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diff --git a/22877-h/22877-h.htm b/22877-h/22877-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d3cc3b --- /dev/null +++ b/22877-h/22877-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12763 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Lavengro</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Lavengro, by George Borrow</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lavengro, by George Borrow, Edited by F. +Hindes Groome + + +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, Vol. 1 (of 2) + + +Author: George Borrow + +Editor: F. Hindes Groome + +Release Date: October 3, 2007 [eBook #22877] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1901 Methuen & 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"><i>By</i><br /> +GEORGE BORROW</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH NOTES AND AN +INTRODUCTION</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> F. HINDES GROOME</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VOLUME I</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH A PORTRAIT FROM A +PAINTING</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> H. W. PHILLIPS</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +METHUEN & CO.<br /> +36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.<br /> +MDCCCCI</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt="Portrait of George Borrow, painted by H. W. Phillips, +engraved by W. Hall" src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page xiii--><a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p>There have been many Romany Ryes, or “Gypsy +Gentlemen,” as Gypsies designate those who, though not of +their race, yet have loved that race, and have mastered the +Romany tongue. The first is one of the oddest—Andrew +Boorde (<i>c.</i> 1490-1549). Carthusian, traveller, +physician, and, perhaps, the original Merry Andrew, he got into +trouble over certain delinquencies, and died a prisoner in the +Fleet gaol. In 1542 he was writing his <i>Fyrst Boke of the +Introduction of Knowledge</i>, and had come to “the +xxxviii. chapiter,” which “treateth of Egypt, and of +theyr money and of theyr speche.” He started +bravely:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Egipt is a countrey ioyned to Jury,<br /> +The countrey is plentyfull of wine, corne and hony.</p> +<p>“There be many great wyldernes, in the which be many +great wylde beastes. In ye which wildernis liuid many holy +fathers, as it apperith in vitas patrum. The +people—”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But here, I fancy, he suddenly broke off; what did he know of +the Egyptian people? Greece <!-- page xiv--><a +name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>was the +nearest he had ever been to Egypt. Going, however, for a +stroll through his native county of Sussex, he presently lights +on a band of “right Egyptians,” belike in front of an +alehouse. Egyptians! the very thing! Like any +newspaper correspondent of to-day, he must straightway have +whipped out his notebook, and jotted down the rest of his +chapter:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The people of the country be swarte, and +doth go disgisid in theyr apparel, contrary to other +nacions. They be lyght fyngerd and vse pyking, they have +litle maner and euyl loggyng, and yet they be pleasant +daunsers. Ther be few or none of the Egypcions yt doth dwel +in Egipt, for Egipt is repleted now with infydel alyons. +Ther mony is brasse and golde. Yf there be any man yt wyl +learne parte of theyr speche, Englyshe and Egipt speche +foloweth.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And there duly follows a neat little Ollendorfian dialogue +about meat and bread, wine and beer, and such-like, in which Dr. +Furnivall, Boorde’s editor, left it for Professor Zupitza +to recognise excellent Romany. “Sit you downe and +dryncke,” “Drinke, drynke for God’s +sake,” are two of the phrases. The interview was +probably prolonged, perhaps renewed; Andrew Boorde would find +good fellowship with Gypsies.</p> +<p>No. 2 is <i>the</i> Scholar-Gypsy, of whom, alas! we know all +too little, neither name nor dates, but only just what Joseph +Glanvill tells in his <i>Vanity of Dogmatizing</i> +(1661):—</p> +<blockquote><p>“There was very lately a Lad in the +<i>University</i> of <i>Oxford</i>, <!-- page xv--><a +name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xv</span>who being of +very pregnant and ready parts, and yet wanting the encouragement +of preferment, was by his poverty forc’d to leave his +studies there, and to cast himself upon the wide world for a +livelyhood. Now, his necessities growing dayly on him and +wanting the help of friends to relieve him, he was at last forced +to joyn himself to a company of <i>Vagabond Gypsies</i>, whom +occasionly he met with, and to follow their Trade for a +maintenance. Among these extravagant people, by the +insinuating subtilty of his carriage, he quickly got so much of +their love and esteem, as that they discover’d to him their +<i>Mystery</i>: in the practice of which, by the pregnancy of his +wit and parts, he soon grew so good and proficient as to be able +to out-do his Instructours. After he had been a pretty +while well exercis’d in the Trade, there chanc’d to +ride by a couple of <i>Scholars</i> who had formerly bin of his +acquaintance. The <i>Scholars</i> had quickly spyed out +their old friend among the <i>Gypsies</i>, and their amazement to +see him among such society had well-nigh discover’d him: +but by a sign he prevented their owning him before that Crew: and +taking one of them aside privately, desired him with his friend +to go to an <i>Inn</i>, not far distant thence, promising there +to come to them. They accordingly went thither, and he +follows: after their first salutations, his friends enquire how +he came to lead so odd a life as that was, and to joyn himself +with such a <i>cheating beggerly</i> company. The +<i>Scholar-Gypsy</i> having given them an account of the +necessity which drove him to that kind of life, told them that +the people he went with were not such <i>Impostouirs</i> as they +were taken for, but that they had a <i>traditional</i> kind of +<i>learning</i> among them, and could do wonders by the power of +<i>Imagination</i>, and that himself had learnt much of their +Art, and improved it further then themselves could. And to +evince the truth of what he told them, he said, he’d remove +into another room, leaving them to discourse <!-- page xvi--><a +name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>together, +and upon his return tell them the sum of what they had talked of: +which accordingly he perform’d, giving them a full account +of what had passed between them in his absence. The +<i>Scholars</i> being amaz’d at so unexpected a discovery, +earnestly desir’d him to unriddle the <i>mystery</i>. +In which he gave them satisfaction, by telling them, that what he +did was by the power of <i>Imagination</i>, his Phancy +<i>binding</i> theirs, and that himself had dictated to them the +discourse they held together, while he was from them: That there +were warrantable wayes of heightening the <i>Imagination</i> to +that pitch as to bind anothers, and that when he had +compass’d the whole <i>secret</i>, some parts of which he +said he was yet ignorant of, he intended to leave their company, +and give the world an account of what he had learned.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The third of our Romany Ryes is a Scottish peer and a +Jacobite, George Seton, fifth Earl of Wintoun (1679-1749). +He as a young man quarrelled with his father, and, taking up with +a band of Gypsies who frequented the Seton property, set off with +them on their wanderings over Scotland, England, and the +Continent. He seems to have been away from June 1700 until +November 1707: and when, by his father’s death in 1704, he +succeeded to the earldom, “no man knew where to find him, +till accident led to the discovery.” The Rev. Robert +Patten, the Judas and the historian of the ’15, records +how, on the rebels’ march from Kelso to Preston, Lord +Wintoun would tell “many pleasant Stories of his Travels +and his living unknown and obscurely with a Blacksmith in France, +whom he served some years as a Bellows-blower <!-- page xvii--><a +name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>and +Under-Servant. He was,” Patten adds, “very +curious in working in several Handicraft Matters, and had made +good Proficiency in them, witness the nice way he had found to +cut asunder one of the Iron Bars in his Window in the Tower, by +some small Instrument, scarce perceivable.” It was on +4th August 1716 that Lord Wintoun made his escape, but, like +everything else in his life, it is wrapped in obscurity. +For, according to the Diary of Mary Countess Cowper for 19th +March 1716, the last day of his trial, “My Lord +<i>Winton</i> had sawed an iron Bar with the Spring of his Watch +very near in two, in order to make his Escape; but it was found +out.” So, possibly, there is something in the story +told by the author of <i>Rab and his Friends</i>, that he was +carried out of the Tower in a hamper, supposed to be full of +family charters, by John Gunn, “the head of a band of +roving gipsies.” Anyhow, ever afterwards he lived at +Rome, where in 1737 he was great master of the Lodge of +Freemasonry. He died unmarried, though Lady Cowper alleges +“he has eight Wives.”</p> +<p>Charles Bosvile, the scion of a good old Yorkshire house, is +another who must have known much about the Gypsies. He was +buried at Rossington, near Doncaster, on 30th January 1709; and +more than a hundred years later the Gypsies would visit the +churchyard, and pour out a flagon of ale on his grave by the +chancel door. <!-- page xviii--><a +name="pagexviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xviii</span>Joseph +Hunter, the historian of South Yorkshire, tells how he had</p> +<blockquote><p>“established a species of sovereignty among +that singular people, the Gypsies, who before the enclosures +frequented the moors round Rossington. His word with them +was law, and his authority so great that he perfectly restrained +the pilfering propensities for which the tribe is censured, and +gained the entire good-will for himself and his subjects of the +farmers and people around. He was a gentleman with an +estate of about 200<i>l.</i> a year; and his contemporary, +Abraham de la Pryme of Hatfield, describes him as ‘a mad +spark, mighty fine and brisk, keeping company with a great many +gentlemen, knights, and esquires, yet running about the +country.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Bamfylde Moore Carew (1693-? 1770), the son of the rector of +Bickleigh, near Tiverton, is semi-mythical, though we know that a +man of that name did really marry at Stoke Damerel, near +Plymouth, one Mary Gray on 29th December 1733. Gray is an +old Gypsy surname, but the Gypsies of his <i>Life and +Adventures</i> are just as unreal as those of any melodrama or +penny dreadful.</p> +<p>The poet-physician, John Armstrong (<i>c.</i> 1709-78), was at +college at Edinburgh with Mr. Lawrie, who in 1767 was minister of +Hawick; and “one year, during the vacation, they joined a +band of gipsies, who in those days much infested the +Borders.” So says “Jupiter” Carlyle in +his Autobiography; and he adds that “this expedition, which +really took place, as Armstrong informed me <!-- page xix--><a +name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xix</span>in London, +furnished Lawrie with a fine field for fiction and rhodomontade, +so closely united to the groundwork, which might be true, that it +was impossible to discompound them.”</p> +<p>The fourth Lord Coleraine, better known as Colonel George +Hanger (<i>c.</i> 1751-1824), was a wild, harum-scarum +Irishman. According to the Hon. Grantley Berkeley’s +<i>My Life and Recollections</i>, “in one of his early +rambles he joined a gang of gipsies, fell in love with one of +their dark-eyed beauties, and married her according to the rites +of the tribe. He had entered the footguards in 1771, and +used to introduce his brother-officers to his dusky bride, +boasting his confidence in her fidelity. His married life +went on pleasantly for about a fortnight, at the end of which his +confidence and his bliss were destroyed together, on ascertaining +to his intense disgust that his gipsy inamorata had eloped with a +bandy-legged tinker.”</p> +<p>Very unlike the Colonel was the mythologist, Jacob Bryant +(1715-1804). We know the little man, with his thirteen +spaniels, through Madame D’Arblay’s Diaries; she +often visited Cypenham, his house near Windsor. It must +have been in his garden here that he collected his materials for +the paper “On the Zingara or Gypsey Language,” which +he read to the Royal Society in 1785. For +“<i>covascorook</i>, laurel,” is intelligible only by +supposing him to have pointed to a laurel, and asked, “What +is this?” and by the Gypsy’s answering <!-- page +xx--><a name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xx</span>in +words that mean “This is a tree.” There are a +number of similar slips in the vocabulary, as <i>sauvee</i>, an +eagle (rightly, a needle), <i>porcherie</i>, brass (a halfpenny, +a copper), <i>plastomingree</i>, couch (coach), and +<i>baurobevalacochenos</i>, storm. This last word posed the +etymological skill of even Prof. Pott in his great work on <i>Die +Zigeuner</i>, but he hazards the conjecture that <i>cochenos</i> +may be akin to the Greek χολη; really the +whole may be dismembered into <i>baúro</i>, great, +<i>bával</i>, wind, and the English “a-catching +us.” Still, Bryant’s is not at all a bad +vocabulary.</p> +<p>Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton (1803-73), tells in a fragment of +autobiography how at twenty-one he met a pretty Gypsy girl at +sunset, was guided by her to the tents, and “spent with +these swarthy wanderers five or six very happy days.” +He committed his money, fourteen pounds in all, to the care of +the Gypsy grandmother, the queen of the camp, who “was +faithful to the customs of the primitive gipsies, and would eat +nothing in the shape of animal food that had not died a natural +death”! Mimy, the Gypsy girl, and he make passionate +love, till at last she proposes “marriage for five years by +breaking a piece of burnt earth.” But the stars and +the Gypsy brethren forbid the banns, so they part +eternally. It is all the silliest moonshine, the most +impossible Gypsies: no, Bulwer Lytton deserves no place among the +real Romany Ryes.</p> +<p>Of these a whole host remain. Francis Irvine, <!-- page +xxi--><a name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxi</span>a +lieutenant in the Bengal Native Infantry, on the outward-bound +voyage (1805) to India on board the <i>Preston</i> East Indiaman, +took down a vocabulary of one hundred and thirty Romany words +from John Lee, a Gypsy recruit for the Company’s European +force. No other case is known to me of a Gypsy revisiting +the land of his forefathers. John Hoyland (1750-1831), a +Yorkshire Quaker, in 1814 began to study “the very +destitute and abject condition” of the Midland Gypsies, and +wrote <i>A Historical Survey of the Customs</i>, <i>Habits</i>, +<i>and Present State of the Gypsies</i> (York, 1816). He is +said to “have fallen in love with a black-eyed gipsy +girl,” but it does not appear that he married her. +Which is a pity; a Gypsy Quakeress would be a charming +fancy. That poor thing, John Clare, the Peasant-Poet +(1793-1864), is said to have “joined some gipsies for a +time” before 1817; and Richard Bright, M.D. (1789-1858), +famous as the investigator of “Bright’s +disease,” must have known much of Gypsies both abroad and +at home, to be able to write his <i>Travels through Lower +Hungary</i> (1818). James Crabb (1774-1851), Wesleyan +minister at Southampton, and Samuel Roberts (1763-1848), +Sheffield manufacturer, both wrote books on the Gypsies, but were +Gypsy philanthropists rather than Romany Ryes. Still, +Roberts had a very fair knowledge of the language, and at +seventy-seven “longed to be a gypsy, and enter a house no +<!-- page xxii--><a name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxii</span>more.” Colonel John Staples Harriot during +his “residence in North Hampshire in the years 1819-20 was +led to pay considerable attention to a race of vagrant men, +roaming about the high-roads and lanes in the vicinity of +Whitchurch, Waltham, and Overton”; in December 1829 he read +before the Royal Asiatic Society an excellent Romany vocabulary +of over four hundred words.