!" + +"I suppose," said my host, "that the repeal of the Test Acts will be +merely a precursor of the emancipation of the Papists?" + +"Of the Catholics," said the Reverend Mr. Platitude. "Ahem. There was a +time, as I believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed +to the emancipation of the Catholics as it was possible for any one to +be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, labouring under a cloud of most +unfortunate prejudice; but I thank my Maker I am so no longer. I have +travelled, as you are aware. It is only by travelling that one can rub +off prejudices; I think you will agree with me there. I am speaking to a +traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in Italy. The Catholics are +at least our fellow-Christians. I thank Heaven that I am no longer an +enemy to Catholic emancipation." + +"And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?" + +"Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class such a set as the +Dissenters with Catholics?" + +"Perhaps it would be unjust," said my host, "though to which of the two +parties is another thing; but permit me to ask you a question: Does it +not smack somewhat of paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit +there are Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be +Catholics?" + +"It is not my fault that there are Dissenters," said the Reverend Mr. +Platitude; "if I had my will I would neither admit there were any, nor +permit any to be." + +"Of course you would admit there were such as long as they existed; but +how would you get rid of them?" + +"I would have the Church exert its authority." + +"What do you mean by exerting its authority?" + +"I would not have the Church bear the sword in vain." + +"What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember what the founder of the +religion which you profess said about the sword, 'He who striketh with +it--' I think those who have called themselves the Church have had +enough of the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. Platitude. The +Church of Rome tried the sword with the Lutherans: how did it fare with +the Church of Rome? The Church of England tried the sword, Mr. +Platitude, with the Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?" + +"Oh, as for the Church of England," said Mr. Platitude, "I have little to +say. Thank God I left all my Church of England prejudices in Italy. Had +the Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago have +sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. If the Church of +England had not been in some degree a schismatic church, it would not +have fared so ill at the time of which you are speaking; the rest of the +Church would have come to its assistance. The Irish would have helped +it, so would the French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always +been the bane of the Church." + +Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to the past; +methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted with oak; I was +seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were wine +and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain suit of +brown, with the hair combed back from his somewhat high forehead; he had +a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly, +without saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time +rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and emitting an +accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured tone, "As +I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have always been an enemy to +humbug." + +When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was quitting the +apartment. + +"Who is that person?" said I to my entertainer, as the door closed behind +him. + +"Who is he?" said my host; "why, the Rev. Mr. Platitude." + +"Does he reside in this neighbourhood?" + +"He holds a living about three miles from here; his history, as far as I +am acquainted with it, is as follows. His father was a respectable +tanner in the neighbouring town, who, wishing to make his son a +gentleman, sent him to college. Having never been at college myself, I +cannot say whether he took the wisest course; I believe it is more easy +to unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many gentlemanly youths +go to college, and return anything but what they went. Young Mr. +Platitude did not go to college a gentleman, but neither did he return +one; he went to college an ass, and returned a prig; to his original +folly was superadded a vast quantity of conceit. He told his father that +he had adopted high principles, and was determined to discountenance +everything low and mean; advised him to eschew trade, and to purchase him +a living. The old man retired from business, purchased his son a living, +and shortly after died, leaving him what remained of his fortune. The +first thing the Reverend Mr. Platitude did, after his father's decease, +was to send his mother and sister into Wales to live upon a small +annuity, assigning as a reason that he was averse to anything low, and +that they talked ungrammatically. Wishing to shine in the pulpit, he now +preached high sermons, as he called them, interspersed with scraps of +learning. His sermons did not, however, procure him much popularity; on +the contrary, his church soon became nearly deserted, the greater part of +his flock going over to certain dissenting preachers, who had shortly +before made their appearance in the neighbourhood. Mr. Platitude was +filled with wrath, and abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms. +Coming in contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was +rash enough to enter into argument with them. Poor Platitude! he had +better have been quiet, he appeared like a child, a very infant, in their +grasp; he attempted to take shelter under his college learning, but +found, to his dismay, that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin than +himself. These illiterate boors, as he supposed them, caught him at once +in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink home overwhelmed with +shame. To avenge himself he applied to the ecclesiastical court, but was +told that the Dissenters could not be put down by the present +ecclesiastical law. He found the Church of England, to use his own +expression, a poor, powerless, restricted Church. He now thought to +improve his consequence by marriage, and made up to a rich and beautiful +young lady in the neighbourhood; the damsel measured him from head to +foot with a pair of very sharp eyes, dropped a curtsey, and refused him. +Mr. Platitude, finding England a very stupid place, determined to travel; +he went to Italy; how he passed his time there he knows best, to other +people it is a matter of little importance. At the end of two years he +returned with a real or assumed contempt for everything English, and +especially for the Church to which he belongs, and out of which he is +supported. He forthwith gave out that he had left behind him all his +Church of England prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against +sacerdotal wedlock and the toleration of schismatics. In an evil hour +for myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and +from that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least once +a week. I seldom enter into any discussion with him, but fix my eyes on +the portrait over the mantel-piece, and endeavour to conjure up some +comic idea or situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour +about Church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal +wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, whose +acquaintance he says he made in Italy. I believe he is some sharking +priest, who has come over to proselytize and plunder. This being has +some powers of conversation and some learning, but he carries the +countenance of an arch villain; Platitude is evidently his tool." + +"Of what religion are you?" said I to my host. + +"That of the Vicar of Wakefield--good, quiet, Church of England, which +would live and let live, practises charity, and rails at no one; where +the priest is the husband of one wife, takes care of his family and his +parish--such is the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto +thought too little of religious matters. When, however, I have completed +this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be able to devote more +attention to them." + +After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I remember right, +college education, priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and the like, +I rose and said to my host, "I must now leave you." + +"Whither are you going?" + +"I do not know." + +"Stay here, then--you shall be welcome as many days, months, and years as +you please to stay." + +"Do you think I would hang upon another man? No, not if he were Emperor +of all the Chinas. I will now make my preparations, and then bid you +farewell." + +I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things which I +carried with me on my travels. + +"I will walk a little way with you," said my friend on my return. + +He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said anything by the +way. When we had come upon the road I said, "Farewell now; I will not +permit you to give yourself any further trouble on my account. Receive +my best thanks for your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish +to ask you a question. Do you think you shall ever grow tired of +authorship?" + +"I have my fears," said my friend, advancing his hand to one of the iron +bars of the gate. + +"Don't touch," said I, "it is a bad habit. I have but one word to add: +should you ever grow tired of authorship follow your first idea of +getting into Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you +want manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a teacher, +you must take lessons of a master of elocution." + +"That would never do!" said my host; "I know myself too well to think of +applying for assistance to any one. Were I to become a parliamentary +orator, I should wish to be an original one, even if not above +mediocrity. What pleasure should I take in any speech I might make, +however original as to thought, provided the gestures I employed and the +very modulation of my voice were not my own? Take lessons, indeed! why, +the fellow who taught me, the professor, might be standing in the gallery +whilst I spoke; and, at the best parts of my speech, might say to +himself, 'That gesture is mine--that modulation is mine.' I could not +bear the thought of such a thing." + +"Farewell," said I, "and may you prosper. I have nothing more to say." + +I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned round suddenly; my +friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of the gate. + +"He has been touching," said I, as I proceeded on my way; "I wonder what +was the evil chance he wished to baffle." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + + +Elastic Step--Disconsolate Party--Not the Season--Mend your Draught--Good +Ale--Crotchet--Hammer and Tongs--Schoolmaster--True Eden Life--Flaming +Tinman--Twice my Size--Hard at Work--My Poor Wife--Grey Moll--A +Bible--Half and Half--What to do--Half Inclined--In No Time--On One +Condition--Don't Stare--Like the Wind. + +After walking some time, I found myself on the great road, at the same +spot where I had turned aside the day before with my new-made +acquaintance, in the direction of his house. I now continued my journey +as before, towards the north. The weather, though beautiful, was much +cooler than it had been for some time past; I walked at a great rate, +with a springing and elastic step. In about two hours I came to where a +kind of cottage stood a little way back from the road, with a huge oak +before it, under the shade of which stood a little pony and a cart, which +seemed to contain various articles. I was going past--when I saw +scrawled over the door of the cottage, "Good beer sold here;" upon which, +feeling myself all of a sudden very thirsty, I determined to go in and +taste the beverage. + +I entered a well-sanded kitchen, and seated myself on a bench, on one +side of a long white table; the other side, which was nearest the wall, +was occupied by a party, or rather family, consisting of a grimy-looking +man, somewhat under the middle size, dressed in faded velveteens, and +wearing a leather apron--a rather pretty-looking woman, but sun-burnt, +and meanly dressed, and two ragged children, a boy and girl, about four +or five years old. The man sat with his eyes fixed upon the table, +supporting his chin with both his hands; the woman, who was next to him, +sat quite still, save that occasionally she turned a glance upon her +husband with eyes that appeared to have been lately crying. The children +had none of the vivacity so general at their age. A more disconsolate +family I had never seen; a mug, which, when filled, might contain +half-a-pint, stood empty before them; a very disconsolate party indeed. + +"House!" said I; "House!" and then as nobody appeared, I cried again as +loud as I could, "House! do you hear me, House!" + +"What's your pleasure, young man?" said an elderly woman, who now made +her appearance from a side apartment. + +"To taste your ale," said I. + +"How much?" said the woman, stretching out her hand towards the empty mug +upon the table. + +"The largest measure-full in your house," said I, putting back her hand +gently. "This is not the season for half-pint mugs." + +"As you will, young man," said the landlady; and presently brought in an +earthen pitcher which might contain about three pints, and which foamed +and frothed withal. + +"Will this pay for it?" said I, putting down sixpence. + +"I have to return you a penny," said the landlady, putting her hand into +her pocket. + +"I want no change," said I, flourishing my hand with an air. + +"As you please, young gentleman," said the landlady, and then making a +kind of curtsey, she again retired to the side apartment. + +"Here is your health, sir," said I to the grimy-looking man, as I raised +the pitcher to my lips. + +The tinker, for such I supposed him to be, without altering his posture, +raised his eyes, looked at me for a moment, gave a slight nod, and then +once more fixed his eyes upon the table. I took a draught of the ale, +which I found excellent; "won't you drink?" said I, holding the pitcher +to the tinker. + +The man again lifted his eyes, looked at me, and then at the pitcher, and +then at me again. I thought at one time that he was about to shake his +head in sign of refusal, but no, he looked once more at the pitcher, and +the temptation was too strong. Slowly removing his head from his arms, +he took the pitcher, sighed, nodded, and drank a tolerable quantity, and +then set the pitcher down before me upon the table. + +"You had better mend your draught," said I to the tinker, "it is a sad +heart that never rejoices." + +"That's true," said the tinker, and again raising the pitcher to his +lips, he mended his draught as I had bidden him, drinking a larger +quantity than before. + +"Pass it to your wife," said I. + +The poor woman took the pitcher from the man's hand; before, however, +raising it to her lips, she looked at the children. True mother's heart, +thought I to myself, and taking the half-pint mug, I made her fill it, +and then held it to the children, causing each to take a draught. The +woman wiped her eyes with the corner of her gown, before she raised the +pitcher and drank to my health. + +In about five minutes none of the family looked half so disconsolate as +before, and the tinker and I were in deep discourse. + +Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true and proper +drink of Englishmen. He is not deserving of the name of Englishman who +speaketh against ale, that is good ale, like that which has just made +merry the hearts of this poor family; and yet there are beings, calling +themselves Englishmen, who say that it is a sin to drink a cup of ale, +and who, on coming to this passage will be tempted to fling down the book +and exclaim, "The man is evidently a bad man, for behold, by his own +confession, he is not only fond of ale himself, but is in the habit of +tempting other people with it." Alas! alas! what a number of silly +individuals there are in this world; I wonder what they would have had me +do in this instance--given the afflicted family a cup of cold water? go +to! They could have found water in the road, for there was a pellucid +spring only a few yards distant from the house, as they were well +aware--but they wanted not water; what should I have given them? meat and +bread? go to! They were not hungry; there was stifled sobbing in their +bosoms, and the first mouthful of strong meat would have choked them. +What should I have given them? Money! what right had I to insult them by +offering them money? Advice! words, words, words; friends, there is a +time for everything; there is a time for a cup of cold water; there is a +time for strong meat and bread; there is a time for advice, and there is +a time for ale; and I have generally found that the time for advice is +after a cup of ale. I do not say many cups; the tongue then speaketh +more smoothly, and the ear listeneth more benignantly; but why do I +attempt to reason with you? do I not know you for conceited creatures, +with one idea--and that a foolish one;--a crotchet, for the sake of which +ye would sacrifice anything, religion if required--country? There, fling +down my book, I do not wish ye to walk any farther in my company, unless +you cast your nonsense away, which ye will never do, for it is the breath +of your nostrils; fling down my book, it was not written to support a +crotchet, for know one thing, my good people, I have invariably been an +enemy to humbug. + +"Well," said the tinker, after we had discoursed some time, "I little +thought when I first saw you, that you were of my own trade." + +_Myself_.--Nor am I, at least not exactly. There _is_ not much +difference, 'tis true, between a tinker and a smith. + +_Tinker_.--You are a whitesmith, then? + +_Myself_.--Not I, I'd scorn to be anything so mean; no, friend, black's +the colour; I am a brother of the horseshoe. Success to the hammer and +tongs. + +_Tinker_.--Well, I shouldn't have thought you had been a blacksmith by +your hands. + +_Myself_.--I have seen them, however, as black as yours. The truth is, I +have not worked for many a day. + +_Tinker_.--Where did you serve first? + +_Myself_.--In Ireland. + +_Tinker_.--That's a good way off, isn't it? + +_Myself_.--Not very far; over those mountains to the left, and the run of +salt water that lies behind them, there's Ireland. + +_Tinker_.--It's a fine thing to be a scholar. + +_Myself_.--Not half so fine as to be a tinker. + +_Tinker_.--How you talk! + +_Myself_.--Nothing but the truth; what can be better than to be one's own +master? Now a tinker is his own master, a scholar is not? Let us +suppose the best of scholars, a schoolmaster, for example, for I suppose +you will admit that no one can be higher in scholarship than a +schoolmaster; do you call his a pleasant life? I don't; we should call +him a school-slave, rather than a schoolmaster. Only conceive him in +blessed weather like this, in his close school, teaching children to +write in copy-books, "Evil communication corrupts good manners," or "You +cannot touch pitch without defilement," or to spell out of Abedariums, or +to read out of Jack Smith, or Sandford and Merton. Only conceive him, I +say, drudging in such guise from morning till night, without any rational +enjoyment but to beat the children. Would you compare such a dog's life +as that with your own--the happiest under heaven--true Eden life, as the +Germans would say,--pitching your tent under the pleasant hedge-rows, +listening to the song of the feathered tribes, collecting all the leaky +kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and joining, earning your honest +bread by the wholesome sweat of your brow--making ten holes--hey, what's +this? what's the man crying for? + +Suddenly the tinker had covered his face with his hands, and begun to sob +and moan like a man in the deepest distress; the breast of his wife was +heaved with emotion; even the children were agitated, the youngest began +to roar. + +_Myself_.--What's the matter with you; what are you all crying about? + +_Tinker_ (uncovering his face).--Lord, why to hear you talk; isn't that +enough to make anybody cry--even the poor babes? Yes, you said right, +'tis life in the garden of Eden--the tinker's; I see so now that I'm +about to give it up. + +_Myself_.--Give it up! you must not think of such a thing. + +_Tinker_.--No, I can't bear to think of it, and yet I must; what's to be +done? How hard to be frightened to death, to be driven off the roads. + +_Myself_.--Who has driven you off the roads? + +_Tinker_.--Who! the Flaming Tinman. + +_Myself_.--Who is he? + +_Tinker_.--The biggest rogue in England, and the cruellest, or he +wouldn't have served me as he has done--I'll tell you all about it. I +was born upon the roads, and so was my father before me, and my mother +too; and I worked with them as long as they lived, as a dutiful child, +for I have nothing to reproach myself with on their account; and when my +father died I took up the business, and went his beat, and supported my +mother for the little time she lived; and when she died I married this +young woman, who was not born upon the roads, but was a small tradesman's +daughter, at Glo'ster. She had a kindness for me, and, notwithstanding +her friends were against the match, she married the poor tinker, and came +to live with him upon the roads. Well, young man, for six or seven years +I was the happiest fellow breathing, living just the life you described +just now--respected by everybody in this beat; when in an evil hour comes +this Black Jack, this flaming tinman, into these parts, driven as they +say out of Yorkshire--for no good, you may be sure. Now there is no beat +will support two tinkers, as you doubtless know; mine was a good one, but +it would not support the flying tinker and myself, though if it would +have supported twenty it would have been all the same to the flying +villain, who'll brook no one but himself; so he presently finds me out, +and offers to fight me for the beat. Now, being bred upon the roads, I +can fight a little, that is with anything like my match, but I was not +going to fight him, who happens to be twice my size, and so I told him; +whereupon he knocks me down, and would have done me further mischief had +not some men been nigh and prevented him; so he threatened to cut my +throat, and went his way. Well, I did not like such usage at all, and +was woundily frightened, and tried to keep as much out of his way as +possible, going anywhere but where I thought I was likely to meet him; +and sure enough for several months I contrived to keep out of his way. +At last somebody told me that he was gone back to Yorkshire, whereupon I +was glad at heart, and ventured to show myself, going here and there as I +did before. Well, young man, it was yesterday that I and mine set +ourselves down in a lane, about five miles from here, and lighted our +fire, and had our dinner, and after dinner I sat down to mend three +kettles and a frying pan which the people in the neighbourhood had given +me to mend--for, as I told you before, I have a good connection, owing to +my honesty. Well, as I sat there hard at work, happy as the day's long, +and thinking of anything but what was to happen, who should come up but +this Black Jack, this king of the tinkers, rattling along in his cart, +with his wife, that they call Grey Moll, by his side--for the villain has +got a wife, and a maid-servant too; the last I never saw, but they that +has, says that she is as big as a house, and young, and well to look at, +which can't be all said of Moll, who, though she's big enough in all +conscience, is neither young nor handsome. Well, no sooner does he see +me and mine, than giving the reins to Grey Moll, he springs out of his +cart, and comes straight at me; not a word did he say, but on he comes +straight at me like a wild bull. I am a quiet man, young fellow, but I +saw now that quietness would be of no use, so I sprang up upon my legs, +and being bred upon the roads, and able to fight a little, I squared as +he came running in upon me, and had a round or two with him. Lord bless +you, young man, it was like a fly fighting with an elephant--one of those +big beasts the show-folks carry about. I had not a chance with the +fellow, he knocked me here, he knocked me there, knocked me into the +hedge, and knocked me out again. I was at my last shifts, and my poor +wife saw it. Now my poor wife, though she is as gentle as a pigeon, has +yet a spirit of her own, and though she wasn't bred upon the roads, can +scratch a little, so when she saw me at my last shifts, she flew at the +villain--she couldn't bear to see her partner murdered--and scratched the +villain's face. Lord bless you, young man, she had better have been +quiet: Grey Moll no sooner saw what she was about, than springing out of +the cart, where she had sat all along perfectly quiet, save a little +whooping and screeching to encourage her blade:--Grey Moll, I say (my +flesh creeps when I think of it--for I am a kind husband, and love my +poor wife)-- + +_Myself_.--Take another draught of the ale; you look frightened, and it +will do you good. Stout liquor makes stout heart, as the man says in the +play. + +_Tinker_.--That's true, young man; here's to you--where was I? Grey Moll +no sooner saw what my wife was about, than springing out of the cart, she +flew at my poor wife, clawed off her bonnet in a moment, and seized hold +of her hair. Lord bless you, young man, my poor wife, in the hands of +Grey Moll, was nothing better than a pigeon in the claws of a buzzard +hawk, or I in the hands of the Flaming Tinman, which when I saw, my heart +was fit to burst, and I determined to give up everything--everything to +save my poor wife out of Grey Moll's claws. "Hold!" I shouted. "Hold, +both of you--Jack, Moll. Hold, both of you, for God's sake, and I'll do +what you will: give up trade, and business, connection, bread, and +everything, never more travel the roads, and go down on my knees to you +in the bargain." Well, this had some effect: Moll let go my wife, and +the Blazing Tinman stopped for a moment; it was only for a moment, +however, that he left off--all of a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me +against a tree; and what did the villain then? why the flying villain +seized me by the throat, and almost throttled me, roaring--what do you +think, young man, that the flaming villain roared out? + +_Myself_.--I really don't know--something horrible, I suppose. + +_Tinker_.--Horrible, indeed; you may well say horrible, young man; +neither more nor less than the bible--"a bible, a bible!" roared the +Blazing Tinman; and he pressed my throat so hard against the tree that my +senses began to dwaul away--a bible, a bible, still ringing in my ears. +Now, young man, my poor wife is a Christian woman, and, though she +travels the roads, carries a bible with her at the bottom of her sack, +with which sometimes she teaches the children to read--it was the only +thing she brought with her from the place of her kith and kin, save her +own body and the clothes on her back; so my poor wife, half distracted, +runs to her sack, pulls out the bible, and puts it into the hand of the +Blazing Tinman, who then thrusts the end of it into my mouth with such +fury that it made my lips bleed, and broke short one of my teeth which +happened to be decayed. "Swear," said he, "swear, you mumping villain, +take your bible oath that you will quit and give up the beat altogether, +or I'll"--and then the hard-hearted villain made me swear by the bible, +and my own damnation, half-throttled as I was--to--to--I can't go on-- + +_Myself_.--Take another draught--stout liquor-- + +_Tinker_.--I can't, young man, my heart's too full, and what's more, the +pitcher is empty. + +_Myself_.--And so he swore you, I suppose, on the bible, to quit the +roads? + +_Tinker_.--You are right, he did so, the gypsy villain. + +_Myself_.--Gypsy! Is he a gypsy? + +_Tinker_.--Not exactly; what they call a half and half. His father was a +gypsy, and his mother, like mine, one who walked the roads. + +_Myself_.--Is he of the Smiths--the Petulengres? + +_Tinker_.--I say, young man, you know a thing or two; one would think, to +hear you talk, you had been bred upon the roads. I thought none but +those bred upon the roads knew anything of that name--Petulengres! No, +not he, he fights the Petulengres whenever he meets them; he likes nobody +but himself, and wants to be king of the roads. I believe he is a Boss, +or a --- at any rate he's a bad one, as I know to my cost. + +_Myself_.--And what are you going to do? + +_Tinker_.--Do! you may well ask that; I don't know what to do. My poor +wife and I have been talking of that all the morning, over that half-pint +mug of beer; we can't determine on what's to be done. All we know is, +that we must quit the roads. The villain swore that the next time he saw +us on the roads he'd cut all our throats, and seize our horse and bit of +cart that are now standing out there under the tree. + +_Myself_.--And what do you mean to do with your horse and cart? + +_Tinker_.--Another question! What shall we do with our cart and pony? +they are of no use to us now. Stay on the roads I will not, both for my +oath's sake and my own. If we had a trifle of money, we were thinking of +going to Bristol, where I might get up a little business, but we have +none; our last three farthings we spent about the mug of beer. + +_Myself_.--But why don't you sell your horse and cart? + +_Tinker_.--Sell them, and who would buy them, unless some one who wished +to set up in my line; but there's no beat, and what's the use of the +horse and cart and the few tools without the beat? + +_Myself_.--I'm half inclined to buy your cart and pony, and your beat +too. + +_Tinker_.--You! How came you to think of such a thing? + +_Myself_.--Why, like yourself, I hardly know what to do. I want a home +and work. As for a home, I suppose I can contrive to make a home out of +your tent and cart; and as for work, I must learn to be a tinker, it +would not be hard for one of my trade to learn to tinker; what better can +I do? Would you have me go to Chester and work there now? I don't like +the thoughts of it. If I go to Chester and work there, I can't be my own +man; I must work under a master, and perhaps he and I should quarrel, and +when I quarrel I am apt to hit folks, and those that hit folks are +sometimes sent to prison; I don't like the thought either of going to +Chester or to Chester prison. What do you think I could earn at Chester? + +_Tinker_.--A matter of eleven shillings a week, if anybody would employ +you, which I don't think they would with those hands of yours. But +whether they would or not, if you are of a quarrelsome nature, you must +not go to Chester; you would be in the castle in no time. I don't know +how to advise you. As for selling you my stock, I'd see you farther +first, for your own sake. + +_Myself_.--Why? + +_Tinker_.--Why! you would get your head knocked off. Suppose you were to +meet him? + +_Myself_.--Pooh, don't be afraid on my account; if I were to meet him I +could easily manage him one way or other. I know all kinds of strange +words and names, and, as I told you before, I sometimes hit people when +they put me out. + +Here the tinker's wife, who for some minutes past had been listening +attentively to our discourse, interposed, saying, in a low soft tone: "I +really don't see, John, why you shouldn't sell the young man the things, +seeing that he wishes for them, and is so confident; you have told him +plainly how matters stand, and if anything ill should befall him, people +couldn't lay the blame on you; but I don't think any ill will befall him, +and who knows but God has sent him to our assistance in time of need." + +"I'll hear of no such thing," said the tinker; "I have drunk at the young +man's expense, and though he says he's quarrelsome, I would not wish to +sit in pleasanter company. A pretty fellow I should be, now, if I were +to let him follow his own will. If he once sets up on my beat, he's a +lost man, his ribs will be stove in, and his head knocked off his +shoulders. There, you are crying, but you shan't have your will, though; +I won't be the young man's destruction--If, indeed, I thought he could +manage the tinker--but he never can; he says he can hit, but it's no use +hitting the tinker;--crying still! you are enough to drive one mad. I +say, young man, I believe you understand a thing or two, just now you +were talking of knowing hard words and names--I don't wish to send you to +your mischief--you say you know hard words and names; let us see. Only +on one condition I'll sell you the pony and things; as for the beat it's +gone, isn't mine--sworn away by my mouth. Tell me what's my name; if you +can't, may I--" + +_Myself_.--Don't swear, it's a bad habit, neither pleasant nor +profitable. Your name is Slingsby--Jack Slingsby. There, don't stare, +there's nothing in my telling you your name: I've been in these parts +before, at least not very far from here. Ten years ago, when I was +little more than a child, I was about twenty miles from here in a post +chaise, at the door of an inn, and as I looked from the window of the +chaise, I saw you standing by a gutter, with a big tin ladle in your +hand, and somebody called you Jack Slingsby. I never forget anything I +hear or see; I can't, I wish I could. So there's nothing strange in my +knowing your name; indeed, there's nothing strange in anything, provided +you examine it to the bottom. Now what am I to give you for the things? + +I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in trade, cart, +and pony--purchased sundry provisions of the landlady, also a wagoner's +frock, which had belonged to a certain son of hers, deceased, gave my +little animal a feed of corn, and prepared to depart. + +"God bless you, young man," said Slingsby, shaking me by the hand, "you +are the best friend I've had for many a day: I have but one thing to tell +you, Don't cross that fellow's path if you can help it; and stay--should +the pony refuse to go, just touch him so, and he'll fly like the wind." + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + + +Effects of Corn--One Night Longer--The Hoofs--A Stumble--Are you +Hurt?--What a Difference!--Drowsy--Maze of Bushes--Housekeeping--Sticks +and Furze--The Driftway--Account of Stock--Anvil and Bellows--Twenty +Years. + +It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure from the +place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my little cart; the +pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was probably not much +accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far from having to hasten him +forward by the particular application which the tinker had pointed out to +me, I had rather to repress his eagerness, being, though an excellent +pedestrian, not unfrequently left behind. The country through which I +passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary: few habitations +appeared. As it was quite a matter of indifference to me in what +direction I went, the whole world being before me, I allowed the pony to +decide upon the matter; it was not long before he left the high road, +being probably no friend to public places. I followed him I knew not +whither, but, from subsequent observation, have reason to suppose that +our course was in a north-west direction. At length night came upon us, +and a cold wind sprang up, which was succeeded by a drizzling rain. + +I had originally intended to pass the night in the cart, or to pitch my +little tent on some convenient spot by the road's side; but, owing to the +alteration in the weather, I thought that it would be advisable to take +up my quarters in any hedge alehouse at which I might arrive. To tell +the truth, I was not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the night once +more beneath a roof. I had determined to live quite independent, but I +had never before passed a night by myself abroad, and felt a little +apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, however, on the morrow, to be a little +more prepared for the step, so I determined for one night--only for one +night longer--to sleep like a Christian; but human determinations are not +always put into effect, such a thing as opportunity is frequently +wanting, such was the case here. I went on for a considerable time, in +expectation of coming to some rustic hostelry, but nothing of the kind +presented itself to my eyes; the country in which I now was seemed almost +uninhabited, not a house of any kind was to be seen--at least I saw +none--though it is true houses might be near without my seeing them, +owing to the darkness of the night, for neither moon nor star was abroad. +I heard, occasionally, the bark of dogs; but the sound appeared to come +from an immense distance. The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my +feet was wet and miry; in short, it was a night in which even a tramper +by profession would feel more comfortable in being housed than abroad. I +followed in the rear of the cart, the pony still proceeding at a sturdy +pace, till methought I heard other hoofs than those of my own nag; I +listened for a moment, and distinctly heard the sound of hoofs +approaching at a great rate, and evidently from the quarter towards which +I and my little caravan were moving. We were in a dark lane--so dark +that it was impossible for me to see my own hand. Apprehensive that some +accident might occur, I ran forward, and, seizing the pony by the bridle, +drew him as near as I could to the hedge. On came the hoofs--trot, trot, +trot; and evidently more than those of one horse; their speed as they +advanced appeared to slacken--it was only, however, for a moment. I +heard a voice cry, "Push on,--this is a desperate robbing place,--never +mind the dark;" and the hoofs came on quicker than before. "Stop!" said +I, at the top of my voice; "stop! or--" Before I could finish what I was +about to say there was a stumble, a heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and +putting out my foot I felt what I conjectured to be the head of a horse +stretched upon the road. "Lord have mercy upon us! what's the matter?" +exclaimed a voice. "Spare my life," cried another voice, apparently from +the ground; "only spare my life, and take all I have." "Where are you, +Master Wise?" cried the other voice. "Help! here, Master Bat," cried the +voice from the ground, "help me up or I shall be murdered." "Why, what's +the matter?" said Bat. "Some one has knocked me down, and is robbing +me," said the voice from the ground. "Help! murder!" cried Bat; and, +regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that he would stay +and help him up, he urged his horse forward and galloped away as fast as +he could. I remained for some time quiet, listening to various groans +and exclamations uttered by the person on the ground; at length I said, +"Holloa! are you hurt?" "Spare my life, and take all I have!" said the +voice from the ground. "Have they not done robbing you yet?" said I; +"when they have finished let me know, and I will come and help you." +"Who is that?" said the voice; "pray come and help me, and do me no +mischief." "You were saying that some one was robbing you," said I; +"don't think I shall come till he is gone away." "Then you ben't he?" +said the voice. "Ar'n't you robbed?" said I. "Can't say I be," said the +voice; "not yet at any rate; but who are you? I don't know you." "A +traveller whom you and your partner were going to run over in this dark +lane; you almost frightened me out of my senses." "Frightened!" said the +voice, in a louder tone; "frightened! oh!" and thereupon I heard somebody +getting upon his legs. This accomplished, the individual proceeded to +attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty raised him upon his +legs also. "Ar'n't you hurt?" said I. "Hurt!" said the voice; "not I; +don't think it, whatever the horse may be. I tell you what, my fellow, I +thought you were a robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good +mind--" "To do what?" "To serve you out; ar'n't you ashamed--?" "At +what?" said I; "not to have robbed you? Shall I set about it now?" "Ha, +ha!" said the man, dropping the bullying tone which he had assumed; "you +are joking--robbing! who talks of robbing? I wonder how my horse's knees +are; not much hurt, I think--only mired." The man, whoever he was, then +got upon his horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, "Good +night, friend; where are you?" "Here I am," said I, "just behind you." +"You are, are you? Take that." I know not what he did, but probably +pricking his horse with the spur the animal kicked out violently; one of +his heels struck me on the shoulder, but luckily missed my face; I fell +back with the violence of the blow, whilst the fellow scampered off at a +great rate. Stopping at some distance, he loaded me with abuse, and +then, continuing his way at a rapid trot, I heard no more of him. + +"What a difference!" said I, getting up; "last night I was feted in the +hall of a rich genius, and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark +lane by the heel of Master Wise's horse--I wonder who gave him that name? +And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge upon me, and I was not +wise enough to keep out of his way. Well, I am not much hurt, so it is +of little consequence." + +I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I might as well +make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, taking the reins in +my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, whereupon the sturdy little +animal started again at as brisk a pace as if he had not already come +many a long mile. I lay half reclining in the cart, holding the reins +lazily, and allowing the animal to go just where he pleased, often +wondering where he would conduct me. At length I felt drowsy, and my +head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself, but it was only to doze +again; this occurred several times. Opening my eyes after a doze +somewhat longer than the others, I found that the drizzling rain had +ceased, a corner of the moon was apparent in the heavens, casting a faint +light; I looked around for a moment or two, but my eyes and brain were +heavy with slumber, and I could scarcely distinguish where we were. I +had a kind of dim consciousness that we were traversing an uninclosed +country--perhaps a heath; I thought, however, that I saw certain large +black objects looming in the distance, which I had a confused idea might +be woods or plantations; the pony still moved at his usual pace. I did +not find the jolting of the cart at all disagreeable; on the contrary, it +had quite a somniferous effect upon me. Again my eyes closed; I opened +them once more, but with less perception in them than before, looked +forward, and, muttering something about woodlands, I placed myself in an +easier posture than I had hitherto done, and fairly fell asleep. + +How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I believe for +a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the ceasing of the +jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of which I was perfectly +sensible in my sleep. I started up and looked around me, the moon was +still shining, and the face of the heaven was studded with stars; I found +myself amidst a haze of bushes of various kinds, but principally hazel +and holly, through which was a path or driftway with grass growing on +either side, upon which the pony was already diligently browsing. I +conjectured that this place had been one of the haunts of his former +master, and, on dismounting and looking about, was strengthened in that +opinion by finding a spot under an ash tree which, from its burnt and +blackened appearance, seemed to have been frequently used as a +fire-place. I will take up my quarters here, thought I; it is an +excellent spot for me to commence my new profession in; I was quite right +to trust myself to the guidance of the pony. Unharnessing the animal +without delay, I permitted him to browse at free will on the grass, +convinced that he would not wander far from a place to which he was so +much attached; I then pitched the little tent close beside the ash tree +to which I have alluded, and conveyed two or three articles into it, and +instantly felt that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my +life. Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair, +something like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses; of this +I was the more sensible from feeling very cold and shivering, owing to my +late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in the night air. Collecting, +therefore, all the dry sticks and furze I could find, I placed them upon +the fire-place, adding certain chips and a billet which I found in the +cart, it having apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry with him a +small store of fuel. Having then struck a spark in a tinder-box and +lighted a match, I set fire to the combustible heap, and was not slow in +raising a cheerful blaze; I then drew my cart near the fire, and, seating +myself on one of the shafts, hung over the warmth with feelings of +intense pleasure and satisfaction. Having continued in the posture for a +considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven in the direction of a +particular star; I, however, could not find the star, nor indeed many of +the starry train, the greater number having fled, from which +circumstance, and from the appearance of the sky, I concluded that +morning was nigh. About this time I again began to feel drowsy; I +therefore arose, and having prepared for myself a kind of couch in the +tent, I flung myself upon it and went to sleep. + +I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by the carolling of +birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a novel; I awoke because, to +use vulgar language, I had slept my sleep out, not because the birds were +carolling around me in numbers, as they had probably been for hours +without my hearing them. I got up and left my tent; the morning was yet +more bright than that of the preceding day. Impelled by curiosity, I +walked about, endeavouring to ascertain to what place chance, or rather +the pony, had brought me; following the driftway for some time, amidst +bushes and stunted trees, I came to a grove of dark pines, through which +it appeared to lead; I tracked it a few hundred yards, but seeing nothing +but trees, and the way being wet and sloughy, owing to the recent rain, I +returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in another direction, came +to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless the one I had traversed +the preceding night. My curiosity satisfied, I returned to my little +encampment, and on the way beheld a small footpath on the left winding +through the bushes, which had before escaped my observation. Having +reached my tent and cart, I breakfasted on some of the provisions which I +had procured the day before, and then proceeded to take a regular account +of the stock formerly possessed by Slingsby the tinker, but now become my +own by right of lawful purchase. + +Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was possessed of a +mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a blanket to cover me, +the last quite clean and nearly new; then there was a frying pan and a +kettle, the first for cooking any food which required cooking, and the +second for heating any water which I might wish to heat. I likewise +found an earthen teapot and two or three cups; of the first I should +rather say I found the remains, it being broken in three parts, no doubt +since it came into my possession, which would have precluded the +possibility of my asking anybody to tea for the present, should anybody +visit me, even supposing I had tea and sugar, which was not the case. I +then overhauled what might more strictly be called the stock in trade; +this consisted of various tools, an iron ladle, a chafing pan and small +bellows, sundry pans and kettles, the latter being of tin, with the +exception of one which was of copper, all in a state of considerable +dilapidation--if I may use the term; of these first Slingsby had spoken +in particular, advising me to mend them as soon as possible, and to +endeavour to sell them, in order that I might have the satisfaction of +receiving some return upon the outlay which I had made. There was +likewise a small quantity of block tin, sheet tin, and solder. "This +Slingsby," said I, "is certainly a very honest man, he has sold me more +than my money's worth; I believe, however, there is something more in the +cart." Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the cart, and, amidst a +quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and bellows of that kind which +are used in forges, and two hammers such as smiths use, one great, and +the other small. + +The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, as no word +which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby have given me reason to +suppose that he had ever followed the occupation of a smith; yet, if he +had not, how did he come by them? I sat down upon the shaft, and +pondered the question deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded that +he had come by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur upon +the roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, must have a +very imperfect conception; honestly, of course--for I scouted the idea +that Slingsby would have stolen this blacksmith's gear--for I had the +highest opinion of his honesty, which opinion I still retain at the +present day, which is upwards of twenty years from the time of which I am +speaking, during the whole of which period I have neither seen the poor +fellow, nor received any intelligence of him. + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + + +New Profession--Beautiful Night--Jupiter--Sharp and Shrill--The Rommany +Chi--All Alone--Three and Sixpence--What is Rommany?--Be Civil--Parraco +Tute--Slight Start--She Will Be Grateful--The Rustling. + +I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach myself the +mysteries of my new profession. I cannot say that I was very successful, +but the time passed agreeably, and was therefore not ill spent. Towards +evening I flung my work aside, took some refreshment, and afterwards a +walk. + +This time I turned up the small footpath, of which I have already spoken. +It led in a zigzag manner through thickets of hazel, elder, and sweet +briar; after following its windings for somewhat better than a furlong, I +heard a gentle sound of water, and presently came to a small rill, which +ran directly across the path. I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had +already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be nigh at +hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally frequented by +wandering people, who I was aware never take up their quarters in places +where water is difficult to be obtained. Forthwith I stretched myself on +the ground, and took a long and delicious draught of the crystal stream, +and then, seating myself in a bush, I continued for some time gazing on +the water as it purled tinkling away in its channel through an opening in +the hazels, and should have probably continued much longer had not the +thought that I had left my property unprotected compelled me to rise and +return to my encampment. + +Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, and +innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven. I sat on the shaft, my +eyes turned upwards. I had found it: there it was twinkling millions of +miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we belong: of all +stars, the one which has the most interest for me--the star Jupiter. + +Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter? I know nothing +about thee, save what every child knows, that thou art a big star, whose +only light is derived from moons. And is not that knowledge enough to +make me feel an interest in thee? Ay, truly, I never look at thee +without wondering what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter? +That there is life in Jupiter who can doubt? There is life in our own +little star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, which is not a +little star. But how different must life be in Jupiter from what it is +in our own little star! Life here is life beneath the dear sun--life in +Jupiter is life beneath moons--four moons--no single moon is able to +illumine that vast bulk. All know what life is in our own little star; +it is anything but a routine of happiness here, where the dear sun rises +to us every day: then how sad and moping must life be in mighty Jupiter, +on which no sun ever shines, and which is never lighted save by pale +moonbeams! The thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in +Jupiter than in this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, +has always made me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star. + +Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first. During +the morning I worked upon my kettles, and employed the remaining part of +the day as I best could. The whole of this time I only saw two +individuals, rustics, who passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me +a glance; they probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps +they were. + +One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good spirits, for by +this time I had actually mended in a very creditable way, as I imagined, +two kettles and a frying pan, I heard a voice which seemed to proceed +from the path leading to the rivulet; at first it sounded from a +considerable distance, but drew nearer by degrees. I soon remarked that +the tones were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet something of +childhood in them. Once or twice I distinguished certain words in the +song which the voice was singing; the words were--but no, I thought again +I was probably mistaken--and then the voice ceased for a time; presently +I heard it again, close to the entrance of the footpath; in another +moment I heard it in the lane or glade in which stood my tent, where it +abruptly stopped, but not before I had heard the very words which I at +first thought I had distinguished. + +I turned my head: at the entrance of the footpath, which might be about +thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I perceived the figure +of a young girl; her face was turned towards me, and she appeared to be +scanning me and my encampment; after a little time she looked in the +other direction, only for a moment, however; probably observing nothing +in that quarter, she again looked towards me and almost immediately +stepped forward; and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard in +the wood, the first words of which were those which I have already +alluded to. + + "The Rommany chi + And the Rommany chal, + Shall jaw tasaulor + To drab the bawlor, + And dook the gry + Of the farming rye." + +A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon my kettle; +a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good. Let them look to +their cattle. + +"All alone here, brother?" said a voice close by me, in sharp but not +disagreeable tones. + +I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with the gravity +which became one of my profession. I allowed at least half a minute to +elapse before I even lifted up my eyes. + +A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features were very +pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion was a clear olive, +and her jet black hair hung back upon her shoulders. She was rather +scantily dressed, and her arms and feet were bare; round her neck, +however, was a handsome string of corals, with ornaments of gold; in her +hand she held a bulrush. + +"All alone here, brother?" said the girl, as I looked up; "all alone +here, in the lane; where are your wife and children?" + +"Why do you call me brother?" said I; "I am no brother of yours. Do you +take me for one of your people? I am no gypsy; not I, indeed!" + +"Don't be afraid, brother, you are no Roman--Roman indeed, you are not +handsome enough to be a Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. +If I called you brother, it was because I didn't know what else to call +you. Marry, come up, brother, I should be very sorry to have you for a +brother." + +"Then you don't like me?" + +"Neither like you, nor dislike you, brother; what will you have for that +kekaubi?" + +"What's the use of talking to me in that un-Christian way; what do you +mean, young gentlewoman?" + +"Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what a kekaubi +is. I was asking you what you would have for that kettle." + +"Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn't it well mended?" + +"Well mended! I could have done it better myself; three-and-sixpence! +it's only fit to be played at football with." + +"I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has caused me a world +of trouble." + +"I never saw a worse mended kettle. I say, brother, your hair is white." + +"'Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing but nature." + +"I am young, brother; my hair is black--that's nature: you are young, +brother; your hair is white--that's not nature." + +"I can't help it if it be not, but it is nature after all; did you never +see grey hair on the young?" + +"Never! I have heard it is true of a grey lad, and a bad one he was. +Oh, so bad." + +"Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, sister; do to oblige +me, pretty sister." + +"Hey, brother, you don't speak as you did--you don't speak like a gorgio, +you speak like one of us, you call me sister." + +"As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person after all, sister." + +"I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the face--there--do +you speak Rommany?" + +"Rommany! Rommany! what is Rommany?" + +"What is Rommany? our language, to be sure; tell me, brother, only one +thing, you don't speak Rommany?" + +"You say it." + +"I don't say it, I wish to know. Do you speak Rommany?" + +"Do you mean thieves' slang--cant? no, I don't speak cant, I don't like +it, I only know a few words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don't they?" + +"I don't know," said the girl, sitting down on the ground, "I was almost +thinking--well, never mind, you don't know Rommany. I say, brother, I +think I should like to have the kekaubi." + +"I thought you said it was badly mended?" + +"Yes, yes, brother, but--" + +"I thought you said it was only fit to be played at football with?" + +"Yes, yes, brother, but--" + +"What will you give for it?" + +"Brother, I am the poor person's child, I will give you sixpence for the +kekaubi." + +"Poor person's child; how came you by that necklace?" + +"Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?" + +"Not for sixpence; isn't the kettle nicely mended?" + +"I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the kekaubi, +brother?" + +"You like me then?" + +"I don't dislike you--I dislike no one; there's only one, and him I don't +dislike, him I hate." + +"Who is he?" + +"I scarcely know, I never saw him, but 'tis no affair of yours, you don't +speak Rommany; you will let me have the kekaubi, pretty brother?" + +"You may have it, but not for sixpence, I'll give it to you." + +"Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the rikkeni kekaubi is now +mine. O, rare! I thank you kindly, brother." + +Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had hitherto held in +her hand, and seizing the kettle, she looked at it for a moment, and then +began a kind of dance, flourishing the kettle over her head the while, +and singing-- + + "The Rommany chi + And the Rommany chal, + Shall jaw tasaulor + To drab the bawlor, + And dook the gry + Of the farming rye." + +"Good by, brother I must be going." + +"Good by, sister; why do you sing that wicked song?" + +"Wicked song, hey, brother! you don't understand the song!" + +"Ha, ha! gypsy daughter," said I, starting up and clapping my hands, "I +don't understand Rommany, don't I? You shall see; here's the answer to +your gillie-- + + 'The Rommany chi + And the Rommany chal + Love Luripen + And dukkeripen, + And hokkeripen, + And every pen + But Lachipen + And tatchipen.'" + +The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained for some +time after I had concluded the song, standing motionless as a statue, +with the kettle in her hand. At length she came towards me, and stared +me full in the face. "Grey, tall, and talks Rommany," said she to +herself. In her countenance there was an expression which I had not seen +before--an expression which struck me as being composed of fear, +curiosity, and the deepest hate. It was momentary, however, and was +succeeded by one smiling, frank, and open. "Ha, ha, brother," said she, +"well, I like you all the better for talking Rommany; it is a sweet +language, isn't it? especially as you sing it. How did you pick it up? +But you picked it up upon the roads, no doubt? Ha, it was funny in you +to pretend not to know it, and you so flush with it all the time; it was +not kind in you, however, to frighten the poor person's child so by +screaming out, but it was kind in you to give the rikkeni kekaubi to the +child of the poor person. She will be grateful to you; she will bring +you her little dog to show you, her pretty juggal; the poor person's +child will come and see you again; you are not going away to-day, I hope, +or to-morrow, pretty brother, grey-hair'd brother--you are not going away +to-morrow, I hope?" + +"Nor the next day," said I, "only to take a stroll to see if I can sell a +kettle; good by, little sister, Rommany sister, dingy sister." + +"Good by, tall brother," said the girl, as she departed, singing + + "The Rommany chi," etc. + +"There's something about that girl that I don't understand," said I to +myself; "something mysterious. However, it is nothing to me, she knows +not who I am, and if she did, what then?" + +Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep meditation, +with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in the bushes over +against me. I turned my eyes in that direction, but saw nothing. "Some +bird," said I; "an owl, perhaps;" and once more I fell into meditation; +my mind wandered from one thing to another--musing now on the structure +of the Roman tongue--now on the rise and fall of the Persian power--and +now on the powers vested in recorders at quarter sessions. I was +thinking what a fine thing it must be to be a recorder of the peace, when +lifting up my eyes, I saw right opposite, not a culprit at the bar, but, +staring at me through a gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half +covered with grey hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + + +Friend of Slingsby--All Quiet--Danger--The Two Cakes--Children in the +Wood--Don't be Angry--In Deep Thought--Temples Throbbing--Deadly +Sick--Another Blow--No Answer--How Old are You?