</p> +<p>These were Borrow’s chief predecessors, but the list +could be largely extended by making it include such names as +those of Sir John Popham (1531-1607), Lord Chief-Justice of +England; Sir William Sinclair, Lord Justice-General of Scotland +from 1559; Mr. William Sympsoune, a great Scottish doctor of +medicine towards the close of the sixteenth century; the Countess +of Cassillis (1643), who did <i>not</i> elope with Johnnie Faa; +Richard Head (<i>c.</i> 1637-86), the author of <i>The English +Rogue</i>; William Marsden (1754-1836), the Orientalist; John +Wilson (“Christopher North,” 1785-1854); the Rev. +John Baird, minister of Yetholm 1829-61; G. P. R. James +(1801-60), the novelist; and Sam Bough (1822-78), the +landscape-painter. And after Borrow come many; the +following are but a few of them:—John Phillip, R.A., Tom +Taylor, the Rev. T. W. Norwood, George S. Phillips +(“January Searle”), Charles Kingsley, Joseph Sheridan +Le Fanu, Mr. Charles Godfrey Leland (“Hans +Breitmann”), Prof. Edward Henry Palmer, Sir Richard Burton, +<!-- page xxiii--><a name="pagexxiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxiii</span>Bath C. Smart, M.D., of +Manchester, Mr. H. T. Crofton, Major Whyte-Melville, Mr. Joseph +Lucas, the Rev. R. N. Sanderson, Dr. D. Fearon Ranking, Mr. David +MacRitchie, Mr. G. R. Sims, Mr. George Meredith, Mr. Theodore +Watts-Dunton, “F. W. Carew, M.D,” and Mr. John +Sampson.</p> +<p>Thus, leaving aside all the foreign Romany Ryes, from the +great engraver Jacques Callot to the present Polish novelist +Sienkiewicz, we see that Borrow was not quite so <i>sui +generis</i> as he claimed for himself, and as others have often +claimed for him. The meagreness of his knowledge of the +Anglo-Gypsy dialect came out in his <i>Word-Book of the +Romany</i> (1874); there must have been over a dozen Englishmen +who have known it far better than he. For his Spanish-Gypsy +vocabulary in <i>The Zincali</i> he certainly drew largely either +on Richard Bright’s <i>Travels through Lower Hungary</i> or +on Bright’s Spanish authority, whatever that may have +been. His knowledge of the strange history of the Gypsies +was very elementary, of their manners almost more so, and of +their folk-lore practically <i>nil</i>. And yet I would put +George Borrow above every other writer on the Gypsies. In +<i>Lavengro</i> and, to a less degree, in its sequel, <i>The +Romany Rye</i>, he communicates a subtle insight into Gypsydom +that is totally wanting in the works—mainly +philological—of Pott, Liebich, Paspati, Miklosich, and +their <!-- page xxiv--><a name="pagexxiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxiv</span>confrères. Take his +first meeting with Gypsies in the green lane near Norman +Cross. There are flaws in it: he never would have spoken of +the Gypsy beldame as “my mother there,” nor could he +possibly have guessed that the Romany <i>sap</i> means +“snake.” Yet compare it with Maggie +Tulliver’s Gypsy adventure in <i>The Mill on the Floss</i>: +how vivid and vigorous the one, how tame and commonplace the +other. I am not going to dilate on the beauties of +<i>Lavengro</i>; they seem to me sufficiently self-evident. +But there is one point about the book that deserves some +considering, its credibility as autobiography. Professor +Knapp, Borrow’s biographer, seems to place implicit +confidence in <i>Lavengro</i>; I find myself unable to agree with +him. Borrow may really have written the story of <i>Joseph +Sell</i> for a collection of Christmas tales; he may really have +camped for some weeks as a tinker near Willenhall; “Belle +Berners” may really have had some prototype; and he may +really have bought the splendid horse of the Willenhall +tavern-keeper, and sold it afterwards at Horncastle. But is +the “Man in Black,” then, also a reality, and the +“Reverend Mr. Platitude,” who thanks God that he has +left all his Church of England prejudices in Italy? in other +words, did Tractarianism exist in 1825, eight years before it was +engendered by Keble’s sermon? David Haggart, again, +the Scottish Jack Sheppard,—Borrow describes him as +“a lad of some fifteen years,” <!-- page xxv--><a +name="pagexxv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxv</span>with +“prodigious breadth of chest,” and as defeating in +single combat a full-grown baker’s apprentice. Borrow +well may have seen him, for in July 1813 he really enlisted as a +drummer in Borrow’s father’s regiment, newly +quartered in Edinburgh Castle; but he was not fifteen then, only +twelve years old. And the Jew pedlar scene in the first +chapter, and the old apple-woman’s son in the +sixty-second!</p> +<p>One might take equal exception to Borrow’s pretended +visits to Iceland, Moultan, and Kiachta (he was never within +three thousand miles of Kiachta); to his translation of St. +Luke’s Gospel into Basque, of which he had only the merest +smattering; and to his statement to a Cornish clergyman in 1854 +that his “horrors” were due to the effects of Mrs. +Herne’s poison—he had suffered from them seven years +before his Gypsy wanderings. But the strongest proof of his +lax adherence to fact is adduced by Professor Knapp +himself. In chapter xvi. of <i>Lavengro</i>, Borrow relates +how in 1818, at Tombland Fair, Norwich, he doffed his hat to the +great trotting stallion, Marshland Shales, “drew a deep +<i>ah</i>! 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.’” Yes, but as Professor Knapp has +found out, with his infinite painstaking, Marshland Shales +(1802-35) was not thus paraded until 12th April 1827.</p> +<p><!-- page xxvi--><a name="pagexxvi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvi</span><i>Lavengro</i> <a +name="citation0a"></a><a href="#footnote0a" +class="citation">[0a]</a> was written in 1843-50, years after the +events recorded there. Several of its petty slips are +probably due to sheer forgetfulness; <i>e.g.</i>, as to the four +“airts” of Edinburgh Castle, and the +“lofty” town-walls of Berwick-upon-Tweed. And +the rest, I imagine, were due partly to love of posing, but much +more to an honest desire to produce an amusing and interesting +book. Borrow was not writing a set autobiography, and it +seems rather hard to imagine that he was, and then to come down +on this or that inaccuracy. He did pose, though, all his +life long, and in every one of his writings. He posed to +poor old Esther Faa Blythe, the “queen” of the +Yetholm Tinklers, when, on entering her little cottage, he +“flung his arms up three times into the air, and in an +exceedingly disagreeable voice exclaimed, ‘<i>Sossi your +nav</i>?’ etc.” (<i>Word-Book</i>, p. +314). He posed shamefully to Lieut.-Col. Elers Napier +(Knapp, i. 308-312); and he posed even to me, a mere lad, when I +saw him thrice in 1872-73, at Ascot, at his house in Hereford +Square, and at the Notting-hill Potteries (<i>Bookman</i>, Feb. +1893, pp. 147-48). Yet, what books he has given us, the +very best of them <i>Lavengro</i>; its fight with the Flaming +<!-- page xxvii--><a name="pagexxvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvii</span>Tinman is the finest fight in all +the world’s literature. <i>Lavengro</i>, +nevertheless, met with a very sorry reception. It was not +genteel enough for the readers of Disraeli and Bulwer Lytton; and +it is only since Borrow’s death, on 26th July 1881, that it +has won its due place of pre-eminence. “No +man’s writing,” says Mr. Watts-Dunton, “can +take you into the country as Borrow’s can; it makes you +feel the sunshine, smell the flowers, hear the lark sing and the +grasshopper chirp.” They who would know Borrow +thoroughly should pass from his own works to Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s “Reminiscences of George Borrow” +(<i>Athenæum</i>, Sept. 3, 10, 1881), to his “Notes +upon George Borrow” (<i>Lavengro</i>, Ward, Lock, Bowden, +& Co., 1893), to Mr. William A. Dutt’s <i>George Borrow +in East Anglia</i> (1896), to Unpublished Letters of George +Borrow, first printed in the <i>Bible Society Reporter</i> from +July 1899 onwards, and above all, to Professor William I. +Knapp’s <i>Life</i>, <i>Writings</i>, <i>and Correspondence +of George Borrow</i> (2 vols. 1899).</p> +<h2><!-- page xxix--><a name="pagexxix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxix</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><!-- page xxx--><a name="pagexxx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxx</span>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.</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 <!-- page xxxi--><a +name="pagexxxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxi</span>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 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 <!-- page xxxii--><a +name="pagexxxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxii</span>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 <!-- page xxxiii--><a name="pagexxxiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxiii</span>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.</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 <!-- page xxxiv--><a +name="pagexxxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxiv</span>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>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. <a name="citation1a"></a><a +href="#footnote1a" class="citation">[1a]</a></p> +<p>My father was a Cornish man, the youngest, as I have heard him +say, of seven brothers. <a name="citation1b"></a><a +href="#footnote1b" class="citation">[1b]</a> 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, <a name="citation1c"></a><a href="#footnote1c" +class="citation">[1c]</a> 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 <!-- page 2--><a +name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>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="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</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 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 <!-- page +3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>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 <!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>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 ---, <a name="citation4a"></a><a href="#footnote4a" +class="citation">[4a]</a> 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>As the headquarters of this corps were at D---, <a +name="citation4b"></a><a href="#footnote4b" +class="citation">[4b]</a> 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. <a +name="citation4c"></a><a href="#footnote4c" +class="citation">[4c]</a></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, <!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>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 <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>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.</p> +<p>No more earthly cares and affections now, my mother! +Yes, one. Why dost thou suddenly <!-- page 7--><a +name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>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 grey head and sunburnt +face. My dearest Son! My darling Mother!</p> +<p>Yes, mother, thou didst recognise 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. <a name="citation7"></a><a +href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a> 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 bye, 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 <!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 8</span>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 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 <!-- page +9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>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 <!-- +page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>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 +moraliser; 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 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, <!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>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 <!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 12</span>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 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>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 not <i>fine gentry</i>, but people who <!-- page +14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>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 <!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 15</span>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!</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 +hand, 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 <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 16</span>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 <!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>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.</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, grey-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 <!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 18</span>like large grey 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, <!-- +page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>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 Stamford +Bridge, whilst engaged in a gallant onslaught upon England. +Now, I have often thought that the old Kemp, whose mouldering +skull in the Golgotha of 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 <i>just five ells</i>, <a +name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</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 <!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span>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 <!-- page 21--><a +name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>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.</p> +<h2><!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>Pretty D---—The Venerable Church—The Stricken +Heart—Dormant Energies—The Small +Packet—Nerves—The Books—A +Picture—Mountain-like Billows—The +Footprint—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---, <a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a> 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, <!-- page 23--><a +name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>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 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 <!-- page 24--><a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>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 <!-- page +25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>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 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 youngster +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 <!-- page 26--><a +name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>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 <!-- page +27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>is +sometimes as ready as a grown-up person in finding excuses for +doing that which he is inclined to. 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; 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 <!-- page +28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>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; <!-- page 29--><a +name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>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 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 <!-- page +30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>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 <!-- page 31--><a +name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>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, <a name="citation31a"></a><a +href="#footnote31a" class="citation">[31a]</a> and the dignified +high-church clerk, <a name="citation31b"></a><a +href="#footnote31b" class="citation">[31b]</a> 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><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 <!-- page 32--><a +name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>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 grey-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 philosophic +latitudinarian <!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 33</span>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 <a name="citation33"></a><a +href="#footnote33" class="citation">[33]</a> 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 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 <!