--Play and +Sacrament--Heavy Heart--Song of Poison--Drow of Gypsies--The Dog--Ely's +Church--Get up, Bebee--The Vehicle--Can you Speak?--The Oil. + +The next day at an early hour, I harnessed my little pony, and, putting +my things in my cart, I went on my projected stroll. Crossing the moor, +I arrived in about an hour at a small village, from which, after a short +stay, I proceeded to another, and from thence to a third. I found that +the name of Slingsby was well known in these parts. + +"If you are a friend of Slingsby you must be an honest lad," said an +ancient crone; "you shall never want for work whilst I can give it you. +Here, take my kettle, the bottom came out this morning, and lend me that +of yours till you bring it back. I'm not afraid to trust you--not I. +Don't hurry yourself, young man, if you don't come back for a fortnight I +shan't have the worse opinion of you." + +I returned to my quarters at evening, tired but rejoiced at heart; I had +work before me for several days, having collected various kekaubies which +required mending, in place of those which I left behind--those which I +had been employed upon during the last few days. I found all quiet in +the lane or glade, and, unharnessing my little horse, I once more pitched +my tent in the old spot beneath the ash, lighted my fire, ate my frugal +meal, and then, after looking for some time at the heavenly bodies, and +more particularly at the star Jupiter, I entered my tent, lay down upon +my pallet, and went to sleep. + +Nothing occurred on the following day which requires any particular +notice, nor indeed on the one succeeding that. It was about noon on the +third day that I sat beneath the shade of the ash tree; I was not at +work, for the weather was particularly hot, and I felt but little +inclination to make any exertion. Leaning my back against the tree, I +was not long in falling into a slumber; I particularly remember that +slumber of mine beneath the ash tree, for it was about the sweetest +slumber that I ever enjoyed; how long I continued in it I do not know; I +could almost have wished that it had lasted to the present time. All of +a sudden it appeared to me that a voice cried in my ear, "Danger! danger! +danger!" Nothing seemingly could be more distinct than the words which I +heard; then an uneasy sensation came over me, which I strove to get rid +of, and at last succeeded, for I awoke. The gypsy girl was standing just +opposite to me, with her eyes fixed upon my countenance; a singular kind +of little dog stood beside her. + +"Ha!" said I, "was it you that cried danger? What danger is there?" + +"Danger, brother, there is no danger; what danger should there be? I +called to my little dog, but that was in the wood; my little dog's name +is not danger, but stranger; what danger should there be, brother?" + +"What, indeed, except in sleeping beneath a tree; what is that you have +got in your hand?" + +"Something for you," said the girl, sitting down and proceeding to untie +a white napkin; "a pretty manricli, so sweet, so nice; when I went home +to my people I told my grandbebee how kind you had been to the poor +person's child, and when my grandbebee saw the kekaubi, she said, 'Hir mi +devlis, it won't do for the poor people to be ungrateful; by my God, I +will bake a cake for the young harko mescro.'" + +"But there are two cakes." + +"Yes, brother, two cakes, both for you; my grandbebee meant them both for +you--but list, brother, I will have one of them for bringing them. I +know you will give me one, pretty brother, grey-haired brother--which +shall I have, brother?" + +In the napkin were two round cakes, seemingly made of rich and costly +compounds, and precisely similar in form, each weighing about half a +pound. + +"Which shall I have, brother?" said the gypsy girl. + +"Whichever you please." + +"No, brother, no, the cakes are yours, not mine, it is for you to say." + +"Well, then, give me the one nearest you, and take the other." + +"Yes, brother, yes," said the girl; and taking the cakes, she flung them +into the air two or three times, catching them as they fell, and singing +the while. "Pretty brother, grey-haired brother--here, brother," said +she, "here is your cake, this other is mine." + +"Are you sure," said I, taking the cake, "that this is the one I chose?" + +"Quite sure, brother; but if you like you can have mine; there's no +difference, however--shall I eat?" + +"Yes, sister, eat." + +"See, brother, I do; now, brother, eat, pretty brother, grey-haired +brother." + +"I am not hungry." + +"Not hungry! well, what then--what has being hungry to do with the +matter? It is my grandbebee's cake which was sent because you were kind +to the poor person's child; eat, brother, eat, and we shall be like the +children in the wood that the gorgios speak of." + +"The children in the wood had nothing to eat." + +"Yes, they had hips and haws; we have better. Eat, brother." + +"See, sister, I do," and I ate a piece of the cake. + +"Well, brother, how do you like it?" said the girl, looking fixedly at +me. + +"It is very rich and sweet, and yet there is something strange about it; +I don't think I shall eat any more." + +"Fie, brother, fie, to find fault with the poor person's cake; see, I +have nearly eaten mine." + +"That's a pretty little dog." + +"Is it not, brother? that's my juggal, my little sister, as I call her." + +"Come here, juggal," said I to the animal. + +"What do you want with my juggal?" said the girl. + +"Only to give her a piece of cake," said I, offering the dog a piece +which I had just broken off. + +"What do you mean?" said the girl, snatching the dog away; "my +grandbebee's cake is not for dogs." + +"Why, I just now saw you give the animal a piece of yours." + +"You lie, brother, you saw no such thing; but I see how it is, you wish +to affront the poor person's child. I shall go to my house." + +"Keep still, and don't be angry; see, I have eaten the piece which I +offered the dog. I meant no offence. It is a sweet cake after all." + +"Isn't it, brother? I am glad you like it. Offence! brother, no offence +at all! I am so glad you like my grandbebee's cake, but she will be +wanting me at home. Eat one piece more of grandbebee's cake, and I will +go." + +"I am not hungry, I will put the rest by." + +"One piece more before I go, handsome brother, grey-haired brother." + +"I will not eat any more, I have already eaten more than I wished to +oblige you; if you must go, good day to you." + +The girl rose upon her feet, looked hard at me, then at the remainder of +the cake which I held in my hand, and then at me again, and then stood +for a moment or two, as if in deep thought; presently an air of +satisfaction came over her countenance, she smiled and said, "Well, +brother, well, do as you please, I merely wished you to eat because you +have been so kind to the poor person's child. She loves you so, that she +could have wished to have seen you eat it all; good by, brother, I dare +say when I am gone you will eat some more of it, and if you don't I dare +say you have eaten enough to--to--show your love for us. After all it +was a poor person's cake, a Rommany manricli, and all you gorgios are +somewhat gorgious. Farewell, brother, pretty brother, grey-haired +brother. Come, juggal." + +I remained under the ash tree seated on the grass for a minute or two, +and endeavoured to resume the occupation in which I had been engaged +before I fell asleep, but I felt no inclination for labour. I then +thought I would sleep again, and once more reclined against the tree, and +slumbered for some little time, but my sleep was more agitated than +before. Something appeared to bear heavy on my breast, I struggled in my +sleep, fell on the grass, and awoke; my temples were throbbing, there was +a burning in my eyes, and my mouth felt parched; the oppression about the +chest which I had felt in my sleep still continued. "I must shake off +these feelings," said I, "and get upon my legs." I walked rapidly up and +down upon the green sward; at length, feeling my thirst increase, I +directed my steps down the narrow path to the spring which ran amidst the +bushes; arriving there, I knelt down and drank of the water, but on +lifting up my head I felt thirstier than before; again I drank, but with +the like results; I was about to drink for the third time, when I felt a +dreadful qualm which instantly robbed me of nearly all my strength. What +can be the matter with me, thought I; but I suppose I have made myself +ill by drinking cold water. I got up and made the best of my way back to +my tent; before I reached it the qualm had seized me again, and I was +deadly sick. I flung myself on my pallet, qualm succeeded qualm, but in +the intervals my mouth was dry and burning, and I felt a frantic desire +to drink, but no water was at hand, and to reach the spring once more was +impossible: the qualms continued, deadly pains shot through my whole +frame; I could bear my agonies no longer, and I fell into a trance or +swoon. How long I continued therein I know not; on recovering, however, +I felt somewhat better, and attempted to lift my head off my couch; the +next moment, however, the qualms and pains returned, if possible, with +greater violence than before. I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without +any help; and then methought I heard a sound at a distance like people +singing, and then once more I relapsed into my swoon. + +I revived just as a heavy blow sounded, upon the canvas of the tent. I +started, but my condition did not permit me to rise; again the same kind +of blow sounded upon the canvas; I thought for a moment of crying out and +requesting assistance, but an inexplicable something chained my tongue, +and now I heard a whisper on the outside of the tent. "He does not move, +bebee," said a voice which I knew. "I should not wonder if it has done +for him already; however, strike again with your ran;" and then there was +another blow, after which another voice cried aloud in a strange tone, +"Is the gentleman of the house asleep, or is he taking his dinner?" I +remained quite silent and motionless, and in another moment the voice +continued, "What, no answer? what can the gentleman of the house be about +that he makes no answer? perhaps the gentleman of the house may be +darning his stockings?" Thereupon a face peered into the door of the +tent, at the farther extremity of which I was stretched. It was that of +a woman, but owing to the posture in which she stood, with her back to +the light, and partly owing to a large straw bonnet, I could distinguish +but very little of the features of her countenance. I had, however, +recognised her voice; it was that of my old acquaintance, Mrs. Herne. +"Ho, ho, sir!" said she, "here you are. Come here, Leonora," said she to +the gypsy girl, who pressed in at the other side of the door; "here is +the gentleman, not asleep, but only stretched out after dinner. Sit down +on your ham, child, at the door, I shall do the same. There--you have +seen me before, sir, have you not?" + +"The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he does not know you." + +"I have known him of old, Leonora," said Mrs. Herne; "and, to tell you +the truth, though I spoke to him just now, I expected no answer." + +"It's a way he has, bebee, I suppose?" + +"Yes, child, it's a way he has." + +"Take off your bonnet, bebee, perhaps he cannot see your face." + +"I do not think that will be of much use, child; however, I will take off +my bonnet--there--and shake out my hair--there--you have seen this hair +before, sir, and this face--" + +"No answer, bebee." + +"Though the one was not quite so grey, nor the other so wrinkled." + +"How came they so, bebee?" + +"All along of this gorgio, child." + +"The gentleman in the house, you mean, bebee." + +"Yes, child, the gentleman in the house. God grant that I may preserve +my temper. Do you know, sir, my name? My name is Herne, which signifies +a hairy individual, though neither grey-haired nor wrinkled. It is not +the nature of the Hernes to be grey or wrinkled, even when they are old, +and I am not old." + +"How old are you, bebee?" + +"Sixty-five years, child--an inconsiderable number. My mother was a +hundred and one--a considerable age--when she died, yet she had not one +grey hair, and not more than six wrinkles--an inconsiderable number." + +"She had no griefs, bebee?" + +"Plenty, child, but not like mine." + +"Not quite so hard to bear, bebee?" + +"No, child, my head wanders when I think of them. After the death of my +husband, who came to his end untimeously, I went to live with a daughter +of mine, married out among certain Romans who walk about the eastern +counties, and with whom for some time I found a home and pleasant +society, for they lived right Romanly, which gave my heart considerable +satisfaction, who am a Roman born, and hope to die so. When I say right +Romanly, I mean that they kept to themselves, and were not much given to +blabbing about their private matters in promiscuous company. Well, +things went on in this way for some time, when one day my son-in-law +brings home a young gorgio of singular and outrageous ugliness, and, +without much preamble, says to me and mine, 'This is my pal, a'n't he a +beauty? fall down and worship him.' 'Hold,' said I, 'I for one will +never consent to such foolishness.'" + +"That was right, bebee, I think I should have done the same." + +"I think you would, child; but what was the profit of it? The whole +party makes an almighty of this gorgio, lets him into their ways, says +prayers of his making, till things come to such a pass that my own +daughter says to me, 'I shall buy myself a veil and fan, and treat myself +to a play and sacrament.' 'Don't,' says I; says she, 'I should like for +once in my life to be courtesied to as a Christian gentlewoman.'" + +"Very foolish of her, bebee." + +"Wasn't it, child? Where was I? At the fan and sacrament; with a heavy +heart I put seven score miles between us, came back to the hairy ones, +and found them over-given to gorgious companions; said I, 'foolish +manners is catching, all this comes of that there gorgio.' Answers the +child Leonora, 'Take comfort, bebee, I hate the gorgios as much as you +do.'" + +"And I say so again, bebee, as much or more." + +"Time flows on, I engage in many matters, in most miscarry. Am sent to +prison; says I to myself, I am become foolish. Am turned out of prison, +and go back to the hairy ones, who receive me not over courteously; says +I, for their unkindness, and my own foolishness, all the thanks to that +gorgio. Answers to me the child, 'I wish I could set my eyes upon him, +bebee.'" + +"I did so, bebee; go on." + +"'How shall I know him, bebee?' says the child. 'Young and grey, tall, +and speaks Romanly.' Runs to me the child, and says, 'I've found him, +bebee.' 'Where, child?' says I. 'Come with me, bebee,' says the child. +'That's he,' says I, as I looked at my gentleman through the hedge." + +"Ha, ha! bebee, and here he lies, poisoned like a hog." + +"You have taken drows, sir," said Mrs. Herne; "do you hear, sir? drows; +tip him a stave, child, of the song of poison." + +And thereupon the girl clapped her hands, and sang-- + + "The Rommany churl + And the Rommany girl + To-morrow shall hie + To poison the sty, + And bewitch on the mead + The farmer's steed." + +"Do you hear that, sir?" said Mrs. Herne; "the child has tipped you a +stave of the song of poison: that is, she has sung it Christianly, though +perhaps you would like to hear it Romanly; you were always fond of what +was Roman. Tip it him Romanly, child." + +"He has heard it Romanly already, bebee; 'twas by that I found him out, +as I told you." + +"Halloo, sir, are you sleeping? you have taken drows; the gentleman makes +no answer. God give me patience!" + +"And what if he doesn't, bebee; isn't he poisoned like a hog? Gentleman! +indeed, why call him gentleman? if he ever was one he's broke, and is now +a tinker, and a worker of blue metal." + +"That's his way, child, to-day a tinker, to-morrow something else; and as +for being drabbed, I don't know what to say about it." + +"Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, bebee; ha, ha, +look at the gentleman's motions." + +"He is sick, child, sure enough. Ho, ho! sir, you have taken drows; +what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe, the hog died by the drow of +gypsies; I saw him stretched at even. That's yourself, sir. There is no +hope, sir, no help, you have taken drow; shall I tell you your fortune, +sir, your dukkerin? God bless you, pretty gentleman, much trouble will +you have to suffer, and much water to cross; but never mind, pretty +gentleman, you shall be fortunate at the end, and those who hate shall +take off their hats to you." + +"Hey, bebee!" cried the girl; "what is this? what do you mean? you have +blessed the gorgio!" + +"Blessed him! no, sure; what did I say? Oh, I remember, I'm mad; well, I +can't help it, I said what the dukkerin dook told me; woe's me, he'll get +up yet." + +"Nonsense, bebee! Look at his motions, he's drabbed, spite of dukkerin." + +"Don't say so, child; he's sick, 'tis true, but don't laugh at dukkerin, +only folks do that that know no better. I, for one, will never laugh at +the dukkerin dook. Sick again; I wish he was gone." + +"He'll soon be gone, bebee; let's leave him. He's as good as gone; look +there, he's dead." + +"No, he's not, he'll get up--I feel it; can't we hasten him?" + +"Hasten him! yes, to be sure; set the dog upon him. Here, juggal, look +in there, my dog." + +The dog made its appearance at the door of the tent, and began to bark +and tear up the ground. + +"At him, juggal, at him; he wished to poison, to drab you. Halloo!" + +The dog barked violently, and seemed about to spring at my face, but +retreated. + +"The dog won't fly at him, child; he flashed at the dog with his eye, and +scared him. He'll get up." + +"Nonsense, bebee! you make me angry; how should he get up?" + +"The dook tells me so, and, what's more, I had a dream. I thought I was +at York, standing amidst a crowd to see a man hung, and the crowd shouted +'There he comes!' and I looked, and, lo! it was the tinker; before I +could cry with joy I was whisked away, and I found myself in Ely's big +church, which was chock full of people to hear the dean preach, and all +eyes were turned to the big pulpit; and presently I heard them say, +'There he mounts!' and I looked up to the big pulpit, and, lo! the tinker +was in the pulpit, and he raised his arm and began to preach. Anon, I +found myself at York again, just as the drop fell, and I looked up, and I +saw, not the tinker, but my own self hanging in the air." + +"You are going mad, bebee; if you want to hasten him, take your stick and +poke him in the eye." + +"That will be of no use, child, the dukkerin tells me so; but I will try +what I can do. Halloo, tinker! you must introduce yourself into a quiet +family, and raise confusion--must you? You must steal its language, and, +what was never done before, write it down Christianly--must you? Take +that--and that;" and she stabbed violently with her stick towards the end +of the tent. + +"That's right, bebee, you struck his face; now once more, and let it be +in the eye. Stay, what's that? get up, bebee." + +"What's the matter, child?" + +"Some one is coming, come away." + +"Let me make sure of him, child; he'll be up yet." And thereupon Mrs. +Herne, rising, leaned forward into the tent, and supporting herself +against the pole, took aim in the direction of the farther end. "I will +thrust out his eye," said she; and, lunging with her stick, she would +probably have accomplished her purpose had not at that moment the pole of +the tent given way, whereupon she fell to the ground, the canvas falling +upon her and her intended victim. + +"Here's a pretty affair, bebee," screamed the girl. + +"He'll get up yet," said Mrs. Herne, from beneath the canvas. + +"Get up!--get up yourself; where are you? where is your--Here, there, +bebee, here's the door; there, make haste, they are coming." + +"He'll get up yet," said Mrs. Herne, recovering her breath, "the dook +tells me so." + +"Never mind him or the dook; he is drabbed; come away, or we shall be +grabbed--both of us." + +"One more blow, I know where his head lies." + +"You are mad, bebee; leave the fellow--gorgio avella." + +And thereupon the females hurried away. + +A vehicle of some kind was evidently drawing nigh; in a little time it +came alongside of the place where lay the fallen tent, and stopped +suddenly. There was a silence for a moment, and then a parley ensued +between two voices, one of which was that of a woman. It was not in +English, but in a deep guttural tongue. + +"Peth yw hono sydd yn gorwedd yna ar y ddaear?" said a masculine voice. + +"Yn wirionedd--I do not know what it can be," said the female voice, in +the same tongue. + +"Here is a cart, and there are tools; but what is that on the ground?" + +"Something moves beneath it; and what was that--a groan?" + +"Shall I get down?" + +"Of course, Peter, some one may want your help." + +"Then I will get down, though I do not like this place, it is frequented +by Egyptians, and I do not like their yellow faces nor their clibberty +clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn says. Now I am down. It is a tent, +Winifred, and see, here is a boy beneath it. Merciful father! what a +face!" + +A middle-aged man, with a strongly marked and serious countenance, +dressed in sober-coloured habiliments, had lifted up the stifling folds +of the tent and was bending over me. "Can you speak, my lad?" said he in +English, "what is the matter with you? if you could but tell me, I could +perhaps help you--" "What is it that you say? I can't hear you. I will +kneel down;" and he flung himself on the ground, and placed his ear close +to my mouth. "Now speak if you can. Hey! what! no, sure, God forbid!" +then starting up, he cried to a female who sat in the cart, anxiously +looking on--"Gwenwyn! gwenwyn! yw y gwas wedi ei gwenwynaw. The oil! +Winifred, the oil!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + + +Desired Effect--The Three Oaks--Winifred--Things of Time--With God's +Will--The Preacher--Creature Comforts--Croesaw--Welsh and English--Mayor +of Chester. + +The oil, which the strangers compelled me to take, produced the desired +effect, though, during at least two hours, it was very doubtful whether +or not my life would be saved. At the end of that period the man said, +that with the blessing of God, he would answer for my life. He then +demanded whether I thought I could bear to be removed from the place in +which we were? "for I like it not," he continued, "as something within me +tells me that it is not good for any of us to be here." I told him, as +well as I was able, that I, too, should be glad to leave the place; +whereupon, after collecting my things, he harnessed my pony, and, with +the assistance of the woman, he contrived to place me in the cart; he +then gave me a draught out of a small phial, and we set forward at a slow +pace, the man walking by the side of the cart in which I lay. It is +probable that the draught consisted of a strong opiate, for after +swallowing it I fell into a deep slumber; on my awaking, I found that the +shadows of night had enveloped the earth--we were still moving on. +Shortly, however, after descending a declivity, we turned into a lane, at +the entrance of which was a gate. This lane conducted to a meadow, +through the middle of which ran a small brook; it stood between two +rising grounds, that on the left, which was on the farther side of the +water, was covered with wood, whilst the one on the right, which was not +so high, was crowned with the white walls of what appeared to be a +farm-house. + +Advancing along the meadow, we presently came to a place where grew three +immense oaks, almost on the side of the brook, over which they flung +their arms, so as to shade it as with a canopy; the ground beneath was +bare of grass, and nearly as hard and smooth as the floor of a barn. +Having led his own cart on one side of the midmost tree, and my own on +the other, the stranger said to me, "This is the spot where my wife and +myself generally tarry in the summer season, when we come into these +parts. We are about to pass the night here. I suppose you will have no +objection to do the same? Indeed, I do not see what else you could do +under present circumstances." After receiving my answer, in which I, of +course, expressed my readiness to assent to his proposal, he proceeded to +unharness his horse, and, feeling myself much better, I got down, and +began to make the necessary preparations for passing the night beneath +the oak. + +Whilst thus engaged, I felt myself touched on the shoulder, and, looking +round, perceived the woman, whom the stranger called Winifred, standing +close to me. The moon was shining brightly upon her, and I observed that +she was very good-looking, with a composed, yet cheerful expression of +countenance; her dress was plain and primitive, very much resembling that +of a Quaker. She held a straw bonnet in her hand. "I am glad to see +thee moving about, young man," said she, in a soft, placid tone; "I could +scarcely have expected it. Thou must be wondrous strong; many, after +what thou hast suffered, would not have stood on their feet for weeks or +months. What do I say?--Peter, my husband, who is skilled in medicine, +just now told me that not one in five hundred would have survived what +thou hast this day undergone; but allow me to ask thee one thing, Hast +thou returned thanks to God for thy deliverance?" I made no answer, and +the woman, after a pause, said, "Excuse me, young man, but do you know +anything of God?" "Very little," I replied, "but I should say he must be +a wondrous strong person, if he made all those big bright things up above +there, to say nothing of the ground on which we stand, which bears beings +like these oaks, each of which is fifty times as strong as myself, and +will live twenty times as long." The woman was silent for some moments, +and then said, "I scarcely know in what spirit thy words are uttered. If +thou art serious, however, I would caution thee against supposing that +the power of God is more manifested in these trees, or even in those +bright stars above us, than in thyself--they are things of time, but thou +art a being destined to an eternity; it depends upon thyself whether thy +eternity shall be one of joy or sorrow." + +Here she was interrupted by the man, who exclaimed from the other side of +the tree, "Winifred, it is getting late, you had better go up to the +house on the hill to inform our friends of our arrival, or they will have +retired for the night." "True," said Winifred, and forthwith wended her +way to the house in question, returning shortly with another woman, whom +the man, speaking in the same language which I had heard him first use, +greeted by the name of Mary; the woman replied in the same tongue, but +almost immediately said in English, "We hoped to have heard you speak +to-night, Peter, but we cannot expect that now, seeing that it is so +late, owing to your having been detained by the way, as Winifred tells +me; nothing remains for you to do now but to sup--to-morrow, with God's +will, we shall hear you." "And to-night, also, with God's will, +providing you be so disposed. Let those of your family come hither." +"They will be hither presently," said Mary, "for knowing that thou art +arrived, they will, of course, come and bid thee welcome." And scarcely +had she spoke, when I beheld a party of people descending the moonlit +side of the hill. They soon arrived at the place where we were; they +might amount in all to twelve individuals. The principal person was a +tall, athletic man, of about forty, dressed like a plain country farmer; +this was, I soon found, the husband of Mary; the rest of the group +consisted of the children of these two, and their domestic servants. One +after another they all shook Peter by the hand, men and women, boys and +girls, and expressed their joy at seeing him. After which, he said, +"Now, friends, if you please, I will speak a few words to you." A stool +was then brought him from the cart, which he stepped on, and the people +arranging themselves round him, some standing, some seated on the ground, +he forthwith began to address them in a clear, distinct voice; and the +subject of his discourse was the necessity, in all human beings, of a +change of heart. + +The preacher was better than his promise, for, instead of speaking a few +words, he preached for at least three quarters of an hour; none of the +audience, however, showed the slightest symptom of weariness; on the +contrary, the hope of each individual appeared to hang upon the words +which proceeded from his mouth. At the conclusion of the sermon or +discourse, the whole assembly again shook Peter by the hand, and returned +to their house, the mistress of the family saying, as she departed, "I +shall soon be back, Peter, I go but to make arrangements for the supper +of thyself and company;" and, in effect, she presently returned, attended +by a young woman, who bore a tray in her hands. "Set it down, Jessy," +said the mistress to the girl, "and then betake thyself to thy rest, I +shall remain here for a little time to talk with my friends." The girl +departed, and the preacher and the two females placed themselves on the +ground about the tray. The man gave thanks, and himself and his wife +appeared to be about to eat, when the latter suddenly placed her hand +upon his arm, and said something to him in a low voice, whereupon he +exclaimed, "Ay, truly, we were both forgetful;" and then getting up, he +came towards me, who stood a little way off, leaning against the wheel of +my cart; and, taking me by the hand, he said, "Pardon us, young man, we +were both so engaged in our own creature-comforts, that we forgot thee, +but it is not too late to repair our fault; wilt thou not join us, and +taste our bread and milk?" "I cannot eat," I replied, "but I think I +could drink a little milk;" whereupon he led me to the rest, and seating +me by his side, he poured some milk into a horn cup, saying, "'Croesaw.' +That," added he, with a smile, "is Welsh for welcome." + +The fare upon the tray was of the simplest description, consisting of +bread, cheese, milk, and curds. My two friends partook with a good +appetite. "Mary," said the preacher, addressing himself to the woman of +the house, "every time I come to visit thee, I find thee less inclined to +speak Welsh. I suppose, in a little time, thou wilt entirely have +forgotten it; hast thou taught it to any of thy children?" "The two +eldest understand a few words," said the woman, "but my husband does not +wish them to learn it; he says sometimes, jocularly, that though it +pleased him to marry a Welsh wife, it does not please him to have Welsh +children. 'Who,' I have heard him say, 'would be a Welshman, if he could +be an Englishman?'" "I for one," said the preacher, somewhat hastily; +"not to be king of all England would I give up my birthright as a +Welshman. Your husband is an excellent person, Mary, but I am afraid he +is somewhat prejudiced." "You do him justice, Peter, in saying that he +is an excellent person," said the woman; "as to being prejudiced, I +scarcely know what to say, but he thinks that two languages in the same +kingdom are almost as bad as two kings." "That's no bad observation," +said the preacher, "and it is generally the case; yet, thank God, the +Welsh and English go on very well, side by side, and I hope will do so +till the Almighty calls all men to their long account." "They jog on +very well now," said the woman; "but I have heard my husband say that it +was not always so, and that the Welsh, in old times, were a violent and +ferocious people, for that once they hanged the mayor of Chester." "Ha, +ha!" said the preacher, and his eyes flashed in the moonlight; "he told +you that, did he?" "Yes," said Mary; "once, when the mayor of Chester, +with some of his people, was present at one of the fairs over the border, +a quarrel arose between the Welsh and English, and the Welsh beat the +English, and hanged the mayor." "Your husband is a clever man," said +Peter, "and knows a great deal; did he tell you the name of the leader of +the Welsh? No! then I will: the leader of the Welsh on that occasion was +---. He was a powerful chieftain, and there was an old feud between him +and the men of Chester. Afterwards, when two hundred of the men of +Chester invaded his country to take revenge for their mayor, he enticed +them into a tower, set fire to it, and burnt them all. That --- was a +very fine, noble--God forgive me, what was I about to say!--a very bad, +violent man; but, Mary, this is very carnal and unprofitable +conversation, and in holding it we set a very bad example to the young +man here--let us change the subject." + +They then began to talk on religious matters. At length Mary departed to +her abode, and the preacher and his wife retired to their tilted cart. + +"Poor fellow, he seems to be almost brutally ignorant," said Peter, +addressing his wife in their own native language, after they had bidden +me farewell for the night. + +"I am afraid he is," said Winifred, "yet my heart warms to the poor lad, +he seems so forlorn." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + + +Morning Hymn--Much Alone--John Bunyan--Beholden to +Nobody--Sixty-five--Sober Greeting--Early Sabbaths--Finny Brood--The +Porch--No Fortune-telling--The Master's Niece--Doing Good--Two or Three +Things--Groans and Voices--Pechod Ysprydd Glan. + +I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the influence of the +opiate. Early in the morning I was awakened by the voices of Peter and +his wife, who were singing a morning hymn in their own language. Both +subsequently prayed long and fervently. I lay still till their devotions +were completed, and then left my tent. "Good morning," said Peter, "how +dost thou feel?" "Much better," said I, "than I could have expected." +"I am glad of it," said Peter. "Art thou hungry? yonder comes our +breakfast," pointing to the same young woman I had seen the preceding +night, who was again descending the hill, bearing the tray upon her head. + +"What dost thou intend to do, young man, this day?" said Peter, when we +had about half finished breakfast. "Do," said I; "as I do other days, +what I can." "And dost thou pass this day as thou dost other days?" said +Peter. "Why not?" said I; "what is there in this day different from the +rest? it seems to be of the same colour as yesterday." "Art thou aware," +said the wife, interposing, "what day it is? that it is Sabbath? that it +is Sunday?" "No," said I, "I did not know that it was Sunday." "And how +did that happen?" said Winifred, with a sigh. "To tell you the truth," +said I, "I live very much alone, and pay very little heed to the passing +of time." "And yet of what infinite importance is time," said Winifred. +"Art thou not aware that every year brings thee nearer to thy end?" "I +do not think," said I, "that I am so near my end as I was yesterday." +"Yes thou art," said the woman; "thou wast not doomed to die yesterday; +an invisible hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will +come, therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved +yesterday; and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died yesterday, +where wouldst thou have been now?" "Cast into the earth, perhaps," said +I. "I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast into the earth is +the natural end of man." "Who is Mr. Petulengro?" said Peter, +interrupting his wife, as she was about to speak. "Master of the +horseshoe," said I, "and, according to his own account, king of Egypt." +"I understand," said Peter, "head of some family of wandering +Egyptians--they are a race utterly godless. Art thou of them?--but no, +thou art not, thou hast not their yellow blood. I suppose thou belongest +to the family of wandering artizans called ---. I do not like you the +worse for belonging to them. A mighty speaker of old sprang up from +amidst that family." "Who was he?" said I. "John Bunyan," replied +Peter, reverently, "and the mention of his name reminds me that I have to +preach this day; wilt thou go and hear? the distance is not great, only +half a mile." "No," said I, "I will not go and hear." "Wherefore?" said +Peter. "I belong to the church," said I, "and not to the congregations." +"Oh! the pride of that church," said Peter, addressing his wife in their +own tongue, "exemplified even in the lowest and most ignorant of its +members." "Then thou, doubtless, meanest to go to church," said Peter, +again addressing me; "there is a church on the other side of that wooded +hill." "No," said I, "I do not mean to go to church." "May I ask thee +wherefore?" said Peter. "Because," said I, "I prefer remaining beneath +the shade of these trees, listening to the sound of the leaves, and +tinkling of the waters." + +"Then thou intendest to remain here?" said Peter, looking fixedly at me. +"If I do not intrude," said I; "but if I do, I will wander away; I wish +to be beholden to nobody--perhaps you wish me to go?" "On the contrary," +said Peter, "I wish you to stay. I begin to see something in thee which +has much interest for me; but we must now bid thee farewell for the rest +of the day, the time is drawing nigh for us to repair to the place of +preaching; before we leave thee alone, however, I should wish to ask thee +a question--Didst thou seek thy own destruction yesterday, and didst thou +wilfully take that poison?" "No," said I; "had I known there had been +poison in the cake, I certainly should not have taken it." "And who gave +it thee?" said Peter. "An enemy of mine," I replied. "Who is thy +enemy?" "An Egyptian sorceress and poisonmonger." "Thy enemy is a +female. I fear thou hadst given her cause to hate thee--of what did she +complain?" "That I had stolen the tongue out of her head." "I do not +understand thee--is she young?" "About sixty-five." + +Here Winifred interposed. "Thou didst call her just now by hard names, +young man," said she; "I trust thou dost bear no malice against her." +"No," said I, "I bear no malice against her." "Thou art not wishing to +deliver her into the hand of what is called justice?" "By no means," +said I; "I have lived long enough upon the roads not to cry out for the +constable when my finger is broken. I consider this poisoning as an +accident of the roads; one of those to which those who travel are +occasionally subject." "In short, thou forgivest thine adversary?" +"Both now and for ever," said I. "Truly," said Winifred, "the spirit +which the young man displayeth pleases me much: I should be loth that he +left us yet. I have no doubt that, with the blessing of God, and a +little of thy exhortation, he will turn out a true Christian before he +leaveth us." "My exhortation!" said Peter, and a dark shade passed over +his countenance; "thou forgettest what I am--I--I--but I am forgetting +myself; the Lord's will be done; and now put away the things, for I +perceive that our friends are coming to attend us to the place of +meeting." + +Again the family which I had seen the night before descended the hill +from their abode. They were now dressed in their Sunday's best. The +master of the house led the way. They presently joined us, when a quiet +sober greeting ensued on each side. After a little time Peter shook me +by the hand and bade me farewell till the evening; Winifred did the same, +adding, that she hoped I should be visited by sweet and holy thoughts. +The whole party then moved off in the direction by which we had come the +preceding night, Peter and the master leading the way, followed by +Winifred and the mistress of the family. As I gazed on their departing +forms, I felt almost inclined to follow them to their place of worship. +I did not stir, however, but remained leaning against my oak with my +hands behind me. + +And after a time I sat me down at the foot of the oak with my face turned +towards the water, and, folding my hands, I fell into deep meditation. I +thought on the early Sabbaths of my life, and the manner in which I was +wont to pass them. How carefully I said my prayers when I got up on the +Sabbath morn, and how carefully I combed my hair and brushed my clothes +in order that I might do credit to the Sabbath day. I thought of the old +church at pretty D---, the dignified rector, and yet more dignified +clerk. I thought of England's grand Liturgy, and Tate and Brady's +sonorous minstrelsy. I thought of the Holy Book, portions of which I was +in the habit of reading between service. I thought, too, of the evening +walk which I sometimes took in fine weather like the present, with my +mother and brother--a quiet sober walk, during which I would not break +into a run, even to chase a butterfly, or yet more a honey-bee, being +fully convinced of the dread importance of the day which God had +hallowed. And how glad I was when I had got over the Sabbath day without +having done anything to profane it. And how soundly I slept on the +Sabbath night after the toil of being very good throughout the day. + +And when I had mused on those times a long while, I sighed and said to +myself, I am much altered since then; am I altered for the better? And +then I looked at my hands and my apparel, and sighed again. I was not +wont of yore to appear thus on the Sabbath day. + +For a long time I continued in a state of deep meditation, till at last I +lifted up my eyes to the sun, which, as usual during that glorious +summer, was shining in unclouded majesty; and then I lowered them to the +sparkling water, in which hundreds of the finny brood were disporting +themselves, and then I thought what a fine thing it was to be a fish on +such a fine summer day, and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst +the fishes; and then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over +the water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started when I +saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable. + +Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to bathe and +cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late hard life and by Mrs. +Herne's drow. I wonder if there is any harm in bathing on the Sabbath +day. I will ask Winifred when she comes home; in the mean time I will +bathe, provided I can find a fitting place. + +But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to disport in, was +shallow, and by no means adapted for the recreation of so large a being +as myself; it was, moreover, exposed, though I saw nobody at hand, nor +heard a single human voice or sound. Following the winding of the brook +I left the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets, came to a +place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark, and there I +bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid and exhausted frame. + +Having put on my clothes, I returned by the way I had come to my vehicle +beneath the oak tree. From thence, for want of something better to do, I +strolled up the hill, on the top of which stood the farm-house; it was a +large and commodious building built principally of stone, and seeming of +some antiquity, with a porch, on either side of which was an oaken bench. +On the right was seated a young woman with a book in her hand, the same +who had brought the tray to my friends and myself. + +"Good day," said I, "pretty damsel, sitting in the farm porch." + +"Good day," said the girl, looking at me for a moment, and then fixing +her eyes on her book. + +"That's a nice book you are reading," said I. + +The girl looked at me with surprise. "How do you know what book it is?" +said she. + +"How do I know--never mind; but a nice book it is--no love, no +fortune-telling in it." + +The girl looked at me half offended. "Fortune-telling!" said she, "I +should think not. But you know nothing about it;" and she bent her head +once more over the book. + +"I tell you what, young person," said I, "I know all about that book; +what will you wager that I do not?" + +"I never wager," said the girl. + +"Shall I tell you the name of it," said I, "O daughter of the dairy?" + +The girl half started. "I should never have thought," said she, half +timidly, "that you could have guessed it." + +"I did not guess it," said I, "I knew it; and meet and proper it is that +you should read it." + +"Why so?" said the girl. + +"Can the daughter of the dairy read a more fitting book than the +'Dairyman's Daughter'?" + +"Where do you come from?" said the girl. + +"Out of the water," said I. "Don't start, I have been bathing; are you +fond of the water?" + +"No," said the girl, heaving a sigh; "I am not fond of the water, that +is, of the sea;" and here she sighed again. + +"The sea is a wide gulf," said I, "and frequently separates hearts." + +The girl sobbed. + +"Why are you alone here?" said I. + +"I take my turn with the rest," said the girl, "to keep at home on +Sunday." + +"And you are--" said I. + +"The master's niece!" said the girl. "How came you to know it? But why +did you not go with the rest and with your friends?" + +"Who are those you call my friends?" said I. + +"Peter and his wife." + +"And who are they?" said I. + +"Do you not know?" said the girl; "you came with them." + +"They found me ill by the way," said I; "and they relieved me: I know +nothing about them." + +"I thought you knew everything," said the girl. + +"There are two or three things which I do not know, and this is one of +them. Who are they?" + +"Did you never hear of the great Welsh preacher, Peter Williams?" + +"Never," said I. + +"Well," said the girl, "this is he, and Winifred is his wife, and a nice +person she is. Some people say, indeed, that she is as good a preacher +as her husband, though of that matter I can say nothing, having never +heard her preach. So these two wander over all Wales and the greater +part of England, comforting the hearts of the people with their doctrine, +and doing all the good they can. They frequently come here, for the +mistress is a Welsh woman, and an old friend of both, and then they take +up their abode in the cart beneath the old oaks down there by the +stream." + +"And what is their reason for doing so?" said I; "would it not be more +comfortable to sleep beneath a roof?" + +"I know not their reasons," said the girl, "but so it is; they never +sleep beneath a roof unless the weather is very severe. I once heard the +mistress say that Peter had something heavy upon his mind; perhaps that +is the cause. If he is unhappy, all I can say is, that I wish him +otherwise, for he is a good man and a kind--" + +"Thank you," said I, "I will now depart." + +"Hem!" said the girl, "I was wishing--" + +"What? to ask me a question?" + +"Not exactly; but you seem to know everything; you mentioned, I think, +fortune-telling." + +"Do you wish me to tell your fortune?" + +"By no means; but I have a friend at a distance at sea, and I should wish +to know--" + +"When he will come back? I have told you already there are two or three +things which I do not know--this is another of them. However, I should +not be surprised if he were to come back some of these days; I would, if +I were in his place. In the mean time be patient, attend to the dairy, +and read the 'Dairyman's Daughter' when you have nothing better to do." + +It was late in the evening when the party of the morning returned. The +farmer and his family repaired at once to their abode, and my two friends +joined me beneath the tree. Peter sat down at the foot of the oak, and +said nothing. Supper was brought by a servant, not the damsel of the +porch. We sat round the tray, Peter said grace, but scarcely anything +else; he appeared sad and dejected, his wife looked anxiously upon him. +I was as silent as my friends; after a little time we retired to our +separate places of rest. + +About midnight I was awakened by a noise; I started up and listened; it +appeared to me that I heard voices and groans. In a moment I had issued +from my tent--all was silent--but the next moment I again heard groans +and voices; they proceeded from the tilted cart where Peter and his wife +lay; I drew near, again there was a pause, and then I heard the voice of +Peter, in an accent of extreme anguish, exclaim, "Pechod Ysprydd Glan--O +pechod Ysprydd Glan!" and then he uttered a deep groan. Anon, I heard +the voice of Winifred, and never shall I forget the sweetness and +gentleness of the tones of her voice in the stillness of that night. I +did not understand all she said--she spoke in her native language, and I +was some way apart; she appeared to endeavour to console her husband, but +he seemed to refuse all comfort, and, with many groans, repeated--"Pechod +Ysprydd Glan--O pechod Ysprydd Glan!" I felt I had no right to pry into +their afflictions, and retired. + +Now "pechod Ysprydd Glan," interpreted, is the sin against the Holy +Ghost. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + + +The Following Day--Pride--Thriving Trade--Tylwyth Teg--Ellis +Wyn--Sleeping Bard--Incalculable Good--Fearful Agony--The Tale. + +Peter and his wife did not proceed on any expedition during the following +day. The former strolled gloomily about the fields, and the latter +passed many hours in the farmhouse. Towards evening, without saying a +word to either, I departed with my vehicle, and finding my way to a small +town at some distance, I laid in a store of various articles, with which +I returned. It was night, and my two friends were seated beneath the +oak; they had just completed their frugal supper. "We waited for thee +some time," said Winifred, "but finding that thou didst not come, we +began without thee; but sit down, I pray thee, there is still enough for +thee." "I will sit down," said I, "but I require no supper, for I have +eaten where I have been;" nothing more particular occurred at the time. +Next morning the kind pair invited me to share their breakfast. "I will +not share your breakfast," said I. "Wherefore not?" said Winifred, +anxiously. "Because," said I, "it is not proper that I be beholden to +you for meat and drink." "But we are beholden to other people," said +Winifred. "Yes," said I, "but you preach to them, and give them ghostly +advice, which considerably alters the matter; not that I would receive +anything from them, if I preached to them six times a day." "Thou art +not fond of receiving favours, then, young man," said Winifred. "I am +not," said I. "And of conferring favours?" "Nothing affords me greater +pleasure," said I, "than to confer favours." "What a disposition!" said +Winifred, holding up her hands; "and this is pride, genuine pride--that +feeling which the world agrees to call so noble. Oh, how mean a thing is +pride! never before did I see all the meanness of what is called pride!" + +"But how wilt thou live, friend," said Peter, "dost thou not intend to +eat?" "When I went out last night," said I, "I laid in a provision." +"Thou hast laid in a provision!" said Peter, "pray let us see it. +Really, friend," said he, after I had produced it, "thou must drive a +thriving trade; here are provisions enough to last three people for +several days. Here are butter and eggs, here is tea, here is sugar, and +there is a flitch. I hope thou wilt let us partake of some of thy fare." +"I should be very happy if you would," said I. "Doubt not but we shall," +said Peter; "Winifred shall have some of thy flitch cooked for dinner. +In the meantime, sit down, young man, and breakfast at our expense--we +will dine at thine." + +On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat alone beneath the oak. +We fell into conversation; Peter was at first melancholy, but he soon +became more cheerful, fluent, and entertaining. I spoke but little; but +I observed that sometimes what I said surprised the good Methodist. We +had been silent some time. At length, lifting up my eyes to the broad +and leafy canopy of the trees, I said, having nothing better to remark, +"What a noble tree! I wonder if the fairies ever dance beneath it?" + +"Fairies!" said Peter, "fairies! how came you, young man, to know +anything about the fair family?" + +"I am an Englishman," said I, "and of course know something about +fairies; England was once a famous place for them." + +"Was once, I grant you," said Peter, "but is so no longer. I have +travelled for years about England, and never heard them mentioned before; +the belief in them has died away, and even their name seems to be +forgotten. If you had said you were a Welshman, I should not have been +surprised. The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair +family, and many believe in them." + +"And do you believe in them?" said I. + +"I scarcely know what to say. Wise and good men have been of opinion +that they are nothing but devils, who, under the form of pretty and +amiable spirits, would fain allure poor human beings; I see nothing +irrational in the supposition." + +"Do you believe in devils, then?" + +"Do I believe in devils, young man!" said Peter, and his frame was shaken +as if by convulsions. "If I do not believe in devils, why am I here at +the present moment?" + +"You know best," said I; "but I don't believe the fairies are devils, and +I don't wish to hear them insulted. What learned men have said they are +devils?" + +"Many have said it, young man, and, amongst others, Master Ellis Wyn, in +that wonderful book of his, the 'Bardd Cwsg.'" + +"The 'Bardd Cwsg,'" said I; "what kind of book is that? I have never +heard of that book before." + +"Heard of it before; I suppose not; how should you have heard of it +before! By-the-bye, can you read?" + +"Very tolerably," said I; "so there are fairies in this book. What do +you call it--the 'Bardd Cwsg?'" + +"Yes, the 'Bardd Cwsg.' You pronounce Welsh very fairly; have you ever +been in Wales?" + +"Never," said I. + +"Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don't understand Welsh; but we +were talking of the 'Bardd Cwsg,'--yes, there are fairies in the 'Bardd +Cwsg,' the author of it, Master Ellis Wyn, was carried away in his sleep +by them over mountains and valleys, rivers and great waters, incurring +mighty perils at their hands, till he was rescued from them by an angel +of the Most High, who subsequently showed him many wonderful things." + +"I beg your pardon," said I, "but what were those wonderful things?" + +"I see, young man," said Peter, smiling, "that you are not without +curiosity; but I can easily pardon any one for being curious about the +wonders contained in the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The angel showed him +the course of this world, its pomps and vanities, its cruelty and its +pride, its crimes and deceits. On another occasion, the angel showed him +Death in his nether palace, surrounded by his grisly ministers, and by +those who are continually falling victims to his power. And, on a third +occasion, the state of the condemned in their place of everlasting +torment." + +"But this was all in his sleep," said I, "was it not?" + +"Yes," said Peter, "in his sleep; and on that account the book is called +'Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsg,' or, Visions of the Sleeping Bard." + +"I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep," said I. "I prefer real +ones; and perhaps, notwithstanding what he says, the man had no visions +at all--they are probably of his own invention." + +"They are substantially true, young man," said Peter; "like the dreams of +Bunyan, they are founded on three tremendous facts, Sin, Death, and Hell; +and, like his, they have done incalculable good, at least in my own +country, in the language in which they are written. Many a guilty +conscience has the 'Bardd Cwsg' aroused with its dreadful sights, its +strong sighs, its puffs of smoke from the pit, and its showers of sparks +from the mouth of the yet lower gulf of--Unknown--were it not for the +'Bardd Cwsg' perhaps I might not be here." + +"I would sooner hear your own tale," said I, "than all the visions of the +'Bardd Cwsg.'" + +Peter shook, bent his form nearly double, and covered his face with his +hands. I sat still and motionless, with my eyes fixed upon him. +Presently Winifred descended the hill, and joined us. "What is the +matter?" said she, looking at her husband, who still remained in the +posture I have described. He made no answer; whereupon, laying her hand +gently on his shoulder, she said, in the peculiar soft and tender tone +which I had heard her use on a former occasion, "Take comfort, Peter; +what has happened now to afflict thee?" Peter removed his hands from his +face. "The old pain, the old pain," said he; "I was talking with this +young man, and he would fain know what brought me here, he would fain +hear my tale, Winifred--my sin: O pechod Ysprydd Glan! O pechod Ysprydd +Glan!" and the poor man fell into a more fearful agony than before. +Tears trickled down Winifred's face, I saw them trickling by the +moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing form of her afflicted husband. +I arose from my seat; "I am the cause of all this," said I, "by my folly +and imprudence, and it is thus I have returned your kindness and +hospitality, I will depart from you and wander my way." I was retiring, +but Peter sprang up and detained me. "Go not," said he, "you were not in +fault; if there be any fault in the case, it was mine; if I suffer, I am +but paying the penalty of my own iniquity;" he then paused, and appeared +to be considering: at length he said, "Many things which thou hast seen +and heard connected with me require explanation; thou wishest to know my +tale, I will tell it thee, but not now, not to-night; I am too much +shaken." + +Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter took +the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and almost +inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale--the tale of the Pechod +Ysprydd Glan. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + + +Taking a Cup--Getting to Heaven--After Breakfast--Wooden +Gallery--Mechanical Habit--Reserved and Gloomy--Last Words--A Long +Time--From the Clouds--Ray of Hope--Momentary Chill--Pleasing +Anticipation. + +"I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a respectable farmer, +and am the youngest of seven brothers. + +"My father was a member of the Church of England, and was what is +generally called a serious man. He went to church regularly, and read +the Bible every Sunday evening; in his moments of leisure he was fond of +holding religious discourse both with his family and his neighbours. + +"One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father sat with one of his +neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our stone kitchen. I +sat near them, and listened to their discourse. I was at that time seven +years of age. They were talking of religious matters. 