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>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, occurred 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. Night-fall brought us to +Peterborough, and from thence we were not slow in reaching the +place of our destination.</p> +<h2><!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 36--><a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>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 +“strawplait-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><!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>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,” <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37" +class="citation">[37]</a> 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><!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>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; <!-- page 39--><a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>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 <!-- +page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>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>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 daresay 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 +<!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>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 <!-- page 42--><a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>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, amongst 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 stupefied 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 <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>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><!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>“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>“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 <a name="citation44"></a><a +href="#footnote44" class="citation">[44]</a> 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><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>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 drift-way 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 <!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>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.</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 bodice, 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, was <!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 47</span>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 <!-- +page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>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>“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 <a +name="citation48"></a><a href="#footnote48" +class="citation">[48]</a> bantling? I never heard such +discourse in all my life: play man’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 <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>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 <!-- page +50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>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 gorgeous angel, sit down by the +poor bodies’ fire, and eat a sweetmeat. 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, <a +name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50" +class="citation">[50]</a> we can give you one, such as you never +ate, I daresay, however far you may have come from.</p> +<p>The serpent sunk into its 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 <!-- page 51--><a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>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 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 could 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><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span><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><i>Man</i>. Oh! then that sap <a +name="citation52"></a><a href="#footnote52" +class="citation">[52]</a> 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 <!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 53</span>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 sap-engro, 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 <!-- +page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>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 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 <!-- page 55--><a +name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>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, ar’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 <!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 56</span>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!”</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 <!-- page 57--><a +name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>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 daresay we shall meet again; +remember we are brothers; two gentle brothers.”</p> +<p><!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>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 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>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 +entrusted 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. <!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 60</span>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 +stationary 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 <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>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.”</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 +barn-yard. 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 storey; on the top was a kind of wooden box, or +sconce, which <!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 62</span>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 <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>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.</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, <!-- page 64--><a +name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>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 selfsame 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 and the pedagogue highly amusing and diverting, which, +however, I suppress, <!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 65</span>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 race-horse over the +scene—and a goodly scene it was! Before me, across +the water, on an eminence, stood a white old city, <a +name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65" +class="citation">[65]</a> 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, <!-- +page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>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 upon +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 <!-- page 67--><a +name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>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 Kalevala’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, <!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 68</span>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 onybody +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 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>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, Man?—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, <a +name="citation69a"></a><a href="#footnote69a" +class="citation">[69a]</a> or rather in the Castle, into which +the regiment marched with drums beating, colour-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 <a name="citation69b"></a><a +href="#footnote69b" class="citation">[69b]</a> 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 <!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 70</span>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 +<!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>ago, captain!—if you had heard it as it was spoken +when I first came to Edinburgh!’”</p> +<p>“Only custom,” said my mother. “I +daresay the language is now what it was then.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said my father; +“though I daresay 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. <a +name="citation71"></a><a href="#footnote71" +class="citation">[71]</a> 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. <!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 72</span>Thy learned rector and his four +subordinate dominies; thy strange old porter of the tall form and +grizzled hair, hight Boee, <a name="citation72"></a><a +href="#footnote72" class="citation">[72]</a> 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 Midlangr 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 <!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 73</span>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>“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 +playground, 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 +<!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>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 and +lowland, clan with clan, family with family, Saxon with +Gael. In my time, the school-boys, 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 bloodshed, “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 <!-- page 75--><a +name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>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 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 +south-western <a name="citation75"></a><a href="#footnote75" +class="citation">[75]</a> 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 <!-- page 76--><a +name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>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, man? are ye o’ the Auld +Toon?” I made no answer. “Ha! ye are +o’ the New Toon; De’il tak ye, we’ll moorder +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, <!-- page 77--><a +name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>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, man; 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>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 <!-- page +78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>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 hillside, +to prevent, in future, any such breaches of the peace.</p> +<p>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.</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 <!-- page 79--><a +name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>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, <a name="citation79"></a><a href="#footnote79" +class="citation">[79]</a> 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 <!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 80</span>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 wheel-spoke and +wicker shield, fairly cleared the brae of their adversaries, whom +they drove down headlong into the morass.</p> +<h2><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>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 in 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 <!-- +page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>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 <a +name="citation82a"></a><a href="#footnote82a" +class="citation">[82a]</a> 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 <a +name="citation82b"></a><a href="#footnote82b" +class="citation">[82b]</a> 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 <!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 83</span>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 +<!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>the 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><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, Else-than-gude, +as they call him; and, troth, he has na 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 say 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><!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>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 <!-- page 86--><a +name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>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, Tamur—lank! Haggart. . . +.</p> +<p>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—<!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>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 thy 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><!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>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, <a name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88" +class="citation">[88]</a> 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 +<!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>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; <a name="citation89a"></a><a href="#footnote89a" +class="citation">[89a]</a> 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, <a +name="citation89b"></a><a href="#footnote89b" +class="citation">[89b]</a> 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, <!-- page +90--><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>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 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, <a name="citation90"></a><a +href="#footnote90" class="citation">[90]</a> 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 bounded 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 <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>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 <!-- page +92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>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 and 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>“And 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 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—<!-- +page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>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, <a name="citation93"></a><a href="#footnote93" +class="citation">[93]</a> 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 <!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>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, 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 grey +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; <!-- page 95--><a +name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>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 civilisation 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 <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>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 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>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 <a name="citation98"></a><a +href="#footnote98" class="citation">[98]</a> 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 <!-- page +99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>the +hint of the landlord, with the Papist “gossoons,” as +they were called, the farmers’ sons from the country; and +of these gossoons, 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.</p> +<p>He was about sixteen years old, and above six feet high, +dressed in a grey 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, grey, 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 +forefingers, 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 <!-- page +100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>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 gossoons, ‘Get +up, I say, and let’s be doing something; tell us the tale +of Finn-ma-Coul, and how he lay down in the Shannon’s bed, +and <!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 101</span>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!”</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 into 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 gossoons 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><!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>“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 +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>“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 <!-- +page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>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><!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>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. <a +name="citation104"></a><a href="#footnote104" +class="citation">[104]</a> 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><!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>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 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 which 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 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 <!