'It is a hard +matter to get to heaven,' said my father. 'Exceedingly so,' said the +other. 'However, I don't despond, none need despair of getting to +heaven, save those who have committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.' + +"'Ah!' said my father, 'thank God I never committed that--how awful must +be the state of a person who has committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost! I can scarcely think of it without my hair standing on end;' and +then my father and his friend began talking of the nature of the sin +against the Holy Ghost, and I heard them say what it was, as I sat with +greedy ears listening to their discourse. + +"I lay awake the greater part of the night musing upon what I had heard. +I kept wondering to myself what must be the state of a person who had +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost, and how he must feel. Once or +twice I felt a strong inclination to commit it, a strange kind of fear, +however, prevented me; at last I determined not to commit it, and having +said my prayers, I fell asleep. + +"When I awoke in the morning the first thing I thought of was the +mysterious sin, and a voice within me seemed to say, 'Commit it;' and I +felt a strong temptation to do so, even stronger than in the night. I +was just about to yield, when the same dread, of which I have already +spoken, came over me, and, springing out of bed, I went down on my knees. +I slept in a small room alone, to which I ascended by a wooden stair, +open to the sky. I have often thought since that it is not a good thing +for children to sleep alone. + +"After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured to employ myself upon +my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of nothing but the sin against +the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of being fixed upon my book, wandered in +vacancy. My master observed my inattention, and chid me. The time came +for saying my task, and I had not acquired it. My master reproached me, +and, yet more, he beat me; I felt shame and anger, and I went home with a +full determination to commit the sin against the Holy Ghost. + +"But when I got home my father ordered me to do something connected with +the farm, so that I was compelled to exert myself; I was occupied till +night, and was so busy that I almost forgot the sin and my late +resolution. My work completed, I took my supper, and went to my room; I +began my prayers, and, when they were ended, I thought of the sin, but +the temptation was slight, I felt very tired, and was presently asleep. + +"Thus, you see, I had plenty of time allotted me by a gracious and kind +God to reflect on what I was about to do. He did not permit the enemy of +souls to take me by surprise, and to hurry me at once into the commission +of that which was to be my ruin here and hereafter. Whatever I did was +of my own free will, after I had had time to reflect. Thus God is +justified; he had no hand in my destruction, but, on the contrary, he did +all that was compatible with justice to prevent it. I hasten to the +fatal moment. Awaking in the night, I determined that nothing should +prevent my committing the sin. Arising from my bed, I went out upon the +wooden gallery; and having stood for a few moments looking at the stars, +with which the heavens were thickly strewn, I laid myself down, and +supporting my face with my hand, I murmured out words of horror--words +not to be repeated, and in this manner I committed the sin against the +Holy Ghost. + +"When the words were uttered I sat up upon the topmost step of the +gallery; for some time I felt stunned in somewhat the same manner as I +once subsequently felt after being stung by an adder. I soon arose, +however, and retired to my bed, where, notwithstanding what I had done, I +was not slow in falling asleep. + +"I awoke several times during the night, each time with a dim idea that +something strange and monstrous had occurred, but I presently fell asleep +again; in the morning I awoke with the same vague feeling, but presently +recollection returned, and I remembered that I had committed the sin +against the Holy Ghost. I lay musing for some time on what I had done, +and I felt rather stunned, as before; at last I arose and got out of bed, +dressed myself, and then went down on my knees, and was about to pray +from the force of mechanical habit; before I said a word, however, I +recollected myself, and got up again. What was the use of praying? I +thought; I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost. + +"I went to school, but sat stupified. I was again chidden, again beaten +by my master. I felt no anger this time, and scarcely heeded the +strokes. I looked, however, at my master's face, and thought to myself, +you are beating me for being idle, as you suppose; poor man, what would +you do if you knew I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost? + +"Days and weeks passed by. I had once been cheerful, and fond of the +society of children of my own age; but I was now reserved and gloomy. It +seemed to me that a gulf separated me from all my fellow-creatures. I +used to look at my brothers and schoolfellows, and think how different I +was from them; they had not done what I had. I seemed, in my own eyes, a +lone monstrous being, and yet, strange to say, I felt a kind of pride in +being so. I was unhappy, but I frequently thought to myself, I have done +what no one else would dare to do; there was something grand in the idea; +I had yet to learn the horror of my condition. + +"Time passed on, and I began to think less of what I had done; I began +once more to take pleasure in my childish sports; I was active, and +excelled at football and the like all the lads of my age. I likewise +began, what I had never done before, to take pleasure in the exercises of +the school. I made great progress in Welsh and English grammar, and +learnt to construe Latin. My master no longer chid or beat me, but one +day told my father that he had no doubt that one day I should be an +honour to Wales. + +"Shortly after this my father fell sick; the progress of the disorder was +rapid; feeling his end approaching, he called his children before him. +After tenderly embracing us, he said, 'God bless you, my children; I am +going from you, but take comfort, I trust that we shall all meet again in +heaven.' + +"As he uttered these last words, horror took entire possession of me. +Meet my father in heaven,--how could I ever hope to meet him there? I +looked wildly at my brethren and at my mother; they were all bathed in +tears, but how I envied them! They might hope to meet my father in +heaven, but how different were they from me, they had never committed the +unpardonable sin. + +"In a few days my father died; he left his family in comfortable +circumstances, at least such as would be considered so in Wales, where +the wants of the people are few. My elder brother carried on the farm +for the benefit of my mother and us all. In course of time my brothers +were put out to various trades. I still remained at school, but without +being a source of expense to my relations, as I was by this time able to +assist my master in the business of the school. + +"I was diligent both in self-improvement and in the instruction of +others; nevertheless, a horrible weight pressed upon my breast; I knew I +was a lost being; that for me there was no hope; that, though all others +might be saved, I must of necessity be lost: I had committed the +unpardonable sin, for which I was doomed to eternal punishment, in the +flaming gulf, as soon as life was over!--and how long could I hope to +live? perhaps fifty years; at the end of which I must go to my place; and +then I would count the months and the days, nay, even the hours which yet +intervened between me and my doom. Sometimes I would comfort myself with +the idea that a long time would elapse before my time would be out; but +then again I thought that, however long the term might be, it must be out +at last; and then I would fall into an agony, during which I would almost +wish that the term were out, and that I were in my place; the horrors of +which I thought could scarcely be worse than what I then endured. + +"There was one thought about this time which caused me unutterable grief +and shame, perhaps more shame than grief. It was that my father, who was +gone to heaven, and was there daily holding communion with his God, was +by this time aware of my crime. I imagined him looking down from the +clouds upon his wretched son, with a countenance of inexpressible horror. +When this idea was upon me, I would often rush to some secret place to +hide myself,--to some thicket, where I would cast myself on the ground, +and thrust my head into a thick bush, in order to escape from the +horror-struck glance of my father above in the clouds; and there I would +continue groaning till the agony had, in some degree, passed away. + +"The wretchedness of my state increasing daily, it at last became +apparent to the master of the school, who questioned me earnestly and +affectionately. I, however, gave him no satisfactory answer, being +apprehensive that, if I unbosomed myself, I should become as much an +object of horror to him as I had long been to myself. At length he +suspected that I was unsettled in my intellects; and, fearing probably +the ill effect of my presence upon his scholars, he advised me to go +home; which I was glad to do, as I felt myself every day becoming less +qualified for the duties of the office which I had undertaken. + +"So I returned home to my mother and my brother, who received me with the +greatest kindness and affection. I now determined to devote myself to +husbandry, and assist my brother in the business of the farm. I was +still, however, very much distressed. One fine morning, however, as I +was at work in the field, and the birds were carolling around me, a ray +of hope began to break upon my poor dark soul. I looked at the earth and +looked at the sky, and felt as I had not done for many a year; presently +a delicious feeling stole over me. I was beginning to enjoy existence. +I shall never forget that hour. I flung myself on the soil, and kissed +it; then, springing up with a sudden impulse, I rushed into the depths of +a neighbouring wood, and, falling upon my knees, did what I had not done +for a long time--prayed to God. + +"A change, an entire change, seemed to have come over me. I was no +longer gloomy and despairing, but gay and happy. My slumbers were light +and easy; not disturbed, as before, by frightful dreams. I arose with +the lark, and like him uttered a cheerful song of praise to God, +frequently and earnestly, and was particularly cautious not to do +anything which I considered might cause His displeasure. + +"At church I was constant, and when there listened with deepest attention +to every word which proceeded from the mouth of the minister. In a +little time it appeared to me that I had become a good, very good young +man. At times the recollection of the sin would return, and I would feel +a momentary chill; but the thought quickly vanished, and I again felt +happy and secure. + +"One Sunday morning, after I had said my prayers, I felt particularly +joyous. I thought of the innocent and virtuous life I was leading; and +when the recollection of the sin intruded for a moment, I said, 'I am +sure God will never utterly cast away so good a creature as myself.' I +went to church, and was as usual attentive. The subject of the sermon +was on the duty of searching the Scriptures: all I knew of them was from +the Liturgy. I now, however, determined to read them, and perfect the +good work which I had begun. My father's Bible was upon the shelf, and +on that evening I took it with me to my chamber. I placed it on the +table, and sat down. My heart was filled with pleasing anticipation. I +opened the book at random, and began to read; the first passage on which +my eyes lighted was the following:-- + +"'He who committeth the sin against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven, +either in this world or the next.'" + +Here Peter was seized with convulsive tremors. Winifred sobbed +violently. I got up, and went away. Returning in about a quarter of an +hour, I found him more calm; he motioned me to sit down; and, after a +short pause, continued his narration. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + + +Hasty Farewell--Lofty Rock--Wrestlings of Jacob--No Rest--Ways of +Providence--Two Females--Foot of the Cross--Enemy of +Souls--Perplexed--Lucky Hour--Valetudinarian--Methodists--Fervent in +Prayer--You Saxons--Weak Creatures--Very Agreeable--Almost +Happy--Kindness and Solicitude. + +"Where was I, young man? Oh, I remember, at the fatal passage which +removed all hope. I will not dwell on what I felt. I closed my eyes, +and wished that I might be dreaming; but it was no dream, but a terrific +reality: I will not dwell on that period, I should only shock you. I +could not bear my feelings; so, bidding my friends a hasty farewell, I +abandoned myself to horror and despair, and ran wild through Wales, +climbing mountains and wading streams. + +"Climbing mountains and wading streams, I ran wild about, I was burnt by +the sun, drenched by the rain, and had frequently at night no other +covering than the sky, or the humid roof of some cave; but nothing seemed +to affect my constitution; probably the fire which burned within me +counteracted what I suffered from without. During the space of three +years I scarcely knew what befel me; my life was a dream--a wild, +horrible dream; more than once I believe I was in the hands of robbers, +and once in the hands of gypsies. I liked the last description of people +least of all; I could not abide their yellow faces, or their ceaseless +clabber. Escaping from these beings, whose countenances and godless +discourse brought to my mind the demons of the deep Unknown, I still ran +wild through Wales, I know not how long. On one occasion, coming in some +degree to my recollection, I felt myself quite unable to bear the horrors +of my situation; looking round I found myself near the sea; instantly the +idea came into my head that I would cast myself into it, and thus +anticipate my final doom. I hesitated a moment, but a voice within me +seemed to tell me that I could do no better; the sea was near, and I +could not swim, so I determined to fling myself into the sea. As I was +running along at great speed, in the direction of a lofty rock, which +beetled over the waters, I suddenly felt myself seized by the coat. I +strove to tear myself away, but in vain; looking round, I perceived a +venerable hale old man, who had hold of me. 'Let me go!' said I, +fiercely. 'I will not let thee go,' said the old man; and now, instead +of with one, he grappled me with both hands. 'In whose name dost thou +detain me?' said I, scarcely knowing what I said. 'In the name of my +Master, who made thee and yonder sea; and has said to the sea, so far +shalt thou come, and no farther, and to thee, thou shalt do no murder.' +'Has not a man a right to do what he pleases with his own?' said I. 'He +has,' said the old man, 'but thy life is not thy own; thou art +accountable for it to thy God. Nay, I will not let thee go,' he +continued, as I again struggled; 'if thou struggle with me the whole day +I will not let thee go, as Charles Wesley says, in his 'Wrestlings of +Jacob;' and see, it is of no use struggling, for I am, in the strength of +my Master, stronger than thou;' and, indeed, all of a sudden I had become +very weak and exhausted; whereupon the old man, beholding my situation, +took me by the arm and led me gently to a neighbouring town, which stood +behind a hill, and which I had not before observed; presently he opened +the door of a respectable-looking house, which stood beside a large +building having the appearance of a chapel, and conducted me into a small +room, with a great many books in it. Having caused me to sit down, he +stood looking at me for some time, occasionally heaving a sigh. I was, +indeed, haggard and forlorn. 'Who art thou?' he said at last. 'A +miserable man,' I replied. 'What makes thee miserable?' said the old +man. 'A hideous crime,' I replied. 'I can find no rest; like Cain, I +wander here and there.' The old man turned pale. 'Hast thou taken +another's life?' said he; 'if so, I advise thee to surrender thyself to +the magistrate; thou canst do no better; thy doing so will be the best +proof of thy repentance; and though there be no hope for thee in this +world there may be much in the next.' 'No,' said I, 'I have never taken +another's life.' 'What then, another's goods? If so, restore them +seven-fold, if possible: or, if it be not in thy power, and thy +conscience accuse thee, surrender thyself to the magistrate, and make the +only satisfaction thou art able.' 'I have taken no one's goods,' said I. +'Of what art thou guilty, then?' said he. 'Art thou a drunkard? a +profligate?' 'Alas, no,' said I; 'I am neither of these; would that I +were no worse!' + +"Thereupon the old man looked steadfastly at me for some time; then, +after appearing to reflect, he said, 'Young man, I have a great desire to +know your name.' 'What matters it to you what is my name?' said I; 'you +know nothing of me.' 'Perhaps you are mistaken,' said the old man, +looking kindly at me; 'but at all events tell me your name.' I hesitated +a moment, and then told him who I was, whereupon he exclaimed with much +emotion, 'I thought so; how wonderful are the ways of Providence! I have +heard of thee, young man, and know thy mother well. Only a month ago, +when upon a journey, I experienced much kindness from her. She was +speaking to me of her lost child, with tears; she told me that you were +one of the best of sons, but that some strange idea appeared to have +occupied your mind. Despair not, my son. If thou hast been afflicted, I +doubt not but that thy affliction will eventually turn out to thy +benefit; I doubt not but that thou wilt be preserved, as an example of +the great mercy of God. I will now kneel down and pray for thee, my +son.' + +"He knelt down, and prayed long and fervently. I remained standing for +some time; at length I knelt down likewise. I scarcely knew what he was +saying, but when he concluded I said 'Amen.' + +"And when we had risen from our knees, the old man left me for a short +time, and on his return led me into another room, where were two females; +one was an elderly person, the wife of the old man,--the other was a +young woman of very prepossessing appearance (hang not down thy head, +Winifred), who I soon found was a distant relation of the old man,--both +received me with great kindness, the old man having doubtless previously +told them who I was. + +"I staid several days in the good man's house. I had still the greater +portion of a small sum which I happened to have about me when I departed +on my dolorous wandering, and with this I purchased clothes, and altered +my appearance considerably. On the evening of the second day, my friend +said, 'I am going to preach, perhaps you will come and hear me.' I +consented, and we all went, not to a church, but to the large building +next the house; for the old man, though a clergyman, was not of the +established persuasion, and there the old man mounted a pulpit, and began +to preach. 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,' etc., +etc., was his text. His sermon was long, but I still bear the greater +portion of it in my mind. + +"The substance of it was that Jesus was at all times ready to take upon +himself the burden of our sins, provided we came to him with a humble and +contrite spirit, and begged his help. This doctrine was new to me; I had +often been at church, but had never heard it preached before, at least so +distinctly. When he said that all men might be saved, I shook, for I +expected he would add, all except those who had committed the mysterious +sin; but no, all men were to be saved who with a humble and contrite +spirit would come to Jesus, cast themselves at the foot of his cross, and +accept pardon through the merits of his blood-shedding alone. +'Therefore, my friends,' said he, in conclusion, 'despair not--however +guilty you may be, despair not--however desperate your condition may +seem,' said he, fixing his eyes upon me, 'despair not. There is nothing +more foolish and more wicked than despair; overweening confidence is not +more foolish than despair; both are the favourite weapons of the enemy of +souls.' + +"This discourse gave rise in my mind to no slight perplexity. I had read +in the Scriptures that he who committeth a certain sin shall never be +forgiven, and that there is no hope for him either in this world or the +next. And here was a man, a good man certainly, and one who, of +necessity, was thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures, who told me +that any one might be forgiven, however wicked, who would only trust in +Christ and in the merits of his blood-shedding. Did I believe in Christ? +Ay, truly. Was I willing to be saved by Christ? Ay, truly. Did I trust +in Christ? I trusted that Christ would save every one but myself. And +why not myself? simply because the Scriptures had told me that he who has +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost can never be saved, and I had +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost,--perhaps the only one who ever +had committed it. How could I hope? The Scriptures could not lie, and +yet here was this good old man, profoundly versed in the Scriptures, who +bade me hope; would he lie? No. But did the old man know my case? Ah, +no, he did not know my case! but yet he had bid me hope, whatever I had +done, provided I would go to Jesus. But how could I think of going to +Jesus, when the Scriptures told me plainly that all would be useless? I +was perplexed, and yet a ray of hope began to dawn in my soul. I thought +of consulting the good man, but I was afraid he would drive away the +small glimmer. I was afraid he would say, 'O, yes, every one is to be +saved, except a wretch like you; I was not aware before that there was +anything so horrible,--begone!' Once or twice the old man questioned me +on the subject of my misery, but I evaded him; once, indeed, when he +looked particularly benevolent, I think I should have unbosomed myself to +him, but we were interrupted. He never pressed me much; perhaps he was +delicate in probing my mind, as we were then of different persuasions. +Hence he advised me to seek the advice of some powerful minister in my +own church; there were many such in it, he said. + +"I staid several days in the family, during which time I more than once +heard my venerable friend preach; each time he preached, he exhorted his +hearers not to despair. The whole family were kind to me; his wife +frequently discoursed with me, and also the young person to whom I have +already alluded. It appeared to me that the latter took a peculiar +interest in my fate. + +"At last my friend said to me, 'It is now time thou shouldst return to +thy mother and thy brother.' So I arose, and departed to my mother and +my brother; and at my departure my old friend gave me his blessing, and +his wife and the young person shed tears, the last especially. And when +my mother saw me, she shed tears, and fell on my neck and kissed me, and +my brother took me by the hand and bade me welcome; and when our first +emotions were subsided, my mother said, 'I trust thou art come in a lucky +hour. A few weeks ago my cousin (whose favourite thou always wast) died +and left thee his heir--left thee the goodly farm in which he lived. I +trust, my son, that thou wilt now settle, and be a comfort to me in my +old days.' And I answered, 'I will, if so please the Lord;' and I said +to myself, 'God grant that this bequest be a token of the Lord's favour.' + +"And in a few days I departed to take possession of my farm; it was about +twenty miles from my mother's house, in a beautiful but rather wild +district; I arrived at the fall of the leaf. All day long I busied +myself with my farm, and thus kept my mind employed. At night, however, +I felt rather solitary, and I frequently wished for a companion. Each +night and morning I prayed fervently unto the Lord; for His hand had been +very heavy upon me, and I feared Him. + +"There was one thing connected with my new abode, which gave me +considerable uneasiness--the want of spiritual instruction. There was a +church, indeed, close at hand, in which service was occasionally +performed, but in so hurried and heartless a manner that I derived little +benefit from it. The clergyman to whom the benefice belonged was a +valetudinarian, who passed his time in London, or at some watering place, +entrusting the care of his flock to the curate of a distant parish, who +gave himself very little trouble about the matter. Now I wanted every +Sunday to hear from the pulpit words of consolation and encouragement, +similar to those which I had heard uttered from the pulpit by my good and +venerable friend, but I was debarred from this privilege. At length, one +day being in conversation with one of my labourers, a staid and serious +man, I spoke to him of the matter which lay heavy upon my mind; +whereupon, looking me wistfully in the face, he said, 'Master, the want +of religious instruction in my church was what drove me to the +Methodists.' 'The Methodists,' said I; 'are there any in these parts?' +'There is a chapel,' said he, 'only half a mile distant, at which there +are two services every Sunday, and other two during the week.' Now it +happened that my venerable friend was of the Methodist persuasion, and +when I heard the poor man talk in this manner, I said to him, 'May I go +with you next Sunday?' 'Why not?' said he; so I went with the labourer +on the ensuing Sabbath to the meeting of the Methodists. + +"I liked the preaching which I heard at the chapel very well, though it +was not quite so comfortable as that of my old friend, the preacher being +in some respects a different kind of man. It, however, did me good, and +I went again, and continued to do so, though I did not become a regular +member of the body at that time. + +"I had now the benefit of religious instruction, and also to a certain +extent of religious fellowship, for the preacher and various members of +his flock frequently came to see me. They were honest plain men, not +exactly of the description which I wished for, but still good sort of +people, and I was glad to see them. Once on a time, when some of them +were with me, one of them enquired whether I was fervent in prayer. +'Very fervent,' said I. 'And do you read the Scriptures often?' said he. +'No,' said I. 'Why not?' said he. 'Because I am afraid to see there my +own condemnation.' They looked at each other, and said nothing at the +time. On leaving me, however, they all advised me to read the Scriptures +with fervency and prayer. + +"As I had told these honest people, I shrank from searching the +Scriptures; the remembrance of the fatal passage was still too vivid in +my mind to permit me. I did not wish to see my condemnation repeated, +but I was very fervent in prayer, and almost hoped that God would yet +forgive me by virtue of the blood-shedding of the Lamb. Time passed on, +my affairs prospered, and I enjoyed a certain portion of tranquillity. +Occasionally, when I had nothing else to do, I renewed my studies. Many +is the book I read, especially in my native language, for I was always +fond of my native language, and proud of being a Welshman. Amongst the +books I read were the odes of the great Ab Gwilym, whom thou, friend, +hast never heard of; no, nor any of thy countrymen, for you are an +ignorant race, you Saxons, at least with respect to all that relates to +Wales and Welshmen. I likewise read the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The +latter work possessed a singular fascination for me, on account of its +wonderful delineations of the torments of the nether world. + +"But man does not love to be alone; indeed, the Scripture says that it is +not good for man to be alone. I occupied my body with the pursuits of +husbandry, and I improved my mind with the perusal of good and wise +books; but, as I have already said, I frequently sighed for a companion +with whom I could exchange ideas, and who could take an interest in my +pursuits; the want of such a one I more particularly felt in the long +winter evenings. It was then that the image of the young person whom I +had seen in the house of the preacher frequently rose up distinctly +before my mind's eye, decked with quiet graces--hang not down your head, +Winifred--and I thought that of all the women in the world I should wish +her to be my partner, and then I considered whether it would be possible +to obtain her. I am ready to acknowledge, friend, that it was both +selfish and wicked in me to wish to fetter any human being to a lost +creature like myself, conscious of having committed a crime for which the +Scriptures told me there is no pardon. I had, indeed, a long struggle as +to whether I should make the attempt or not--selfishness however +prevailed. I will not detain your attention with relating all that +occurred at this period--suffice it to say that I made my suit and was +successful; it is true that the old man, who was her guardian, hesitated, +and asked several questions respecting my state of mind. I am afraid +that I partly deceived him, perhaps he partly deceived himself; he was +pleased that I had adopted his profession--we are all weak creatures. +With respect to the young person, she did not ask many questions; and I +soon found that I had won her heart. To be brief, I married her; and +here she is, the truest wife that ever man had, and the kindest. Kind I +may well call her, seeing that she shrinks not from me, who so cruelly +deceived her, in not telling her at first what I was. I married her, +friend; and brought her home to my little possession, where we passed our +time very agreeably. Our affairs prospered, our garners were full, and +there was coin in our purse. I worked in the field; Winifred busied +herself with the dairy. At night I frequently read books to her, books +of my own country, friend; I likewise read to her songs of my own, holy +songs and carols which she admired, and which yourself would perhaps +admire, could you understand them; but I repeat, you Saxons are an +ignorant people with respect to us, and a perverse, inasmuch as you +despise Welsh without understanding it. Every night I prayed fervently, +and my wife admired my gift of prayer. + +"One night, after I had been reading to my wife a portion of Ellis Wyn, +my wife said, 'This is a wonderful book, and containing much true and +pleasant doctrine; but how is it that you, who are so fond of good books, +and good things in general, never read the Bible? You read me the book +of Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of your own composition, you +edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet you never read the Bible.' +And when I heard her mention the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own +condemnation. However, I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I +commenced on that very night reading the Bible. All went on smoothly for +a long time; for months and months I did not find the fatal passage, so +that I almost thought that I had imagined it. My affairs prospered much +the while, so that I was almost happy,--taking pleasure in everything +around me,--in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions, and the +Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible, feeling +particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into my head that I +would print some of my compositions, and purchase a particular field of a +neighbour--oh, God--God! I came to the fatal passage. + +"Friend, friend, what shall I say? I rushed out. My wife followed me, +asking me what was the matter. I could only answer with groans--for +three days and three nights I did little else than groan. Oh, the +kindness and solicitude of my wife! 'What is the matter, husband, dear +husband?' she was continually saying. I became at last more calm. My +wife still persisted in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm. It is +hard to keep a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as mine, so I +told my wife the tale, as we sat one night--it was a mid-winter +night--over the dying brands of our hearth, after the family had retired +to rest, her hand locked in mine, even as it is now. + +"I thought she would have shrunk from me with horror; but she did not; +her hand, it is true, trembled once or twice; but that was all. At last +she gave mine a gentle pressure; and, looking up in my face, she +said--what do you think my wife said, young man?" + +"It is impossible for me to guess," said I. + +"'Let us go to rest, my love; your fears are all groundless.'" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + + +Getting Late--Seven Years Old--Chastening--Go Forth--London Bridge--Same +Eyes--Common Occurrence--Very Sleepy. + +"And so I still say," said Winifred, sobbing. "Let us retire to rest, +dear husband; your fears are groundless. I had hoped long since that +your affliction would have passed away, and I still hope that it +eventually will; so take heart, Peter, and let us retire to rest, for it +is getting late." + +"Rest!" said Peter; "there is no rest for the wicked!" + +"We are all wicked," said Winifred; "but you are afraid of a shadow. How +often have I told you that the sin of your heart is not the sin against +the Holy Ghost: the sin of your heart is its natural pride, of which you +are scarcely aware, to keep down which God in His mercy permitted you to +be terrified with the idea of having committed a sin which you never +committed." + +"Then you will still maintain," said Peter, "that I never committed the +sin against the Holy Spirit?" + +"I will," said Winifred; "you never committed it. How should a child +seven years old commit a sin like that?" + +"Have I not read my own condemnation?" said Peter. "Did not the first +words which I read in the Holy Scripture condemn me? 'He who committeth +the sin against the Holy Ghost shall never enter into the kingdom of +God.'" + +"You never committed it," said Winifred. + +"But the words! the words! the words!" said Peter. + +"The words are true words," said Winifred, sobbing; "but they were not +meant for you, but for those who have broken their profession, who, +having embraced the cross, have receded from their Master." + +"And what sayst thou to the effect which the words produced upon me?" +said Peter. "Did they not cause me to run wild through Wales for years, +like Merddin Wyllt of yore? thinkest thou that I opened the book at that +particular passage by chance?" + +"No," said Winifred, "not by chance; it was the hand of God directed you, +doubtless for some wise purpose. You had become satisfied with yourself. +The Lord wished to rouse thee from thy state of carnal security, and +therefore directed your eyes to that fearful passage." + +"Does the Lord then carry out His designs by means of guile?" said Peter, +with a groan. "Is not the Lord true? Would the Lord impress upon me +that I had committed a sin of which I am guiltless? Hush, Winifred! +hush! thou knowest that I have committed the sin." + +"Thou hast not committed it," said Winifred, sobbing yet more violently. +"Were they my last words, I would persist that thou hast not committed +it, though, perhaps, thou wouldst, but for this chastening; it was not to +convince thee that thou hast committed the sin, but rather to prevent +thee from committing it, that the Lord brought that passage before thy +eyes. He is not to blame, if thou art wilfully blind to the truth and +wisdom of His ways." + +"I see thou wouldst comfort me," said Peter, "as thou hast often before +attempted to do. I would fain ask the young man his opinion." + +"I have not yet heard the whole of your history," said I. + +"My story is nearly told," said Peter; "a few words will complete it. My +wife endeavoured to console and reassure me, using the arguments which +you have just heard her use, and many others, but in vain. Peace nor +comfort came to my breast. I was rapidly falling into the depths of +despair; when one day Winifred said to me, 'I see thou wilt be lost if we +remain here. One resource only remains. Thou must go forth, my husband, +into the wide world, and to comfort thee I will go with thee.' 'And what +can I do in the wide world?' said I, despondingly. 'Much,' replied +Winifred, 'if you will but exert yourself; much good canst thou do with +the blessing of God.' Many things of the same kind she said to me; and +at last I arose from the earth to which God had smitten me, and disposed +of my property in the best way I could, and went into the world. We did +all the good we were able, visiting the sick, ministering to the sick, +and praying with the sick. At last I became celebrated as the possessor +of a great gift of prayer. And people urged me to preach, and Winifred +urged me too, and at last I consented, and I preached. I--I--outcast +Peter, became the preacher, Peter Williams. I, the lost one, attempted +to show others the right road. And in this way I have gone on for +thirteen years, preaching and teaching, visiting the sick, and +ministering to them, with Winifred by my side hearkening me on. +Occasionally I am visited with fits of indescribable agony, generally on +the night before the Sabbath; for I then ask myself, how dare I, the +outcast, attempt to preach the word of God? Young man, my tale is told; +you seem in thought!" + +"I am thinking of London Bridge," said I. + +"Of London Bridge!" said Peter and his wife. + +"Yes," said I, "of London Bridge. I am indebted for much wisdom to +London Bridge; it was there that I completed my studies. But to the +point. I was once reading on London Bridge a book which an ancient +gentlewoman, who kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending me; and +there I found written, 'Each one carries in his breast the recollection +of some sin which presses heavy upon him. O! if men could but look into +each other's hearts, what blackness would they find there!'" + +"That's true," said Peter. "What is the name of the book?" + +"'The Life of Blessed Mary Flanders.'" + +"Some popish saint, I suppose," said Peter. + +"As much of a saint, I dare say," said I, "as most popish ones; but you +interrupted me. One part of your narrative brought the passage which I +have quoted into my mind. You said that after you had committed this +same sin of yours you were in the habit, at school, of looking upon your +schoolfellows with a kind of gloomy superiority, considering yourself a +lone monstrous being who had committed a sin far above the daring of any +of them. Are you sure that many others of your schoolfellows were not +looking upon you and the others with much the same eyes with which you +were looking upon them!" + +"How!" said Peter, "dost thou think that they had divined my secret?" + +"Not they," said I; "they were, I dare say, thinking too much of +themselves and of their own concerns to have divined any secrets of +yours. All I mean to say is, they had probably secrets of their own, and +who knows that the secret sin of more than one of them was not the very +sin which caused you so much misery?" + +"Dost thou then imagine," said Peter, "the sin against the Holy Ghost to +be so common an occurrence?" + +"As you have described it," said I, "of very common occurrence, +especially amongst children, who are, indeed, the only beings likely to +commit it." + +"Truly," said Winifred, "the young man talks wisely." + +Peter was silent for some moments, and appeared to be reflecting; at +last, suddenly raising his head, he looked me full in the face, and, +grasping my hand with vehemence, he said, "Tell me, young man, only one +thing, hast thou, too, committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?" + +"I am neither Papist nor Methodist," said I, "but of the Church, and, +being so, confess myself to no one, but keep my own counsel; I will tell +thee, however, had I committed, at the same age, twenty such sins as that +which you committed, I should feel no uneasiness at these years--but I am +sleepy, and must go to rest." + +"God bless thee, young man," said Winifred. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + + +Low and Calm--Much Better--Blessed Effect--No Answer--Such a Sermon. + +Before I sank to rest I heard Winifred and her husband conversing in the +place where I had left them; both their voices were low and calm. I soon +fell asleep, and slumbered for some time. On my awakening I again heard +them conversing, but they were now in their cart; still the voices of +both were calm. I heard no passionate bursts of wild despair on the part +of the man. Methought I occasionally heard the word Pechod proceeding +from the lips of each, but with no particular emphasis. I supposed they +were talking of the innate sin of both their hearts. + +"I wish that man were happy," said I to myself, "were it only for his +wife's sake, and yet he deserves to be happy for his own." + +The next day Peter was very cheerful, more cheerful than I had ever seen +him. At breakfast his conversation was animated, and he smiled +repeatedly. I looked at him with the greatest interest, and the eyes of +his wife were almost constantly fixed upon him. A shade of gloom would +occasionally come over his countenance, but it almost instantly +disappeared; perhaps it proceeded more from habit than anything else. +After breakfast he took his Welsh Bible and sat down beneath a tree. His +eyes were soon fixed intently on the volume; now and then he would call +his wife, show her some passage, and appeared to consult with her. The +day passed quickly and comfortably. + +"Your husband seems much better," said I, at evening fall, to Winifred, +as we chanced to be alone. + +"He does," said Winifred, "and that on the day of the week when he was +wont to appear most melancholy, for to-morrow is the Sabbath. He now no +longer looks forward to the Sabbath with dread, but appears to reckon on +it. What a happy change! and to think that this change should have been +produced by a few words, seemingly careless ones, proceeding from the +mouth of one who is almost a stranger to him. Truly, it is wonderful." + +"To whom do you allude," said I; "and to what words?" + +"To yourself, and to the words which came from your lips last night, +after you had heard my poor husband's history. Those strange words, +drawn out with so much seeming indifference, have produced in my husband +the blessed effect which you have observed. They have altered the +current of his ideas. He no longer thinks himself the only being in the +world doomed to destruction,--the only being capable of committing the +never-to-be-forgiven sin. Your supposition that that which harrowed his +soul is of frequent occurrence amongst children, has tranquillized him; +the mist which hung over his mind has cleared away, and he begins to see +the groundlessness of his apprehensions. The Lord has permitted him to +be chastened for a season, but his lamp will only burn the brighter for +what he has undergone." + +Sunday came, fine and glorious as the last. Again my friends and myself +breakfasted together--again the good family of the house on the hill +above, headed by the respectable master, descended to the meadow. Peter +and his wife were ready to receive them. Again Peter placed himself at +the side of the honest farmer, and Winifred by the side of her friend. +"Wilt thou not come?" said Peter, looking towards me with a face in which +there was much emotion. "Wilt thou not come?" said Winifred, with a face +beaming with kindness. But I made no answer, and presently the party +moved away, in the same manner in which it had moved on the preceding +sabbath, and I was again left alone. + +The hours of the sabbath passed slowly away. I sat gazing at the sky, +the trees, and the water. At last I strolled up to the house and sat +down in the porch. It was empty; there was no modest maiden there, as on +the preceding sabbath. The damsel of the book had accompanied the rest. +I had seen her in the procession, and the house appeared quite deserted. +The owners had probably left it to my custody, so I sat down in the +porch, quite alone. The hours of the sabbath passed heavily away. + +At last evening came, and with it the party of the morning, I was now at +my place beneath the oak. I went forward to meet them. Peter and his +wife received me with a calm and quiet greeting, and passed forward. The +rest of the party had broke into groups. There was a kind of excitement +amongst them, and much eager whispering. I went to one of the groups; +the young girl of whom I have spoken more than once, was speaking: "Such +a sermon," said she, "it has never been our lot to hear; Peter never +before spoke as he has done this day--he was always a powerful preacher; +but oh, the unction of the discourse of this morning, and yet more of +that of the afternoon, which was the continuation of it." "What was the +subject?" said I, interrupting her. "Ah! you should have been there, +young man, to have heard it; it would have made a lasting impression upon +you. I was bathed in tears all the time; those who heard it will never +forget the preaching of the good Peter Williams on the Power, Providence, +and Goodness of God." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + + +Deep Interest--Goodly Country--Two Mansions--Welshman's Candle--Beautiful +Universe--Godly Discourse--Fine Church--Points of Doctrine--Strange +Adventures--Paltry Cause--Roman Pontiff--Evil Spirit. + +On the morrow I said to my friends, "I am about to depart; farewell!" +"Depart!" said Peter and his wife, simultaneously, "whither wouldst thou +go?" "I can't stay here all my days," I replied. "Of course not," said +Peter; "but we had no idea of losing thee so soon: we had almost hoped +that thou wouldst join us, become one of us. We are under infinite +obligations to thee." "You mean I am under infinite obligations to you," +said I. "Did you not save my life?" "Perhaps so, under God," said +Peter; "and what hast thou not done for me? Art thou aware that, under +God, thou hast preserved my soul from despair? But, independent of that, +we like thy company, and feel a deep interest in thee, and would fain +teach thee the way that is right. Hearken, to-morrow we go into Wales; +go with us." "I have no wish to go into Wales," said I. "Why not?" said +Peter, with animation, "Wales is a goodly country; as the Scripture +says--a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths, that spring out +of valleys and hills, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose +hills thou mayest dig lead." + +"I dare say it is a very fine country," said I, "but I have no wish to go +there just now; my destiny seems to point in another direction, to say +nothing of my trade." "Thou dost right to say nothing of thy trade," +said Peter, smiling, "for thou seemest to care nothing about it; which +has led Winifred and myself to suspect that thou art not altogether what +thou seemest; but, setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou +wouldst go with us into Wales." "I cannot promise to go with you into +Wales," said I; "but, as you depart to-morrow, I will stay with you +through the day, and on the morrow accompany you part of the way." "Do," +said Peter. "I have many people to see to-day, and so has Winifred; but +we will both endeavour to have some serious discourse with thee, which, +perhaps, will turn to thy profit in the end." + +In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was seated +beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced addressing me in +the following manner:-- + +"I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing to admit, that +the most important thing which a human being possesses is his soul; it is +of infinite more importance than the body, which is a frail substance, +and cannot last for many years; but not so the soul, which, by its +nature, is imperishable. To one of two mansions the soul is destined to +depart, after its separation from the body, to heaven or hell: to the +halls of eternal bliss, where God and His holy angels dwell, or to the +place of endless misery, inhabited by Satan and his grisly companions. +My friend, if the joys of heaven are great, unutterably great, so are the +torments of hell unutterably so. I wish not to speak of them, I wish not +to terrify your imagination with the torments of hell; indeed, I like not +to think of them; but it is necessary to speak of them sometimes, and to +think of them sometimes, lest you should sink into a state of carnal +security. Authors, friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as +to the particulars of hell. They all agree, however, in considering it a +place of exceeding horror. Master Ellis Wyn, who by-the-bye was a +churchman, calls it, amongst other things, a place of strong sighs, and +of flaming sparks. Master Rees Pritchard, who was not only a churchman, +but Vicar of Llandovery, and flourished about two hundred years ago--I +wish many like him flourished now--speaking of hell, in his collection of +sweet hymns, called the 'Welshman's Candle,' observes, + +"'The pool is continually blazing; it is very deep, without any known +bottom, and the walls are so high, that there is neither hope nor +possibility of escaping over them.' + +"But, I told you just now, I have no great pleasure in talking of hell. +No, friend, no; I would sooner talk of the other place, and of the +goodness and hospitality of God amongst His saints above." + +And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of heaven, and +the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions above; explaining to +me, in the clearest way, how I might get there. + +And when he had finished what he had to say, he left me, whereupon +Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me, began to address me. "I do +not think," said she, "from what I have observed of thee, that thou +wouldst wish to be ungrateful, and yet, is not thy whole life a series of +ingratitude, and to whom?--to thy Maker. Has He not endowed thee with a +goodly and healthy form; and senses which enable thee to enjoy the +delights of His beautiful universe--the work of His hands? Canst thou +not enjoy, even to rapture, the brightness of the sun, the perfume of the +meads, and the song of the dear birds, which inhabit among the trees? +Yes, thou canst; for I have seen thee, and observed thee doing so. Yet, +during the whole time that I have known thee, I have not heard proceed +from thy lips one single word of praise or thanksgiving to--" + +And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a considerable time, +and to all her discourse I listened with attention; and when she had +concluded I took her hand and said, "I thank you," and that was all. + +On the next day everything was ready for our departure. The good family +of the house came to bid us farewell. There were shaking of hands, and +kisses, as on the night of our arrival. + +And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have spoken so +often, came up to me, and holding out her hand said, "Farewell, young +man, wherever thou goest." Then, after looking around her, she said, "It +was all true you told me. Yesterday I received a letter from him thou +wottest of, he is coming soon. God bless you, young man; who would have +thought thou knewest so much!" + +So after we had taken our farewell of the good family, we departed, +proceeding in the direction of Wales. Peter was very cheerful, and +enlivened the way with godly discourse and spiritual hymns, some of which +were in the Welsh language. At length I said, "It is a pity that you did +not continue in the church; you have a turn for Psalmody, and I have +heard of a man becoming a bishop, by means of a less qualification." + +"Very probably," said Peter; "more the pity. But I have told you the +reason of my forsaking it. Frequently, when I went to the church door, I +found it barred, and the priest absent; what was I to do? My heart was +bursting for want of some religious help and comfort; what could I do? as +good Master Rees Pritchard observes in his 'Candle for Welshmen.' + +"'It is a doleful thing to see little children burning on the hot coals +for want of help; but yet more doleful to see a flock of souls falling +into the burning lake for want of a priest.'" + +"The Church of England is a fine church," said I; "I would not advise any +one to speak ill of the Church of England before me." + +"I have nothing to say against the church," said Peter; "all I wish is +that it would fling itself a little more open, and that its priests would +a little more bestir themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the +cross and become a missionary church." + +"It is too proud for that," said Winifred. + +"You are much more of a Methodist," said I, "than your husband. But tell +me," said I, addressing myself to Peter, "do you not differ from the +church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true member of the +church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar opinions of wandering +sectaries!" + +"Oh, the pride of that church!" said Winifred, half to herself; +"wandering sectaries!" + +"We differ in no points of doctrine," said Peter: "we believe all the +church believes, though we are not so fond of vain and superfluous +ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths and surplices, as the church is. We +likewise think that there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in +holding free discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker," he +added, smiling; "it was those superfluous ceremonies, those surplices and +white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of strictly regulating +his words and conversation, which drove John Wesley out of the church, +and sent him wandering up and down as you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do." + +Nothing further passed for some time; we were now drawing near the hills: +at last I said, "You must have met with a great many strange adventures +since you took up this course of life?" + +"Many," said Peter, "it has been my lot to meet with; but none more +strange than one which occurred to me only a few weeks ago. You were +asking me, not long since, whether I believed in devils? Ay, truly, +young man; and I believe that the abyss and the yet deeper unknown do not +contain them all; some walk about upon the green earth. So it happened, +some weeks ago, that I was exercising my ministry, about forty miles from +here. I was alone, Winifred being slightly indisposed, staying for a few +days at the house of an acquaintance; I had finished afternoon's +worship--the people had dispersed, and I was sitting solitary by my cart +under some green trees in a quiet retired place; suddenly a voice said to +me, 'Good evening, Pastor;' I looked up, and before me stood a man, at +least the appearance of a man, dressed in a black suit of rather a +singular fashion. He was about my own age, or somewhat older. As I +looked upon him, it appeared to me that I had seen him twice before +whilst preaching. I replied to his salutation, and perceiving that he +looked somewhat fatigued, I took out a stool from the cart, and asked him +to sit down. We began to discourse; I at first supposed that he might be +one of ourselves, some wandering minister; but I was soon undeceived. +Neither his language nor his ideas were those of any one of our body. He +spoke on all kinds of matters with much fluency; till at last he +mentioned my preaching, complimenting me on my powers. I replied, as +well I might, that I could claim no merit of my own, and that if I spoke +with any effect, it was only by the grace of God. As I uttered these +last words, a horrible kind of sneer came over his countenance, which +made me shudder, for there was something diabolical in it. I said little +more, but listened attentively to his discourse. At last he said that 'I +was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy of one of my powers.' 'How +can that be,' said I, 'even if I possessed all the powers in the world, +seeing that I am engaged in the cause of our Lord Jesus?' + +"The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, but he almost +instantly observed that if I chose to forsake this same miserable cause, +from which nothing but contempt and privation were to be expected, he +would enlist me into another, from which I might expect both profit and +renown. An idea now came into my head, and I told him firmly, that if he +wished me to forsake my present profession and become a member of the +Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that I had no ill-will +against that church, but I thought I could do most good in my present +position, which I would not forsake to be Archbishop of Canterbury. +Thereupon he burst into a strange laughter, and went away, repeating to +himself, 'Church of England! Archbishop of Canterbury!' A few days +after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again appeared before +me, and asked me whether I had thought over his words, and whether I was +willing to enlist under the banners of his master, adding, that he was +eager to secure me, as he conceived that I might be highly useful to the +cause. I then asked him who his master was; he hesitated for a moment, +and then answered, 'The Roman Pontiff.' 'If it be he,' said I, 'I can +have nothing to do with him, I will serve no one who is an enemy of +Christ.' Thereupon he drew near to me and told me not to talk so much +like a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that no such person +ever existed, but that if he ever did, he was the greatest impostor the +world ever saw. How long he continued in this way I know not, for I now +considered that an evil spirit was before me, and shrank within myself, +shivering in every limb; when I recovered myself and looked about me, he +was gone. Two days after, he again stood before me, in the same place, +and about the same hour, renewing his propositions, and speaking more +horribly than before. I made him no answer; whereupon he continued; but +suddenly hearing a noise behind him, he looked round and beheld Winifred, +who had returned to me on the morning of that day. 'Who are you?' said +he, fiercely. 'This man's wife,' said she, calmly fixing her eyes upon +him. 'Begone from him, unhappy one, thou temptest him in vain.' He made +no answer, but stood as if transfixed: at length recovering himself, he +departed, muttering 'Wife! wife! If the fool has a wife, he will never +do for us.'" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + + +The Border--Thank you Both--Pipe and Fiddle--Taliesin. + +We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, "If you are to +go into Wales, you must presently decide, for we are close upon the +border." + +"Which is the border?" said I. + +"Yon small brook," said Peter, "into which the man on horseback who is +coming towards us, is now entering." + +"I see it," said I, "and the man; he stops in the middle of it, as if to +water his steed." + +We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. "Well," said Peter, +"will you go into Wales?" + +"What should I do in Wales?" I demanded. + +"Do!" said Peter, smiling, "learn Welsh." + +I stopped my little pony. "Then I need not go into Wales; I already know +Welsh." + +"Know Welsh!" said Peter, staring at me. + +"Know Welsh!" said Winifred, stopping her cart. + +"How and when did you learn it?" said Peter. + +"From books, in my boyhood." + +"Read Welsh!" said Peter, "is it possible?" + +"Read Welsh!" said Winifred, "is it possible?" + +"Well, I hope you will come with us," said Peter. + +"Come with us, young man," said Winifred; "let me, on the other side of +the brook, welcome you into Wales." + +"Thank you both," said I, "but I will not come." + +"Wherefore?" exclaimed both, simultaneously. + +"Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into Wales at this +time, and in this manner. When I go into Wales, I should wish to go in a +new suit of superfine black, with hat and beaver, mounted on a powerful +steed, black and glossy, like that which bore Greduv to the fight of +Catraeth. I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen assembled on the +border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and much whooping and +shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as far as Machynllaith, +where I should wish to be invited to a dinner at which all the bards +should be present, and to be seated at the right hand of the president, +who, when the cloth was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of +silence, exclaim--'Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose the health +of my most respectable friend the translator of the odes of the great Ab +Gwilym, the pride and glory of Wales.'" + +"How!" said Peter, "hast thou translated the works of the mighty Dafydd?" + +"With notes critical, historical, and explanatory." + +"Come with us, friend," said Peter. "I cannot promise such a dinner as +thou wishest, but neither pipe nor fiddle shall be wanting." + +"Come with us, young man," said Winifred, "even as thou art, and the +daughters of Wales shall bid thee welcome." + +"I will not go with you," said I. "Dost thou see that man in the ford?" + +"Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet done drinking? Of +course I see him." + +"I shall turn back with him. God bless you!" + +"Go back with him not," said Peter, "he is one of those whom I like not, +one of the clibberty-clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn observes--turn not with +that man." + +"Go not back with him," said Winifred. "If thou goest with that man, +thou wilt soon forget all our profitable counsels; come with us." + +"I cannot; I have much to say to him. Kosko Divous, Mr. Petulengro." + +"Kosko Divous, Pal," said Mr. Petulengro, riding through the water; "are +you turning back?" + +I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. + +Peter came running after me: "One moment, young man, who and what are +you?" + +"I must answer in the words of Taliesin," said I; "none can say with +positiveness whether I be fish or flesh, least of all myself. God bless +you both!" + +"Take this," said Peter; and he thrust his Welsh Bible into my hand. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + + +At a Funeral--Two Days Ago--Very Coolly--Roman Woman--Well and +Hearty--Somewhat Dreary--Plum Pudding--Roman Fashion--Quite +Different--The Dark Lane--Beyond the Time--Fine Fellow--Such a +Struggle--Like a Wild Cat--Fair Play--Pleasant Enough Spot--No Gloves. + +So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. We travelled for some time in +silence; at last we fell into discourse. "You have been in Wales, Mr. +Petulengro?" + +"Ay, truly, brother." + +"What have you been doing there?" + +"Assisting at a funeral." + +"At whose funeral?" + +"Mrs. Herne's, brother." + +"Is she dead, then?" + +"As a nail, brother." + +"How did she die?" + +"By hanging, brother." + +"I am lost in astonishment," said I; whereupon Mr. Petulengro, lifting +his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, and adjusting himself +sideways in the saddle, replied, with great deliberation, "Two days ago, +I happened to be at a fair not very far from here; I was all alone by +myself, for our party were upwards of forty miles off, when who should +come up but a chap that I knew, a relation, or rather, a connection of +mine; one of those Hernes. 'Ar'n't you going to the funeral?' said he; +and then, brother, there passed between him and me, in the way of +questioning and answering, much the same as has just now passed between I +and you; but when he mentioned hanging, I thought I could do no less than +ask who hanged her, which you forgot to do. 'Who hanged her?' said I; +and then the man told me that she had done it herself; been her own +hinjiri; and then I thought to myself what a sin and shame it would be if +I did not go to the funeral, seeing that she was my own mother-in-law. I +would have brought my wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but +there was no time for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to be +buried early the next morning, so I went with the man, and he led me into +Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when there, through many +wild and desolate places to their encampment, and there I found the +Hernes, and the dead body--the last laid out on a mattress, in a tent, +dressed Romaneskoenaes in a red cloak, and big bonnet of black beaver. I +must say for the Hernes that they took the matter very coolly, some were +eating, others drinking, and some were talking about their small affairs; +there was one, however, who did not take the matter so coolly, but took +on enough for the whole family, sitting beside the dead woman, tearing +her hair, and refusing to take either meat or drink; it was the child +Leonora. I arrived at night-fall, and the burying was not to take place +till the morning, which I was rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of +them Hernes, who are not very fond of anybody. They never asked me to +eat or drink, notwithstanding I had married into the family; one of them, +however, came up and offered to fight me for five shillings; had it not +been for them I should have come back as empty as I went--he didn't stand +up five minutes. Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, beneath +a tree, for the tents were full, and not over clean; I slept little, and +had my eyes about me, for I knew the kind of people I was among. + +"Early in the morning the funeral took place. The body was placed not in +a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to a churchyard but to a deep +dell close by; and there it was buried beneath a rock, dressed just as I +have told you; and this was done by the bidding of Leonora, who had heard +her bebee say that she wished to be buried, not in gorgeous fashion, but +like a Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko puro rati, brother. When +it was over, and we had got back to the encampment, I prepared to be +going. Before mounting my gry, however, I bethought me to ask what could +have induced the dead woman to make away with herself, a thing so +uncommon amongst Romanies; whereupon one squinted with his eyes, a second +spirted saliver into the air, and a third said that he neither knew nor +cared; she was a good riddance, having more than once been nearly the +ruin of them all, from the quantity of brimstone she carried about her. +One, however, I suppose, rather ashamed of the way in which they had +treated me, said at last, that if I wanted to know all about the matter, +none could tell me better than the child, who was in all her secrets, and +was not a little like her; so I looked about for the child, but could +find her nowhere. At last the same man told me that he shouldn't wonder +if I found her at the grave; so I went back to the grave, and sure enough +there I found the child, Leonora, seated on the ground above the body, +crying and taking on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, 'How came all +this, Leonora? tell me all about it.' It was a long time before I could +get any answer; at last she opened her mouth, and spoke, and these were +the words she said, 'It was all along of your Pal;' and then she told me +all about the matter. How Mrs. Herne could not abide you, which I knew +before, and that she had sworn your destruction, which I did not know +before. And then she told me how she found you living in the wood by +yourself, and how you were enticed to eat a poisoned cake; and she told +me many other things that you wot of, and she told me what perhaps you +don't wot, namely, that finding that you had been removed, she, the +child, had tracked you a long way, and found you at last well and hearty, +and no ways affected by the poison, and heard you, as she stood +concealed, disputing about religion with a Welsh Methody. Well, brother, +she told me all this; and moreover, that when Mrs. Herne heard of it, she +said that a dream of hers had come to pass. I don't know what it was, +but something about herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she added, +that it was all up with her, and that she must take a long journey. +Well, brother, that same night Leonora, waking from her sleep in the +tent, where Mrs. Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her bebee, and, +becoming alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging +from a branch; and when the child had got so far, she took on violently, +and I could not get another word from her; so I left her, and here I am." + +"And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is sad news which you +tell me about Mrs. Herne." + +"Somewhat dreary, brother; yet perhaps, after all, it is a good thing +that she is removed; she carried so much Devil's tinder about with her, +as the man said." + +"I am sorry for her," said I; "more especially as I am the cause of her +death--though the innocent one." + +"She could not bide you, brother, that's certain; but that is no +reason"--said Mr. Petulengro, balancing himself upon the saddle--"that is +no reason why she should prepare drow to take away your essence of life; +and, when disappointed, to hang herself upon a tree: if she was +dissatisfied with you, she might have flown at you, and scratched your +face; or, if she did not judge herself your match, she might have put +down five shillings for a turn-up between you and some one she thought +could beat you--myself, for example, and so the matter might have ended +comfortably; but she was always too fond of covert wars, drows, and +brimstones. This is not the first poisoning affair she has been engaged +in." + +"You allude to drabbing bawlor." + +"Bah!" said Mr. Petulengro; "there's no harm in that. No, no! she has +cast drows in her time for other guess things than bawlor; both Gorgios +and Romans have tasted of them, and died. Did you never hear of the +poisoned plum pudding?" + +"Never." + +"Then I will tell you about it. It happened about six years ago, a few +months after she had quitted us--she had gone first amongst her own +people, as she called them; but there was another small party of Romans, +with whom she soon became very intimate. It so happened that this small +party got into trouble; whether it was about a horse or an ass, or +passing bad money, no matter to you and me, who had no hand in the +business; three or four of them were taken and lodged in --- Castle, and +amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro, or principal man of the +party, and who it seems had most hand in the affair, was still at large. +All of a sudden a rumour was spread abroad that the woman was about to +play false, and to peach the rest. Said the principal man, when he heard +it, 'If she does, I am nashkado.' Mrs. Herne was then on a visit to the +party, and when she heard the principal man take on so, she said, 'But I +suppose you know what to do?' 'I do not,' said he. 'Then hir mi +devlis,' said she, 'you are a fool. But leave the matter to me, I know +how to dispose of her in Roman fashion.' Why she wanted to interfere in +the matter, brother, I don't know, unless it was from pure brimstoneness +of disposition--she had no hand in the matter which had brought the party +into trouble--she was only on a visit, and it had happened before she +came; but she was always ready to give dangerous advice. Well, brother, +the principal man listened to what she had to say, and let her do what +she would; and she made a pudding, a very nice one, no doubt--for, +besides plums, she put in drows and all the Roman condiments that she +knew of; and she gave it to the principal man, and the principal man put +it into a basket and directed it to the woman in --- Castle, and the +woman in the castle took it and--" + +"Ate of it," said I, "just like my case?" + +"Quite different, brother, she took it, it is true; but instead of giving +way to her appetite as you might have done, she put it before the rest +whom she was going to impeach--perhaps she wished to see how they liked +it before she tasted it herself--and all the rest were poisoned, and one +died, and there was a precious outcry, and the woman cried the loudest of +all; and she said, 'it was my death was sought for; I know the man, and +I'll be revenged,' and then the Poknees spoke to her and said, 'Where can +we find him?' and she said, 'I am awake to his motions; three weeks from +hence, the night before the full moon, at such and such an hour, he will +pass down such a lane with such a man.'" + +"Well," said I, "and what did the Poknees do?" + +"Do, brother, sent for a plastramengro from Bow Street, quite secretly, +and told him what the woman had said; and the night before the full moon, +the plastramengro went to the place which the juwa had pointed out, all +alone, brother; and, in order that he might not be too late, he went two +hours before his time. I know the place well, brother, where the +plastramengro placed himself behind a thick holly-tree, at the end of a +lane, where a gate leads into various fields, through which there is a +path for carts and horses. The lane is called the dark lane by the +Gorgios, being much shaded by trees; so the plastramengro placed himself +in the dark lane behind the holly tree; it was a cold February night, +dreary, though; the wind blew in gusts, and the moon had not yet risen, +and the plastramengro waited behind the tree till he was tired, and +thought he might as well sit down; so he sat down, and was not long in +falling to sleep, and there he slept for some hours; and when he awoke, +the moon had risen, and was shining bright, so that there was a kind of +moonlight even in the dark lane; and the plastramengro pulled out his +watch, and contrived to make out that it was just two hours beyond the +time when the men should have passed by. Brother, I do not know what the +plastramengro thought of himself, but I know, brother, what I should have +thought of myself in his situation. I should have thought, brother, that +I was a drowsy scoppelo, and that I had let the fellow pass by whilst I +was sleeping behind a bush. As it turned out, however, his going to +sleep did no harm, but quite the contrary: just as he was going away, he +heard a gate slam in the direction of the fields, and then he heard the +low stumping of horses, as if on soft ground, for the path in those +fields is generally soft, and at that time it had been lately ploughed +up. Well, brother, presently he saw two men on horseback coming towards +the lane through the field behind the gate; the man who rode foremost was +a tall big fellow, the very man he was in quest of; the other was a +smaller chap, not so small either, but a light, wiry fellow, and a proper +master of his hands when he sees occasion for using them. Well, brother, +the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank, undid it, and +rode through, holding it open for the other. Before, however, the other +could follow into the lane, out bolted the plastramengro from behind the +tree, kicked the gate too with his foot, and, seizing the big man on +horseback, 'You are my prisoner,' said he. I am of opinion, brother, +that plastramengro, notwithstanding he went to sleep, must have been a +regular fine fellow." + +"I am entirely of your opinion," said I; "but what happened then?" + +"Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat recovered from his +surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be laid hold of at +night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more especially when you happen +to have two or three things on your mind, which, if proved against you, +would carry you to the nashky. The Rommany chal, I say, clubbed his +whip, and aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had hit him on +the skull, as was intended, would very likely have cracked it. The +plastramengro, however, received it partly on his staff, so that it did +him no particular damage. Whereupon seeing what kind of customer he had +to deal with, he dropped his staff, and seized the chal with both his +hands, who forthwith spurred his horse, hoping by doing so, either to +break away from him, or fling him down; but it would not do--the +plastramengro held on like a bulldog, so that the Rommany chal, to escape +being hauled to the ground, suddenly flung himself off the saddle, and +then happened in that lane, close by the gate, such a struggle between +those two--the chal and the runner--as I suppose will never happen again. +But you must have heard of it; every one has heard of the fight between +the Bow Street engro and the Rommany chal." + +"I never heard of it till now." + +"All England rung of it, brother. There never was a better match than +between those two. The runner was somewhat the stronger of the two--all +these engroes are strong fellows--and a great deal cooler, for all of +that sort are wondrous cool people--he had, however, to do with one who +knew full well how to take his own part. The chal fought the engro, +brother, in the old Roman fashion. He bit, he kicked, and screamed like +a wild cat of Benygant; casting foam from his mouth, and fire from his +eyes. Sometimes he was beneath the engro's legs, and sometimes he was +upon his shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult, was to get +a firm hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal by any part +of his wearing apparel, than the chal either tore himself away, or +contrived to slip out of it; so that in a little time the chal was three +parts naked; and as for holding him by the body, it was out of the +question, for he was as slippery as an eel. At last the engro seized the +chal by the Belcher's handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his +neck, and do whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; and when +the engro saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt; 'It's of no use,' +said he; 'you had better give in; hold out your hands for the darbies, or +I will throttle you.'" + +"And what did the other fellow do, who came with the chal?" said I. + +"I sat still on my horse, brother." + +"You," said I. "Were you the man?" + +"I was he, brother." + +"And why did you not help your comrade?" + +"I have fought in the ring, brother." + +"And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting in the lane?" + +"You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it taught me to prize +fair play. When I fought Staffordshire Dick, t'other side of London, I +was alone, brother. Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his +brother pals about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat +Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn't have done had they put one finger on +his side the scale; for he was as good a man as myself, or nearly so. +Now, brother, had I but bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal, the +plastramengro would never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not, +for I thought to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see, +brother--" + +"That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro; I see that clearly; and now, +pray proceed with your narration; it is both moral and entertaining." + +But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither did he +proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his eyes were +intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some lofty trees, on the +left side of the road. It was a pleasant enough spot, and seemed to +invite wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the fatigues of +the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun. After examining it for +a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, "I say, brother, that would be +a nice place for a tuzzle!" + +"I dare say it would," said I, "if two people were inclined to fight." + +"The ground is smooth," said Mr. Petulengro; "without holes or ruts, and +the trees cast much shade. I don't think, brother, that we could find a +better place," said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his horse. + +"But you and I don't want to fight!" + +"Speak for yourself, brother," said Mr. Petulengro. "However, I will +tell you how the matter stands. There is a point at present between us. +There can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Herne's death, +innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, I shouldn't like it +to be known that I went up and down the country with a pal who was the +cause of my mother-in-law's death, that's to say, unless he gave me +satisfaction. Now, if I and my pal have a tuzzle, he gives me +satisfaction; and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can't do, +it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he who says +to the contrary, knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a dinelo into the +bargain." + +"But we have no gloves!" + +"Gloves!" said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, "gloves! I tell you what, +brother, I always thought you were a better hand at the gloves than the +naked fist; and, to tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for +Mrs. Herne's death, I wish to see what you can do with your morleys; so +now is your time, brother, and this is your place, grass and shade, no +ruts or holes; come on, brother, or I shall think you what I should not +like to call you." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + + +Offence and Defence--I'm Satisfied--Fond of Solitude--Possession of +Property--Chal Devlehi--Winding Path. + +And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I had never +heard him do before, and which I can only account for by his being +fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other alternative than to +accept his challenge; so I put myself into a posture which I deemed the +best both for offence and defence, and the tuzzle commenced; and when it +had endured for about half an hour, Mr. Petulengro said, "Brother, there +is much blood on your face; you had better wipe it off;" and when I had +wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr. Petulengro said, +"I think enough has been done, brother, in the affair of the old woman; I +have, moreover, tried what you are able to do, and find you as I thought, +less apt with the naked morleys than the stuffed gloves; nay, brother, +put your hands down; I'm satisfied; blood has been shed, which is all +that can be reasonably expected for an old woman, who carried so much +brimstone about with her as Mrs. Herne." + +So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. Petulengro sitting +sideways upon his horse as before, and I driving my little pony-cart; and +when he had proceeded about three miles, we came to a small public-house, +which bore the sign of the Silent Woman, where we stopped to refresh our +cattle and ourselves; and as we sat over our bread and ale, it came to +pass that Mr. Petulengro asked me various questions, and amongst others, +how I intended to dispose of myself; I told him that I did not know; +whereupon with considerable frankness, he invited me to his camp, and +told me that if I chose to settle down amongst them, and become a Rommany +chal, I should have his wife's sister, Ursula, who was still unmarried, +and occasionally talked of me. + +I declined his offer, assigning as a reason the recent death of Mrs. +Herne, of which I was the cause, although innocent. "A pretty life I +should lead with those two," said I, "when they came to know it." +"Pooh," said Mr. Petulengro, "they will never know it. I shan't blab, +and as for Leonora, that girl has a head on her shoulders." "Unlike the +woman in the sign," said I, "whose head is cut off. You speak nonsense, +Mr. Petulengro; as long as a woman has a head on her shoulders she'll +talk,--but, leaving women out of the case, it is impossible to keep +anything a secret; an old master of mine told me so long ago. I have +moreover another reason for declining your offer. I am at present not +disposed for society. I am become fond of solitude. I wish I could find +some quiet place to which I could retire to hold communion with my own +thoughts, and practise, if I thought fit, either of my trades." "What +trades?" said Mr. Petulengro. "Why, the one which I have lately been +engaged in, or my original one, which I confess I should like better, +that of a kaulomescro." "Ah, I have frequently heard you talk of making +horse-shoes," said Mr. Petulengro. "I, however, never saw you make one, +and no one else that I am aware, I don't believe--come, brother, don't be +angry, it's quite possible that you may have done things which neither I +nor any one else has seen you do, and that such things may some day or +other come to light, as you say nothing can be kept secret. Be that, +however, as it may, pay the reckoning and let us be going, I think I can +advise you to just such a kind of place as you seem to want." + +"And how do you know that I have got wherewithal to pay the reckoning?" I +demanded. "Brother," said Mr. Petulengro, "I was just now looking in +your face, which exhibited the very look of a person conscious of the +possession of property; there was nothing hungry or sneaking in it. Pay +the reckoning, brother." + +And when we were once more upon the road Mr. Petulengro began to talk of +the place which he conceived would serve me as a retreat under present +circumstances. "I tell you frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of +place, and I am not very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so +surprisingly dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field, +on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years past. I +dare say you will be quiet enough, for the nearest town is five miles +distant, and there are only a few huts and hedge public-houses in the +neighbourhood. Brother, I am fond of solitude myself, but not that kind +of solitude; I like a quiet heath, where I can pitch my house, but I +always like to have a gay stirring place not far off, where the women can +pen dukkerin, and I myself can sell or buy a horse, if needful--such a +place as the Chong Gav. I never feel so merry as when there, brother, or +on the heath above it, where I taught you Rommany." + +Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few yards from +the milestone, on the left hand, was a cross-road. Thereupon Mr. +Petulengro said, "Brother, my path lies to the left; if you choose to go +with me to my camp, good, if not Chal Devlehi." But I again refused Mr. +Petulengro's invitation, and, shaking him by the hand, proceeded forward +alone, and about ten miles farther on I reached the town of which he had +spoken, and following certain directions which he had given, discovered, +though not without some difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned. +It was a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field, the shelving sides +were overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it on +the top, a steep winding path led down into the depths, practicable, +however, for a light cart, like mine; at the bottom was an open space, +and there I pitched my tent, and there I contrived to put up my forge. +"I will here ply the trade of kaulomescro," said I. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + + +Highly Poetical--Volundr--Grecian Mythology--Making a Petul--Tongues of +Flame--Hammering--Spite of Dukkerin--Heaviness. + +It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a +forge. I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals have +assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of a +crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely +define, but which are highly pleasurable. I have a decided _penchant_ +for forges, especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot--a +dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting of four +roads, which is still more so; for how many a superstition--and +superstition is the soul of poetry--is connected with these cross roads! +I love to light upon such a one, especially after nightfall, as +everything about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer +sounds more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered by +the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst the sooty +visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow, and half illumined by the red +and partial blaze of the forge, looks more mysterious and strange. On +such occasions I draw in my horse's rein, and, seated in the saddle, +endeavour to associate with the picture before me--in itself a picture of +romance--whatever of the wild and wonderful I have read of in books, or +have seen with my own eyes in connection with forges. + +I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, would +afford materials for a highly poetical history. I do not speak +unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, and therefore +fully competent to give an opinion as to what might be made out of the +forge by some dextrous hand. Certainly, the strangest and most +entertaining life ever written is that of a blacksmith of the olden +north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, who lived in woods and thickets, +made keen swords, so keen, indeed, that if placed in a running stream, +they would fairly divide an object, however slight, which was borne +against them by the water, and who eventually married a king's daughter, +by whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father was a +cunning blacksmith. I never see a forge at night, when seated on the +back of my horse at the bottom of a dark lane, but I somehow or other +associate it with the exploits of this extraordinary fellow, with many +other extraordinary things, amongst which, as I have hinted before, are +particular passages of my own life, one or two of which I shall perhaps +relate to the reader. + +I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a forge. These +gentry would be the very last people in the world to flit across my mind +whilst gazing at the forge from the bottom of the dark lane. The truth +is, they are highly unpoetical fellows, as well they may be, connected as +they are with the Grecian mythology. At the very mention of their names +the forge burns dull and dim, as if snow-balls had been suddenly flung +into it; the only remedy is to ply the bellows, an operation which I now +hasten to perform. + +I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe. Having no other horses on whose +hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my first essay on those of my own +horse, if that could be called horse which horse was none, being only a +pony. Perhaps if I had sought all England, I should scarcely have found +an animal more in need of the kind offices of the smith. On three of his +feet there were no shoes at all, and on the fourth only a remnant of one, +on which account his hoofs were sadly broken and lacerated by his late +journeys over the hard and flinty roads. "You belonged to a tinker +before," said I, addressing the animal, "but now you belong to a smith. +It is said that the household of the shoemaker invariably go worse shod +than that of any other craft. That may be the case of those who make +shoes of leather, but it shan't be said of the household of him who makes +shoes of iron; at any rate, it shan't be said of mine. I tell you what, +my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be better shod, and +better fed, than you were with your last master." + +I am in the dingle making a petul; and I must here observe, that whilst I +am making a horse-shoe, the reader need not be surprised if I speak +occasionally in the language of the lord of the horse-shoe--Mr. +Petulengro. I have for some time past been plying the peshota, or +bellows, endeavouring to raise up the yag, or fire, in my primitive +forge. The angar, or coals, are now burning fiercely, casting forth +sparks and long vagescoe chipes, or tongues of flame; a small bar of +sastra, or iron, is lying in the fire, to the length of ten or twelve +inches, and so far it is hot, very hot, exceedingly hot, brother. And +now you see me prala, snatch the bar of iron, and place the heated end of +it upon the covantza, or anvil, and forthwith I commence cooring the +sastra as hard as if I had been just engaged by a master at the rate of +dui caulor, or two shillings a day, brother; and when I have beaten the +iron till it is nearly cool, and my arm tired, I place it again in the +angar, and begin again to rouse the fire with the pudamengro, which +signifies the blowing thing, and is another and more common word for +bellows, and whilst thus employed I sing a gypsy song, the sound of which +is wonderfully in unison with the hoarse moaning of the pudamengro, and +ere the song is finished, the iron is again hot and malleable. Behold, I +place it once more on the covantza, and recommence hammering; and now I +am somewhat at fault; I am in want of assistance; I want you, brother, or +some one else, to take the bar out of my hand and support it upon the +covantza, whilst I, applying a chinomescro, or kind of chisel, to the +heated iron, cut off with a lusty stroke or two of the shukaro baro, or +big hammer, as much as is required for the petul. But having no one to +help me, I go on hammering till I have fairly knocked off as much as I +want, and then I place the piece in the fire, and again apply the +bellows, and take up the song where I left it off; and when I have +finished the song, I take out the iron, but this time with my plaistra, +or pincers, and then I recommence hammering, turning the iron round and +round with my pincers: and now I bend the iron, and lo, and behold, it +has assumed something of the outline of a petul. + +I am not going to enter into farther details with respect to the +process--it was rather a wearisome one. I had to contend with various +disadvantages; my forge was a rude one, my tools might have been better; +I was in want of one or two highly necessary implements, but, above all, +manual dexterity. Though free of the forge, I had not practised the +albeytarian art for very many years, never since--but stay, it is not my +intention to tell the reader, at least in this place, how and when I +became a blacksmith. There was one thing, however, which stood me in +good stead in my labour, the same thing which through life has ever been +of incalculable utility to me, and has not unfrequently supplied the +place of friends, money, and many other things of almost equal +importance--iron perseverance, without which all the advantages of time +and circumstance are of very little avail in any undertaking. I was +determined to make a horse-shoe, and a good one, in spite of every +obstacle--ay, in spite of dukkerin. At the end of four days, during +which I had fashioned and refashioned the thing at least fifty times, I +had made a petul such as no master of the craft need have been ashamed +of; with the second shoe I had less difficulty, and, by the time I had +made the fourth, I would have scorned to take off my hat to the best +smith in Cheshire. + +But I had not yet shod my little gry; this I proceeded now to do. After +having first well pared the hoofs with my churi, I applied each petul +hot, glowing hot to the pindro. Oh, how the hoofs hissed; and, oh, the +pleasant pungent odour which diffused itself through the dingle, an odour +good for an ailing spirit. + +I shod the little horse bravely--merely pricked him once, slightly, with +a cafi, for doing which, I remember, he kicked me down; I was not +disconcerted, however, but, getting up, promised to be more cautious in +future; and having finished the operation, I filed the hoof well with the +rin baro; then dismissed him to graze amongst the trees, and, putting my +smaller tools into the muchtar, I sat down on my stone, and, supporting +my arm upon my knee, leaned my head upon my hand. Heaviness had come +over me. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + + +Several Causes--Frogs and Eftes--Gloom and Twilight--What should I +Do?--"Our Father"--Fellow Men--What a Mercy!--Almost Calm--Fresh +Store--History of Saul--Pitch Dark. + +Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and of body +also. I had accomplished the task which I had imposed upon myself, and +now that nothing more remained to do, my energies suddenly deserted me, +and I felt without strength, and without hope. Several causes, perhaps, +co-operated to bring about the state in which I then felt myself. It is +not improbable that my energies had been overstrained during the work, +the progress of which I have attempted to describe; and every one is +aware that the results of overstrained energies are feebleness and +lassitude--want of nourishment might likewise have something to do with +it. During my sojourn in the dingle, my food has been of the simplest +and most unsatisfying description, by no means calculated to support the +exertions which the labour I had been engaged upon required; it had +consisted of coarse oaten cakes, and hard cheese, and for beverage I had +been indebted to a neighbouring pit, in which, in the heat of the day, I +frequently saw, not golden or silver fish, but frogs and eftes swimming +about. I am, however, inclined to believe that Mrs. Herne's cake had +quite as much to do with the matter as insufficient nourishment. I had +never entirely recovered from the effects of its poison, but had +occasionally, especially at night, been visited by a grinding pain in the +stomach, and my whole body had been suffused with cold sweat; and indeed +these memorials of the drow have never entirely disappeared--even at the +present time they display themselves in my system, especially after much +fatigue of body, and excitement of mind. So there I sat in the dingle +upon my stone, nerveless and hopeless, by whatever cause or causes that +state had been produced--there I sat with my head leaning upon my hand, +and so I continued a long, long time. At last I lifted my head from my +hand, and began to cast anxious, unquiet looks about the dingle--the +entire hollow was now enveloped in deep shade--I cast my eyes up; there +was a golden gleam on the tops of the trees which grew towards the upper +parts of the dingle; but lower down, all was gloom and twilight--yet, +when I first sat down on my stone, the sun was right above the dingle, +illuminating all its depths by the rays which it cast perpendicularly +down--so I must have sat a long, long time upon my stone. And now, once +more, I rested my head upon my hand, but almost instantly lifted it again +in a kind of fear, and began looking at the objects before me, the forge, +the tools, the branches of the trees, endeavouring to follow their rows, +till they were lost in the darkness of the dingle; and now I found my +right hand grasping convulsively the three fore fingers of the left, +first collectively, and then successively, wringing them till the joints +cracked; then I became quiet, but not for long. + +Suddenly I started up, and could scarcely repress the shriek which was +rising to my lips. Was it possible? Yes, all too certain; the evil one +was upon me; the inscrutable horror which I had felt in my boyhood had +once more taken possession of me. I had thought that it had forsaken me; +that it would never visit me again; that I had outgrown it; that I might +almost bid defiance to it; and I had even begun to think of it without +horror, as we are in the habit of doing of horrors of which we conceive +we run no danger; and, lo! when least thought of, it had seized me again. +Every moment I felt it gathering force, and making me more wholly its +own. What should I do?--resist, of course; and I did resist. I grasped, +I tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were my +efforts? I could only have got rid of it by getting rid of myself: it +was a part of myself, or rather it was all myself. I rushed amongst the +trees, and struck at them with my bare fists, and dashed my head against +them, but I felt no pain. How could I feel pain with that horror upon +me! and then I flung myself on the ground, gnawed the earth, and +swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost total darkness in +the dingle, and the darkness added to my horror. I could no longer stay +there; up I rose from the ground, and attempted to escape; at the bottom +of the winding path which led up the acclivity I fell over something +which was lying on the ground; the something moved, and gave a kind of +whine. It was my little horse, which had made that place its lair; my +little horse; my only companion and friend, in that now awful solitude. +I reached the mouth of the dingle; the sun was just sinking in the far +west, behind me; the fields were flooded with his last gleams. How +beautiful everything looked in the last gleams of the sun! I felt +relieved for a moment; I was no longer in the horrid dingle; in another +minute the sun was gone, and a big cloud occupied the place where he had +been; in a little time it was almost as dark as it had previously been in +the open part of the dingle. My horror increased; what was I to do?--it +was of no use fighting against the horror; that I saw; the more I fought +against it, the stronger it became. What should I do: say my prayers? +Ah! why not? So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, "Our Father;" +but that was of no use; and now I could no longer repress cries; the +horror was too great to be borne. What should I do: run to the nearest +town or village, and request the assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I +was ashamed to do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed +to do that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I went screaming +amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a maniac. Moreover, I +knew that I was not a maniac, for I possessed all my reasoning powers, +only the horror was upon me--the screaming horror! But how were +indifferent people to distinguish between madness and this screaming +horror? So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined not to go +amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might be. I went to the mouth +of the dingle, and there, placing myself on my knees, I again said the +Lord's Prayer; but it was of no use; praying seemed to have no effect +over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase than +diminish; and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive +they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road; I, +therefore, went deeper into the dingle; I sat down with my back against a +thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh; and when I felt them, I pressed +harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might in some +degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no longer; the +power of the mental horror was so great that it was impossible, with that +upon me, to feel any pain from the thorns. I continued in this posture a +long time, undergoing what I cannot describe, and would not attempt if I +were able. Several times I was on the point of starting up and rushing +anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I knew I could not escape from +myself, so why should I not remain in the dingle? so I thought and said +to myself, for my reasoning powers were still uninjured. At last it +appeared to me that the horror was not so strong, not quite so strong +upon me. Was it possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its +prey? O what a mercy! but it could not be--and yet I looked up to +heaven, and clasped my hands, and said "Our Father." I said no more; I +was too agitated; and now I was almost sure that the horror had done its +worst. + +After a little time I arose, and staggered down yet farther into the +dingle. I again found my little horse on the same spot as before, I put +my hand to his mouth; he licked my hand. I flung myself down by him and +put my arms round his neck, the creature whinnied, and appeared to +sympathize with me; what a comfort to have any one, even a dumb brute, to +sympathize with me at such a moment! I clung to my little horse, as if +for safety and protection. I laid my head on his neck, and felt almost +calm; presently the fear returned, but not so wild as before; it +subsided, came again, again subsided; then drowsiness came over me, and +at last I fell asleep, my head supported on the neck of the little horse. +I awoke; it was dark, dark night--not a star was to be seen--but I felt +no fear, the horror had left me. I arose from the side of the little +horse, and went into my tent, lay down, and again went to sleep. + +I awoke in the morning weak and sore, and shuddering at the remembrance +of what I had gone through on the preceding day; the sun was shining +brightly, but it had not yet risen high enough to show its head above the +trees which fenced the eastern side of the dingle, on which account the +dingle was wet and dank, from the dews of the night. I kindled my fire, +and, after sitting by it for some time to warm my frame, I took some of +the coarse food which I have already mentioned; notwithstanding my late +struggle, and the coarseness of the fare, I ate with appetite. My +provisions had by this time been very much diminished, and I saw that it +would be speedily necessary, in the event of my continuing to reside in +the dingle, to lay in a fresh store. After my meal I went to the pit, +and filled a can with water, which I brought to the dingle, and then +again sat down on my stone. I considered what I should next do; it was +necessary to do something, or my life in this solitude would be +insupportable. What should I do? rouse up my forge and fashion a +horse-shoe; but I wanted nerve and heart for such an employment; +moreover, I had no motive for fatiguing myself in this manner; my own +horse was shod, no other was at hand, and it is hard to work for the sake +of working. What should I do? read? Yes, but I had no other book than +the Bible which the Welsh Methodist had given me; well, why not read the +Bible? I was once fond of reading the Bible; ay, but those days were +long gone by. However, I did not see what else I could do on the present +occasion--so I determined to read the Bible--it was in Welsh; at any rate +it might amuse me, so I took the Bible out of the sack, in which it was +lying in the cart, and began to read at the place where I chanced to open +it. I opened it at that part where the history of Saul commences. At +first I read with indifference, but after some time my attention was +riveted, and no wonder, I had come to the visitations of Saul, those dark +moments of his, when he did and said such unaccountable things; it almost +appeared to me that I was reading of myself; I, too, had my visitations, +dark as ever his were. O, how I sympathized with Saul, the tall dark +man! I had read his life before, but it had made no impression on me; it +had never occurred to me that I was like him, but I now sympathized with +Saul, for my own dark hour was but recently passed, and, perhaps, would +soon return again; the dark hour came frequently on Saul. + +Time wore away; I finished the book of Saul, and, closing the volume, +returned it to its place. I then returned to my seat on the stone, and +thought of what I had read, and what I had lately undergone. All at once +I thought I felt well-known sensations, a cramping of the breast, and a +tingling of the soles of the feet--they were what I had felt on the +preceding day; they were the forerunners of the fear. I sat motionless +on my stone, the sensations passed away, and the fear came not. Darkness +was now coming again over the earth; the dingle was again in deep shade; +I roused the fire with the breath of the bellows, and sat looking at the +cheerful glow; it was cheering and comforting. My little horse came now +and lay down on the ground beside the forge; I was not quite deserted. I +again ate some of the coarse food, and drank plentifully of the water +which I had fetched in the morning. I then put fresh fuel on the fire, +and sat for a long time looking on the blaze; I then went into my tent. + +I awoke, on my own calculation, about midnight--it was pitch dark, and +there was much fear upon me. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + + +Free and Independent--I Don't See Why--Oats--A Noise--Unwelcome +Visitors--What's the Matter?--Good Day to Ye--The Tall +Girl--Dovrefeld--Blow on the Face--Civil Enough--What's This?--Vulgar +Woman--Hands off--Gasping for Breath--Long Melford--A Pretty Manoeuvre--A +Long Draught--Signs of Animation--It Won't Do--No Malice--Bad People. + +Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the reader in the +preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom of the dingle; I had +just breakfasted, and had finished the last morsel of food which I had +brought with me to that solitude. + +"What shall I now do?" said I, to myself; "shall I continue here, or +decamp--this is a sad lonely spot--perhaps I had better quit it; but +whither should I go? the wide world is before me, but what can I do +therein? I have been in the world already without much success. No, I +had better remain here; the place is lonely, it is true, but here I am +free and independent, and can do what I please; but I can't remain here +without food. Well, I will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a +fresh supply of provision, and come back, turning my back upon the world, +which has turned its back upon me. I don't see why I should not write a +little sometimes; I have pens and an ink-horn, and for a writing-desk I +can place the Bible on my knee. I shouldn't wonder if I could write a +capital satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but first of all I +must think of supplying myself with food." + +I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to go to the +nearest town, with my little horse and cart, and procure what I +wanted--the nearest town, according to my best calculation, lay about +five miles distant; I had no doubt, however, that by using ordinary +diligence, I should be back before evening. In order to go lighter, I +determined to leave my tent standing as it was, and all the things which +I had purchased of the tinker, just as they were. "I need not be +apprehensive on their account," said I, to myself; "nobody will come here +to meddle with them--the great recommendation of this place is its +perfect solitude--I dare say that I could live here six months without +seeing a single human visage. I will now harness my little gry and be +off to the town." + +At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding on the bank +near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me, for by this +time he had become so accustomed to me, that he would obey my call for +all the world as if he had been one of the canine species. "Now," said I +to him, "we are going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats for +you--I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you to do your best, +and to draw me and the cart to the town with all possible speed, and to +bring us back; if you do your best, I promise you oats on your return. +You know the meaning of oats, Ambrol?" + +Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood me perfectly +well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once fed him during the +time he had been in my possession without saying the word in question to +him. Now, Ambrol, in the Gypsy tongue, signifieth a pear. + +So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I removed two or +three things from out it into the tent; I then lifted up the shafts, and +was just going to call to the pony to come and be fastened to them, when +I thought I heard a noise. + +I stood stock still supporting the shafts of the little cart in my hand, +and bending the right side of my face slightly towards the ground; but I +could hear nothing; the noise which I thought I had heard was not one of +those sounds which I was accustomed to hear in that solitude, the note of +a bird, or the rustling of a bough; it was--there I heard it again, a +sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst gravel. Could +it proceed from the road? Oh no, the road was too far distant for me to +hear the noise of anything moving along it. Again I listened, and now I +distinctly heard the sound of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the +dingle; nearer and nearer they drew, and presently the sound of wheels +was blended with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard a boisterous shout, +which seemed to proceed from the entrance of the dingle. "Here are folks +at hand," said I, letting the shaft of the cart fall to the ground, "is +it possible that they can be coming here?" + +My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon dispelled; the +wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or two, where once again in +motion, and were now evidently moving down the winding path which led to +my retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself near the +entrance of the open space, with my eyes fixed on the path down which my +unexpected and I may say unwelcome visitors were coming. Presently I +heard a stamping or sliding, as if of a horse in some difficulty; and +then a loud curse, and the next moment appeared a man and a horse and +cart; the former holding the head of the horse up to prevent him from +falling, of which he was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of +the path. Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted from me. +When, however, he had reached the bottom of the descent, he turned his +head, and perceiving me, as I stood bareheaded, without either coat or +waistcoat, about two yards from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent, +that the backward motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon his +haunches. + +"Why don't you move forward?" said a voice from behind, apparently that +of a female, "you are stopping up the way, and we shall be all down upon +one another;" and I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of +the cart. + +"Why don't you move forward, Jack?" said another voice, also of a female, +yet higher up the path. + +The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which he +had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much drawn back, his +left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still +grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till it +was clean down on its haunches. + +"What is the matter?" said the voice which I had last heard. + +"Get back with you, Belle, Moll," said the man, still staring at me, +"here's something not over-canny or comfortable." + +"What is it?" said the same voice; "let me pass, Moll, and I'll soon +clear the way," and I heard a kind of rushing down the path. + +"You need not be afraid," said I, addressing myself to the man, "I mean +you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself--come here to seek for +shelter--you need not be afraid; I am a Rome chabo by matriculation--one +of the right sort, and no mistake--Good day to ye, brother; I bids ye +welcome." + +The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment--then, turning to his horse +with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches, and led him and +the cart farther down to one side of the dingle, muttering as he passed +me, "Afraid. Hm!" + +I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking fellow; he +was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic frame; his face was +black and bluff, and sported an immense pair of whiskers, but with here +and there a grey hair, for his age could not be much under fifty. He +wore a faded blue frock coat, corduroys, and highlows--on his black head +was a kind of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona +handkerchief--I did not like the look of the man at all. + +"Afraid," growled the fellow, proceeding to unharness his horse; "that +was the word, I think." + +But other figures were now already upon the scene. Dashing past the +other horse and cart, which by this time had reached the bottom of the +pass, appeared an exceedingly tall woman, or rather girl, for she could +scarcely have been above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight bodice and +a blue stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and her hair, which +was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her complexion was +fair, and her features handsome, with a determined but open +expression--she was followed by another female, about forty, stout and +vulgar-looking, at whom I scarcely glanced, my whole attention being +absorbed by the tall girl. + +"What's the matter, Jack?" said the latter, looking at the man. + +"Only afraid, that's all," said the man, still proceeding with his work. + +"Afraid at what--at that lad? why, he looks like a ghost--I would engage +to thrash him with one hand." + +"You might beat me with no hands at all," said I, "fair damsel, only by +looking at me--I never saw such a face and figure, both regal--why, you +look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, +and could lick them all, though they were heroes-- + + "'On Dovrefeld in Norway, + Were once together seen, + The twelve heroic brothers + Of Ingeborg the queen.'" + +"None of your chaffing, young fellow," said the tall girl, "or I will +give you what shall make you wipe your face; be civil, or you will rue +it." + +"Well, perhaps I was a peg too high," said I, "I ask your pardon--here's +something a bit lower-- + + "'As I was jawing to the gav yeck divvus + I met on the drom miro Rommany chi--'" + +"None of your Rommany chies, young fellow," said the tall girl, looking +more menacingly than before, and clenching her fist, "you had better be +civil, I am none of your chies; and, though I keep company with gypsies, +or, to speak more proper, half and halfs, I would have you to know that I +come of Christian blood and parents, and was born in the great house of +Long Melford." + +"I have no doubt," said I, "that it was a great house; judging from your +size, I shouldn't wonder if you were born in a church." + +"Stay, Belle," said the man, putting himself before the young virago, who +was about to rush upon me, "my turn is first"--then, advancing to me in a +menacing attitude, he said, with a look of deep malignity, "'Afraid' was +the word, wasn't it?" + +"It was," said I, "but I think I wronged you; I should have said, aghast, +you exhibited every symptom of one labouring under uncontrollable fear." + +The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared to +be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could make up his mind, +the tall girl stepped forward, crying, "He's chaffing; let me at him;" +and, before I could put myself on my guard, she struck me a blow on the +face which had nearly brought me to the ground. + +"Enough," said I, putting my hand to my cheek; "you have now performed +your promise, and made me wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me +fairly the ground of this quarrel." + +"Grounds!" said the fellow; "didn't you say I was afraid; and if you +hadn't, who gave you leave to camp on my ground?" + +"Is it your ground?" said I. + +"A pretty question," said the fellow; "as if all the world didn't know +that. Do you know who I am?" + +"I guess I do," said I; "unless I am much mistaken, you are he whom folks +call the 'Flaming Tinman.' To tell you the truth, I'm glad we have met, +for I wished to see you. These are your two wives, I suppose; I greet +them. There's no harm done--there's room enough here for all of us--we +shall soon be good friends, I dare say; and when we are a little better +acquainted, I'll tell you my history." + +"Well, if that doesn't beat all," said the fellow. + +"I don't think he's chaffing now," said the girl, whose anger seemed to +have subsided on a sudden; "the young man speaks civil enough." + +"Civil," said the fellow, with an oath; "but that's just like you; with +you it is a blow, and all over. Civil! I suppose you would have him +stay here, and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to +my two morts." + +"Two morts," said the girl, kindling up, "where are they? Speak for one, +and no more. I am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be. I +tell you one thing, Black John, or Anselo, for t'other an't your name, +the same thing I told the young man here, be civil, or you will rue it." + +The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed +before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my little horse, +which was feeding amongst the trees. "What's this?" said he, rushing +forward and seizing the animal. "Why, as I am alive, this is the horse +of that mumping villain Slingsby." + +"It's his no longer; I bought it and paid for it." + +"It's mine now," said the fellow; "I swore I would seize it the next time +I found it on my beat; ay, and beat the master too." + +"I am not Slingsby." + +"All's one for that." + +"You don't say you will beat me?" + +"Afraid was the word." + +"I'm sick and feeble." + +"Hold up your fists." + +"Won't the horse satisfy you?" + +"Horse nor bellows either." + +"No mercy, then." + +"Here's at you." + +"Mind your eyes, Jack. There, you've got it. I thought so," shouted the +girl, as the fellow staggered back from a sharp blow in the eye. "I +thought he was chaffing at you all along." + +"Never mind, Anselo. You know what to do--go in," said the vulgar woman, +who had hitherto not spoken a word, but who now came forward with all the +look of a fury; "go in apopli; you'll smash ten like he." + +The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on smashing, but +stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on the nose. + +"You'll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that way," said the girl, +looking at me doubtfully. + +And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an eye, the +Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his frock-coat, and dashing off +his red night-cap, came rushing in more desperately than ever. To a +flush hit which he received in the mouth he paid as little attention as a +wild bull would have done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in +another, he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me. The fellow's +strength appeared to be tremendous. + +"Pay him off now," said the vulgar woman. The Flaming Tinman made no +reply, but planting his knee on my breast, seized my throat with two huge +horny hands. I gave myself up for dead, and probably should have been so +in another minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the +handkerchief which the fellow wore round his neck with a grasp nearly as +powerful as that with which he pressed my throat. + +"Do you call that fair play?" said she. + +"Hands off, Belle," said the other woman; "do you call it fair play to +interfere? hands off, or I'll be down upon you myself." + +But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard at the +handkerchief, that the Flaming Tinman was nearly throttled; suddenly +relinquishing his hold of me, he started on his feet, and aimed a blow at +my fair preserver, who avoided it, but said coolly:-- + +"Finish t'other business first, and then I'm your woman whenever you +like; but finish it fairly--no foul play when I'm by--I'll be the boy's +second, and Moll can pick up you when he happens to knock you down." + +The battle during the next ten minutes raged with considerable fury, but +it so happened that during this time I was never able to knock the +Flaming Tinman down, but on the contrary received six knock-down blows +myself. "I can never stand this," said I, as I sat on the knee of Belle, +"I am afraid I must give in; the Flaming Tinman hits very hard," and I +spat out a mouthful of blood. + +"Sure enough you'll never beat the Flaming Tinman in the way you +fight--it's of no use flipping at the Flaming Tinman with your left hand; +why don't you use your right?" + +"Because I'm not handy with it," said I; and then getting up, I once more +confronted the Flaming Tinman, and struck him six blows for his one, but +they were all left-handed blows, and the blow which the Flaming Tinman +gave me knocked me off my legs. + +"Now, will you use Long Melford?" said Belle, picking me up. + +"I don't know what you mean by Long Melford," said I, gasping for breath. + +"Why, this long right of yours," said Belle, feeling my right arm--"if +you do, I shouldn't wonder if you yet stand a chance." + +And now the Flaming Tinman was once more ready, much more ready than +myself. I, however, rose from my second's knee as well as my weakness +would permit me; on he came, striking left and right, appearing almost as +fresh as to wind and spirit as when he first commenced the combat, though +his eyes were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in two; on +he came, striking left and right, and I did not like his blows at all, or +even the wind of them, which was anything but agreeable, and I gave way +before him. At last he aimed a blow, which, had it taken full effect, +would doubtless have ended the battle, but owing to his slipping, the +fist only grazed my left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a +tree, close to which I had been driven; before the Tinman could recover +himself, I collected all my strength, and struck him beneath the ear, and +then fell to the ground completely exhausted, and it so happened that the +blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow. + +"Hurrah for Long Melford!" I heard Belle exclaim; "there is nothing like +Long Melford for shortness all the world over." + +At these words, I turned round my head as I lay, and perceived the +Flaming Tinman stretched upon the ground apparently senseless. "He is +dead," said the vulgar woman, as she vainly endeavoured to raise him up; +"he is dead; the best man in all the north country, killed in this +fashion, by a boy." Alarmed at these words, I made shift to get on my +feet; and, with the assistance of the woman, placed my fallen adversary +in a sitting posture. I put my hand to his heart, and felt a slight +pulsation--"He's not dead," said I, "only stunned; if he were let blood, +he would recover presently." I produced a penknife which I had in my +pocket, and, baring the arm of the Tinman, was about to make the +necessary incision, when the woman gave me a violent blow, and, pushing +me aside, exclaimed, "I'll tear the eyes out of your head, if you offer +to touch him. Do you want to complete your work, and murder him +outright, now he's asleep? you have had enough of his blood already." +"You are mad," said I, "I only seek to do him service. Well, if you +won't let him be blooded, fetch some water and fling it into his face, +you know where the pit is." + +"A pretty manoeuvre," said the woman; "leave my husband in the hands of +you and that limmer, who has never been true to us; I should find him +strangled or his throat cut when I came back." "Do you go," said I, to +the tall girl, "take the can and fetch some water from the pit." "You +had better go yourself," said the girl, wiping a tear as she looked on +the yet senseless form of the tinker; "you had better go yourself, if you +think water will do him good." I had by this time somewhat recovered my +exhausted powers, and, taking the can, I bent my steps as fast as I could +to the pit; arriving there, I lay down on the brink, took a long draught, +and then plunged my head into the water; after which I filled the can, +and bent my way back to the dingle. Before I could reach the path which +led down into its depths, I had to pass some way along its side; I had +arrived at a part immediately over the scene of the last encounter, where +the bank, overgrown with trees, sloped precipitously down. Here I heard +a loud sound of voices in the dingle; I stopped, and laying hold of a +tree, leaned over the bank and listened. The two women appeared to be in +hot dispute in the dingle. "It was all owing to you, you limmer," said +the vulgar woman to the other; "had you not interfered, the old man would +soon have settled the boy." + +"I'm for fair play and Long Melford," said the other. "If your old man, +as you call him, could have settled the boy fairly, he might, for all I +should have cared, but no foul work for me; and as for sticking the boy +with our gulleys when he comes back, as you proposed, I am not so fond of +your old man or you that I should oblige you in it, to my soul's +destruction." "Hold your tongue, or I'll--"; I listened no farther, but +hastened as fast as I could to the dingle. My adversary had just begun +to show signs of animation; the vulgar woman was still supporting him, +and occasionally cast glances of anger at the tall girl who was walking +slowly up and down. I lost no time in dashing the greater part of the +water into the Tinman's face, whereupon he sneezed, moved his hands, and +presently looked round him. At first his looks were dull and heavy, and +without any intelligence at all; he soon, however, began to recollect +himself, and to be conscious of his situation; he cast a scowling glance +at me, then one of the deepest malignity at the tall girl, who was still +walking about without taking much notice of what was going forward. At +last he looked at his right hand, which had evidently suffered from the +blow against the tree, and a half-stifled curse escaped his lips. The +vulgar woman now said something to him in a low tone, whereupon he looked +at her for a moment, and then got upon his legs. Again the vulgar woman +said something to him; her looks were furious, and she appeared to be +urging him on to attempt something. I observed that she had a clasped +knife in her hand. The fellow remained standing for some time as if +hesitating what to do, at last he looked at his hand, and, shaking his +head, said something to the woman which I did not understand. The tall +girl, however, appeared to overhear him, and, probably repeating his +words, said, "No, it won't do; you are right there, and now hear what I +have to say,--let bygones be bygones, and let us all shake hands, and +camp here, as the young man was saying just now." The man looked at her, +and then, without any reply, went to his horse, which was lying down +among the trees, and kicking it up, led it to the cart, to which he +forthwith began to harness it. The other cart and horse had remained +standing motionless during the whole affair which I have been recounting, +at the bottom of the pass. The woman now took the horse by the head, and +leading it with the cart into the open part of the dingle turned both +round, and then led them back, till the horse and cart had mounted a +little way up the ascent; she then stood still and appeared to be +expecting the man. During this proceeding Belle had stood looking on +without saying anything; at last, perceiving that the man had harnessed +his horse to the other cart, and that both he and the woman were about to +take their departure, she said, "You are not going, are you?" Receiving +no answer, she continued: "I tell you what, both of you, Black John, and +you Moll, his mort, this is not treating me over civilly,--however, I am +ready to put up with it, and go with you if you like, for I bear no +malice. I'm sorry for what has happened, but you have only yourselves to +thank for it. Now, shall I go with you, only tell me?" The man made no +manner of reply, but flogged his horse. The woman, however, whose +passions were probably under less control, replied, with a screeching +tone, "Stay where you are, you jade, and may the curse of Judas cling to +you,--stay with the bit of a mullo whom you helped, and my only hope is +that he may gulley you before he comes to be--Have you with us, indeed! +after what's past, no, nor nothing belonging to you. Fetch down your +mailla go-cart and live here with your chabo." She then whipped on the +horse, and ascended the pass, followed by the man. The carts were light, +and they were not long in ascending the winding path. I followed to see +that they took their departure. Arriving at the top, I found near the +entrance a small donkey-cart, which I concluded belonged to the girl. +The tinker and his mort were already at some distance; I stood looking +after them for a little time, then taking the donkey by the reins I led +it with the cart to the bottom of the dingle. Arrived there, I found +Belle seated on the stone by the fireplace. Her hair was all +dishevelled, and she was in tears. + +"They were bad people," said she, "and I did not like them, but they were +my only acquaintance in the wide world." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + + +At Tea--Vapours--Isopel Berners--Softly and Kindly--Sweet Pretty +Creature--Bread and Water--Two Sailors--Truth and Constancy--Very +Strangely. + +In the evening of that same day the tall girl and I sat at tea by the +fire, at the bottom of the dingle; the girl on a small stool, and myself, +as usual, upon my stone. + +The water which served for the tea had been taken from a spring of +pellucid water in the neighbourhood, which I had not had the good fortune +to discover, though it was well known to my companion, and to the +wandering people who frequented the dingle. + +"This tea is very good," said I, "but I cannot enjoy it as much as if I +were well: I feel very sadly." + +"How else should you feel," said the girl, "after fighting with the +Flaming Tinman? All I wonder is that you can feel at all! As for the +tea, it ought to be good, seeing that it cost me ten shillings a pound." + +"That's a great deal for a person in your station to pay." + +"In my station! I'd have you to know, young man--however, I haven't the +heart to quarrel with you, you look so ill; and after all, it is a good +sum to pay for one who travels the roads; but if I must have tea, I like +to have the best; and tea I must have, for I am used to it, though I +can't help thinking that it sometimes fills my head with strange +fancies--what some folk call vapours, making me weep and cry." + +"Dear me," said I, "I should never have thought that one of your size and +fierceness would weep and cry!" + +"My size and fierceness! I tell you what, young man, you are not over +civil, this evening; but you are ill, as I said before, and I shan't take +much notice of your language, at least for the present; as for my size, I +am not so much bigger than yourself; and as for being fierce, you should +be the last one to fling that at me. It is well for you that I can be +fierce sometimes. If I hadn't taken your part against blazing Bosville, +you wouldn't be now taking tea with me." + +"It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we'll let that +pass. So that man's name is Bosville; what's your own?" + +"Isopel Berners." + +"How did you get that name?" + +"I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions! will you have +another cup of tea?" + +"I was just going to ask for another." + +"Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as for my name, I +got it from my mother." + +"Your mother's name, then, was Isopel?" + +"Isopel Berners." + +"But had you never a father?" + +"Yes, I had a father," said the girl, sighing, "but I don't bear his +name." + +"Is it the fashion, then, in your country for children to bear their +mother's name?" + +"If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry with you. I have +told you my name, and whether my father's or mother's, I am not ashamed +of it." + +"It is a noble name." + +"There you are right, young man. The chaplain in the great house, where +I was born, told me it was a noble name; it was odd enough, he said, that +the only three noble names in the county were to be found in the great +house; mine was one; the other two were Devereux and Bohun." + +"What do you mean by the great house?" + +"The workhouse." + +"Is it possible that you were born there?" + +"Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, I will tell you +my whole tale. My father was an officer of the sea, and was killed at +sea, as he was coming home to marry my mother, Isopel Berners. He had +been acquainted with her, and had left her; but after a few months he +wrote her a letter, to say that he had no rest, and that he repented, and +that as soon as his ship came to port he would do her all the reparation +in his power. Well, young man, the very day before they reached port +they met the enemy, and there was a fight, and my father was killed, +after he had struck down six of the enemy's crew on their own deck; for +my father was a big man, as I have heard, and knew tolerably well how to +use his hands. And when my mother heard the news, she became half +distracted, and ran away into the fields and forests, totally neglecting +her business, for she was a small milliner; and so she ran demented about +the meads and forests for a long time, now sitting under a tree, and now +by the side of a river--at last she flung herself into some water, and +would have been drowned, had not some one been at hand and rescued her, +whereupon she was conveyed to the great house, lest she should attempt to +do herself further mischief, for she had neither friends nor parents--and +there she died three months after, having first brought me into the +world. She was a sweet pretty creature, I'm told, but hardly fit for +this world, being neither large, nor fierce, nor able to take her own +part. So I was born and bred in the great house, where I learnt to read +and sew, to fear God, and to take my own part. When I was fourteen I was +put out to service to a small farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I +did not stay long, for I was half starved, and otherwise ill-treated, +especially by my mistress, who one day attempting to knock me down with a +besom, I knocked her down with my fist, and went back to the great +house." + +"And how did they receive you in the great house?" + +"Not very kindly, young man--on the contrary, I was put into a dark room, +where I was kept a fortnight on bread and water; I did not much care, +however, being glad to have got back to the great house at any rate, the +place where I was born, and where my poor mother died, and in the great +house I continued two years longer, reading and sewing, fearing God, and +taking my own part when necessary. At the end of the two years I was +again put out to service, but this time to a rich farmer and his wife, +with whom, however, I did not live long, less time, I believe, than with +the poor ones, being obliged to leave for--" + +"Knocking your mistress down?" + +"No, young man, knocking my master down, who conducted himself improperly +towards me. This time I did not go back to the great house, having a +misgiving that they would not receive me, so I turned my back to the +great house where I was born, and where my poor mother died, and wandered +for several days, I know not whither, supporting myself on a few +halfpence which I chanced to have in my pocket. It happened one day, as +I sat under a hedge crying, having spent my last farthing, that a +comfortable-looking elderly woman came up in a cart, and seeing the state +in which I was, she stopped and asked what was the matter with me; I told +her some part of my story, whereupon she said, 'Cheer up, my dear, if you +like you shall go with me, and wait upon me.' Of course I wanted little +persuasion, so I got into the cart and went with her. She took me to +London and various other places, and I soon found that she was a +travelling woman, who went about the country with silks and linen. I was +of great use to her, more especially in those places where we met evil +company. Once, as we were coming from Dover, we were met by two sailors, +who stopped our cart, and would have robbed and stripped us. 'Let me get +down,' said I; so I got down, and fought with them both, till they turned +round and ran away. Two years I lived with the old gentlewoman, who was +very kind to me, almost as kind as a mother; at last she fell sick at a +place in Lincolnshire, and after a few days died, leaving me her cart and +stock in trade, praying me only to see her decently buried, which I did, +giving her a funeral fit for a gentlewoman. After which I travelled the +country melancholy enough for want of company, but so far fortunate, that +I could take my own part when any body was uncivil to me. At last, +passing through the valley of Todmorden, I formed the acquaintance of +Blazing Bosville and his wife, with whom I occasionally took journeys for +company's sake, for it is melancholy to travel about alone, even when one +can take one's own part. I soon found they were evil people; but, upon +the whole, they treated me civilly, and I sometimes lent them a little +money, so that we got on tolerably well together. He and I, it is true, +had once a dispute, and nearly came to blows, for once, when we were +alone, he wanted me to marry him, promising, if I would, to turn off Grey +Moll, or if I liked it better, to make her wait upon me as a +maid-servant; I never liked him much, but from that hour less than ever. +Of the two, I believe Grey Moll to be the best, for she is at any rate +true and faithful to him, and I like truth and constancy, don't you, +young man?" + +"Yes," said I, "they are very nice things. I feel very strangely." + +"How do you feel, young man?" + +"Very much afraid." + +"Afraid, at what? At the Flaming Tinman? Don't be afraid of him. He +won't come back, and if he did, he shouldn't touch you in this state. +I'd fight him for you, but he won't come back, so you needn't be afraid +of him." + +"I'm not afraid of the Flaming Tinman." + +"What, then, are you afraid of?" + +"The evil one." + +"The evil one," said the girl "where is he?" + +"Coming upon me." + +"Never heed," said the girl, "I'll stand by you." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. + + +Hubbub of Voices--No Offence--Nodding--The Guests. + +The kitchen of the public-house was a large one, and many people were +drinking in it; there was a confused hubbub of voices. + +I sat down on a bench behind a deal table, of which there were three or +four in the kitchen; presently a bulky man, in a green coat, of the +Newmarket cut, and without a hat, entered, and observing me, came up, and +in rather a gruff tone cried, "Want anything, young fellow?" + +"Bring me a jug of ale," said I; "if you are the master, as I suppose you +are, by that same coat of yours, and your having no hat on your head." + +"Don't be saucy, young fellow," said the landlord, for such he was, +"don't be saucy, or--" Whatever he intended to say, he left unsaid, for +fixing his eyes upon one of my hands, which I had placed by chance upon +the table, he became suddenly still. + +This was my left hand, which was raw and swollen, from the blows dealt on +a certain hard skull in a recent combat. "What do you mean by staring at +my hand so?" said I, withdrawing it from the table. + +"No offence, young man, no offence," said the landlord, in a quite +altered tone; "but the sight of your hand--," then observing that our +conversation began to attract the notice of the guests in the kitchen, he +interrupted himself, saying in an under tone, "But mum's the word for the +present, I will go and fetch the ale." + +In about a minute he returned, with a jug of ale foaming high. "Here's +your health," said he, blowing off the foam, and drinking; but perceiving +that I looked rather dissatisfied, he murmured, "All's right, I glory in +you; but mum's the word." Then placing the jug on the table, he gave me +a confidential nod, and swaggered out of the room. + +What can the silly impertinent fellow mean, thought I; but the ale was +now before me, and I hastened to drink, for my weakness was great, and my +mind was full of dark thoughts, the remains of the indescribable horror +of the preceding night. It may kill me, thought I, as I drank deep, but +who cares, anything is better than what I have suffered. I drank deep, +and then leaned back against the wall; it appeared as if a vapour was +stealing up into my brain, gentle and benign, soothing and stilling the +horror and the fear; higher and higher it mounted, and I felt nearly +overcome; but the sensation was delicious, compared with that I had +lately experienced, and now I felt myself nodding; and, bending down, I +laid my head on the table on my folded hands. + +And in that attitude I remained some time, perfectly unconscious. At +length, by degrees, perception returned, and I lifted up my head. I felt +somewhat dizzy and bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn itself +from me. And now, once more, I drank of the jug; this second draught did +not produce an overpowering effect upon me--it revived and strengthened +me--I felt a new man. + +I looked around me: the kitchen had been deserted by the greater part of +the guests; besides myself, only four remained; these were seated at the +farther end. One was haranguing fiercely and eagerly; he was abusing +England, and praising America. At last he exclaimed, "So when I gets to +New York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the King." + +That man must be a Radical, thought I. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII. + + +A Radical--Simple-Looking Man--Church of England--The +President--Aristocracy--Gin and Water--Mending the Roads--Persecuting +Church--Simon de Montford--Broken Bells--Get Up--Not for the Pope--Quay +of New York--Mumpers' Dingle--No Wish to Fight--First Draught--A Poor +Pipe--Half-a-crown Broke. + +The individual whom I supposed to be a Radical, after a short pause, +again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built fellow of about +thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white hat on his head, a +snuff-coloured coat on his back, and when he was not speaking, a pipe in +his mouth. "Who would live in such a country as England?" he shouted. + +"There is no country like America--" said his nearest neighbour, a man +also in a white hat, and of a very ill-favoured countenance--"there is no +country like America," said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth, "I +think I shall--" and here he took a draught from a jug, the contents of +which he appeared to have in common with the other,--"go to America one +of these days myself." + +"Poor old England is not such a bad country, after all," said a third, a +simple-looking man in a labouring dress, who sat smoking a pipe without +anything before him. "If there was but a little more work to be got I +should have nothing to say against her. I hope, however--" + +"You hope, who cares what you hope?" interrupted the first, in a savage +tone; "you are one of those sneaking hounds who are satisfied with dog's +wages, a bit of bread and a kick. Work, indeed, who, with the spirit of +a man, would work for a country where there is neither liberty of speech, +nor of action, a land full of beggarly aristocracy, hungry +borough-mongers, insolent parsons, and 'their wives and daughters,' as +William Cobbett says, in his 'Register.'" + +"Ah, the Church of England has been a source of incalculable mischief to +these realms," said another. + +The person who uttered these words sat rather aloof from the rest; he was +dressed in a long black surtout. I could not see much of his face, +partly owing to his keeping it very much directed to the ground, and +partly owing to a large slouched hat, which he wore; I observed, however, +that his hair was of a reddish tinge. On the table near him was a glass +and spoon. + +"You are quite right," said the first, alluding to what this last had +said, "the Church of England has done incalculable mischief here. I +value no religion three halfpence, for I believe in none; but the one +that I hate most is the Church of England; so when I get to New York, +after I have shown the fine fellows on the quay a spice of me, by --- the +King, I'll toss up my hat again, and the --- Church of England too." + +"And suppose the people of New York should clap you in the stocks?" said +I. + +These words drew upon me the attention of the whole four. The Radical +and his companion stared at me ferociously; the man in black gave me a +peculiar glance from under his slouched hat; the simple-looking man in +the labouring dress laughed. + +"What are you laughing at, you fool?" said the Radical, turning and +looking at the other, who appeared to be afraid of him, "hold your noise; +and a pretty fellow you," said he, looking at me, "to come here, and +speak against the great American nation." + +"I speak against the great American nation?" said I, "I rather paid them +a compliment." + +"By supposing they would put me in the stocks. Well, I call it abusing +them, to suppose they would do any such thing--stocks, indeed!--there are +no stocks in all the land. Put me in the stocks? why, the President will +come down to the quay, and ask me to dinner, as soon as he hears what I +have said about the King and Church." + +"I shouldn't wonder," said I, "if you go to America, you will say of the +President and country what now you say of the King and Church, and cry +out for somebody to send you back to England." + +The Radical dashed his pipe to pieces against the table. "I tell you +what, young fellow, you are a spy of the aristocracy, sent here to kick +up a disturbance." + +"Kicking up a disturbance," said I, "is rather inconsistent with the +office of spy. If I were a spy, I should hold my head down, and say +nothing." + +The man in black partially raised his head, and gave me another peculiar +glance. + +"Well, if you ar'n't sent to spy, you are sent to bully, to prevent +people speaking, and to run down the great American nation; but you +sha'n't bully me. I say down with the aristocracy, the beggarly British +aristocracy. Come, what have you to say to that?" + +"Nothing," said I. + +"Nothing!" repeated the Radical. + +"No," said I, "down with them as soon as you can." + +"As soon as I can! I wish I could. But I can down with a bully of +theirs. Come, will you fight for them?" + +"No," said I. + +"You won't?" + +"No," said I; "though from what I have seen of them I should say they are +tolerably able to fight for themselves." + +"You won't fight for them," said the Radical triumphantly; "I thought so; +all bullies, especially those of the aristocracy, are cowards. Here, +landlord," said he, raising his voice, and striking against the table +with the jug, "some more ale--he won't fight for his friends." + +"A white feather," said his companion. + +"He! he!" tittered the man in black. + +"Landlord, landlord," shouted the Radical, striking the table with the +jug louder than before. "Who called?" said the landlord, coming in at +last. "Fill this jug again," said the other, "and be quick about it." +"Does any one else want anything?" said the landlord. "Yes," said the +man in black; "you may bring me another glass of gin and water." "Cold?" +said the landlord. "Yes," said the man in black, "with a lump of sugar +in it." + +"Gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it," said I, and struck the +table with my fist. + +"Take some?" said the landlord, inquiringly. + +"No," said I, "only something came into my head." + +"He's mad," said the man in black. + +"Not he," said the Radical. "He's only shamming; he knows his master is +here, and therefore has recourse to those manoeuvres, but it won't do. +Come, landlord, what are you staring at? Why don't you obey your orders? +Keeping your customers waiting in this manner is not the way to increase +your business." + +The landlord looked at the Radical, and then at me. At last, taking the +jug and glass, he left the apartment, and presently returned with each +filled with its respective liquor. He placed the jug with beer before +the Radical, and the glass with the gin and water before the man in +black, and then, with a wink to me, he sauntered out. + +"Here is your health, sir," said the man of the snuff-coloured coat, +addressing himself to the man in black, "I honour you for what you said +about the Church of England. Every one who speaks against the Church of +England has my warm heart. Down with it, I say, and may the stones of it +be used for mending the roads, as my friend William says in his +Register." + +The man in black, with a courteous nod of his head, drank to the man in +the snuff-coloured coat. "With respect to the steeples," said he, "I am +not altogether of your opinion; they might be turned to better account +than to serve to mend the roads; they might still be used as places of +worship, but not for the worship of the Church of England. I have no +fault to find with the steeples, it is the Church itself which I am +compelled to arraign, but it will not stand long, the respectable part of +its ministers are already leaving it. It is a bad Church, a persecuting +Church." + +"Whom does it persecute?" said I. + +The man in black glanced at me slightly, and then replied slowly, "The +Catholics." + +"And do those whom you call Catholics never persecute?" said I. + +"Never," said the man in black. + +"Did you ever read 'Fox's Book of Martyrs?'" said I. + +"He! he!" tittered the man in black, "there is not a word of truth in +'Fox's Book of Martyrs.'" + +"Ten times more than in the 'Flos Sanctorum,'" said I. + +The man in black looked at me, but made no answer. + +"And what say you to the Massacre of the Albigenses and the Vaudois, +'whose bones lie scattered on the cold Alp,' or the Revocation of the +Edict of Nantes?" + +The man in black made no answer. + +"Go to," said I, "it is because the Church of England is not a +persecuting Church, that those whom you call the respectable part are +leaving her; it is because they can't do with the poor Dissenters what +Simon de Montford did with the Albigenses, and the cruel Piedmontese with +the Vaudois, that they turn to bloody Rome; the Pope will no doubt +welcome them, for the Pope, do you see, being very much in want, will +welcome--" + +"Hollo!" said the Radical, interfering. "What are you saying about the +Pope? I say hurrah for the Pope: I value no religion three halfpence, as +I said before, but if I were to adopt any, it should be the Popish, as +it's called, because I conceives the Popish to be the grand enemy of the +Church of England, of the beggarly aristocracy, and the borough-monger +system, so I won't hear the Pope abused while I am by. Come, don't look +fierce. You won't fight, you know, I have proved it; but I will give you +another chance--I will fight for the Pope, will you fight against him?" + +"O dear me, yes," said I, getting up and stepping forward. "I am a quiet +peaceable young man, and, being so, am always ready to fight against the +Pope--the enemy of all peace and quiet--to refuse fighting for the +aristocracy is a widely different thing from refusing to fight against +the Pope--so come on, if you are disposed to fight for him. To the Pope +broken bells, to Saint James broken shells. No Popish vile oppression, +but the Protestant succession. Confusion to the Groyne, hurrah for the +Boyne, for the army at Clonmel, and the Protestant young gentlemen who +live there as well." + +"An Orangeman," said the man in black. + +"Not a Platitude," said I. + +The man in black gave a slight start. + +"Amongst that family," said I, "no doubt something may be done, but +amongst the Methodist preachers I should conceive that the success would +not be great." + +The man in black sat quite still. + +"Especially amongst those who have wives," I added. + +The man in black stretched his hand towards his gin and water. + +"However," said I, "we shall see what the grand movement will bring +about, and the results of the lessons in elocution." + +The man in black lifted the glass up to his mouth, and in doing so, let +the spoon fall. + +"But what has this to do with the main question?" said I, "I am waiting +here to fight against the Pope." + +"Come, Hunter," said the companion of the man in the snuff-coloured coat, +"get up, and fight for the Pope." + +"I don't care for the young fellow," said the man in the snuff-coloured +coat. + +"I know you don't," said the other, "so get up, and serve him out." + +"I could serve out three like him," said the man in the snuff-coloured +coat. + +"So much the better for you," said the other, "the present work will be +all the easier for you, get up, and serve him out at once." + +The man in the snuff-coloured coat did not stir. + +"Who shows the white feather now?" said the simple-looking man. + +"He! he! he!" tittered the man in black. + +"Who told you to interfere?" said the Radical, turning ferociously +towards the simple-looking man; "say another word, and I'll--And you!" +said he, addressing himself to the man in black, "a pretty fellow you to +turn against me, after I had taken your part. I tell you what, you may +fight for yourself. I'll see you and your Pope in the pit of Eldon, +before I fight for either of you, so make the most of it." + +"Then you won't fight?" said I. + +"Not for the Pope," said the Radical; "I'll see the Pope--" + +"Dear me!" said I, "not fight for the Pope, whose religion you would turn +to, if you were inclined for any. I see how it is, you are not fond of +fighting; but I'll give you another chance--you were abusing the Church +of England just now. I'll fight for it--will you fight against it?" + +"Come, Hunter," said the other, "get up, and fight against the Church of +England." + +"I have no particular quarrel against the Church of England," said the +man in the snuff-coloured coat, "my quarrel is with the aristocracy. If +I said anything against the Church, it was merely for a bit of corollary, +as Master William Cobbett would say; the quarrel with the Church belongs +to this fellow in black; so let him carry it on. However," he continued +suddenly, "I won't slink from the matter either; it shall never be said +by the fine fellows on the quay of New York, that I wouldn't fight +against the Church of England. So down with the beggarly aristocracy, +the Church, and the Pope, to the bottom of the pit of Eldon, and may the +Pope fall first, and the others upon him." + +Thereupon, dashing his hat on the table, he placed himself in an attitude +of offence, and rushed forward. He was, as I have said before, a +powerful fellow, and might have proved a dangerous antagonist, more +especially to myself, who, after my recent encounter with the Flaming +Tinman, and my wrestlings with the evil one, was in anything but fighting +order. Any collision, however, was prevented by the landlord, who, +suddenly appearing, thrust himself between us. "There shall be no +fighting here," said he, "no one shall fight in this house, except it be +with myself; so if you two have anything to say to each other, you had +better go into the field behind the house. But you fool," said he, +pushing Hunter violently on the breast, "do you know whom you are going +to tackle with--this is the young chap that beat Blazing Bosville, only +as late as yesterday, in Mumpers' Dingle. Grey Moll told me all about it +last night, when she came for some brandy for her husband, who, she said, +had been half killed; and she described the young man to me so closely, +that I knew him at once, that is, as soon as I saw how his left hand was +bruised, for she told me he was a left hand hitter. Ar'n't it all true, +young man? Ar'n't you he that beat Flaming Bosville in Mumpers' Dingle?" +"I never beat Flaming Bosville," said I, "he beat himself. Had he not +struck his hand against a tree, I shouldn't be here at the present +moment." "Hear! hear!" said the landlord, "now that's just as it should +be; I like a modest man, for, as the parson says, nothing sits better +upon a young man than modesty. I remember, when I was young, fighting +with Tom, of Hopton, the best man that ever pulled off coat in England. +I remember, too, that I won the battle; for I happened to hit Tom, of +Hopton, in the mark, as he was coming in, so that he lost his wind, and +falling squelch on the ground, do ye see, he lost the battle, though I am +free to confess that he was a better man than myself; indeed, the best +man that ever fought in England; yet still I won the battle, as every +customer of mine, and everybody within twelve miles round, has heard over +and over again. Now, Mr. Hunter, I have one thing to say, if you choose +to go into the field behind the house, and fight the young man, you can. +I'll back him for ten pounds; but no fighting in my kitchen--because why? +I keeps a decent kind of an establishment." + +"I have no wish to fight the young man," said Hunter; "more especially as +he has nothing to say for the aristocracy. If he chose to fight for +them, indeed--but he won't, I know; for I see he's a decent, respectable +young man; and, after all, fighting is a blackguard way of settling a +dispute; so I have no wish to fight; however, there is one thing I'll +do," said he, uplifting his fist; "I'll fight this fellow in black here +for half-a-crown, or for nothing, if he pleases; it was he that got up +the last dispute between me and the young man, with his Pope and his +nonsense; so I will fight him for anything he pleases, and perhaps the +young man will be my second; whilst you--" + +"Come, Doctor," said the landlord, "or whatsoever you be, will you go +into the field with Hunter? I'll second you, only you must back +yourself. I'll lay five pounds on Hunter, if you are inclined to back +yourself; and will help you to win it as far, do you see, as a second +can; because why? I always likes to do the fair thing." + +"Oh! I have no wish to fight," said the man in black, hastily; "fighting +is not my trade. If I have given any offence, I beg anybody's pardon." + +"Landlord," said I, "what have I to pay?" + +"Nothing at all," said the landlord, "glad to see you. This is the first +time that you have been at my house, and I never charge new customers, at +least customers such as you, anything for the first draught. You'll come +again, I dare say; shall always be glad to see you. I won't take it," +said he, as I put sixpence on the table; "I won't take it." + +"Yes, you shall," said I; "but not in payment for anything I have had +myself: it shall serve to pay for a jug of ale for that gentleman," said +I, pointing to the simple-looking individual; "he is smoking a poor pipe. +I do not mean to say that a pipe is a bad thing; but a pipe without ale, +do you see--" + +"Bravo!" said the landlord, "that's just the conduct I like." + +"Bravo!" said Hunter. "I shall be happy to drink with the young man +whenever I meet him at New York, where, do you see, things are better +managed than here." + +"If I have given offence to anybody," said the man in black, "I repeat +that I ask pardon--more especially to the young gentleman, who was +perfectly right to stand up for his religion, just as I--not that I am of +any particular religion, no more than this honest gentleman here," bowing +to Hunter; "but I happen to know something of the Catholics--several +excellent friends of mine are Catholics--and of a surety the Catholic +religion is an ancient religion, and a widely-extended religion though it +certainly is not a universal religion, but it has of late made +considerable progress, even amongst those nations who have been +particularly opposed to it--amongst the Prussians and the Dutch, for +example, to say nothing of the English; and then, in the East, amongst +the Persians, among the Armenians." + +"The Armenians," said I; "O dear me, the Armenians--" + +"Have you anything to say about these people, sir?" said the man in +black, lifting up his glass to his mouth. + +"I have nothing further to say," said I, "than that the roots of Ararat +are occasionally found to be deeper than those of Rome." + +"There's half-a-crown broke," said the landlord, as the man in black let +fall the glass, which was broken to pieces on the floor. "You will pay +me the damage, friend, before you leave this kitchen. I like to see +people drink freely in my kitchen, but not too freely, and I hate +breakages; because why? I keeps a decent kind of an establishment." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIX. + + +The Dingle--Give them Ale--Not over Complimentary--America--Many +People--Washington--Promiscuous Company--Language of the Roads--The Old +Women--Numerals--The Man in Black. + +The public-house where the scenes which I have attempted to describe in +the preceding chapters took place, was at the distance of about two miles +from the dingle. The sun was sinking in the west by the time I returned +to the latter spot. I found Belle seated by a fire, over which her +kettle was suspended. During my absence she had prepared herself a kind +of tent, consisting of large hoops covered over with tarpaulin, quite +impenetrable to rain, however violent. "I am glad you are returned," +said she, as soon as she perceived me; "I began to be anxious about you. +Did you take my advice?" + +"Yes," said I, "I went to the public-house and drank ale as you advised +me; it cheered, strengthened, and drove away the horror from my mind,--I +am much beholden to you." + +"I knew it would do you good," said Belle; "I remembered that when the +poor women in the great house were afflicted with hysterics and fearful +imaginings, the surgeon, who was a good, kind man, used to say, 'Ale, +give them ale, and let it be strong.'" + +"He was no advocate for tea, then?" said I. + +"He had no objection to tea; but he used to say, 'Everything in its +season.' Shall we take ours now--I have waited for you." + +"I have no objection," said I; "I feel rather heated, and at present +should prefer tea to ale--'Everything in its season,' as the surgeon +said." + +Thereupon Belle prepared tea, and, as we were taking it, she said, "What +did you see and hear at the public-house?" + +"Really," said I, "you appear to have your full portion of curiosity; +what matters it to you what I saw and heard at the public-house?" + +"It matters very little to me," said Belle; "I merely inquired of you, +for the sake of a little conversation--you were silent, and it is +uncomfortable for two people to sit together without opening their +lips--at least I think so." + +"One only feels uncomfortable," said I, "in being silent, when one +happens to be thinking of the individual with whom one is in company. To +tell you the truth, I was not thinking of my companion, but of certain +company with whom I had been at the public-house." + +"Really, young man," said Belle, "you are not over complimentary; but who +may this wonderful company have been--some young--?" and here Belle +stopped. + +"No," said I, "there was no young person--if person you were going to +say. There was a big portly landlord, whom I dare say you have seen; a +noisy savage Radical, who wanted at first to fasten upon me a quarrel +about America, but who subsequently drew in his horns; then there was a +strange fellow, a prowling priest, I believe, whom I have frequently +heard of, who at first seemed disposed to side with the Radical against +me, and afterwards with me against the Radical. There, you know my +company, and what took place." + +"Was there no one else?" said Belle. + +"You are mighty curious," said I. "No, none else, except a poor simple +mechanic, and some common company, who soon went away." + +Belle looked at me for a moment, and then appeared to be lost in +thought--"America!" said she, musingly--"America!" + +"What of America?" said I. + +"I have heard that it is a mighty country." + +"I dare say it is," said I; "I have heard my father say that the +Americans are first-rate marksmen." + +"I heard nothing about that," said Belle; "what I heard was, that it is a +great and goodly land, where people can walk about without jostling, and +where the industrious can always find bread; I have frequently thought of +going thither." + +"Well," said I, "the Radical in the public-house will perhaps be glad of +your company thither; he is as great an admirer of America as yourself, +though I believe on different grounds." + +"I shall go by myself," said Belle, "unless--unless that should happen +which is not likely--I am not fond of Radicals no more than I am of +scoffers and mockers." + +"Do you mean to say that I am a scoffer and mocker?" + +"I don't wish to say you are," said Belle; "but some of your words sound +strangely like scoffing and mocking. I have now one thing to beg, which +is, that if you have anything to say against America, you would speak it +out boldly." + +"What should I have to say against America? I never was there." + +"Many people speak against America who never were there." + +"Many people speak in praise of America who never were there; but with +respect to myself, I have not spoken for or against America." + +"If you liked America you would speak in its praise." + +"By the same rule, if I disliked America I should speak against it." + +"I can't speak with you," said Belle; "but I see you dislike the +country." + +"The country!" + +"Well, the people--don't you?" + +"I do." + +"Why do you dislike them?" + +"Why, I have heard my father say that the American marksmen, led on by a +chap of the name of Washington, sent the English to the right-about in +double-quick time." + +"And that is your reason for disliking the Americans?" + +"Yes," said I, "that is my reason for disliking them." + +"Will you take another cup of tea?" said Belle. + +I took another cup; we were again silent. "It is rather uncomfortable," +said I, at last, "for people to sit together without having anything to +say." + +"Were you thinking of your company?" said Belle. + +"What company?" said I. + +"The present company." + +"The present company! oh, ah!--I remember that I said one only feels +uncomfortable in being silent with a companion, when one happens to be +thinking of the companion. Well, I had been thinking of you the last two +or three minutes, and had just come to the conclusion, that to prevent us +both feeling occasionally uncomfortable towards each other, having +nothing to say, it would be as well to have a standing subject, on which +to employ our tongues. Belle, I have determined to give you lessons in +Armenian." + +"What is Armenian?" + +"Did you ever hear of Ararat?" + +"Yes, that was the place where the ark rested; I have heard the chaplain +in the great house talk of it; besides, I have read of it in the Bible." + +"Well, Armenian is the speech of people of that place, and I should like +to teach it you." + +"To prevent--" + +"Ay, ay, to prevent our occasionally feeling uncomfortable together. +Your acquiring it besides might prove of ulterior advantage to us both; +for example, suppose you and I were in promiscuous company, at Court, for +example, and you had something to communicate to me which you did not +wish anyone else to be acquainted with, how safely you might communicate +it to me in Armenian." + +"Would not the language of the roads do as well?" said Belle. + +"In some places it would," said I, "but not at Court, owing to its +resemblance to thieves' slang. There is Hebrew, again, which I was +thinking of teaching you, till the idea of being presented at Court made +me abandon it, from the probability of our being understood, in the event +of our speaking it, by at least half a dozen people in our vicinity. +There is Latin, it is true, or Greek, which we might speak aloud at Court +with perfect confidence of safety, but upon the whole I should prefer +teaching you Armenian, not because it would be a safer language to hold +communication with at Court, but because, not being very well grounded in +it myself, I am apprehensive that its words and forms may escape from my +recollection, unless I have sometimes occasion to call them forth." + +"I am afraid we shall have to part company before I have learnt it," said +Belle; "in the mean time, if I wish to say anything to you in private, +somebody being by, shall I speak in the language of the roads?" + +"If no roadster is nigh, you may," said I, "and I will do my best to +understand you. Belle, I will now give you a lesson in Armenian." + +"I suppose you mean no harm?" said Belle. + +"Not in the least; I merely propose the thing to prevent our occasionally +feeling uncomfortable together. Let us begin." + +"Stop till I have removed the tea-things," said Belle; and, getting up, +she removed them to her own encampment. + +"I am ready," said Belle, returning, and taking her former seat, "to join +with you in anything which will serve to pass away the time agreeably, +provided there is no harm in it." + +"Belle," said I, "I have determined to commence the course of Armenian +lessons by teaching you the numerals; but, before I do that, it will be +as well to tell you that the Armenian language is called Haik." + +"I am sure that word will hang upon my memory," said Belle. + +"Why hang upon it?" said I. + +"Because the old women in the great house used to call so the +chimney-hook, on which they hung the kettle; in like manner, on the hake +of my memory I will hang your hake." + +"Good!" said I, "you will make an apt scholar; but, mind, that I did not +say hake, but haik; the words are, however, very much alike; and, as you +observe, upon your hake you may hang my haik. We will now proceed to the +numerals." + +"What are numerals?" said Belle. + +"Numbers. I will say the Haikan numbers up to ten. There, have you +heard them?"--"Yes." "Well, try and repeat them." + +"I only remember number one," said Belle, "and that because it is me." + +"I will repeat them again," said I, "and pay great attention. Now, try +again." + +"Me, jergo, earache." + +"I neither said jergo, nor earache. I said yergou and yerek. Belle, I +am afraid I shall have some difficulty with you as a scholar." + +Belle made no answer. Her eyes were turned in the direction of the +winding path, which led from the bottom of the hollow where we were +seated, to the plain above. "Gorgio shunella," she said, at length, in a +low voice. + +"Pure Rommany," said I; "where?" I added, in a whisper. + +"Dovey odoi," said Belle, nodding with her head towards the path. + +"I will soon see who it is," said I; and starting up, I rushed towards +the pathway, intending to lay violent hands on any one I might find +lurking in its windings. Before, however, I had reached its +commencement, a man, somewhat above the middle height, advanced from it +into the dingle, in whom I recognised the man in black, whom I had seen +in the public-house. + + + + +CHAPTER XC. + + +Buona Sera--Rather Apprehensive--The Steep Bank--Lovely +Virgin--Hospitality--Tory Minister--Custom of the Country--Sneering +Smile--Wandering Zigan--Gypsies' Cloaks--Certain Faculty--Acute +Answer--Various Ways--Adio--Best Hollands. + +The man in black and myself stood opposite to each other for a minute or +two in silence; I will not say that we confronted each other that time, +for the man in black, after a furtive glance, did not look me in the +face, but kept his eyes fixed, apparently on the leaves of a bunch of +ground nuts which were growing at my feet. At length, looking around the +dingle, he exclaimed, "Buona Sera, I hope I don't intrude." + +"You have as much right here," said I, "as I or my companion; but you had +no right to stand listening to our conversation." + +"I was not listening," said the man, "I was hesitating whether to advance +or retire; and if I heard some of your conversation, the fault was not +mine." + +"I do not see why you should have hesitated if your intentions were +good," said I. + +"I think the kind of place in which I found myself, might excuse some +hesitation," said the man in black, looking around; "moreover, from what +I had seen of your demeanour at the public-house, I was rather +apprehensive that the reception I might experience at your hands might be +more rough than agreeable." + +"And what may have been your motive for coming to this place?" said I. + +"Per far visita a sua signoria, ecco il motivo." + +"Why do you speak to me in that gibberish," said I; "do you think I +understand it?" + +"It is not Armenian," said the man in black; "but it might serve in a +place like this, for the breathing of a little secret communication, were +any common roadster near at hand. It would not do at Court, it is true, +being the language of singing women, and the like; but we are not at +Court--when we are, I can perhaps summon up a little indifferent Latin, +if I have anything private to communicate to the learned Professor." + +At the conclusion of this speech the man in black lifted up his head, +and, for some moments, looked me in the face. The muscles of his own +seemed to be slightly convulsed, and his mouth opened in a singular +manner. + +"I see," said I, "that for some time you were standing near me, and my +companion, in the mean act of listening." + +"Not at all," said the man in black; "I heard from the steep bank above, +that to which I have now alluded, whilst I was puzzling myself to find +the path which leads to your retreat. I made, indeed, nearly the compass +of the whole thicket before I found it." + +"And how did you know that I was here?" I demanded. + +"The landlord of the public-house, with whom I had some conversation +concerning you, informed me that he had no doubt I should find you in +this place, to which he gave me instructions not very clear. But now I +am here, I crave permission to remain a little time, in order that I may +hold some communion with you." + +"Well," said I, "since you are come, you are welcome, please to step this +way." + +Thereupon I conducted the man in black to the fire-place, where Belle was +standing, who had risen from her stool on my springing up to go in quest +of the stranger. The man in black looked at her with evident curiosity, +then making her rather a graceful bow, "Lovely virgin," said he, +stretching out his hand, "allow me to salute your fingers." + +"I am not in the habit of shaking hands with strangers," said Belle. + +"I did not presume to request to shake hands with you," said the man in +black, "I merely wished to be permitted to salute with my lips the +extremity of your two fore-fingers." + +"I never permit anything of the kind," said Belle, "I do not approve of +such unmanly ways, they are only befitting those who lurk in corners or +behind trees, listening to the conversation of people who would fain be +private." + +"Do you take me for a listener, then?" said the man in black. + +"Ay, indeed I do," said Belle; "the young man may receive your excuses, +and put confidence in them if he please, but for my part I neither admit +them, nor believe them;" and thereupon flinging her long hair back, which +was hanging over her cheeks, she seated herself on her stool. + +"Come, Belle," said I, "I have bidden the gentleman welcome; I beseech +you, therefore, to make him welcome, he is a stranger, where we are at +home, therefore, even did we wish him away, we are bound to treat him +kindly." + +"That's not English doctrine," said the man in black. + +"I thought the English prided themselves on their hospitality," said I. + +"They do so," said the man in black; "they are proud of showing +hospitality to people above them, that is to those who do not want it, +but of the hospitality which you were now describing, and which is +Arabian, they know nothing. No Englishman will tolerate another in his +house, from whom he does not expect advantage of some kind, and to those +from whom he does, he can be civil enough. An Englishman thinks that, +because he is in his own house, he has a right to be boorish and brutal +to any one who is disagreeable to him, as all those are who are really in +want of assistance. Should a hunted fugitive rush into an Englishman's +house, beseeching protection, and appealing to the master's feelings of +hospitality, the Englishman would knock him down in the passage." + +"You are too general," said I, "in your strictures; Lord ---, the +unpopular Tory minister, was once chased through the streets of London by +a mob, and, being in danger of his life, took shelter in the shop of a +Whig linendraper, declaring his own unpopular name, and appealing to the +linendraper's feelings of hospitality; whereupon the linendraper, utterly +forgetful of all party rancour, nobly responded to the appeal, and +telling his wife to conduct his lordship upstairs, jumped over the +counter, with his ell in his hand, and placing himself with half-a-dozen +of his assistants at the door of his boutique, manfully confronted the +mob, telling them that he would allow himself to be torn to a thousand +pieces, ere he would permit them to injure a hair of his lordship's head; +what do you think of that?" + +"He! he! he!" tittered the man in black. + +"Well," said I, "I am afraid your own practice is not very different from +that which you have been just now describing, you sided with the Radical +in the public-house against me, as long as you thought him the most +powerful, and then turned against him, when you saw he was cowed. What +have you to say to that?" + +"O! when one is in Rome, I mean England, one must do as they do in +England, I was merely conforming to the custom of the country, he! he! +but I beg your pardon here, as I did in the public-house. I made a +mistake." + +"Well," said I, "we will drop the matter, but pray seat yourself on that +stone, and I will sit down on the grass near you." + +The man in black, after proffering two or three excuses for occupying +what he supposed to be my seat, sat down upon the stone, and I squatted +down, gypsy fashion, just opposite to him, Belle sitting on her stool a +slight distance on my right. After a time I addressed him thus. "Am I +to reckon this a mere visit of ceremony? should it prove so, it will be, +I believe, the first visit of the kind ever paid me." + +"Will you permit me to ask," said the man in black,--"the weather is very +warm," said he, interrupting himself, and taking off his hat. + +I now observed that he was partly bald, his red hair having died away +from the fore part of his crown--his forehead was high, his eyebrows +scanty, his eyes grey and sly, with a downward tendency, his nose was +slightly aquiline, his mouth rather large--a kind of sneering smile +played continually on his lips, his complexion was somewhat rubicund. + +"A bad countenance," said Belle, in the language of the roads, observing +that my eyes were fixed on his face. + +"Does not my countenance please you, fair damsel?" said the man in black, +resuming his hat and speaking in a peculiarly gentle voice. + +"How," said I, "do you understand the language of the roads?" + +"As little as I do Armenian," said the man in black; "but I understand +look and tone." + +"So do I, perhaps," retorted Belle; "and, to tell you the truth, I like +your tone as little as your face." + +"For shame," said I; "have you forgot what I was saying just now about +the duties of hospitality? You have not yet answered my question," said +I, addressing myself to the man, "with respect to your visit." + +"Will you permit me to ask who you are?" + +"Do you see the place where I live?" said I. + +"I do," said the man in black, looking around. + +"Do you know the name of this place?" + +"I was told it was Mumpers', or Gypsies' Dingle," said the man in black. + +"Good," said I; "and this forge and tent, what do they look like?" + +"Like the forge and tent of a wandering Zigan; I have seen the like in +Italy." + +"Good," said I; "they belong to me." + +"Are you, then, a Gypsy?" said the man in black. + +"What else should I be?" + +"But you seem to have been acquainted with various individuals with whom +I have likewise had acquaintance; and you have even alluded to matters, +and even words, which have passed between me and them." + +"Do you know how Gypsies live?" said I. + +"By hammering old iron, I believe, and telling fortunes." + +"Well," said I, "there's my forge, and yonder is some iron, though not +old, and by your own confession I am a soothsayer." + +"But how did you come by your knowledge?" + +"O," said I, "if you want me to reveal the secrets of my trade, I have, +of course, nothing further to say. Go to the scarlet dyer, and ask him +how he dyes cloth." + +"Why scarlet?" said the man in black. "Is it because Gypsies blush like +scarlet?" + +"Gypsies never blush," said I; "but Gypsies' cloaks are scarlet." + +"I should almost take you for a Gypsy," said the man in black, "but +for--" + +"For what?" said I. + +"But for that same lesson in Armenian, and your general knowledge of +languages; as for your manners and appearance I will say nothing," said +the man in black, with a titter. + +"And why should not a Gypsy possess a knowledge of languages?" said I. + +"Because the Gypsy race is perfectly illiterate," said the man in black; +"they are possessed, it is true, of a knavish acuteness; and are +particularly noted for giving subtle and evasive answers--and in your +answers, I confess, you remind me of them; but that one of the race +should acquire a learned language like the Armenian, and have a general +knowledge of literature, is a thing che io non credo afatto." + +"What do you take me for?" said I. + +"Why," said the man in black, "I should consider you to be a philologist, +who, for some purpose, has taken up a Gypsy life; but I confess to you +that your way of answering questions is far too acute for a philologist." + +"And why should not a philologist be able to answer questions acutely?" +said I. + +"Because the philological race is the most stupid under Heaven," said the +man in black; "they are possessed, it is true, of a certain faculty for +picking up words, and a memory for retaining them; but that any one of +the sect should be able to give a rational answer, to say nothing of an +acute one, on any subject--even though the subject were philology--is a +thing of which I have no idea." + +"But you found me giving a lesson in Armenian to this handmaid?" + +"I believe I did," said the man in black. + +"And you heard me give what you are disposed to call acute answers to the +questions you asked me?" + +"I believe I did," said the man in black. + +"And would any one but a philologist think of giving a lesson in Armenian +to a handmaid in a dingle?" + +"I should think not," said the man in black. + +"Well, then, don't you see that it is possible for a philologist to give +not only a rational, but an acute answer?" + +"I really don't know," said the man in black. + +"What's the matter with you?" said I. + +"Merely puzzled," said the man in black. + +"Puzzled?" + +"Yes." + +"Really puzzled?" + +"Yes." + +"Remain so." + +"Well," said the man in black, rising, "puzzled or not, I will no longer +trespass upon your and this young lady's retirement; only allow me, +before I go, to apologize for my intrusion." + +"No apology is necessary," said I; "will you please to take anything +before you go? I think this young lady, at my request, would contrive to +make you a cup of tea." + +"Tea!" said the man in black--"he! he! I don't drink tea; I don't like +it--if, indeed, you had," and here he stopped. + +"There's nothing like gin and water, is there?" said I, "but I am sorry +to say I have none." + +"Gin and water," said the man in black, "how do you know that I am fond +of gin and water?" + +"Did I not see you drinking some at the public-house?" + +"You did," said the man in black, "and I remember, that when I called for +some, you repeated my words--permit me to ask, is gin and water an +unusual drink in England?" + +"It is not usually drunk cold, and with a lump of sugar," said I. + +"And did you know who I was by my calling for it so?" + +"Gypsies have various ways of obtaining information," said I. + +"With all your knowledge," said the man in black, "you do not appear to +have known that I was coming to visit you?" + +"Gypsies do not pretend to know anything which relates to themselves," +said I; "but I advise you, if you ever come again, to come openly." + +"Have I your permission to come again?" said the man in black. + +"Come when you please; this dingle is as free for you as me." + +"I will visit you again," said the man in black--"till then, addio." + +"Belle," said I, after the man in black had departed, "we did not treat +that man very hospitably; he left us without having eaten or drunk at our +expense." + +"You offered him some tea," said Belle, "which, as it is mine, I should +have grudged him, for I like him not." + +"Our liking or disliking him had nothing to do with the matter, he was +our visitor and ought not to have been permitted to depart dry; living as +we do in this desert, we ought always to be prepared to administer to the +wants of our visitors. Belle, do you know where to procure any good +Hollands?" + +"I think I do," said Belle, "but--" + +"I will have no buts. Belle, I expect that with as little delay as +possible you procure, at my expense, the best Hollands you can find." + + + + +CHAPTER XCI. + + +Excursions--Adventurous English--Opaque Forests--The Greatest Patience. + +Time passed on, and Belle and I lived in the dingle; when I say lived, +the reader must not imagine that we were always there. She went out upon +her pursuits, and I went out where inclination led me; but my excursions +were very short ones, and hers occasionally occupied whole days and +nights. If I am asked how we passed the time when we were together in +the dingle, I would answer that we passed the time very tolerably, all +things considered; we conversed together, and when tired of conversing I +would sometimes give Belle a lesson in Armenian; her progress was not +particularly brilliant, but upon the whole satisfactory; in about a +fortnight she had hung up one hundred Haikan numerals upon the hake of +her memory. I found her conversation highly entertaining; she had seen +much of England and Wales, and had been acquainted with some of the most +remarkable characters who travelled the roads at that period; and let me +be permitted to say that many remarkable characters have travelled the +roads of England, of whom fame has never said a word. I loved to hear +her anecdotes of these people; some of whom I found had occasionally +attempted to lay violent hands either upon her person or effects, and had +invariably been humbled by her without the assistance of either justice +or constable. I could clearly see, however, that she was rather tired of +England, and wished for a change of scene; she was particularly fond of +talking of America, to which country her aspirations chiefly tended. She +had heard much of America, which had excited her imagination; for at that +time America was much talked of, on roads and in homesteads, at least so +said Belle, who had good opportunities of knowing, and most people +allowed that it was a good country for adventurous English. The people +who chiefly spoke against it, as she informed me, were soldiers disbanded +upon pensions, the sextons of village churches, and excisemen. Belle had +a craving desire to visit that country, and to wander with cart and +little animal amongst its forests; when I would occasionally object, that +she would be exposed to danger from strange and perverse customers, she +said that she had not wandered the roads of England so long and alone, to +be afraid of anything which might befall in America; and that she hoped, +with God's favour, to be able to take her own part, and to give to +perverse customers as good as they might bring. She had a dauntless +heart, that same Belle: such was the staple of Belle's conversation. As +for mine, I would endeavour to entertain her with strange dreams of +adventure, in which I figured in opaque forests, strangling wild beasts, +or discovering and plundering the hordes of dragons; and sometimes I +would narrate to her other things far more genuine--how I had tamed +savage mares, wrestled with Satan, and had dealings with ferocious +publishers. Belle had a kind heart, and would weep at the accounts I +gave her of my early wrestlings with the dark Monarch. She would sigh, +too, as I recounted the many slights and degradations I had received at +the hands of ferocious publishers; but she had the curiosity of a woman; +and once, when I talked to her of the triumphs which I had achieved over +unbroken mares, she lifted up her head and questioned me as to the secret +of the virtue which I possessed over the aforesaid animals; whereupon I +sternly reprimanded, and forthwith commanded her to repeat the Armenian +numerals; and, on her demurring, I made use of words, to escape which she +was glad to comply, saying the Armenian numerals from one to a hundred, +which numerals, as a punishment for her curiosity, I made her repeat +three times, loading her with the bitterest reproaches whenever she +committed the slightest error, either in accent or pronunciation, which +reproaches she appeared to bear with the greatest patience. And now I +have given a very fair account of the manner in which Isopel Berners and +myself passed our time in the dingle. + + + + +CHAPTER XCII. + + +The Landlord--Rather Too Old--Without a Shilling--Reputation--A Fortnight +Ago--Liquids--The Main Chance--Respectability--Irrational +Beings--Parliament Cove--My Brewer. + +Amongst other excursions, I went several times to the public-house to +which I introduced the reader in a former chapter. I had experienced +such beneficial effects from the ale I had drunk on that occasion, that I +wished to put its virtue to a frequent test; nor did the ale on +subsequent trials belie the good opinion which I had at first formed of +it. After each visit which I made to the public-house, I found my frame +stronger, and my mind more cheerful than they had previously been. The +landlord appeared at all times glad to see me, and insisted that I should +sit within the bar, where, leaving his other guests to be attended to by +a niece of his who officiated as his housekeeper, he would sit beside me +and talk of matters concerning "the ring," indulging himself with a cigar +and a glass of sherry, which he told me was his favourite wine, whilst I +drank my ale. "I loves the conversation of all you coves of the ring," +said he once, "which is natural, seeing as how I have fought in a ring +myself. Ah, there is nothing like the ring; I wish I was not rather too +old to go again into it. I often think I should like to have another +rally--one more rally, and then--but there's a time for all things--youth +will be served, every dog has his day, and mine has been a fine one--let +me be content. After beating Tom of Hopton, there was not much more to +be done in the way of reputation; I have long sat in my bar the wonder +and glory of this here neighbourhood. I'm content, as far as reputation +goes; I only wish money would come in a little faster; however, the next +main of cocks will bring me in something handsome--comes off next +Wednesday at --- have ventured ten five pound notes--shouldn't say +ventured either--run no risk at all, because why? I knows my birds." +About ten days after this harangue, I called again at about three o'clock +one afternoon. The landlord was seated on a bench by a table in the +common room, which was entirely empty; he was neither smoking nor +drinking, but sat with his arms folded, and his head hanging down over +his breast. At the sound of my step he looked up; "Ah," said he, "I am +glad you are come, I was just thinking about you." "Thank you," said I; +"it was very kind of you, especially at a time like this, when your mind +must be full of your good fortune. Allow me to congratulate you on the +sums of money you won by the main of cocks at ---. I hope you brought it +all safe home." "Safe home!" said the landlord; "I brought myself safe +home, and that was all, came home without a shilling, regularly done, +cleaned out." "I am sorry for that," said I; "but after you had won the +money, you ought to have been satisfied, and not risked it again--how did +you lose it? I hope not by the pea and thimble." "Pea and thimble," +said the landlord--"not I; those confounded cocks left me nothing to lose +by the pea and thimble." "Dear me," said I; "I thought that you knew +your birds." "Well, so I did," said the landlord, "I knew the birds to +be good birds, and so they proved, and would have won if better birds had +not been brought against them, of which I knew nothing, and so do you see +I am done, regularly done." "Well," said I, "don't be cast down; there +is one thing of which the cocks by their misfortune cannot deprive +you--your reputation; make the most of that, give up cock-fighting, and +be content with the custom of your house, of which you will always have +plenty, as long as you are the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood." + +The landlord struck the table before him violently with his fist. +"Confound my reputation!" said he. "No reputation that I have will be +satisfaction to my brewer for the seventy pounds I owe him. Reputation +won't pass for the current coin of this here realm; and let me tell you, +that if it a'n't backed by some of it, it a'n't a bit better than rotten +cabbage, as I have found. Only three weeks since I was, as I told you, +the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood; and people used to come and +look at me, and worship me, but as soon as it began to be whispered about +that I owed money to the brewer, they presently left off all that kind of +thing; and now, during the last three days, since the tale of my +misfortune with the cocks has got wind, almost everybody has left off +coming to the house, and the few who does, merely comes to insult and +flout me. It was only last night that fellow, Hunter, called me an old +fool in my own kitchen here. He wouldn't have called me a fool a +fortnight ago; 'twas I called him fool then, and last night he called me +old fool; what do you think of that? the man that beat Tom, of Hopton, to +be called, not only a fool, but an old fool; and I hadn't heart, with one +blow of this here fist into his face, to send his head ringing against +the wall; for when a man's pocket is low, do you see, his heart a'n't +much higher; but it is of no use talking, something must be done. I was +thinking of you just as you came in, for you are just the person that can +help me." + +"If you mean," said I, "to ask me to lend you the money which you want, +it will be to no purpose, as I have very little of my own, just enough +for my own occasions; it is true, if you desired it, I would be your +intercessor with the person to whom you owe the money, though I should +hardly imagine that anything I could say--" "You are right there," said +the landlord, "much the brewer would care for anything you could say on +my behalf--your going would be the very way to do me up entirely. A +pretty opinion he would have of the state of my affairs if I were to send +him such a 'cessor as you, and as for your lending me money, don't think +I was ever fool enough to suppose either that you had any, or if you had +that you would be fool enough to lend me any. No, no, the coves of the +ring knows better, I have been in the ring myself, and knows what a +fighting cove is, and though I was fool enough to back those birds, I was +never quite fool enough to lend anybody money. What I am about to +propose is something very different from going to my landlord, or lending +any capital; something which, though it will put money into my pocket, +will likewise put something handsome into your own. I want to get up a +fight in this here neighbourhood, which would be sure to bring plenty of +people to my house, for a week before and after it takes place, and as +people can't come without drinking, I think I could, during one +fortnight, get off for the brewer all the sour and unsaleable liquids he +now has, which people wouldn't drink at any other time, and by that +means, do you see, liquidate my debt; then, by means of betting, making +first all right, do you see, I have no doubt that I could put something +handsome into my pocket and yours, for I should wish you to be the +fighting man, as I think I can depend upon you." "You really must excuse +me," said I, "I have no wish to figure as a pugilist, besides there is +such a difference in our ages; you may be the stronger man of the two, +and perhaps the hardest hitter, but I am in much better condition, am +more active on my legs, so that I am almost sure I should have the +advantage, for, as you very properly observed, 'Youth will be served.'" +"Oh, I didn't mean to fight," said the landlord, "I think I could beat +you if I were to train a little; but in the fight I propose I looks more +to the main chance than anything else. I question whether half so many +people could be brought together if you were to fight with me as the +person I have in view, or whether there would be half such opportunities +for betting, for I am a man, do you see, the person I wants you to fight +with is not a man, but the young woman you keeps company with." + +"The young woman I keep company with," said I, "pray what do you mean?" + +"We will go into the bar, and have something," said the landlord, getting +up. "My niece is out, and there is no one in the house, so we can talk +the matter over quietly." Thereupon I followed him into the bar, where, +having drawn me a jug of ale, helped himself as usual to a glass of +sherry, and lighted a cigar, he proceeded to explain himself farther. +"What I wants, is to get up a fight between a man and a woman; there +never has yet been such a thing in the ring, and the mere noise of the +matter would bring thousands of people together, quite enough to drink +out, for the thing should be close to my house, all the brewer's stock of +liquids, both good and bad." "But," said I, "you were the other day +boasting of the respectability of your house; do you think that a fight +between a man and a woman close to your establishment would add to its +respectability?" "Confound the respectability of my house," said the +landlord, "will the respectability of my house pay the brewer, or keep +the roof over my head? No, no! when respectability won't keep a man, do +you see, the best thing is to let it go and wander. Only let me have my +own way, and both the brewer, myself, and every one of us, will be +satisfied. And then the betting--what a deal we may make by the +betting--and that we shall have all to ourselves, you, I, and the young +woman; the brewer will have no hand in that. I can manage to raise ten +pounds, and if by flashing that about, I don't manage to make a hundred, +call me horse." "But, suppose," said I, "the party should lose, on whom +you sport your money, even as the birds did?" "We must first make all +right," said the landlord, "as I told you before; the birds were +irrational beings, and therefore couldn't come to an understanding with +the others, as you and the young woman can. The birds fought fair; but I +intend that you and the young woman should fight cross." "What do you +mean by cross?" said I. "Come, come," said the landlord, "don't attempt +to gammon me; you in the ring, and pretend not to know what fighting +cross is. That won't do, my fine fellow; but as no one is near us, I +will speak out. I intend that you and the young woman should understand +one another and agree beforehand which should be beat; and if you take my +advice you will determine between you that the young woman shall be beat, +as I am sure that the odds will run high upon her, her character as a +fist woman being spread far and wide, so that all the flats who think it +will be all right, will back her, as I myself would, if I thought it +would be a fair thing." "Then," said I, "you would not have us fight +fair?" "By no means," said the landlord, "because why? I conceives that +a cross is a certainty to those who are in it, whereas by the fair thing +one may lose all he has." "But," said I, "you said the other day, that +you liked the fair thing." "That was by way of gammon," said the +landlord; "just, do you see, as a Parliament cove might say, speechifying +from a barrel to a set of flats, whom he means to sell. Come, what do +you think of the plan?" + +"It is a very ingenious one," said I. + +"A'n't it?" said the landlord. "The folks in this neighbourhood are +beginning to call me old fool, but if they don't call me something else, +when they sees me friends with the brewer, and money in my pocket, my +name is not Catchpole. Come, drink your ale, and go home to the young +gentlewoman." + +"I am going," said I, rising from my seat, after finishing the remainder +of the ale. + +"Do you think she'll have any objection?" said the landlord. + +"To do what?" said I. + +"Why, to fight cross." + +"Yes, I do," said I. + +"But you will do your best to persuade her?" + +"No, I will not," said I. + +"Are you fool enough to wish to fight fair?" + +"No!" said I, "I am wise enough to wish not to fight at all." + +"And how's my brewer to be paid?" said the landlord. + +"I really don't know," said I. + +"I'll change my religion," said the landlord. + + + + +CHAPTER XCIII. + + +Another Visit--_A la Margutte_--Clever Man--Napoleon's Estimate--Another +Statue. + +One evening Belle and myself received another visit from the man in +black. After a little conversation of not much importance, I asked him +whether he would not take some refreshment, assuring him that I was now +in possession of some very excellent Hollands which, with a glass, a jug +of water, and a lump of sugar, were heartily at his service; he accepted +my offer, and Belle going with a jug to the spring, from which she was in +the habit of procuring water for tea, speedily returned with it full of +the clear, delicious water of which I have already spoken. Having placed +the jug by the side of the man in black, she brought him a glass and +spoon, and a tea-cup, the latter containing various lumps of snowy-white +sugar: in the meantime I had produced a bottle of the stronger liquid. +The man in black helped himself to some water, and likewise to some +Hollands, the proportion of water being about two-thirds; then adding a +lump of sugar, he stirred the whole up, tasted it, and said that it was +good. + +"This is one of the good things of life," he added, after a short pause. + +"What are the others?" I demanded. + +"There is Malvoisia sack," said the man in black, "and partridge, and +beccafico." + +"And what do you say to high mass?" said I. + +"High mass!" said the man in black; "however," he continued, after a +pause, "I will be frank with you; I came to be so; I may have heard high +mass on a time, and said it too; but as for any predilection for it, I +assure you I have no more than for a long High Church sermon." + +"You speak _a la Margutte_," said I. + +"Margutte!" said the man in black, musingly, "Margutte!" + +"You have read Pulci, I suppose?" said I. + +"Yes, yes," said the man in black, laughing; "I remember." + +"He might be rendered into English," said I, "something in this style:-- + + 'To which Margutte answered with a sneer, + I like the blue no better than the black, + My faith consists alone in savoury cheer, + In roasted capons, and in potent sack; + But above all, in famous gin and clear, + Which often lays the Briton on his back, + With lump of sugar, and with lympth from well, + I drink it, and defy the fiends of hell.'" + +"He! he! he!" said the man in black; "that is more than Mezzofante could +have done for a stanza of Byron." + +"A clever man," said I. + +"Who?" said the man in black. + +"Mezzofante di Bologna." + +"He! he! he!" said the man in black; "now I know that you are not a +Gypsy, at least a soothsayer; no soothsayer would have said that--" + +"Why," said I, "does he not understand five-and-twenty tongues?" + +"O yes," said the man in black; "and five-and-twenty added to them; +but--he! he! he! it was principally from him who is certainly the +greatest of Philologists that I formed my opinion of the sect." + +"You ought to speak of him with more respect," said I; "I have heard say +that he has done good service to your See." + +"O, yes," said the man in black; "he has done good service to our See, +that is, in his way; when the neophytes of the propaganda are to be +examined in the several tongues in which they are destined to preach, he +is appointed to question them, the questions being first written down for +him, or else, he! he! he! Of course you know Napoleon's estimate of +Mezzofante; he sent for the linguist from motives of curiosity, and after +some discourse with him, told him that he might depart; then turning to +some of his generals, he observed, '_Nous avons eu ici un exemple qu'un +homme peut avoir beaucoup de paroles avec bien peu d'esprit_.'" + +"You are ungrateful to him," said I; "well, perhaps, when he is dead and +gone you will do him justice." + +"True," said the man in black; "when he is dead and gone we intend to +erect him a statue of wood, on the left-hand side of the door of the +Vatican library." + +"Of wood?" said I. + +"He was the son of a carpenter, you know," said the man in black; "the +figure will be of wood, for no other reason, I assure you; he! he!" + +"You should place another statue on the right." + +"Perhaps we shall," said the man in black; "but we know of no one amongst +the philologists of Italy, nor, indeed, of the other countries, inhabited +by the faithful, worthy to sit parallel in effigy with our illustrissimo; +when, indeed, we have conquered those regions of the perfidious by +bringing the inhabitants thereof to the true faith, I have no doubt that +we shall be able to select one worthy to bear him company, one whose +statue shall be placed on the right hand of the library, in testimony of +our joy at his conversion; for, as you know, 'There is more joy,' etc." + +"Wood?" said I. + +"I hope not," said the man in black; "no, if I be consulted as to the +material for the statue, I should strongly recommend bronze." + +And when the man in black had said this, he emptied his second tumbler of +its contents, and prepared himself another. + + + + +CHAPTER XCIV. + + +Prerogative--Feeling of Gratitude--A Long History--Alliterative +Style--Advantageous Specimen--Jesuit Benefice--Not Sufficient--Queen +Stork's Tragedy--Good Sense--Grandeur and Gentility--Ironmonger's +Daughter--Clan Mac-Sycophant--Lick-Spittles--A Curiosity--Newspaper +Editors--Charles the Simple--High-flying Ditty--Dissenters--Lower +Classes--Priestley's House--Saxon Ancestors--Austin--Renovating +Glass--Money--Quite Original. + +"So you hope to bring these regions again beneath the banner of the Roman +See?" said I; after the man in black had prepared the beverage, and +tasted it. + +"Hope," said the man in black; "how can we fail? Is not the Church of +these regions going to lose its prerogative?" + +"Its prerogative?" + +"Yes; those who should be the guardians of the religion of England are +about to grant Papists emancipation and to remove the disabilities from +Dissenters, which will allow the Holy Father to play his own game in +England." + +On my inquiring how the Holy Father intended to play his game, the man in +black gave me to understand that he intended for the present to cover the +land with temples, in which the religion of Protestants would be +continually scoffed at and reviled. + +On my observing that such behaviour would savour strongly of ingratitude, +the man in black gave me to understand that if I entertained the idea +that the See of Rome was ever influenced in its actions by any feeling of +gratitude I was much mistaken, assuring me that if the See of Rome in any +encounter should chance to be disarmed and its adversary, from a feeling +of magnanimity, should restore the sword which had been knocked out of +its hand, the See of Rome always endeavoured on the first opportunity to +plunge the said sword into its adversary's bosom,--conduct which the man +in black seemed to think was very wise, and which he assured me had +already enabled it to get rid of a great many troublesome adversaries, +and would, he had no doubt, enable it to get rid of a great many more. + +On my attempting to argue against the propriety of such behaviour, the +man in black cut the matter short, by saying, that if one party was a +fool he saw no reason why the other should imitate it in its folly. + +After musing a little while I told him that emancipation had not yet +passed through the legislature, and that perhaps it never would, +reminding him that there was often many a slip between the cup and the +lip; to which observation the man in black agreed, assuring me, however, +that there was no doubt that emancipation would be carried, inasmuch as +there was a very loud cry at present in the land; a cry of "tolerance," +which had almost frightened the Government out of its wits; who, to get +rid of the cry, was going to grant all that was asked in the way of +toleration, instead of telling the people to "Hold their nonsense," and +cutting them down, provided they continued bawling longer. + +I questioned the man in black with respect to the origin of this cry; but +he said to trace it to its origin would require a long history; that, at +any rate, such a cry was in existence, the chief raisers of it being +certain of the nobility, called Whigs, who hoped by means of it to get +into power, and to turn out certain ancient adversaries of theirs called +Tories, who were for letting things remain in _statu quo_; that these +Whigs were backed by a party amongst the people called Radicals, a +specimen of whom I had seen in the public-house; a set of fellows who +were always in the habit of bawling against those in place; "and so," he +added, "by means of these parties, and the hubbub which the Papists and +other smaller sects are making, a general emancipation will be carried, +and the Church of England humbled, which is the principal thing which the +See of Rome cares for." + +On my telling the man in black that I believed that even among the high +dignitaries of the English Church there were many who wished to grant +perfect freedom to religions of all descriptions, he said he was aware +that such was the fact, and that such a wish was anything but wise, +inasmuch as if they had any regard for the religion they professed, they +ought to stand by it through thick and thin, proclaiming it to be the +only true one, and denouncing all others, in an alliterative style, as +dangerous and damnable; whereas, by their present conduct, they were +bringing their religion into contempt with the people at large, who would +never continue long attached to a Church, the ministers of which did not +stand up for it, and likewise cause their own brethren, who had a clearer +notion of things, to be ashamed of belonging to it. "I speak advisedly," +said he, in continuation, "there is one Platitude." + +"And I hope there is only one," said I; "you surely would not adduce the +likes and dislikes of that poor silly fellow as the criterions of the +opinions of any party?" + +"You know him," said the man in black; "nay, I, heard you mention him in +the public-house; the fellow is not very wise, I admit, but he has sense +enough to know, that unless a Church can make people hold their tongues +when it thinks fit, it is scarcely deserving the name of a Church; no, I +think that the fellow is not such a very bad stick, and that upon the +whole he is, or rather was, an advantageous specimen of the High Church +English clergy, who, for the most part, so far from troubling their heads +about persecuting people, only think of securing their tithes, eating +their heavy dinners, puffing out their cheeks with importance on country +justice benches, and occasionally exhibiting their conceited wives, +hoyden daughters, and gawky sons at country balls, whereas Platitude--" + +"Stop," said I; "you said in the public-house that the Church of England +was a persecuting Church, and here in the dingle you have confessed that +one section of it is willing to grant perfect freedom to the exercise of +all religions, and the other only thinks of leading an easy life." + +"Saying a thing in the public-house is a widely-different thing from +saying it in the dingle," said the man in black; "had the Church of +England been a persecuting Church, it would not stand in the position in +which it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities, have spread +itself over the greater part of the world. I was about to observe, that +instead of practising the indolent habits of his High Church brethren, +Platitude would be working for his money, preaching the proper use of +fire and faggot, or rather of the halter and the whipping-post, +encouraging mobs to attack the houses of Dissenters, employing spies to +collect the scandal of neighbourhoods, in order that he might use it for +sacerdotal purposes, and, in fact, endeavouring to turn an English parish +into something like a Jesuit benefice in the south of France." + +"He tried that game," said I, "and the parish said--'Pooh, pooh,' and, +for the most part, went over to the Dissenters." + +"Very true," said the man in black, taking a sip at his glass, "but why +were the Dissenters allowed to preach? why were they not beaten on the +lips till they spat out blood, with a dislodged tooth or two? Why, but +because the authority of the Church of England has, by its own fault, +become so circumscribed that Mr. Platitude was not able to send a host of +beadles and sbirri to their chapel to bring them to reason, on which +account Mr. Platitude is very properly ashamed of his Church, and is +thinking of uniting himself with one which possesses more vigour and +authority." + +"It may have vigour and authority," said I, "in foreign lands, but in +these kingdoms the day for practising its atrocities is gone by. It is +at present almost below contempt, and is obliged to sue for grace _in +forma pauperis_." + +"Very true," said the man in black, "but let it once obtain emancipation, +and it will cast its slough, put on its fine clothes, and make converts +by thousands. 'What a fine Church,' they'll say; 'with what authority it +speaks--no doubts, no hesitation, no sticking at trifles.' What a +contrast to the sleepy English Church! they'll go over to it by millions, +till it preponderates here over every other, when it will of course be +voted the dominant one; and then--and then--" and here the man in black +drank a considerable quantity of gin and water. + +"What then?" said I. + +"What then?" said the man in black, "why, she will be true to herself. +Let Dissenters, whether they be Church of England, as perhaps they may +still call themselves, Methodist, or Presbyterian, presume to grumble, +and there shall be bruising of lips in pulpits, tying up to +whipping-posts, cutting off ears and noses--he! he! the farce of King Log +has been acted long enough; the time for Queen Stork's tragedy is drawing +nigh;" and the man in black sipped his gin and water in a very exulting +manner. + +"And this is the Church which, according to your assertion in the +public-house, never persecutes?" + +"I have already given you an answer," said the man in black, "with +respect to the matter of the public-house; it is one of the happy +privileges of those who belong to my church to deny in the public-house +what they admit in the dingle; we have high warranty for such double +speaking. Did not the foundation stone of our Church, Saint Peter, deny +in the public-house what he had previously professed in the valley?" + +"And do you think," said I, "that the people of England, who have shown +aversion to anything in the shape of intolerance, will permit such +barbarities as you have described?" + +"Let them become Papists," said the man in black: "only let the majority +become Papists, and you will see." + +"They will never become so," said I; "the good sense of the people of +England will never permit them to commit such an absurdity." + +"The good sense of the people of England!" said the man in black, filling +himself another glass. + +"Yes," said I; "the good sense of not only the upper, but the middle and +lower classes." + +"And of what description of people are the upper class?" said the man in +black, putting a lump of sugar into his gin and water. + +"Very fine people," said I, "monstrously fine people; so, at least, they +are generally believed to be." + +"He! he!" said the man in black; "only those think them so who don't know +them. The male part of the upper class are in youth a set of heartless +profligates; in old age, a parcel of poor, shaking, nervous paillards. +The female part, worthy to be the sisters and wives of such wretches, +unmarried, full of cold vice, kept under by vanity and ambition, but +which, after marriage, they seek not to restrain; in old age, abandoned +to vapours and horrors; do you think that such beings will afford any +obstacle to the progress of the Church in these regions, as soon as her +movements are unfettered?" + +"I cannot give an opinion; I know nothing of them, except from a +distance. But what think you of the middle classes?" + +"Their chief characteristic," said the man in black, "is a rage for +grandeur and gentility; and that same rage makes us quite sure of them in +the long run. Everything that's lofty meets their unqualified +approbation; whilst everything humble, or, as they call it, 'low,' is +scouted by them. They begin to have a vague idea that the religion which +they have hitherto professed is low; at any rate that it is not the +religion of the mighty ones of the earth, of the great kings and emperors +whose shoes they have a vast inclination to kiss, nor was used by the +grand personages of whom they have read in their novels and romances, +their Ivanhoes, their Marmions, and their Ladies of the Lake." + +"Do you think that the writings of Scott have had any influence in +modifying their religious opinions?" + +"Most certainly I do," said the man in black. "The writings of that man +have made them greater fools than they were before. All their +conversation now is about gallant knights, princesses, and cavaliers, +with which his pages are stuffed--all of whom were Papists, or very high +Church, which is nearly the same thing; and they are beginning to think +that the religion of such nice sweet-scented gentry must be something +very superfine. Why, I know at Birmingham the daughter of an ironmonger, +who screeches to the piano the Lady of the Lake's hymn to the Virgin +Mary, always weeps when Mary Queen of Scots is mentioned, and fasts on +the anniversary of the death of that very wise martyr, Charles the First. +Why, I would engage to convert such an idiot to popery in a week, were it +worth my trouble. _O Cavaliere Gualtiero avete fatto molto in favore +delle Santa Sede_!" + +"If he has," said I, "he has done it unwittingly; I never heard before +that he was a favourer of the popish delusion." + +"Only in theory," said the man in black. "Trust any of the clan +Mac-Sycophant for interfering openly and boldly in favour of any cause on +which the sun does not shine benignantly. Popery is at present, as you +say, suing for grace in these regions _in forma pauperis_; but let +royalty once take it up, let old gouty George once patronize it, and I +would consent to drink puddle-water, if the very next time the canny Scot +was admitted to the royal symposium he did not say, 'By my faith, yere +Majesty, I have always thought, at the bottom of my heart, that popery, +as ill scrapit tongues ca' it, was a very grand religion; I shall be +proud to follow your Majesty's example in adopting it.'" + +"I doubt not," said I, "that both gouty George and his devoted servant +will be mouldering in their tombs long before Royalty in England thinks +about adopting popery." + +"We can wait," said the man in black, "in these days of rampant +gentility, there will be no want of Kings nor of Scots about them." + +"But not Walters," said I. + +"Our work has been already tolerably well done by one," said the man in +black; "but if we wanted literature we should never lack in these regions +hosts of literary men of some kind or other to eulogize us, provided our +religion were in the fashion, and our popish nobles choose, and they +always do our bidding, to admit the canaille to their tables, their +kitchen tables. As for literature in general," said he, "the Santa Sede +is not particularly partial to it, it may be employed both ways. In +Italy, in particular, it has discovered that literary men are not always +disposed to be lick-spittles." + +"For example, Dante," said I. + +"Yes," said the man in black. "A dangerous personage; that poem of his +cuts both ways; and then there was Pulci, that Morgante of his cuts both +ways, or rather one way, and that sheer against us; and then there was +Aertino, who dealt so hard with the poveri frati; all writers, at least +Italian ones, are not lick-spittles. And then in Spain,--'tis true, Lope +de Vega and Calderon were most inordinate lick-spittles; the Principe +Constante of the last is a curiosity in its way; and then the Mary Stuart +of Lope; I think I shall recommend the perusal of that work to the +Birmingham ironworker's daughter; she has been lately thinking of adding +'a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of the Peninsula' to the +rest of her accomplishments, he! he! he! but then there was Cervantes, +starving, but straight; he deals us some hard knocks in that second part +of his Quixote; then there was some of the writers of the picaresque +novels. No, all literary men are not lick-spittles, whether in Italy or +Spain, or, indeed, upon the Continent; it is only in England that all--" + +"Come," said I, "mind what you are about to say of English literary men." + +"Why should I mind?" said the man in black, "there are no literary men +here. I have heard of literary men living in garrets, but not in +dingles, whatever philologists may do; I may, therefore, speak out +freely. It is only in England that literary men are invariably +lickspittles; on which account, perhaps, they are so despised, even by +those who benefit by their dirty services. Look at your fashionable +novel writers, he! he! and above all at your newspaper editors, ho! ho!" + +"You will, of course, except the editors of the --- from your censure of +the last class?" said I. + +"Them!" said the man in black; "why, they might serve as models in the +dirty trade to all the rest who practise it. See how they bepraise their +patrons, the grand Whig nobility, who hope, by raising the cry of +liberalism, and by putting themselves at the head of the populace, to +come into power shortly. I don't wish to be hard, at present, upon those +Whigs," he continued, "for they are playing our game; but a time will +come when, not wanting them, we will kick them to a considerable +distance: and then, when toleration is no longer the cry, and the Whigs +are no longer backed by the populace, see whether the editors of the --- +will stand by them; they will prove themselves as expert lick-spittles of +despotism as of liberalism. Don't think they will always bespatter the +Tories and Austria." + +"Well," said I, "I am sorry to find that you entertain so low an opinion +of the spirit of English literary men; we will now return, if you please, +to the subject of the middle classes; I think your strictures upon them +in general are rather too sweeping--they are not altogether the foolish +people you have described. Look, for example, at that very powerful and +numerous body the Dissenters, the descendants of those sturdy Patriots +who hurled Charles the Simple from his throne." + +"There are some sturdy fellows amongst them, I do not deny," said the man +in black, "especially amongst the preachers, clever withal--two or three +of that class nearly drove Mr. Platitude mad, as perhaps you are aware, +but they are not very numerous; and the old sturdy sort of preachers are +fast dropping off, and, as we observe with pleasure, are generally +succeeded by frothy coxcombs, whom it would not be very difficult to gain +over. But what we most rely upon as an instrument to bring the +Dissenters over to us is the mania for gentility, which amongst them has +of late become as great, and more ridiculous, than amongst the middle +classes belonging to the Church of England. All the plain and simple +fashions of their forefathers they are either about to abandon, or have +already done so. Look at the most part of their chapels, no longer +modest brick edifices, situated in quiet and retired streets, but +lunatic-looking erections, in what the simpletons call the modern Gothic +taste, of Portland-stone, with a cross upon the top, and the site +generally the most conspicuous that can be found, and look at the manner +in which they educate their children, I mean those that are wealthy. +They do not even wish them to be Dissenters, 'the sweet dears shall enjoy +the advantages of good society, of which their parents were debarred.' +So the girls are sent to tip-top boarding schools, where amongst other +trash they read 'Rokeby,' and are taught to sing snatches from that +high-flying ditty, the 'Cavalier ---' + + 'Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown + With the barons of England, who fight for the crown?'-- + +he! he! their own names. Whilst the lads are sent to those hot-beds of +pride and folly--colleges, whence they return with a greater contempt for +everything 'low,' and especially for their own pedigree, than they went +with. I tell you, friend, the children of Dissenters, if not their +parents, are going over to the Church, as you call it, and the Church is +going over to Rome." + +"I do not see the justice of that latter assertion at all," said I; "some +of the Dissenters' children may be coming over to the Church of England, +and yet the Church of England be very far from going over to Rome." + +"In the high road for it, I assure you," said the man in black, "part of +it is going to abandon, the rest to lose their prerogative, and when a +Church no longer retains its prerogative, it speedily loses its own +respect, and that of others." + +"Well," said I, "if the higher classes have all the vices and follies +which you represent, on which point I can say nothing, as I have never +mixed with them; and even supposing the middle classes are the foolish +beings you would fain make them, and which I do not believe them as a +body to be, you would still find some resistance amongst the lower +classes, I have a considerable respect for their good sense and +independence of character; but pray let me hear your opinion of them." + +"As for the lower classes," said the man in black, "I believe them to be +the most brutal wretches in the world, the most addicted to foul feeding, +foul language, and foul vices of every kind; wretches who have neither +love for country, religion, nor anything save their own vile selves. You +surely do not think that they would oppose a change of religion? why, +there is not one of them but would hurrah for the Pope, or Mahomet, for +the sake of a hearty gorge and a drunken bout, like those which they are +treated with at election contests." + +"Has your church any followers amongst them?" said I. + +"Wherever there happens to be a Romish family of considerable +possessions," said the man in black, "our church is sure to have +followers of the lower class, who have come over in the hope of getting +something in the shape of dole or donation. As, however, the Romish is +not yet the dominant religion, and the clergy of the English +establishment have some patronage to bestow, the churches are not quite +deserted by the lower classes; yet were the Romish to become the +established religion, they would, to a certainty, all go over to it; you +can scarcely imagine what a self-interested set they are--for example, +the landlord of that public-house in which I first met you, having lost a +sum of money upon a cock-fight, and his affairs in consequence being in a +bad condition, is on the eve of coming over to us, in the hope that two +old Popish females of property, whom, I confess, will advance a sum of +money to set him up again in the world." + +"And what could have put such an idea into the poor fellow's head?" said +I. + +"Oh! he and I have had some conversation upon the state of his affairs," +said the man in black; "I think he might make a rather useful convert in +these parts, provided things take a certain turn, as they doubtless will. +It is no bad thing to have a fighting fellow, who keeps a public-house, +belonging to one's religion. He has been occasionally employed as a +bully at elections by the Tory party, and he may serve us in the same +capacity. The fellow comes of a good stock; I heard him say that his +father headed the high Church mob, who sacked and burnt Priestley's house +at Birmingham towards the end of the last century." + +"A disgraceful affair," said I. + +"What do you mean by a disgraceful affair?" said the man in black. "I +assure you that nothing has occurred for the last fifty years which has +given the high-Church party so much credit in the eyes of Rome as that; +we did not imagine that the fellows had so much energy. Had they +followed up that affair, by twenty others of a similar kind, they would +by this time have had everything in their own power; but they did not, +and, as a necessary consequence, they are reduced to almost nothing." + +"I suppose," said I, "that your church would have acted very differently +in its place." + +"It has always done so," said the man in black, coolly sipping. "Our +church has always armed the brute-population against the genius and +intellect of a country, provided that same intellect and genius were not +willing to become its instruments and eulogists; and provided we once +obtain a firm hold here again, we would not fail to do so. We would +occasionally stuff the beastly rabble with horseflesh and bitter ale, and +then halloo them on against all those who were obnoxious to us." + +"Horseflesh and bitter ale!" I replied. + +"Yes," said the man in black; "horseflesh and bitter ale, the favourite +delicacies of their Saxon ancestors, who were always ready to do our +bidding after a liberal allowance of such cheer. There is a tradition in +our church, that before the Northumbrian rabble, at the instigation of +Austin, attacked and massacred the presbyterian monks of Bangor, they had +been allowed a good gorge of horseflesh and bitter ale. He! he! he!" +continued the man in black, "what a fine spectacle to see such a mob, +headed by a fellow like our friend, the landlord, sack the house of +another Priestley!" + +"Then you don't deny that we have had a Priestley," said I, "and admit +the possibility of our having another? You were lately observing that +all English literary men were sycophants?" + +"Lick-spittles," said the man in black; "yes, I admit that you have had a +Priestley, but he was a Dissenter of the old class; you have had him, and +perhaps may have another." + +"Perhaps we may," said I. "But with respect to the lower classes, have +you mixed much with them?" + +"I have mixed with all classes," said the man in black, "and with the +lower not less than the upper and middle, they are much as I have +described them; and of the three, the lower are the worst. I never knew +one of them that possessed the slightest principle, no, not--. It is +true, there was one fellow whom I once met, who--; but it is a long +story, and the affair happened abroad." + +"I ought to know something of the English people," he continued, after a +moment's pause; "I have been many years amongst them labouring in the +cause of the Church." + +"Your See must have had great confidence in your powers, when it selected +you to labour for it in these parts." Said I. + +"They chose me," said the man in black, "principally because being of +British extraction and education, I could speak the English language and +bear a glass of something strong. It is the opinion of my See, that it +would hardly do to send a missionary into a country like this who is not +well versed in English; a country where they think, so far from +understanding any language besides his own, scarcely one individual in +ten speaks his own intelligibly, or an ascetic person where, as they say, +high and low, male and female, are, at some period of their lives, fond +of a renovating glass as it is styled, in other words, of tippling." + +"Your See appears to entertain a very strange opinion of the English," +said I. + +"Not altogether an unjust one," said the man in black, lifting the glass +to his mouth. + +"Well," said I, "it is certainly very kind on its part to wish to bring +back such a set of beings beneath its wing." + +"Why, as to the kindness of my See," said the man in black, "I have not +much to say; my See has generally in what it does a tolerably good +motive; these heretics possess in plenty what my See has a great +hankering for, and can turn to a good account--money!" + +"The founder of the Christian religion cared nothing for money," said I. + +"What have we to do with what the founder of the Christian religion cared +for?" said the man in black. "How could our temples be built, and our +priests supported without money? But you are unwise to reproach us with +a desire of obtaining money; you forget that your own church, if the +Church of England be your own church, as I suppose it is, from the +willingness which you displayed in the public-house to fight for it, is +equally avaricious; look at your greedy Bishops, and your corpulent +Rectors! do they imitate Christ in his disregard for money? You might as +well tell me that they imitate Christ in His meekness and humility." + +"Well," said I, "whatever their faults may be, you can't say that they go +to Rome for money." + +The man in black made no direct answer, but appeared by the motion of his +lips to be repeating something to himself. + +"I see your glass is again empty," said I; "perhaps you will replenish +it?" + +The man in black arose from his chair, adjusted his habiliments which +were rather in disorder, and placed upon his head his hat, which he had +laid aside, then, looking at me, who was still lying on the ground, he +said--"I might, perhaps, take another glass, though I believe I have had +quite as much as I can well bear; but I do not wish to hear you utter +anything more this evening after that last observation of yours--it is +quite original; I will meditate upon it on my pillow this night after +having said an ave and a pater--go to Rome for money!" He then made +Belle a low bow, slightly motioned to me with his hand as if bidding +farewell, and then left the dingle with rather uneven steps. + +"Go to Rome for money," I heard him say as he ascended the winding path, +"he! he! he! Go to Rome for money, ho! ho! ho!" + + + + +CHAPTER XCV. + + +Wooded Retreat--Fresh Shoes--Wood Fire--Ash, when Green--Queen of +China--Cleverest People--Declensions--Armenian--Thunder--Deep Olive--What +Do You Mean?