-- page 106--><a +name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>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 <!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>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 choice, 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>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 <!-- page 108--><a +name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>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 <!-- page +109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>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 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 <!-- page 110--><a +name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>black, +portentously so. “I wonder what has been going on +here!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>There were echoes among 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><!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 111</span>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>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 at first 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 snowstorm 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 <!-- page 112--><a +name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>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 <!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 113</span>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 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 +<!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>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 +snowflakes.</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 <!-- +page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>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 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, <!-- page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 116</span>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, goodbye 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 a +brother—I <!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>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 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 dare say; 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 <!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 118</span>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 +<!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>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?’ said +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. <!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 120</span>‘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 <!-- page 121--><a +name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>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 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><!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 122</span>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>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><!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>“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 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 <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>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 and +rough, 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 <!-- page 125--><a +name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>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; 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—<!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 126</span>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 <!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>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 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 <!-- page 128--><a +name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>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>“Oh 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 shan’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 <!-- page 129--><a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>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 its +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>“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><!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>“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><!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>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. <a +name="citation131"></a><a href="#footnote131" +class="citation">[131]</a></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 <!-- page 132--><a +name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>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 <a +name="citation132a"></a><a href="#footnote132a" +class="citation">[132a]</a> 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, <a +name="citation132b"></a><a href="#footnote132b" +class="citation">[132b]</a> 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 <!-- page +133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>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? <a name="citation133"></a><a +href="#footnote133" class="citation">[133]</a> 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 +beats in those regions, and there ye will find, if anywhere, old +northern <!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 134</span>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; <a name="citation134"></a><a +href="#footnote134" class="citation">[134]</a> 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.</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 <!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 135</span>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, <!-- page +136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>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 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 talking 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 <!-- page 137--><a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>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, 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 <!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 138</span>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!”</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 <!-- page 139--><a +name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>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 <!-- page 140--><a +name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>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, “<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, <a name="citation140"></a><a href="#footnote140" +class="citation">[140]</a> 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 bookstall, +and stopping, commenced <!-- page 141--><a +name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>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 <!-- page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 142</span>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 recognising 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 year ago, ‘my +dear.’” <a name="citation142"></a><a +href="#footnote142" class="citation">[142]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p>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</i> <i>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 +<!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>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, 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 <!-- page 145--><a +name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>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 <!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>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, <a name="citation146"></a><a +href="#footnote146" class="citation">[146]</a> and assist to +swell the tide which it rolls down to the ocean. It is a +sweet rivulet, and pleasant is it 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 <!-- page 147--><a +name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>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 hearth-stead, +settled down in the grey 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, <a name="citation147"></a><a +href="#footnote147" class="citation">[147]</a> 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><!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>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; at least I thought so, though they were +somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver, with broad drooping +eaves. <a name="citation148"></a><a href="#footnote148" +class="citation">[148]</a></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><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>“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 +besides 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 shouldst 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 <!-- page +150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>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, <!-- page +151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>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><!-- page 152--><a name="page152"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 152</span>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p>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. <a name="citation152"></a><a href="#footnote152" +class="citation">[152]</a></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 <!-- page 153--><a name="page153"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 153</span>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!</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! <!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>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.” <a name="citation154"></a><a +href="#footnote154" class="citation">[154]</a></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 <!-- page 155--><a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>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 <!-- page 156--><a +name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>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? <a name="citation156"></a><a +href="#footnote156" class="citation">[156]</a> 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><!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>“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 recognised 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 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. <a name="citation157"></a><a +href="#footnote157" class="citation">[157]</a></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><!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>“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,” <a name="citation158"></a><a +href="#footnote158" class="citation">[158]</a> 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 upon 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 <!-- page 159--><a +name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>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. 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><!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 160</span>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p>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><!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>“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>“Perhaps; but you are of the Gorgios, and I am a Rommany +Chal. Tawno Chikno take care of Jasper Petulengro!” +<a name="citation161"></a><a href="#footnote161" +class="citation">[161]</a></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><!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>“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.” <a name="citation162a"></a><a +href="#footnote162a" class="citation">[162a]</a></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<a +name="citation162b"></a><a href="#footnote162b" +class="citation">[162b]</a>—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 <a name="citation162c"></a><a href="#footnote162c" +class="citation">[162c]</a> 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, <!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>they were, +for chiving wafodo dloovu, <a name="citation163a"></a><a +href="#footnote163a" class="citation">[163a]</a> 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, +<a name="citation163b"></a><a href="#footnote163b" +class="citation">[163b]</a> 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>“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.” <a +name="citation163c"></a><a href="#footnote163c" +class="citation">[163c]</a></p> +<p>“And you have a language of your own?”</p> +<p><!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>“Avali.” <a name="citation164a"></a><a +href="#footnote164a" class="citation">[164a]</a></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, <a +name="citation164b"></a><a href="#footnote164b" +class="citation">[164b]</a> 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 +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 <!-- +page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>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 meet a parson. ‘Good woman,’ +says he, ‘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>“Then you are married, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Ay, truly; I am husband and father. You will see +wife and chabo <a name="citation165a"></a><a href="#footnote165a" +class="citation">[165a]</a> anon.”</p> +<p>“Where are they now?”</p> +<p>“In the gav, penning dukkerin.” <a +name="citation165b"></a><a href="#footnote165b" +class="citation">[165b]</a></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 <!-- page 166--><a +name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>what would +be the end of it? I goes to the farming ker <a +name="citation166a"></a><a href="#footnote166a" +class="citation">[166a]</a> 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-gorgious. 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,” <a +name="citation166b"></a><a href="#footnote166b" +class="citation">[166b]</a> 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><!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>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 of 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>“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 <!-- page 168--><a name="page168"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 168</span>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 amongst 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? <!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 169</span>but whence did they come originally? +ah! there is the difficulty.” <a name="citation169a"></a><a +href="#footnote169a" class="citation">[169a]</a></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 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. <a name="citation169b"></a><a +href="#footnote169b" class="citation">[169b]</a> <!-- page +170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>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,” <a name="citation170a"></a><a +href="#footnote170a" class="citation">[170a]</a> said Mrs. +Petulengro, who was a very handsome woman, “and therefore I +likes him, and not the less for his being a rye; <a +name="citation170b"></a><a href="#footnote170b" +class="citation">[170b]</a> 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, <a +name="citation170c"></a><a href="#footnote170c" +class="citation">[170c]</a> my children; I goes to +Yorkshire. Take my blessing with ye, and a little bit of a +gillie <a name="citation170d"></a><a href="#footnote170d" +class="citation">[170d]</a> 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><!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 171</span>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p>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, to those who, like myself, had no better claims +to urge than the services of a father.</p> +<p><!-- page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>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 gossoon, 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 <!-- page 173--><a +name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>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 for 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 +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 <!