--Koul Adonai--The Thick Bushes--Wood Pigeon--Old Goethe. + +Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular moment +occurring. Belle drove the little cart containing her merchandise about +the neighbourhood, returning to the dingle towards the evening. As for +myself, I kept within my wooded retreat, working during the periods of +her absence leisurely at my forge. Having observed that the quadruped +which my companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been +some time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, and +during the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing them. As I was +employed three mornings and afternoons about them, I am sure that the +reader will agree that I worked leisurely, or rather lazily. On the +third day Belle arrived, somewhat later than usual; I was lying on my +back at the bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes, which +I had produced, and catching them as they fell, some being always in the +air mounting or descending, somewhat after the fashion of the waters of a +fountain. + +"Why have you been absent so long?" said I to Belle, "it must be long +past four by the day." + +"I have been almost killed by the heat," said Belle; "I was never out in +a more sultry day--the poor donkey, too, could scarcely move along." + +"He shall have fresh shoes," said I, continuing my exercise, "here they +are, quite ready; to-morrow I will tack them on." + +"And why are you playing with them in that manner?" said Belle. + +"Partly in triumph at having made them, and partly to show that I can do +something besides making them; it is not every one who, after having made +a set of horse-shoes, can keep them going up and down in the air, without +letting one fall." + +"One has now fallen on your chin," said Belle. + +"And another on my cheek," said I, getting up, "it is time to discontinue +the game, for the last shoe drew blood." + +Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, after having +flung the donkey's shoes into my tent, I put some fresh wood on the fire, +which was nearly out, and hung the kettle over it. I then issued forth +from the dingle, and strolled round the wood that surrounded it; for a +long time I was busied in meditation, looking at the ground, striking +with my foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of grass and thistles that I +met in my way. After some time, I lifted up my eyes to the sky, at first +vacantly, and then with more attention, turning my head in all directions +for a minute or two; after which I returned to the dingle. Isopel was +seated near the fire, over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed +her dress--no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion +remained; she had just added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or +three of which I had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour +filled the dingle. + +"I am fond of sitting by a wood fire," said Belle, "when abroad, whether +it be hot or cold; I love to see the flames dart out of the wood; but +what kind is this, and where did you get it?" + +"It is ash," said I, "green ash. Somewhat less than a week ago, whilst I +was wandering along the road by the side of a wood, I came to a place +where some peasants were engaged in cutting up and clearing away a +confused mass of fallen timber: a mighty aged oak had given way the night +before, and in its fall had shivered some smaller trees; the upper part +of the oak, and the fragments of the rest, lay across the road. I +purchased, for a trifle, a bundle or two, and the wood on the fire is +part of it--ash, green ash." + +"That makes good the old rhyme," said Belle, "which I have heard sung by +the old women in the great house:-- + + 'Ash, when green, + Is fire for a queen.'" + +"And on fairer form of queen, ash fire never shone," said I, "than on +thine, O beauteous queen of the dingle." + +"I am half disposed to be angry with you, young man," said Belle. + +"And why not entirely?" said I. + +Belle made no reply. + +"Shall I tell you?" I demanded. "You had no objection to the first part +of the speech, but you did not like being called queen of the dingle. +Well, if I had the power, I would make you queen of something better than +the dingle--Queen of China. Come, let us have tea." + +"Something less would content me," said Belle, sighing, as she rose to +prepare our evening meal. + +So we took tea together, Belle and I. "How delicious tea is after a hot +summer's day, and a long walk," said she. + +"I dare say it is most refreshing then," said I; "but I have heard people +say that they most enjoy it on a cold winter's night, when the kettle is +hissing on the fire, and their children playing on the hearth." + +Belle sighed. "Where does tea come from?" she presently demanded. + +"From China," said I; "I just now mentioned it, and the mention of it put +me in mind of tea." + +"What kind of country is China?" + +"I know very little about it; all I know is, that it is a very large +country far to the East, but scarcely large enough to contain its +inhabitants, who are so numerous, that though China does not cover +one-ninth part of the world, its inhabitants amount to one-third of the +population of the world." + +"And do they talk as we do?" + +"O no! I know nothing of their language; but I have heard that it is +quite different from all others, and so difficult that none but the +cleverest people amongst foreigners can master it, on which account, +perhaps, only the French pretend to know anything about it." + +"Are the French so very clever, then?" said Belle. + +"They say there are no people like them, at least in Europe. But talking +of Chinese reminds me that I have not for some time past given you a +lesson in Armenian. The word for tea in Armenian is--by-the-bye, what is +the Armenian word for tea?" + +"That's your affair, not mine," said Belle; "it seems hard that the +master should ask the scholar." + +"Well," said I, "whatever the word may be in Armenian, it is a noun; and +as we have never yet declined an Armenian noun together, we may as well +take this opportunity of declining one. Belle, there are ten declensions +in Armenian!" + +"What's a declension?" + +"The way of declining a noun." + +"Then, in the civilest way imaginable, I decline the noun. Is that a +declension?" + +"You should never play on words; to do so is low, vulgar, smelling of the +pothouse, the workhouse. Belle, I insist on your declining an Armenian +noun." + +"I have done so already," said Belle. + +"If you go on in this way," said I, "I shall decline taking any more tea +with you. Will you decline an Armenian noun?" + +"I don't like the language," said Belle. "If you must teach me +languages, why not teach me French or Chinese?" + +"I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but a Frenchman is +clever enough to speak it--to say nothing of teaching; no, we will stick +to Armenian, unless, indeed, you would prefer Welsh!" + +"Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar," said Belle; "so, if I must learn one of +the two, I will prefer Armenian, which I never heard of till you +mentioned it to me; though of the two, I really think Welsh sounds best." + +"The Armenian noun," said I, "which I propose for your declension this +night, is --- which signifieth Master." + +"I neither like the word nor the sound," said Belle. + +"I can't help that," said I; "it is the word I choose: Master, with all +its variations, being the first noun, the sound of which I would have you +learn from my lips. Come, let us begin-- + +"A master. Of a master, etc. Repeat--" + +"I am not much used to say the word," said Belle, "but to oblige you I +will decline it as you wish;" and thereupon Belle declined Master in +Armenian. + +"You have declined the noun very well," said I; "that is in the singular +number; we will now go to the plural." + +"What is the plural?" said Belle. + +"That which implies more than one, for example, Masters; you shall now go +through Masters in Armenian." + +"Never," said Belle, "never; it is bad to have one master, but more I +would never bear, whether in Armenian or English." + +"You do not understand," said I; "I merely want you to decline Masters in +Armenian." + +"I do decline them; I will have nothing to do with them, nor with master +either; I was wrong to--What sound is that?" + +"I did not hear it, but I dare say it is thunder; in Armenian--" + +"Never mind what it is in Armenian; but why do you think it is thunder?" + +"Ere I returned from my stroll, I looked up into the heavens, and by +their appearance I judged that a storm was nigh at hand." + +"And why did you not tell me so?" + +"You never asked me about the state of the atmosphere, and I am not in +the habit of giving my opinion to people on any subject, unless +questioned. But, setting that aside, can you blame me for not troubling +you with forebodings about storm and tempest, which might have prevented +the pleasure you promised yourself in drinking tea, or perhaps a lesson +in Armenian, though you pretend to dislike the latter." + +"My dislike is not pretended," said Belle; "I hate the sound of it, but I +love my tea, and it was kind of you not to wish to cast a cloud over my +little pleasures; the thunder came quite time enough to interrupt it +without being anticipated--there is another peal--I will clear away, and +see that my tent is in a condition to resist the storm, and I think you +had better bestir yourself." + +Isopel departed, and I remained seated on my stone, as nothing belonging +to myself required any particular attention; in about a quarter of an +hour she returned, and seated herself upon her stool. + +"How dark the place is become since I left you," said she; "just as if +night were just at hand." + +"Look up at the sky," said I; "and you will not wonder; it is all of a +deep olive. The wind is beginning to rise; hark how it moans among the +branches; and see now their tops are bending--it brings dust on its +wings--I felt some fall on my face; and what is this, a drop of rain?" + +"We shall have plenty anon," said Belle; "do you hear? it already begins +to hiss upon the embers; that fire of ours will soon be extinguished." + +"It is not probable that we shall want it," said I, "but we had better +seek shelter: let us go into my tent." + +"Go in," said Belle, "but you go in alone; as for me, I will seek my +own." + +"You are right," said I, "to be afraid of me; I have taught you to +decline master in Armenian." + +"You almost tempt me," said Belle, "to make you decline mistress in +English." + +"To make matters short," said I, "I decline a mistress." + +"What do you mean?" said Belle, angrily. + +"I have merely done what you wished me," said I, "and in your own style; +there is no other way of declining anything in English, for in English +there are no declensions." + +"The rain is increasing," said Belle. + +"It is so," said I; "I shall go to my tent; you may come, if you please; +I do assure you I am not afraid of you." + +"Nor I of you," said Belle; "so I will come. Why should I be afraid? I +can take my own part; that is--" + +We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to pour with +vehemence. "I hope we shall not be flooded in this hollow," said I to +Belle. "There is no fear of that," said Belle; "the wandering people, +amongst other names, call it the dry hollow. I believe there is a +passage somewhere or other by which the wet is carried off. There must +be a cloud right above us, it is so dark. Oh! what a flash!" + +"And what a peal," said I; "that is what the Hebrews call Koul +Adonai--the voice of the Lord. Are you afraid?" + +"No," said Belle, "I rather like to hear it." + +"You are right," said I, "I am fond of the sound of thunder myself. +There is nothing like it; Koul Adonai behadar; the voice of the Lord is a +glorious voice, as the prayer-book version hath it." + +"There is something awful in it," said Belle; "and then the lightning, +the whole dingle is now in a blaze." + +"'The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, and discovereth the +thick bushes.' As you say, there is something awful in thunder." + +"There are all kinds of noises above us," said Belle; "surely I heard the +crashing of a tree?" + +"'The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedar trees,'" said I, "but what you +hear is caused by a convulsion of the air; during a thunder-storm there +are occasionally all kinds of aerial noises. Ab Gwilym, who, next to +King David, has best described a thunder-storm, speaks of these aerial +noises in the following manner:-- + + 'Astonied now I stand at strains, + As of ten thousand clanking chains; + And once, methought, that overthrown, + The welkin's oaks came whelming down; + Upon my head up starts my hair: + Why hunt abroad the hounds of air? + What cursed hag is screeching high, + Whilst crash goes all her crockery?" + +You would hardly believe, Belle, that though I offered at least ten +thousand lines nearly as good as those to the booksellers in London, the +simpletons were so blind to their interest as to refuse purchasing them." + +"I don't wonder at it," said Belle, "especially if such dreadful +expressions frequently occur as that towards the end; surely that was the +crash of a tree?" + +"Ah!" said I, "there falls the cedar tree--I mean the sallow; one of the +tall trees on the outside of the dingle has been snapped short." + +"What a pity," said Belle, "that the fine old oak, which you saw the +peasants cutting up, gave way the other night, when scarcely a breath of +air was stirring; how much better to have fallen in a storm like this, +the fiercest I remember." + +"I don't think so," said I; "after braving a thousand tempests, it was +meeter for it to fall of itself than to be vanquished at last. But to +return to Ab Gwilym's poetry, he was above culling dainty words, and +spoke boldly his mind on all subjects. Enraged with the thunder for +parting him and Morfydd, he says, at the conclusion of his ode, + + 'My curse, O Thunder, cling to thee, + For parting my dear pearl and me!'" + +"You and I shall part; this is, I shall go to my tent if you persist in +repeating from him. The man must have been a savage. A poor wood-pigeon +has fallen dead." + +"Yes," said I, "there he lies just outside the tent; often have I +listened to his note when alone in this wilderness. So you do not like +Ab Gwilym; what say you to old Goethe:-- + + 'Mist shrouds the night, and rack; + Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack! + Wildly the owls are flitting, + Hark to the pillars splitting + Of palaces verdant ever, + The branches quiver and sever, + The mighty stems are creaking, + The poor roots breaking and shrieking, + In wild mixt ruin down dashing, + O'er one another they're crashing; + Whilst 'midst the rocks so hoary, + Whirlwinds hurry and worry. + Hear'st not, sister--'" + +"Hark!" said Belle, "hark!" + + "'Hear'st not, sister, a chorus + Of voices--?'" + +"No," said Belle, "but I hear a voice." + + + + +CHAPTER XCVI. + + +A Shout--A Fire Ball--See to the Horses--Passing Away--Gap in the +Hedge--On Three Wheels--Why Do You Stop?--No Craven Heart--The +Cordial--Across the Country--Small Bags. + +I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud clashing of +branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered growl of thunder. I +was about to tell Belle that she must have been mistaken, when I heard a +shout, indistinct it is true, owing to the noises aforesaid, from some +part of the field above the dingle. "I will soon see what's the matter," +said I to Belle, starting up. "I will go, too," said the girl. "Stay +where you are," said I; "if I need you, I will call;" and, without +waiting for any answer, I hurried to the mouth of the dingle. I was +about a few yards only from the top of the ascent, when I beheld a blaze +of light, from whence I knew not; the next moment there was a loud crash, +and I appeared involved in a cloud of sulphurous smoke. "Lord have mercy +upon us!" I heard a voice say, and methought I heard the plunging and +struggling of horses. I had stopped short on hearing the crash, for I +was half stunned; but I now hurried forward, and in a moment stood upon +the plain. Here I was instantly aware of the cause of the crash and the +smoke. One of those balls, generally called fire-balls, had fallen from +the clouds, and was burning on the plain at a short distance; and the +voice which I had heard, and the plunging, were as easily accounted for. +Near the left-hand corner of the grove which surrounded the dingle, and +about ten yards from the fire-ball, I perceived a chaise, with a +postillion on the box, who was making efforts, apparently useless, to +control his horses, which were kicking and plunging in the highest degree +of excitement. I instantly ran towards the chaise, in order to offer +what help was in my power. "Help me," said the poor fellow, as I drew +nigh; but before I could reach the horses, they had turned rapidly round, +one of the fore-wheels flew from its axle-tree, the chaise was overset, +and the postillion flung violently from his seat upon the field. The +horses now became more furious than before, kicking desperately, and +endeavouring to disengage themselves from the fallen chaise. As I was +hesitating whether to run to the assistance of the postillion, or +endeavour to disengage the animals, I heard the voice of Belle +exclaiming, "See to the horses, I will look after the man." She had, it +seems, been alarmed by the crash which accompanied the firebolt, and had +hurried up to learn the cause. I forthwith seized the horses by the +heads, and used all the means I possessed to soothe and pacify them, +employing every gentle modulation of which my voice was capable. Belle, +in the meantime, had raised up the man, who was much stunned by his fall; +but presently recovering his recollection to a certain degree, he came +limping to me, holding his hand to his right thigh. "The first thing +that must now be done," said I, "is to free these horses from the traces; +can you undertake to do so?" "I think I can," said the man, looking at +me somewhat stupidly. "I will help," said Belle, and without loss of +time laid hold of one of the traces. The man, after a short pause, also +set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were extricated. "Now," +said I to the man, "what is next to be done?" "I don't know," said he; +"indeed, I scarcely know anything; I have been so frightened by this +horrible storm, and so shaken by my fall." "I think," said I, "that the +storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as for your fall, +you must bear it as lightly as you can. I will tie the horses amongst +those trees, and then we will all betake us to the hollow below." "And +what's to become of my chaise?" said the postillion, looking ruefully on +the fallen vehicle. "Let us leave the chaise for the present," said I; +"we can be of no use to it." "I don't like to leave my chaise lying on +the ground in this weather," said the man, "I love my chaise, and him +whom it belongs to." "You are quite right to be fond of yourself," said +I, "on which account I advise you to seek shelter from the rain as soon +as possible." "I was not talking of myself," said the man, "but my +master, to whom the chaise belongs." "I thought you called the chaise +yours," said I. "That's my way of speaking," said the man, "but the +chaise is my master's, and a better master does not live. Don't you +think we could manage to raise up the chaise?" "And what is to become of +the horses?" said I. "I love my horses well enough," said the man; "but +they will take less harm than the chaise. We two can never lift up that +chaise." "But we three can," said Belle; "at least, I think so; and I +know where to find two poles which will assist us." "You had better go +to the tent," said I, "you will be wet through." "I care not for a +little wetting," said Belle; "moreover, I have more gowns than one--see +you after the horses." Thereupon, I led the horses past the mouth of the +dingle, to a place where a gap in the hedge afforded admission to the +copse or plantation, on the southern side. Forcing them through the gap, +I led them to a spot amidst the trees, which I deemed would afford them +the most convenient place for standing; then, darting down into the +dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my own nag, and with +these fastened them each to a separate tree in the best manner I could. +This done, I returned to the chaise and the postillion. In a minute or +two Belle arrived with two poles, which, it seems, had long been lying, +overgrown with brushwood, in a ditch or hollow behind the plantation. +With these both she and I set to work in endeavouring to raise the fallen +chaise from the ground. + +We experienced considerable difficulty in this undertaking; at length, +with the assistance of the postillion, we saw our efforts crowned with +success--the chaise was lifted up, and stood upright on three wheels. + +"We may leave it here in safety," said I, "for it will hardly move away +on three wheels, even supposing it could run by itself; I am afraid there +is work here for a wheelwright, in which case I cannot assist you; if you +were in need of a blacksmith it would be otherwise." "I don't think +either the wheel or the axle is hurt," said the postillion, who had been +handling both; "it is only the linch-pin having dropped out that caused +the wheel to fly off; if I could but find the linch-pin! though, perhaps, +it fell out a mile away." "Very likely," said I; "but never mind the +linch-pin, I can make you one, or something that will serve: but I can't +stay here any longer, I am going to my place below with this young +gentlewoman, and you had better follow us." "I am ready," said the man; +and after lifting up the wheel and propping it against the chaise, he +went with us, slightly limping, and with his hand pressed to his thigh. + +As we were descending the narrow path, Belle leading the way, and myself +the last of the party, the postillion suddenly stopped short, and looked +about him. "Why do you stop?" said I. "I don't wish to offend you," +said the man; "but this seems to be a strange place you are leading me +into; I hope you and the young gentlewoman, as you call her, don't mean +me any harm--you seemed in a great hurry to bring me here." "We wished +to get you out of the rain," said I, "and ourselves too; that is, if we +can, which I rather doubt, for the canvas of a tent is slight shelter in +such a rain; but what harm should we wish to do you?" "You may think I +have money," said the man, "and I have some, but only thirty shillings, +and for a sum like that it would be hardly worth while to--" "Would it +not?" said I; "thirty shillings, after all, are thirty shillings, and for +what I know, half-a-dozen throats may have been cut in this place for +that sum at the rate of five shillings each; moreover, there are the +horses, which would serve to establish the young gentlewoman and myself +in housekeeping, provided we were thinking of such a thing." "Then I +suppose I have fallen into pretty hands," said the man, putting himself +in a posture of defence; "but I'll show no craven heart; and if you +attempt to lay hands on me, I'll try to pay you in your own coin. I'm +rather lamed in the leg, but I can still use my fists; so come on both of +you, man and woman, if woman this be, though she looks more like a +grenadier." + +"Let me hear no more of this nonsense," said Belle; "if you are afraid, +you can go back to your chaise--we only seek to do you a kindness." + +"Why, he was just now talking of cutting throats," said the man. "You +brought it on yourself," said Belle; "you suspected us, and he wished to +pass a joke upon you; he would not hurt a hair of your head, were your +coach laden with gold, nor would I." "Well," said the man, "I was +wrong--here's my hand to both of you," shaking us by the hands; "I'll go +with you where you please, but I thought this a strange lonesome place, +though I ought not much to mind strange lonesome places, having been in +plenty of such when I was a servant in Italy, without coming to any +harm--come, let us move on, for 'tis a shame to keep you two in the +rain." + +So we descended the path which led into the depths of the dingle; at the +bottom I conducted the postillion to my tent, which, though the rain +dripped and trickled through it, afforded some shelter; there I bade him +sit down on the log of wood, while I placed myself as usual on my stone. +Belle in the meantime had repaired to her own place of abode. After a +little time, I produced a bottle of the cordial of which I have +previously had occasion to speak, and made my guest take a considerable +draught. I then offered him some bread and cheese, which he accepted +with thanks. In about an hour the rain had much abated: "What do you now +propose to do?" said I. "I scarcely know," said the man; "I suppose I +must endeavour to put on the wheel with your help." "How far are you +from your home?" I demanded. "Upwards of thirty miles," said the man; +"my master keeps an inn on the great north road, and from thence I +started early this morning with a family which I conveyed across the +country to a hall at some distance from here. On my return I was beset +by the thunder-storm, which frightened the horses, who dragged the chaise +off the road to the field above, and overset it as you saw. I had +proposed to pass the night at an inn about twelve miles from here on my +way back, though how I am to get there to-night I scarcely know, even if +we can put on the wheel, for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my +fall, and the smoulder and smoke of that fire-ball have rather bewildered +my head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the way." + +"The best thing you can do," said I, "is to pass the night here; I will +presently light a fire, and endeavour to make you comfortable--in the +morning we will see to your wheel." "Well," said the man, "I shall be +glad to pass the night here, provided I do not intrude, but I must see to +the horses." Thereupon I conducted the man to the place where the horses +were tied. "The trees drip very much upon them," said the man, "and it +will not do for them to remain here all night; they will be better out on +the field picking the grass, but first of all they must have a good feed +of corn." Thereupon he went to his chaise, from which he presently +brought two small bags, partly filled with corn--into them he inserted +the mouths of the horses, tying them over their heads. "Here we will +leave them for a time," said the man; "when I think they have had enough, +I will come back, tie their fore-legs, and let them pick about." + + + + +CHAPTER XCVII. + + +Fire of Charcoal--The New Comer--No Wonder!--Not a Blacksmith--A Love +Affair--Gretna Green--A Cool Thousand--Family Estates--Borough +Interest--Grand Education--Let us Hear--Already Quarrelling--Honourable +Parents--Most Heroically--Not Common People--Fresh Charcoal. + +It might be about ten o'clock at night. Belle, the postillion, and +myself sat just within the tent, by a fire of charcoal which I had +kindled in the chafing-pan. The man had removed the harness from his +horses, and, after tethering their legs, had left them for the night in +the field above, to regale themselves on what grass they could find. The +rain had long since entirely ceased, and the moon and stars shone bright +in the firmament, up to which, putting aside the canvas, I occasionally +looked from the depths of the dingle. Large drops of water, however, +falling now and then upon the tent from the neighbouring trees, would +have served, could we have forgotten it, to remind us of the recent +storm, and also a certain chilliness in the atmosphere, unusual to the +season, proceeding from the moisture with which the ground was saturated; +yet these circumstances only served to make our party enjoy the charcoal +fire the more. There we sat bending over it: Belle, with her long +beautiful hair streaming over her magnificent shoulders; the postillion +smoking his pipe, in his shirt-sleeves and waistcoat, having flung aside +his great coat, which had sustained a thorough wetting; and I without my +wagoner's slop, of which, it being in the same plight, I had also +divested myself. + +The new comer was a well-made fellow of about thirty, with an open and +agreeable countenance. I found him very well informed for a man in his +station, and with some pretensions to humour. After we had discoursed +for some time on indifferent subjects, the postillion, who had exhausted +his pipe, took it from his mouth, and, knocking out the ashes upon the +ground, exclaimed, "I little thought, when I got up in the morning, that +I should spend the night in such agreeable company, and after such a +fright." + +"Well," said I, "I am glad that your opinion of us has improved; it is +not long since you seemed to hold us in rather a suspicious light." + +"And no wonder," said the man, "seeing the place you were taking me to. +I was not a little, but very much, afraid of ye both; and so I continued +for some time, though, not to show a craven heart, I pretended to be +quite satisfied; but I see I was altogether mistaken about ye. I thought +you vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers; but now--" + +"Vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers," said I; "and what are we but people +of that stamp?" + +"Oh," said the postillion, "if you wish to be thought such, I am far too +civil a person to contradict you, especially after your kindness to me, +but--" + +"But!" said I; "what do you mean by but? I would have you to know that I +am proud of being a travelling blacksmith: look at these donkey-shoes, I +finished them this day." + +The postillion took the shoes and examined them. "So you made these +shoes?" he cried at last. + +"To be sure I did; do you doubt it?" + +"Not in the least," said the man. + +"Ah! ah!" said I, "I thought I should bring you back to your original +opinion. I am, then, a vagrant Gypsy body, a tramper, a wandering +blacksmith." + +"Not a blacksmith, whatever else you may be," said the postillion, +laughing. + +"Then how do you account for my making those shoes?" + +"By your not being a blacksmith," said the postillion; "no blacksmith +would have made shoes in that manner. Besides, what did you mean just +now by saying you had finished these shoes to-day? a real blacksmith +would have flung off three or four sets of donkey-shoes in one morning, +but you, I will be sworn, have been hammering at these for days, and they +do you credit, but why? because you are no blacksmith; no, friend, your +shoes may do for this young gentlewoman's animal, but I shouldn't like to +have my horses shod by you, unless at a great pinch indeed." + +"Then," said I, "for what do you take me?" + +"Why, for some runaway young gentleman," said the postillion. "No +offence, I hope?" + +"None at all; no one is offended at being taken or mistaken for a young +gentleman, whether runaway or not; but from whence do you suppose I have +run away?" + +"Why, from college," said the man; "no offence?" + +"None whatever; and what induced me to run away from college?" + +"A love affair, I'll be sworn," said the postillion. "You had become +acquainted with this young gentlewoman, so she and you--" + +"Mind how you get on, friend," said Belle, in a deep serious tone. + +"Pray proceed," said I; "I dare say you mean no offence." + +"None in the world," said the postillion; "all I was going to say was +that you agreed to run away together, you from college, and she from +boarding-school. Well, there's nothing to be ashamed of in a matter like +that, such things are done every day by young folks in high life." + +"Are you offended?" said I to Belle. + +Belle made no answer; but, placing her elbows on her knees, buried her +face in her hands. + +"So we ran away together?" said I. + +"Ay, ay," said the postillion, "to Gretna Green, though I can't say that +I drove ye, though I have driven many a pair." + +"And from Gretna Green we came here?" + +"I'll be bound you did," said the man, "till you could arrange matters at +home." + +"And the horse-shoes?" said I. + +"The donkey-shoes, you mean," answered the postillion; "why, I suppose +you persuaded the blacksmith who married you to give you, before you +left, a few lessons in his trade." + +"And we intend to stay here till we have arranged matters at home?" + +"Ay, ay," said the postillion, "till the old people are pacified, and +they send you letters directed to the next post town, to be left till +called for, beginning with 'Dear children,' and enclosing you each a +cheque for one hundred pounds, when you will leave this place, and go +home in a coach like gentlefolks, to visit your governors; I should like +nothing better than to have the driving of you: and then there will be a +grand meeting of the two families, and after a few reproaches, the old +people will agree to do something handsome for the poor thoughtless +things; so you will have a genteel house taken for you, and an annuity +allowed you. You won't get much the first year, five hundred at the +most, in order that the old folks may let you feel that they are not +altogether satisfied with you, and that you are yet entirely in their +power; but the second, if you don't get a cool thousand, may I catch +cold, especially should young madam here present a son and heir for the +old people to fondle, destined one day to become sole heir of the two +illustrious houses, and then all the grand folks in the neighbourhood, +who have, bless their prudent hearts! kept rather aloof from you till +then, for fear you should want anything from them--I say, all the +carriage people in the neighbourhood, when they see how swimmingly +matters are going on, will come in shoals to visit you." + +"Really," said I, "you are getting on swimmingly." + +"Oh," said the postillion, "I was not a gentleman's servant nine years +without learning the ways of gentry, and being able to know gentry when I +see them." + +"And what do you say to all this?" I demanded of Belle. + +"Stop a moment," interposed the postillion, "I have one more word to +say:--and when you are surrounded by your comforts, keeping your nice +little barouche and pair, your coachman and livery servant, and visited +by all the carriage people in the neighbourhood--to say nothing of the +time when you come to the family estates on the death of the old +people--I shouldn't wonder if now and then you look back with longing and +regret to the days when you lived in the damp dripping dingle, had no +better equipage than a pony or donkey-cart, and saw no better company +than a tramper or Gypsy, except once, when a poor postillion was glad to +seat himself at your charcoal fire." + +"Pray," said I, "did you ever take lessons in elocution?" + +"Not directly," said the postillion; "but my old master, who was in +Parliament, did, and so did his son, who was intended to be an orator. A +great professor used to come and give them lessons, and I used to stand +and listen, by which means I picked up a considerable quantity of what is +called rhetoric. In what I last said, I was aiming at what I have heard +him frequently endeavouring to teach my governors as a thing +indispensably necessary in all oratory, a graceful +pere--pere--peregrination." + +"Peroration, perhaps?" + +"Just so," said the postillion; "and now I'm sure I am not mistaken about +you; you have taken lessons yourself, at first hand, in the college +vacations, and a promising pupil you were, I make no doubt. Well, your +friends will be all the happier to get you back. Has your governor much +borough interest?" + +"I ask you once more," said I, addressing myself to Belle, "what you +think of the history which this good man has made for us?" + +"What should I think of it," said Belle, still keeping her face buried in +her hands, "but that it is mere nonsense?" + +"Nonsense!" said the postillion. + +"Yes," said the girl, "and you know it." + +"May my leg always ache, if I do," said the postillion, patting his leg +with his hand; "will you persuade me that this young man has never been +at college?" + +"I have never been at college, but--" + +"Ay, ay," said the postillion; "but--" + +"I have been to the best schools in Britain, to say nothing of a +celebrated one in Ireland." + +"Well, then, it comes to the same thing," said the postillion; "or +perhaps you know more than if you had been at college--and your +governor?" + +"My governor, as you call him," said I, "is dead." + +"And his borough interest?" + +"My father had no borough interest," said I; "had he possessed any, he +would perhaps not have died as he did, honourably poor." + +"No, no," said the postillion; "if he had had borough interest, he +wouldn't have been poor, nor honourable, though perhaps a right +honourable. However, with your grand education and genteel manners, you +made all right at last by persuading this noble young gentlewoman to run +away from boarding-school with you." + +"I was never at boarding-school," said Belle, "unless you call--" + +"Ay, ay," said the postillion, "boarding-school is vulgar, I know: I beg +your pardon, I ought to have called it academy, or by some other much +finer name--you were in something much greater than a boarding-school." + +"There you are right," said Belle, lifting up her head and looking the +postillion full in the face by the light of the charcoal fire; "for I was +bred in the workhouse." + +"Wooh!" said the postillion. + +"It is true that I am of good--" + +"Ay, ay," said the postillion, "let us hear--" + +"Of good blood," continued Belle; "my name is Berners, Isopel Berners, +though my parents were unfortunate. Indeed, with respect to blood, I +believe I am of better blood than the young man." + +"There you are mistaken," said I; "by my father's side I am of Cornish +blood, and by my mother's of brave French Protestant extraction. Now, +with respect to the blood of my father--and to be descended well on the +father's side is the principal thing--it is the best blood in the world, +for the Cornish blood, as the proverb says--" + +"I don't care what the proverb says," said Belle; "I say my blood is the +best--my name is Berners, Isopel Berners--it was my mother's name, and is +better, I am sure, than any you bear, whatever that may be; and though +you say that the descent on the father's side is the principal thing--and +I know why you say so," she added with some excitement--"I say that +descent on the mother's side is of most account, because the mother--" + +"Just come from Gretna Green, and already quarrelling!" said the +postillion. + +"We do not come from Gretna Green," said Belle. + +"Ah, I had forgot," said the postillion, "none but great people go to +Gretna Green. Well, then, from church, and already quarrelling about +family, just like two great people." + +"We have never been to church," said Belle, "and, to prevent any more +guessing on your part, it will be as well for me to tell you, friend, +that I am nothing to the young man, and he, of course, nothing to me. I +am a poor travelling girl, born in a workhouse: journeying on my +occasions with certain companions, I came to this hollow, where my +company quarrelled with the young man, who had settled down here, as he +had a right to do, if he pleased; and not being able to drive him out, +they went away after quarrelling with me, too, for not choosing to side +with them; so I stayed here along with the young man, there being room +for us both, and the place being as free to me as to him." + +"And, in order that you may be no longer puzzled with respect to myself," +said I, "I will give you a brief outline of my history. I am the son of +honourable parents, who gave me a first-rate education, as far as +literature and languages went, with which education I endeavoured, on the +death of my father, to advance myself to wealth and reputation in the big +city; but failing in the attempt, I conceived a disgust for the busy +world, and determined to retire from it. After wandering about for some +time, and meeting with various adventures, in one of which I contrived to +obtain a pony, cart, and certain tools, used by smiths and tinkers, I +came to this place, where I amused myself with making horse-shoes, or +rather pony-shoes, having acquired the art of wielding the hammer and +tongs from a strange kind of smith--not him of Gretna Green--whom I knew +in my childhood. And here I lived, doing harm to no one, quite lonely +and solitary, till one fine morning the premises were visited by this +young gentlewoman and her companions. She did herself anything but +justice when she said that her companions quarrelled with her because she +would not side with them against me; they quarrelled with her, because +she came most heroically to my assistance as I was on the point of being +murdered; and she forgot to tell you, that after they had abandoned her, +she stood by me in the dark hour, comforting and cheering me, when +unspeakable dread, to which I am occasionally subject, took possession of +my mind. She says she is nothing to me, even as I am nothing to her. I +am of course nothing to her, but she is mistaken in thinking she is +nothing to me. I entertain the highest regard and admiration for her, +being convinced that I might search the whole world in vain for a nature +more heroic and devoted." + +"And for my part," said Belle, with a sob, "a more quiet agreeable +partner in a place like this I would not wish to have; it is true he has +strange ways, and frequently puts words into my mouth very difficult to +utter, but--but--" and here she buried her face once more in her hands. + +"Well," said the postillion, "I have been mistaken about you; that is, +not altogether, but in part. You are not rich folks, it seems, but you +are not common people, and that I could have sworn. What I call a shame +is, that some people I have known are not in your place and you in +theirs,--you with their estates and borough interest, they in this dingle +with these carts and animals; but there is no help for these things. +Were I the great Mumbo Jumbo above, I would endeavour to manage matters +better; but being a simple postillion, glad to earn three shillings a +day, I can't be expected to do much." + +"Who is Mumbo Jumbo?" said I. + +"Ah!" said the postillion, "I see there may be a thing or two I know +better than yourself. Mumbo Jumbo is a god of the black coast, to which +people go for ivory and gold." + +"Were you ever there?" I demanded. + +"No," said the postillion, "but I heard plenty of Mumbo Jumbo when I was +a boy." + +"I wish you would tell us something about yourself. I believe that your +own real history would prove quite as entertaining, if not more, than +that which you imagined about us." + +"I am rather tired," said the postillion, "and my leg is rather +troublesome. I should be glad to try to sleep upon one of your blankets. +However, as you wish to hear something about me, I shall be happy to +oblige you; but your fire is rather low, and this place is chilly." + +Thereupon I arose, and put fresh charcoal on the pan; then taking it +outside the tent, with a kind of fan which I had fashioned, I fanned the +coals into a red glow, and continued doing so until the greater part of +the noxious gas, which the coals are in the habit of exhaling, was +exhausted. I then brought it into the tent and reseated myself, +scattering over the coals a small portion of sugar. "No bad smell," said +the postillion; "but upon the whole I think I like the smell of tobacco +better; and with your permission I will once more light my pipe." + +Thereupon he relighted his pipe; and, after taking two or three whiffs, +began in the following manner. + + + + +CHAPTER XCVIII. + + +An Exordium--Fine Ships--High Barbary Captains--Free-Born +Englishmen--Monstrous Figure--Swash-buckler--The Grand Coaches--The +Footmen--A Travelling Expedition--Black Jack--Nelson's Cannon--Pharaoh's +Butler--A Diligence--Two Passengers--Sharking Priest--Virgilio--Lessons +in Italian--Two Opinions--Holy Mary--Priestly Confederates--Methodist +Chapel--Veturini--Some of Our Party--Like a Sepulchre--All for +Themselves. + +"I am a poor postillion, as you see; yet, as I have seen a thing or two, +and heard a thing or two of what is going on in the world, perhaps what I +have to tell you connected with myself may not prove altogether +uninteresting. Now, my friends, this manner of opening a story is what +the man who taught rhetoric would call a hex--hex--" + +"Exordium," said I. + +"Just so," said the postillion; "I treated you to a per--per--peroration +some time ago, so that I have contrived to put the cart before the horse, +as the Irish orators frequently do in the honourable House, in whose +speeches, especially those who have taken lessons in rhetoric, the +per--per--what's the word?--frequently goes before the exordium. + +"I was born in the neighbouring county; my father was land-steward to a +squire of about a thousand a year. My father had two sons, of whom I am +the youngest by some years. My elder brother was of a spirited roving +disposition, and for fear that he should turn out what is generally +termed ungain, my father determined to send him to sea: so once upon a +time, when my brother was about fifteen, he took him to the great +sea-port of the county, where he apprenticed him to a captain of one of +the ships which trade to the high Barbary coast. Fine ships they were, I +have heard say, more than thirty in number, and all belonging to a +wonderful great gentleman, who had once been a parish boy, but had +contrived to make an immense fortune by trading to that coast for +gold-dust, ivory, and other strange articles; and for doing so, I mean +for making a fortune, had been made a knight baronet. So my brother went +to the high Barbary shore, on board the fine vessel, and in about a year +returned and came to visit us; he repeated the voyage several times, +always coming to see his parents on his return. Strange stories he used +to tell us of what he had been witness to on the high Barbary coast, both +off shore and on. He said that the fine vessel in which he sailed was +nothing better than a painted hell; that the captain was a veritable +fiend, whose grand delight was in tormenting his men, especially when +they were sick, as they frequently were, there being always fever on the +high Barbary coast; and that though the captain was occasionally sick +himself, his being so made no difference, or rather it did make a +difference, though for the worse, he being when sick always more +inveterate and malignant than at other times. He said that once, when he +himself was sick, his captain had pitched his face all over, which +exploit was much applauded by the other high Barbary captains; all of +whom, from what my brother said, appeared to be of much the same +disposition as my brother's captain, taking wonderful delight in +tormenting the crews, and doing all manner of terrible things. My +brother frequently said that nothing whatever prevented him from running +away from his ship, and never returning, but the hope he entertained of +one day being captain himself, and able to torment people in his turn, +which he solemnly vowed he would do, as a kind of compensation for what +he himself had undergone. And if things were going on in a strange way +off the high Barbary shore amongst those who came there to trade, they +were going on in a way yet stranger with the people who lived upon it. + +"Oh the strange ways of the black men who lived on that shore, of which +my brother used to tell us at home; selling their sons, daughters, and +servants for slaves, and the prisoners taken in battle, to the Spanish +captains, to be carried to Havannah, and when there, sold at a profit, +the idea of which, my brother said, went to the hearts of our own +captains, who used to say what a hard thing it was that free-born +Englishmen could not have a hand in the traffic, seeing that it was +forbidden by the laws of their country; talking fondly of the good old +times when their forefathers used to carry slaves to Jamaica and +Barbadoes, realizing immense profit, besides the pleasure of hearing +their shrieks on the voyage; and then the superstitions of the blacks, +which my brother used to talk of; their sharks' teeth, their wisps of +fowls' feathers, their half-baked pots, full of burnt bones, of which +they used to make what they called fetish; and bow down to, and ask +favours of, and then, perhaps, abuse and strike, provided the senseless +rubbish did not give them what they asked for; and then, above all, Mumbo +Jumbo, the grand fetish master, who lived somewhere in the woods, and who +used to come out every now and then with his fetish companions; a +monstrous figure, all wound round with leaves and branches, so as to be +quite indistinguishable, and, seating himself on the high seat in the +villages, receive homage from the people, and also gifts and offerings, +the most valuable of which were pretty damsels, and then betake himself +back again, with his followers, into the woods. Oh the tales that my +brother used to tell us of the high Barbary shore! Poor fellow! what +became of him I can't say; the last time he came back from a voyage, he +told us that his captain, as soon as he had brought his vessel to port, +and settled with his owner, drowned himself off the quay, in a fit of the +horrors, which it seems high Barbary captains, after a certain number of +years, are much subject to. After staying about a month with us, he went +to sea again, with another captain; and, bad as the old one had been, it +appears the new one was worse, for, unable to bear his treatment, my +brother left his ship off the high Barbary shore, and ran away up the +country. Some of his comrades, whom we afterwards saw, said that there +were various reports about him on the shore; one that he had taken on +with Mumbo Jumbo, and was serving him in his house in the woods, in the +capacity of swash-buckler, or life-guardsman; another, that he was gone +in quest of a mighty city in the heart of the negro country; another, +that in swimming a stream he had been devoured by an alligator. Now, +these two last reports were bad enough; the idea of their flesh and blood +being bit asunder by a ravenous fish, was sad enough to my poor parents; +and not very comfortable was the thought of his sweltering over the hot +sands in quest of the negro city; but the idea of their son, their eldest +child, serving Mumbo Jumbo as swash-buckler, was worst of all, and caused +my poor parents to shed many a scalding tear. + +"I stayed at home with my parents until I was about eighteen, assisting +my father in various ways. I then went to live at the Squire's, partly +as groom, partly as footman. After living in the country some time, I +attended the family in a trip of six weeks, which they made to London. +Whilst there, happening to have some words with an old ill-tempered +coachman, who had been for a great many years in the family, my master +advised me to leave, offering to recommend me to a family of his +acquaintance who were in need of a footman. I was glad to accept his +offer, and in a few days went to my new place. My new master was one of +the great gentry, a baronet in Parliament, and possessed of an estate of +about twenty thousand a year; his family consisted of his lady, a son, a +fine young man, just coming of age, and two very sweet amiable daughters. +I liked this place much better than my first, there was so much more +pleasant noise and bustle--so much more grand company--and so many more +opportunities of improving myself. Oh, how I liked to see the grand +coaches drive up to the door, with the grand company; and though, amidst +that company, there were some who did not look very grand, there were +others, and not a few, who did. Some of the ladies quite captivated me; +there was the Marchioness of --- in particular. This young lady puts me +much in mind of her; it is true, the Marchioness, as I saw her then, was +about fifteen years older than this young gentlewoman is now, and not so +tall by some inches, but she had the very same hair, and much the same +neck and shoulders--no offence, I hope? And then some of the young +gentlemen, with their cool, haughty, care-for-nothing looks, struck me as +being very fine fellows. There was one in particular, whom I frequently +used to stare at, not altogether unlike some one I have seen +hereabouts--he had a slight cast in his eye, and--but I won't enter into +every particular. And then the footmen! Oh, how those footmen helped to +improve me with their conversation. Many of them could converse much +more glibly than their masters, and appeared to have much better taste. +At any rate, they seldom approved of what their masters did. I remember +being once with one in the gallery of the play-house, when something of +Shakspeare's was being performed; some one in the first tier of boxes was +applauding very loudly. 'That's my fool of a governor,' said he; 'he is +weak enough to like Shakspeare--I don't--he's so confoundedly low, but he +won't last long--going down. Shakspeare culminated--I think that was the +word--culminated some time ago.' + +"And then the professor of elocution, of whom my governors used to take +lessons, and of which lessons I had my share, by listening behind the +door; but for that professor of elocution I should not be able to round +my periods--an expression of his--in the manner I do. + +"After I had been three years at this place my mistress died. Her death, +however, made no great alteration in my way of living, the family +spending their winters in London, and their summers at their old seat in +S--- as before. At last, the young ladies, who had not yet got husbands, +which was strange enough, seeing, as I told you before, they were very +amiable, proposed to our governor a travelling expedition abroad. The +old baronet consented, though young master was much against it, saying, +they would all be much better at home. As the girls persisted, however, +he at last withdrew his opposition, and even promised to follow them, as +soon as his parliamentary duties would permit, for he was just got into +Parliament; and, like most other young members, thought that nothing +could be done in the House without him. So the old gentleman and the two +young ladies set off, taking me with them, and a couple of ladies' maids +to wait upon them. First of all, we went to Paris, where we continued +three months, the old baronet and the ladies going to see the various +sights of the city and the neighbourhood, and I attending them. They +soon got tired of sight-seeing, and of Paris too; and so did I. However, +they still continued there, in order, I believe, that the young ladies +might lay in a store of French finery. I should have passed my idle time +at Paris, of which I had plenty after the sight-seeing was over, very +unpleasantly, but for Black Jack. Eh! did you never hear of Black Jack? +Ah! if you had ever been an English servant in Paris, you would have +known Black Jack; not an English gentleman's servant who has been at +Paris for this last ten years but knows Black Jack and his ordinary. A +strange fellow he was--of what country no one could exactly say--for as +for judging from speech, that was impossible, Jack speaking all languages +equally ill. Some said he came direct from Satan's kitchen, and that +when he gives up keeping ordinary, he will return there again, though the +generally-received opinion at Paris was, that he was at one time butler +to King Pharaoh; and that, after lying asleep for four thousand years in +a place called the Kattycombs, he was awaked by the sound of Nelson's +cannon, at the Battle of the Nile; and going to the shore, took on with +the admiral, and became, in course of time, ship steward; and that after +Nelson's death, he was captured by the French, on board one of whose +vessels he served in a somewhat similar capacity till the peace, when he +came to Paris, and set up an ordinary for servants, sticking the name of +Katcomb over the door, in allusion to the place where he had his long +sleep. But, whatever his origin was, Jack kept his own council, and +appeared to care nothing for what people said about him, or called him. +Yes, I forgot, there was one name he would not be called, and that was +'Portuguese.' I once saw Black Jack knock down a coachman, six foot +high, who called him black-faced Portuguese. 'Any name but dat, you +shab,' said Black Jack, who was a little round fellow, of about five feet +two; 'I would not stand to be called Portuguese by Nelson himself.' Jack +was rather fond of talking about Nelson, and hearing people talk about +him, so that it is not improbable that he may have sailed with him; and +with respect to his having been King Pharaoh's butler, all I have to say +is, I am not disposed to give the downright lie to the report. Jack was +always ready to do a kind turn to a poor servant out of place, and has +often been known to assist such as were in prison, which charitable +disposition he perhaps acquired from having lost a good place himself, +having seen the inside of a prison, and known the want of a meal's +victuals, all which trials King Pharaoh's butler underwent, so he may +have been that butler; at any rate, I have known positive conclusions +come to, on no better premises, if indeed as good. As for the story of +his coming direct from Satan's kitchen, I place no confidence in it at +all, as Black Jack had nothing of Satan about him, but blackness, on +which account he was called Black Jack. Nor am I disposed to give credit +to a report that his hatred of the Portuguese arose from some ill +treatment which he had once experienced when on shore, at Lisbon, from +certain gentlewomen of the place, but rather conclude that it arose from +an opinion he entertained that the Portuguese never paid their debts, one +of the ambassadors of that nation, whose house he had served, having left +Paris several thousand francs in his debt. This is all that I have to +say about Black Jack, without whose funny jokes, and good ordinary, I +should have passed my time in Paris in a very disconsolate manner. + +"After we had been at Paris between two and three months, we left it in +the direction of Italy, which country the family had a great desire to +see. After travelling a great many days in a thing which, though called +a diligence, did not exhibit much diligence, we came to a great big town, +seated around a nasty salt-water basin, connected by a narrow passage +with the sea. Here we were to embark; and so we did as soon as possible, +glad enough to get away; at least I was, and so I make no doubt were the +rest; for such a place for bad smells I never was in. It seems all the +drains and sewers of the place run into that same salt basin, voiding +into it all their impurities, which, not being able to escape into the +sea in any considerable quantity, owing to the narrowness of the +entrance, there accumulate, filling the whole atmosphere with these same +outrageous scents, on which account the town is a famous lodging-house of +the plague. The ship in which we embarked was bound for a place in Italy +called Naples, where we were to stay some time. The voyage was rather a +lazy one, the ship not being moved by steam; for at the time of which I +am speaking, some five years ago, steamships were not so plentiful as +now. There were only two passengers in the grand cabin, where my +governor and his daughters were, an Italian lady and a priest. Of the +lady I have not much to say; she appeared to be a quiet respectable +person enough, and after our arrival at Naples, I neither saw nor heard +anything more of her; but of the priest I shall have a good deal to say +in the sequel, (that, by-the-bye, is a word I learned from the professor +of rhetoric,) and it would have been well for our family had they never +met him. + +"On the third day of the voyage the priest came to me, who was rather +unwell with sea-sickness, which he, of course, felt nothing of, that kind +of people being never affected like others. He was a finish-looking man +of about forty-five, but had something strange in his eyes, which I have +since thought denoted that all was not right in a certain place called +the heart. After a few words of condolence, in a broken kind of English, +he asked me various questions about our family; and I, won by his seeming +kindness, told him all I knew about them, of which communicativeness I +afterwards very much repented. As soon as he had got out of me all he +desired, he left me; and I observed that during the rest of the voyage he +was wonderfully attentive to our governor, and yet more to the young +ladies. Both, however, kept him rather at a distance; the young ladies +were reserved, and once or twice I heard our governor cursing him between +his teeth for a sharking priest. The priest, however, was not +disconcerted, and continued his attentions, which in a little time +produced an effect, so that, by the time we landed at Naples, our great +folks had conceived a kind of liking for the man, and when they took +their leave invited him to visit them, which he promised to do. We hired +a grand house or palace at Naples; it belonged to a poor kind of prince, +who was glad enough to let it to our governor, and also his servants and +carriages; and glad enough were the poor servants, for they got from us +what they never got from the prince--plenty of meat and money--and glad +enough, I make no doubt, were the horses for the provender we gave them; +and I daresay the coaches were not sorry to be cleaned and furbished up. +Well, we went out and came in; going to see the sights, and returning. +Amongst other things we saw was the burning mountain, and the tomb of a +certain sorcerer called Virgilio, who made witch rhymes, by which he +could raise the dead. Plenty of people came to see us, both English and +Italians, and amongst the rest the priest. He did not come amongst the +first, but allowed us to settle and become a little quiet before he +showed himself; and after a day or two he paid us another visit, then +another, till at last his visits were daily. + +"I did not like that Jack Priest; so I kept my eye upon all his motions. +Lord! how that Jack Priest did curry favour with our governor and the two +young ladies; and he curried, and curried, till he had got himself into +favour with the governor, and more especially with the two young ladies, +of whom their father was doatingly fond. At last the ladies took lessons +in Italian of the priest, a language in which he was said to be a grand +proficient, and of which they had hitherto known but very little; and +from that time his influence over them, and consequently over the old +governor, increased till the tables were turned, and he no longer curried +favour with them, but they with him; yes, as true as my leg aches, the +young ladies curried, and the old governor curried favour with that same +Priest; when he was with them, they seemed almost to hang on his lips, +that is, the young ladies; and as for the old governor, he never +contradicted him, and when the fellow was absent, which, by-the-bye, was +not often, it was 'Father so-and-so said this, and Father so-and-so said +that; Father so-and-so thinks we should do so-and-so, or that we should +not do so-and-so.' I at first thought that he must have given them +something, some philtre or the like; but one of the English +maid-servants, who had a kind of respect for me, and who saw much more +behind the scenes than I did, informed me that he was continually +instilling strange notions into their heads, striving, by every possible +method, to make them despise the religion of their own land, and take up +that of the foreign country in which they were. And sure enough, in a +little time, the girls had altogether left off going to an English +chapel, and were continually visiting places of Italian worship. The old +governor, it is true, still went to his church, but he appeared to be +hesitating between two opinions; and once when he was at dinner, he said +to two or three English friends, that since he had become better +acquainted with it, he had conceived a much more favourable opinion of +the Catholic religion than he had previously entertained. In a word, the +priest ruled the house, and everything was done according to his will and +pleasure; by degrees he persuaded the young ladies to drop their English +acquaintances, whose place he supplied with Italians, chiefly females. +My poor old governor would not have had a person to speak to, for he +never could learn the language, but for two or three Englishmen who used +to come occasionally and take a bottle with him, in a summer-house, whose +company he could not be persuaded to resign, notwithstanding the +entreaties of his daughters, instigated by the priest, whose grand +endeavour seemed to be to render the minds of all three foolish, for his +own ends. And if he was busy above stairs with the governor, there was +another busy below with us poor English servants, a kind of subordinate +priest, a low Italian; as he could speak no language but his own, he was +continually jabbering to us in that, and by hearing him the maids and +myself contrived to pick up a good deal of the language, so that we +understood most that was said, and could speak it very fairly; and the +themes of his jabber were the beauty and virtues of one whom he called +Holy Mary, and the power and grandeur of one whom he called the Holy +Father; and he told us that we should shortly have an opportunity of +seeing the Holy Father, who could do anything he liked with Holy Mary: in +the mean time we had plenty of opportunities of seeing Holy Mary, for in +every church, chapel, and convent to which we were taken, there was an +image of Holy Mary, who, if the images were dressed at all in her +fashion, must have been very fond of short petticoats and tinsel, and +who, if those said figures at all resembled her in face, could scarcely +have been half as handsome as either of my two fellow-servants, not to +speak of the young ladies. + +"Now it happened that one of the female servants was much taken with what +she saw and heard, and gave herself up entirely to the will of the +subordinate, who had quite as much dominion over her as his superior had +over the ladies; the other maid, however, the one who had a kind of +respect for me, was not so easily besotted; she used to laugh at what she +saw, and at what the fellow told her, and from her I learnt that amongst +other things intended by these priestly confederates was robbery; she +said that the poor old governor had already been persuaded by his +daughters to put more than a thousand pounds into the superior priest's +hands for purposes of charity and religion, as was said, and that the +subordinate one had already inveigled her fellow-servant out of every +penny which she had saved from her wages, and had endeavoured likewise to +obtain what money she herself had, but in vain. With respect to myself, +the fellow shortly after made an attempt towards obtaining a hundred +crowns, of which, by some means, he knew me to be in possession, telling +me what a meritorious thing it was to give one's superfluities for the +purposes of religion. 