-- page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 174</span>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 co-existent 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 flood-gates 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 <!-- page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 175</span>“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 like 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.</p> +<p><i>Mother</i>. Your forehead is cool, and your speech +collected. Do you know where you are?</p> +<p><!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span><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><!-- page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 177</span>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page +178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>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 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. <a name="citation178"></a><a href="#footnote178" +class="citation">[178]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>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 +<!-- page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>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 +Lavengro. <a name="citation180"></a><a href="#footnote180" +class="citation">[180]</a></p> +<p>So I sat behind a desk many hours in the 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 un douceur +considérable</i>, 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 <!-- page 181--><a +name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>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 he 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><!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>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 ones, there were others, some of whom 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 +entrusted 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 <!-- page 183--><a +name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>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 <!-- +page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>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 every-day 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 <!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 185</span>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 about +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 +<!-- page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>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>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><!-- page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 187</span>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p>Silver Grey—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 grey +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 <!-- page +188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>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 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--- <!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 189</span>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 <!-- +page 190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>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 bye, 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.”</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 <!-- page 191--><a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>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; he is +not a bad 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><!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 192</span>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p>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 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 <!-- page 193--><a +name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>Finland, in +which there is wisdom; I listened and thought of life and death. +. . . Of all human beings that I have 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 <!-- page 194--><a +name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>and at +Malplaquet, to the confusion vast of the eternal foes of the +English land. I, who was so little like thee that thou +understoodst 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 +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 +<!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>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><!-- page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>“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 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 <!-- page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 197</span>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 +sayest, 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 <!-- page 198--><a +name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>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="citation198"></a><a href="#footnote198" +class="citation">[198]</a> Seekest 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 +wild birds to perch upon them: thou needest not run to Rome, +brother, where lives the <!-- page 199--><a +name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>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. <a +name="citation199"></a><a href="#footnote199" +class="citation">[199]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 200</span>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p>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 201--><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</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 <!-- page 202--><a +name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 202</span>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 had been brought to a conclusion, and they chanced to be +<!-- page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>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><!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>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 205--><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</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 was I 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 +<!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>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 that 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>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 I 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 <!-- page 208--><a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>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?” <a name="citation208"></a><a +href="#footnote208" class="citation">[208]</a> “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 one in the +other; and I passed <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 209</span>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><!-- page 210--><a name="page210"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 210</span>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p>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 a fireplace, beside a table, on which were fruit and +wine; the room was a small one, and in its furniture exhibited +nothing remarkable. Over the mantelpiece, 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 <!-- page 211--><a +name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>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. <a +name="citation211"></a><a href="#footnote211" +class="citation">[211]</a></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, namely, 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><!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>“I dare say 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 <!-- page 213--><a +name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>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 neatness 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 <!-- page 214--><a +name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>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 +<!-- page 215--><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>once tripping. Oh, he is 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.’”</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 civilised +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 civilisation than the Celts ever did, +worship Jesus, the first who endeavoured to teach men to behave +decently and decorously under all <!-- page 216--><a +name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>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 <!-- page +217--><a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +217</span>given to bombast, ‘crackling bombast,’ as I +think I have said in one of my essays?”</p> +<p>“I dare say 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 be much 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 <!-- +page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +218</span>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 town where he did not find +<!-- page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>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 +<!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>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>“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><!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 221</span>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<p>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 bareheaded, 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 shone bright +above, and the birds were carolling in the hedge-rows. 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, <!-- page 222--><a name="page222"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 222</span>“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.</p> +<p>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>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 <!-- page 223--><a +name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>on an +old-fashioned leather sofa, with two small, thorough-bred, black +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 the 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 shan’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><!-- page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>“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. “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>“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 <!-- page +225--><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>the English, I the Greek Parr, <a +name="citation225a"></a><a href="#footnote225a" +class="citation">[225a]</a> 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, <a +name="citation225b"></a><a href="#footnote225b" +class="citation">[225b]</a> 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><!-- page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +226</span>“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>“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 <!-- +page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>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.”</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 <!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 228</span>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.</p> +<p>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.</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 +<!-- page 229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>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 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 reasons 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><!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>“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?” <a name="citation230"></a><a +href="#footnote230" class="citation">[230]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<p>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 every +thing 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 <!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 232</span>doubt? With respect to crime +and virtue I was in doubt; I doubted that the one was blamable +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 fish-pools, 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 <!-- page +233--><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>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.</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. <a name="citation233"></a><a href="#footnote233" +class="citation">[233]</a> I have still never read them; +who are they, men of yesterday? “All is a +lie—all a deceitful phantom,” are old cries; they +<!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>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 almost 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 fish-pools, +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 half-way 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 bareheaded—sitting or +standing, all were bareheaded. 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 <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>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 mellowest +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 <!-- page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 236</span>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 +madhouses; 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 barefooted 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 <!-- page 237--><a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>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.<br /> +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 <!-- page 238--><a +name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>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 grey, 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 would 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!”</p> +<p>I now wandered along the heath, till I came to <!-- page +239--><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>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>‘Cana marel o manus chivios andé +puv,<br /> +Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi.’ <a +name="citation239"></a><a href="#footnote239" +class="citation">[239]</a></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, <!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 240</span>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 a 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>“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, +<a name="citation240"></a><a href="#footnote240" +class="citation">[240]</a> 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><!-- page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 241</span>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<p>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 +recall 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 <!-- page 242--><a +name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>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 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 <!-- page +243--><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>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 +<!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>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 <!-- page 245--><a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>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, <!-- page 246--><a +name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>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,” 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; <!-- page 247--><a +name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>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, and 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 <!-- page 248--><a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>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 overhead, 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, and 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 waterspout 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 will 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 <!-- page 249--><a name="page249"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 249</span>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! <a +name="citation249"></a><a href="#footnote249" +class="citation">[249]</a> 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 +Gypsy’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><!