'That is true,' said I, 'and if, after my return +to my native country, I find I have anything which I don't want myself, I +will employ it in helping to build a Methodist chapel.' + +"By the time that the three months were expired for which we had hired +the palace of the needy Prince, the old governor began to talk of +returning to England, at least of leaving Italy. I believe he had become +frightened at the calls which were continually being made upon him for +money; for after all, you know, if there is a sensitive part of a man's +wearing apparel it is his breeches pocket; but the young ladies could not +think of leaving dear Italy and the dear priest; and then they had seen +nothing of the country, they had only seen Naples; before leaving dear +Italia they must see more of the country and the cities; above all, they +must see a place which they called the Eternal City, or by some similar +nonsensical name; and they persisted so that the poor governor permitted +them, as usual, to have their way; and it was decided what route they +should take, that is, the priest was kind enough to decide for them; and +was also kind enough to promise to go with them part of the route, as far +as a place where there was a wonderful figure of Holy Mary, which the +priest said it was highly necessary for them to see before visiting the +Eternal City; so we left Naples in hired carriages, driven by fellows +they call veturini, cheating drunken dogs, I remember they were. Besides +our own family, there was the priest and his subordinate, and a couple of +hired lackeys. We were several days upon the journey, travelling through +a very wild country, which the ladies pretended to be delighted with, and +which the governor cursed on account of the badness of the roads; and +when we came to any particularly wild spot we used to stop, in order to +enjoy the scenery, as the ladies said; and then we would spread a +horse-cloth on the ground, and eat bread and cheese, and drink wine of +the country. And some of the holes and corner in which we bivouacked, as +the ladies called it, were something like this place where we are now, so +that when I came down here it put me in mind of them. At last we arrived +at the place where was the holy image. + +"We went to the house or chapel in which the holy image was kept, a +frightful ugly black figure of Holy Mary, dressed in her usual way; and +after we had stared at the figure, and some of our party had bowed down +to it, we were shown a great many things which were called holy relics, +which consisted of thumb-nails and fore-nails and toe-nails, and hair and +teeth, and a feather or two, a mighty thigh-bone, but whether of a man or +a camel, I can't say; all of which things I was told, if properly touched +and handled, had mighty power to cure all kinds of disorders. And as we +went from the holy house, we saw a man in a state of great excitement, he +was foaming at the mouth, and cursing the holy image and all its +household, because, after he had worshipped it and made offerings to it, +and besought it to assist him in a game of chance which he was about to +play, it had left him in the lurch, allowing him to lose all his money; +and when I thought of all the rubbish I had seen, and the purposes which +it was applied to, in conjunction with the rage of the losing gamester at +the deaf and dumb image, I could not help comparing the whole with what +my poor brother used to tell me of the superstitious practices of the +blacks on the high Barbary shore, and their occasional rage and fury at +the things they worshipped; and I said to myself, if all this here +doesn't smell of fetish may I smell fetid. + +"At this place the priest left us, returning to Naples with his +subordinate, on some particular business I suppose. It was, however, +agreed that he should visit us at the Holy City. We did not go direct to +the Holy City, but bent our course to two or three other cities which the +family were desirous of seeing, but as nothing occurred to us in these +places of any particular interest, I shall take the liberty of passing +them by in silence. At length we arrived at the Eternal City; an immense +city it was, looking as if it had stood for a long time, and would stand +for a long time still; compared with it, London would look like a mere +assemblage of bee-skeps; however, give me the bee-skeps with their merry +hum and bustle, and life and honey, rather than that huge town, which +looked like a sepulchre, where there was no life, no busy hum, no bees, +but a scanty sallow population, intermixed with black priests, white +priests, grey priests; and though I don't say there was no honey in the +place, for I believe there was, I am ready to take my Bible oath that it +was not made there, and that the priests kept it all for themselves." + + + + +CHAPTER XCIX. + + +A Cloister--Half English--New Acquaintance--Mixed Liquors--Turning +Papist--Purposes of Charity--Foreign Religion--Melancholy--Elbowing and +Pushing--Outlandish Sight--The Figure--I Don't Care for You--Merry +Andrews--One Good--Religion of My Country--Fellow of Spirit--A +Dispute--The Next Morning--Female Doll--Proper Dignity--Fetish Country. + +"The day after our arrival," continued the postillion, "I was sent, under +the guidance of a lackey of the place, with a letter, which the priest, +when he left, had given us for a friend of his in the Eternal City. We +went to a large house, and on ringing, were admitted by a porter into a +cloister, where I saw some ill-looking, shabby young fellows walking +about, who spoke English to one another. To one of these the porter +delivered the letter, and the young fellow going away, presently returned +and told me to follow him; he led me into a large room, where, behind a +table, on which were various papers, and a thing, which they call in that +country a crucifix, sat a man in a kind of priestly dress. The lad +having opened the door for me, shut it behind me, and went away. The man +behind the table was so engaged in reading the letter which I had +brought, that at first he took no notice of me; he had red hair, a kind +of half-English countenance, and was seemingly about five-and-thirty. +After a little time he laid the letter down, appeared to consider a +moment, and then opened his mouth with a strange laugh, not a loud laugh, +for I heard nothing but a kind of hissing deep down the throat; all of a +sudden, however, perceiving me, he gave a slight start, but instantly +recovering himself, he inquired in English concerning the health of the +family, and where we lived; on my delivering him a card, he bade me +inform my master and the ladies that in the course of the day he would do +himself the honour of waiting upon them. He then arose and opened the +door for me to depart; the man was perfectly civil and courteous, but I +did not like that strange laugh of his, after having read the letter. He +was as good as his word, and that same day paid us a visit. It was now +arranged that we should pass the winter in Rome, to my great annoyance, +for I wished to return to my native land, being heartily tired of +everything connected with Italy. I was not, however, without hope that +our young master would shortly arrive, when I trusted that matters, as +far as the family were concerned, would be put on a better footing. In a +few days our new acquaintance, who, it seems, was a mongrel Englishman, +had procured a house for our accommodation; it was large enough, but not +near so pleasant as that we had at Naples, which was light and airy, with +a large garden. This was a dark gloomy structure in a narrow street, +with a frowning church beside it; it was not far from the place where our +new friend lived, and its being so was probably the reason why he +selected it. It was furnished partly with articles which we bought, and +partly with those which we hired. We lived something in the same way as +at Naples; but though I did not much like Naples, I yet liked it better +than this place, which was so gloomy. Our new acquaintance made himself +as agreeable as he could, conducting the ladies to churches and convents, +and frequently passing the afternoon drinking with the governor, who was +fond of a glass of brandy and water and a cigar, as the new acquaintance +also was--no, I remember, he was fond of gin and water, and did not +smoke. I don't think he had so much influence over the young ladies as +the other priest, which was, perhaps, owing to his not being so good +looking; but I am sure he had more influence with the governor, owing, +doubtless, to his bearing him company in drinking mixed liquors, which +the other priest did not do. + +"He was a strange fellow, that same new acquaintance of ours, and unlike +all the priests I saw in that country, and I saw plenty of various +nations,--they were always upon their guard, and had their features and +voice modulated; but this man was subject to fits of absence, during +which he would frequently mutter to himself; then, though he was +perfectly civil to everybody, as far as words went, I observed that he +entertained a thorough contempt for most people, especially for those +whom he was making dupes. I have observed him whilst drinking with our +governor, when the old man's head was turned, look at him with an air +which seemed to say, 'What a thundering old fool you are!' and at our +young ladies, when their backs were turned, with a glance which said +distinctly enough, 'You precious pair of ninnyhammers;' and then his +laugh--he had two kinds of laughs--one which you could hear, and another +which you could only see. I have seen him laugh at our governor and the +young ladies, when their heads were turned away, but I heard no sound. +My mother had a sandy cat, which sometimes used to open its mouth wide +with a mew which nobody could hear, and the silent laugh of that +red-haired priest used to put me wonderfully in mind of the silent mew of +my mother's sandy-red cat. And then the other laugh, which you could +hear; what a strange laugh that was, never loud, yes, I have heard it +tolerably loud. He once passed near me, after having taken leave of a +silly English fellow--a limping parson of the name of Platitude, who they +said was thinking of turning Papist, and was much in his company; I was +standing behind the pillar of a piazza, and as he passed he was laughing +heartily. O he was a strange fellow, that same red-haired acquaintance +of ours! + +"After we had been at Rome about six weeks, our old friend the priest of +Naples arrived, but without his subordinate, for whose services he now +perhaps thought that he had no occasion. I believe he found matters in +our family wearing almost as favourable an aspect as he could desire: +with what he had previously taught them and shown them at Naples and +elsewhere, and with what the red-haired confederate had taught them and +shown them at Rome, the poor young ladies had become quite handmaids of +superstition, so that they, especially the youngest, were prepared to bow +down to anything, and kiss anything, however vile and ugly, provided a +priest commanded them; and as for the old governor, what with the +influence which his daughters exerted, and what with the ascendancy which +the red-haired man had obtained over him, he dared not say his purse, far +less his soul, was his own. Only think of an Englishman not being master +of his own purse! My acquaintance, the lady's maid, assured me, that to +her certain knowledge, he had disbursed to the red-haired man, for +purposes of charity, as it was said, at least one thousand pounds during +the five weeks we had been at Rome. She also told me that things would +shortly be brought to a conclusion, and so indeed they were, though in a +different manner from what she and I and some other people imagined; that +there was to be a grand festival, and a mass, at which we were to be +present, after which the family were to be presented to the Holy Father, +for so those two priestly sharks had managed it; and then--she said she +was certain that the two ladies, and perhaps the old governor, would +forsake the religion of their native land, taking up with that of these +foreign regions, for so my fellow-servant expressed it, and that perhaps +attempts might be made to induce us poor English servants to take up with +the foreign religion, that is herself and me, for as for our +fellow-servant, the other maid, she wanted no inducing, being disposed +body and soul to go over to it. Whereupon, I swore with an oath that +nothing should induce me to take up with the foreign religion; and the +poor maid, my fellow-servant, bursting into tears, said that for her part +she would sooner die than have anything to do with it; thereupon we shook +hands and agreed to stand by and countenance one another: and moreover, +provided our governors were fools enough to go over to the religion of +these here foreigners, we would not wait to be asked to do the like, but +leave them at once, and make the best of our way home, even if we were +forced to beg on the road. + +"At last the day of the grand festival came, and we were all to go to the +big church to hear the mass. Now it happened that for some time past I +had been much afflicted with melancholy, especially when I got up of a +morning, produced by the strange manner in which I saw things going on in +our family; and to dispel it in some degree, I had been in the habit of +taking a dram before breakfast. On the morning in question, feeling +particularly low-spirited when I thought of the foolish step our governor +would probably take before evening, I took two drams before breakfast, +and after breakfast, feeling my melancholy still continuing, I took +another, which produced a slight effect upon my head, though I am +convinced nobody observed it. + +"Away we drove to the big church; it was a dark, misty day, I remember, +and very cold, so that if anybody had noticed my being slightly in +liquor, I could have excused myself by saying that I had merely taken a +glass to fortify my constitution against the weather; and of one thing I +am certain, which is, that such an excuse would have stood me in stead +with our governor, who looked, I thought, as if he had taken one too; but +I may be mistaken, and why should I notice him, seeing that he took no +notice of me: so away we drove to the big church, to which all the +population of the place appeared to be moving. + +"On arriving there we dismounted, and the two priests who were with us +led the family in, whilst I followed at a little distance, but quickly +lost them amidst the throng of people. I made my way, however, though in +what direction I knew not, except it was one in which everybody seemed +striving, and by dint of elbowing and pushing, I at last got to a place +which looked like the aisle of a cathedral, where the people stood in two +rows, a space between being kept open by certain strangely-dressed men +who moved up and down with rods in their hands; all were looking to the +upper end of this place or aisle; and at the upper end, separated from +the people by palings like those of an altar, sat in magnificent-looking +stalls, on the right and the left, various wonderful-looking individuals +in scarlet dresses. At the farther end was what appeared to be an altar, +on the left hand was a pulpit, and on the right a stall higher than any +of the rest, where was a figure whom I could scarcely see. + +"I can't pretend to describe what I saw exactly, for my head, which was +at first rather flurried, had become more so from the efforts which I had +made to get through the crowd; also from certain singing which proceeded +from I know not where, and above all from the bursts of an organ which +were occasionally so loud that I thought the roof, which was painted with +wondrous colours, would come toppling down on those below. So there +stood I--a poor English servant--in that outlandish place, in the midst +of that foreign crowd, looking at that outlandish sight--hearing those +outlandish sounds, and occasionally glancing at our party, which, by this +time, I distinguished at the opposite side to where I stood, but much +nearer the place where the red figures sat. Yes, there stood our poor +governor, and the sweet young ladies, and I thought they never looked so +handsome before, and close by them were the sharking priests, and not far +from them was that idiotical parson Platitude, winking and grinning, and +occasionally lifting up his hands as if in ecstasy at what he saw and +heard, so that he drew upon himself the notice of the congregation. + +"And now an individual mounted the pulpit, and began to preach in a +language which I did not understand, but which I believe to be Latin, +addressing himself seemingly to the figure in the stall; and when he had +ceased, there was more singing, more organ playing, and then two men in +robes brought forth two things which they held up; and then the people +bowed their heads, and our poor governor bowed his head, and the sweet +young ladies bowed their heads, and the sharking priests, whilst the +idiotical parson Platitude tried to fling himself down; and then there +were various evolutions withinside the pale, and the scarlet figures got +up and sat down, and this kind of thing continued for some time. At +length the figure which I had seen in the principal stall came forth and +advanced towards the people; an awful figure he was, a huge old man with +a sugar-loaf hat, with a sulphur-coloured dress, and holding a crook in +his hand like that of a shepherd; and as he advanced the people fell on +their knees, our poor old governor amongst them; the sweet young ladies, +the sharking priests, the idiotical parson Platitude, all fell on their +knees, and somebody or other tried to pull me on my knees; but by this +time I had become outrageous, all that my poor brother used to tell me of +the superstitions of the high Barbary shore rushed into my mind, and I +thought they were acting them over here; above all, the idea that the +sweet young ladies, to say nothing of my poor old governor, were, after +the conclusion of all this mummery, going to deliver themselves up body +and soul into the power of that horrid-looking old man, maddened me, and, +rushing forward into the open space, I confronted the horrible-looking +old figure with the sugar-loaf hat, the sulphur-coloured garments, and +shepherd's crook, and shaking my fist at his nose, I bellowed out in +English-- + +"'I don't care for you, old Mumbo Jumbo, though you have fetish!' + +"I can scarcely tell you what occurred for some time. I have a dim +recollection that hands were laid upon me, and that I struck out +violently left and right. On coming to myself, I was seated on a stone +bench in a large room, something like a guard-room, in the custody of +certain fellows dressed like Merry Andrews; they were bluff, +good-looking, wholesome fellows, very different from the sallow Italians; +they were looking at me attentively, and occasionally talking to each +other in a language which sounded very like the cracking of walnuts in +the mouth, very different from cooing Italian. At last one of them asked +me in Italian what had ailed me, to which I replied, in an incoherent +manner, something about Mumbo Jumbo; whereupon the fellow, one of the +bluffest of the lot, a jovial rosy-faced rascal, lifted up his right +hand, placing it in such a manner that the lips were between the +forefinger and thumb, then lifting up his right foot and drawing back his +head, he sucked in his breath with a hissing sound, as if to imitate one +drinking a hearty draught, and then slapped me on the shoulder, saying +something which sounded like goot wine, goot companion, whereupon they +all laughed, exclaiming, ya, ya, goot companion. And now hurried into +the room our poor old governor, with the red-haired priest; the first +asked what could have induced me to behave in such a manner in such a +place, to which I replied that I was not going to bow down to Mumbo +Jumbo, whatever other people might do. Whereupon my master said he +believed I was mad, and the priest said he believed I was drunk; to which +I answered that I was neither so mad nor drunk but I could distinguish +how the wind lay. Whereupon they left me, and in a little time I was +told by the bluff-looking Merry Andrews I was at liberty to depart. I +believe the priest, in order to please my governor, interceded for me in +high quarters. + +"But one good resulted from this affair; there was no presentation of our +family to the Holy Father, for old Mumbo was so frightened by my +outrageous looks that he was laid up for a week, as I was afterwards +informed. + +"I went home, and had scarcely been there half an hour when I was sent +for by the governor, who again referred to the scene in church, said that +he could not tolerate such scandalous behaviour, and that unless I +promised to be more circumspect in future, he should be compelled to +discharge me. I said that if he was scandalized at my behaviour in the +church, I was more scandalized at all I saw going on in the family, which +was governed by two rascally priests, who, not content with plundering +him, appeared bent on hurrying the souls of us all to destruction; and +that with respect to discharging me, he could do so that moment, as I +wished to go. I believe his own reason told him that I was right, for he +made no direct answer; but, after looking on the ground for some time, he +told me to leave him. As he did not tell me to leave the house, I went +to my room, intending to lie down for an hour or two; but scarcely was I +there when the door opened, and in came the red-haired priest. He showed +himself, as he always did, perfectly civil, asked me how I was, took a +chair and sat down. After a hem or two he entered into a long +conversation on the excellence of what he called the Catholic religion; +told me that he hoped I would not set myself against the light, and +likewise against my interest; for that the family were about to embrace +the Catholic religion, and would make it worth my while to follow their +example. I told him that the family might do what they pleased, but that +I would never forsake the religion of my country for any consideration +whatever; that I was nothing but a poor servant, but I was not to be +bought by base gold. 'I admire your honourable feelings,' said he; 'you +shall have no gold; and as I see you are a fellow of spirit, and do not +like being a servant, for which I commend you, I can promise you +something better. I have a good deal of influence in this place; and if +you will not set your face against the light, but embrace the Catholic +religion, I will undertake to make your fortune. You remember those fine +fellows to-day who took you into custody, they are the guards of his +Holiness. I have no doubt that I have interest enough to procure your +enrolment amongst them.' 'What,' said I, 'become swash-buckler to Mumbo +Jumbo up here! May I'--and here I swore--'if I do. The mere possibility +of one of their children being swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo on the high +Barbary shore has always been a source of heart-breaking to my poor +parents. What, then, would they not undergo if they knew for certain +that their other child was swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here?' +Thereupon he asked me, even as you did some time ago, what I meant by +Mumbo Jumbo? And I told him all I had heard about the Mumbo Jumbo of the +high Barbary shore; telling him that I had no doubt that the old fellow +up here was his brother, or nearly related to him. The man with the red +hair listened with the greatest attention to all I said, and when I had +concluded, he got up, nodded to me, and moved to the door; ere he reached +the door I saw his shoulders shaking, and as he closed it behind him I +heard him distinctly laughing, to the tune of--he! he! he! + +"But now matters began to mend. That same evening my young master +unexpectedly arrived. I believe he soon perceived that something +extraordinary had been going on in the family. He was for some time +closeted with the governor, with whom, I believe, he had a dispute; for +my fellow-servant, the ladies' maid, informed me that she heard high +words. + +"Rather late at night the young gentleman sent for me into his room, and +asked me various questions with respect to what had been going on, and my +behaviour in the church, of which he had heard something. I told him all +I knew with respect to the intrigues of the two priests in the family, +and gave him a circumstantial account of all that had occurred in the +church; adding that, under similar circumstances, I was ready to play the +same part over again. Instead of blaming me, he commended my behaviour, +told me I was a fine fellow, and said he hoped that if he wanted my +assistance, I would stand by him; this I promised to do. Before I left +him, he entreated me to inform him the very next time I saw the priests +entering the house. + +"The next morning, as I was in the court-yard, where I had placed myself +to watch, I saw the two enter and make their way up a private stair to +the young ladies' apartment; they were attended by a man dressed +something like a priest, who bore a large box; I instantly ran to relate +what I had seen to my young master. I found him shaving. 'I will just +finish what I am about,' said he, 'and then wait upon these gentlemen.' +He finished what he was about with great deliberation; then taking a +horsewhip, and bidding me follow him, he proceeded at once to the door of +his sisters' apartment; finding it fastened, he burst it open at once +with his foot, and entered, followed by myself. There we beheld the two +unfortunate young ladies down on their knees before a large female doll, +dressed up, as usual, in rags and tinsel; the two priests were standing +near, one on either side, with their hands uplifted, whilst the fellow +who brought the trumpery stood a little way down the private stair, the +door of which stood open; without a moment's hesitation, my young master +rushed forward, gave the image a cut or two with his horsewhip--then +flying at the priests, he gave them a sound flogging, kicked them down +the private stair, and spurned the man, box and image after them--then +locking the door, he gave his sisters a fine sermon, in which he +represented to them their folly in worshipping a silly wooden graven +image, which, though it had eyes, could see not; though it had ears, +could hear not; though it had hands, could not help itself; and though it +had feet, could not move about unless it were carried. Oh, it was a fine +sermon that my young master preached, and sorry I am that the Father of +the Fetish, old Mumbo, did not hear it. The elder sister looked ashamed, +but the youngest, who was very weak, did nothing but wring her hands, +weep and bewail the injury which had been done to the dear image. The +young man, however, without paying much regard to either of them, went to +his father, with whom he had a long conversation, which terminated in the +old governor giving orders for preparations to be made for the family's +leaving Rome and returning to England. I believe that the old governor +was glad of his son's arrival, and rejoiced at the idea of getting away +from Italy, where he had been so plundered and imposed upon. The +priests, however, made another attempt upon the poor young ladies. By +the connivance of the female servant who was in their interest, they +found their way once more into their apartment, bringing with them the +fetish image, whose body they partly stripped, exhibiting upon it certain +sanguine marks which they had daubed upon it with red paint, but which +they said were the result of the lashes which it had received from the +horsewhip. The youngest girl believed all they said, and kissed and +embraced the dear image; but the eldest, whose eyes had been opened by +her brother, to whom she was much attached, behaved with proper dignity; +for, going to the door, she called the female servant who had a respect +for me, and in her presence reproached the two deceivers for their +various impudent cheats, and especially for this their last attempt at +imposition; adding that if they did not forthwith withdraw and rid her +sister and herself of their presence, she would send word by her maid to +her brother, who would presently take effectual means to expel them. +They took the hint and departed, and we saw no more of them. + +"At the end of three days we departed from Rome, but the maid whom the +Priests had cajoled remained behind, and it is probable that the youngest +of our ladies would have done the same thing if she could have had her +own will, for she was continually raving about her image, and saying, she +should wish to live with it in a convent; but we watched the poor thing, +and got her on board ship. Oh, glad was I to leave that fetish country +and old Mumbo behind me!" + + + + +CHAPTER C. + + +Nothing but Gloom--Sporting Character--Gouty Tory--Servants' +Club--Politics--Reformado Footman--Peroration--Good Night. + +"We arrived in England, and went to our country seat, but the peace and +tranquillity of the family had been marred, and I no longer found my +place the pleasant one which it had formerly been; there was nothing but +gloom in the house, for the youngest daughter exhibited signs of lunacy, +and was obliged to be kept under confinement. The next season I attended +my master, his son, and eldest daughter to London, as I had previously +done. There I left them, for hearing that a young baronet, an +acquaintance of the family, wanted a servant, I applied for the place, +with the consent of my masters, both of whom gave me a strong +recommendation; and, being approved of, I went to live with him. + +"My new master was what is called a sporting character, very fond of the +turf, upon which he was not very fortunate. He was frequently very much +in want of money, and my wages were anything but regularly paid; +nevertheless, I liked him very much, for he treated me more like a friend +than a domestic, continually consulting me as to his affairs. At length +he was brought nearly to his last shifts, by backing the favourite at the +Derby, which favourite turned out a regular brute, being found nowhere at +the rush. Whereupon, he and I had a solemn consultation over fourteen +glasses of brandy and water, and as many cigars--I mean, between us--as +to what was to be done. He wished to start a coach, in which event he +was to be driver, and I guard. He was quite competent to drive a coach, +being a first-rate whip, and I dare say I should have made a first-rate +guard; but to start a coach requires money, and we neither of us believed +that anybody would trust us with vehicles and horses, so that idea was +laid aside. We then debated as to whether or not he should go into the +Church; but to go into the Church--at any rate to become a dean or +bishop, which would have been our aim--it is necessary for a man to +possess some education; and my master, although he had been at the best +school in England, that is, the most expensive, and also at College, was +almost totally illiterate, so we let the Church scheme follow that of the +coach. At last, bethinking me that he was tolerably glib at the tongue, +as most people are who are addicted to the turf, also a great master of +slang, remembering also that he had a crabbed old uncle, who had some +borough interest, I proposed that he should get into the House, promising +in one fortnight to qualify him to make a figure in it, by certain +lessons which I would give him. He consented; and during the next +fortnight I did little else than give him lessons in elocution, following +to a tittle the method of the great professor, which I had picked up, +listening behind the door. At the end of that period, we paid a visit to +his relation, an old gouty Tory, who, at first, received us very coolly. +My master, however, by flattering a predilection of his for Billy Pitt, +soon won his affections so much, that he promised to bring him into +Parliament; and in less than a month was as good as his word. My master, +partly by his own qualifications, and the assistance which he had +derived, and still occasionally derived, from me, cut a wonderful figure +in the House, and was speedily considered one of the most promising +speakers; he was always a good hand at promising--he is, at present, I +believe, a Cabinet minister. + +"But as he got up in the world, he began to look down on me. I believe +he was ashamed of the obligation under which he lay to me; and at last, +requiring no further hints as to oratory from a poor servant like me, he +took an opportunity of quarrelling with me and discharging me. However, +as he had still some grace, he recommended me to a gentleman with whom, +since he had attached himself to politics, he had formed an acquaintance, +the editor of a grand Tory Review. I lost caste terribly amongst the +servants for entering the service of a person connected with a profession +so mean as literature; and it was proposed at the Servants' Club, in Park +Lane, to eject me from that society. The proposition, however, was not +carried into effect, and I was permitted to show myself among them, +though few condescended to take much notice of me. My master was one of +the best men in the world, but also one of the most sensitive. On his +veracity being impugned by the editor of a newspaper, he called him out, +and shot him through the arm. Though servants are seldom admirers of +their masters, I was a great admirer of mine, and eager to follow his +example. The day after the encounter, on my veracity being impugned by +the servant of Lord C--- in something I said in praise of my master, I +determined to call him out; so I went into another room and wrote a +challenge. But whom should I send it by? Several servants to whom I +applied refused to be the bearers of it; they said I had lost caste, and +they could not think of going out with me. At length the servant of the +Duke of B--- consented to take it; but he made me to understand that, +though he went out with me, he did so merely because he despised the +Whiggish principles of Lord C---'s servant, and that if I thought he +intended to associate with me, I should be mistaken. Politics, I must +tell you, at that time ran as high amongst the servants as the gentlemen, +the servants, however, being almost invariably opposed to the politics of +their respective masters, though both parties agreed in one point, the +scouting of everything low and literary, though I think, of the two, the +liberal or reform party were the most inveterate. So he took my +challenge, which was accepted; we went out, Lord C---'s servant being +seconded by a reformado footman from the palace. We fired three times +without effect; but this affair lost me my place; my master on hearing it +forthwith discharged me; he was, as I have said before, very sensitive, +and he said this duel of mine was a parody of his own. Being, however, +one of the best men in the world, on his discharging me he made me a +donation of twenty pounds. + +"And it was well that he made me this present, for without it I should +have been penniless, having contracted rather expensive habits during the +time that I lived with the young baronet. I now determined to visit my +parents, whom I had not seen for years. I found them in good health, +and, after staying with them for two months, I returned again in the +direction of town, walking, in order to see the country. On the second +day of my journey, not being used to such fatigue, I fell ill at a great +inn on the north road, and there I continued for some weeks till I +recovered, but by that time my money was entirely spent. By living at +the inn I had contracted an acquaintance with the master and the people, +and become accustomed to inn life. As I thought that I might find some +difficulty in procuring any desirable situation in London, owing to my +late connection with literature, I determined to remain where I was, +provided my services would be accepted. I offered them to the master, +who, finding I knew something of horses, engaged me as a postillion. I +have remained there since. You have now heard my story. + +"Stay, you sha'n't say that I told my tale without a per--peroration. +What shall it be? Oh, I remember something which will serve for one. As +I was driving my chaise some weeks ago I saw standing at the gate of an +avenue, which led up to an old mansion, a figure which I thought I +recognised. I looked at it attentively, and the figure, as I passed, +looked at me; whether it remembered me I do not know, but I recognised +the face it showed me full well. + +"If it was not the identical face of the red-haired priest whom I had +seen at Rome, may I catch cold! + +"Young gentleman, I will now take a spell on your blanket--young lady, +good night." + + THE END. + + + + +SOME OPINIONS. + + +"The death of his father as told in the last chapter of _Lavengro_. Is +there anything of the kind more affecting in the library? . . . People +there are for whom Borrow will play the same part as did horses and dogs +for the gentleman in the tall white hat, whom David Copperfield met on +the top of the Canterbury coach. 'Orses and dorgs,' said that gentleman, +'is some men's fancy. They are wittles and drink to me, lodging, wife +and children, reading, writing and 'rithmetic, snuff, tobacker and +sleep.'"--MR. AUGUSTINE BIRRELL in "_Res Judicatae_." + +"The spirit of Le Sage, the genius of Sterne find new life in these +pages. We promise our readers intellectual enjoyment of the highest +order from a perusal of this extraordinary book."--MORNING POST. + +"Described with extraordinary vigour, and no one will lay down the volume +unless compelled."--ATHENAEUM. + +"Mr. Borrow has the rare art of describing scenes and presenting +characters with that graphic force and clearness which arise from +thorough knowledge of and interest in his subject. . . . As an observer +of strange varieties of the human race, he at once charms and rewards the +attention of the reader."--SPECTATOR. + + _By the same author and uniform with this volume_. + + In neat cloth, with cut or uncut edges, 2s. + + THE BIBLE IN SPAIN; + + _Or_, _The Journeys and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an attempt to + circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula_. + + BY GEORGE BORROW. + + + + +MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS BOOKS. + + + _AN INEXPENSIVE LIBRARY OF INDISPENSABLE BOOKS_. + + _An Illustrated Series of first-class Books_, _averaging from 400 to 600 + pages_, _strongly and attractively bound in cloth_. + + PRICE TWO SHILLINGS EACH VOLUME, + WITH CUT OR UNCUT EDGES. + + In Half-Calf, Half-Persian, or Half-Morocco, Price Five Shillings each + Volume. + +The Design and Plan of the MINERVA LIBRARY OF FAMOUS BOOKS have been +amply justified by the remarkable favour with which it has been received +by the press and the public. The design is to provide _at the lowest +possible cost_ books which every intelligent reader will wish to possess +in a form readable, attractive, and lasting. The issue at monthly +intervals, not so frequent as to distract, not so intermittent as to lose +the advantage of regularity, enables readers to add to their library at +an almost imperceptible cost. Thus for about one pound a year, every man +may form a library which will afford an ever-increasing source of +gratification and cultivation to himself and his family. There is no +doubt, as in buying the novelties of the day, as to whether the new +volume will prove to be of permanent value and interest. It will have +already stood the test of time and of good critics, though frequently it +may have been unattainable except at a heavy cost. THE MINERVA LIBRARY +includes only works of widespread popularity, which have proved +themselves worthy of a permanent place in literature. + +Variety is studied in the selection of books, so that all classes of the +best literature of all nations may be represented. The adoption of the +name "Minerva" is justified by the abundant wisdom, thought, and +imaginative and inventive power which the books will be found to contain. + +Each volume contains an introduction by the Editor, in which a biography +of the author, or critical or explanatory notes, place the reader in +sympathy with the author and his work. In some of the books additional +elucidations and illustrations of the text are given, and in others +side-notes indicate the subjects of the paragraphs. + +The number of separate Plates as well as illustrations in the text forms +a marked feature of the series. As far as possible an authentic portrait +of every author is given. An inspection of the books only is needed to +make their attractiveness evident. + +Every Englishman who reads and thinks, and wishes to possess the BEST +BOOKS, should have every book in the Minerva Library. + +The Youth beginning to form a Library of books for lifelong companionship +cannot do better than subscribe to the Minerva Library. + +Schools, Mechanics, and Village Libraries, and literary institutions of +all kinds, should provide themselves with a number of copies of this +inexpensive library of indispensable books. + +The Artisan and the Shop Assistant will find their means and +opportunities consulted in this series. They cannot buy the best books +in the English language in a better and cheaper form combined. + +Naturally every Englishman wants to possess the choice works of the +greatest Englishmen; and to complete his ideas as a citizen of the world, +he needs a selection of the greatest writings of the geniuses of other +countries. Both these wants it is the object of the Minerva Library to +supply. + + + +Volume I.--Eleventh Edition. + + +CHARLES DARWIN'S JOURNAL During the Voyage of H.M.S. "Beagle" round the +World. With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of +Darwin, and Illustrations. + + "'The 'Minerva Library,' the new venture of Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co. + has made an excellent start. . . . No better volumes could be chosen + for popular reading of a healthy sort than 'Darwin's Journal of + Researches during the Voyage of the Beagle,' and 'Borrow's Bible in + Spain.' The paper is good, the type is tolerable, the binding is in + excellent taste, and the price is extremely low."--_Athenaeum_. + + + +Volume II.--Fifth Edition. + + +THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. With a Critical Introduction by the Editor, +Portrait of the Author, and reproductions of the celebrated Illustrations +by PHIZ and CRUIKSHANK. + + "This series, which is edited by Mr. G. T. Bettany, is neatly bound, + well illustrated, and nicely printed."--_Graphic_. + + "The determination of the publishers of the 'Minerva Library' to + render the series attractive and representative of English literature + of all kinds, is strikingly displayed in this volume. . . The book is + well printed and bound, and will be eagerly welcomed by all desiring + to obtain at a small cost a good edition of the works of the famous + humourist."--_Liverpool Courier_. + + + +Volume III.--Fourth Edition. + + +BORROW'S BIBLE IN SPAIN: The Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of +an Englishman, in an attempt to circulate the Scriptures in the +Peninsula. By GEORGE BORROW, Author of "The Gipsies of Spain." With a +Biographical Introduction by the Editor, and Illustrations. + +"Lovers of good literature and cheap may be commended to the 'Minerva +Library' Edition of 'The Bible in Spain,' edited by Mr. G. T. Bettany. +This is an excellent reprint, with neat binding, good type, and fair +woodcuts."--_Saturday Review_. + + + +Volume IV.--Sixth Edition. + + +EMERSON'S PROSE WORKS: The complete Prose Works of RALPH WALDO EMERSON. +With a Critical Introduction by the Editor, and Portrait of the Author. + + "The series, judging by the initial volumes, will be endowed with + everything that makes reading pleasant and agreeable. . . . The + printing is a marvel of clearness, the slurs that too often + characterise cheap volumes being conspicuous by their absence. . . . + The binding is both elegant and durable. . . . If the excellence of + the first volumes is maintained in the future, the series will enjoy + a success both widespread and prolonged." _City Press_. + + + +Volume V.--Fourth Edition. + + +GALTON'S SOUTH AFRICA: The Narrative of an Explorer in Tropical South +Africa: being an Account of a Visit to Damaraland in 1851. By FRANCIS +GALTON, F.R.S. With a New Map and Appendix, together with a Biographical +Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of Mr. Gallon, and Illustrations. +Containing also Vacation Tours in 1860 and 1861, by SIR GEORGE GROVE, +FRANCIS GALTON, F.R.S., and W. G. CLARK, M.A. + + "Be it understood the 'Minerva Library' presents itself in a form + that even the lover of luxurious books could scarcely find fault + with."--_Warrington Guardian_. + + "The 'Minerva Library' will be hailed with delight, we are sure, by + all readers."--_The Weekly Times_. + + + +Volume VI.--Third Edition. + + +THE BETROTHED LOVERS (I Promessi Sposi). By ALESSANDRO MANZONI. With a +Biographical Introduction by the Editor, and Portrait of the Author. + + Of this great work GOETHE wrote:--"Manzoni's romance transcends all + that we have knowledge of in this kind. I need only say that the + internal part, all that comes from the core of the poet, is + thoroughly perfect, and that the external part, all the notes of + localities and so forth, is not a whit behind its great inner + qualities. . . . The work gives us the pleasure of an absolutely ripe + fruit." + + + +Volume VII.--Fourth Edition. + + +GOETHE'S FAUST (Complete). Translated in the Original Metres, with +copious Critical and Explanatory Notes by BAYARD TAYLOR. With a Critical +Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of GOETHE, and RETZSCH'S +Illustrations. + +*** This is a full and complete reprint of BAYARD TAYLOR'S unrivalled +rendering of GOETHE'S masterpiece. It is published by special +arrangement with MRS. BAYARD TAYLOR, and contains the whole of the +Translator's copious and extremely valuable Notes, Introductions, and +Appendices. + + + +Volume VIII.--Fourth Edition. + + +WALLACE'S TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON: Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro. By +ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, Author of "The Malay Archipelago," "Darwinism," +etc. Giving an account of the Native Tribes, and Observations on the +Climate, Geology, and Natural History of the Amazon Valley. With a +Biographical Introduction, Portrait of the Author, and Illustrations. + + "It would be impossible to overstate the service which Mr. Wallace, + the co-discoverer of Darwinism, has done."--_Times_, September 11th, + 1889. + + + +Volume IX.--Fifth Edition. + + +DEAN STANLEY'S LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD. The Life and Correspondence of Thomas +Arnold, D.D. (Head-Master of Rugby School). By ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, +D.D., Dean of Westminster. With a Portrait of DR. ARNOLD, and Full-page +Illustrations. + + "One of the most remarkable and most instructive books ever + published--a book for which Arnold himself left abundant materials in + his voluminuous correspondence, supplemented by a large quantity of + miscellaneous matter added by his friend and former pupil, Dean + Stanley."--_Morning Advertiser_. + + + +Volume X.--Third Edition, + + +POE'S TALES OF ADVENTURE, MYSTERY, AND Imagination. By EDGAR ALLAN POE. +With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Portrait of the Author, +and Illustrations. + + "Contains over forty of Poe's marvellous stories, certainly among the + most exciting and sensational tales ever written. The volume itself + is a marvel, comprising, as it does, over 560 pages, strongly and + neatly bound, for two shillings."--_Newcastle Chronicle_. + + + +Volume XI.--Second Edition. + + +COMEDIES BY MOLIERE: Including The Would-be Gentleman; The Affected Young +Ladies; The Forced Marriage; The Doctor by Compulsion; Scapin's +Rogueries; The Blunderer; The School for Husbands; The School for Wives; +The Miser; The Hypochondriac; The Misanthrope; The Blue-Stockings; +Tartuffe, or the Hypocrite. Newly Translated by CHARLES MATTHEW, M.A. +The Translation revised by the Editor, with a Portrait of the Author, and +Biographical Introduction. + + "We hope that this new translation of Moliere's magnificent comedies + will make them as widely known as they deserve to be."--_Playgoer_. + + + +Volume XII.--Second Edition. + + +FORSTER'S LIFE OF GOLDSMITH: The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith. By +JOHN FORSTER, Author of "The Life of Charles Dickens," etc. With a +Biography of FORSTER by the Editor, and Numerous Illustrations by +MACLISE, STANFIELD, LEECH, and others. + + Forster's "Life of Goldsmith" is a work which ranks very high among + successful biographies. Washington Irving said of it: "It is + executed with a spirit, a feeling, a grace, and an elegance, that + leave nothing to be desired." + + + +Volume XIII.--Second Edition. + + +LANE'S MODERN EGYPTIANS: The Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians. +By EDWARD WILLIAM LANE, Translator of the "Arabian Nights' +Entertainments." With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Sixteen +Full-page Plates, and Eighty Illustrations in the Text. + + "A famous and valuable book by one of the best Oriental Scholars of + the century. It is, indeed, the fact that the present work is, as + has been said, the most remarkable description of a people ever + written."--_Glasgow Herald_. + + + +Volume XIV. + + +TORRENS' LIFE OF MELBOURNE: Memoirs of William Lamb, Second Viscount +Melbourne. By W. M. TORRENS. With Introduction by the Editor, and +Portrait of LORD MELBOURNE. + + "It is, indeed, one of the best and most interesting biographies ever + written . . . For ourselves, we must admit we have read the book from + cover to cover with avidity, and we hope it will reach the hands of + tens of thousands of our middle and working classes."--_Daily + Chronicle_. + + + +Volume XV.--Fourth Edition. + + +THACKERAY'S VANITY FAIR. Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero. By +WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. With Biographical Introduction by the +Editor, Portrait of the Author, and full-page Illustrations. + + "The masterpiece of Thackeray's satire is here placed within reach of + the slenderest purse, and yet in a form that leaves nothing to be + desired in the way of clear printing, and neat, serviceable + binding."--_Manchester Examiner_. + + + +Volume XVI. + + +BARTH'S TRAVELS IN AFRICA: Travels and Discoveries in North and Central +Africa. Including Accounts of Tripoli, the Sahara, the Remarkable +Kingdom of Bornu, and the Countries round Lake Chad. By HENRY BARTH, +Ph.D., D.C.L. With Biographical Introduction by the Editor, Full-page +Plates, and Illustrations in the Text. + + "Barth's journey through Tripoli to Central Africa is full of + instruction and entertainment. He had a fine feeling for the remote, + the unknown, the mysterious . . . Altogether, his is one of the most + inspiring of records."--_Saturday Review_. + + + +Volume XVII.--Second Edition. + + +VICTOR HUGO: SELECT POEMS AND TRAGEDIES. ("Hernani" and "The King's +Amusement.") Translated by FRANCIS, FIRST EARL OF ELLESMERE, SIR EDWIN +ARNOLD, K.S.I., SIR GILBERT CAMPBELL, BART., BP. ALEXANDER, RICHARD +GARNETT, LL.D., ANDREW LANG, LL.D., CLEMENT SCOTT, M.A., CHARLES MATTHEW, +M.A., NELSON R. TYERMAN, and many others. With Portrait of VICTOR HUGO. + + "One of the best volumes yet issued in the splendid series of 'Famous + Books' which go to make up Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co's 'Minerva + Library,'"--_Northampton Mercury_. + + + +Volume XVIII.--Second Edition. + + +DARWIN'S CORAL REEFS, VOLCANIC ISLANDS, AND South American Geology: With +Critical and Historical Introductions, specially written for this edition +by Professor JOHN W. JUDD, F.R.S., Professor of Geology in the Normal +College of Science, South Kensington. With Maps and Illustrations. + + Darwin's "Coral Reefs" is at once one of his most notable and + charming books, and one that has excited a most vigorous recent + controversy. His account of the Volcanic Islands he visited, and his + still more remarkable book describing the vast changes that have + taken place in South America in geological time, are also reprinted + in this volume, thus completing the "Geology of the Voyage of the + Beagle." + + + +Volume XIX. + + +LOCKHART'S LIFE OF BURNS. Revised. With New Notes, &c., by J. H. +INGRAM. Portrait and Full-page Engravings. + + + +Volume XX. + + +BARTH'S CENTRAL AFRICA: Timbuktu and the Niger. With Full-page and other +Engravings. + + + +Volume XXI. + + +LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition. Edited by FREDK. +LOCKER-LAMPSON, assisted by COULSON KERNAHAN. + + + +Volume XXII. + + +CARLYLE'S SARTOR RESARTUS, HERO-WORSHIP, and PAST AND PRESENT. With +Introduction and Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXIII. + + +AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND LETTERS OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. With authentic Portrait. + + + +Volume XXIV. + + +BECKFORD'S "VATHEK," and European Travels: With Biographical Introduction +and Portrait of Beckford. + + + +Volume XXV. + + +MACAULAY'S HISTORICAL AND LITERARY ESSAYS. With Biographical +Introduction and Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXVI. + + +YONGE'S LIFE OF WELLINGTON. By the Author of "History of the British +Navy," etc. With Portrait and Plans of Battles. + + + +Volume XXVII. + + +CARLYLE'S HISTORY of the FRENCH REVOLUTION. With Introduction and +Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXVIII. + + +THE LAND OF THE LION AND SUN: Or, Modern Persia. By C. J. WILLS, M.D. +With Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXIX. + + +MARY BARTON: A Tale of Manchester Life. By Mrs. GASKELL. With full +Biographical Notice of the Author. + + + +Volume XXX. + + +INGRAM'S LIFE OF POE: The Life, Letters, and Opinions of Edgar Allan Poe. +By J. H. INGRAM. With Portraits. + + + +Volume XXXI. + + +SHIRLEY. By CHARLOTTE BRONTE. With Biographical Introduction, Portrait, +and four Full-page Illustrations. + +Among novels of the nineteenth century, few are more secure of literary +immortality than those of Charlotte Bronte. The illustrations of +localities mentioned in "Shirley" add to the interest of this edition. + + + +Volume XXXII. + + +HOOKER'S HIMALAYAN JOURNALS: Notes of a Naturalist in Bengal, the Sikkim +and Nepal Himalayas, the Khasia Mountains, etc. By Sir JOSEPH HOOKER, +K.C.S.I., F.R.S., LL.D., etc. New Edition, Revised by the Author. With +Portrait, Maps, and Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXXIII. + + +BACON'S FAMOUS WORKS: "Essays, Civil and Moral," "The Proficience and +Advancement of Learning," "Novum Organum," etc. With Biographical +Introduction and Portrait. + + + +Volume XXXIV. + + +MACAULAY'S BIOGRAPHICAL, CRITICAL, AND MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS AND POEMS, +including the "Lays of Ancient Rome." With Marginal Notes, Introduction, +and Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXXV. + + +CARLYLE'S OLIVER CROMWELL'S LETTERS AND SPEECHES. With Introduction and +Full-page Illustrations. + + + +Volume XXXVI. + + +ALTON LOCKE; Tailor and Poet. By CHARLES KINGSLEY. With Critical +Introduction by COULSON KERNAHAN, and Portrait of the Author. + + + +Volume XXXVII. + + +THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS. By WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. With Critical +Introduction, Portrait, and Illustrations by the Author. + + + +Volume XXXVIII. + + +LAVENGRO: The Scholar, The Priest, The Gipsy. By GEORGE BORROW, Author +of "The Bible in Spain," etc. With Introduction by THEODORE WATTS, and +Two Full-page Illustrations. + + + +OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. + + + "Messrs. Ward & Lock's 'Minerva Library' comes with particular + acceptance. Seven volumes of the series are before us, and they are + models of cheapness and general excellence."--THE STAR. + + "A series of Famous Books published at the cheapest price consistent + with excellent binding and a neat and handsome volume for the + bookshelves. . . The first volume is a most acceptable book, and + ought to have a multitude of readers."--THE NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE. + + "Readers who delight in high-class literature will owe a deep debt of + gratitude to Messrs. Ward & Lock."--THE DAILY CHRONICLE. + + "Works of this character, so well printed and bound, ought to be + widely welcomed, and the Minerva Library has clearly a career before + it."--THE YORKSHIRE POST. + + "'The Minerva Library' will be hailed with delight, we are sure, by + all readers. . . . Will assuredly take as high a place among the + cheap issues of sterling literature as its patroness among the + goddesses."--THE WEEKLY TIMES. + + WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, & Co., London, New York, Melbourne, and Sydney. + _And of all Booksellers_. + + BY THE AUTHOR OF "LAVENGRO." + + FOURTH EDITION NOW READY. + + _Crown 8vo_, _cloth_, _with either cut or uncut edges_. TWO SHILLINGS. + + THE BIBLE IN SPAIN, + + _The Journeys_, _Adventures_, _and Imprisonments of an Englishman_, _in + an attempt to circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula_. + + BY + GEORGE BORROW, + Author of "Lavengro," "The Gipsies of Spain," etc. + + WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BY G. T. BETTANY, M.A., + _AND FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS_. + + A LEADING LITERARY CRITIC + +_wrote as follows to the Editor_: "As a friend and admirer of George +Borrow, I cannot resist the impulse to write and thank you for the good +service you are doing his memory, and the good service you are doing the +public, by the issue of your admirable edition of 'The Bible in Spain.' +This is a period of marvellously cheap reprints, but surely the 'Minerva +Library' leaves them all behind." + + + +OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. + + + "The next cheap book is one of the famous books of the world. As to + the reception which this reprint of Borrow's 'Bible in Spain' is + likely to receive there can hardly be any misgiving."--THE ECHO. + + "Lovers of good literature, and cheap, may be commended to the + 'Minerva Library' edition of 'The Bible in Spain.'"--THE SATURDAY + REVIEW. + + "That wonderfully interesting and too little known work 'The Bible in + Spain.' . . . Borrow's literary style is faultless, and his keen + powers of observation were employed to excellent purpose. With 400 + pages and several illustrations, the volume is a striking + illustration of the cheap form in which our leading publishers can + serve up the best examples of English literature."--SHEFFIELD + TELEGRAPH. + + "The manner in which Spanish life is photographed and the + circumstantial narration of incidents occurring in a time + particularly eventful for Spain, are in themselves sufficient to + secure for the book a permanent place in our literature."--MANCHESTER + EXAMINER. + + "'The Bible in Spain' is one of the most interesting works ever + written, and has been pronounced to be 'a genuine book,' abounding in + life-like pictures of Spain and Portugal, and recording also many + romantic adventures."--THE NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE. + + WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN, & CO., + LONDON, NEW YORK, MELBOURNE, AND SYDNEY. + _And of all Booksellers_. + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{1} "In Cornwall are the best gentlemen."--_Corn Prov._ + +{10} Norwegian ells--about eight feet. + +{95} Klopstock. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO*** + + +******* This file should be named 20198.txt or 20198.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/9/20198 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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