-- page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>“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 251--><a name="page251"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 251</span>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>sympathised 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><!-- page 253--><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +253</span>“I have been occupied as usual, attending at the +office at the appointed hours.”</p> +<p>“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><!-- page 254--><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +254</span>“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 farther 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>“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 the +Haiks, or Armenians.”</p> +<p><!-- page 255--><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +255</span>“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 <!-- page 256--><a name="page256"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 256</span>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 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><!-- page 257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>“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 was 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 <!-- +page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +258</span>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 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, <!-- page +259--><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>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 <!-- page 260--><a +name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>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.”</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 <!-- page +261--><a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +261</span>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><!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 262</span>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 263--><a +name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>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?”</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 paralysed. +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 downstairs. My +mother was running wildly about the room; she had awoke, 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 <!-- page 264--><a +name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +264</span>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 stupefied, but I still contrived to support my dying +father. There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard +him speak of Minden, <a name="citation264"></a><a +href="#footnote264" class="citation">[264]</a> 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 265--><a name="page265"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 265</span>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<p>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, <a name="citation265"></a><a +href="#footnote265" class="citation">[265]</a> 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; <!-- +page 266--><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +266</span>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><!-- page 267--><a name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +267</span>“Cheer up, young man,” said the porter, +“we shall have a fine afternoon!”</p> +<p>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 +<!-- page 268--><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +268</span>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 mantelpiece, 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 <!-- page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 269</span>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 downstairs; 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 a while. 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 <!-- page 270--><a +name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>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><!-- page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 271</span>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<p>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 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, <a name="citation270"></a><a href="#footnote270" +class="citation">[270]</a> in a rough tone, as I stood there, +<!-- page 272--><a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +272</span>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><!-- page 273--><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +273</span>“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>“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 <!-- page +274--><a name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +274</span>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 farther +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 <!-- page 275--><a name="page275"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 275</span>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, 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 <!-- page 276--><a +name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 276</span>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><!-- page 277--><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +277</span>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>“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><!-- page 278--><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +278</span>“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.’” +<a name="citation278"></a><a href="#footnote278" +class="citation">[278]</a></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 <!-- page 279--><a +name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 279</span>I was +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; 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 <!-- page 280--><a name="page280"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 280</span>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><!-- page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 281</span>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<p>The Walk—London’s Cheape—Street of the +Lombards—Strange Bridge—Main Arch—The Roaring +Gulf—The Boat—Clyfaking—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, <!-- page 282--><a +name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>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.”</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 first +founders; and I walked rapidly up the street of the Lombards, +<!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +283</span>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 wagons, 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 +<!-- page 284--><a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +284</span>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 fruit-stall, +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 <!-- page 285--><a name="page285"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 285</span>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><!-- page 286--><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span>“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! clyfaking 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>“Nor I you; what do you mean by clyfaking?”</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, <!-- page 287--><a +name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>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. <a +name="citation287"></a><a href="#footnote287" +class="citation">[287]</a> 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><!-- page 288--><a name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +288</span>“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 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 <!-- page 289--><a +name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>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><!-- page 290--><a name="page290"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 290</span>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<p>The Tanner—The Hotel—Drinking Claret—London +Journal—New Field—Commonplaceness—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; +<!-- page 291--><a name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +291</span>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 Petulengres, though bestowed upon +the biggest of the Romans, according to strict interpretation, +signifieth a little child.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page +292--><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>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 <!-- page 293--><a +name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 293</span>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 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. <a +name="citation293"></a><a href="#footnote293" +class="citation">[293]</a> 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 <!-- page +294--><a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>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 commonplaceness 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 +Kœmpe 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 <!-- page 295--><a +name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 295</span>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 <!-- page 296--><a +name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 296</span>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 <!-- page +297--><a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +297</span>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 298--><a name="page298"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 298</span>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<p>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><!-- page 299--><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +299</span>“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 <!-- page 300--><a name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +300</span>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.”</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; <!-- page 301--><a +name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 301</span>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 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 +<!-- page 302--><a name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +302</span>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 which 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 farther, sir—at +least for the present; but, sir, this morning I received a letter +<!-- page 303--><a name="page303"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +303</span>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>“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 <!-- page 304--><a name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +304</span>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><!-- page 305--><a name="page305"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 305</span>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 306--><a name="page306"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 306</span>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 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. <a +name="citation306"></a><a href="#footnote306" +class="citation">[306]</a> 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 +<!-- page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +307</span>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 <!-- page 308--><a name="page308"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 308</span>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 309--><a name="page309"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 309</span>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 310--><a +name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>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 <!-- page 311--><a name="page311"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 311</span>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>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 <!-- page 312--><a +name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 312</span>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, <!-- +page 313--><a name="page313"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +313</span>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 . . .</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 patronising 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? +<!-- page 314--><a name="page314"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +314</span>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 see’d. 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 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 <!-- page 315--><a +name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +315</span>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><!-- page 316--><a name="page316"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 316</span>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<p>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; <a +name="citation316a"></a><a href="#footnote316a" +class="citation">[316a]</a> I reviewed books for the Review <a +name="citation316b"></a><a href="#footnote316b" +class="citation">[316b]</a> 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 from 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 <!-- page 317--><a +name="page317"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 317</span>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 Kœmpe Viser in this +manner?—<!-- page 318--><a name="page318"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 318</span>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 <!-- page 319--><a +name="page319"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 319</span>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, 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 +<!-- page 320--><a name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +320</span>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 <!-- page 321--><a +name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 321</span>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.</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 <!-- +page 322--><a name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +322</span>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 <!-- page 323--><a +name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 323</span>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 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><!-- page 324--><a name="page324"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 324</span>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<p>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 <a name="citation324"></a><a href="#footnote324" +class="citation">[324]</a> 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 <!-- page 325--><a +name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 325</span>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>“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 <!-- page 326--><a name="page326"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 326</span>since your departure. No, I +did not come up on purpose to see you; but on a quite 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; <a name="citation326"></a><a href="#footnote326" +class="citation">[326]</a> 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 <!-- page 327--><a name="page327"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 327</span>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 +farmhouses, 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.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and what did the orators +say?”</p> +<p><!-- page 328--><a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>“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. <a +name="citation328"></a><a href="#footnote328" +class="citation">[328]</a></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 <!-- page 329--><a name="page329"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 329</span>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 some 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>After some time, my brother said, “I will now go to the +painter, and communicate to <!-- page 330--><a +name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 330</span>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><!-- page 331--><a name="page331"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 331</span>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 332--><a +name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 332</span>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 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 <!-- page +333--><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +333</span>what the painter had called the finished figure; but, +as I gazed upon it, it appeared to me that there was something +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 <!-- page 334--><a +name="page334"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 334</span>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 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 <!-- page 335--><a +name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span>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? <a name="citation335"></a><a href="#footnote335" +class="citation">[335]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 336--><a name="page336"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 336</span>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<p>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 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 <!-- page 337--><a name="page337"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 337</span>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 <!-- page +338--><a name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +338</span>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 <!-- +page 339--><a name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +339</span>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 <!-- +page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>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.” <a name="citation340"></a><a +href="#footnote340" class="citation">[340]</a></p> +<p>“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 <!-- page +341--><a name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +341</span>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 +morn 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 <!-- page 342--><a name="page342"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 342</span>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 +<!-- page 343--><a name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +343</span>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>“Oh, I have had enough of bears; I have just been +worried by one.”</p> +<p>“The publisher?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p><!-- page 344--><a name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +344</span>“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><!-- page 345--><a name="page345"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 345</span>CHAPTER XL</h2> +<p>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, 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 <!-- page 346--><a +name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 346</span>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 an 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><!-- page 347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +347</span>“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>“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 <!-- page 348--><a name="page348"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 348</span>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><!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +349</span>“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>“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><!-- page 350--><a name="page350"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 350</span>CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<p>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 +<!-- page 351--><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +351</span>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 for the +publisher, being to a man dependants 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><!-- page 352--><a name="page352"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +352</span>“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 +fourteenpence. 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 <!-- +page 353--><a name="page353"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +353</span>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?”</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><!-- page 354--><a name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +354</span>“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>“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><!-- page 355--><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +355</span>“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 a half +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><!-- page 356--><a name="page356"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 356</span>CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<p>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><!-- page 357--><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +357</span>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.”</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 <!-- page 358--><a +name="page358"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 358</span>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 gesture 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; +<!-- page 359--><a name="page359"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +359</span>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>“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 <!-- page 360--><a +name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 360</span>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 <!-- page 361--><a +name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 361</span>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 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 a 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, <!-- page 362--><a +name="page362"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 362</span>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 +luke-warmness. 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 <!-- page 363--><a +name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 363</span>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.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 364--><a name="page364"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 364</span>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page 365--><a name="page365"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 365</span>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, <a +name="citation365"></a><a href="#footnote365" +class="citation">[365]</a> 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. +“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. <!-- page 366--><a name="page366"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 366</span>“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><!-- page 367--><a name="page367"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 367</span>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> +<p>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 to the other side +of the bridge, to her place in the booth where I had originally +found her. This she had done after frequent 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 midwinter, 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><!-- page 368--><a name="page368"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +368</span>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 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, and 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 <!-- +page 369--><a name="page369"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +369</span>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 <!-- +page 370--><a name="page370"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +370</span>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.</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><!-- page 371--><a name="page371"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +371</span>“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 should 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 shan’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><!-- page 372--><a name="page372"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +372</span>“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; 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><!-- page 373--><a name="page373"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +373</span>“You have read it; is it a nice book—all +true?”</p> +<p>“True, true—I don’t know what to say; but if +the world be true, and not all 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 fool, as you did, dear, +just now; they call kissing the Bible, which means taking a false +oath, smacking calfskin.”</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><!-- page 374--><a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +374</span>“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 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 scrutinisingly 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><!-- page 375--><a name="page375"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 375</span>CHAPTER XLV</h2> +<p>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 entrusted 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 become 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 <!-- page +376--><a name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 376</span>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 dare say 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.”</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 <!-- page +377--><a name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 377</span>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 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 <!-- page 378--><a +name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +378</span>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>“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. <!-- page 379--><a name="page379"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 379</span>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><!-- page 380--><a name="page380"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +380</span>“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>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 entrusted me +with the book? She will certainly think that I have +purloined it, notwithstanding all 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 <!-- page +381--><a name="page381"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +381</span>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 the 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 382--><a name="page382"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 382</span>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page +383--><a name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +383</span>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 his tones became peculiarly +sharp; “I would fain see him hanged—crucified. +Drag him along.”</p> +<p><!-- page 384--><a name="page384"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +384</span>“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 <!-- page 385--><a name="page385"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 385</span>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>“You mean the language of those who bring me things to +buy, or who did; for, as I told you before, I shan’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, <!-- page 386--><a +name="page386"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 386</span>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. <a name="citation386"></a><a href="#footnote386" +class="citation">[386]</a> 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 that 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><!-- page 387--><a name="page387"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 387</span>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> +<p>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 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 <!-- +page 388--><a name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +388</span>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 <!-- page 389--><a +name="page389"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 389</span>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 of the west, he came at +last to London, where he established himself, and where he +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 <!-- page +390--><a name="page390"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +390</span>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 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><!-- page 391--><a name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +391</span>“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 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 <!-- page 392--><a +name="page392"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 392</span>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 <!-- page 393--><a +name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 393</span>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 master-pieces +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 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, <!-- page 394--><a +name="page394"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 394</span>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><!-- page 395--><a name="page395"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 395</span>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2> +<p>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 <!-- page +396--><a name="page396"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +396</span>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 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 will 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 <!-- page 397--><a +name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 397</span>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, <a +name="citation397"></a><a href="#footnote397" +class="citation">[397]</a> 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 <!-- +page 398--><a name="page398"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +398</span>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 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><!-- page 399--><a name="page399"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +399</span>“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 <!-- page +400--><a name="page400"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +400</span>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>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a" +class="footnote">[0a]</a> Pronounced +<i>Lav’en-gro</i>, not <i>Lav-en’gro</i>, the two +first syllables exactly like those of <i>lavender</i>. +Borrow meant it to stand for “word-master, +philologist,” but—<i>nomen omen</i>—already in +Grellmann (1787) <i>latcho lavengro</i> stood for “a +liar.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote1a"></a><a href="#citation1a" +class="footnote">[1a]</a> On 5th July 1803, at East +Dereham, Norfolk, 17 miles west-north-west of Norwich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote1b"></a><a href="#citation1b" +class="footnote">[1b]</a> Captain Thomas Borrow +(1758-1824), the youngest of a family of eight (three daughters +and five sons).</p> +<p><a name="footnote1c"></a><a href="#citation1c" +class="footnote">[1c]</a> Trethinnick, near St. Cleer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> “In Cornwall are the best +gentlemen.”—<i>Corn. Prov.</i> (B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote4a"></a><a href="#citation4a" +class="footnote">[4a]</a> Earl of Orford. +Borrow’s father rose from private to sergeant in the +Coldstream Guards, and, passing in 1792 to the West Norfolk +Militia, was six years later promoted adjutant with the rank of +captain (Knapp, i. 7-16).</p> +<p><a name="footnote4b"></a><a href="#citation4b" +class="footnote">[4b]</a> Dereham.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4c"></a><a href="#citation4c" +class="footnote">[4c]</a> Ann Perfrement (1772-1858). +They married in 1793 (Knapp, i. 16-26).</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> John Thomas Borrow (1800-1833), +ensign and lieutenant in his father’s regiment, art student +under Old Crome and Benjamin Haydon, and from 1826 a mining agent +in Mexico.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> Norwegian ells—about eight +feet. (B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> Dereham.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31a"></a><a href="#citation31a" +class="footnote">[31a]</a> Charles Hyde Wollaston +(1772-1850), vicar from 1806—my mother’s uncle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31b"></a><a href="#citation31b" +class="footnote">[31b]</a> James Philo (1745-1829), an old +soldier, for fifty years parish clerk.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> In 1810.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37" +class="footnote">[37]</a> Whittlesea Mere. In 1786 it +measured 3½ miles from east to west by 2½ miles, +and it was drained in 1850-51.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44" +class="footnote">[44]</a> Much such a man, perhaps a +descendant, travelled East Anglia about 1866. He used to +visit schools to exhibit his snakes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48" +class="footnote">[48]</a> Better <i>béngesko</i> or +<i>beng’s</i>, devil’s.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> <i>Tiny tawny</i> is not +Romany. <i>Tárno</i> means “small” or +“young.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52" +class="footnote">[52]</a> <i>Sap</i>, snake; +<i>sapengro</i>, snake-charmer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65" +class="footnote">[65]</a> Berwick-upon-Tweed. Its +walls are not lofty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69a"></a><a href="#citation69a" +class="footnote">[69a]</a> In 1813.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69b"></a><a href="#citation69b" +class="footnote">[69b]</a> South-western.</p> +<p><a name="footnote71"></a><a href="#citation71" +class="footnote">[71]</a> Borrow and his brother seem to +have been at the High School in March 1814, probably only for the +one winter session. James Pillans was rector, and the four +under-masters were William Ritchie, Aglionby Ross Carson +(Borrow’s), George Irvine, James Gray.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72" +class="footnote">[72]</a> William Bowie; probably from +Gaelic <i>buidhe</i>, yellow, and so not Norse at all.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75"></a><a href="#citation75" +class="footnote">[75]</a> Northern.</p> +<p><a name="footnote79"></a><a href="#citation79" +class="footnote">[79]</a> David Haggart (1801-21), thief, +was born and hanged at Edinburgh. He enlisted as a drummer +in July 1813, and killed a Dumfries turnkey in 1820. His +curious <i>Autobiography</i> is written largely in thieves’ +cant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82a"></a><a href="#citation82a" +class="footnote">[82a]</a> Northern.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82b"></a><a href="#citation82b" +class="footnote">[82b]</a> Perhaps two hundred feet.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88" +class="footnote">[88]</a> Fifteen months.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89a"></a><a href="#citation89a" +class="footnote">[89a]</a> Harwich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89b"></a><a href="#citation89b" +class="footnote">[89b]</a> Cork Harbour.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90"></a><a href="#citation90" +class="footnote">[90]</a> Cork.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93" +class="footnote">[93]</a> Clonmel.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> Elzevirs are not generally +huge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote104"></a><a href="#citation104" +class="footnote">[104]</a> In Tipperary county, twenty +miles north of Clonmel. In 1816.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131"></a><a href="#citation131" +class="footnote">[131]</a> Norwich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote132a"></a><a href="#citation132a" +class="footnote">[132a]</a> Till 1886 a prison, and now a +museum. A square Norman keep.</p> +<p><a name="footnote132b"></a><a href="#citation132b" +class="footnote">[132b]</a> The tower is Norman, the spire +Decorated, 215 feet high.</p> +<p><a name="footnote133"></a><a href="#citation133" +class="footnote">[133]</a> The Bishop’s Bridge (1295) +over the Wensum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134"></a><a href="#citation134" +class="footnote">[134]</a> Horatio, Viscount Nelson +(1758-1805), was born at Burnham-Thorpe Rectory, Norfolk, near +Wells.</p> +<p><a name="footnote140"></a><a href="#citation140" +class="footnote">[140]</a> Borrow clean omits his two years +(1816-18) at Norwich Grammar School, under Edward Valpy +(1764-1832), headmaster 1810-29. This was probably because, +horsed on James Martineau’s back, he was flogged for +running away to turn smuggler or freebooter. Sir James +Brooke was another schoolfellow.</p> +<p><a name="footnote142"></a><a href="#citation142" +class="footnote">[142]</a> The Rev. Thomas +D’Éterville, a Norman +<i>émigré</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146"></a><a href="#citation146" +class="footnote">[146]</a> The Yare.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> Earlham Hall.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148" +class="footnote">[148]</a> Joseph John Gurney (1788-1847), +Quaker banker of Norwich, and philanthropist, a brother of Mrs. +Fry. See A. J. C. Hare’s <i>The Gurneys of +Earlham</i> (2 vols., 1895).</p> +<p><a name="footnote152"></a><a href="#citation152" +class="footnote">[152]</a> Tombland Fair, on Norwich Castle +Hill, the day before Good Friday.</p> +<p><a name="footnote154"></a><a href="#citation154" +class="footnote">[154]</a> <i>Cf.</i> Introduction, p. +xxv.</p> +<p><a name="footnote156"></a><a href="#citation156" +class="footnote">[156]</a> Snake-charmer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote157"></a><a href="#citation157" +class="footnote">[157]</a> Monschold (pron. <i>Muzzle</i>) +Heath, near Norwich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote158"></a><a href="#citation158" +class="footnote">[158]</a> Better <i>Tárno +Tíkno</i>, little baby.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> <i>Petuléngro</i>, +farrier, the esoteric Romany name of the Smith family. It +is derived from the Modern Greek <i>pétalon</i>, +horse-shoe, if that, indeed, is not borrowed from the Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote162a"></a><a href="#citation162a" +class="footnote">[162a]</a> Truth, brother.</p> +<p><a name="footnote162b"></a><a href="#citation162b" +class="footnote">[162b]</a> Book.</p> +<p><a name="footnote162c"></a><a href="#citation162c" +class="footnote">[162c]</a> Hill.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163a"></a><a href="#citation163a" +class="footnote">[163a]</a> Passing bad money.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163b"></a><a href="#citation163b" +class="footnote">[163b]</a> Gypsies.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163c"></a><a href="#citation163c" +class="footnote">[163c]</a> Better <i>gaújoes</i>, +non-Gypsies or Gentiles.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164a"></a><a href="#citation164a" +class="footnote">[164a]</a> Yes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164b"></a><a href="#citation164b" +class="footnote">[164b]</a> Magistrate of the town.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165a"></a><a href="#citation165a" +class="footnote">[165a]</a> Child.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165b"></a><a href="#citation165b" +class="footnote">[165b]</a> In the town, telling +fortunes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote166a"></a><a href="#citation166a" +class="footnote">[166a]</a> House.</p> +<p><a name="footnote166b"></a><a href="#citation166b" +class="footnote">[166b]</a> Going.</p> +<p><a name="footnote169a"></a><a href="#citation169a" +class="footnote">[169a]</a> In Vol. i. p. 320 of +<i>Etymologicon Universale</i> (3 vols., 1822-25), by the Rev. +Walter Whiter (1758-1832), from 1797 rector of Hardingham, near +Wymondham, occurs this suggestion: “It will perhaps be +discovered by some future inquirer that from a horde of vagrant +<i>Gipseys</i> once issued that band of sturdy robbers, the +companions of Romulus and of Remus, who laid the foundations of +the <i>Eternal City</i> on the banks of the Tibur.” +This sounds truly Borrovian; and scattered through the amazing +<i>Etymologicon</i> are twenty-six Romany words, very correctly +spelt, which I used to think Whiter must have learnt from George +Borrow. But there are words that Borrow does not seem to +have known—<i>poshe</i>, near; <i>kam</i>, sun; <i>ria</i>, +sir (vocative), and <i>petalles</i>, horse-shoe +(accusative). Whiter appears to have known Romany better +than Borrow. Borrow certainly meant to write a good deal +about Whiter, for in a letter to John Murray of 1st December 1842 +he sketches <i>Lavengro</i>: “Capital subject—early +life; studies and adventures; some account of my father, William +Taylor, Whiter, Big Ben, etc. etc.” (Knapp, ii. 5). +But he barely mentions Whiter in chap. xxiv. of +<i>Lavengro</i>. In the <i>Gypsy Lore Journal</i> (i. 1888, +pp. 102-4) I had an article on Whiter. That on Whiter by +Mr. Courtney, in vol. lxi. of the <i>Dictionary of National +Biography</i> (1900), shows that he was writing on the Gypsy +language in 1800 and 1811.</p> +<p><a name="footnote169b"></a><a href="#citation169b" +class="footnote">[169b]</a> Fighter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170a"></a><a href="#citation170a" +class="footnote">[170a]</a> Husband.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170b"></a><a href="#citation170b" +class="footnote">[170b]</a> Gentleman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170c"></a><a href="#citation170c" +class="footnote">[170c]</a> London.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170d"></a><a href="#citation170d" +class="footnote">[170d]</a> Song.</p> +<p><a name="footnote178"></a><a href="#citation178" +class="footnote">[178]</a> Borrow’s <i>Wild Wales</i> +gives a full account of his Welsh studies at this period.</p> +<p><a name="footnote180"></a><a href="#citation180" +class="footnote">[180]</a> He was articled on 30th March +1819 to Messrs. Simpson & Rackham solicitors, for five +years.</p> +<p><a name="footnote198"></a><a href="#citation198" +class="footnote">[198]</a> Klopstock. (B.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote199"></a><a href="#citation199" +class="footnote">[199]</a> John Crome, “Old +Crome” (1768-1811), the great landscape-painter of the +“Norwich School.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote208"></a><a href="#citation208" +class="footnote">[208]</a> Lodowick Muggleton (1609-98), a +London Puritan tailor, founded his sect about 1651.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211"></a><a href="#citation211" +class="footnote">[211]</a> William Taylor (1765-1836), +“of Norwich,” introduced German literature to English +readers, and corresponded with Southey, Scott, Godwin, etc. +He seems to have made an infidel of Borrow by 1824 (Knapp, ii. +261-2). See Life of Taylor by Robberds (1843).</p> +<p><a name="footnote225a"></a><a href="#citation225a" +class="footnote">[225a]</a> Samuel Parr (1747-1825).</p> +<p><a name="footnote225b"></a><a href="#citation225b" +class="footnote">[225b]</a> See note on p. 169.</p> +<p><a name="footnote230"></a><a href="#citation230" +class="footnote">[230]</a> John Thurtell (<i>c.</i> +1791-1824), the son of a Norwich alderman, was hanged at Hertford +for the brutal murder in Gill’s Hill Lane of a +fellow-swindler, William Weare. He figures also in +Hazlitt’s “Prize-fight,” and Sir Walter Scott +visited the scene of Weare’s murder.</p> +<p><a name="footnote233"></a><a href="#citation233" +class="footnote">[233]</a> Spinoza.</p> +<p><a name="footnote239"></a><a href="#citation239" +class="footnote">[239]</a> Rather shaky Romany. +<i>Chivios</i> and <i>rovel</i> should be <i>chído si</i> +and <i>rovénna</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote240"></a><a href="#citation240" +class="footnote">[240]</a> Enough.</p> +<p><a name="footnote249"></a><a href="#citation249" +class="footnote">[249]</a> Absolutely meaningless to any +English Gypsy that ever walked. Borrow seems to have +fancied it was Hungarian Romany, but it isn’t.</p> +<p><a name="footnote264"></a><a href="#citation264" +class="footnote">[264]</a> Anglo-Hanoverian victory over +the French, 1759.</p> +<p><a name="footnote265"></a><a href="#citation265" +class="footnote">[265]</a> 2nd April 1824.</p> +<p><a name="footnote270"></a><a href="#citation270" +class="footnote">[270]</a> Sir Richard Phillips +(1767-1840), schoolmaster, hosier, stationer, publisher, author, +Radical, vegetarian, etc., removed from Leicester to London in +1795, was knighted in 1808, and finally retired to Brighton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote278"></a><a href="#citation278" +class="footnote">[278]</a> By the Rev. Legh Richmond +(1772-1827). Elizabeth Wallbridge, the dairyman’s +daughter, is buried at Arreton, in the Isle of Wight; and +2,000,000 copies of the tract, which was written in 1809, are +said to have been sold in the author’s lifetime.</p> +<p><a name="footnote287"></a><a href="#citation287" +class="footnote">[287]</a> <i>The Fortunes and Misfortunes +of the famous Moll Flanders</i>, by Daniel Defoe, appeared on +27th January 1722.</p> +<p><a name="footnote293"></a><a href="#citation293" +class="footnote">[293]</a> Quite incredible. Norwich +had its own papers.</p> +<p><a name="footnote306"></a><a href="#citation306" +class="footnote">[306]</a> By Prof. Knapp identified with +William Gifford (1757-1826), translator of Juvenal, editor of the +<i>Anti-Jacobin</i>, the <i>Quarterly Review</i>, etc.; but Mr. +Leslie Stephen argues, in <i>Literature</i> (April 8, 1899, p. +375), that Gifford was then a rich bachelor with a sinecure of +£1000 a year, and that a much likelier identification is +with John Carey (1756-1826), the “<i>Gradus</i> +Carey,” who edited Quintilian in 1822, and did work for Sir +Richard Phillips.</p> +<p><a name="footnote316a"></a><a href="#citation316a" +class="footnote">[316a]</a> <i>Celebrated Trials</i> (6 +vols., 1825).</p> +<p><a name="footnote316b"></a><a href="#citation316b" +class="footnote">[316b]</a> <i>The Universal Review</i>, +March 1824-Jan. 1825.</p> +<p><a name="footnote324"></a><a href="#citation324" +class="footnote">[324]</a> 29th April 1824.</p> +<p><a name="footnote326"></a><a href="#citation326" +class="footnote">[326]</a> The ex-mayor, Robert Hawkes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote328"></a><a href="#citation328" +class="footnote">[328]</a> Benjamin Robert Haydon +(1786-1846), who shot himself in his studio.</p> +<p><a name="footnote335"></a><a href="#citation335" +class="footnote">[335]</a> George Borrow about this time +suffered much from the horrors, and meditated suicide (Knapp, i. +96-98).</p> +<p><a name="footnote340"></a><a href="#citation340" +class="footnote">[340]</a> Byron’s corpse, on its way +from Missolonghi to Hucknall Church, near Newstead in Notts, was +removed on Monday, 12th July 1814, from Sir Edward +Knatchbull’s house in Great George Street, Westminster, at +11 a.m.</p> +<p><a name="footnote365"></a><a href="#citation365" +class="footnote">[365]</a> John Murray (1778-1843), +publisher, the second of the name, the first of Albemarle +Street.</p> +<p><a name="footnote386"></a><a href="#citation386" +class="footnote">[386]</a> <i>Tárno</i> means simply +“young” or “little.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote397"></a><a href="#citation397" +class="footnote">[397]</a> <i>Romantic Ballads</i>, +<i>translated from the Danish</i>, <i>and Miscellaneous +Pieces</i>, by George Borrow, did appear in Norwich in 1826.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 22877-h.htm or 22877-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/8/7/22877 + + + +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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